Is Your RPCV Exhibiting Errant Conversations Syndrome?

Just recently, Peace Corps released the latest in a string of public service announcements (PSAs) commemorating the agency's 50 years of service to the United States and many parts of the world.  One PSA in particular captured my attention because it did an excellent job of portraying the random anecdotes I've been sharing with friends and family when I come across something that reminds me of my time in Morocco.

When greeting people for instance, I've been shaking people's hand as you customarily do here in the States, but now I proceed, as I did in Morocco, to place my right hand near to my heart to show my respect or to express how dear that person or that encounter is to me.  In Morocco, it was second nature to follow the handshake with a tap to one's heart, and despite being back home with old friends and in a completely different setting, my body almost involuntarily follows the same process.  Sometimes I catch myself in the act or others point it out, and explaining the gesture is often a topic of an errant conversation.

As far as language, I miss speaking darija.  The Moroccan Arabic dialect was fun to speak.  Phonetically speaking, it was a challenge to sound off the "ع" (aain) or "غ" (ghain) or the back of the throat "ق" (qa) or even the emphatic D, T, or to differentiate between the airy "ه" (similar to the 'h' for hello) or the raspy "ح" (similar to the sound you make to check if your breath smells).  During the first few months of service, combining some of these sounds seemed impossible, but after some time my tongue somehow came to accords with the sounds my ear was finally able to recognize and distinguish and slowly began to mimic them 'to the t'.

Even more challenging was understanding the hidden or indirect messages in Moroccan speech.  During training we were told that Moroccans used a ton of what our cultural and language facilitators called "God phrases" as part of their everyday language.  So instead of saying goodbye, they would say llah y3nk (God help you).  To thank someone for a good deed or to ask for a favor, they could say 3afak (the equivalent of please), but in most cases they would say llah yrHm l-walidin (God bless your parents) and my all-time favorite, preceding or following any statement calling for or mentioning any future action, insh'allah (God willing).

When I first arrived in site all 'gun ho' about starting a new project and building community support for it, I spoke to a number of people and tried to persuade them to join me in addressing some of the expressed needs of the community, but towards the end of our meetings, a large number of people would simply finish off our conversations with an insh'allah.  While it is true that we do not know what will happen tomorrow and we have little control over the future, being told that it was all up to God's will seemed a little fatalistic to me.  Later on though, I learned that the use of insh'allah was not only a way to show respect to the all-knowing God, but it was also used to say 'no' without offending the other person or to express that something is unlikely to happen.

Later on when people recognized that my speaking abilities had improved and I had demonstrated some fundraising capacity, some of the same people that had inshalla-ed me before began proposing their project ideas to me.  Unfortunately, by then I had already made commitments to other groups and had enough work for the rest of service, so without offending them, I respectfully inshalla-ed them back.

Back in the states, some people have proposed going to such and such an event or organizing something, and I've involuntarily blurted out insh'allah and I'm not doing it out of respect to God (although I respect It greatly), but mainly because the event or the activity does not appeal to me.  Sometimes I catch myself and sometimes others catch me saying it and wonder what the heck came out of my mouth, but then I explain that I do not know if I can or will be able to because it truly is up to God.  I say that I can't rule it out, but that I'd rather defer to God because no one really knows what the future may bring.  Unfortunately, this answer does not fly with most of my friends who still interpret this answer as some sort of newfound religious piety--not at all consistent with my beliefs and lifestyle--and not as a cordial way to say 'I am really not that interested'.  Then again, most U.S. Americans prefer directness, which is a cultural aspect that I've had to get readjusted to and that is often another subject of an errant conversation.

See the minute-long PSA titled "Conversations" below:    



Errant Conversation Syndrome (ECS) is common among all RPCVs.  Most exhibit symptoms throughout their lifetime.  They speak about their projects, language challenges, cultural differences, past bowel movements, pros and cons of Peace Corps, and a host of other service-related experiences.  At this time, there is no known "cure" (nor should there be) for this phenomenon, but I hear that active listening and a non-judgmental attitude are always welcomed.  And who knows? You may learn a thing or two from all these random pieces of information.  Thanks for reading.

