Morocco

First things first. I’m posting two blogs at once so please check out the previous one about my trip home if you haven’t done so already. Also, I’ve changed my procrastinating ways and finally uploaded lots of current pictures on my new Picasa photo-sharing page (they‘re downloadable, for those who make an appearance), so see the sidebar/below for the link and check ‘em out.

http://picasaweb.google.com/Hart.Christine

As I mentioned in my previous blog, fellow volunteer Joel and I made a stopover au Maroc on our way back to the land of sand. We arrived in Casablanca and hopped a train (a train! one that came on time! seriously!) to Fès, one of Morocco’s imperial cities and the hub of Moroccan culture and art (the city was founded by Romans in the 8th century B.C.). After a scenic 5 hour train ride through the Moroccan countryside, we disembarked and took a cab to Fès El-Bali, the medina or old city. Most Moroccan cities have a medina which is the ancient (and typically still current) city-center, made up of a maze-like network of stone streets and alleyways, medeival in feeling but quite modern in function.

We stayed at a modest but centrally-located hotel that a friend had recommended, enjoying the incredible views of the medina from the rooftop terrace. Though it was much colder than we expected (they actually have cold in North Africa), we bundled up and spent two days drinking Moroccan coffee, sampling tagine and other local fare, and trekking through the medina, getting lost and more lost, but always able to recover our orientation thanks to Joel’s actual geographical sensibilities and my bizarre, slightly inconsistent directional sixth sense. We saw Fès’s famous tanneries, the origin of some of the world’s most reputed leather goods, toured a few carpet shops, admired many of the 350 mosques that lie inside the medina, drank delicious mint tea, and chatted up several friendly shop owners, all impressively good-humored and persistent. I did end up buying some gorgeous Fès needlework and a pretty Berber bracelet, but was able to restrain myself for the most part.

The trip was a great transition on our way back to Burkina and la vie africaine. It was neat to see a small slice of North Africa and appreciate some of the cultural variation (not always so obvious here), that makes Africa such a rich and interesting continent. Morocco certainly whet my appetite for my post-service Africa exploration, I can't wait to see more of the continent!

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?

The World would split open.

Muriel Rukeyser

Christmas Cookies and Culture Shock

Bonne Année 2008!

I’m back in Burkina after a whirlwind trip home that involved several cities, holidays, a wedding, and much-needed quality time with friends and family. America was great but it’s good to be back here with a new appreciation for the 7 months I have left in Burkina.

I left Burkina in mid-December with several other homeward bound volunteers. After a layover in Casablanca and a day of travel, we arrived at JFK. My initial reaction? First, amazement at the diversity of the people I saw - nationality, skin color (an array beyond black and white, that is), style of dress, etc. Second, the enormity of, well, everything; the buildings, the parking lots, the roads, the crowds of people, the selection of items at the airport shops…it was at once slightly overwhelming and wonderfully familiar to be plunked down in the land of consumerism and comfort.

I grabbed dinner with a volunteer I’d traveled with and a Peace Corps friend who came to meet us at the airport, enjoyed my first beer aux Etats-Unis, and embarked on my final flight to Buffalo, eager to see my parents and sleep in my own, miraculously cloud-like (ok, what I’d imagine a cloud would be like) bed.

Home was good - lots of parental TLC, updating my iPod, Mom’s cooking, catching up with high school friends, snow, Christmas at home, seeing family, going to church. It was all easier and more familiar than I thought it would be…until I went shopping the day after Christmas (imagine a foreboding musical interlude here). I was scheduled to continue my journey to Annapolis for a wedding three days after Christmas so, armed with gift cards and a serious shopping list of items to bring back to Burkina (a garlic press, trail mix, shampoo not of European origin, etc.), I set out for the chaotic monstrosity that is a suburban strip mall the day after Christmas. The Subaru seemed to drive itself to Target and Borders (old habits die hard, apparently) and I suddenly found myself standing in front of the biggest building I’d seen in a year and a half (ok, not really, but it seemed that way). Target. Everything under the sun…and more. My memory starts to fail me here. I recall a feeling like horizontal vertigo, if that makes any sense, and experiencing a sort of out-of-body, I’m-here-but-not-really-here daze as I wandered through the aisles, seeking kitchen utensils and nylons. The long and short of it - it was a confusing and somewhat frightening experience, though I did emerge with a garlic press, nylons, trail mix and even managed to continue on to Borders for my East Africa guidebook and issues of The Nation and The Economist (yes! print media! IN ENGLISH!). Needless to say, I didn’t attempt the grocery store. That clearly would have been a disaster.

The shopping episode was followed by fervent packing, a manicure and pedicure (manicure # 2 of my life, pedicure # 1 - enjoyable, to say the least, though I apologized profusely for the state of my feet), dinner with summer camp friends (hello, nostalgia!) followed by an actual camp reunion (hello, former campers who are now in COLLEGE!). The 28th, I was off to Annapolis to see one of my best friends get married. Whew.

The wedding was…awesome. Love, the union of two souls, good friends, good food, dancing, hitting the streets (bars) of Annapolis after the reception - who could ask for more? Despite the wedding chaos, I got to catch up with two of my oldest friends (the bride and bridesmaid), who are both frighteningly adult but comfortingly still very much the girls I started going to camp with in the 6th grade. I gave one of the readings during the service and managed (I think) to speak clearly and slowly and to avoid tripping on the way to or from the podium. Good stuff.

Next, I continued up to Manhattan (the Jersey Turnpike - so familiar in its monotony and occassional stench) to visit college friends and celebrate New Year’s Eve. I enjoyed the excellent hospitality of friends and even a surprise visit from a friend all the way from Chicago. It was so good to fall into old routines, to fill my friends in on some of my Burkina experiences, share photos, and catch up on all the new elements of their lives. Though I definitely felt some disconnect (lack of cultural context, having no clue about movies, new technologies - holy crap, the cell phones! etc.), it was so good to actually be in the presence of the people I’ve been missing for 18 months.

The thing that struck me most about being home, beyond the contrast in quotidian existence - the ease and convenience and richness of American life , was how much more significant the things that are changing in everyone’s lives seem to be. While conversations with high school and college friends revolved around gossip relating to our fellow alums, the news was engagements, marriages, babies, law school acceptances, new jobs, moves to new cities…in other words, the non-trivial, significant, meaningful stuff of life - the lives of twenty-four and twenty-five year olds…adults. And while my life currently exists outside that realm in so many ways, it won’t for long.

After five days in the Big Apple, which included lots of excellent meals (sushi! Mexican! pizza!), and movies, television, the Met, the New York-ness of New York, I headed out to Brooklyn to meet up with Joel, another volunteer, with whom I continued on the Morocco for three days before heading back to the BF (that’ll be another blog altogether). After a brief subway experience and a ride to the airport with a Peace Corps friend, we were off. Back to Africa.

Traveling makes one modest – you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.

Gustave Flaubert