Oh yes she almost did...

Background Fact #1 Ramadan began on Saturday. It is now the most holy month of the year. Moroccans (and many Peace Corps volunteers) are fasting from sunrise to sundown. The whole country is more conservative than normal and praying all five times a day is much more strictly adhered to.

Background Fact #2 Most Moroccan's don't have showers in their homes. Instead they go to the local hemmam (public bath house). There are set hours for men to go and set hours for women to go to the hemmam. In Toon Town during the other eleven months of the year the men's hours are 6am-12pm and 6pm-12am. Which leaves the women's time from 12pm-6pm.

However, seeing as it would be extremely difficult to sit in a steam room and bathe whilst fasting, the hours change for Ramadan. Lftar (break fast) is around 7.30pm and shortly after that the hemmam opens to women who can enjoy the hot steamy hemmam until midnight. Then the men have use of it from 12am until 2am, which is an hour before suhoor (last meal before sunrise) is eaten.

Last night, I joined my landlord's family for lftar. We broke fast with hard boiled eggs and milk blended with bananas. This was followed by dates and an assortment of fried breads. The best fried bread being agrhom win tadunt (fat bread). Mama stuffed her bread with minced meat, but it varies from house to house, other varieties include thinly sliced onions, peppers, fat and an array of spices. It sounds a little gross, but trust me it's delicious.

We sipped on the banana shakes, plain milk, mint tea and coffee. Then it was time for Harira (soup of Ramadan and one of my top five Moroccan specialties). I love Harira. That is until I realize that it's been jazzed up with little bits of kidney. Then I hate Harira and try and down my bowl without having to chew the kidney bits. I had to swallow large chunks of kidney last night in an effort not to gag in front of Mama and company. I'm pretty open to eating just about anything these days, but the texture and flavor of kidney is something I have never acquired a taste for.

All of this was followed by chocolate flavored flan. I was ready to burst and certainly not looking forward to sitting in the hemmam on a full stomach. For almost 45 minutes I contemplated skipping the hemmam and bucket bathing in the morning. But, it had been three and a half days since my last bath and it's hot outside so I needed to bathe. Mama tried her best to convince me to go to the hemmam and then come back to her place for dinner and midnight. I told her I was already struggling to stay awake and that when I finished at the hemmam I would be going straight to bed. I promised I'd come back another day and stay for the midnight dinner though.

And so off I went to the hemmam. I was already off my game; walking in the dark with my bucket and bag of towels, clean clothes, toiletries, etc...I'm used to doing this in the daylight and to be honest I never go out after dark. The hemmam is attached to the mosque and I didn't realize that the evening call to prayer had gone off just before I left my house. So not only was I walking in the dark with all my hemmam gear, but I was also surrounded by half of Tounfite's men who were all headed next door to where I was going. Awkward. In case you don't get just how awkward, it is already embarrassing during daylight when I am carrying my hemmam supplies and pass a random guy or boy. Some creepers give a 'bssHa l'hemmam' (to your about to be/already clean health) which is totally hshuma (shameful) on their part, but even more disturbing for me as I know they are imagining me bathing. So walking in the middle of the night with half the town's men-who are going to pray-was out of my skin awkward.

Somehow I didn't die of embarrassment and I entered the safety of the all-women zone. I'm in the hemmam. Latifa, the girl who works the women's time at the hemmam (taking payments and handing out buckets, selling soap etc...) greets me and I wish her Mbruk Ramadan (Happy/Congratulations Ramadan). When you enter the hemmam from outside, the first room you step into is changing room. This is where Latifa sits watching television and all the women strip into underwear. It's an open room, meaning you don't get changed in private.

I set my bucket on the floor, sit on the bench that lines the wall and strip down to my bikini bottoms. Most women wear underwear, although there are a few who go commando and all go topless. I store my shampoo/toiletries in my hemmam bucket along with my collapsable stool, which I sit on while I bathe.

Before I enter the steam/bathing rooms, I always put the legs of the stool in place. So I grab my stool and the four legs out of the bucket. I flip the stool upside down so that I can insert the legs and BAM. My house guest has hitched a ride to the hemmam in the bottom of my stool. He looked like this and was huge. And strangely shiny...perhaps he had been feeding on my conditioner for the past week.

