Mindy woodhead
 
 
 
We had one of two big conferences that you get to attend over your Peace Corps service. It is cause for celebration as it marks the passing of one third of your service, and when you discover the amount of people from the group who have dropped out, it seems that you really have accomplished a difficult feat of 10 months in country! There was a certain level of sensory overload to being with 60 Americans after spending so much time alone. When I returned to my village after the chaotic and enjoyable week, most of the people I knew were away. This lent to 4 days of complete solitary reflection. By the hundredth hour without communication or human interaction, I found myself remembering a conversation I recently had with a person I could clearly visualize, but after careful consideration I determined that I did not actually know anyone by that description, and this memory must have, in fact, been the memory of a dream. That is my minds response to copious solitude; cognitive disorientation. A dear friend met me on line for a chess date, where we skyped so we could see each other, and played chess against each other on Yahoo Games. This being the fifth day of complete isolation, we turned on our cameras and I found myself suddenly sobbing. It wasn’t due to sadness or happiness, and I really couldn’t contain it, so my thinly veiled sobs continued over our entire game. Being a very good friend, he instantly identified my tears with, “Oh, dear. You’re so lonely.” Though at any other point, such a phrase might have ignited defense weapons inside me as I might declare that my m.o. is independence and feigned glee at liberated autonomy. However, holding back my sobs on this particular day, which seemed to mark not the beginning of the rest of my life, per se, but the encounter of another day on the far side of the world without clear direction or intent, I found his remark reassuring. I decided I had better do something to get out of the house, and living in a place where all eyes watch and comment on my every move, a joy ride around town can lead to more anxiety, as well as a call into the police or mayors office to investigate whether I am lost or ill. So, I traveled to the beach to meet up with my host family. They rent a room right on the water. It is 4 walls of cement, with no furniture, and an adjoining closet consisting of a hole and a waterspout. You have no idea how much of a home a Moroccan can make out of this situation. There were 9 women and children, and I caught a glimpse of a husband or two, but they must have been staying in another room as they neither ate nor mingled with us. My cultural cheat sheet is always babies- no matter where I am in the world, if there is a babe to take in arm and coddle and delight, change and feed, rock to sleep and sooth with reassurance, I am no longer seen as a foreigner; the maternal tie that binds. The women brought a small tank of gas, a knife, some veggies, and bought fish. They make a wonderful tajine- which is amazing considering they had a nothing at their disposal but a waterspout to work with! We all slept like sardines in the one room on the one carpet covered with blankets. It was a good experience. I certainly felt a renewed appreciation for my apartment and mattress and wealth of space when I got home. I am entirely glad I went. The rest of June was pretty slow. The village is slow moving in the summer, aside from the usual milking and cooking and cleaning, no one has much motivation to do anything else. We have a new baby cow they let me name Bessie. July should move much more quickly and with greater ease. I will be teaching University students advanced acting 3 days a week throughout July. I am very, very excited to have such a well-suited outlet!!
Happiness is a journey ... not a destination!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008