Peace Corps Week 2007

I received this postcard in the mail yesterday:

Participate in Peace Corps Week. Your time as a Peace Corps Volunteer doesn't end when your two years of service are over. The time you spent in the Peace Corps will continue to enrich your life, both personally and professionally, for many years. And, in keeping with the Peace Corps' third goal, you'll have new opportunities every day to share what you've learned in the Peace Corps with fellow Americans.

I could only laugh because I had just returned from the Long Beach Elementary School where I had just given a little presentation about the Peace Corps and Morocco.

A couple of months ago I met a woman named Annie. She is a yoga instructor on the Peninsula and also a returned Peace Corps Volunteer. We shared some of our Peace Corps experiences when we met and she told me about a program she was helping out with at the local elementary school. The students were learning a little bit of different languages, including French, and also studying different cultures and traditions.

Annie asked me to come into the school and give a presentation on my experience in Morocco. I was more than happy to bring in some slides and talk about my adventures.

I prepared some pictures, brought my Berber carpets for the kids to sit on and also made Moroccan mint tea for the twenty students. They loved looking at all of the pictures and especially liked to hear stories about the camels and the sand dunes. I dressed one of the little girls up as a bride and she was shocked when I told her that in Morocco she would be getting married in about four years. I told another girl that as a six year old, her job would be to heard her family's camels along the desert. I think she liked that idea. The boys wanted their turn so I wrapped blue scarves around their heads like traditional nomads and they pretended to be ninjas.


The other girls tried on some of the Moroccan clothing I wore and insisted on organizing a henna party. I was more than happy to agree.



I talked a little bit about some the Moroccan customs, like touching your heart after giving a handshake and taking off your shoes before stepping on a rug. They all freaked out when they sa the picture of the turkish toilet. After that, they all immediately took off their shoes because they were sitting on Moroccan rugs.

It was the first time I had taught a class in all English, and it was probably the youngest class I have ever had. The students were all in a special advanced group in the school and ranged from ages six to thirteen. Many have accelerated in school rather quickly and when they heard I graduated at nineteen, they all wanted to know my secret.

One boy asked, "Did you skip a lot of grades or something?"

I replied, "I prefer to say I combined a lot of grades."

I think they liked that. I told the kids that they had a long road ahead of them and will surely face many challenges due to their age, but it was nothing that they wouldn't be able to overcome.

They all asked very good questions, including, "Does it ever get cold?" "How long did it take you to climb up that dune?" "You can really ride camels?" "What do you mean they don't have pets?" "What do you mean everyone sleeps in the same room?" "What do you mean you have to slaughter your own chicken and sheep for meat?" "You really had to sleep on the roof?"

All of a sudden I was transported back to my Moroccan classroom and my former students' questions echoed in my mind..."Miss Aura, how is it that everyone in the has separate bedrooms?" "You really buy packaged meat at the store?" "You can be friends with boys?" "You move out of your house before your get married?" "Girls can go to cafes?" "What do you mean boys and girls are the same?" "What do you mean you don't live with your entire family and all your relatives?"

The differences between the questions only reinforced how lucky I felt to be home.

I tried to explain to the kids how if we were in Morocco, they wouldn't be in the same class right now and that boys and girls would not be holding hands or dancing in front of each other. They all looked up at me with confused eyes, as though they couldn't understand what I was saying. I had to laugh when one boy raised his hand and said, "Well, there's no place like home."

I ended the class by playing a little bit of Moroccan music and of course the girls all started dancing. The Moroccan inside me wanted to say, oh no, hashuma (shameful)...but my American side took over and let them sway to the music.

It was great to be able to share Morocco with them. To tell you the truth, I wasn't looking forward to going back and remembering everything. My Moroccan memories are so hard for me. Some of them make me laugh, a lot make me cry but most of them make me sad that I had to leave in such difficult circumstances. I know eventually my anchors will change but it is still hard for me to remember. Until then, all I can say is, "There's no place like home."