Thanks Jack.

I had one of the craziest weekends to date. Jack and I had been planning on meeting up for about three weeks. We enjoy each other’s company and find a fair amount of common ground between the two of us. Whether it is our North Carolinian upbringing or love of the outdoors, we find it easy to talk to one another. We decided to meet in Errachidia, the capital of the province. It was an easy inbetween spot from each of our sites, and he had made arrangements to stay with a PCV who lived close.

That may be the last time that I allow Jack to make the arrangements.

I have been told lots of things about Peace Corps Morocco. I have been told that it is the second largest Peace Corps country, with close to 200 PCVs, following Ukraine. (true) I have been told that people who have some medical issues, ones that wouldn’t limit their work but need additional medical attention are stationed in Morocco due to its easier access to healthcare. (possibly true) I have also been told that Peace Corps Volunteers lifespan is usually ten years less than the average American due to their service (stress, exposure to various forms of diseases, etc.). (I have no idea) I was also told that we would meet one or two volunteers who had slipped through the cracks and we would ask ourselves, “Why the hell is this person doing Peace Corps?!”

I should not be one to pass judgment, but speaking frankly, I have never met anyone quite like this person. We will name them Guy. I will not go into specifics on Guy’s life but I can tell you that never have I had to be so patient with someone. A person who speaks, tells you almost nothing, and listening is just a breather until his turn to speak. I know everything about Guy’s family, lovers, medical history, first car, pets, etc. Lots of this information was personal. Things I didn’t want nor need to know. Jack and I spent two nights at Guy’s house. His site was hot, hotter than I had been used to. I was still sleeping with one blanket or a sheet up in the mountains. I could get away with jeans and a long sleeved shirt most days and be comfortable. When I sleep, for whatever reason, my body temperature increases, I’ve been nicknamed “a small furnace”. So sleeping downstairs, the hottest area of the house, and I was dying. The second night we tried to sleep up on the roof, but we were mosquito food and ended up moving back down to the heat to escape their incessant biting. Guy had barely stopped talking enough to eat and now I was sleep deprived. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. Jack and I had spent little time catching up with one another and using each other as a soundboard. I was more stressed out at the end of the weekend that when we had started. Luckily Jack and I had our moments (my reference to the number 1 as written by Moroccans looks like a “pitched tent” and this reference turned out terribly during the card game, Rummy, when I made this random observation and I ended up in full laughing tears and excused myself to the next room to gain composure, Guy did not understand why I was laughing—just clueless to the world around him) and I was ready to head home on Sunday. Jack asked if I wanted to accompany him to Imilchil where he would be cooking for another PCV, Liz and her family to thank them for bringing his laptop to him. Liz’s family had come to visit her and things worked out beautifully for Jack to get a computer. I accepted his offer. There was a transit that went through a pass in the mountains that I could take back and eventually get to my site the following day.

Sunday morning we packed up and left for Errachidia, sharing a cab with Guy who was going to visit another PCV. Well, we should have been so lucky that his next stop was the same as ours! Another cab ride to the next town. At this point, I had learned more about this person’s life and it was unfortunate, because I could recognize that he needed some friends. I don’t know how to put this. Some people can envelop themselves in a cloud of self and it blinds their view of life, what is going around them, and stifles their ability of not only maintaining relationships but also being able to share other’s perspectives. I think it is important to try to understand your circumstances. Look at yourself from an outsider’s perspective. Lots of us do this for superficial reasons, wanting to convey ourselves in a certain fashion to impress or dissuade others from our insecurities. I don’t know. A shocking blast of truth and a hard smack in the face might do Guy some good. Everyone needs a humbling experience. I have to deflate my ego now and then, and I heard that it’s good for your health. Guy is so delicate that I am afraid that the humbling experience would push him to his brink. Maybe I am just a poor listener. Maybe I had just met this kid and I couldn’t handle it. I need training or something, I needed different circumstances and access to drugs and alcohol. I was told that we were stupid and crazy for staying at Guy’s house, especially for two days. Jack did little investigating into our arrangements, but at the same time I can’t blame him either. It’s Peace Corps. We all are in this together, so why would you need to second referece?!

For the cracks. The goddamn cracks, because of what has the ability to slip through them…

To wrap up my trip, the transit was not going to Tingrir the next day but the next. Liz’s family had a terrible first impression of me. I barely spoke and contributed nothing to their interesting conversation. Luckily, Jack’s charm made up for it. He is a charmer. Wink wink. I think he might have charmed not only the parents but one too many that night but I will bother him about that later. I left the next day, on the early morning transit. I had been warned that over half of the trip was on unpaved, dirt roads that winded through the pass. It was either risk this trek or go back through ErRich and Errachidia, which would cost me twice as much and probably as much time. I wanted to risk it. We were about 30 minutes down the road when we came to our first obstacle. The road had turned into one huge mud puddle. There was (I just moved my yogurt to block it from a fly’s line of sight, who is the crazy one now…) a small detour around and the driver chose to take this way. I supported that decision. For whatever reason, he decided to hug the side closest to the road turned river. This side was loose dirt. One second we are amiably moseying along, the next I am looking towards my driver at a new 30^o angle. Here was the perfect opportunity to learn some new and true berber curse words! He just looks at me. I thought about cursing enough for the both of us. Something colorful. I decide to take his lead. We file out of the transit to assess the damage. We had sunk into the drink up to the front axle. More than a foot away from our tracks was the hard-packed road others before us had used. Like I said, I have no idea why he decided to hug that side but we were going to pay for it dearly.

Watching close to 15 men decide the best approach to our decision makes for great entertainment but I was in no mood. They started digging out the dirt from the other side’s tires to try to level the vehicle. We watched as two other cameos (large trucks) and finally Jack’s transit bypass us and trudge through the mud puddle from hell. Trucks had stopped, men riding bikes to the fields had stopped. We hadn’t budged in over an hour. Finally, a small two-wheel drive Isuzu with a cow and old man in the back decided that with maybe a little towing power, we might alleviate our situation. The truck had almost gotten stuck going through the mud puddle to come back around to help us. I am not religious and even then I debated about saying a quick prayer. (Of course, times of need…) So an Isuzu truck, cow in back, piece of rope, and 15 Moroccan men standing watch, we all breathed huge sighs of relief when that rope pulled taunt and wheels inched forward.

We continued on our trip and I held my breath each time we went through huge puddles and areas we sunk deep into rutted, red mud. There were areas that were twice as bad and we went through them without a hitch. The end of the road was amazing. The small towns and mountains huddle together diving into a beautiful gorge, full of palm trees and incredible rock formations. A tourist trap for good reason. I saw old French men with little on accept climbing harnesses. My trip was complete.

Finally made it to Tingrir, and the next day home. The following day I peed through my butthole. I have no idea. I didn’t even know I was sick. It was just you know, closure from such a crazy trip. I blame my mom. (Dad understands…).