Finding Happiness in a Seemingly “Unhappy” Place

I recently thought about my former co-workers in South Carolina and fellow MSG spouses assigned to countries across the world.  I decided to send an email letting them know they were on my mind. After I reread my writing I was inspired to share and expand on those words with my blog readers. This entry came from a simple email that was only meant to say, “Hello.”

My life has greatly changed in ways that could appear to be more of a disadvantage than an advantage. So why am I happy?

I've been in Algiers for nearly two months now. Time is flying! Both Douglas and I have adjusted well to our surroundings. He is busier than he has ever been and working hard in his new position. I do enjoy seeing him in his business attire though. The next best thing to a man in dress blues is a man in a suit! As for me, well it's the complete opposite. I went from having a packed schedule to a cleared calendar. Change can be a great thing, but it can also bring about some sad feelings. I can’t deny the fact that there are things I miss about living in South Carolina.

I miss the freedom of walking outside, even if I constantly was bitten by mosquitoes.

I miss going outdoors, walking or exercising on a flat surface (everything is on a hill here and the steps are extremely steep…however, it does make for a great butt workout)

I miss driving my own car and not being afraid while in a vehicle. (The driving is absolutely wild here! Turn signals are ignored, the shoulder on a highway is used as a driving lane & there is basically no such thing as a speed limit)

I miss shopping at a mall; even if I had to drive an hour to nearest one. Heck, I even miss Walmart! (Now you know that's serious)

I miss shopping at a normal grocery store with aisles of food containing American products and labels (You never know exactly what you're buying)

I miss eating fruit without worrying about washing it thoroughly with filtered water or with bleach.

I miss buying my meat already packaged opposed to spending an hour at the butcher shop for what I could have picked up from the store in 5 minutes.

I miss going to stores and holding a conversation in English.

I miss opening my wallet and knowing exactly how much money I just spent.

I didn't eat much fast food, but boy do I miss some Chic-fil-a fries and a grilled chicken sandwich (without the bread).

I miss not going to seek medical attention if I accidentally drink water from the non-filtered faucet.

I really miss getting my eyebrows done in Savannah. (I'm starting to grow a unibrow!)

I miss going to a restaurant and not having to pull out a French dictionary to figure out what's on the menu.

I miss going the movie theater.

I miss waking up every day and going to a job that I loved.

I miss the interaction of my co-workers; even if they were crazy!

I miss being in a military community, surrounded by strong and resilient spouses, Marines and Sailors.

I miss going to a church that shares my same religious beliefs

I miss babysitting my God children and seeing their smiling faces as I played with them.

I miss girls’ night out with close friends.

I miss having the ability to drive a few hours to see my mom and grandma.

I miss flying to see my family in New York; especially my niece and nephew who are growing up so quickly.

I miss my world of normalcy, but I've embraced my world of change. Regardless of how well I'm doing here or how much I'm enjoying myself, sometimes it just feels nice to reminisce.

A couple years ago when Douglas mentioned that he wanted to do MSG (Marine Security Guard) Duty, I recall praying to God asking him to allow Douglas’ vision and desire to become a reality. I asked him to watch over my husband and give him the strength he needed to successfully complete Staff Academy (it’s a 2 month school that is a prerequisite to apply to the program). I asked him to help us save money and maintain a good financial status (all applicants must be in a good financial situation before being accepted into the school). I asked him to ensure that I was in good health to join him on the program (all spouses and children, if any, must get medically cleared to join their Marine on the program. If they are not in good health then the Marine’s application is automatically denied. The Marine must do this duty with his or her family). I asked him to give Douglas the strength he needed to withstand oral surgery (all four of his wisdom teeth had to be removed in order to apply to the program). I asked God to give him the wisdom and discipline he needed to pass MSG School (the school is one of the most challenging in the Marine Corps with an exceeding high attrition rate).  In addition to all of this, I genuinely wanted to participate in this program. Since I was a teenager I have always dreamed of visiting another country, particularly Spain, but I never knew if it would really happen. It is very costly to travel outside the United States; therefore, I didn’t think that desire was anywhere within reach.  But I’ve always been interested in exploring the world. Nonetheless, I was 100% on board with his mission to go on MSG Duty.  Over the course of two years I prayed to God for all these things. Well, be careful what you pray or wish for because your prayers or wishes just may come true. How can I not be happy? I requested this.

Yes I requested this but it’s not what I thought it would be. Prior to my husband getting accepted into the school no one told me I would live in a country with so many restrictions and limitations. No one told me it could be so costly up front. We had to purchase enough consumable goods for eighteen months, with no additional financial assistance form the military. Surely no one told me I would live in a country that recently went through a Civil War against extreme Islamist. No one told me about the many challenges I would encounter on this tour. I was mainly painted the pretty picture of how awesome this duty is to experience. And that is still the truth. It is a phenomenal experience, but it would have been nice to receive the bad information along with the good so that I had a better idea of what we were getting ourselves into. I could choose to complain about my circumstances or open my door for the biggest pity party, but that’s just not my style. Although I might not be in an ideal situation; I've never been a quitter. I may not have known all the details upfront or chosen the place I’m living, but when I wake up I do have control over how I’m going to deal with my situation and how I allow it to make me feel. I am also aware that my circumstance and most non-favorable ones in life are temporary. I do believe that even in a “negative” situation there is empowerment and strength to be gained from it. However, if I’m too busy leading my pity party and complaining about what I don’t have or what’s not going the way I thought it would or think it should, then I’m going to miss my blessing, also known as empowerment or strength for those with different beliefs. There is a lesson to be learned in everything. How can I not be happy? I’m destined to become a better and stronger person from this.  

So, I am supposed to become a better person from this experience. But what if I’m comfortable where I am, or in my case where I was, and would not like to change a thing. A few years ago I learned the meaning of a comfort zone. That is when you are in a place in which you find security, safety, routine, and hardly any change or challenge presents itself in this area. I realized there comes a time when I just have to get out of my comfort zone in order to grow and continuously move forward towards greatness. I might desire better results, higher achievements, a better life, or personal fulfillment and satisfaction. But those things don’t usually come from doing the same thing over and over again or by staying in the same place. I can choose to either voluntarily exit my comfort zone or be moved out of it by going along with situations beyond my control. There is no doubt that I was pretty comfortable living in South Carolina. It took me nearly three years to get to that point though. It felt like once I got there; I stayed there and just maintained afterwards. I can't lie; the change I’m experiencing now feels good. As much as I miss those coveted things from the U.S. and as challenging as living in Algiers may be, I'm now learning more about the world and myself than I ever knew before. I’m tapping into undiscovered and underdeveloped resources. Resources that have always been in my possession, but I've never bothered to find them, figure them out and apply them. How can I not be happy? Being taken from my comfort zone will undoubtedly enhance my knowledge, skills, and make me a more, well-rounded person with heightened confidence in my abilities.

I'm learning so much about the Algerian culture. I'm studying French at the embassy and practicing with the local community and the guards on compound. I'm visiting historic sites that most of us only get to read about. I'm meeting new people and building new relationships. Being around Department of State (DOS) personnel gives me the opportunity to get to know individuals who have traveled all over the world. This is what they do for a living. Their experiences are enlightening. I'm widening my perspective and outlook on life.

Although most DOS employees at the embassy do not care for living in this country, I have not allowed their views, perspective, or experiences to rub off on me and affect my outlook on the city. After being here for nearly two months, I can attest to the accuracy in their descriptions of this country. Their feelings are completely valid. This place is no picnic in the park. But, I’m trying to turn everything into an adventure; even going to the market! I try to find the humor in situations that could otherwise be very frustrating or annoying. And now that I'm home more often, I am getting to know myself in a different way by figuring out the things that bring me joy, and learning to exercise the skills and talents that I may have always had but never took the time to develop. 
 

I'm not happy because I think living in Algiers is the best place to be and the happiest place on earth next to Disneyland. I'm happy because I'm thriving in an environment that is out of my comfort zone. I'm happy because I'm looking at this journey as an opportunity rather than a disadvantage. And I'm happy because I've learned that everything happens for a reason. Usually we will not see the reason until after we've gotten through the situation. I believe that it’s up to me to find or create my own happiness and satisfaction in each new day. Despite all the negatives and the obvious fact that I’m surely not in paradise; I am here, and I am making the best of it. After all, I requested this. How can I not be happy?

Shipments Arrived: What’s with all the stuff?

I do not like a lot of clutter around, especially when I’m trying to work or relax.  I’m not a neat freak, but I do believe everything has a place. (OK, maybe I have a hint of neat freak in me) Nonetheless, when our shipments were delivered I felt a tad overwhelmed by the many stacks of boxes throughout the home. Therefore, I couldn’t allow myself to do anything, including writing on my blog, until everything was put away. I put my personal life on pause until all our belongings were put in a proper place.

On 21 March the movers arrived to our home in South Carolina to pack our belongings. We had a total of three pack out dates arranged. The express shipment was packed first and scheduled to arrive one to two months after we landed in Algiers. The Household Goods shipment and Consumable Goods shipment were both packed and picked up second and scheduled to arrive three to five months after we got to Algiers. The last of our items were packed and delivered to a storage facility in Charleston, where it would remain until the end of our tour on Marine Security Guard (MSG) duty. That was all of our stuff in various boxes, going to different locations.

Since Algeria is a third world country the Department of State (DoS) deemed this post to be worthy of a Consumable Goods shipment from the states. Consumables are things such as non-perishable food, personal body or hair products, and household cleaning items. Due to the limited items offered in Algeria it was highly recommended that we purchase as many consumable goods as we could. Although this was very costly for us, several people suggested we invest in the goods because the price for food and other products in Algiers was quite costly. The tricky part to this all was that we needed to purchase enough goods to last us for at least eighteen months. My eyeballs rolled so far to the back of my head when I first heard this information. I’m all about stocking my pantry and freezer to cover me for a couple of months, but for eighteen! All I could think was, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” But I was comforted with the thought that I was clearly not the first person to tackle such an extreme task. I did my very best to figure out how to shop for eighteen months of goods, but at the end of the day it was all an estimated guess. I was positive that I either bought way too much of something or way too little of another. I will have to wait until the end of our eighteen month tour to find out how I actually did.

Over the past six weeks my husband and I have been living off of the items we mailed to ourselves prior to arriving, the items we packed in our suitcases when we flew out here, the items we ordered online over the past few weeks, and the items we purchased at the local markets and store in Algiers. Surprisingly Algiers has more products available than I thought they would. Upon going to the grocery store I noticed several items that I probably didn’t need to purchase in my consumables. However, everyone was correct about the high prices for most things. The vegetables and fruit are very cheap, but other items are almost twice the price in the states for half the quantity. I would probably begin to cry if I added up the amount of money we have already spent on food and household items. The currency is in dinar and I have been oblivious to keeping track of how much of my actual dollars I’ve been spending. It was tear-worthy because I knew I already purchased most of these items in my consumables; therefore, I was double dipping. I couldn’t wait until our goods arrived to avoid spending such a great amount of money.

At the end of April we received an email stating our shipments arrived in country. Our shipments had to first go through customs before we could receive them. There are American embassy personnel that have been here since January and still haven’t received their shipments. Their shipments are in country but have yet to be released from customs. You can imagine our shock when we received a phone call from a lady in the shipping office last week, around 10:00 a.m., saying that our goods were ready to be delivered at 1:00 p.m. that afternoon. What? I felt bad for the people who hadn't received their stuff yet, but I also felt relieved that ours finally arrived. Although I was ecstatic that our shipments were on the way, I planned to have the Marines over for dinner that evening. I knew it would be too much for me to simultaneously have the delivery and cook a big dinner. Our shipments would have to wait one more day at the warehouse. We postponed the delivery until the following morning.

The person in charge of shipping told Douglas we were receiving six boxes. I was a bit baffled because clearly we had many more than six boxes. Maybe they would only drop off a few items at a time. It didn’t make sense. I called the lady again to clarify and she repeated the same thing, “You will receive six boxes.” At that point I was convinced that six boxes in French must have meant something completely different in English.

The next morning there were two trucks and four men outside our front door. Clearly there were more than six boxes on both these trucks. Two men took items off the truck and the other two brought our items in the house. It took a few hours. I was surprised there weren’t more people to unload. Our consumables were so heavy. I didn't lift one box, but I could tell the weight from the way the men carried those boxes which such strain. I had no idea how heavy they would be. When purchasing the products in the states, we simply told the lady at the store what we wanted as she entered the desired quantity manually into the scan gun. I might have reconsidered my purchases had I known how much those items weighed once packed together. Hindsight always allows for a better perspective. I wish someone would have slipped a bit of it in my water prior to us making our selections in the store.

Thankfully the boxes were labeled, so I was able to tell the men which room to put each box in. This made it tremendously easier when it came time for me to unpack everything versus having all the boxes piled up into one area. After a few hours everything was unloaded and inside. Unfortunately one of our bookshelves didn’t make it. The bookshelf looked like someone intentionally broke it for fun. Obviously it was an accident, but what happened? Also, the lid to my Kitchen Aid slow cooker was shattered. I’m actually not surprised at that damage. The glass to this lid had been shattered when Kitchen Aid first delivered it to me five years ago. That was an easy fix. I ordered a new one for $30. Hopefully it will arrive in one piece.

Since duty called for Douglas, I was left with the task of unpacking all the boxes and putting everything away myself. I truly didn’t mind because I knew if I put everything away then I would know where it was later; in its proper place. Douglas has not quite caught on to my theory of everything having a proper place. We have a lot in common, but organizing a home is not one of them.

There were a few boxes that accidentally ended up in our shipping pile when it was intended to be in our pile for the storage facility. As I continued to unpack box after box, there were certain times I thought, “Yes, I’m so glad we have this now!” Then there were other times I opened a box and thought, “Why did I even pack this?”

Before I met my husband I moved several times. I have relocated from state to state on one coast, across the country, or from one street to the next within the same zip code. After meeting him I always felt God was preparing me for this military lifestyle all along. I thought I was accustomed to packing, moving, unpacking, and making a house my home time after time. Except this was my first move with someone else and with the military. It was shocking enough to have less than thirty days to get all of our stuff separated and ready for packing (we were not allowed to pack anything ourselves), but I was even more astounded when I realized how much stuff we had accumulated over the nearly three years we lived together. I honestly believe that if I had more time to prepare, I would have donated or trashed certain things rather than packed them in the to-go or to-storage pile.

This move taught me something very important, and gave me a new outlook on how I view the things we call “stuff.” I no longer want to be a collector of random things. I don’t want to hold onto papers that have no meaning. I don’t want to hold onto clothes that I once wore five years ago when I was smaller or larger. I don’t want to hold onto clothes that don’t make me feel great when I put them on. You know that feeling when you pick something out of your closet or dresser drawer, and put it back because you don’t really care for that pattern or color on you, or the way the fabric hugs your body. Well, maybe I should just get rid of it because it’s not going to change when I pick it out again in another two weeks or two months. I’ve bought clothes that took me a year or two to wear because I was waiting for the right time. Seriously! How often does that right time never surface? 

 

I definitely don’t need to hang onto clothes that I plan to use as dust rags. Seriously, how many old socks, underwear, or t-shirts are we going to collect as rags for cleaning? That is why they sell rags or cloths in the store! The last I checked, they are not expensive either.

Then there are my towels and washcloths. If the edges are frayed, the color has faded or looks like it has been tie-dyed, then it’s time to put them in the trash pile. Yes, I did say trash pile and not the donation pile. This is one time that our rags are not someone else’s riches. Really, would I want to walk into a thrift store and purchase another person’s beat up towels and washcloths to use on my body?

Next are the random cups. What am I now, a cup collector? Why do I have so many cups, glasses, containers, mugs, etc. It’s just my husband and I. We can only drink out of so many cups. And ever since we were given Tervis Tumblers as a Christmas gift, we barely use a regular glass anymore. As great as it is to receive a free cup from an organization or as a giveaway prize, sometimes it’s better to not even allow those items to be brought into the house.

Books! I unpacked books that I have accumulated from yet another free event or books that were given to me, and I was too polite to decline. But books can be donated, and that is exactly what I should have done awhile ago. Someone else could make better use of the book, opposed to me watching it collect dust and take up space on my small book shelf. Maybe then I would have room for the books I enjoy and want to keep.

I can’t forget about food. If I had the food products in my pantry for so long, then I probably should have tossed it out a while ago. Not only did I have zero desire to eat those items all this time, but it surely had to lose its flavor and freshness by now; even if the expiration date is still good. Why would I pack it in hopes that I would start fresh and consume it at my new location. So often we buy stuff in hopes that one day we will feel like eating the food or acquire a taste for it.  Perhaps we should just eat the food one day and if we don't like it, give it away or throw it away.

Then there are my bins. After unpacking everything I had a bundle of stuff that I didn’t know quite know where to put in the house. I couldn’t figure out what some of it would be used for, when we would use it, or why we really needed it. So I placed all the unknown items into one bin and called it our random bin. Why is there a random bin in my house? Why do so many of us have several random bins or a closet filled with random things? If it doesn’t have a place in my home, then maybe it shouldn’t be in my home.

I think I’m afraid of throwing certain things away because I never know when the day will come when it's needed. Maybe this theory worked well when I lived in one place for a long time or didn’t have as many random things I held onto, but who wants to take the time to pack and unpack random crap every time an order is received to relocate. Not to mention that it all goes against my weight limit during the move. Yes, we are limited to a certain number of pounds per move, based upon the Marine's rank. We definitely went over our weight allotment. Because of this we will have to pay heavily. Lesson learned.

As happy as I was to receive all my stuff, I will be elated when I sort through everything (including those items in storage) upon our return to the states and get rid of that which I allowed to unnecessarily follow us for so long. Often we already have great, classic outfits in our closet, plenty of jewelry and shoes, more food than we can eat in a month in our pantry, enough games and electronics to keep us busy for years, books that are just on the shelves taking up space, china and kitchen ware that never get used, or papers and receipts that have turned yellow with no purpose for future use. I have come to the realization that most individuals, including myself, currently have so much in our possession, yet we continue to seek out more. What else can we add to our stock pile? What’s the latest version of the already efficient item we have in our home? Why is it that when we get a much needed replacement for something in our home, we still hold onto the old item that is worn away?

At some point in our lives we may hear ourselves say, “I wish I could, but I don’t have the money.” The money is there. Maybe the physical cash is not in a wallet or bank account, but browse through your home, in your closet, under your bed, in your garage, in your storage room, in your pantry, and you will see plenty of money. You will see your future, dreams, and aspirations for yourself and your family. I no longer want a bunch of meaningless stuff in my possession. From this move, I have been inspired to ensure that going forward, everything I purchase has some type of meaning or importance, brings me joy in some kind of way, is not a duplicate or a backup for what I already own, and definitely has an appropriate place in my home. Holding onto things that serve no purpose can sometimes spill over into our everyday lives. We get comfortable with clutter and that which has no meaning or value and then wonder why we’re having a hard time moving forward.  Who really needs all that stuff anyway?

Driving to the Tibhirine Monastery near Médéa

The morning of Tuesday, May 1^st, Douglas and I attended a group tour to the Tibhirine Monastery with fellow embassy personnel. I never heard of this place nor did I know the significant story behind this particular monastery. Twelve of us participated in the trip. The Community Liaison Officer (CLO) arranged for two armored vehicles to transport us to the venue. The group split up, and six of us went in one van and seven in the other. I noticed there were police on motorcycles, in front of the first van and behind the second. I thought it was odd, but soon discovered that whenever we travel outside the designated “green zones” we must be escorted by police.  Due to the restrictions for U.S. personnel in this country, we are not permitted to freely explore Algeria on our own or without permission. If we want to travel by ourselves outside the listed “green zones” then we must submit paperwork to the government and inform them of our desired destination. Most people prefer to travel with the embassy tour group, since it’s the CLO’s responsibility to report all necessary paperwork to government officials. The task is cumbersome, but I can’t complain because those are extra measures in place for my protection.

Before leaving, the CLO informed us the drive would take approximately one hour. I have always enjoyed riding in a car opposed to driving. Although I like to get behind the wheel of my car and drive anywhere I want, it’s not the same as being a passenger and getting driven around. I find that experience to be very calming. Therefore, when the CLO mentioned how long we would be in the car, I did not have a problem with the length of time stated. I planned to relax, sit back and observe all the sights Algeria had to offer, beautiful or not.

Driving is typically bad and a bit dangerous in Algiers. The streets are narrow and crowded, and there are hardly any traffic lights available. Instead the city has policemen standing in the middle of certain intersections, directing traffic. I figured I would not truly relax until we got on the highway, which would take about ten to fifteen minutes longer. There were loads of cars piling into the center of the street. There were large intersections with vehicles coming from five to six different directions trying to enter. Other cars made it clear that they were going to either cut you off or move their vehicle practically on top of yours to ensure they were next in line to enter a lane. It makes absolutely no sense. It reminded me of driving in other big cities such as New York, DC, and Los Angeles. But not one of those cities could come close in comparison to driving in Algiers. I never thought the day would come when I would say, “I prefer to drive in NY, DC, or LA right now.”

Fifteen minutes later, the vans reached the highway. I thought I would feel relieved now that we were out of the city traffic. However, we began to go very fast. I could sense the urgency for our van to stay close to the van in front. I made a comment about it aloud. One of the passengers then told me that our van could not allow any vehicle to come in between us and the van in front. It’s protocol. Consequently, the driver did everything, and I mean everything, to ensure no one jumped in between. We were an example of tailgating at its finest; not in a good way either. There were several moments when I thought we were going to find ourselves smashing into the back of the van in front. There couldn’t have been more than a couple inches of space in between the vans at most times. This is when I realized I better secure my seat belt a little tighter and give up on the idea of a peaceful ride to Médéa. Shortly into the drive, we pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and stopped. Apparently we would not have the same escort the entire way. As we entered a new city, we had to change police escorts. It’s a territorial thing. The police of that city are the only ones allowed to escort us through the respective city. There were two more similar stops along the way, as we passed through two more cities before reaching Médéa. The new escort took off and we were back on the highway.

We drove expeditiously down the highway. I felt like I was in an ambulance being taken to the nearest hospital. I thought to myself, “Is it that serious? Do we really need to be going this fast?” Apparently, when you are led by an escort there is no such thing as waiting. The driver simply pushes the vehicle through wherever it wants to go. It’s no different than what an ambulance, fire truck or police car would do if they needed to immediately report to a scene or less importantly, catch the lunch special before the restaurant changes over to a dinner menu.

We were driving at a speed of approximately 70 mph, but several of the cars next to us looked like they were only going a good 50 mph. With the horsepower that van had, it felt even faster! Our driver previously worked with the Protective Service Unit (PSU). The PSU drivers are serious. They go to a special school in DC to receive training on how to move armored vehicles in tight situations without causing any damage. It takes true technique and talent to maneuver such large and heavy vehicles in and out of congested traffic and confined areas. Our driver must have graduated at the top of his class. Lucky us!

Next we exited the highway and entered the city streets. These streets looked quite different than those in Algiers. There were people standing on the side of the roads either selling local products or produce, or simply hanging out with their family. As well, there were animals on the side of the road just chillin’ out. We even saw a herd of cows near on the edge of the road. The police escort somehow forced them to move out the way. Like I said, our vehicles don’t wait. We push our way pass anyone or any animal in this case.

While looking out the window you could see people staring at our vehicles driving by. They gawked at us as if we were a part of the President’s motorcade. They probably thought to themselves, “Those people must be important.” Heck I sure did! I wondered if it was really imperative that we arrived to this monastery by a certain time. If not, I surely didn’t mind waiting in a little traffic. Granted the traffic was horrible, but at moments I literally felt my life flash before my eyes as I thought, “Oh no, the car is about to hit us!” Or, “Eek, that was a close call!” or “Seriously? Are we really squeezing through these cars on this tight road?” I began to ponder if waiting would really be that terrible. However, I would not find out the answer on this trip. We bobbed and weaved in and out of traffic until we finally reached the monastery. The area looked hidden and isolated, but I had never been so happy to get out of a vehicle in the middle of nowhere.

A small man greeted us outside. My first question was, “Where is your bathroom?” I had to pee badly. Luckily I didn’t eat much in the morning. If I had, my breakfast would have been all over the inside of that van.  It didn’t matter to me whether they had an actual toilet or a small hole in the ground that served as a toilet, as I previously saw at other places. I just needed to go! That drive caused everything inside of me to surface, and if I didn’t find a bathroom soon my bladder would begin to show me who was truly in charge. The man directed me to a nearby building and said, “You will find the bathroom upstairs and to the right.” I nodded and smiled graciously as I scurried up the stairs. The bathroom was nothing to rave about, but it did contain normal toilets. It even had a shower too! I was so relieved, because there was no way I could hold it until I got home, as I did on earlier trips.

As I joined the rest of the group, the tour guide (whose name I cannot recall) began briefing us on the history of the monastery. Tibhirine (which means “garden”) is a village found near the foot of the Atlas Mountains. In 1830 a Trappist monastery was founded there. In 1964 eight new monks arrived to the monastery. The monks that resided there were said to have been incredibly kind and generous. One monk was a doctor and provided medicine to sick villagers. The tour guide said this monk would even give medicine or provide assistance to terrorists. The monk did not see such people as evil, only as another man.

Unfortunately, from 1992-2002 there was an Algerian Civil War between the Algerian government and Algerian Islamist Rebels / Islamic Salvation Front (FSI). FSI formed the guerrilla armies and created a war to establish a new government based on Islamic law. On 27 March 1996, several armed men (possibly FSI) entered the Tibhirine monastery and kidnapped seven monks. Two of the monks escaped because they were in separate rooms. Over the next two months (FSI) communicated to the French Embassy via tapes. There were recordings asking for the prison release of Abdelhak Layada, one of FSI’s members and another with voices of the kidnapped monks. The last communication tape relayed the message that FSI  killed the monks on 21 May 1996, just shy of two months after they were kidnapped. A few miles away from Tibhirine, the heads of the seven monks were found in a straight line, one next to the other. Their bodies were never discovered. The tour guide explained that typically when monks die, they wrap their bodies in silk cloth before burying them. However, since only their heads were found they had to place them into the ground as they were. On 2 June 1996, the monks were buried in the cemetery of the monastery.

Currently there is still controversy over the monks’ death. It is not certain whether or not the monks were intentionally killed by guerrilla armies of FSI or accidentally by the Algerian military. According to the account found on Wikipedia, in 2008 there was a report from a Western government official that said the kidnapping had been orchestrated by an Armed Islamic Group (GIA), and the monks had been killed accidentally by an Algerian military helicopter attacking the camp where they were being held captive. GIA formed when FIS was banned in 1991, at which point they began an armed campaign against the Algerian government.

                                                                                            

In 2009 a retired French general testified to a judge that it was true the monks had been killed accidentally by a helicopter belonging to the Algerian government during an attack on the guerrilla army. He said the Algerian government then beheaded the monks after their death to make it appear as though the GIA had killed them. Conversely, former GIA leader Abdelhak Layada, who was imprisoned during the monks' kidnapping, responded by claiming that the GIA had indeed beheaded the monks after the breakdown of negotiations with the French secret services. Sadly there is no clear truth to anyone’s story; thus, the killing remains currently unsolved.

Our tour guide said after this occurred there was only one person who remained at the monastery. The monastery remains open for tours and accepts donations to assist in its upkeep. The monastery is not extremely large. The guide took us into a few rooms which included the head monk's room, their dining room, and one of their sleeping quarters. The guide also took us outside for a gorgeous view of the Atlas Mountains, which separate the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. Algiers is located directly off the Mediterranean Sea. The view was stunning. It looked like something you would find in a magazine or movie. 

 

 

 

 

To my disadvantage the guide spoke French the entire time. This made it very difficult to get an adequate understanding of what I was seeing. We did have a member of our group briefly summarize what the guide said, but it was simply a summary, leaving out the details that accurately painted a picture for you. I eventually found out plenty more detailed information at the end of the tour from another gentleman who helped at the monastery. 

 

The last room we entered was filled with photographs and descriptions of the monks’ lives. Also, there was a gentleman selling fresh preserves. One of my mother's friends got me hooked on the delicious variety of fresh preserves a few years ago. They are so sweet and delicious. Douglas and I purchased one jar of apple preserve. 

Everything in the room was written in French, so I didn’t know what was in front of me, but I could surely sense the significance. I was looking at their lives through the years and reading about what great things they did during their lifetime. Instantly I thought to myself, “What descriptions and accounts of me will be on the wall after I die?” I have been in several similar settings in the states; therefore, being around something like this was not new. I read accounts about a person’s life all the time. But to some degree it was different and felt brand new. Something caused me to think about the type of legacy I want to leave behind and the kind of story I want my life to portray. I’m happy that I recognized that feeling and didn’t ignore it. I will repeat myself by saying that during my stay overseas, every experience will teach me something about myself and inspire me to dig a little deeper. In that moment, I dug deeper. 

After the tour, the group went outside to have lunch. It never ceases to amaze me that right around noon I begin to feel the urge to eat. I’m sure it’s because I have trained my body over the years. There was no one large area for all of us to sit, so we dispersed about the grounds to find seating. Douglas and I saw a small cement table with a couple of cement stools that would serve as chairs. I am not a girl who usually loves the outdoors. Actually my family and friends would venture to say I hate the outdoors from the many times I turned down the notion of doing anything outside. Surprisingly, that day I felt otherwise. The weather was beautiful:  clear sky, no wind and very low heat. If I were to dine outside on any day, that was the day! 

Prior to the trip, the CLO informed everyone that we needed to bring our own lunch. He said the monastery did not have any place to buy food or drinks. I had limited food at home that didn’t need to be microwaved, so I was forced to get creative with our lunch options. I packed a sun butter and jelly sandwich (I do not eat peanut butter), an orange, a protein bar, a mixture of almonds, walnuts, and dried cranberries, and a bottle of water. I also had a few cookies that I snacked on throughout the tour. Douglas opted not to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and instead filled up on snacks consisting of beef jerky, a mixture of nuts, an orange, a granola bar, cheese crackers, and water to wash it all down with. That was our lunch. Obviously, it was nothing fancy, but it satisfied our hungry bellies.

There was a large amount of time allotted for our lunch break - almost ninety minutes. That time may have been useful if we had the option of driving somewhere for lunch, but we didn’t. And we definitely didn’t need that much time to consume our little picnic lunches. Douglas and I spent some time wandering around the garden. My husband is totally opposite from me as he adores the outdoors and everything affiliated with nature. We sat by a long wall that had teeny openings near the ground. A woman came up to us and excitedly said, “There are turtles in there!” Certainly, this sparked Douglas’s interest. However, I thought to myself, “And that interests me because…?” Douglas bent down and proceeded to search for a turtle and to his amazement he found one. I whispered to myself making sure he didn’t hear me, “Please don’t pick it up.” Seconds later Douglas looked up to me and happily said, “I’m going to pick it up!” Well great! The turtle was so tiny in between his big fingers. He examined the turtle by flipping it upside down several times, looking for who knows what. Hopefully that appeased his fixation with turtles and all other crawling creatures out there. He placed the turtle back near a small opening and we continued to stroll through the garden. I kindly offered him some hand sanitizer, although it was more of a demand than a question.

Along our walk we bumped into a fellow group member who worked with FSI (Foreign Services Institute). As a reminder, all personnel at any U.S. Embassy who is not a local to the country works for FSI in DC. Oddly enough the first question the woman asked us was, “Did you know there are lots of turtles out here?” Yes, I’m well aware that the monastery has now kidnapped all the turtles of Médéa.

This woman was tall and had beautiful skin. We passed by her a few times during the tour but hadn’t spoken. I introduced myself and asked her name. She said, “My name is Francoise.” It’s pronounced “fran swa.” But she was careful to mention that it’s pronounced with the letter “z” sound on the end like, “fran swaz.” Without the “z” sound it would denote the person is a man. I was not shy at all to come right out and tell her she had lovely skin. I think it’s good for women to compliment one another often. She seemed shocked but replied, “Oh thank you. You’re so sweet.” This ignited a conversation that turned into a trade of beauty secrets which was of great interest to me. However, poor Douglas stood there with his sunglasses on probably rolling his eyes at every word spoken. Maybe now he would know how I felt when I had to entertain that playing with the turtle nonsense. Ha!

Francoise said she was from Rwanda. I know this may sound like a stereotype, but I also believed women from Africa have exceptionally flawless skin. At least it’s not a bad stereotype. Every woman I have ever met from the continent of Africa has had glowing, smooth, clear skin. I always wondered what products they used there. Being naïve and a bit silly, I imagined they used some type of special berries and juices mixed with the leaves of an endogenous plant found only in Africa. I curiously said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you use on your skin?” Wasn’t I flabbergasted when Francoise answered, “I use Clinique.” Seriously! My jaw dropped as Douglas’s did too. He’s not even into that sort of thing, but was just as shocked as I was to hear her say “Clinique.” Francoise said she’s been using Clinique for twenty years. She doesn’t like trying new things so when she found something that worked she stuck with it. Well, isn’t that a easy recipe to follow. I know I’m not the only woman who was a product junkie at some point in their lives and had a bathroom filled with so many products they could open a store. I have been using Proactiv for the past ten years, and it has worked well for me. But scanning her blemish free skin, I was tempted to go online to Clinique’s website that evening and place an order. Obviously, that is the problem with us ladies today. We don’t know how to stick with a regime that already works.

I enjoyed talking with Francoise. Once we got past discussing beauty tips, we began discussing our roles at the embassy. She works in another part of Africa but swapped places with an American embassy member in her same job position so they could both gather tips on ways to improve their work. Francoise planned to stay in Algiers for three weeks. I wish this concept was enforced at my previous job in Beaufort, SC. I sure would have enjoyed trading places with a staff member in Hawaii. (Tip number one: all work is best done sitting by the beach drinking a frozen beverage.)

Francoise remarked on how much her children loved living overseas during some of her past assignments. She also made a few other comments regarding her children. Once more I was inquisitive. I didn’t mean to pry, but I asked, “How old are your children?” I expected her to tell me they were between the ages of seven and eleven. Her skin was not only perfect, but she also was quite slender and appeared to be somewhat young. Francois was taken aback again by my question. She laughed and said, “Oh dear, now you want me to show my age.” Usually when someone says that, it means they are probably older than they want to disclose, except Francoise didn’t look “old” to me. Opposed to saying her actual age, she instead said, “My youngest son is eighteen and my oldest daughter is twenty-one.” Yet again, I was astonished by her response and my face showed it. Douglas was also in amazement. I quickly did the math in my head and assumed that even if Francoise had her daughter at twenty-one, that would make her forty-two, and she showed no resemblance of being in her forties. I pegged her as being in her early thirties. It’s never fun guessing a woman’s age. Luckily I don’t do this sort of thing often, but that day I didn’t leave much to my imagination. Undeniably I told her she looked great! Francoise said she was very humbled and appreciated my nice comments. She went on to say that she has always been pretty athletic, exercises, and eats well. She has played tennis for the past twenty years and loves it!

Francoise had a cast on her arm and informed me that it was from an injury that happened while playing tennis. However, once it was healed she would resume playing. Francoise said that has always been her attitude. If you get hurt, just get back up and keep going. She passed that same discipline down to her children by always encouraging them to go outside and play or join a sports group.  It’s that simple, I thought quietly. Francoise has the recipe for success by doing a physical activity that she enjoyed, remaining active throughout her life, and making healthy choices, which has ultimately allowed her to be a prime role model for her children. I admired her view and actions that followed.

During our conversation and my many questions, Francoise managed to get in one or two herself. She asked me if I spoke another language. A little embarrassed, I replied, “No. I only speak English.” I was embarrassed because I have noticed that most non-Americans speak at minimum, two languages. She proved me right when I asked her what other languages she spoke. I was not at all surprised when Francois said she spoke five languages. She studied three of them over the past few years during her work in various countries. The other two she learned while growing up in Rwanda. Francoise spoke her native language, but also picked up the language of her neighbors residing in the Congo. Francoise said, “I played outside with children every day that spoke a different language, so it was only natural for me to learn their language.” I thought to myself, “If it were natural to pick up the language of your neighbors then I should be fluent in both Spanish and Patois (pronounced “patwah”) since I grew up in the Bronx where most of my friends were Puerto Rican, Dominican, or Jamaican.” Francois said she raised her children the same way. They too speak other languages. This was another outlook and view of hers that I also admired and greatly respected. I was unbelievably intrigued by Francoise and our topics of discussion. I soon became grateful for that ninety minute lunch break.

It was 2:15 p.m. and we were scheduled to leave at 2:30 p.m. The group began to appear from various areas of the garden where they found a place to eat lunch. Although, the tour was a bit short and conducted in French, I appreciated the experience. I learned a great deal about the significance of the Tibhirine Monastery and the monks that lived there. Each time I think of them I will be saddened by the brutal way they were killed. Justice has yet to be served as their deaths are still unsolved. Despite this, the village of Tibhirine and its surrounding cities continue to live at peace and remain thoughtful and generous to all those in need. The tour guide and fellow workers at the Tibhirine Monastery bid us farewell and thanked us for visiting.

 I don’t know if I was prepared for the roller coaster ride I was about to have sitting in that van while driving back to Algiers. Once again, it was a good thing I didn’t have a heavy lunch because it was going to be a bumpy ride. Just as before, the police escorted us along our way. By the time we got on the road it was after 3 p.m. Traffic was a lot heavier. Before we left the city there was one stop the CLO wanted to make. He took us to a large market where people sold Algerian artifacts. You couldn’t miss this place off the side of the road. It was huge! Almost anything you wanted was sold there. And the prices were cheap too. Apparently, the same items sold in Central Algiers are nearly double the price. Although there was lots to choose from, Douglas and I already knew what we wanted which was a Tadjine. This is an item used to serve food or to store snacks and candies. I first saw it a few days prior while dining at a gentleman’s house on my tour of the Casbah. I would love to acquire a full set one day. 

The Tadjine we purchased

 After a half hour we all got back into the vans and headed to the embassy. Once again, the driver squeezed our van through the narrow streets. Several times we were on a two lane road when the police escort split the traffic down the middle so our vans could go through. The escort waved his hand out the window signaling vehicles to move over and get out the way. One would have thought we were really special. I asked myself that a number of times after releasing a huge sigh of relief when we didn’t get hit by another car while driving so aggressively. “Who are we to cause such ruckus?” We are Diplomats, that’s who we are! I guess that means we are exempt from all traffic laws and common roadside courtesy as well. 

I managed to get a few of our driving excursions on video. The other passengers said that was the only way someone would believe our driving stories. The clips I took on the way home weren’t nearly as bad as the scenes I should have tapped on the way out there, but they were enough to make us raise an eyebrow when going on another long distance trip with the tour group. Thankfully we made it safely back to the embassy around 5:00 p.m. It was another thrilling day filled with enlightening experiences.