The Untouchables

Two volunteers serving in Cameroon passed through my site on their vacation. They told me stories about their lives in the Peace Corps and I told them about mine. It wasn’t too long ago, so pretty much most of it is still sticking with me, but I particularly remember a story about their crooked police. It seems that out there, if you want any kind of service, you have to grease the wheels. So much so that volunteers are discouraged from dealing with them at all.

Our gendarmes (sheriffs, basically) aren’t the straightest, either, but the government has scared them into taking care of us volunteers with threats of being sent to the Western Sahara if we have any problems. That doesn’t mean, though, that we don’t have to deal with the ugly face of corruption, it just comes in different forms. Here’s my story.

Youth development volunteers in Morocco spend the summer (part of it, at least) working at an English-immersion summer camp. Undoubtedly, we’ll talk more about that later, but suffice it to say that the camp is expensive enough that most of your average Moroccan kids can’t afford to go. That’s where the US government comes in. Each YD volunteer is granted scholarships to send four kids from their site to camp, all expenses paid.

It’s a big deal out here in Freedonia, especially since the same deal went down with the previous volunteer for at least the last two years, and everyone gets excited. Kids I’ve told about the scholarships, kids who’ve received them in the past, and kids I’ve never even met before will find their way up to me asking for a spot. And it’s not just the kids who’re asking, either. I get my fair share of parents, organization leaders, and other interested parties knocking on my door, too.

The way the scholarships work is that they’re a gift from the people of America to the children of Morocco, transmitted by means of the discretion and experience of the Peace Corps volunteer. They are supposed to be given to youth who both show an interest in learning the English language and would otherwise not be able to experience something like this camp.

Some community members have other designs. For example, the director of my Dar Shebab, like many of his colleagues, expected to be able to give these spots to his own designees, notably his two daughters. He announced this plan unilaterally to his wife while I happened to be around. He wasn’t talking to me, I just understand sufficient Arabic.

A friend of mine from another group who works in the Dar Shebab came and asked me for a spot for one of his kids. I told him that they were intended for kids who showed an interest in learning English, such as the ones who came to our classes since I came here. He argued that the spots should be distributed democratically throughout the Dar Shebab. I told him that that’s not the point of them, and that there weren’t any left anyway. The director of that group came and asked for one of the scholarships. I repeated that there weren’t any left. He countered that he’s my friend, so I should be able to find something.

My host mom asked me why I hadn’t come over for couscous on Friday and I told her it was because I had had to ride to the outskirts of town delivering applications to two of my selected students. She asked me why I hadn’t given one of the spaces to my cousin. I wondered why I would even consider giving a folder to someone who never even darkened the door of the Dar Shebab. She asked me why I forgot about my family and told her that I had to start looking at students from my English class.

It’s all so surreal. On the one hand, we’re talking about a Peace Corps-run summer camp; these aren’t construction permits or seats in Parliament. On the other hand, however, it gets right to the heart of a culture of corruption and nepotism. The director of the ministerial youth center, the leaders of a youth development organization, and the people who’ve been taught more about the goals and responsibilities of Peace Corps volunteers than anyone else are the first to ask for a kickback.

Is it their fault? That’s hard to say. It’s a system in which employment and other opportunities are limited, and the best way to get your name on the list is to know the guy writing it. At the same time, however, I don’t think it would be imperialistic of me to say that Morocco – or anywhere else – would benefit much more from a system of meritocracy.

And what I am to do in the middle of it all? My Peace Corps superiors have offered to distract such attention by suggesting that I pass the decision along to them and allow them to be ignored and forgotten or rejected. That’s not my plan, though. I’m happy to take the hard-line position, to scorch my bridges (this probably isn’t serious enough to actually qualify as “burning”), to take on their disappointment and reject them myself. I mean, it’s a lot easier for me to say “I’ll see what I can do” and then simply not, but I think it would be a disservice to my community to give such tacit support to this very mild example of one of the greatest ailments of the developing world.

And, to be sure, it’s stressful, but it’s far more empowering to see myself taking a stand for justice and fairness. Besides, I can always watch my illegally downloaded copy of The Untouchables to recapture that Elliot Ness tenacity. If there’s anyone who’s as squeaky clean as Kevin Costner, it’s a Peace Corps volunteer.