Monday, August 26, 2013

Artisan Camp

Confession: several months ago, when fellow PCV Sarah asked me to help her with a camp this August, I was hesitant. And yet, despite our tough experiences with spring camp, she managed to convince me to participate.  "It's all girls!" she explained. "And it's art camp!"  I'm glad she did.  After ten-days in a room with 50 or so campers eager to learn and play and color, I'm pleased to admit that this was my best camp experience yet.

PCVs on kitchen duty.
My friend has a great blog with a great post about this camp that she organized, so I'll just share a few stories from my perspective.  She works with a group of artisans in her site, and it was the local artisans who initially came up with the idea of a camp for girls in the community.  For months, they worked together to put together a summer camp that would, from 9am-5pm, teach girls traditional Moroccan artisan skills: Fesi embroidery, 3la 7sab embroidery, crochet, and basket embellishment.  She also arranged for guest speakers from the community to come lead workshops with the girls about all sorts of things.




In traditional camp fashion, the days events didn't always follow the written schedule.  Speakers dropped out, but the girls kept crafting.  Lunch was hours late, but the girls kept crafting.  It was impressive to see 10-year olds occupy themselves for hours with a needle and thread.  They barely stopped to drink their tea and eat sweets during breaks, and that is saying something.

Heather, former PCV and founder of Mushmina, came to visit and chat with the girls.

These baskets will be made into handbags.
In the Peace Corps, I find that I'm frequently considered an "expert" on things that I have little experience with.  Case in point: each morning at camp, we had about an hour of exercise class with the campers, and all of us volunteers took turns teaching what we know.  For the first time in my life, I assumed the role of ballet teacher.  This meant a good 20 minutes of stretching to Taylor Swift followed by a basic introduction to ballet barre exercises (without the barre).  After, I showed the campers clips from Swan Lake.  I was sore for days after that first ballet class, but it was super fun to see them try and plie.  It was even more fun to see them watch in wonder the Danse des Petits Cygnes.

Ballet with Britt
While the camp definitely benefited the campers, it was also (selfishly) a huge win for me.  It was a gift to hang out with five other female PCVs for a week and to learn from their experiences.  I had another round of msemen lessons from the ladies in the kitchen.  The artisans gave all of us PCVs lovely necklaces.  I slept on the roof and woke up to a chicken walking across my body (this goes in the win! another cool Peace Corps story! category).  I also picked up Fesi Embroidery, mostly from my 11-year-old teacher-friend.  I now have something productive to do when watching episodes of The West Wing while hiding from the sun during a long summer afternoon.  You are all getting embroidered presents from me for the rest of your life.  Okay? Okay.

This is how I looked when I started to learn how to embroider: frustrated.

Then I got myself a teacher who communicated more on my level: an 11-year-old.

Success!
Super staff!



Thursday, August 22, 2013

Guest Post: Mom and Dad in Morocco

After their visit in June, we invited my parents to write something about their trip for the blog. The following comes from my mom, Theresa Luby, a longtime Hospice chaplain, proud member of the Daughters of Abraham and all-around inspiration.

"If enlightenment is not where you are standing, where will you look?"

I thought I might look in Morocco.  Thanks to Pete & Britt, I was able to walk in their shoes ( or at least in the shoes they bought for me in the souk) and  experience some of the wonders of  Morocco, the Moroccan people and a culture of hospitality.

About the shoes.  If you saw their earlier pictures of Dar Luby, you'll understand why there are three different kinds of shoes.  First, there are outdoor shoes (the roads are dirt, unpaved and shared with donkeys, chickens, dogs, & very mangy looking cats etc.)  Those shoes are taken off as you enter the living space, where you slip into traditional Moroccan leather shoes.  Pete & Britt made gifts of these shoes to us when they welcomed  Dan & me to their home.



When it's time to make your "toilet" you slip into something a little more rubber and washable with non-slip soles (the perfect little number for a Turkish toilet).  If the family you are visiting has carpets, you might just go barefoot in their home.

In a recent Sunday Gospel I heard: "Into whatever house you enter, first say: 'Peace to this household.' If a peaceful person lives there, your peace will rest on him; but if not, it will return to you...Stay in the same house and eat and drink what is offered to you..." Life in Morocco is closer to the world of the Bible than to 21st century North America.  Every where we went in Amizmiz, people greeted us: "Salaam Walaikum,"  " Peace be upon you." Every  household we visited offered us food and drink in delicious & splendid abundance. Like Abraham & Sarah who served three guests in the desert or Martha busying herself with hospitality for Jesus and her other guests,  Pete & Britt's friends treated us like honored guests.


