oh, the weather outside is frightful...

I have a new appreciation for Tiznit. I just had to buy a blanket two weeks ago. Just one blanket.

I'm in the north for training.

It is cold.

Very very cold.

you are my sweetest downfall, i loved you first...

So, I named him Samson and not Zeke.

He died about two hours ago. He had a really rough case of roundworms.

I'm thankful that I got to love him the last four days of his life.

you ain't nothin' but a hound dog...

Friday, October 17

I used to hate dogs. I could not understand why other people seemed to love them so much. I've always been a cat person. Strangely enough, my first pet was a dog. A little Dachshund named Dodger. And I remember loving him and being very sad to leave him when my family moved to Saudi Arabia when I was five. But those feelings were soon enough forgotten and from that time until the end of my junior year of college, the only pets my family had - both my dad and stepmom and my mom, my brother, and I - were cats. I love cats. They're independent. They're clever. Despite what non-cat people say, they have a lot of personality. All the cats I've ever owned have been an incredible source of entertainment and laughter. They can tend to be kind of elitist. You have to work for their affection, and it's so rewarding once you've earned it. I always thought dogs were fairly dumb animals, giving their loyalty and affection to anyone who gave them the slightest bit of attention. And really, who wants love you don't have to earn?

Which brings me to my next point.

My mom had been wanting a dog for quite a while when she finally was presented with the opportunity to take a dog from a woman she met in a parking lot who was having trouble finding the time to care for her dog Savannah.

Savannah.

I swear she's the most beautiful creature that has ever existed. I love her with my whole being. Her wonderfulness is unending. It was only after she came into our lives that I was able to begin to tolerate other dogs. And it is because of her that having a dog later in life is now a non-negotiable for me. (A dog that will live in harmony with my future cats, of course...)

There are a lot of wild dogs here. A lot. And it's very rare to see one that looks fully healthy. They mostly look dejected, scared, malnourished, deformed, and abused. Dogs here are definitely not man's best friend. They are mistreated and for the vast majority, if not all, that's the only life they'll ever know. On my way back from a hike on a mountain near my house, I was walking to my host family's house to say hello and a dog that I hadn't noticed moved about three feet away from me. It startled me at first as it can be unclear as to what a wild dog's reaction to an oblivious and obtrusive human is going to be. But it just stood up and cowered timidly. And as it backed away from me, I looked it in the face and I saw Savannah and I felt for that dog the love that I feel for her.

And I had a thought... And at the risk of sounding blasphemous... I think Savannah is like Jesus. Kind of.

She loves me when I take her for walks. She loves me when I throw her toys in the backyard. She loves me when I run around the house and play with her. She loves me when I love her.

She loves me when I don't have enough time for her. She loves me when I would rather watch a Project Runway marathon than take her for a walk. She loves me when she's covered in dirt and I don't want to get near her. She loves me when she smells and I push her off of the couch because I don't want to sit next to her. She loves me when I ignore her.

It's only because of Savannah that I have been able to love other dogs. Well-behaved dogs. Pretty dogs. Friendly dogs. Even annoying dogs... in small doses. And the dispirited, desolate, and mangled dogs I see here on a daily basis.

I love dogs because I love Savannah. I love Savannah because Savannah loved me first.

And much like Savannah, Jesus loves me when I love him. He loves me when I laugh. He loves me when I delight in the beauty of nature. He loves me when I take interest in the world around me. He loves me when I work hard.

But far more significantly, he loves me when I'm ungrateful. He loves me when I'm impatient. He loves me when I think poorly of others. He loves me when I think poorly of myself. He loves me when I'm yucky. He loves me when I'm lazy. He loves me when I really couldn't be bothered. His love for me is flawless and endless and is constant and consistent no matter the circumstance. I only know how to love at all because of the example he gives by loving me.

It's only because of Jesus that I am able to love other people, although not even close to approaching how perfectly he loves. My family. My friends. Strangers. People that are interesting. People that are funny. People that are friendly. People that annoy me. People that aren't particularly nice to me. People that are sad. People that are lonely.

I love people because I love Jesus. I love Jesus because Jesus loved me first.

So, I guess the answer to my earlier question is: Me. I want love that I don't have to earn.

To be a disciple means that we deliberately identify ourselves with God's interest in other people. "That ye love one another as I have loved you..."

...

So, no joke...

