Some of you know that I was a dork growing up. Sure, I had friends, but I also watched Star Trek (both the original series and The Next Generation) and even attended an actual convention with my family in tow. The best part was when they showed us how the transporters worked. Cue ooh's and aaah's. My other claim to dorkiness? The bowling league in which I participated for about two years from the age of ten on the naval base on Coronado Island. No, we didn't have those silly short-sleeved polyester shirts. And I never got a crazy nickname. At my strongest I bowled an 85 and used a six-pound ball. If I broke a hundred that was amazing! I never used the granny throw, even though it seemed like an effective strategy because you got to use both hands.
Looking back on it, I think it's pretty silly that I was playing an indoor sport at the peak of my childhood in sunny Southern California. I rectified this as a high-schooler by taking up tennis and developing more tan lines than I care to remember. Despite the lack of tanning opportunities, bowling taught me excellent hand-eye coordination and perseverance by repeatedly showing me that no matter how hard you try sometimes the ball just isn't going to go your way.
To my surprise I still carry these lessons. My arm is straight and true, and my ball placement is fantastic. About a year ago, I bowled a 180 with an 8 pound ball, shaming my date, who seemed to think he was supposed to win because he was male and had paid for my shoe rental and the beers that should have made me throw poorly. No way, Jose. I've got skills.
Tonight was a slightly different story, under slightly different circumstances. I went bowling with my Uncle Val, who is crazy good (he got five strikes!) but not crazy competitive. He's encouraging and helpful, yet still let's me do my own thing. What I was surprised by was that I threw the 8 pound ball like it was nothing. My ball wasn't straight and true-it skewed right. That wasn't cool. So I upgraded to the 10 pound ball. Same thing. My score was in the toilet; I needed to adjust my form, but how? Could I, little Anjuli, The Little One, as my Aunt Lisa calls me, actually throw a 12 pound ball with control and grace? As it turns out, I could. I'm buff. Who knew?
Did my score vastly improve? Yes. OK, fine, it improved for one game and then my arm got tired and I was throwing all over the place. But the point is: I was much more powerful than I thought. Maybe all of that carrying of my own trash in and out of my site in Morocco actually worked out my arms. Or maybe it was wringing the water out of my hand-washed clothes?
What I've been thinking about since we returned from the bowling alley and finished our amazing In-and-Out burgers, is about how much I've changed. There are the more obvious psychological changes I've undergone - the stress, the regret, the pride, the excitement, the wonder - but there are also the physical ways in which my experiences have manifested themselves. Not only am I mentally stronger, but also, it turns out that I can lift heavier objects and run greater distances. I keep expecting to return to who I was a year ago because that's who I think I am. But actually, I'm a physically and mentally stronger, longer-haired, one-year older, some might even say better, version of who I was when I left. I didn't necessarily have to travel to Morocco to achieve all of that, but I tend to take the most dramatic approach to life. What direction I'll take next is still up in the air, but it's reassuring to know that I have this new strength to draw upon as I make yet another transition.
August 14, 2008
July 29, 2008
Washing Machines, CostCo and Roberto's
Now that it's been a month since I returned to San Diego, I'd like to say that I've completely readjusted to everything. Afterall, my entire life minus those ten months in Morocco has revolved around such modern day conveniences as hot running water (no boiling required!) and 24-hour Mexican food. And on many levels I have found my way back to my American self, unless you think the urge to reuse Ziploc bags and rinse and dry paper towels for later use is un-American. (Seriously, you can use them at least three times!)
