Transition

My neck sways backward as the train slows to a halt, blinking my eyes awake. I hold a book open in my hands, though I dozed off hours ago. I was dreaming. I can't remember about what exactly, but it had something to do with my relationships with my fellow American volunteers. I look out the window and realize this might be my stop. I feel so sleepy though. Maybe I'll just go back to sleep and get off at Casablanca. It will be the same price to take a taxi from there. I'll just go back to sleep and return to my American friends. But, no, I need to stop being lazy. I need to wake up to reality.

I ask someone where we are and discover that it is indeed my stop. I struggle to retrieve my large backpack, almost knocking a passenger over the head. An older lady inches her way onto the train, and I awkwardly try to make my way around her. People stare, wondering who I am traveling to an average Moroccan town. I make no effort to acknowledge strangers. I am not happy with this transition back to reality.

For the past two weeks, Peace Corps invited all 95 volunteers from my training group to stay at a resort. The purpose was to provide more Arabic classes and present ideas to help us continue our work in Morocco's youth centers. However the experience went beyond training. With nearly one-hundred of us divided up into fancy bungalows, and opportunities for all kinds of recreation, I indulged in American culture. I got to know my fellow volunteers more over the two weeks than I did during the original two months of training. I danced. I laughed. My team got third place in Pool Olympics. I sang Karaoke. I went to some bars. I played basketball, soccer, and ultimate frisbee. I bonded with my old friends and discovered new friends. Relationships developed, or fell apart, or took unexpected turns. I let the drama carry me off into America. It was like an entire semester of college packed into two weeks. I had way too much fun living the dream.

I make no effort to interact with anyone as I seek out a taxi that goes to my town. The past two weeks have given me a social hang over, and I am not at all capable of interacting with Moroccans. I binge socialized with Americans at the resort, and now I'm shut down. What's the point of trying so hard to get to know Moroccans, and integrating into my community, if I will only ever scratch the surface of their values, attitudes, and desires? Communicating is a struggle. How will I ever make an intimate connection with a Moroccan?

I mumble the name of my town while floating around the taxi station. Nobody seems interested in helping me find the right taxi. I don't blame them, I probably don't seem so friendly either. Finally, one man helps by calling out loudly the name of my town, and across the street a man whistles to signal that he will be my driver. I drop my large backpack into the trunk, hoping he won't be annoyed by its extra weight. Then I hand him a large bill, feeling bad because he will struggle to make change. The man smiles, and after talking to a store keeper comes back with my change. He talks to me in French and Arabic, exuding enough positive energy to bring me out of my funk. He lives in my town, and knows the other American who works with me in my town. His name is Moustafa.

He talks with me the entire ride back to my town. Gradually, I shake off by anti-social attitude, and engage with Moustafa. At first we talk about Morocco and the places each of us have traveled to. I'm always impressed by Moroccans' passion for travel and sight seeing. They have a tremendous appreciation for beauty, both natural or man-made. He tells me his dream would be to travel around the world by car. He wants to drive and see everything. Later, the conversation morphs into a discussion about languages. We discuss the technical aspects of English and Arabic, and also assess the importance of learning new languages and being able to communicate with foreigners. Finally, the conversation moves onto religion.

Religion is a tough subject to discuss with Moroccans. I've had some really depressing talks about religion with Moroccan friends. So many seem almost unaware that other religions exist, which shocks me. Knowing that they think I will go to hell for not being Muslim makes me sad. Their insistence that I convert to Islam even angers me at times. I don't ignore religious talks though, because they reveal a lot about a person, and reveal a lot about a culture. Sometimes I even come away with a fresh perspective on the importance of religion. Sometimes I am able to provide a fresh perspective on religious tolerance. For the most part though, they are tough conversations to have, as they usually end with someone begging me to convert to Islam.

When Moustafa asks me if I am Muslim I expect the conversation to shrivel into frustration. Instead, he demonstrates how powerful an open mind can be:

“No, I'm Christian,” I can't help but cringe at my lie. The truth would be too complicated.

“Ah, yes, like this,” he does the motion of the cross, “I know your religion. do you know about Islam?”

“Yea. I want to understand Islam. I know the story about Mohammed and I know the 5 pillars. And some other things too,” then I get defensive to try and stop the conversation from going where it's gone so many times before, “but, I only want to understand Islam. I don't want to convert,”

“Of course not. Your parents are not Muslim. It would be strange for you to convert. We all know about God and that's the most important thing. There are Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, Christians, and Muslims in this world, and it is terrible for us to say that one is better than the other. Islam is for me, and I love it, but so many problems come if I tell others they must follow it. Peace is what the world needs. For Peace we need tolerance. You do not need to be Muslim for us to understand and be tolerant of each other.

I am impressed by his response and want to reply appropriately. “That is why I am living in Morocco. So we can understand each other. You have an open mind, Moustafa. You can embrace peace and love. People with closed minds are the ones who cause the problems in our world.”

It feels like a silly comment, and I really want to demonstrate how grateful I am to hear a Moroccan say these things, but my French and Arabic are unable to express my feelings entirely. I feel frustrated for a second, thinking that I need to say something profound to make this exchange meaningful. However, his expression suggests that I don't really have to say anything. He knows I agree, because he knows why I travel and live abroad. If he had the chance he would be doing it too. It is the best way to open the mind and create a global understanding. Since he does not have the opportunities to go abroad he travels within Morocco, and makes an effort to meet foreigners like myself. Even if we can't share this attitude with words, we can feel it. We can feel that we have similar passions. We are both part of the movement to make the world an open and accepting place.