About 15 minutes after I finished writing everything above, I decided to sit on the stoop outside of my house to read The Audacity of Hope (Go Obama!) and a little puppy wandered over to me. I could tell that he had been injured because he has a lump on the left side of his jaw and throat area. I sat for a little while baby-talking him and kind of touching him with my fingertips. (He's fairly dirty). I heard a dog yelping and crying last night which caused me to have a fairly strange dog dream and I figure that it must have been him. A couple neighborhood kids rode by on their bikes and I asked if they knew what had happened to him. They said another dog bit him. So, I had a decision to make. One option was to continue playing with him for a few minutes and then leave him to fend for himself. I didn't think that was a very good option.

I went inside and filled a bucket with hot water and tried to clean him up a bit. I cleaned the area around his jaw and neck and he didn't yelp or flinch or anything, so I'm not exactly sure what the problem is. I gave him some water and he seemed to have some trouble swallowing. I gave him a homeopathic remedy (Arnica) for trauma, muscle fatigue, sprains, and bruises on the counsel of my mother. A neighborhood girl came by. I told her what I was doing and she said that he belongs to the family that lives behind me. The concept of dog ownership here is pretty foreign and judging by his condition, it's pretty clear that he's not being taken care of very well by the owners that he may or may not have. It was getting pretty dark, but I heard the son of the family behind me and asked him if the puppy is theirs. He said something along the lines of "It was at our house". After a while, I locked him in my front gate and went over to the neighbors' house to ask if he belongs to them and they said that he just runs around outside. I told them that I was going to take him. They said I should just keep him in the area inside my gate but outside my door and that's where he is now. In a little cardboard bed with some fabric in it. I gave him a little dish of milk to see if he'd take it. He lapped a bit of it up, but I think he got a bit overzealous because then he started to cough. I may give him a bit more in the morning so that he can have something of substance as I'm not sure he can swallow food at this point. I was not planning on becoming a dog owner during my time here and the timing certainly seems less than ideal. But whatever...

It's only the first night, so I may be getting ahead of myself. I'm going to bathe him in the morning. I'm pretty sure I already have a flea bite on my hand. But I have the opportunity laid out right in front of me to love and care for something whose life would otherwise be most definitely hard and painful and troubled.

He's sleeping so peacefully. I keep opening my door to check on him. He must be so tired. Spending every night out in the wilderness with older, bigger, tougher dogs on the loose. He's safe inside my gate. He's so precious. I want to take care of him. I want to nurse him back to health. I want to love him in a way he's never known.

For I will gather you up from all the nations and bring you home again to your land. Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean. Your filth will be washed away, and you will no longer worship idols. And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart. (Ezekiel 36: 24-26)

So maybe his name will be Zeke.

it's the most wonderful time of the year...

I had an epiphany this week...

Walk toward people instead of away from them.

Wow.

I like that I'm still learning how to be a person. I've never really understood the phrase "eating humble pie," but I'm pretty sure that every day in my life is an all-you-can-eat humble buffet.

This week, I've been focusing on getting out more in the afternoons and being a presence in my neighborhood. I sit and at least attempt conversation with different groups of women and girls. If nothing else, we confirm, with a fair amount of repeated and rapid fire questioning, that all is well with each other - family, health, home. Are you happy? Yes, I'm happy. Are your parents well? Yes, they are well, thank God. Your family? They are well, thank God. Your health? It is good, thank God. It's been really positive. I have some great neighbors and the kids that live around me are really sweet and a lot of fun. A couple of younger neighborhood girls wanted to know if I dye my hair, if my blue eyes are really contacts, and if I've ever met anyone famous back in the States. I asked them if they knew the show FRIENDS. The one with three girls and three boys? Yes. You know the girl with the black hair? Yes. I met her when I was 13. I met her husband as well. Her husband in real life or on the show? Real life. They asked if she's my neighbor back in America. No.

We're in the middle of Ramadan right now - it will last all of September this year. It's the month in the Islamic calendar when men, women, and children who have reached adolescence fast from "sun-up" to "sun-down," although it doesn't follow that rule precisely. I have a fairly rudimentary understanding of all that Ramadan entails, but I've been able to observe some of the practices and know to some degree how people alter their schedules and behaviors this time of year. Fasting includes both food and drink, as well as things like smoking and sex. There are some exceptions to fasting. You are exempt if you are traveling, sick, or are a woman and have your period. The exemption applies to only food and drink. The general practice is to make up the days that you don't fast after Ramadan is over. Where I live, the morning call to prayer that indicates that all eating and drinking must be finished is around 4:50. In the evening, the call the prayer indicating that all may break fast is around 6:50.

