Bath Time

Let me give you a little background on bathing in Morocco. During training, my host family would give me a teapot of hot water every morning and I usually managed to either wash my hair or my body by mixing it with cold water and bucket bathing. Despite this daily cleansing, I was still thrilled to see my shower when I got back to the hotel in Ouarzazate. There really is something to be said for the feeling of water flowing over you while you bathe. My village during training did not have a communal hammam, so I hadn't experienced this style of bathing.

During my site visit, I had noticed that my family had a shower, but it didn't look like it had been used recently. Today, I discovered why it goes unused - my family has a mini-hammam on the roof of the house! It is a small “room” created with a metal frame covered with plastic sheets. It is built on a small cement pad that has a space underneath for a fire. The fire heats the whole thing as well as a large basin of water, which is housed inside.

My host mom fired it up after lunch and everyone in the family got a turn. First her and my host aunt, who took the little kids in with them. Then a couple of the boys had a turn and by early evening, I joined Sumia for my first hammam experience.

Its like a steam room – very hot and humid and first you hang out for a couple minutes. Then you soap up with an olive oil based, gooey soap. Then you start scrubbing with these black mitts that are really harsh. You wouldn't believe how much skin comes off! I just hope it was all dead because it felt like quite a few layers got taken off. Sumia scrubbed my back and I scrubbed hers. We worked on our feet with pumice stones, shampooed and rinsed down. I think the whole thing took at least an hour.

I wasn't sure how the exiting of the hammam would work since we were on the roof and plenty of people could see us. I had entered and then taken my clothes off, so they were outside. I wrapped in my towel and stepped outside unsure what I was going to do. Fatima told me I could go down to my room, which is exactly what I did. I felt so refreshed and relaxed that I put my sweatpants on and hung out for a few minutes. I emerged from my room feeling like a whole new person!

I wasn't allowed to leave the house with wet hair, so I wrapped a scarf around my head for the rest of the evening. I am a convert to this way of bathing...I still enjoy a good shower, but the hammam definitely has its place. I hope I can continue to join my family for the weekly hammam even after I move out on my own.

Paperwork

Upon instructions from Mr. S, the K-5 team arrived in Khenifra yesterday to pick up our attestations. These official documents formalize our jobs and are proof that we are working legally. We needed the attestation to apply for our national identity cards, which we needed to complete before June 4th. After that, if we were stopped at a police check point, we could be deported. So, the papers were important.

We discovered that Mr. S. wasn't in the office, the paperwork wasn't ready, and told to return tomorrow. We debated what to do. Both Tori and I decided it would cost us the same amount of money to spend the night in Khenifra as it would to get home and back again. We met up with Jed, Duncan and Samuel, who were still in town for their meetings and spent the evening at a cafe drinking hot chocolate and getting to know each other.

The next day, Sarah got up bright and early to get her paperwork and get back to her village, only to find out that they needed one more signature from someone who wouldn't be in the office until after lunch. Lunch in Morocco can stretch from noon until 2 or 3 o'clock. We had some time to kill. I took a real, hot shower at the hotel and thoroughly enjoyed it. Tori and I took an extended breakfast at a cafe – we soaked up fresh air, real coffee and the company of each other. We traded stories about our host families' quirks, the situations in our villages and news from other volunteers.

For lunch, we met up with the health guys and Samuel showed us his favorite sandwich shop. The owner is college-educated, speaks English meticulously and owns a sandwich shop in Khenifra. Unfortunately, this is indicative of the job market in Morocco. More and more people are staying in school and attending university, only to graduate with no job prospects. Lunch was great and the owner friendly and happy to meet us. There isn't much to do in Khenifra and it was drizzling, so we spent the next two hours at the cafe drinking coffee and playing cards, until it was time for the Health guys to return to the office.

Thankfully, when Tori and I returned to our office, the paperwork was ready!

