October 25, 2001
As some of you may have known, I was not officially a Peace Corps Volunteer until about 9:30 am, Oct. 23. Before that I was just a trainee. Apparently PC figures it doesn't punish you enough through the application process so you also have to endure a training which lasts too long in which all of you independence is taken away before they thrust you out on your own. No, no really, I'm not bitter. Actually I finally figured out why the people I've talked to who are returned PCVs (Conveniently known as RCPVs) have all said that PC is great if you can stay away from the administration. They are nice, nice people, but do have to keep track of about 140 of us, which makes them overly paranoid and parental. Ah well, I am now a real volunteer and get to start actually living in Morocco.
The swear-in ceremony is treated as quite a big deal by the administration, which seems unfair because after you complete your two year service, no one does anything for you. But, the ambassador was there and she administered the oath that everyone entering government service is required to take. We did lose 2 more people who decided not to swear-in, so we're down to 68. It's so funny (to me) that before I came I had thought there would be a feeling that those who don't complete service have somehow failed, but in fact going through it, I think many of us highly respect those who choose to go home. It's really difficult (living here, PC service, training...) so people who are "in touch" with themselves enough to make the decisions to leave are quite respected. Aack, I'm expressing myself badly, but there you go.
So, let's talk about toilets. There are none. That, of course, isn't true, but western style toilets are definitely a luxury to be enjoyed when encountered. Most of the toilets here are squats (such a picturesque name). I still find them very difficult because having the distinction of being moderately tall in Morocco, the [raised] feet in the squats [porcelain plate] aren't in the right position; they're too close together. For anyone who thinks this isn't a serious issue, try squatting with your feet about 6 inches apart and then try at shoulders width--trust me, it matters. Toilet paper is also not used here, instead water is used to wash, contributing to the belief that the left hand is unclean and therefore not used for anything else [especially eating]. Many bathrooms have a tap about a foot off the ground and a bucket under it for the purposes of both 'washing' and flushing, which you do by pouring a bucket of water into the opening. Most latrines [pipes] here are of the s-ban variety, which would make more sense if I could draw if for you; sorry. At any rate, the tap in the bathroom is obviously a problem in the bled where people don't have running water. Then, less water is used for both washing and flushing because it has to be carried from somewhere. I would really like to have running water.
Landscapes: (I have all these topics I've wanted to mention, but haven't gotten around to, so now you get to read all about them.) The landscape in the parts of Morocco I have seen can be largely characterized by a lack of water. The drought here is in its third year and shows no signs of improving. This does not help the already bad economic situation which started in the early 90s for reasons that are still unclear to me. Unemployment among university graduates is at 30 percent and I think overall unemployment is in the 20 percent range, although I'm not positive. Much of the Moroccan experience is seeing large groups of men sitting in cafes at all hours because they have nothing else to do. (This, of course, doesn't help the already annoying harassment problem.) But, back to landscapes, much of Morocco is high desert, very similar to southwest Idaho, but with "padded" cactus (I'm sure one of you horticultural enthusiasts can tell me what that cactus is actually called). We came over the Atlas mountains yesterday, from Ourzazate to Marrakesh, but even there it's mostly scrub; there are no forests of evergreens, or of any tree, actually. On our trip from Bzou to Azilal and again on the way from Marrakesh to Essaouira, there are parts where there isn't even scrub, it's just rock. It's odd to see such a barren landscape with maybe one sullen almond tree standing by itself.
Well, on that cheerful note I sigh off, at last a real volunteer. I hope you are all well, and everyone is careful with their mail.