Traditional kas-krut (snack time)


A plate of couscous

Their beautiful host mother & her handsome son served us traditional mint tea, which was followed by Moroccan chicken tagine with couscous & vegetables. After the meal they led us to another salon with couches.  They showed us with pride the wedding DVD of a nephew. In a Moroccan wedding, the bride changes her clothes seven times during the event. (Can you imagine? She has to "Say 'Yes' to the Dress" not once, but seven times!)  After all that food and all that wedding video, we were already three hours into our visit when sleep overtook us.  We felt terribly rude falling asleep, but our hosts seemed to take it as a  given that we would rest up for more food and socializing.  With the wedding DVD as inspiration, our hostess gave Britt & me henna hand tattoos. After naps, we were served a delicious coffee, cakes, and cookies.  We rolled out of their gracious, humble home full and happy, six hours later.


When we first arrived in Morocco, Peter & Britt taught us some useful phrases that Dan & I could use to navigate the social situations we would find ourselves in. Little did I realize that those phrases would help me when I got back home in Texas.  I went 5,212 (or so) miles to be able to connect with my next  hospice patient. She is a teacher from Iraq who fell ill while she was visiting her daughter in Texas.  The phrase that she uses most often is: "Hamdu-l' Allah,"  "Thanks be to God."  She is a person of great faith and accepts her illness as the will of God.

When I introduced myself to her daughter, I had to ask her to please repeat her name for me.  Even though we were speaking English, her Mother speaking through the Arabic translator, told me that when her daughter was born she wanted to bless God.  In Morocco, we had heard the phrase, "Bismillah" every time we sat down to eat, or upon beginning any new endeavor.  It is often translated as "In the Name of God."  Her daughter's name, "Basmal" comes from that phrase, "in gratitude for God's gift." 

Being with Britt & Pete is a blessing anywhere, but in Morocco, their graciousness and goodness shine more thoroughly.  It was a wonderful, unique experience. This week a friend shared a poem, given to her by her 94 year old mother-in-law that begins:

"I am the place where God shines through,
 For he and I are one, not two."

May it be so. Bismillah.


Visiting English class


Making msemen




Saturday, August 10, 2013

a good year

Yesterday, I googled: should you clean fresh killed bird before storing in fridge or is it okay to refrigerate and clean later.

Sorry, chicken friends.  We had to eat one of you.

Today, I turn 28 years old.  The unclean bird is about to be pulled out of the fridge, cleaned, and used as a bacon substitute (I CRINGE to write those words) in this delicious avocado soup recipe for birthday lunch. 

It has been a crazy year. 

Last August 10, I celebrated both on the Catholic Community Adult Retreat and at home with friends over French 75s.



A month later, we were in Rocky Mountain National Park to visit our good friend.

A river runs through it: Pete's first fly-fishing lesson.

Sometimes when hiking, you have to get in the map.


We celebrated our one-year anniversary at Lost Maples State Park.




As the Peace Corps became a reality, I said goodbye to my job and my fabulous work family.

Luby wedding brought to you by many, many helping hands, including my RSL family.

I went to Miami with these lovely ladies and was grateful for such good college friends.  Can you believe we've known each other for 10 years?


Later that month, my siblings, my grandmother, and I surprised my mom for her birthday.


Before long, it was another magical Thanksgiving at the Renewal Center with good family and friends.



I snuggled with this adorable puppy as much as I could before we had to say goodbye,




And, as you know, we spent much of the winter on a farewell tour of some of our favorite places.

And then, somewhere between the insane stress of packing up our lives into a storage unit, becoming a single (and then zero) car family, selling everything on craigslist, saying goodbye to our little doggie, trying to pick out the highest-quality-without-being-too-expensive-wool clothes to take with us to chilly North Africa, and saying goodbye to everyone we love (thank you to everyone who came to visit us, who helped us move, who loved on us, fed us, saved us), we found our way into two seats on a Casablanca-bound airplane.



