Crying

Crying is a thing humans do. Supposedly other species of animals can cry, or have their own forms of crying, but for the most part, I would think that the act of crying is uniquely human. Evolution has granted us the gift of tears for reasons of expressions or chemistry or something else. Humans are serious about this gift. Crying represents intense emotions that must be maneuvered with care. It is used to demonstrate sincerity and love and can do a lot to develop relationships between individuals. At the same time, crying exposes fear and pain. As it is such a powerful human behavior, crying is linked with certain expectations from family to family and from culture to culture.

Humans reserve crying for certain occasions. We are busy creatures, and even though it is a thrill to ride the waves of our emotions, to experience love, we can't be burdened with too much drama. Life would be too exhausting if we always reacted with our hearts. For this reason, cultures often disapprove of crying over spilled milk. We learn to control our emotions, and block the tears.

When done correctly though, displaying tearful emotions is probably very healthy. I traveled with my Moroccan host family to the countryside the other week to visit family. Family members from different parts of Morocco were reunited at a rural home. It was a brief visit for us, but it meant so much for everyone to be together for a short period. One of my mom's sisters cried for a short spell to demonstrate her love for her family and the power of the occasion.

Crying from grief is healthy as well. Tragedy is part of life, and it is important for humans to confront the feelings associated with it. It may be easier at times to block the senses, but if sadness can't be embraced, happiness and love will also be dulled. If we become too desensitized, we lose life's drama, and existence becomes a chore. If we are the opposite, too sensitive, life becomes a different sort of chore. Cultures around the world find different balances to embrace the right amount of tearful drama to suit their lifestyles.

During Peace Corps Mali I never saw an adult Malian cry. Their were certainly situations that called for it, but Malians kept their weeping secretive. Life was tough on everyone in a Malian village and crying would not have the power to improve families' desperate conditions. Kids learned quickly to be tough. The less emotional pain one expressed the better. Everyday was a grind, and crying in Mali would have been seen as nothing more than a distraction. Individuals focused on getting work done and their families fed. Emotional health was not a concern, and to concern others with it would be seen as disrespectful. Perhaps it would be better for Malian culture to express more emotion, or perhaps they have found the balance that their environment demands.

In Morocco I have experienced quite the opposite. Moroccans crave intimacy and make efforts to explore their deeper emotions. On a few occasions this has resulted in crying. Two of the occasions were during good byes (most of the crying I've done in my life has come from goodbyes; it seems to be an occasion where crying is acceptable) and another was during the family reunion I mentioned earlier. The crying demonstrated more love than any combination of words could have. The passion Moroccans seem to have may generate more drama than is necessary, or perhaps they have found the balance that their environment demands.

Balancing our heads and our hearts is a challenge of life. Too much heart and the drama of life will drown you. Not enough heart and you will hardly feel alive, missing the point altogether.

Week 1

I made it no further than two blocks from the house when another wave of rain broke loose from the grey sky.  I paused to determine my options, but in that time I could already feel damp pants clinging to my leg.  I needed to get inside.  Through the windows of a cafe, I watched the storm make a river out of the street.  People scattered to find shelter, unless they were unfortunate enough to own an umbrella, in which case they were too proud to admit that their preparedness was no match against the violent weather.  One boy played in the water with a thick smile plastered on his face.

Winter was putting on its final performance.  Earlier in the week, the sun demonstrated it's power and provided a taste of what summer might be like, but it couldn't sustain itself this early in the spring.  It was back to the weather I had experienced throughout my training: wet and windy.  Winter is stupid if there is no snow.

I felt useless.  My only goal for the day was to make a photocopy of my passport.  It took so much effort to crawl out of bed in the morning and greet my family.  I almost went back to sleep after breakfast, but instead I summoned all my energy and stepped out into Morocco.  But now that I was about to do something productive with my morning, I was suddenly stranded, incapable of doing anything just because water was falling from the sky.  Part of me was stoked since I am a big fan of doing nothing, and there is no better way of doing nothing than listening to rain patter.  Part of me was frustrated though, because I had been doing nothing all week, my first week at my final Peace Corps site.

After two months of intensive training, it was awkward to have nothing to do.  The Youth Center in the town is closed for renovations, so I have no official classroom.  Yesterday I was about to give an English class at the women's center, but someone had forgot to leave the key for me, so I failed before I even started.  I had made some friends at the basketball courts earlier in the week, but that too had been cut off because of the freaking rain.

Two men chatted near me in the cafe.  I should approach them, I thought.  Since I was stuck inside anyway I might as well try to meet some of my neighbors.  My job description at this point in my service is simply to make friends.  However, their tone and expressions seemed serious and I felt intimidated.  As I tried to think of how to introduce myself, the waiter walked up to me and asked me what I would like.  I wanted to say that I was just waiting for the storm to pass, but I got scared that it might be rude, so I asked for a coffee even though I had just had some at my house.  The interaction with the waiter  messed up my thought patterns, and I decided that I wouldn't talk to the strangers after all. 

I just sat.  And drank my coffee and admired the storm. 

I paid for my coffee when the rain stopped.  Then I walked to the paper store to photocopy my passport.  I chatted with the store owner and made him smile.  Then I dropped some papers off at the police station.  I chatted with the police officers and made them laugh.  One of them even gave a me a sort of high five.  Instead of going back to my house afterwards, I went to the local boarding house for out of town students.  I wanted to talk to the director about maybe scheduling some English classes in one of his spare rooms.  He wasn't around, though. 

This sudden burst of productivity lasted thirty minutes.  It wasn't much, but it tired me out enough to want to go back home and spend a few hours doing nothing.