He'd obviously had a shock to the system being pulled out of the bucket and was frantically trying to scramble back into the safety of darkness. He was two inches from crawling up my arm. Now please hear me out; I was not scared of the beetle. He was rather large and definitely not invited, but I knew he couldn't hurt me.

To be honest, I was more struck with a panic/embarrassment one might have if they went to the hairdressers only to be told you needed to leave immediately-you have fleas or lice and get out! How embarrassing to show up with my bucket and a filthy bug inside. I was panicking because I didn't want to be judged by the other women for carrying this new friend into their place of cleanliness. And that's when it happened.

With the base of my stool at a careful distance in front of me and a panic-ridden face, I made a beeline straight for the front door to flick him back into nature...My hand reached for the door handle and I pushed down MIRIAM LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)!!!!!

Before I even realized what I was doing Latifa had seen the bug, dived in front of me, grabbed the stool and was screaming 'ur ghorm i3abbannm' (you don't have your clothes on). I was in nothing but bikini bottoms and flip flops. Another woman, was now holding me from behind and we were in what can only be described as a naked mess together as I began to snap back into reality.

This is the official definition of mortifying.

I was now being screamed at by both women 'llan coolshi irizan ghrs dina brah attudun s adazaln' (all the men are just there outside, going to pray)!! It was literally less than seconds away from happening.

If Latifa hadn't of been paying attention, it would have happened.

Latifa was fully clothed and got rid of the bug. She came back inside and I thanked God she was there. I also considered hugging her, but decided enough awkward naked touching had happened for one night. I exclaimed 'ursingh mani ixfinu' (I don't know where my head is) and she said 'ida' (it's gone). She then laughed until she cried. So did the other naked women who had been restraining me.

Until that moment, I have taken pride in my countless uneventful trips to the hemmam. Before coming to Morocco I read many horror stories on other peoples blogs. None quite as bad as going outside topless on the fourth night of Ramadan in front of the Mosque and half the town's men, but horror stories nonetheless. I have made it two years without committing any really major faux pas.

Those two years went out the hemmam door last night.

I will now always be remembered as the foreigner who took her clothes off and almost went outside in front of all the soon to be praying men. Ruined.

I bathed in record time and in quiet humiliation...quiet aside from the giggles as the story was whispered around the hemmam.

I can take it though, I mean c'mon, do you think I would have made it through the past two years if I didn't have a sense of humor? I laughed until I cried with Latifa and my naked restrainer. And for the next two months I am sure I will laugh every time I enter the hemmam.

And for the next ten years I am sure Latifa will laugh on countless occasions as she tells the story of 'Miriam the foreigner' who almost went outside naked...in front of all the men going to pray on the fourth night of Ramadan.

Blushing,

Miriam x

Summer Work at the Coop

Preparing the warps for the looms

Now that we have a building, the women have been enjoying getting together each day, as have I. They decided that they will work at the coop five days a week, the two off days being Friday and Sunday. Friday because that is prayer day and Sunday because that is souk (market) day. They get to the coop around 2pm and stay until about 6pm. The work that they do during those hours varies each day. They rotate each day between weaving, taking pictures of the carpets and going to the cyber (internet cafe) to upload the pictures. 

At first, I went to the fields with them to supervise taking the pictures, but now I stay behind at the coop, in an effort to make sure that they can do everything they need to do without my assistance. They take an average of five carpets with them to photograph and each carpet has to have five pictures taken. They have been doing pretty well at this. When they return to the coop I review the pictures and I point out any errors or pictures that aren't good enough. Of course, I praise them for all the good shots too. 

Following the photography days, I show up at the coop with my camera and USB cable and hand it over to Rabha. She then heads to the cyber to upload the pictures to The Anou website. As with the photography sessions, I used to accompany Rabha to the cyber, but now stay behind at the coop. When I get home in the evening I log into The Anou website and review Rabha's work making notes of any errors. The next day I accompany Rabha to the cyber and have her review her work from the previous day. If she doesn't find the errors by herself, then I point them out and she corrects them. 

I can't tell you how nice it is to have a place where the women can all come together and work. For most of my service, I only saw the women when we held coop meetings. Now I get to see them five days a week. While the women are weaving we make small talk, I play with Yemna's son, Yassine, and of course we end each day with tea. The women all chipped in and bought a small buta (propane tank), sugar and tea. Each day, someone brings a couple containers of water and a couple loaves of bread. 