We moved in with a Moroccan family who treated us as their own.  They overfed us daily, and it was just the fuel we needed to survive hours of Darija classes in a cold classroom.  We became good friends with our little CBT group, lovingly checking in on each other when we find out someone had “the D.”  We ran through our little town in the early mornings past sheep, chickens, and olive fields with the same stride that carried us through our Fort Worth neighborhood. 



By April, we were in our final site, our home for the next two years.  We found a home and continue to make it our own.  Wifi helps.  New friends help, too.

A new friend: because of this lovely lady, we have a well-stocked house and lots of new friends.

Souk time.  You know you've married the right person for you when you roll up your sleeves at the exact same time as you suffer in the heat and try to remember the Arabic word for that spice you really want.

Pete’s parents visited us, and they gave us an excuse to see Morocco through new eyes.


We fled to Nice to escape the hot summer.

We witnessed our first Ramadan, and my host mom made me a jellaba.  I bought some fabric, handed it to her, and said, "I trust you" in Darija.  She did the rest, and I couldn't be more pleased.



Yesterday, we celebrated L’Eid with many of our new friends.  We ate two lunches, for real.  We had to make up for those few days of fasting, you know.

Breakfast #1.

Nothing about this year has been ordinary, nothing has been expected, nothing easy.  It’s been extreme in all sorts of ways.  And, in return, I feel extreme gratitude. I know I'm leaving out a lot of great stories and great people, and I apologize for that. Thank you so much for your support, love, and birthday cheer.

The wise and adorable NIck Miller proudly says, "I like getting older.  I feel like I'm finally aging into my personality."  I couldn't agree more. 


Apparently, this is what aging into my personality looks like.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

what ramadan looks like, for us

How have we been spending the Holy Month of Ramadan?  A little of this, a little of that.  

We fasted at the beginning of Ramadan in solidarity with our community.  During the day, we hugged our fans and rested in our living room.  Episode after episode of Lost passed on our computer screen (we're not finished!  no spoilers!) as we avoided eye contact with our water bottles.  At the sound of the call to prayer around 7:45pm, we broke fast with new friends.  Slurping harira, spoonfuls of sellou, mouthfuls of shebakia.  Some evenings, we walked to “the piscine,” a pool/cafĂ© in town that stays open very late during Ramadan (no swimming at night, just the ambiance of blue pool water).  We drank Sprite and practiced Darija in the moonlight.  And, then, the next day, we did it all over again.  It was fun to see our city, sleepy during the hot day, erupt at night.  There is energy in the air as people, men and woman alike, walk through town together under the stars. 

Then, France happened.  When I asked more seasoned volunteers how to survive summer in Morocco, everyone said, “Leave.” And Nice was oh so nice.   We slipped out of Morocco for a week and ate our way through the south of France.  Literally.  We found cheeses and mussels, macarons and croissants.  We spent the week walking around and holding hands in public (!).  We saw a movie in a movie theatre, and I used my college French to make us dinner reservations.  We ate ice cream at least once a day, and we spent lazy afternoons at the beach.  It was a much-appreciated break.


Oui, we'll take one of every pastry, s'il vous plait. 

Moules Frites!  Fries and Mussels! 

We went on one guided food tour of Nice.  We went on 23 self-guided food tours of Nice.


Climbing up for better and better views.

Long live the baguette!

Oui, we'll take the apartment in the middle.

Now that we are back, we aren’t approaching Ramadan fasting with quite the same zeal.  While fasting and then breaking the fast with our friends has been incredibly special, we also know that the best way for us to endear ourselves to this community is to improve our language skills.  And studying Arabic is hard to do when you are thirsty.*  So we’ve reintroduced coffee and small meals so that we can stay energized and motivated enough to do what we need to do.  I’m still receiving the occasional cooking lesson, and Pete is braving the heat and crowds in the late afternoon to pick up dates and other Ramadan goodies.   And, our kind friends still have us over to break the fast with them in the evenings.

Despite our decision not to continue fasting, we are finding this a time of spiritual renewal.  We’ve incorporated some of our own Catholic practices into our lives lately, and it has helped us think more about people we love and ways to approach our new lives here. I’m not going to lie: Morocco is tough.  Peace Corps is tough.  Leaving France after the most perfect week was tough.  It’s hot, hot, hot here, and we don’t have any meaningful work to do just yet.  But we have each other, we have you, and we are trying to take it one day at a time.





* It’s hard to do.  Period.  See the thermometer photo from a few weeks ago.  Not THAT much has changed.