Our bond may not be as intimate as those I had with my American friends at our resort, but that does not mean that it is not as important. In fact, my bond with Moustafa is more important in a certain way, because the connections one can make with those who are different, are the ones that will help humanity grow. It is fun to bond with friends with similar backgrounds, yet it's empowering to connect with those who we have little in common with. Both are necessary.

When we arrive, Moustafa goes out of his way to drops everyone off near their homes.  We exchange phone numbers at my stop, and agree to meet again sometime to chat. His energy has filled me with optimism. The kids have just got out of class and the the streets are swollen with playful smiles. I can't help but smile too. I have a pop in my step. I have been reminded of why I am doing Peace Corps, and am excited about my transition back to Moroccan reality.

Privacy

Only in the modern era has it become economically feasible for cultures to stress the importance of personal space. In general, humans have been required to share space with others nearly 24 hours per day. It was historically a requirement to work in teams, socialize with neighbors, and sleep as a family. In many modern cultures this is no longer true. In many ways this is great. Humans can finely develop their ideas and aspirations independent of communal pressures. However, it seems that when humans become too attached to privacy, important traditional values, such as sense of community and respect for elderly, are lost, significantly harming society's general happiness.

In many parts of the world the traditional lack of privacy remains. When I lived in rural Mali, I was stunned to observe that the concept of privacy hardly existed. Since houses were dark and hot they were mostly just used for storage, and people's lives took place outside in public. People worked outside. People slept outside. People did business outside. People socialized outside. Women washed clothes at the local spring, and even bathed publicly at the water source. Unless you were going to the bathroom (and by bathroom I mean a field away from the village), there was really no where to go to find private space. If they could have afforded it I believe the people of my village would have build private spaces, but instead they had to learn to live in close proximity. The result was an impressive support system where neighbors constantly checked up on each other and worked together to produce and properly distribute as much food as possible. Their survival depended on their support network.

In Morocco too, I have experienced the need to share space. The families I've lived with in Morocco would share rooms for sleeping; multiple individuals dividing up couch lengths. The idea is to conserve money, but an important result is a strong family bond. Lacking employment opportunities, it is not unusual for several generations to be living in the same space. Even after marriage, a son may not leave the household. Again, I believe they would if they could, but instead they learn to live in close proximity with other family members, developing a support system where everyone is taken care of.

The world's wealthier countries no longer need family or community support to ensure survival, and so reliance on family and neighbors has waned. Such independence is glorified in many contemporary cultures, as people are no longer restricted to follow the same beliefs and aspirations of the family they happen to have been born into. Such freedom has certainly produced many brilliant individuals and helped mitigate conflict. America is especially obsessed with the idea of independence and personal space. Our capitalist spirit doesn't like to share. As soon as they finish high school American teenagers strive to attain freedom from their parents. The layout of American towns is essentially a grid of private properties. We would never share a room with anybody except a partner. America is crazy about privacy

Unfortunately, it seems all too natural to abuse the luxury of being able to afford personal space, ultimately harming society's well-being.

As demonstrated by those wealthy enough to afford it, there is a universal urge in humans to have personal space. For the first time in human history, entire cultures can afford privacy for all its individuals. When we stop sharing space though, we tend to let go of certain human attributes that have been with us for tens of thousands of years. We forget how important it is to know how to tolerate the presence of others and we become detached from family and community. When sharing space, individuals are forced to share struggles and celebrations, and the bonding that occurs is essential to human happiness.

The worst ramification of America's obsession with independence and privacy is our treatment of the elderly. Before the modern world became obsessed with independence from our family, senior citizens had been regarded with utmost respect. Age meant wisdom, and for most of human history wisdom is all we had to go off. The elderly are deeply respected in most cultures, and contribute to the social dynamics of the community. In America we prefer to keep them on the sidelines. I often think about how demeaning it is for me to be doing development work to another country. Sure, there are things Morocco needs to change to improve the lives of its people, but for me to pretend to know what these things are because I am American is ridiculous. There is plenty of change and development that needs to happen in America too (I'm pretty sure we have the least sustainable lifestyle and humanity would surely be doomed if all seven billion of us consumed as much as Americans). If I imagine volunteers being sent from Morocco to America to help us develop, I picture workshops promoting respect for the elderly, telling us to learn from their wisdom and incorporate them into the daily family routine. Indeed, I don't believe America's senior citizens to be a happy demographic.

Another negative consequence of America's obsession with privacy is age segregation. Since we become detached from family and community, we create support networks from our peers. I hardly know how to act around kids or old people because I have no practice at it. I develop my world view only from like minded friends, and have trouble empathizing with the youth or elderly. I admire Moroccans ability to treat kids like they would younger siblings and the elderly like their own parents. The ages of the kids in the English class I teach range from eleven to seventeen and they are all affection to one another. I also admire the smiles on old people's faces, who are so happy to watch their grandchildren grow up in the same neighborhood as them.

Perhaps I've been a little harsh on America's obsession with privacy. A lot of it stems from my guilt of living on my own continent where the lives of family and friends back home hardly concern me. Africa has taught me that this is not a healthy attitude to have. It is possible to have a sense of family and community even if you don't share the same space (let alone the same continent) and I plan on improving mine. Important human behaviors were developed from a need to share space, and even though these behaviors are no longer required for survival, they ought to be continued since we are evolved to expect them. These behaviors include whatever demonstrates love and support for our family and community/friends, as a replacement for not sharing space with them.

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.