On the first day of work at the coop, a display was set up directly across from the coop, by a woodworking shop a few doors down. The women thought this was absolutely hilarious. Never before had the wood workers put a display on the sidewalk. The women told me it was done for our benefit. They said that the men think that now that they have a coop building the women are tjjunt n l'flus (literally: full of money). It was a pretty fancy bedroom suite, but well above anything the women could afford. The asking price was 5,000 dirhams which is roughly $600. Pretty good deal for a handmade bedroom suite.

Enjoy the pictures!

Miriam x

Yemna & Yassine

Yassine

Strategically Placed Bedroom Suite 

Colors of the very first five carpets to be made at the coop

Weaving Away

Weaving Away

New Style Carpet

Apparently my arm tasted very good because this cow wouldn't stop licking it while we were taking pictures of the carpets!

This was taken during the dust/heat wave. The big mountain (Masskar) is barely visable due to the dust haze. 

This is the building where I throw my trash. From time to time a match is lit and thrown in to burn the trash pile down. You can imagine how good Toon Town smells on those occasions. 

Cooperative Chorouk at Cafe Clock in Fez

A couple of weeks ago Rabha and I went to Cafe Clock in Fes to put up the coop's display in the restaurant. Rabha was already in Azrou for a training so we agreed to meet at 1pm in Fes, which is only an hour and a half journey from Azrou. 

I took the early morning bus from Zaida which went directly to Fes and is roughly a six hour bus ride. Upon arrival at the restaurant a waiter greeted me and told me to have a seat and that Mike was on his way. Mike showed up not too long after that, and we began to discuss the ins and outs of the display. 

Time ticked on and before I knew it, it was already 2.30 and still no sign of Rabha. I apologized to Mike and explained that she was in Azrou for a training and must have been held up. Rabha called not too long after that and told me she was on her way and to tell Mike to wait for her. I told Mike that she was on her way and he said no problem that she can discuss things with his assistant, Khalid. Mike is opening another restaurant in Marrakech and wasn't going to be able to stick around as he has a busy schedule to say the least. 

When Rabha finally showed up at 3.30 I was fuming. She knew how important the meeting was. I kept my cool and told her how unprofessional her tardiness was. She apologized, but I don't know that it really sunk in, after all Khaild was there to talk to her, and I had been there to keep the appointment with Mike, so I don't think she thought it really mattered. Another high to low in 0-60 seconds, it's amazing the ups and downs you go through in Peace Corps. 

I spent the next four hours on a ladder, with my arms above my head, hanging carpets in what was well above 100 degree heat. Guests stopped to inquire about the display and I spoke to them with sweat literally pouring off of my face. It was gross and it certainly didn't help that I was already worked up from earlier events.

When the last carpet was hung I collapsed into a chair and drank a gallon of ice cold water while doing my best to ignore Rabha's medical advice-drinking ice cold water will make me sick. Rabha and I then had a very tasty dinner-Mike had generously told me to make sure that we have a meal before we leave. Rabha didn't know what to do when she saw the menu. She took about a half an hour to make her mind up as she was uneasy about ordering food that ran between 60-100 dirhams a plate. I told her not to be shy, that Mike had offered the meal and not to worry about the price. She finally decided on a grilled chicken breast sandwich. I had the tabbouleh, hummus and falafel plate, which is what I always order. Everything was delicious as usual. 

Before we ate, Rabha asked where she could wash her hands and so I told her to follow me. I led her to the bathrooms and we both washed our hands together. Then Rabha experienced her first ever automatic hand dryer. It was entertaining and she squealed when she put her hands under it and it came on automatically. 'Urjean annaygh shan lhawaj imchi' (I've never seen something like this)! We both laughed and went back downstairs to wait for our food. 

It was then that I started thinking about Marisa's ladies from Hdida. They had boarded a plane almost a week before that headed to America for a month long tour of the USA, where they will teach those interested in weaving how to weave and also take part in the Santa Fe Folk Art Festival.  I couldn't stop thinking about all the very many 'firsts' they were experiencing. It's hard to imagine what they must be going through. For me coming to Morocco was like stepping back in time. But for those ladies heading to America must be like traveling into the future. I look forward to talking to them and Marisa and hearing about their experiences in the USA.