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If you'd like to learn more darija, please visit the Friends of Morocco page on Learning Moroccan Arabic. I've also selected a few books on one of the recommended book widgets.  BssHa to your learning!

To watch other Peace Corps PSAs, please visit: http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.media.psa

Back in Jordan: Holy Land Divided and Partitioned

After a few days in Jerusalem, I made my way back to Jordan.  I had to go back the same way I went in by way of the Sheikh Hussein Bridge, but the second time around took a lot less time.  On my way up Bayt She'an, I stopped at the King Hussein crossing, but was told by one of the border guards that I could not cross because I had an exit stamp from Jordan meaning that I would need to pay for another visa to cross into Jordan.  Essentially, Jordan considers the Palestinian held territory to be theirs as well--granted it was at one point--so visiting Ramallah for instance to Jordanian authorities would be as if you had never left their country.  So in order to make it back to the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, I would need to go through either the Sheikh Hussein Bridge or head all the way down south to Wadi Araba.  I knew that a bus headed to Bayt She'an would come around in about 20 or so minutes so I parked my stuff on the west side bus stop and waited for the next northbound bus to pass through again.

Delicious falafel and Hebrew brew to wash it down

Once I arrived in Bayt She'an, I grabbed a falafel sandwich and a kosher beer at a fast-food joint just down the block from the bus stop next to the McDonalds.  The kosher beer was a decent pilsen, but nothing too exciting; however, knowing that I was on my way back to a Muslim country where drinking is haram (forbidden) even though it does happen in tourist areas , I took my time taking in what little scenery there was while I savored the brew.  The falafel was quite good actually mainly because of the tangy yogurt they slathered all over the bread.  After finishing the beer, the restaurant manager asked if I needed a cab to go to the crossing.  I said, "Yes," and within minutes the same cab driver that brought me to Bayt She'an a couple of days ago was there to take me back.  Whaddayaknow, small world!

This time around, though, he said less offensive things about his neighbors on the other side of the river and was mainly interested in how I spent my days in Jerusalem.  Towards the end of the short trip, he gave me his business card and told me to call him next time I pass through so I can dine with his family.  It was a nice gesture to leave on.

At the crossing, I paid my Israeli exit tax (98.50 NIS or roughly $30, ouch!), and on the other side I paid for another Jordanian visa (10 JD or approx $15, ouch again!).  Knowing that I would now have this visa for the next 30 days, I decided that I wasn't going to rush my travels in Jordan.  I called up my Peace Corps volunteer contacts near Irbid.  One of them told me that I could totally crash his pad for another night.  Unfortunately, the only way to get out of the crossing station on the Jordanian side was to pay 19JD or a little over $25 for a 12km ride to the Jordan River Crossing taxi service, which in NYC would be a bargain, but in Jordan, it's highway robbery.

The dispatcher was trying to convince me to go all the way to Amman and pay 35JD for the trip, which was even more obscene knowing full well that a Hijazi bus from Irbid to Amman runs about 2JD, but it was a better value per kilometer nonetheless.  This was one instance when traveling with someone else would have made the trip much cheaper.  A lot of Jordanians at the crossing were already traveling in twos or threes and split the fares to their destinations.  The few Israelis that had crossed over got into a tour bus that was waiting for them.  Finally, the dispatcher gave up trying to convince me to go to Amman and made the call for a taxi for Irbid, and I reluctantly paid the 19JD.

Once in Irbid, my volunteer host told me that he was sightseeing in Umm Qays with another volunteer and some of his Jordanian buddies that I had hung out with on my first visit to his village.  So from Irbid, I took a transit to Umm Qays for 1JD.  Normally, it's about .500 pistares/half a JD for the 15 minute ride, but because it was still Leid Kabir /Al-Adha or the Grand Holiday Feast weekend, the unlicensed, private transits wanted a little extra.

Upon arrival, they told me that we were going on a little road trip. I hopped onto another passenger van, and instead of going back on the road to Irbid, we went the opposite direction, downhill from Umm Qays and towards a military checkpoint.  Our driver and our Jordanian friend asked us for our passports, they handed them to the guards, and then went about asking the guards where they were from, which village exactly, family names, and then told them that we were American tourists passing through.  The guards took a peek in.  Saw all three of us and none of us looked stereotypically American so he asked our guide again if we were indeed American.  He confirmed we were, the guard nodded, and then signaled that we could proceed.

