I made a resolution to be more social with my village this year, so I went out to talk to my neighbor, who informed me that January is olive season in Morocco. My neighbor told me that he was going to the president’s field with the other men. Remembering my resolution, I agreed to go with him. The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains, and when I got there, I saw that the men were already hard at work. In my village, it is the men who go out into the fields, buckets, tarp, and bamboo shoots in hand, in order to collect the olives. I watched as a small group of men climbed the trees to hit the branches with the shoots. The olives that were loose then fell to the ground, onto the newly laid tarp. Another group of men would carry the tarp to another part of the field, tie it to a tree so that it hung vertically, fill a bucket with what fell, and hurl the contents of the bucket at the tarp. Only the olives would make it to the tarp; the leaves and small twigs would flutter to the ground in between the thrower and the tarp. I was in the group that hunched over and picked up the olives that either did not make it to the tarp, or that fell from the tree while the other men were moving the tarp.
I was not expecting to do work like this here. To be honest, a lot of what has happened in Morocco falls under the category of “unexpected occurrence”. Running back into my house at night when I see a dog running towards me, stuffing my face with fresh bread deep fried in oil, listening to men talk openly about prostitutes - events like these are not exactly what one thinks of when they are told that they will be teaching health in rural Morocco. Nonetheless, I remembered my resolution, and if this is what the men are spending their time doing, I will make sure that I am there with them.
I sat at the edge of the field and picked the olives, one by one. At first, I started to think of how much faster this is done in America where we have machines to do this work for us. I listened as the men chatted idly with each other: how their days were, how their families were, funny things that happened to them while in town. These little sentences that they repeat to each other, I have learned, are important in their own way. Every now and then, they would turn to me and ask me, “How are you doing?”, “Are you tired?”, or, “How is your family?” Of course they already know the funny story, and of course they know how their families are doing - They all live next to each other. I knew that the things they say to each other are second nature. My religion, however, teaches me to try to talk only when necessary, and to try to make what I say mean something. I responded with quick answers, saying "My family is wonderful.", or, "No, my muscles don’t hurt because in America I did yoga."
After a few hours, it was time for lunch. The president pulled out a pressure cooker that one of the women had brought from the house and revealed boiled vegetables and chicken. I looked down and saw that my hands were dirty, so I went to the nearby river. The water was ice cold, but I started washing my hands. The men asked me what I was doing, and I explained that my hands were in the dirt with animal feces and bugs. Of the people that were there, half decided to join me and thoroughly wash their hands, as well. A little bit of goal one, I thought to myself, accomplished.
Later, after I had been hunched over for a total of five hours, my mind finally began to quiet down. I stopped thinking of how things are done in America. I stopped thinking about the idle chatter. I began to view my mind as the field. In meditation, the goal is to settle your mind so that you can find the areas of ignorance. Each black spot of ignorance needed to be cleared much like the little black olives needed to be cleared from the field. Sometimes, I would lift up a pile of bamboo and find a black olive hidden beneath it. Another few hours passed, and the men began to notice that out of the time I had been there with them, I had barely spoken a word. “You don’t talk,” they said, “Are you all right?” I looked up at them. “When lips are quiet,” I said, “the mind is quiet. When the mind is quiet, there is peace.” I don’t know if what I said made sense to them, but I did notice for a moment that the talking died down a little bit after that. At least, for a few minutes. I noticed that there were very few olives left on the ground just as the sun was beginning to set along the mountainside. Cats began to appear in the fields, looking for mice, and the women started walking along the road by the fields. I heard people whisper some things, one statement that stood out was, “His family gave him a Quran in English.”
I want to be thought of as a good person; that’s one reason why I do what I do. Sometimes, however, I worry that thinking along those terms is a selfish reason. Most of the time, I like to think that I do good things because it simply is the good thing to do. Other people need help, so you help them; it is a simple formula that does not need to be complicated. But sometimes, I find that there is a little voice inside of me that says, Look at you, you are so much better than everyone else. You came all the way here to live a simple life. How great are you? You sacrifice so much to be here. I wish I never had to think those thoughts. I wish I could always think unselfishly. But the truth is that I am still a human being. I’m not enlightened, yet. I feel like my meditation seems to have hit a wall a lot, lately. But I suppose this is as good as I can be for the time being.
For the record, I try not to listen to that voice that tells me what a good person I am. So what if I am here in Morocco, picking olives and telling men to wash their hands? My sisters are raising good, intelligent sons. My mom is a police officer. They all tithe at church. I like to think that everyone in my life is trying to live their lives according to their values. My values simply led me here. It says nothing about me being better or worse than they are. We’re just trying to be true to ourselves and our values in life.
We left the fields just as the moon was beginning to rise over the mountains. There were no lights on in any houses, and the moon and stars cast a blue light over everything. I walked over the riverbed stones to the other side of the village, and made it to my house in time for tea and then bed.
Continue To Part 2
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