Why Morocco?
It’s been about a month now that I have been in Morocco. There’s a lot to cover about learning, and teaching, and culture, and development, and all the thoughts that the bureaucracy will want on a file somewhere that will be read once or twice and then stored away, never to be seen again. I’m not really planning on covering those things in this post. Instead, I want to ask a few questions.
Why is the Peace Corps in Morocco?
What purpose does this organization serve?
How does the Peace Corps determine development goals?
What is considered sustainable development?
These questions have been bothering me because I am bothered by a much bigger question: what is the next 50 years going to look like for me? What will I be in control of and what will I not?
This ultimately ties back to a question of climate and temperature. I’m not going to lecture; I’m not even going to cite statistics. If this upsets you, don’t read this entry. Just remember that the facts don’t care about your feelings.
Morocco is getting hotter, just like the rest of the planet. The Sahara covers the southern half of the country, and increased temperatures certainly won’t cause earth’s largest desert to shrink away, just the opposite. The presence of climate change weighs here like an electric blanket dipped in boiling water. In mid-October the heat is still unbearable for anything more than walking about, and September was hellish.
I have a wonderful host family. My host mom is kind and sweet, my host uncle is gentle and smart, but none of the four adults in my family have much care for what comes after them. When their grandchildren play war games constantly, the most desirable job among the youth is in the military, and the police are keeping a close watch on our backs whenever we travel about, the pressing climate reality of not just this country, but the globe becomes like a dark specter overhead.
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Then there are moments of levity. My host uncle Hassan is well over 60 years old and clearly in his golden years. Hassan is missing many of his front teeth (though I am not sure if it is from his time as a professional goalie or from all the bread!) but he still smiles wider than anyone when he looks at his granddaughter Remu play. He’s a gentle, but respected presence in the house. Yesterday I joined him as was lounging on the couch, planning to read more of Jared Diamond’s Collapse. He asked what I was reading, a history book, and we talked for a moment. He did not learn how to read, even telephones are difficult for him to use. He felt it was a problem and I could sense that his simple phone with 10 buttons for the numbers for calls, was not a point of pride for him. I expressed how I thought the simplicity of it was good, and not bad. He smiled at that.
A moment later, we sat down to eat a wonderful lunch, plated full of fries, chicken, and fragrant spices. My stomach rumbled, and before I could start eating, I realized I did not know how to ask if we could start. I fumbled through the start of a sentence, but before I could get a complete thought out, he turned to me (a rare moment for any meal) and said “Bismillah”, meaning “in the name of God”, or also, “Let’s Eat!”
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It's hard to reconcile these two truths. There is an excellent quote by Jeff Bezos that I tend to think of in these times, “When the data and the anecdotes disagree, the anecdotes are usually right”. Metrics say there is much to be worried about. My host family doesn’t seem to notice beyond some complaints of the years-long drought, but the desire for security and stability is a fact of life here. The peace in Morocco is an express priority, and the people will adapt to whatever is thrown at them, whether it is in their control or not. What is outside of our control simply is, and my host family seems to know this very well.
I am going to keep focusing on the change I can make.
