Packing, Part I

I had my first Peace Corps related packing nightmare this morning. I never used to have any packing related anxiety (and I still don't once I actually start packing), but before I left Korea, I kept dreaming that I got home and realized that I had forgotten to pack half my apartment. I would wake up in the middle of frantically trying to reach Siobhain and asking her to save my yarn/books/clothes/super awesome SNSD coffee mug before my replacement threw them out, see the familiar walls of my apartment and think Oh thank God, I still have time to pack everything. (Incidentally, the dreams stopped the moment I started actually packing.)

Today, I dreamt that I arrived in Morocco without any shoes or my Arabic workbook/flashcards/notebook, saw the familiar walls of my room and thought Oh, thank God. I still have six more week to deal with that.

I think this is a sign that I should at least start reading packing lists.

No Longer Friday Five

Remember when I use to post here regularly? Yeah, me neither. Friday round up, posted on Saturday because I got tired and went to bed.

1. My grandmother turned 84 in June and to celebrate we hiked up to Big Rock in Dupont State Forest for a picnic dinner and views of the full moon. I made a spring quinoa salad and a broccoli pesto with orzo, Mom made sauteed leeks with goat cheese, Leah made chocolate chip cookies and we hiked up just before sunset. It rained briefly and part of the meal was eaten huddled under a tarp, but then the clouds cleared after a short shower. We found out after we arrived that the moon wouldn't rise until close to midnight, but there was a lovely sunset, and we played cards by the light of the many headlamps I still have floating around in my purse and no one tripped on the hike back to the car in the pitch dark.
   
   


2. We also celebrated the 4th of July with my grandmother. I had my traditional Independence Day meal (Indian food and non-American beer), we played more cards and then watched the fireworks from her backyard.
   
   


3. I've started going to trivia night at a local bar with my brother and some friends. We do okay (one win, a couple of second places and we would have won last night if I could have remembered that the '92 summer Olympic games were in Barcelona), but mostly I just enjoy the chance fix my hair, wear something besides yoga pants and a t-shirt, have a drink and made sarcastic comments about Chuck Norris with friends. (So far, there have been two Korea related questions [which city was chosen to host the 2018 Winter Olympics and who is the Secretary General of the UN] and both times, I insisted on writing the answer in Korean [평창 and 반기문] because (a) I'm TOTALLY that person and (b) I spent a whole two hours teaching myself Hangul by reading subway signs and, so help me God, I will use those skills whenever possible.) (Trivia caller: Man, someone is a dork. Me: YES, WHAT'S YOUR POINT?!) (I bet you thought I would stop writing in Hangul know that I'm no longer in Korea. THINK AGAIN!)


4. Speaking of Korea, people following me on Twitter or Google+ (or, you know, real life) know that I can't freaking shut up about how much I want some kimchi jjigae, because (a) kimchi jjigae is really 맛있어요 (which, even after five months back in the US, is still my default way of saying delicious) and (b) I really miss Korea, guys. It snuck up on me; at first I was busy enjoying being back in the US and seeing my family and friends, and then weeks turned into months and I realized how much I miss it. I miss laughing with Audrey about the name of the stations on the Bundang line and I miss the 4th grade cleaning crew who kept giving me Korean homework. I miss Seoul and SnB and seeing the cherry blossoms with Siobhain. I miss my apartment and my neighborhood and, God help me, I was looking through photos from Pru's visit in January and I got nostalgic because omg, that was my Paris Baguette, the one where 친의 convinced me to buy her a kimchi pastry in exchange for a terrible ugly pillow she had made in home ec which I will cherish forever. I miss Nicole teasing me about my terrible Korean while I refrained from mocking her ridiculous ridiculous shoes. I miss having co-workers I didn't actively want to stab in the eyeballs.
   
   Moving to Korea was one of the best decisions I've ever made for myself.
   
   


5. And hey, look, I'm on Google+. I'm unclear how well I'll use it, since I routinely forget I have a Facebook, but I am a big fan of all things Google, so there's hope.
   