Mike has already e-mailed me to let me know that the display is generating conversation in the restaurant and that we have sold one carpet. He is going to feature the display on the restaurant's website in the near future and will also be getting in contact with the writer from the Fes blog The View From Fez to hopefully interview Rabha and create a blog entry about the coop and their works. 

Fingers crossed sales do well!

Miriam x

The Anou

To see more pics follow the link in this blog post...

A few weeks back, Dan Driscoll founder of The Anou came to visit the ladies of Cooperative Chorouk. While the site isn't open just yet, I invite you to watch the short intro video which is on the above link. This will give you an idea of exactly what the site is, but in short, it's a 'fair-trade' site for artisans to post and sell their products on. It is designed for those with no computer skills and who are illiterate. It's pretty awesome.

Dan stayed here in ToonTown for three and a half busy days. The first day we gathered the ladies and explained the site to them. Our first hurdle: in order to post their products on the site a photo of the woman who made it must accompany the post. The women are shy to say the least and most said that their husbands would not want their pictures online. So we rounded up the husbands, who after listening to a full explanation of what exactly the site will provide for the women, had no objections to their wives photos being online. Phew.

That afternoon, we interviewed each of the women and from that we created a short bio on each of the ladies. When the site is open you will be able to see all of this.

The next day, we set out into the mountains to train the women how to use a camera. Just to give you an idea of where we were starting from, I handed my camera to one of the ladies and she put it up to her eye with the lens facing her. We worked through a photography 101 session on how to hold it, what the buttons do, how to center an object, what time of day is best for taking pictures, etc...Pleasingly the women did well for themselves.

The following day, we took Rabha to a local cyber (internet cafe) and began training her on how to use the site and how to upload pictures. While the site is designed to be user friendly (no words, just pictures/icons) it is a lot of information for someone who never uses computers. Just getting to the Anou page is a task in itself for her. She practiced over and over and over again and after a few hours she was much faster at the process. We met again the next morning and had her do it all over again. And over and over again.

The way the site is programmed; when someone buys a product the artisan who made it and the president of the coop receive a text with the item number and the address to send it to. They must then text back confirmation and head to the post office. Once sent, they send a second text confirming it has been shipped. The money is then transferred to the coop's bank account.

Dan initiated a text for the sake of practice (he actually bought a carpet and texted Rabha the address of a friend back in the USA) she received the text, sent her confirmation text and we all headed to the post office together to send it. When Dan was satisfied with her progress he said goodbye and headed on to the next village to continue training artisans across Morocco.

It's now up to me to make sure Rabha practices using the site each week. We've adopted a schedule of meeting with the ladies one day and having them take pictures of their carpets and then the following day Rabha and I meet at the cyber and she uploads the photos to the site.

The women are enjoying going into the mountains and fields to take photos of their products and are learning more and more each day. Each product must have five photos; basic photo of entire product, close up on design, product with a landscape background, reverse side of product and a photo of the product with the woman who created it.

The women are eager and on the first day they wanted to bring all of their stock with them to photograph. I explained that we needed to work shwiya b shwiya (little by little) and in smaller sessions.   After the second set of sessions, they realized why I insisted on smaller sessions. Rabha admitted that she had thought I just didn't want to work a lot and happily today she apologized and said now she knows why I was so insistent on small sessions.

It is a lot to remember, especially when we are at the cyber. She makes the same basic mistakes and we correct them together over and over again, but the reality is that she is on information overload. I am confident she will get the hang of it and be breezing through the process by the time I finish here. But for now, I don't think my patience has ever been tried so hard. I sit next to her in the cyber and in my head I tell myself 'patience, patience, patience' over and over and over again. It is good for me though.

And it is so rewarding to watch them progress and the smiles on their faces when they do well. They are proud of themselves and I am proud of them.

If you look here you can see pictures of our training with Dan.

And if you look here you can watch a short video of Dan and Rabha, which I filmed after the training.

He is still working on sorting a few minor bugs out with the site, but it will open sometime this summer.  So please check back...

About Dan: Dan is a returned Peace Corps Volunteer who served in Morocco (2008-2010). He then moved to Yemen and got a job starting up a newspaper, which was all going well until the Arab Spring when he was forced to leave the country (he has some pretty interesting stories about his time there!). He first thought about the need for a site like a Anou when he was in the Peace Corps and while in Yemen he saw more and more middlemen and the idea never strayed too far. Upon being told to leave the country, he decided to return to Morocco and give Anou a shot...and boy are we glad he did!