These days, the regular greetings all seem to be preceded by "Are you fasting?" Yes. "Is Ramadan hard?" Not anymore. I'm used to it. "Is Ramadan nice?" Yes, of course. Ramadan is very nice. I made the decision to fast I guess as an act of solidarity with my community. It's been interesting thus far. I've noticed that, above all, it requires me to be intentional. I set the alarm on my watch for 4:05 every morning and have the alarm set on my phone for 4:10. My watch is near my bed and never succeeds in getting me out of bed. My phone, I learned, needs to not be near my bed. Therefore, I put it in my kitchen every night and wake up in a startled panic every morning. It is one of the most terrible noises known to man. It wins every time. I have to get out of bed to make it stop.

Feeding myself in the mornings generally consists of deliriously grabbing what's easy and what will not leave me hungry two hours later. Fruits, vegetables, almonds, sometimes oatmeal, and lots of water. Around 5, I go back to bed until 8 or 9. Mostly, I don't let myself think about not eating or drinking until after 12. If I think about it before noon, it seems like there are just too many hours ahead of me. The light at the end of the tunnel starts showing at around 5. The hunger really isn't much trouble, but it can be difficult to not drink water, especially if it's hot outside. When it's time to break fast, I eat mostly fruits and vegetables, sometimes an egg, sometimes yogurt. Here, it's traditional to break fast with a soup called askif that has different variations, but most commonly consists of chick peas, lentils, small noodles, and spices in a light broth. This week, a family who lives near me has been sending over pots of askif. I think it's almost ridiculous how moved I was when I got that first pot. It was just such simple act of kindness. As for the askif, it's tasty, but add some hot sauce and pepper, and it's delicious. I drink a lot of water during the sunless hours. About three or four Nalgenes (32 oz each). Consequently, I make a fair amount of delirious trips to the bathroom during the night.

you think you have to want more than you need...

Saturday, August 30

So I'm going to confess something. But promise not to judge me, okay?

I didn't leave my house today.

I didn't plan it that way, but everything just fell into place so perfectly. I woke up before 8 and did a quick mental run through of my options for the day. And then it occurred to me that the exact thing I wanted to be doing was laying in bed drinking a cup of tea while watching the episode of No Reservations that I got from iTunes yesterday where Anthony Bourdain goes to the American Southwest. Perfection. I even got to see a shot of downtown Phoenix.

And it just kind of progressed from there. I made popcorn. I watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I made some lunch. I watched Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. I read "Death of an Innocent: How Christopher McCandless lost his way in the wilds" by Jon Krakauer... The precursor to Into the Wild, the book and, of course, the movie. I made more popcorn. Then I watched Into the Wild. I've tried watching it twice before and had been in and out of sleep before giving it up both times. I've had this weird feeling about the movie because of those two experiences. Sleep makes things weird sometimes. I haven't been eager to see it, really, until today after reading the article. I loved it. There's a part where he's particularly excited about an apple that he's eating. I loved that part.

Every now and then I get in this place, emotionally... And there's no real equation or formula that brings me there, although it generally tends to stem from a book, a movie, music, and lately, my podcasts, especially This American Life and Selected Shorts from Public Radio International. I suppose today's spell makes sense. I finished reading Shantaram last night. Watched both One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and Into the Wild in one day. Listened to two phenomenal This American Lifes yesterday, one of which featured an as yet unidentified song that has me seriously and wonderfully attached. I feel incapable of describing this place... and how it makes me feel. I always try to prolong it. Most often with music. And it usually works for awhile, but it always eventually dissipates... I start making poor music choices... And then I kill it... I always know there will be another one. I wouldn't get much done if I always felt this way because all I want to do when I feel this way is to simply feel this way. And I think rather than feeling something specific, it's just feeling strongly and deeply and truly that I am in touch with or connected to something. Whatever it may be...

Whoa. Does that paragraph make any sense?

I got in touch with my inner Betty Crocker yesterday and the day before and made some cookies... Peanut butter, oat, and cocoa no-bakes and snickerdoodles. I brought some down to the women at the neddi (the women's argan association) yesterday and made a delivery to my host family as well. The neddi ladies were pretty excited. They really enjoyed them. I'm honestly just surprised that I didn't make an awful mess of it. I saw and talked to a fair amount of people yesterday. And now it's the weekend. So I'll go ahead and say that I think it's okay that I stayed in today. It was a wonderful day.

And maybe I lied a little bit. ...Because I was making hot cocoa at around 10pm and heard thunder while I was standing in the kitchen. I've been craving a thunderstorm, so my interest was piqued. I unlocked my front door and stepped outside with my cocoa (so I did, technically, leave my house). I could see stars in the sky. No clouds. But there was definitely thunder in the western sky. And then I heard something rustle in the plants about a foot away from me. So I terminated my 30-second quality time with nature and quickly stepped back inside.

