I’d like to start a post series of things I’m grateful for in the Peace Corps with the focus being on the small, simple, seemingly ordinary aspects of my life in Morocco. Here’s the first post…
One of the greatest pleasures I reap from my service in the Peace Corps is being called by my name, something which might sound silly to most people. By which I mean most non-PCV Americans.
Call me Melanie (pronounced ‘may-la-knee’). Call me Maria. Call me Amal. Call me Tfowt. Call me Hadda. Call me Marnie. Call me Melania. Call me Milano. Call me bnti. Call me xti.
There is little I love more then when I’m walking through town or meandering through souk then when somebody takes the time to call my name (whichever one they know) and greet me.
It makes me feel special. Loved. Appreciated. Necessary.
Like I’m a living, breathing, contributing community member. Not just another foreigner plopped in town for who knows what purpose.
Sacna hinaya. I live here.
Lunch on Wednesday. Looks like I was the only one ready for the photo.
