Like how my rural isolation makes it difficult to get to a cyber café (if you like rickety old-fashioned rollercoasters, you’ll love the “transit” van that travels 130km to the nearest city to the east).

Or how I’ve been “busy” travelling – both back home to the good ol’ US of A, to Europe, and within Morocco – and haven’t had the time to sit down and write.

Or how I was occupied/exhausted/asleep/hibernating for Ramadan.

Or ...

I’m not sure if I’m being brave for doing this, but I’m afraid that I haven’t necessarily been telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (so help me God) here in my blog.

I’ve been avoiding some unpleasant truths, sidestepping some harsh realities of life here: I’ve been doing some editing, if you will – perhaps to paint a more genteel, simplified, and inspiring picture of life as a Peace Corps volunteer, or to prevent any pointed ugliness from spilling out ...

I have a few more videos up my sleeve, and a post about the immense struggles (coupled with the redeeming joys) of being a PCV (i.e. an attempt to capture the simultaneously ugly and beautiful aspects of Peace Corps service) is bubbling and brewing in the upper register. 

Ar mnb3d, enshallah… (Later, Allah/God willing).

 

But the lfurno, in all its blazing glory, is delightful.

First it was the frozen toothbrush.

Then went the pipes.

Walu rubini g lbit lma, Hašakum! (No running water in the bathroom, pardon my impoliteness!)

And still no running water in the bathroom (as of print), after about five days – must be the open exposure/vulnerability to the wind, as the running water in the kitchen returned after a day.

Seeing as how I’m not in the “writing mood” at the moment [i.e. the night before heading to the cyber café for internet access, three hours away], let it suffice to say that I hope the excess pictures in this post make up for the lack of words.

Crumple, but don’t crumble.

Crinkle, but don’t crease.

Grow, but don’t grouse.

Call it six or half a dozen, but the cold – the asmid – is here to stay, no matter how you slice or dice it.

…

Some call it transformative.

A changing moment.

What am I referring to?

Not Peace Corps (though I wouldn’t object to any of these characterizations).

I’m talking about…snow. The physical reaction some might term “freezing”.

Atfl [snow].

Illa atfl [there was snow].

On the n...

…And inside.

The all-pervading cold has crept itself up and along the High Atlas – inevitably - seeping into every crevice high, low, and all in-between.

Ad yilli atfl [there will be snow], as I tell my fellow Imaziġen (Berbers).

 

A new moon.

A new regime.

The tail end of Ramadan has passed.

Alongside this end comes (and came) the beginning of much feasting, celebration, singing, dancing, clapping, drumming…and relief, lHamdullah.

Four days of aHidous (dancing) were originally planned in my solidly-Berber-mountain-village, ...