Pressing the easy button too many times makes things harder

Taking the easy way out of things takes less time, is less frustrating, and is quite helpful. However in my case the easy way is holding me back and ultimately creating more frustration within myself.

What I am mostly talking about is communication, which is my biggest obstacle here and results in most of my frustration. What is so hard for me to swallow is that I pride myself in being a great communicator. I know how to weave words so well to explain anything I mean and any idea I have within me. Any friend of mine knows I am not shy with my feelings. I go by the motto “say what you need to say.” This is all in English of course. It is such a strange feeling having so much inside of you to say and not being able to say it. For me sometimes I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I could just babble out words in English, but that’s all it would be to the listener, babble. I find no comfort in saying something that I know someone won’t understand.

To have a good working relationship with a supervisor good communication is a must. The person here who acts as my immediate supervisor, the director of the my youth center, is the person who I have the worst communication with. He speaks no English and always speaks Arabic too quickly for me. The way I have been combating this problem is to talk to him through people in my life who speak English well. When this became an option for me I was thrilled, I though my problems were over.

After months of communicating like this I’ve realized that it isn’t helping anything. I still think the communication is bad and I have no confidence in myself to communicate on my own. I am so tired of hearing the words “what did she say” or “tell her…”. It makes me feel like a child when I know very well I am a 23 year old smart and capable woman. Again, anyone who knows me knows that I am an independent person by nature and as an American I am raised to be. When I first joined Peace Corps all my independence was stripped of me and slowly I have been gaining it back. I would like to get my ability to communicate back as well. Of course this is the hardest thing.

I have a number of people in my life who speak good English and this is great because I have people who I can talk to about nearly anything and I can have an interesting and well rounded conversation. Whenever one of these people are present when I am struggling to communicate with a non-English speaker they immediately come to my rescue. I know they are trying to help and I am thankful for that, but this is holding me back. My best efforts in speaking Arabic have come when I am forced to speak it. When there is no other option. And there is no one at my back to save me.

Sometimes in these situations I need to break out the miming technique, which takes the ability to not take yourself too seriously, but is very effective. It takes patience in myself and hopefully some patience from the other speaker. I am becoming more and more insistent to the person to speak slowly and repeat if necessary so together we can get the point across.

I’m just now realizing that I’ve had enough of the easy button. I am happy with every chance I get to communicate on my own. I think that I am going to start creating more opportunities like this for me and I am going to politely explain to those who have my back that in order for me to start feeling more confident with myself I need to start relying on them less.

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The Dance

On the last night of camp we were all ready to celebrate. And in my opinion the best way to celebrate is to dance. Every time we played music during any of the activities the kids would take the opportunity to bust a move. But the music never played long enough to really enjoy ourselves.

When the night activity began there was no time wasted. The music started right away and the campers sure had their dancing shoes on. We made a song play list of the American music the kids had requested. That way this would be a true experience of cultural exchange.

As the songs played we switched back and forth between American and Moroccan music. We of course also went back and forth between dancing styles. This was very confusing for all involved. One minute I was shaking my hips back and forth trying to mimic the girls who were better than me and the next I was trying to use what original American dance moves I have left. The American music mostly just provoked a lot of jumping around.

After being in Morocco for the time I have I will say I didn’t expect to see a sight like that. The locations that Peace Corps usually works in are much smaller than Fes and much more conservative. Most of us would have never seen a dance where both boys and girls were present and they defiantly wouldn’t have been able to get as close as they did. We had multiple couples forming and kids genuinely and freely had a good time with each other.

Rachel, a fellow volunteer working with me, described the experience as one of those moments in time that is just so wholesome, once we had returned to our room for the night. Once she said that I had realized she had chosen the perfect word. Everything about those two hours was innocent and real. And for a while they were not Moroccans and we were not Americans but rather one group of people, who are the same, and who just love to dance. Dance is a language all its own and it is one that everybody can understand. It is refreshing to be able to communicate with someone with out having to search for the words.

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Fouad

The best campers are the ones who look like they want to kill someone the first day of camp and then can’t stop smiling by the end of the week. At camp in Fes we had many kids who loosened up as the week went on but one camper was a model of success.

When I first saw Fouad I labeled him as a serial killer with much agreement from the rest of the volunteers. He just looked like a kid with a chip on his shoulder and an attitude that could never be broken.