Miriam x

Placentas and The First Milk

***Warning: This post is pretty grotesque.***

I recently learned that there are women who after giving birth, eat their placentas. Ew. Apparently, the most common way is to add a small amount to a daily smoothie. Again, Ew. There is even a new science which puts it into pill form. Someone apparently didn't like how it tasted. New health studies show that it helps significantly with post-partum depression...I think that is because you are so distracted by what you are eating each day, that you forget to be sad. (That was a joke).

You may be asking yourself what this has to do with my Peace Corps service here in Morocco. It doesn't really. I just made it a part of it when I couldn't drop my new found discovery.

You see, when I heard this was happening, I began a series of e-mails back and forth with my Mom in the USA. I was dumbfounded. And of course I wanted to know if she ate mine or my brothers...apparently it is a new post-natal dietary trend, so no she did not eat any of our placentas. Phew.

The e-mails went back and forth for a few days, with placenta related stories and inappropriate jokes. And then there was the knock on my door. It was my landlady, Mama. I'd told her a few weeks back that when their pregnant cow goes into labor to come knock on my door, I've never seen a cow give birth and I thought why not put it on my bucket list. Sadly, when Mama came knocking, the cow had already given birth so I have yet to witness a baby cow come crawling out of another cow. I think I am mildly relieved though. After I requested her to get me when the time comes, I Googled 'cow birth' and was pretty disgusted. I know it's a miracle and all, but Ew.

Mama was in her kitchen when she heard the tiny 'moos' and she says it is the first time she's ever had a cow give birth without her assistance. So there she was standing in my doorway inviting me to come see the new calf. She kept making sucking faces which was pretty funny, I guess she thought I'd never seen a baby animal feed from its mother before either.

So upon her orders, I grabbed my camera and made my way to her house. While taking pictures of the baby calf feeding, I started coughing. And that's where it all went wrong. Mama remembered that I was sick ( I had a cold/flu last week) and was on a mission to help me get better.

'Getting better' was to take place in her kitchen. When I got upstairs, I found out just what she had in store for me..."At sue it l'helib amz waru" which unfortunately for me means 'you will drink the cows first milk'...The first milk after it gave birth. And then my brain started to rapidly misfire...All I was getting was "Placenta-You will drink the placenta". I started getting the heebee jeebees and all the hairs on my arms were standing up. Minor panic attack begins.

I thought for a second I was going to be able to wiggle my out of the situation and I politely told Mama that my stomach is not accustomed to milk that hasn't been boiled and that I wouldn't be able to drink the first milk. Mashi mushkil Miriam inwee which means 'no problem Miriam it is cooked'. Great.

She pulled a stainless steel container out of the fridge and began to scoop spoonfuls of what looked like runny-yellow cottage cheese onto a small plate. Thank god the plate was small. At this point my brain is still continuing to misfire and placentas are still the only thing I can think about. Mama pours twice as much sugar as there is cottage cheese stuff on top of the yellow placenta.

I'm now screaming at myself to stop being so ridiculous it's clearly cottage cheese from the 'first milk' and the only true thing of concern is that it is yellow not white. It is not a placenta Miriam, pull yourself together! I'm pretty sure Mama saw me having this internal battle with myself as I can vaguely remember minor gagging, before the spoon was even in my hand.

I ate that entire plate of yellow cottage cheesy stuff topped with a weeks intake of sugar and you know what? It tasted like sugar.

Miriam x

Driss's Cafe

Today I woke up, fiddled around for a bit on the computer and then went downstairs and whipped up a batch of cornbread. I put the cornbread in the oven and went out for my daily run. It's a clear, sunshine filled day today, a huge change from the past two days. For the past two days I haven't been able to see the mountains. Dust. Not just a little wind and a gust of dust, I'm talking dust as far as the eye can see. I can't even see the sky. Most people put plastic over their windows and doors it was so dusty. The locals tell me it came from the Sahara. I believe them.

But, today is clear. And hot. I came back from my run and the cornbread was ready, so I turned the propane tank off, made a cup of coffee and a smoothie and rinsed off. I made the cornbread to take to my host Aunt, Baha. I borrowed her 'bbq' last week and intended to return it to her this morning with the cornbread. She didn't answer when I knocked though, so I divided the cornbread in half and went to Driss's cafe.

