Iwirig (I have returned in Tashleheet)

No Dad I did not get attacked by the Taliban but the power did go out yesterday in Ouarzazate and my blog went bye bye.

So here we go again: Last week I was in my language town; which must not be named because the US government does not allow me to mention my exact where abouts because terrorists are always looking for Americans, we as Americans are never safe :) This is a joke to me because when I was studying in Spain all of my professors told not to go to Morocco because it is soooo dangerous and now I am here. I never dont feel safe. Anyways last week draged it seemed like I was there for three months and it was only six days. I just didnt want to integrate into a community that I wouldnt be living in. If I am going to be living with a host family I want it to be with one that I am going to know for two years, not four weeks. My family also kept asking me about my new site and my new family which as you can imagine was kind of wierd. When I was there I was remembering my first day sitting in the living room with my family for the first time and I was scared shitless. At that moment I was wondering what in the hell have I got myself into I cant live here for two years. Now after four weeks I became comfortable in that room with my neighbors and family staring at me like I was from planet Zargon.

I went to a naming ceramony while I was There. The women are separated from the men. The men sing from the Koran to figure out what the new babies name should be. The women cook all of the food all day long but of course the men get to eat first. The next day the women dance, sing, and play the drums. Moroccoan women know how to shake their hips like Beyonce, they just have a lot more clothes on. I of course was forced to dance and was of course laughed at. I got sick from the cous cous but other than that I had a great time.

Finally the week came to an end and everyone besides me got extremely emotional. My host sister was crying for about twenty-four hours. When our taxi left our women friends were crying so hard it was like they were saying good-bye to their brothers who were going off to war. We are the only fun in these womens lives. Especially now because it is harvest and they are in the fields all day long in the hot hot hot sun harvesting wheat and barley. I am so grateful everyday that I was given a life of choice. These girls have no hope of living a life any different from what their mothers have done. And if you are a pretty girl in Morocco it is a curse because then you will get married at 18 and start bearing children nine months after your wedding day. Most marriages are arranged so the girl has no choice of who she marries and the man is usually atleast ten years older. My host mom in my new site is 22 and has three children already, she has basically been pregnant since the day she got married. I can maybe help her with some family planning lessons.

I am leaving for my site in four days and scared shitless, but we all are. All the current volunteers have told us the first month is the hardest because I will have little language and I will be living with a host family. But I didnt join the Peace Corps to sit in a conference room for two years so I am as ready as I can be to dive into this experience.

Sending you all love from the desert of Morocco,
Emmy

By the way I passed my language test if anyone was concerned, I was.