Occasionally, at places like CostCo and Trader Joe's, I'm entirely overwhelmed by the sheer abundance and choice of products. To give you an idea, my family of four buys three different types of milk from CostCo: unsweetened soy for me, fat-free Lactaid for Grandma, and whole milk for my mother's partner, Rick. And we don't just buy one; my soymilk comes in a pack of three and doesn't expire for over a month. Compare this to the tiny, square plastic bags of milk sold once a week on Fridays to go with cous-cous in my tiny desert town. There was one kind (thick) and to make it thicker it was placed in a warm spot, such as an oven, so it would turn just a bit. Then it was re-refrigerated (if you owned such a machine, which I didn't) and served denser than a milkshake. Let's say that it was an acquired taste. I happened to love it, but that was after a slow, incremental three-month process of increasing my tolerance for the at first gag-inducing taste. (Yes, I was a trooper, but I was also hungry and willing to try many, many things at which I would normally turn my nose up.) Just walking through the dairy aisle at my local grocer is a lesson in variety and choice nearly unheard of in the countryside in which I lived. And it's glorious.
And perhaps that's one of the best parts of coming home - everything is fresh and new to me. I treat grocery stores like museums, and blueberries like a rare find. I'm sure I'll go back to taking these things for granted, but for now I'm enjoying the sense of wonder that comes with the rediscovery of basic amenities such as a hot shower and door-to-door transportation. The first week home was a series of waves of relief, slightly tinged with guilt, that basic things didn't have to be difficult. Now after a full month, I can proudly say I'm happy to be home.
Occasionally, at places like CostCo and Trader Joe's, I'm entirely overwhelmed by the sheer abundance and choice of products. To give you an idea, my family of four buys three different types of milk from CostCo: unsweetened soy for me, fat-free Lactaid for Grandma, and whole milk for my mother's partner, Rick. And we don't just buy one; my soymilk comes in a pack of three and doesn't expire for over a month. Compare this to the tiny, square plastic bags of milk sold once a week on Fridays to go with cous-cous in my tiny desert town. There was one kind (thick) and to make it thicker it was placed in a warm spot, such as an oven, so it would turn just a bit. Then it was re-refrigerated (if you owned such a machine, which I didn't) and served denser than a milkshake. Let's say that it was an acquired taste. I happened to love it, but that was after a slow, incremental three-month process of increasing my tolerance for the at first gag-inducing taste. (Yes, I was a trooper, but I was also hungry and willing to try many, many things at which I would normally turn my nose up.) Just walking through the dairy aisle at my local grocer is a lesson in variety and choice nearly unheard of in the countryside in which I lived. And it's glorious.
And perhaps that's one of the best parts of coming home - everything is fresh and new to me. I treat grocery stores like museums, and blueberries like a rare find. I'm sure I'll go back to taking these things for granted, but for now I'm enjoying the sense of wonder that comes with the rediscovery of basic amenities such as a hot shower and door-to-door transportation. The first week home was a series of waves of relief, slightly tinged with guilt, that basic things didn't have to be difficult. Now after a full month, I can proudly say I'm happy to be home.
June 25, 2008
On the Road Again
It began with a side of broccoli. There it was, sitting matter of factly next to the largest piece of meat served to me in about 10 months. I had just said goodbye to my community in TToot a few days before and to my best friends via text and phone. Completely overwhelmed and, to be honest, pretty damned scared about what the next chapter of my life holds, I ate the broccoli. And it was good.
Now I'm in Park Slope, Brooklyn for the next few hours (even travel out of Morocco is complicated!) trying to take in all the things that seem familiar yet are totally freaking me out. Why are bagels so big here? Why are there bagels at all, actually? And the iced coffee I just had is easily five times the size of a coffee in Ouarzazate. Everyone speaks English, which is like soooo cool. There are no plastic bags hanging off trees! And everything is so shiny and new!
I kind of miss my desert town, and I know that I'll miss the simplicity of the life I led, even though it felt complicated at the time. Coming home early was a very, very difficult decision, but ultimately the right one. And I'm happy to say that it feels good to be on familiar territory and to see familiar faces. Not to mention the incredible amount of support I've received from the Peace Corps in Morocco volunteer community, my friends here in the States, and most of all, my family, who has prepared a room for me and is eagerly awaiting my arrival in San Diego tonight.
