What If's

August 27 has been marked on my calendar, noted in my phone, and a date I can't stop thinking about.

While the new stage anticipates the start of their PC experience in September, I can't forget my original RIM COS date. 14 months in Mauritania, close to a year in Morocco. If I COS-ed tomorrow (aka completed my PC service contract), what would I be doing afterward?

Thought I would cruise ship back to DC, or Hawaii, or some place new, move to the Emirates, travel around Africa and Eastern Europe, or who knows. Vacation in Mexico and Canada. Definitely reconnect with loved ones, eat everything, drink everything, and wear short(er) skirts. Law school? Business school? Foreign service? Back to the corporate world? Whatever it is, I would appreciate life tenfold. The world's my oyster, and PC would be the time for me to decide what I wanted to do next.

Perhaps it's a good thing my new COS-date isn't until next November, because I still have no idea what I want to do next. I'm not prepared for the next step. This month especially, I definitely questioned my commitment to spend another year in Morocco. I miss how things could have been if I didn't, and by things, I mean the optimistic greener grass side of could-have-been's.

Every day, so many things annoy me about being here, but they're balanced out by "awwww" moments that make me think I have the best site/best experience ever. At least, right now at this exact moment anyway. The balance fluctuates between love and hate, appreciation and masochism, "chinouiya" and "bejaadia," and clam chowder verses harira.

I'll be traveling around Morocco for two weeks starting tomorrow: visiting friends, celebrating/mourning the fake-COS-date, being uber productive sourcing material/developing new product ideas/craft-fair planning, pampering myself like a tourist (why hello, American dollars), and trying to survive the Ramadan heat without looking like a hippie/whore.

Me, me, me, blah, blah, blah, whine, contemplate, wine, imagine, plan. To the next step.

Bus Ride

Forgot to share my bus-ride-back-to-site story. What was supposed to be a direct bus ride to my site turned into three buses and quite a small afternoon adventure.

I had to wait a few hours at the bus station in El Jadida, making new (eccentric) friends and meeting 6 other people heading back to my site. The supposed direct buses were full and left hours before they were scheduled to, so we all had to go to Casa first then transfer to another bus. No problem, PCVs are patient and flexible people. The bus station was so crowded though that tickets for bus #22 (my bus) were being sold as people waited for bus #15. This meant that the next bus came and everyone with #15 tickets boarded, then everyone waited for bus #16, then #17, and so on...

Finally in Casa, I transferred to another bus to my site. As we took off, the bus manager went around checking everyone's tickets. Unfortunately for the man behind me, he was sold a ticket from a fake bus manager, which meant that in the end he had to buy another ticket or else get kicked off the bus. The two men argued back and forth, one saying "god bless your parents, I bought this ticket here on this bus" and the other saying "god bless your parents, this is not one of our tickets." The man behind me ended up buying another ticket while saying, "god bless your parents, now I have no more money."

Along the way, a long stop in the middle of the road woke me up from my nap. There was bumper-to-bumper traffic...A bunch of passengers started boarding the bus, and many bags were loaded under the bus. I didn't think it could be any hotter in the bus, until the aisle of people arrived. It turned out another bus stalled, and so our bus was picking up the others passengers. We didn't move until the bus manager collected money from all those stranded passengers in the aisle.

The next long stop happened at a police roadblock. It is illegal for people to stand in buses, but the bus manager pleaded his case--another bus broke down, he's being a good Muslim and taking the passengers--with the policeman.

At my regional capital stop, two women started fighting in the aisle. Physically fighting. Men tried to break them up as the bus manager told me to grab my things because I was being sold to another bus. I didn't want to walk past the fighting women and told him it was not possible. The women let me pass, then went on to verbally assaulting each other.

Apparently, even though the bus manager sold me a ticket to B-town, the bus wasn't going to B-town. He tried to sell me to the other bus managers for 10 dirhams, despite me telling him that the fare is 12-14 dirhams. I gave up arguing with him and said, "because you're friends with all the bus managers, they must give you a discount. Every time I take this route, these men are thieves and charge me more."

This sparked his interest, and he bought me a cold water bottle and asked who am I staying with in B-town. Our conversation went something like this (all in Darija):

me: I live in B-town.

him: You have a house in B-town?

me: Yes.

him: You know people in B-town?

me: Yes, I live there and work there.

*bus toots, driver yells for manager to come back because their bus is taking off

him (with arm gestures): We are in K-town. There's O-town, and then B-town.

me: I know; I travel this way a lot.

him: B-town is two stops away.

*bus toots again, manager flags down soldier

him, to soldier: She is going to B-town. I don't know why she's going there. Make sure she gets there.
*he hands the soldier 10Dh, my bus fare

me: It costs at least 12Dh to get to B-town from here.

him: It's only 10Dh, but for you, here, take 5Dh more.
*I take my own bus fare, and the bus manager runs off.

Long story short, I chatted with the soldier to let him know how comfortable I was traveling and how well I knew the region. I left him in charge of my water bottle while I went off to an ATM. Didn't see him when I came back, so I bought my bus ticket and boarded the bus. As we're waiting to take off, I see him standing in front of the bus holding the water bottle and looking around. I ran out to greet him, and he looked so relieved to see me, as if he took his obligation to the bus manager very seriously.

On that last bus leg to site, he made sure the bus window stayed open for me (he probably wanted it open too) despite the complaints from the other passengers. In my opinion, traveling Moroccans are oblivious (or accustomed) to the heat. We actually had a working AC in the souk bus, but it was much cooler with open windows.

Five hours after I expected, I finally arrived home. When I think back to my time in RIM, I don't remember anymore how my RIM sitemates and I put up with the 12+ hour taxi rides (plus wait time) home. It's all about patience and flexibility, I guess?

El Jadida

With daily temperatures well over 100 degrees and fashion-conscious, wedding-happy locals, B-town was not a place I wanted to spend Throne Holiday Weekend covered up in sweat-stained 3/4 sleeves and long, holey skirts. Ignoring travel advice from my local friends in town, I decided to spend the long weekend at the beach.

There were reasons I was told to see nicer, emptier beaches instead. Once my friends and I arrived in El Jadida, we understood why. A Moroccan tourist destination, the city was CROWDED with city-savvy locals. Despite the masses at the beach/front, carnival, outdoor concert, outdoor shopping streets, old fortress city, and bus station, I could meet up with other PCVs and had a great time.

Found a lovely little hotel with partial ocean view, ate well (lasagne, pesto, fresh fried fish, ice cream, paella, cold beer, steak...), toured the city, attempted to walk to the "Titanic" (a sunken ship a few kilometers away), entered the old Portuguese cistern and church, danced at a soda-only nightclub, played paddleball (fun!), and people-watched bzaaf.

Pictures do more justice, so check out snapfish!

Came back to site, and B-town life keeps going on. Unfortunately, sif doesn't bother the locals. This week, I met up with all my artisans and friends, made my first powerpoint presentation for the carpenters about craft fairs and product development, finally went to the 6am carpet sale at souk, swept one plastic bag of dust off my roof, and already ate couscous (usually a Friday meal). Now that all the trashy magazines have been read (thanks, care packages!), I'm going back to my economics book again. Looking forward to Ramadan so I can finish reading it (and eat bowls and bowls of harira).

Back to another load of laundry...