Following in the tradition of the backdating of entries, this one will be about swearing in. Though I realize in the world in which you all live I probably have not been here that long but it feels like forever to me since I even swore in, and that was only November 12.
Fittingly, the national office is in the capital, Rabat, where the swearing in ceremony and reception occurred. Surprisingly, despite being in country for over two months that was our time to lay eyes on Rabat. As all of our major pc meetings have been (and will be), the ceremony was to honor the achievements of the youth development and small business development sectors that arrived together. In attendance were our language instructors, administrative staff, the country director, some spouses of the staff, representatives from the Moroccan ministries with whom our sectors are affiliated and the American ambassador and his wife.
While in general I do not consider myself to be a highly emotional person, I cannot deny that my first impulse after we were sworn in as official volunteers was to turn to my right and hug Fauve with tears in my eyes. I think after such a wet year I should let go of the outdated image I have of myself as a rock that weeps not. After hearing to the country director’s speech, who was himself a volunteer in Morocco, and really listening to the words in the oath I could not help but remember all I endured to get here. I recalled the application, the countless trips to the doctor, the difficulties during the homestay period, the self doubt, the amazing people I met in Jerusalem volunteering, the set backs, the wishes, the tears (of course), the loss of hope, the reclamation of my old manta that “hope keeps me afloat” and the subsequent realization that it is in fact hope, and faith, that keep me sane.
I remembered thinking that I would not get in and not knowing where my life was going. I remembered the energy it took to be positive with only unclear and negative seeming clues being received. I remembered planning on being in Bahrain now and studying in Sweden next fall and struggling to remember what my first choice was when I was devastated that I would no longer be studying in Stockholm. I remember jumping for joy in my kitchen in Texas (SO happy to be coming to Morocco and NOT eastern Europe) and hugging my grandmother when I opened my invitation and I remembered seeing her happiness in my success, or was it my joy?… and the weight of such memories forced me to cry. There was little other choice for me at that moment.
Taking the oath was the culmination of my short life’s desire. According to what I wanted to do, I was exactly where I thought and planned that I should have been and no other place would have sufficed. I cried because… I was perfectly happy. I had attained what I wanted and it had been difficult but it was not until that moment that I understood how hard it had actually been.
I cannot imagine telling any of the students what we must do to come here. Considering how eager many seem to want to be apart of the brain drain I am not sure they would believe me. When I happen to think of the past year and half while I am in the company of some young person it takes a lot to keep composed. I hope they can feel in my presence the passion that I have for them. There is nothing that I wanted more, or want more, than to be exactly where I am, doing what I am doing.
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