There's a lot for me to readjust to, so I think I'll still maintain this blog. There are a lot of things about Morocco I wasn't able to share in this forum that now I can, and I'll need a place to process the whole experience. I hope you'll continue reading! And if you're anywhere near Park Slope right now come to the Tea Lounge!
p.s. Kudos to my good friend, Evan, for picking me up at the airport last night on extremely late notice, and to Eric, my favorite rabbinical student, for coming down to Park Slope as I type!
Now I'm in Park Slope, Brooklyn for the next few hours (even travel out of Morocco is complicated!) trying to take in all the things that seem familiar yet are totally freaking me out. Why are bagels so big here? Why are there bagels at all, actually? And the iced coffee I just had is easily five times the size of a coffee in Ouarzazate. Everyone speaks English, which is like soooo cool. There are no plastic bags hanging off trees! And everything is so shiny and new!
I kind of miss my desert town, and I know that I'll miss the simplicity of the life I led, even though it felt complicated at the time. Coming home early was a very, very difficult decision, but ultimately the right one. And I'm happy to say that it feels good to be on familiar territory and to see familiar faces. Not to mention the incredible amount of support I've received from the Peace Corps in Morocco volunteer community, my friends here in the States, and most of all, my family, who has prepared a room for me and is eagerly awaiting my arrival in San Diego tonight.
There's a lot for me to readjust to, so I think I'll still maintain this blog. There are a lot of things about Morocco I wasn't able to share in this forum that now I can, and I'll need a place to process the whole experience. I hope you'll continue reading! And if you're anywhere near Park Slope right now come to the Tea Lounge!
p.s. Kudos to my good friend, Evan, for picking me up at the airport last night on extremely late notice, and to Eric, my favorite rabbinical student, for coming down to Park Slope as I type!
June 11, 2008
Ridiculous Fun in Agadir
Last week I attended my training group's IST, or Inter-Service Training, and it was amazing! It was so great to be back with everyone (minus a couple wonderful colleagues who have returned to the States for various reasons) and to learn about their communities and projects. Even with eight hours of sessions everyday, we managed to have a bit of fun. Those of us who live in the desert were particularly fond of the hotel pool! From right to left: Danice, Quigs, Anny, Megan (it was her birthday so she got to be the "swan"), Matthew, me (big splash, no grace) and Brian.
May 28, 2008
An Open Letter to the Flies of the Ouarzazate Region
Dear Flies of the Ouarzazate Region:
First, let me commend you on your persistence and willingness to live in harsh conditions that until nine months ago I could never have appreciated. The desert life, with its sand storms, lack of fresh water and growing threat of scorpions, is harsh. That you have thrived in such an environment warrants both my admiration and consternation.
For you see, flies, your success here in the Ouarzazate region has made you arrogant. Never have I formally invited you into my home, yet you let yourselves in at all hours of the day, buzzing from 6:00 AM to all hours of the night. Nor are we friends, yet you insist upon sitting on my lap, leaning on my shoulder and landing smack dab in the middle of my forehead. In short, flies, you’re ridiculously rude and I hate you.
These sentiments may come as a shock, dear flies, but they are long overdue. Besides the few angry outbursts where I murdered you with Newsweeks I never intended to read, I’ve been quite tolerant of your inconsiderate ways. Indeed, I was even mildly flattered that you appeared to admire my cooking so much that you multiplied exponentially at the dinner hour. That is, until I noticed you preferred the vegetable scraps to my tortillas made from scratch!
Enough is enough. You should know that I’ve employed a small lizard to eat you. So don’t be surprised when you come to an abrupt, slimy end next time you’re sunning yourself on my bedroom window. Perhaps it will teach you to give a lady some privacy.
All the best,
Anjuli
First, let me commend you on your persistence and willingness to live in harsh conditions that until nine months ago I could never have appreciated. The desert life, with its sand storms, lack of fresh water and growing threat of scorpions, is harsh. That you have thrived in such an environment warrants both my admiration and consternation.
