Trying Again II

Hey again. I know it’s been a while, and for good reason; culture shock. I’ve been frantically trying to figure out any bit of Tamagzhit (Berber dialect) that I can. Up until the past few days we’ve been staying in a nice (by Moroccan standards, my shower didn’t have a curtain) hotel. A few days ago we moved into our host families’ houses in small villages near Benni milal in the Atals mountains. We have electricity and water, which is great, but the bathrooms are squatters and there is no such thing as toilet paper out here (I’ve stopped chewing the fingernails on my left hand). My host mother (Miriem) is extremely talkative while my host father (Moha) is content to sit and smile. I have a 25 year old brother Aziz, a 21 year old brother Bouzza, a 34 year old brother (Mohammed), a 21 year old sister (Aicha), her 6 month year old son (Salahaddin), a 19 year old sister whose name escapes me, and a funny 11 year old sister (Khadija) who runs and attempts to talk to me. Needless to say, they are a big family.

My first night here I couldn’t even say “rock” in Tamazight. In fact, I couldn’t pronounce Tamazight! I can now say a few useful pronouns (I, you, we, etc.) and know the names of a few nouns. You can probably understand that the dialogue between my host family and I is very limited. They say a million words so fast I can’t think straight, I try to sputter out one word, they all look at me with smiling but blank stares, I act it out, they all laugh. This goes on for about one to two hours and then we all do something else. My one advantage is that I know something about medicine. Khadija broke her wrist the other day and scraped her hands. Luckily I had some antibacterial ointment and band-aids for her fingers and told the family to put her wrist in a sort of makeshift splint. Then I told them to take her to the doctor in the nearest village. They probably understood none of what I said (they never did do the splint thing) but seemed very grateful for the band-aids and the fact that I cared. These people can’t understand me and I can’t understand them but I think there is a common enjoyment of each other that is shared, even if at the end of the day I am a nervous wreck.

Each day, I meet with a group of five other girl volunteers to be instructed in Tamazight for 4-6 hours a day. The rest of the time is spent doing cultural studies and spending time attempting to communicate with our families. My instructor, Samir, is a great guy and I enjoy his classes. One of the girls is actually closer to me than I thought as well. In college I had a long-distance track and field coach for one year named Cici. She was a tall black woman who had a heart of gold and would always talk about her daughter Naomi who went to Bethel. It just so happens that Naomi is in my group at my site and is a strong Christian. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I think God is building a strong ring of support around me (including you guys at home) even all the way out here in the high Atlas mountains of Morocco.

I will continue to let you know what’s going on. Hopefully once a week I can make it into a bigger city with the internet and keep things updated. Until then, take care and God bless guys. I’m going to keep doing my best.