Post Grad Mel

The festival was just about the biggest thing that’s ever happened in town in the year I’ve lived here.

I rode the teacups and did bumper cars.

Watched the horse races and screamed just about every time their guns went off.

Saw my friend’s little sister perform in our ‘Idol’ competition.

Jammed to some rock infused Moroccan music.

Drank tea in a big white tent.

Ate cotton candy.

Stayed out till 11:30 p.m. (2:00 a.m. American equivalent)

And had myself a jolly good time.

I wish every day was a festival day in town.

Things I miss…

Dave’s Killer Bread, taco trucks, saag paneer, Mt. Rainier, Puget Sound, the three lined tunnel into Steilacoom, 6th Ave in Tacoma, wearing dresses and skirts everyday, going out, running errands with my Mom, Saturday morning runs and breakfast with my Dad at Ruston Way, freedom of dress and expression, discovering new restaurants, being anonymous, mild PNW climate, being able to talk to my family whenever I want, knowing exactly what’s expected of me at work, learning in the classroom, Evergreen trees, the library, sitting in coffee shops, cheering Gonzaga basketball on, whiskey sours, karaoke, pumpkin patches, holidays, washing machines, hiking, dancing in public, not feeling like my life is a house of cards, going to Mariner’s games, IPA’s, not running the risk of getting stranded in places, being understood, the newspaper, etc.

Latifa, who’s cous cous I eat every Friday and who’s family I love, and I on our way up to visit a friend of hers up the mountain.

Things I will miss…

Cous cous Friday’s, napping after said cous cous has been eaten, buying my fruits and vegetables at souk, driving through my portion of the Middle Atlas Mountains, biking through the olive groves, the red poppies in the Springtime, the relationships I’ve built with people I otherwise might never had connected with had I not learned their language, Moroccan generosity, drinking tea while sitting on colorful shag carpets, Amazigh pride, listening to “Inas Inas,” used clothes souk in Beni Mellal, loubia, harcha, intensity of the colors here, puppy and kitten season, the ‘highs,’ the people that make the hard stuff worth it, shopping at the hanut, when the mountains in the distance are snow capped or fogged over, sleeping under the stars, the Peace Corps phone plan and volunteers who understand how hard or wonderful it can be, feeling special, not having to pay off my student loans yet, sunsets, Terboula, riding in the transits, the red dirt, being able to set my own schedule for work, going for walks, my neighbor kids, exploring, etc.

Baking chocolate chip cookies, walk to the korba, picnic and swimming at Bin El Ouidane with PCV’s, zwin grainy like bread for breakfast, bedroom and toes, the garden, mountains as seen from the lycee, and last class at the dakhaliya.

Sometimes it’s unfathomable to me how so much ugliness can exist in the midst of so much beauty.

By most accounts, yesterday was a good day.

A festival has come to town, complete with horses, big white tents, costumed drummers in a throwback to Amazigh folklore, cotton candy, and bumper cars. It’s the biggest thing that’s ever happened in town in the year I’ve lived here.

After eating lunch with my assistant mudir’s family, I walked to the festival with his wife and her sisters. I later sat and had tea with some women inside one of the tents. Still afterwards, I hung out with some of my kids, took photos, and reveled in saying ‘hello’ to as many people as I knew.

Yesterday I felt like I was a part of the community, something every Peace Corps volunteer longs to feel in site.

But in the midst of all that, I deflected a boy who tried to touch me inappropriately. I shamed some men who harassed me in French.

I watched in horror as a group of small boys beat up another boy and pushed him to the ground bawling. Even worse, I was disgusted by the non-involvement of several adults standing nearby watching this all happen. I felt helpless as I tried to console this boy and assist him. Helpless as I yelled at the others in Darija and English, and watched as they laughed at me. Helpless and angry because I didn’t have the words or know-how to ward them off or make them feel ashamed. I was angry at myself for not doing more.