Side note: As part of our getting to know each other conversations, we were talking about why each of was here. I was telling them that I had been at my job for 5 years and had realized that I either had to find a new job or go to grad school to continue to advance in my field. Since those options seemed too daunting, I had applied for Peace Corps instead. Someone started laughing and I realized how my silly it sounded. Here I am in Morocco, a country with a culture vastly different from my own, where I have a kindergartener's vocabulary, doing development work, a field in which I have no experience. How is that any easier than grad school or finding a new job? There is irony in there somewhere.

Missed Milestones

This weekend was a series of missed milestones back home. My sister's birthday, my brother's first wedding anniversary and my college roommate's wedding! The past week I'd been wondering how I would handle missing all of these celebrations. Luckily, I kept myself fairly busy and didn't have much time to dwell on what I was missing back home. Yesterday was my day at school and today I unexpectedly found myself in Khenifra.

My host uncle, Sidi Mo was over for breakfast, so I asked him about the village he lives in and the association he manages. The village is 5k over the mountain and I have yet to visit, although I hear a lot about it because my host mom is from there and her parents, Sidi Mo and other family still live there. In the course of conversation, I mentioned that I was going to Khenifra tomorrow to pick up some paperwork from the MEDA office. Sidi Mo asked if I wanted to go today to see the souk. Before I knew it, we were in a taxi on our way!

The postman was in the taxi with us and the three of us had coffee, real coffee, together at a cafe in Khenifra. Real coffee is a treat in Morocco. Coffee at home is hot milk with sugar and Nescafe – a delicious drink, but not really coffee. Plus, I'm a coffee with milk, no sugar kind of gal and I really do enjoy the taste of real coffee. The coffee at cafe's is actually espresso, which is even better than regular coffee, so I was pretty content with the day and it was only 10am.

Sidi Mo and I strolled through the souk – it is a large, open air market where you can buy just about everything. By everything, I mean everything – large kitchen appliances, big metal doors, fruits and vegetables, meat, clothes, shoes, spices, furniture, kitchen utensils, hardware, and just about anything else you can imagine. Some stands have tables, others have their wares spread on the ground; tarps and tents cover most of the area, which helps keep vendors and buyers cool and out of the sun, but makes walking treacherous as you must dodge stakes and ropes with every step. There are people walking, some pulling handcarts, others pulling larger 2-wheel carts and the occasional donkey and everyone seems to think you are going to get out of their way. I am slowly learning to push my way through crowds and gently guide people out of my way.

As we strolled through the food section, Sidi Mo pointed to the different vegetables and told me their names. A few had different names than I had learned in training, so it was helpful. Occasionally, we'd stop to talk to a vendor that Sidi Mo knew. I was usually handed a cup of tea and had to drink fast because the conversations were short and Sidi Mo would stand there waiting for me to finish the tea. Sidi Mo bought a couple melons , plums and popcorn for the kids in the family.

We stopped at a hanut at the edge of the souk and Sidi Mo left his purchases with the owner. He brought a single melon and a couple plums with, which puzzled me. We made our way to a restaurant that serves fish, pizza and rotisserie chickens. On the walk over, we talked about what I eat – my vegetarianism is truly a marvel – and when we arrived Sidi Mo ordered without consulting me. There was tons of food for the two of us – I received a good sized “salad” - boiled, chilled potatoes and beets, corn, green pepper, olives and tomatoes served over a bed of rice. Plus, a fried fish platter of sorts that had 3 whole fried fish, a pile of fried baby shrimp and fried calamari. I didn't know how to tell Sidi Mo that I am allergic to shrimp, so I dug into the salad and ate the other fish and was stuffed without even touching the shrimp. I was so thrilled to see vegetables I could eat with a fork!!!

During lunch Sidi Mo gave the bag of fruit to the waiter. After clearing our plates, he returned with a beautiful platter of fresh cut melon and clean plums. It was delicious! When we finished our fruit, we walked around town a bit and then settled into a cafe for another round of coffee. I have been to this cafe a couple times with Sidi Mo and they have a single flat screen TV that is always tuned to Animal Planet. It is kind of weird, but enjoyable for me because its in English and thrashing animals are universally appreciated.