For you see, flies, your success here in the Ouarzazate region has made you arrogant. Never have I formally invited you into my home, yet you let yourselves in at all hours of the day, buzzing from 6:00 AM to all hours of the night. Nor are we friends, yet you insist upon sitting on my lap, leaning on my shoulder and landing smack dab in the middle of my forehead. In short, flies, you’re ridiculously rude and I hate you.
These sentiments may come as a shock, dear flies, but they are long overdue. Besides the few angry outbursts where I murdered you with Newsweeks I never intended to read, I’ve been quite tolerant of your inconsiderate ways. Indeed, I was even mildly flattered that you appeared to admire my cooking so much that you multiplied exponentially at the dinner hour. That is, until I noticed you preferred the vegetable scraps to my tortillas made from scratch!
Enough is enough. You should know that I’ve employed a small lizard to eat you. So don’t be surprised when you come to an abrupt, slimy end next time you’re sunning yourself on my bedroom window. Perhaps it will teach you to give a lady some privacy.
All the best,
Anjuli
21 Simple Steps to Enjoying Yourself at a Patisserie in Rabat
Quite often I’m struck by the incredible amount of time it takes to complete simple tasks, such as making a deposit at the bank (1 hour 30 minutes), purchasing stamps (45 minutes), or obtaining a menu at a restaurant (25 minutes). On a recent trip to the capital, I was looking forward to the quick pace and efficiency of a large city. It turns out simple pleasures can consume a great deal of time as well! Here are 21 simple steps to enjoying yourself at a patisserie in Rabat.
1. Enter patisserie around the corner from the Gare du Ville, Rabat
2. Peruse vitrines of pastries, wondering if the thing that looks like a pear tart is, in fact, a pear tart, or if it secretly contains raisins for some reason.
3. Wriggle nose at thought of being surprised by raisins.
4. Ask in Arabic if there are brownies. Wesh kayn brownies?
5. Hear response in French, but pretend not to understand. Oui, il y a brownie.
6. Repeat question in Arabic. Wesh kayn brownies?
7. Hear exclamations of “A foreigner who speaks Arabic! My God will wonders ever cease? How do you know Arabic?” Whda rmi lli tkllmha l’3rbia? Tbark llah 3lik! Fn t3llemk l’3rbia?
8. Realize that you are utterly incapable of answering this question in the proposed language.
9. Explain that actually you don’t speak a lot of Arabic (Ana tkllmt l’3rbia shwiya. . .); you really know Tashlheit because you live in Ouarzazate (. . . walakayn ad sawlgh Tashlheit ashku ad zdghgh gh Ouarzazate).
10. Hear exclamations of “Holey moley! An American who knows Berber! God bless your parents.” Tbark llah 3lik!! Marikaniya wHda tkllm shlHa! Lla y-rHm l-walidim.
11. Ask again if there are brownies.
12. When told, “No, there are no brownies” order a pear tart despite aforementioned risk of raisins.
13. Pay cashier after server places tart atop a doily upon a tray.
14. Walk upstairs to find a table, making sure to find the one with the best view for people watching and the occasional suggestive, if accidental, stare.
15. When waitress approaches your table, ask for a café crème, prepared to repeat steps 5 through 11, substituting coffee for brownies.
16. Sigh.
17. Watch as waitress leaves with your tart, vaguely wondering if it was defective.
18. People watch, noticing that no one around you is speaking Arabic, slowly realizing that you exposed yourself as a country bumpkin downstairs.
19. Feel slightly relieved when waitress returns with your coffee and tart.
20. Raise an eyebrow when you notice that the tart has returned sans doily and now sits on a neat white plate with a fork and knife.
21. Dig in.
1. Enter patisserie around the corner from the Gare du Ville, Rabat
2. Peruse vitrines of pastries, wondering if the thing that looks like a pear tart is, in fact, a pear tart, or if it secretly contains raisins for some reason.
3. Wriggle nose at thought of being surprised by raisins.
4. Ask in Arabic if there are brownies. Wesh kayn brownies?
5. Hear response in French, but pretend not to understand. Oui, il y a brownie.
6. Repeat question in Arabic. Wesh kayn brownies?
7. Hear exclamations of “A foreigner who speaks Arabic! My God will wonders ever cease? How do you know Arabic?” Whda rmi lli tkllmha l’3rbia? Tbark llah 3lik! Fn t3llemk l’3rbia?