Questions I have so far been asked about Morocco and the Peace Corps:

Morocco? Where's that?

Morocco is in North Africa. It's south across the Straits of Gibraltar from Spain, west of Algeria and north of Western Sahara/Mauritania (Western Sahara is a non-self-governing territory that is under control of Morocco, so while the southern border is technically Western Sahara, the de facto border is with Mauritania). Morocco has an Atlantic and Mediterranean coast. The capital is Rabat and major cities you might have heard of include Fes and Casablanca.

So, not Monaco?

No, not Monaco. It is a monarchy, though.

Oh really? Tell me more.

Morocco is a constitutional monarchy. The current king is Mohammed VI.

Um, Mohammed? Does that mean...

Yes, Morocco is an Islamic country. Culturally it's more Middle Eastern than it is African. It is, however, more tolerant than many Islamic countries. No one wears burkas and I'll even be able to wear pants. I'm actually really excited about moving to a Muslim country. Part of the reason I'm joining the Peace Corps is to experience a new culture and while I know very little about Islam, I'm looking forwards to learning about it.

What language will you speak?

The official languages are Standard Arabic and Tamazight (a Berber language), but Darija (Moroccan Arabic) is the most common native language. I'll be learning Darija. As a result of French colonization, French is widely used, especially amongst the upper class.

Can you speak any of those languages?

Nope, not yet, but I'm excited about learning. I've ordered a book of Moroccan Arabic, so hopefully I won't be completely lost when I get there.

When are you leaving?

I leave on September 12th. Eighty-four days to go!

How long will you be gone?

Peace Corps service is twenty seven months: three months of training and two years of service.

Where will you be living?

Um, in Morocco. I won't find out where my site is until the end of training.

Tell us more about this training?

First, there is a day or two of training in the US (called staging) where I'll fill out paperwork, meeting my group, get any vaccinations I need and officially be sworn in as a Peace Corps trainee. Then I'll fly to Morocco and have three months of training in language, culture and my assignment. During the time I'll be living with a host family.

Tell me more about this assignment. What will you be doing during your two years in Morocco?

I'm a Youth Development volunteer, which means I'll primarily be working at a youth center (Dar Chabab) teaching English, which I'll use as a springboard to organize activities and clubs outside of the classroom. There's also an emphasis on girls' education and empowerment. I think this is going to be an awesome assignment for me, based on my prior experience and interests.

Won't you tell us more about the application process?

Ahahaha, I'm working on it. (Okay, no one has actually asked me that. I'm just going to tell anyways. I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS!)

Isn't Morocco super nice? Won't you basically be living on a resort?

No, not so much. Like most developing nations, Morocco has a vastly uneven distribution of wealth, so while there is luxury and money in Morocco, especially along the coasts, most of the country lives a far more impoverished lifestyles. However, since Youth Development volunteers are posted in urban areas, I will mostly likely have electricity and running water at least part of the time.

The Next Step

So, this happened:

Testy

So, there's this cardinal that lives at my parent's house. This is not a bird over endowed with brains, and he is convinced that his reflection in the windows of the house is a rival bird. Whenever he sees himself in the window, the bird (nicknamed Testy, short for Testosterone) repeatedly flings himself into the offending reflection in a testosterone fueled attempt to become the alpha cardinal in the area. From sunrise to sunset, the house echos with the thoinks! of the cardinal ricocheting off the house and the swears of my dad threatening to go outside and backhand the thing with a tennis racquet. It's particularly bad in the kitchen and my parents bedroom (both are surrounded by trees and shrubs for him to perch on while contemplating an attack), and my parents have had to drape the windows of their bedroom with sheets and towels in an attempt to hid the reflections, lest Testy wake them up at sunrise by headbutting the house. It looks like someone ineffectually tried to mummify the house.

This has been going on for a month and Dad has cracked. He came into the living room today with a gun in one hand and murder in his eyes. I'm praying for poor aim, but I think Testy's days might be numbered.