After coffee, Sidi Mo and I were walking to the taxi stand when I saw a white person sitting outside at a cafe. I did a double-take and realized it was Duncan, a fellow, new volunteer in the Health sector. He was in town for a series of introductory meetings with the Ministry of Health. I was thrilled to have an American to talk to, so we sat down to chat. Sidi Mo told us to speak in Tamazight so he could join the conversation and we did our best. Soon, Samuel, a 2nd year Health volunteer joined us; he was in town to help Duncan and the other new volunteers find the Ministry office and to help with translation. Samuel has a knack for languages and thoroughly impressed Sidi Mo with his abilities. We had been chatting for about an hour, when Jed, another new Health volunteer arrived. It was quite an experience – the 4 Americans doing our best to speak with Sidi Mo. We all had a good laugh and Sidi Mo told Samuel that I am part of the family, like a sister to him.

The voyage home was long. We took a taxi to a town about 20k outside Khenifra and hung out for a long time waiting for a taxi to the Sisterhood. We drank tea, talked to the taxi stand manager, ate yogurt, and hung out some more. I saw an internet cafe and asked if I could go over there for a few minutes. Sidi Mo escorted me and I got the impression that the taxi was going to leave any moment, so I had better hurry. All of the computers were taken, but Sidi Mo talked a group of girls into giving up their computer for a couple minutes. I got the impression that he played the “American” girl card. They fell over themselves to make way for me at the computer and after my 5 minute email session, wouldn't accept any payment. I got a quick email off to my sister and my brother and sister-in-law to let them know I was thinking of them on their special days.

Driving back to my village, I had a feeling of coming home. It was a cool evening and there was a breeze coming in the window of the taxi. When my village came into sight, I felt a familiar safe, content feeling I used to get when I traveled and was returning home. I used to feel that way when the lights of Chicago would come into view from an airplane, or when I'd get off the expressway at the exit for my parents house. It was a good feeling.

It also occurred to me that my host family and many members of the community treat me like a cherished child. Everyone seems eager to show me around and treat to me to small things like coffee and sweets. They beam proudly at me when I identify something correctly, and chuckle to themselves when I mispronounce words. I also feel like they are showing me off...like “Look we have an American with us.”

My parents were having a family BBQ for Memorial Day and my sister's birthday. Via the wonders of Skype, I was able to talk with everyone at the party all at once! It was great to hear everyone's voice – voices I didn't expect to hear for a couple years.

My First Day of School

I didn't have anything to do today, so I decided to check out the elementary school. My host brother, Zuhir was assigned to accompany me. The school week in Morocco runs Monday through Saturday and students only go for half the day. This is due to a shortage of teachers and classrooms. Somehow, all of the kids in my family are on the same schedule. Every other day they go mornings and the other days they attend in the afternoons. Saturdays are afternoon days, so Zuhir was giving up his free morning to escort me to school.

We stopped at the director's office first; his duties are administrative and disciplinary in nature, similar to a principal. I dove in with my introduction in the best Tamazight I could muster and he looked at me like I was an alien dropped into his office and speaking gibberish! He asked me to speak French and I explained that I don't speak French, so we struggled along in Tamazight. After exhausting my “who, what, where, why” sentences about myself, he asked me what I wanted and I told him I wanted to know more about the school – how many students, their ages, the teachers, resources available to the students and teachers, etc. I thought I had explained myself well, but he gave me with another quizzical look and asked if I wanted to see some kids. I said “Sure!” and he escorted me to a classroom.

The school is built in an almost park-like setting with each classroom its own little building, surrounding an open field where the kids take their recess. The classroom we went to was the closest to the Director's office, which is also its own building. When the director entered the classroom, the entire class stood up and greeted him in unison. He spoke to the teacher and they directed Zuhir and I to a desk a the back of the room. We observed for a while – the students were taking turns going to the front of the room to recite something. The teacher joined us in the back of the room and was explaining some of the details of the school to me. He spoke quite a bit of English which helped facilitate this process.