I think I need to find a bigger place
Because when you have more than you think
You need more space

you wanna be startin' something...

I ate a cucumber for dinner last night.
I slept on my currently sheetless, pillowless (but amazingly wonderful) bed.
I felt a breeze during the night.
I woke up and drank black tea with milk and sugar.
I ate a bowl of raisin bran.
I listened to my Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me... podcast.

Yes, I love my host family.
Yes, approximately two tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked away from their home yesterday with the last of my belongings.
Yes, I will go visit them on a regular basis.

No, I couldn't be happier to be living alone!!!

home... is where i want to be, but i guess i'm already there...

Note: I am noticing that it is becoming increasingly difficult to express myself in English, so if any of this sounds peculiar, blame it on the Tashelheet (which seems to maybe kind of be improving).

I'm moving into my new place in a week. It's the same place the volunteer I replaced lived for the two years of her service so I didn't exactly have to put much effort into house hunting. I'm in the midst of some cleaning and organizing and brainstorming. I've never lived all by myself before and it occurred to me the other day while I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor that although I'm excited to live on my own, perhaps I'm not incredibly excited about being the lone soul responsible for the cleaning and upkeep of this house. I've never had to bear the entire load before (and to be fair, I don't think I've carried my own weight when the responsibilities have been shared).

It almost seems surreal that home-stay is coming to an end. Surreal and also like the-most-amazing-thing-in-the-world is about to happen to me. I really do adore my host family. At the right moments, I even feel like part of the family. But if two's company and three's a crowd, then what does that make seven? I learned this week that being bossed around by a four year old is even harder to bear than being bossed around by a twelve year old. That may seem obvious, but I didn't know that I'd ever learn it from first hand experience.

I've been spending about three mornings a week down at the sbitar (clinic). I sit in the office with my counterpart Aicha, who is the midwife. Her English is impressive, so we're able to communicate pretty well. Occasionally I'll use my Tashelheet with her, but when I want to express something that isn't incredibly simple, English is much easier (at least for me). Thursday is vaccination day and women from the surrounding douars (communities) bring their children in and I get to watch as they wail in displeasure with being stuck by needles. It can feel awkward to walk into the sbitar and greeting everybody. "Hey! How are you? Are you doing well? Happy to be sitting here waiting to see a nurse/doctor?" But it's a good way to get to know faces and sometimes chat with people who I might not see on a regular basis because they live a bit of a distance away.

There's a neddi (women's association) in town that makes and sells the oil made from the grinding of argan. Argan is a nut that grows on trees that thrive only in a particular climate. Morocco is one of the only places in the world where argan grows and within the country, it can be found only in the south. The neddi is made up of women of all ages, both married and unmarried, who are mainly caretakers for their families and households and would otherwise not work outside of the home. The argan nuts came in about two weeks ago and the women have been steadily working at cracking the hard outer shell with a rock with a larger rock as a work surface (when I tried this, I beat the heck out of my thumb and finger), and then sifting through the pile of cracked shells to pick out the nuts (a much more finger friendly task). I haven't been present for the actual grinding of the argan yet, but am hoping to figure out their schedule (the specifics of my interactions often elude me) so as to be able to see how that all happens. I wonder if it's funny for the women for me to be wide-eyed and intrigued by something that is so habitual for them.

I slipped on water and fell down the stairs the other day while carrying the entire whites load of my host family's dry laundry. Woops. Now they won't let me walk anywhere in my flip-flops where there may possibly perchance be water.

I've noticed that my longings for home (not homesickness) manifest themselves in the strangest ways. Yesterday while harvesting cactus on a steep hillside with my host mother, host sister, and neighbor, I felt this impulse to watch a movie on the Disney Channel. Not like Cinderella or Mulan, but one of those made-for-TV types starring a pre-teen involved in some sort of unrealistic suburban fairy tale. Weird.

Positive interaction of the week:

I was sitting outside the other night with the neighborhood women (as we do every night) and my six-year-old host brother was trying to get his mom's attention. I'm translating this exchange into English, as I'm a little doubtful of my audience's Tashelheet abilities. So, my host mom's name is Fadma Hussein, host brother is Mohommed, and my host father's sister is Fadma Ali.

Mohommed: Mom...
Fadma Hussein: Shit... (dismissively)
Mohommed: Moooomm...
Fadma Hussein: Shit...
Mohommed: Moooooommm...
Fadma Hussein: Shit...

Finding this funny, I laughed.

Fadma Ali: Hanneke (which sounds more like "Anka"), did you understand what Fadma Hussein said?
Me: Yeah, "Shit"?
Fadma Ali: See, you know some Tashelheet.