8. Realize that you are utterly incapable of answering this question in the proposed language.
9. Explain that actually you don’t speak a lot of Arabic (Ana tkllmt l’3rbia shwiya. . .); you really know Tashlheit because you live in Ouarzazate (. . . walakayn ad sawlgh Tashlheit ashku ad zdghgh gh Ouarzazate).
10. Hear exclamations of “Holey moley! An American who knows Berber! God bless your parents.” Tbark llah 3lik!! Marikaniya wHda tkllm shlHa! Lla y-rHm l-walidim.
11. Ask again if there are brownies.
12. When told, “No, there are no brownies” order a pear tart despite aforementioned risk of raisins.
13. Pay cashier after server places tart atop a doily upon a tray.
14. Walk upstairs to find a table, making sure to find the one with the best view for people watching and the occasional suggestive, if accidental, stare.
15. When waitress approaches your table, ask for a café crème, prepared to repeat steps 5 through 11, substituting coffee for brownies.
16. Sigh.
17. Watch as waitress leaves with your tart, vaguely wondering if it was defective.
18. People watch, noticing that no one around you is speaking Arabic, slowly realizing that you exposed yourself as a country bumpkin downstairs.
19. Feel slightly relieved when waitress returns with your coffee and tart.
20. Raise an eyebrow when you notice that the tart has returned sans doily and now sits on a neat white plate with a fork and knife.
21. Dig in.
April 4, 2008
Go Ephs!
It was recently brought to my attention by two very good friends that this blog was linked to by EphBlog, the blog of my very own alma mater, Williams College. How flattering! My entry on the Big Feast in December was quoted. (Don't pay any attention to the posted comment.) But how embarrassing to have not have posted anything for nearly two months!
On another note: if there are indeed current Williams students out there wanting to “connect” with current Peace Corps Volunteers, please by all means, contact me. And, alumni, remember, there’s no upper age limit, so you still have time, too.
And, no I won’t be at the reunion in June! Five years! It somehow feels both longer and shorter than that. We’ve all done so much and most of us have managed to live in at least two or three different cities in just that little bit of time. My friends and I are a nomadic bunch, I guess. For those of you that are going please take a million pictures!
On another note: if there are indeed current Williams students out there wanting to “connect” with current Peace Corps Volunteers, please by all means, contact me. And, alumni, remember, there’s no upper age limit, so you still have time, too.
And, no I won’t be at the reunion in June! Five years! It somehow feels both longer and shorter than that. We’ve all done so much and most of us have managed to live in at least two or three different cities in just that little bit of time. My friends and I are a nomadic bunch, I guess. For those of you that are going please take a million pictures!
My Aunt, the Columnist
My Aunt Lisa has recently become a columnist for Lesbian Nation. It’s called Inner Visions and revolves around her spiritual gleanings from a life well-led and ever-evolving. I’ve spent nearly 28 years taking and following her advice (and, yes, occasionally rebelling against it), so I highly recommend checking it out. Click here.
Congratulations, Aunt Lisa!
Congratulations, Aunt Lisa!
Never Underestimate a Good Eggplant
Tonight I made an excellent eggplant concoction (eggplant, rosemary, tomatoes and olive oil over penne) in my oddly supplied kitchen in my oddly furnished house. Having moved in a little over a month ago, I have yet to buy proper utensils, and so I eat all meals with a spoon and improvise in the stirring of sauces and flipping of vegetables. My stovetop has one setting: burn. I don’t own an oven. Most of my protein consumption comes through peanut butter and processed cheese, and I think it’s safe to say that I’m addicted to bananas and honey. Occasionally, I dilute them with the aforementioned peanut butter or yogurt, but, really, why should I? Did I mention that I don’t own a refrigerator, either? Hence the processed cheese. The roof leaks (sound familiar to anyone?) and there’s a beetle that insists this is his home, even though I’ve carried him as far away as an entire city block. Are there homing insects?