We broke the campers into random groups that would eat all their meals together and participate in competitions together all week. Each group was put with one or two volunteers as leaders. Fouad was put in Casey's group and all I had to say was “good luck.”

As the week went on Casey told me that he was able to connect with Fouad. He found out that Fouad is from a small country village outside of Fes and he felt strange being around so many city kids. Turns out Casey was raised in a small town of around 400 people in Vermont, so he and Fouad had something to connect on. Fouad became Casey’s little buddy and I often saw him near his side.

By Thursday Fouad was connecting with all the rest of the American volunteers. The scowl that I was convinced would never leave his face disappeared. I couldn’t even look at him anymore with out smiling and receiving a large genuine smile in return.

He became one of the most caring and genuine Moroccan kids I have met so far. While walking next to me on our fieldtrip to the old city in Fes, which is a narrow labyrinth of streets and alleyways, he was attentive to shield me from an oncoming donkey or horse. He also shared his candy with me.

On the final night of camp at the dance Fouad was not shy. I could tell he loved to dance. I enjoyed so much watching him have fun. He had moves all his own and was not afraid to show them.

I was so proud of Fouad for making the transformation that he did. I consider what we did as a small part of this and his willingness to let himself go the bigger part of it.

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Flower dance

Monday night was the camp talent show. We volunteers decided we wanted to do a little something for it. Nothing special just basically go in front of the kids and make fools of ourselves. We decided we would lip sync to a song and dance around like idiots. After many song options we decided on “Umbrella” and had a little piece we quickly choreographed.

Later in the day the Moroccan staff told us that they wanted to do something with us. A couple hours before the show we had a meeting together and we told them our ideas and were ready to listen to theirs. We showed them our little “Umbrella” dance and they decided it would be too hard for them to learn so they vetoed that idea.

Turns out they already had what they thought was an incredible idea. The two people who put this together were both interested in dance and theater, I found out later, so they quickly took creative control. It turned out to be some kind of interpretive dance involving signs saying “welcome to spring camp” and us volunteers blooming like flowers. After 30 minutes of confusion and many takes, we had it down.

Chris, Rachel, Casey, Falisha, Sam, and I were basically pawns to be placed where ever Elyass (our choreographer) wanted. We got many snaps and points and commands shouted in Arabic. The whole time we were going between holding in laughter and holding in rage. We knew we would turn back and laugh later.

When it came time to perform it for the kids the music did not work, so for the entire duration of the piece all we heard was buzzing speakers. I liked to think it was the buzzing of the bees flying around the human flowers.

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Fes Spring Camp 1

Since 2004 the Ministry of Youth and Sports in Morocco has sponsored English immersion camps in several locations across the country. As a youth development volunteer I was expected to give my time to volunteer at one of 23 spring camps around Morocco this past week. The camp lasted 6 days and I worked along side nine other volunteers, from all sectors, as well as a handful of Moroccan staff members.

The activities of the camp included daily English classes taught by the American volunteers, themed clubs, as well as night activities.

I was reminded of my days of working at camp in America. The feelings both make me cringe and fill with excitement. The awkwardness and the lack of self confidence written all over the campers’ bodies is a mirror image of my campers in America. I wanted to feel bad for them, and I do, but at this point in my life I am feeling more like a parent in the way that I want to embarrass them by being silly. Call me cruel but sometimes you have to force a kid a little bit to loosen up. The “I’m to cool” attitude will not work on me any more.

Since I am so passionate about writing I wanted to teach a creative writing class. Since this subject is quite advanced I was lucky enough to get the highest level of campers. I also had the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I taught four classes about creative writing to 11 really awesome teenagers. Each day they wrote stories about romance, adventure, horror, and action.

My class was calm and controlled. Instead of standing at the front of the class I sat with them around a large square table. It reminded me of a college English class where we worked together to share ideas.

This was the first time that I was able to really bond with Moroccan youth. All the members of my English class were able to understand me and also able to express themselves to me. As an exercise in class I had the students write a description themselves, then I read all of the descriptions aloud asking the students to guess who I was describing. Most of them talked about non-physical features like “I’m shy” or “I want to be more confident.” I was honored that they were able to share their true feelings about themselves and to admit the things that they wanted to change.

Just as in an American camp as time goes by the campers begin to loosen up and everyone starts having a lot of fun together. I always enjoy watching kids have experiences that will make them grow and to give them more confidence in themselves.

I have many stories from my week at camp so please keep reading for more to come.

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