Camp!

For Most of April I was traveling. Last year, and all other years in recent history, Morocco's Spring Break was a single week.THIS YEAR the government decided to have Spring Break be two weeks long. (As if these kids aren't out of school enough as it is from a million holidays and strikes...) Last year, I coordinated the Ministry of Youth and Sport's English Immersion Camp in Oujda. This year I was assigned to a bit of a different task. I was assigned to coordinate a day camp at a Dar Chebab in Fes. This particular Dar Chebab was chosen because the newest set of Peace Corps Trainees arrived just a few weeks ago and one group of 6 is training at this particular Dar Chebab. Having a camp at the Dar Chebab not only is fun for the neighborhood kids, but it also gives the PCTrainees a chance to see what "camp" is like really early on in their experience. We taught English and did some games in English, and of course, taught the Macarena. It was an especially important time for the PCTs to see what is "normal" here. For example, we prepared a whole afternoon show for the local delegate of the ministry of youth and sports and...of course, he was a no-show. They also got to find out that is is normal for the Moroccan counselors to bust in on your English class, or any activity, and take it over. They're just trying to help. Smacking a misbehaving kid? Also normal. (Although I don't do it...) One particular PCT, Kitty, has a tremendous amount of camp experience under her belt from America. I heard her making a comment about a game we could play with our shoes off that she couldn't play in the states because "insurance wouldn't allow it." HA! All in all, camp week 1 was a great success.

This is a photo of me, the new PCTs, and some of the campers and counselors at the Fes camp. Getting to Camp Week 2 was a bit more of a challenge. The camp to which I was originally assigned for week 2 really didn't have room for me. And camps were canceling right and left for week two because...local delegations just didn't feel like hosting a week 2. I found my refuge though in Tetouan! Tetouan is a lovely mountain city very close to Tangier. It looks so much like Spain! Everything I read referred the the architecture as Andalusian. The kids at the camp were well behaved and spoke a surprising amount of English. I really bonded with a few of them. They also were incredibly participatory with all our activities including an epic 2-hour scavenger hunt that not even one group finished! I will definitely be recreating it for summer camp.

(Photo of Tetouan and it's beautiful white buildings.) Camp finished on a Friday so two other PCVs and I who'd been at Tetouan went up to Tangier for Friday and Saturday. I had been to Tangier last year to do the Special Olympics and really loved it. I went back thinking that my memory would prove false and it wasn't possibly as great a city as I remembered...well I was wrong! Tangier is absolutely just as fantastic as last year! There are so many fun tourists to "bonjour" in the street, so many winding avenues to follow, so many cafes and restaurants to sit at for hours on end. It's also very walkable. Plus, there is the beach and the port. It's humbling and thought-provoking to gaze across the water and stare dreamily at Spain, a mere and clear 8 miles away. Yes, not only is Tangier officially my favorite city in Morocco, it just may be my favorite city in the world, aside from Miami, of course.

This is a picture taken on our trip to Tangier last year of me and Xavier "accidentally" getting caught in a Russian tour group... As much as a loved seeing more of the country and traveling, there's nothing like home. I took a 12 hour bus from Tangier to Errachidia and then took a different bus from Errachidia back to Bouarfa. Once I started getting closer to Bouarfa, I could really see the atmosphere change. The air got thinner, the sky brighter. Everything had a tinge of dusty orange and I felt at ease and at home. The music playing on the bus was distinctly 3aloui, Moroccan/Algerian border music. Imagine you are on an old greyhound, windows wide open, women wrapped in colorful sheets, men with turbans all around you, it's hot and dusty and beautiful.

Glue Huffing!

My first experience with glue huffers was in Bogata Colombia when I was on a family vacation in 2nd grade (1994). I saw little kids with their faces breathing into a sock and I asked "mommy, what are they doing?" and she said "They're breathing glue. It gets them high and then they don't feel the hunger pangs." This shocked me, I felt so sorry for these hungry little boys. I think my mom said this to elicit that response. She then added "They probably won't live 'til their 12." And me being cheeky said "What if they're already 12?" I don't remember her response but I'm sure she rolled her eyes. I remember very little about this trip, but this particular scene stuck with me.

Glue huffers in Morocco are NOT cute little boys. And it's not a problem in Bouarfa, THANK GOD, but I have always seen them in Errachidia. You know a glue huffer because they walk around Out Of Their Mind, shaking really bad, drooling, slurring, and generally asking for money. They also have in their hand a plastic produce grocery bag. It looks empty but I guess it has clear glue in it and they take heavy breaths in and out of the bag.

Every time I've seen one, I haven't been alone, and I've generally been at a cafe sitting outside when they approach and ask for money. This last time though, I was killing time in Errachidia, waiting for my bus back to Bouarfa after the football game a couple of weeks ago. I bought a sandwich and headed for this pretty open air plaza with benches. I was sitting there minding my own business when a glue huffer approached. He hadn't started drooling yet but he was shaking and had the glue in his hand. And he got within a few feet of me and just kept saying "marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me, take me to France..." and I said the respectable phrase to say to beggars "May God make life easier on you" (Allah ysahal) and he took a step closer. So then I said "yallah, go away, Go away!!" And He took a step closer. Now I was a little alarmed and I picked up my backpack and started walking away. But he started following me and getting closer. I was getting a little scared. So I said in a LOUD voice "HSHUMA! Go Away!! Get away from me!" And two guys crossing the street a block away turned and yelled for him to leave, but didn't feel it necessitated coming any closer. So I continued walking away and he continued following me closely pleading "Marry me marry me marry me!" So I thought "OK I need to walk into a shop or something" So I walk toward the end of the plaza and into a little window front public notary with chairs and two women in it. I was searching for women on purpose because sisters protect their sisters and I thought maybe he wouldn't enter a shop full of women.

When I went in I said "can I sit here? I'm scared of that man." BUT he FOLLOWED ME INTO THE OFFICE saying "marry me marry me marry me, take me to France." And the two ladies made the connection of what was happening and said to him "Get out of here, my son. leave! She's married! She's married! right you're married?!" And while I thought that it was strange that these women were trying to reason with a clearly unreasonable man, I said "Yes! I'm WAY married!" (I added the pronoun for "I" at the end of the adjective married to make it stronger. MAZUJA, ANA! MUZUJA, ANA!" But he still didn't leave and still continued his pleadings. So the women threatened to call the police saying "my son, I'm calling the gendarmes!" (Police) But he still didn't leave, so one of the women left the shop and got a couple of guys who came in and, quite anti-climactically, threw him out....And then he re-entered "Take me to France, Take me to France!" and the same guys pushed him out of the shop, and then continued physically pushing him, forcing him to walk all the way to the corner, and then he FINALLY went away on his own.

The nice ladies let me sit in their shop until I calmed down because I was obviously a little shaken up by all of this. They mumbled amongst themselves "hshuma hushma, this poor girl. hshuma on him...." After a few minutes, I got up and walked to the bus station and these ladies insisted on escorting me all the way there. Back to Bouarfa!

I've never seen glue huffers here. Maybe they come out at night? I doubt it though because glue huffing messes your brain up so bad, after a certain point, it's not like you can live a normal life during the day and be a closet glue huffer roaming the streets at night. It fries your brain so that even when you're not high, after a while of doing it, you're still shaky and drooly.

The Adventure Never Ends.