Nonetheless, I love my new house. It may be temporary for reasons that I won’t go into here, but the wonderful comfort of privacy is at last mine! The only thing that wakes me up in the morning is my alarm clock or, if I ignore that and sleep in too late, my host sister inviting me for tea. I’m right next door to the association, so I can hear when the door is unlocked and I can at last go to work (usually around 4:30 PM). I don’t actually hear the lock being turned, but the braying of the lambs as my artisans traipse through the adjacent barn. I keep a schedule similar to the women’s, with the exception that I travel into Oz a great deal more to see my delegate, develop photographs of products, or visit with other volunteers. In the morning, I clean my house and make meals, and in the afternoons I go to the fields - not to pick clover, but to run. Yes, me, running. I’m a total scandal even though I wear long pants and sleeves. There’s something about a woman moving so quickly . . .
For a little while February was terribly unbearable (is that too dramatic?) but then I reminded myself that February sucks everywhere. Clouds and rain aside, it’s the longest month simply because we expect it to be so short! And now it’s March and we have a gloriously long weekend here (two days for the Prophet’s Birthday!). I’ll be at the beach actually being scandalous in my very hashuma bathing suit. High tourist season officially starts this month, which means my women will sell a ton of items at the hotel boutique (inchallah, as they would say). Also, my delegate just returned from the capital, where (inchallah) he presented some of my project ideas to the entire delegation. I promise to share them with you once I have approval. For now, know that I’m alive and well, and doing my best to be happy in my small part of the world.
Nonetheless, I love my new house. It may be temporary for reasons that I won’t go into here, but the wonderful comfort of privacy is at last mine! The only thing that wakes me up in the morning is my alarm clock or, if I ignore that and sleep in too late, my host sister inviting me for tea. I’m right next door to the association, so I can hear when the door is unlocked and I can at last go to work (usually around 4:30 PM). I don’t actually hear the lock being turned, but the braying of the lambs as my artisans traipse through the adjacent barn. I keep a schedule similar to the women’s, with the exception that I travel into Oz a great deal more to see my delegate, develop photographs of products, or visit with other volunteers. In the morning, I clean my house and make meals, and in the afternoons I go to the fields - not to pick clover, but to run. Yes, me, running. I’m a total scandal even though I wear long pants and sleeves. There’s something about a woman moving so quickly . . .
For a little while February was terribly unbearable (is that too dramatic?) but then I reminded myself that February sucks everywhere. Clouds and rain aside, it’s the longest month simply because we expect it to be so short! And now it’s March and we have a gloriously long weekend here (two days for the Prophet’s Birthday!). I’ll be at the beach actually being scandalous in my very hashuma bathing suit. High tourist season officially starts this month, which means my women will sell a ton of items at the hotel boutique (inchallah, as they would say). Also, my delegate just returned from the capital, where (inchallah) he presented some of my project ideas to the entire delegation. I promise to share them with you once I have approval. For now, know that I’m alive and well, and doing my best to be happy in my small part of the world.
WANTED
A humble, unfurnished abode with one salon, one bedroom, half-bath and kitchen. Running water and electricity preferred. Windows and roof access a plus. Less than 80 USD.
RECEIVED
Large unfurnished dwelling, with three bedrooms (two locked), full bath (but the shower doesn’t work . . . yet), large salon, gated and walled garden, fully tiled kitchen, unpainted concrete walls, stained glass windows, and walled roof. Running water (room temperature only) and electricity. Exactly 80 USD, depending on the exchange rate.
RECEIVED
Large unfurnished dwelling, with three bedrooms (two locked), full bath (but the shower doesn’t work . . . yet), large salon, gated and walled garden, fully tiled kitchen, unpainted concrete walls, stained glass windows, and walled roof. Running water (room temperature only) and electricity. Exactly 80 USD, depending on the exchange rate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)