Education in Morocco is free, but students must purchase their books each year. These are more like workbooks – soft cover books that include both reading material and exercises. Thus, they are used only once and not recycled as text books in the States are. On average, they cost 180Dh each year, which can be prohibitive for families with many children or with limited incomes. The books are written and distributed by the Ministry of Education and all schools follow a national curriculum that includes:

Arabic
French
Writing
Islamic Education
Math
Science
History
Geography
Drawing
Sports

Although students speak Tamazight at home, educational institutions are conducted in Arabic. Students learn Arabic and French beginning in elementary school and in high school, they begin to learn English! Its no wonder everyone here assumes I speak French and are stunned when I tell them that students in America are only required to learn English. Many people assume that all foreigners speak French.

I was somewhat surprised by how little was accomplished in the classrooms I observed. The first class was a writing class, but they spent a significant amount of time with the recitation and then colored a picture in one of their books. A math class consisted of the teacher writing a series of problems on the board and then giving the students more than enough time to complete them. While correcting them, he didn't take time to explain the answers or help any of the students who had questions. One class ended quite early and the teacher played music and the kids sang along for the remainder of the period. In addition, all of the students I knew, either from playing with them on my street or meeting at their homes, spent more time waving to me and making sure I saw them participating or helping the teacher than paying attention in class. I must make a small disclaimer that some of the teachers may have altered their plans because I was present and these observations were made on one day; things may be different when I am not around.

Throughout the morning, Zuhir would give me a look that said, “Let's go!” I tried to tell him that he could go home and I would stay at school, but he wasn't leaving without me. Once the afternoon classes started, he left to attend class, but only after the director assured Zuhir that he would make sure I got home OK.

I ate lunch with the Director and one of the teachers at the Director's home. It is adjacent to the school and I wonder if housing is provided by the Ministry of Education. Teachers and Directors are assigned to schools somewhat arbitrarily it seems. We talked a bit about the importance of education – both heartily agreed that education is the first step towards a brighter future for Morocco. They stressed the importance of an appropriate and correct Islamic education. This teacher in particular, talked about the extremist views in Islam and how those are not the mainstream or correct beliefs. I felt like he was trying to reassure me about his religion and beliefs and the future of Morocco.

I also learned that a Japanese development organization donated a computer lab to the school. This prompted me to ask some questions of my fellow volunteers and I learned that Japan outspends every other country (including the U.S.), both in percentage of GDP and gross investment, on international development. I received a history lesson, too – somehow my history classes never really made it to modern history i.e. WW2, so I recently learned that the U.S. essentially wrote Japan's constitution and wrote it in such a way as to exclude the possibility of maintaining a standing military. Thus, Japan has plenty of money to spend on peaceful pursuits such as development.

