Beneen Couscous

I'm sitting in a psuedo-tent with the cool mountain breee blowing through I'm in Azrou, Morocco. I doubt you could find a more beautiful town in many countrie, surrounded by rough mountains, cedars, green-tiled homes. I resting on a lounge couch of bright colors, and friends are gathering to smoke a huka apple-scented water pipe.

I have been joyously filled today with "beneen" (delicious) couscous (we ate it with our fingers from a common plate and tried to remember not to use our left hand as people use it to wipe themselves with after relieving themselves), blue skies, exotic flowers, beautiful architecture, so many happy moments, giggles as we blurted out attempts at Arabic. I feel spoiled and overjoyed and more happy than I should be allowed to feel.

Today we met Lee, a Peace Corps volunteer living and working here in the city. He seemed so happy and fit and tan. He had the same strange sweet curious, indigenous accent/mannerisms as Elliott Liske bore coming back from India this past time. A lilting, patient, informative mannerism. I'm curious what it is that affect two guys so similarly in two different countrie on two different continents.

I did grow a little anxious when he said he's been here a year and basically all he does is go to the markets in the afternoon after languge classes and lunches where he is invited, to help artisans think creatively, begin to think of different ways of doing things on their own - development ides at the most basic level. I felt defeated. Could I operate at such a slow pace for two years?

Another thought: I've known this experience will change me, but how much? Will I be a different person when I return to the states? Am I okay with that? Not sure, I guess so. I'm scared at the prospect of never fitting into American culture again. Well... I've got over two years to figure that one out.