The Toughest Job You'll Ever...Something Something

"Love" might be too strong a word. I wouldn't say "love."

We survived Spring Camp in Agadir and took a bus out of town under cover of darkness while the children slept so that we could get to our next Spring Camp, an appropriately-staffed adequately-supplied day camp where the average work day is just nine hours shorter than in Agadir.

It all looked so good on paper.

I'll say this for overnight camp: it just matters so much more. When you're spending 19 hours a day with each other, a camaraderie forms. You find a couple of "Sponjboob Sceor Pintce"'s lying around and you feel a strange tightening in the muscles of of your face, lips pulled back stupidly around your teeth. Then you're on the beach and one of the little snot-nosed twerps tears you off a huge piece of his svinge, this unholy Moroccan sugared donut, and you just have to sit there eating it and staring at the ocean, while your brain tries to weasel out of your heart's pathetic Grinch-in-Whoville conversion.

Two of the campers who wormed their way into our hearts.

The kids for their part were properly Stockholm Syndrome-d by the end of the week. The last night of camp, teens thanked us with trembling voices, children wept -one girl fainted- and the campers milked their last opportunity for melodramatic hysterics during the aptly-named end-of-camp "Spectacle."

Just a hint of the ritualistic madness that was the Spectac.

Did you ever see Hearts of Darkness?

 One of the marks of Agadir I'll carry all my days.

We had a camp prom; every bit as excruciating as the genuine article.

The kids sang "Deep in the Heart of Texas" on the way to the beach and endeared themselves to us against our will.

Me with Camp Director John at the end of the Spectac, and our wits.

One of the campers interviewed me the last day of camp -for a camp newspaper, I guess, or else just for her diary- and asked for a quote. I didn't even have to think about it. "I'll never forget my time with you all at Camp Agadir."

The toughest job you'll ever simultaneously repress yet feel nostalgia for? I'll keep working on it. I bet I'll recycle that joke a thousand times before it's all said and done.

Spring Camp!

Hello from the beautiful city of Agadir. We are in the middle of Spring Camp, a week long English camp that the Ministry of Youth and Sports puts on with the Peace Corps. It's Spring Break in Morocco, and all across the country these immersion camps are going on in local youth centers. The camp we have volunteered for in Agadir is about 4 hours from our home, and it is an overnight camp. Each day looks something like this:

6:45: We wake up and quickly gather materials and draft a lesson plan for our English classes
7:30 : morning rally
8:30 : breakfast
9:00 : English class
11:00 : walk to beach and play (!)
2/2:30/3:00 : lunch/clean/"rest"
4:00: American clubs (we are teaching a health club, and other volunteers are teaching theatre, science, and journalism)
6:00: snack
6:30: Moroccan clubs (dance, art, and music)
9:00: dinner
10:00 : evening activity (these Moroccans love to perform and basically put on a talent show every night
11:30 : quick meeting with staff
12-1:00 am : bedtime

Each day is very, very full and very, very exhausting. Here are a few key things to know:

- instead if 50-60 campers, there are 90
- instead of the kids being age 13-17, they are age 8-17
- instead of this being an English immersion camp, most of the kids have actually not studied English at all, so they don't understand us
- we have very limited supplies. I spent 15 minutes digging through a plastic Baggie of crayons and broken pencils trying to find at least 10 crayon shards that were longer than half of my pinkie finger.
- meals are frequently served 1-2 hours after the scheduled time. In fact, last night the staff ended up eating dinner around 11:00pm.

I have said to Pete more than once that I think this might be the hardest week of my life. Everyone is giving as much as they can give, but it is hard, exhausting work.

But there are a few highlights:

- the kids are divided into teams, and our team of 23 kids is team Texas. They have SO much Texas pride, just like real Texans! They can sing "Deep in the heart of Texas," and last night they performed a line dance to Boot Scootin' Boogie that we taught them.
- some of the kids are so very sweet. They shake our hands after English class and share their snacks with us.
- Lastly, this drawing, which made me laugh so hard I cried (out of genuine happiness and sheet, delirious exhaustion). It was drawn by a beginning English student. More pictures and stories to come.




I'd be lying if I said these highlights made it all worthwhile, and I don't think I will ever volunteer for an overnight Spring Camp again. But we are trying to see the good where we can, and Sponjboob Sceor Pintce is good.

a different kind of holy week

“Lent has flown by this year!” I told Pete a few weeks ago once I realized how quickly Easter was approaching.  He laughed and noted that yes, in fact, Lent does fly by when you aren’t giving up anything.  We weren’t sure how to approach Lent in Morocco, which is 99% Muslim, so we simply focused on trying to adjust to our new lives.

And yet, somehow, the season of Lent found its way into our lives, especially this week, this very holy week.  On Wednesday, the US Ambassador to Morocco swore us in as official Peace Corps volunteers.  Our ten weeks of training are complete.  On Thursday, Holy Thursday, we made our way to our new home. 

Mr. Ambassador and his wife at the swearing-in ceremony.

For the next two years, we will be living in a mountain town outside of Marrakech.  By train, we (us and the other volunteers assigned to the same region of Morocco) made our way south to Marrakech.  Upon arrival, we were greeted by current volunteers who happily helped us find our luggage and the right bus.  They went above and beyond as they dragged heavy bags, negotiated with taxi drivers, and patiently helped us navigate our new community. 

volunteers!  everywhere!

As I sat on the bus from Marrakech to our new site, the sun started to set and the roads became narrower.  The bus had been crazy crowded, but now there were just a few of us waiting to get to the last stop (our town is a little over an hour south of the big city).  As the bus made tight curves, I thought it might be smart to pray to the patron saint of safe travels.  But who is that, anyway?  Forgetting, I decided to hum the Litany of Saints to myself instead.  And before I knew what was happing, I was softly singing Ubi Caritas to myself on the dark bus.  The same song I sing every Holy Thursday surrounded by people I love very much in our spiritual community.

As exhausted as I was after a long day of traveling, I knew that Moroccan food and Moroccan kindness awaited us in our new host family, and that gave me great comfort.  Instead of a Last Supper, we had our first supper with our new host family in our new community.  And it was delicious.

On Good Friday, we explored our new town.  It is beautiful.  It really is.  And though I already find myself homesick for the family we left behind near Fes, I am also incredibly excited to make our home here for the next two years.  As we hiked in the gentle mountains surrounding our town with new friends, exhausted and hungry and confused and happy, I thought that it was, indeed, a very Good Friday.  Communicating is still incredibly challenging right now, and we are muddling through with a combination of Darija, English, and French.  And yet, the word I hear the most is simply this: welcome.  

View from the bedroom window.

From the roof---so, when are you coming to visit?