Home Sweet Home

I finally made it to my village today! My counterpart, Said, works for MEDA and lives in EEK. He was working in the one of the villages near mine, so I met him and the driver at the office in EEK this morning. We loaded up my luggage and drove up to my village, which I'll call the Sisterhood. We drove right up to my door and they helped me unload my bags. Then we drove up into the mountains and when the "road" became impassable even in the Land Rover, Said and I got out and walked.
MEDA is funding a massive erosion control project in the area surrounding my village. I haven't figured out if the erosion is caused by farming, grazing or both, but it is a significant problem. Between my limited Tamazight and French and Said's limited English, this is what I understand: Erosion in Morocco, while generally bad because you lose topsoil, is also causing the sea level in the Mediterranean to rise. I haven't had a chance to check this out, but it makes sense that the EU would fund this type of project because the Mediterranean is a prime tourist destination and rising water levels would be a detriment to business. I'll get back to you on whether this is truly the case.
Back to Morocco, Said thought the men were working in one area, so we hiked in that direction. All the while he was pointing out different trees, animals, etc. and giving me their names in Tamazight. When we got to where he thought they were, the men weren't there. We asked a man working in his field and he pointed across the valley. Said thought we should hike up to the top of the mountain (we were already about 2/3 of the way) to get a better view. We did, but still couldn't see them. By the way, at some point, I asked about calling these phantom men on the telephone, but neither one of us had "rizzo," which is what they call the cell phone signal.
I was starting to get hungry, but didn't say anything because it didn't seem like there was much Said could do about it. He must have been getting hungry as well, because he went over to a tree and picked a couple unripe peaches. They were good, really crunchy and sour. He also picked a couple fava beans and we munched on those. I also liked those – they still weren't ready for picking, but they tasted a lot better than the cooked ones I was eating in Ouarzazate!
We climbed up to the top of the mountain while we ate our impromptu snack and found we still couldn't see the men working. Said pointed to a small village across the valley and asked if it was OK if we walked over there. I said, "Sure" but wondered how on earth we were going to get there. There wasn't a path down the mountain, only around the valley. We "hiked" mostly, I just skidded and slipped my way down the mountain. We stopped under a tree for a rest and Said smoked a cigarette. I think it was a hazelnut tree, although I've never seen a hazelnut on a tree, so I'm not sure. I know what it is called in Tamazight and they explained that you crunch it up and mix it with chocolate, so hazelnut seemed like a good guess.
We continued our hike up the other side of the valley and arrived in a small village. It was mid-day on Friday so the men were at the mosque. We hung around for a few minutes and then the man we were looking for exited the mosque and greeted us. We walked around the village for a little while and then went to this man's house for lunch.
First however, we drank tea and ate bread with what I think was melted goat butter. I was pretty hungry, having eaten yogurt and a banana for breakfast, so I ate more bread than I normally would, thinking it would have to tide me over until evening tea back at home. Plus, they kept telling me to eat more. After tea, they brought out a tagine, which I happily ate until I was full. I had to explain to Said and our hosts that I don't eat meat, which brings the inevitable question of "why?" they asked if I ate meat in America and I said no. I explained that I hadn't eaten meat in at least 8 years because I don't like it. They seemed a bit miffed, but didn't press me to eat any of the meat in the tagine.
After lunch we hiked to the top of this mountain and took a look at the infrastructure the village was building. This mountain was a lot rockier than the one we started on, so they were using the rocks to build long, low walls every 15 to 20 feet. The walls followed the contour of the hillside and were meant to prevent rain from washing the topsoil away. Some of the walls were not built properly, so we were checking on the progress since this was discovered. The walls the mean were working on today passed inspection, however there was a whole field with problematic walls. I'm not sure if they will rebuild those or leave them as is.

It was a long day and I was sunburned on my forearms, with a nice white outline of my watch. I had worn a lightweight scarf around my neck at the beginning of the day, thinking it might be cool in the mountains, but it had come in handy as a wrap for my head and neck, to keep the sun off.

Meeting our Counterparts

The MEDA staff had planned a farewell party for Matt and Sarah and invited the K-5 to attend. We all returned to the office this afternoon to send them on their way. All 20+ staff were there, so we finally met everyone. The party was reminiscent of the going away parties I've attended for co-workers in U.S. There were cookies and soda and toasting of the departing parties. No roasting - I don't think it is culturally appropriate to tease or point out traits or situations where people haven't been at their best.
Mr. S even prepared remarks about both Sarah and Matt. He had a fatherly air about him as he spoke of their growth and achievements over the past two years. It was kind of funny because he spoke French and then Sarah translated to English for the K-5. He would say something about how great she was and she would smile or laugh and then tell us what he said. She also translated for Matt, so she would exclaim over what Mr. S said about Matt and then tell Matt what he said.
I spent last night and will again tonight with Marja, a youth development volunteer in a village between Khenifra and mine. I'll call it EEK since I can't disclose our exact locations. MEDA employs a couple drivers, one of whom lives in her village. He graciously drove us back to Marja's and detoured to the bus station on the way. Both Sarah (K-5, not the departing one) and I had shipped bags from Ouarzazate and they were waiting for us at the bus station.
I am excited about what lies ahead – the MEDA staff were warm and welcoming and genuinely excited to have us working with them. Seeing the way they interacted with Matt and Sarah reminded me of the relationships with co-workers I left in the States and that was encouraging. They laughed and joked and teased each other which indicated to me that they had more than a professional relationship and were also friends. I look forward to developing those relationships. Everyone also went out of their way to welcome us and make us feel at home.