We went another mile or so until we reached another checkpoint.  Now, I was thinking, "Maybe I should have asked where we were going before jumping onto this van." For a moment, I thought that maybe we were headed to Syria, which seemed unlikely, but then Umm Qays is a stone's throw away so it wasn't too far fetched.  At the second checkpoint, our Jordanian friend followed the same procedure, but this time one of the guards mentioned a village that one of our friends recognized.  From there, they went back and forth dropping names of mutual acquaintances.  That guard only glanced at our passports and then handed them back.

After that checkpoint, our driver cranked the car into second gear as we climbed a hill overlooking the Yarmouk River Valley sandwiched between the towering Golan Heights and the Jordanian east bank hills where a few families were there picnicking and watching the sunset.

Golan Heights from Jordan

Our Jordanian friend asked a gentleman who was laid out on a blanket on the hill's edge to point out some landmarks for us.  The man pointed north to the Golan Heights, which is currently under Israeli control, but that he considered to be part of Syria.

He pointed east and said that the olive-tree-dotted hills were part of Jordan and then pointed west and said that the fertile valley extending towards the Sea of Galilee/Lake Tiberias was Palestine.

He then pointed specifically to a certain area in the valley and said that his family had lived there before the war drove them out.

He said that he came to that hill often to gaze into Palestine and he hoped that one day he would be able to go back and live there once again.

The sun was setting quickly so our driver and friend told us to get back in the van.  We descended down the same hill and got back on the road.  We stopped at another military checkpoint.  We showed our IDs and were flagged through.  We stopped on the side of the road about 2-3K from the last checkpoint to see the Palestinian territory up close and the barbed and razor-wire fences on the other side of the river.

We were told that this was the demilitarized zone and that entire stretches on both sides of the river were lined with land mines.  One of our guides commented that it was like fillaha (agriculture/farming).  Along with the land mine cultivation, there were some fancy irrigation channels with all sorts of tunnels going in and out of hillside.

After getting a few pictures, we made our way back to Irbid.  It took me a while to process what I had seen.  For so long I had heard about the tensions in this region of the world, had read about the Six Day War, and had watched one Al-Jazeera documentary after another about the Israeli occupation while living in Morocco, but now I had met someone, a  Jordanian national of Palestinian descent, who was personally affected by the conflict.  I had seen first hand how decades of unresolved border disputes had led to a buffer of land mines to prevent further incursions from either party.  It was just hard to reconcile the land mines, military checkpoints, razor-wire fencing, every other young Israeli carrying assault rifles, and the animosity on both sides of the river with the messages of peace and compassion that I had read in the Bible, and I wondered whether, if ever, the message to love thy neighbor and to do unto others as you would like to have done unto thyself that is central to all Abrahamic faiths would ever be manifested in the very place where it was preached thousands of years ago.

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I think we are all guilty of dismissing every other beauty queen's wish for world peace.  It seems preposterous in the face of the calamities this world has witnessed and the conflict-ridden state of affairs.  I also dismiss it because it is hard to imagine what that world would look like.  Where and how do you begin?  How do you sustain it?

In a follow up to her Charter for Compassion, religious historian Karen Armstrong talks of reviving the Golden Rule.  She mentions in the TED talk below how doing so has the potential to turn us from an ego-centric mindset to a transcendent state, "an imaginative act of empathy, putting yourself in the place of another", which has the effect of making us value the life of another as much as we value our own life.  Towards the end, she paraphrases a theme in C.S. Lewis's book Four Loves in which the author differentiates between erotic love when one looks deeply into another's eyes and friendship when two people stand side by side gazing out towards a goal.  She says, "We don't have to fall in love with each other, but we can become friends....and when people of all different persuasions come together, working side by side, for a common goal, differences melt away.  And we learn amity.  And we learn to live together and to get to know one another."  It's a thoughtful response worthy of some serious consideration.  See the full TED Talk below: