I wasn't planning on posting again so soon but I there is a
lot on my mind today. Six months ago I lost my dream job in my dream country.
Now that may sound melodramatic to most people, but I am completely serious.
When ESL teaching first became plausible, Morocco was one of the countries at
the top of my list. (But more on that in a later post.) I’m not ready to tell
the whole world the specific details about why I lost my job because I still
carry the humiliation and embarrassment that comes with losing a job and the
sense of failure in screwing up in such a big way. There might never be a day
where I can tell people the exact words my boss used to describe me. I will
never forget sitting in my boss’s office, pleading with him that he hadn’t seen
how good I could do my job yet. For those who don’t know, I was fired 6 days
after arriving in Morocco. I completed
all of my online and in-house training with flying colors, and even taught my
first class which I thoroughly enjoyed.
Even so, my boss wasn't willing to work with me and said I had until
October 9 to move out of my apartment. I caught a taxi and went home. By this
time I was in shock. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
The day started out just fine. All of the new teachers had a
final day of training from about 9am-6pm. I grabbed a taxi and left for work. Even
though I had the address written on a card in Darija, the Moroccan Arabic
dialect, the taxi driver had a hard time finding the building. He had to stop
and ask somebody on the street but I managed to make it to work in time. Once there, I met most of the teachers for
the first time. Several of them had already taught their first class like I
had. There was an American couple, an American woman whose husband worked at
the embassy in Rabat, a guy who was in the Peace Corps, and couple of other
people. After a couple of hours we took a break and a few of us walked to a
local café. This was my first day upon arriving where I was surrounded by those
who spoke English and I drank it up, so to speak. We had a lunch break and then
another coffee break. After the last break, it was time for us to actually
practice teaching. There wasn’t enough
time left for us to really do much, each person had just a couple of
minutes. During training, my boss had
been calling people into his office to get their schedule so I wasn’t nervous
when he called for me. It was a short
conversation.
My roommate, Aminah, was asleep by the time I arrived home.
(Again, more on my living situation in a later post.) I just sat on my bed and stared outside. I
couldn’t even cry yet. But I knew I had to start figuring things out and
letting my parents know that I, most likely, was coming back to the States.
There was a slight chance that one of the English-speaking schools would hire
me. Unfortunately, it turned out that the positions for that semester were all
filled up and I couldn’t stick around to see if anything opened up later. Aminah
woke up and I told her what had happened. She assured me that stuff like what
happened with my boss wasn’t normal; that he wasn't being very honorable. She had to go out for a little bit so I took
the time to Skype with my mom. She wasn’t home but my stepdad answered. I still
remember telling him to “break the news to Mom in an easy way.” Of course,
there was no easy way for him to do that. Once
again, I failed my mother and let her down. That’s going to stay with me
for a long time.
My roommate came back and invited me to go with her to visit
friends in another building in our complex. I was grateful for her being so
supportive. I retold the story to my
friends, and again, they assured me that stuff like this doesn’t normally happen.
It was then suggested that I apply for work at the American school in Rabat; one
of my friends was a student there. It
was nice to sit around and talk and try to figure out my next move. My friends’
building was right next to an alleyway and we decided to watch people for
awhile. That really was a fun time. We were four stories up so we couldn’t see
much of the activity down below but one guy was waiting for his girlfriend. He
tried to get us to go to a club with him later that night. This couple was
meeting secretly because their families didn’t approve. We saw another group of
guys pull into the alley and start drinking. It might not have been the safest
thing for us to do but I was in the mood for something crazy. And we lived in a
gated apartment complex with security and one really annoying dog I called
Zenob. So we weren’t in too much danger.
I don’t remember much of my conversation with my mom when we
got back to the room. But I know that I
had to retell my story for the fourth time that evening. Mom was supportive with me trying to get
another job in Morocco; I wasn’t ready to give up my dream just yet and asked
for some time before nailing down a day to get on a plane and come home. I went
to sleep that night with another broken heart, exactly one year after another
failure of my own making. September 30th
is NOT a good day for me. Something spectacular
needs to happen on that day this year. Eventually, I’ll get around to writing
more about Morocco. I wasn’t there for very long but there are good things to say about
my experiences there.
Until then,
~Staci~