Mini-Field Trip

The K-5 team met up with Matt and Sarah (outgoing Environment volunteers) bright and early. We had coffee at "the cafe." Although there are a lot of cafe's in Khenifra, this one is on the corner of the major intersection in town and is right by the hotel. I think it will become our main point of reference. By the way, there are 3 hotels in Khenifra – one is out of our price range, even though its only $25 per night. The one we stayed at is less than $10 per night and supposedly there is one thats about $5 per night and offers the same "amenities" as the $10 one.
After our coffee, we walked to the MEDA office for a meeting with our boss. Mr. S speaks French and Moroccan Arabic. The K-5 all learned Tamazight, so there is a language barrier. Luckily, outgoing Sarah speaks French and translated during the meeting. Mr. S gave us some information about MEDA and information specific to our sites. He had a packet for each of us, complete with a report about our village and some office supplies to get us going. He invited us to go to a workshop later in the morning at Elizabeth's village. After some consultation about logistics and luggage, we all decided to attend.
I was slightly intimidated by Mr. S because, according to Matt and Sarah, he is a big shot in the world of development. He was no-nonsense during the meeting, directing people do make copies, write this down, translate that. It seemed he commanded everyone in the office. Plus, he smoked and he'd wave his hand with the cigarette in it. For some reason I associated that image with something not entirely positive.
We all piled into a couple Land Rovers and drove out to Elizabeth's village. Along the way we asked Mr. S about the project and learned a lot more about what we'd see when we arrived. In an effort to raise the income potential of families in this and surrounding villages, MEDA had done an extensive survey of the land, people, etc. People are currently growing wheat and barley, which is by no means a cash crop. By switching them to medicinal plants, their income potential increases 2 to 3 fold. MEDA is helping facilitate this by building a "factory" to extract essential oils from the plants. The factory is male territory. MEDA is also building a drying station to allow women to dry herbs that they can then sell. In addition, they developed Elizabeth's village as the center of all of this activity. They are building a cafe where patrons can sit with their feet in water scented with a byproduct of the factory, and they built up the amenities in the village. This includes a new "source" where water is gathered for drinking, a separate area for animals to drink, washing stations where women can wash clothes (instead of in a stream) and a system for collecting the waste water and sending it through a natural treatment system. A source is simply a naturally occurring spring. Some have infrastructure that allows for more sanitary collection of drinking water, which is one of the things addressed with this project.
Matt had helped design the factory and drying station to take advantage of passive solar heating and light, so he was giving a workshop about that. It was cool to see him speaking English, Sarah translating to French and then one of the MEDA staff people translating the French to Arabic. After the workshop we went to Elizabeth's house for tea and all 20 or so people crammed into the living room.
It was a good day – we got to see Mr. S out in the field and he's much more relaxed and easy-going. He's taken a liking to Elizabeth, so he was teasing her about something on the ride to the workshop. We also had an opportunity to meet more of the MEDA staff.

