Monday, June 29, 2009

When business isn’t business…

    Working in Morocco is a strange and unfamiliar proposition. It is characterized mainly by doing things that I wouldn't normally characterize as work. Drinking tea is a fantastic example of this phenomenon. I am almost embarrassed at times to admit how much of my work day is spent drinking tea and shooting the breeze. It's not something that registers from my working life in America. I'm fairly certain that if the Moroccan work force were held to the same time management standards as the American work force is, this ritual alone would render the vast majority of them unemployed.

    This is, of course, a completely unfair characterization for several reasons. First off is that here nothing gets done if there's no tea. Tea is not just tea in Morocco; it is a social barometer and vehicle for countless shades of social nuance. For example, if the tea served to you in a Moroccan home is cold something is wrong. It could be something as serious as the prelude to you being declared persona non grata, or it could simply mean that you were later than you told them you were going to be and now they are expressing their displeasure. It could be that there is a family emergency and the best that could be done under the circumstances is cold tea. Whatever the case may be cold tea is the first indicator that you need to step carefully.

    In a workplace situation finding hot tea waiting for you at a business meeting, such as the ones I've had in the local commune, is a promising sign. It can say a lot of things, but the basic underlying message is that "we have made your visit a top priority in our office; you are being taken seriously and will be listened to." It makes the greetings and handshakes typical of an American business meeting seem crude and obtuse in comparison.

Moving Day reflections….

If there's one thing that I have learned about Morocco it is to expect the unexpected. This holds especially true reflect on the last few days leading up to today. This morning I officially moved into my new house, and have left my second and final home stay behind. I must say that in the days leading up to this momentous occasion I anticipated feeling relieved, liberated and satisfied. What I didn't, and couldn't, anticipate is feeling sad about leaving my host family. They have become my family, and while having my own space after four months in country feels like taking the first breath after being underwater for too long I will miss them. If I'm going to be totally and brutally honest it's not just them in particular…

The truth of the matter is that I haven't lived by myself since the spring of 2007. That was a rough time in my life, but that aside I really enjoyed the experience. Since then I have become used to the noises and little things that indicate a hundred times a day that you are not alone. In my most recent housing arrangement it was the sound of children playing in the hall, the smell of cooking, conversations in Tamazight. Before that it was pots of pea soup left on the stove by my grandparents to simmer for the afternoon, and my Mom's habit of talking semi-unintelligibly as she walked away through the echoing rooms of that giant ranch style monstrosity. Having none of those subtle sensory cues in my new home is going to be strange to say the least, especially considering how much larger it is than my other solo living apartment.

Now, for the first time in a long time it's up to me to carve out a home in a place that is far from my friends, family, and all that has been familiar to me for so many years. It might appear to the casual observer that I am being melancholic or "emo" about this situation, but I'm just trying to state the facts. I think that it's exciting. So far I have been an ambassador for the United States by socializing and working on my project. Which has been rewarding, but I'm ready to do more. Now I get to demonstrate those aspects of the American psyche I find most compelling (determination, resourcefulness, and thrift) by creating a welcoming space that represents me in a place that is both beautiful and unfamiliar on a shoestring budget with "locally available materials."

I'm looking forward to welcoming my new Moroccan friends over for tea. I hope that my house becomes a home that is familiar, not just to me, to many of my friends Moroccan and American. I look forward to sitting on my patio and greeting the people who live on my street as they pass by. I look forward to hosting my fellow PCVs for educational events, group projects and planning sessions. I look forward to experiencing the full cycle of this place in a space that is entirely mine…