Driss 'beeps' me on the phone almost everyday. He is essentially my grandfather here in ToonTown. I know when he beeps me that he wants me to stop by the cafe for a glass or two or three of tea. Today, I take him half the loaf of cornbread and a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt (unisex) that I won't be needing anymore. Before I hand them over to him, he insists that I stay for lunch, I politely decline. I tell him I'm on a diet and that I will eat a salad at my house for lunch. He tells me it's not a problem to eat a little bit of lunch with him. He offers a soda or tea and I ask for a glass of water. He tells me to sit. I sit. He brings me icy cold water from the fridge and I drink three glasses.

I ask him what he has been doing and he tells me he has been washing his cafe. All the dust made it dirty, so he spent the morning washing the walls, the floors and all the tables and chairs. The faded pink walls of the cafe do look good in comparison to before.

I pull out my book and start reading. Driss brings me over a bag of ten fresh eggs. I shuma (shame) him. Driss always gives me eggs and calls me meskina (poor thing).

Driss's cafe only serves tea, soda and water. In the afternoons every chair is occupied by old men playing cards. A pot of tea costs 5 dirhams and is most often split between 5-6 men. The same goes for one bottle of soda. I am always the only female in Driss's cafe. Driss never lets me pay for tea or soda, which is why I don't go every time he beeps me. It doesn't seem fair. I'm not meskina.

Today while I am reading, Driss shuts the doors. I ask him what he is doing, it's just me, Driss and his friend. He tells me his friend helped him wash the cafe, so they are having lunch together at the cafe. I've already told him I'm having lunch at my place so I continue reading. I hear Driss tell his friend, "Sird iffasn sh" (Wash your hands).

Driss walks over and puts a plate of slow-cooked chicken, peppers, onions and tomatoes in front of me. I shuma him again. He brings me a round loaf of bread and tells me to eat. Driss and his friend sit at the table next to me, sharing their own plate of food. I break the bread, whisper Bismillah (In the name of Allah) and begin to eat.

Driss is a good cook. I tell him the food is "yat fut" (delicious). Driss appears next to me with the pot the food was cooked in and tries to ladle me more broth and vegetables. I cover my plate with my hands and tell him, "Safi Barraka, Ly Clef" (Enough it's fine, Blessings be upon you, May Allah replenish you). The whole time I feel awkward that I am not eating from the same plate as they are. I don't expect Driss to treat me differently.

When I finish I start to walk my plate up to the cafe counter, Driss jumps up and grabs it from my hands. I thank him and I ask Allah to bless his parents. I wash my hands and return to my seat. A plate of sliced melon and fresh apricots has been placed in front of me. I look over and see that Driss and his friend are sharing their own plate of fruit. I eat two slices of melon and two apricots and there is still a full plate of fruit in front of me. I scoot towards the men and put my plate of fruit onto their plate. They both tell me to eat more, but I insist that I am full. They finish my plate of fruit.

I offer to help wash up, but Driss won't hear of it. I thank him again, ask Allah to replenish the food that I have eaten and bless his parents one more time. Driss just smiles and laughs at me. He tells me I am always welcome to eat with him.

I ask what he is doing now and he tells me he is going home to nap. We shut the cafe doors together, shake hands, and Driss tells me, "ar aska en challa" (until tomorrow, God Willing).

On my way home, my eyes fill with tears. When I get in my house, the tears stream down my cheeks and I cry. I ask myself why on earth I am crying. Then I realize. I am scared I will forget the two years I have spent here, the people, the generosity. The willingness they have to always give something, even when they have barely anything. And I feel guilty that I am leaving. I realize I am nervous to go back to a world of who has the nicest car, fanciest clothes, biggest house...I am frustrated that where I was born allows me opportunities these people will never have. I cry because I will go home and no one will really know what my two years here was like, more importantly no one will understand what life for the people of Tounfite is.

Me & Driss

10 Reasons to Hire an RPCV

Hello All!

I haven't actually written anything to share with you today. Instead, I am including a link which our Country Director just sent to us...it made me smile and I hope you do too!

10 Reasons to Hire an RPCV

Armenbed (Until Later),

Miriam x