Living in a remote part of the Middle Atlas in Morocco, I have become accustomed to a certain pace of life. What I expect out of a day, week, or month has been re-calibrated to bled living. Looking back on my life in the United States, I am foxed by my productivity. I could complete a number of tasks simultaneously (Americans even have a name for that), and many in a single day. Work, school, social life, exercise, personal hobbies, and random adventures could fit into a single 24 hour stretch with 7 hours to spare for sleep. Here, one hopes only to achieve a simple goal like grocery shopping, bathing, or holding a meeting with work counterparts. Time allotted to a recognized form of western social interaction like drinking a beer involves a multi-day commitment. A quantifiable performance of professional duties like teaching a class, holding a meeting with local government, or communicating with superiors in the Ministry requires a series of informal meetings, chance encounters, and the development of professional-looking documents stating “Purpose” to satisfy a lumbering post-colonial bureaucracy.
Motivated, educated, idealistic young American Peace Corps Volunteers are well-suited to rise to this challenge, but that doesn’t mean that some of the local “chill-the-fuck-out” attitude doesn’t rub off in the long-run. Successful completion of a day’s goal before lunch often meant I spent the afternoon hiking, watching movies, or drinking tea at my neighbors and watching Arabic-dubbed Mexican soap operas. This pace of life is quite agreeable, especially when your mediocrity is praised by locals as hyper-productivity.
In the last few months I have made some moves. Got into a grad program at the American University in Cairo, secured a fellowship, made the necessary arrangements therein. In May, the group of PCV’s I came to Morocco with left, I stayed due to the fact that I was in the USA convalescing from the broken leg for 4+ months and need to satisfy the 24-month commitment. In the time since they left, I have dealt with the business-end of my year-long potable water security project that has created or improved access for 600+ (and did some other cool stuff), helped organize and fund an environmentally-themed summer camp in a local town, began a sanitation survey for our commune with my replacement, and wrapped up a health education curriculum for the local primary schools.
In the next month I will finishing my service, saying all the necessary goodbyes (including a very tough one), giving away all my stuff, doing medical check-ups, leaving Morocco, going to America for 2 weeks to see a lot of important people, and then going to Cairo to find an apartment and start school and work.
This is a significant acceleration of pace compared to the last 2 years. After a few busy hours and a heavy lunch, I begin to feel the gravitational pull of my couch, cat, computer, and cold coffee. To combat this and order my affairs I started using two modern devices; a calendar, and a clock. I have been giving myself tasks and times by which to compete them. Yield is up, leisure is down. After 2 years of integration, assimilation, capitulation, and relative relaxation I am getting my wind and legs back.
Soon I will have running water, reliable electricity, a home that protects from weather, internet, graduate level-courses to attend, a vehicle to drive, and a bunch of really fancy humans around me getting really stressed out about a bunch of things that aren’t really that big of a deal. I will be tempted to say things like “hey man, be thankful for all this” and be the victim of an aggressive ocular assessment.
Not to say it isn’t overwhelming, but I really am thankful for it. My days are now filled with mandatory duties with direct consequences. My job is to get a bunch of different places that are far away from each other and make the best out of it all. While I am satisfied with what I have accomplished in this country, I have learned much about what I understand as the minimum requirements of happiness. That is, by meeting basic material requirements and building a sturdy scaffold of good people around you, you can be happy. Beyond that, invented and in-bred expectations force people to measure life, grade themselves, and freak out.
Soon I will step off my last sheep truck, get out of my last ‘85 Benz, take my last French colonial train from the sweaty Gare de Fes, take my last Petit Taxi ride, and step onto a 747 again. I couldn’t be coming from a better place. I couldn't have a better mindset. I’m pretty stoked, and really thankful.
