The Roof Above Me

I tried to return to home on January third. Saddled with too much luggage, I got off the train hailing a grand taxi for half a dirham more than the actual price. Two additional cab rides and several halfhearted waves later I arrived at the village I had done my best to create my home. I walked along a dirt path stopping to buy some triangles of cheese, up a flight of unlit stairs, and put my key into the lock turning it counterclockwise to allow myself entry.

I made it inside, but somewhere between the threshold and the confusion that had collapsed upon me, I faltered.

Auto-pilot. Every morning I made a breakfast of oatmeal, sugared dates, and applesauce. Twice a week I visited the children at the S.O.S Village. Three times a week I sat listlessly at my requisite classes at the Nedi Neswi. Four times a week I exercised at the local gym. Five times a week I shopped at the hanut because staying inside all day would be illogical. Six times a week I climbed out of bed though the air and sadness chilled me. Seven times a week I would cry from the grief of those who had injured me reading Psalms 23:1 "The Lord is my shepard, I shall not want."

                Please God, don't let me want anything. In Jesus name amen.

I had only my oatmeal to look forward to and it tasted delicious as I watched piles of dishes amass. Piles of clothes amass. Piles of garbage amass. Needs go unmet. Lifeless words leave my mouth. Necessity subsume fulfillment. Vulnerability overtake strength. Nightmares overpower dreams. Pandemonium take rule.

A Personal Statement as to my Intentions to Reinstate

During my medevac period there was a week in which I experienced heightened panic. Every day from February 9th to the fifteenth my anxiety found ways to debilitate me whether from believing in the abject meaninglessness of being lost or simply being overwhelmed by an aimless stroll in the mall. In between the panics attacks of this baleful week one evening I found myself at the gym.

I wanted to test the hypothesis that exercise relieved stress. What I ended up doing was listening to Rihanna's Umbrella. One typically boring, suffocating night over the summer NCA and I had sung to each other over the telephone. It was my first time doing such a thing. It was an oddly delicate thing to do; the idea just popped into my head and the conversion from thought to almost melodious synchronization was magical. There is a part of me that thoroughly enjoys fits of frivolous fancy. It is the ease of laughter that diminishes barriers and encourages acceptance and yes, being stuffy (read: so dull) can foster an environment of positivity, but I'd rather be a deviously twinkling light in the world ready to do something silly and reach the sheltered places of those under duress.

So I listened to Rihanna singing in the key of I-don't-know-what at the top of my vocal cords allowing my thoughts to wander to futures unknown and to the gaiety and pain of past events. Settling myself down memory lane guided by the tunes of ella ella eh eh under my umbrella I tried to find reason in the chaos that precluded my medevac.

When the sun shines, we'll shine together
Told you I'd be here forever
Said I'll always be a friend
Took an oath I'ma stick it out to the end

On March 27, 2013 I took an oath to serve my nation. Standing beside NCA we made a pledge to protect and defend the constitution. Honestly, I hadn't the slightest clue as to how I could feasibly do that, but to the best of my abilities I promised myself that I would give my all in accomplishing the three goals set forth by Peace Corps.

An Ever Shrinking Female Space

This blog post is quintessentially about powerlessness. It is about the loss of agency that I feel given my experiences within Peace Corps and in Morocco. Disclaimer: TW for topics that include sexual aggression and sexual assault. I would also like to highlight that this blog is about the singular, and I do mean singular, corrosive aspect of my life: my daily struggle to protect my personal space because heighten instances of sexual harassment. Also, let it be known that there is no such thing as a benign act of sexual harassment.


In America I felt...liberated. Okay, so that isn't necessarily true. I felt liberated up to the point in which I still lived with my mom (shot-out to my mom: I love you, Mom!), was incredibly broke, and without prospect. All the same, there was a certain optimism that guided my actions and kept me buoyant to despair. This certainty that things could feasibly go my way if I tried hard enough was indispensable in allowing my mind to remain free and in a very abstract fashion shielding me from the imprisonment of self-doubt and the bleakness of having my mom drive me to work everyday. This was the very narrow definition of how I personally defined liberation: economic independence, manifest destiny, partying, and other shit that service in Peace Corps has taught does not matter.

I knew upon joining the Peace Corps that I would relinquish some traits and habits that were dear to me in expressing my individuality. I knew that I couldn't really be me or at least that I couldn't be me as how I practiced being an autonomous being capable of agency and reflection. I knew that I would become someone different, ideally better, but definitely different and I was okay with this. I was okay with this sacrifice. I was okay with no longer being me. In my highly complex and elaborate analysis in what it means to be true to the self, I made the assessment that there were two aspects of personhood: the first being those things which are unshakable, existing as qua, intrinsic to nature, and standing forevermore; the second being shaped by experiences of an a posteriori nature, erratic as unqualified atoms, unstable and central to the dichotomy, capable of change. So when I say, I was okay with, "no longer being me" and you feel as I feel an ickiness at the impeding denial, I mean to say that I was okay with giving up attributes that I felt did not fundamentally define who I perceive myself to be. Those were the parts of myself that I would barter with, those were the parts that I "prepared...to make a commitment to serve abroad"  and give-up if need be because all I ever wanted to be was a Peace Corps Volunteer.

The journey to self-discovery is tricky, replete with pitfalls, and involves a series of challenges that test the fortitude of the ego.