Good-bye Ourazazate, Hello Khenifra

PC training is often challenging in many regards and surprisingly challenging emotionally. For the past three months, I've lived, eaten, trained, socialized, and studied with 25 people who were complete strangers when I met them on March 1st in Philadelphia and another 10 Peace Corps staff who joined us in Ouarzazate. As you would expect, we all got to know each other to some degree. Some more than others – when I asked Tori if she wanted to room together in Ouarzazate, the only memory I had of her before that was talking to her in the hotel lobby in Rabat. She was going on and on about how she talks a lot and she knows she does this, particularly when she is with people she doesn't know and there are those awkward silences. She fills them up. Tori quickly became one of my closest friends in Morocco. Luckily, we are within about 2 hours of each other and can meet halfway in Khenifra. Others are so far away, the next time we'll see each other is November when we have In-Service Training. It is hard to picture life without any Americans, especially these 25, around to talk to. It is also difficult to imagine heading out today without the immediate support of our PC staff. They have been here to answer all of our questions about Moroccan food, behavior, dress, language, etc. When my new host family does something I find strange, I won't have Hoda to explain what was going on!
I was also surprised by how quickly I bonded with my host family in CBT. The 4 weeks we spent together were spread over a 10-week period and I was at school from 8am until 6pm for the majority of the days I spent with them. Given the language barrier, it is hard to believe how much I will miss them. It will be an adjustment for me to move from their relatively quiet and serene home, to bustling and lively home of my new host family.
To get from Ouarzazate to Khenifra, the K-5 group of volunteers opted to take a CTM bus to Marrakesh and then taxi it the rest of the way. The CTM is a private bus company that operates on time and only stops in major cities, so it took us about 4 hours to get to Marrakesh. The drive is through an insane mountain pass – I equate it roughly to the Highway 1 trek through Big Sur in Calfornia. But this is Morocco so there are no guard rails, the road is really only 1.5 lanes wide and the rules of the road aren't exactly followed to a "T." I like the drive better by bus because I can't see all the perils and I have my own seat.
We arrived in Marrakesh in good spirits. We planned to stop at McDonalds – yes, that American institution. Being a vegetarian who didn't frequent McDonalds in the states, even I was excited about a tiny piece of Americana before I set out for my village. Our plan was to take a petit taxi to the Grand Taxi Station. Remember we are moving to our sites, so we have a lot of stuff. The taxi guys at the CTM station wanted to take us right to Beni Mellal where we would transfer to another Grant taxi to take us the rest of the way to Khenifra. There were a couple problems with this scenario:
They wanted to overcharge us by a lot
Technically, they aren't allowed to take passengers long distances. They are allowed only to operate within the city limits of Marrakesh.
We wanted to go to the Taxi Station, but none of them would take us, leaving us to their mercy. We finally agreed to take a small van taxi straight to Beni Mellal. They packed all our luggage in and then we realized that there really wasn't enough room for us to sit. They wanted 4 of us in the back seat and 1 in front. This isn't an unusual situation except that the backseat was really tiny. They wanted Tori, who was on the end to sit sideways. We argued a bit and didn't get very far – we were at this guy's mercy. We told the driver we wanted to stop at McDonald's for lunch before we left Marrakesh – we knew it was close because we passed it on the bus.
We drove off and shortly stopped across the street from McDonalds, but we were just on the side of the road, not a parking place. The driver got out and started talking to another man on the sidewalk. We debated what to do and decided we would leave someone in the van with all of our worldly possessions, while the rest of us got a bite to eat. Just as we were taking Jake's order (as the lone male in the K-5, he often gets stuck with these jobs), the driver got back in and we started driving again – AWAY FROM McDonalds! We all started talking and trying to explain that we were going the wrong way. He told us not to worry that we'd drive a little while and then stop for a tagine. That was the last thing any of us wanted to eat – we'd been eating them for three months and wanted a taste of home. We tried some more, but there was no persuading the driver. The somewhat buoyant mood suddenly turned sour. None of us spoke for the rest of the ride. I think we all lost our appetites and had the realization that America was out of our reach for the immediate future.
We stopped at a gas station on the edge of Marrakesh to fill up the gas tank. It was more like an American truck stop with a restaurant, convenience store, etc. He offered to let us eat there. We said no – I felt like I'd rather not eat than eat another tagine. I was really looking forward to fries and a McFlurry. I'd even heard from another volunteer that they have good salads, ones without chicken on them!
The driver kindly took time to rearrange our luggage to make room for Jake to sit on the floor in the back. He made a little cubby-hole and insisted that Jake, none of the girls, sit there. This took a while because he had to put some bags on the roof and tie them down. We had to pay 1/3 of our fair at the gas station so he could fill up his tank.
About 30 minutes outside of Marrakesh, there was a Gendarme checkpoint. These are fairly regular along the major routes, so we didn't think much of it. None of us had been in a vehicle that was stopped – they usually waive you through. Our luck was not so good today. As soon as we were waived over, the driver asked for 20Dh to bribe the officer. Before we could gather the change from our pockets he got out to talk to the officer who approached our van. They talked for a good 10 minutes and then the driver got back in the car and we took off again. We weren't sure what happened, but were glad to be back on the road.
About 15 minutes later, a legit grand taxi passed us without any passengers. Our driver gunned it and followed him, honking and waiving for him to pull over. The drivers talked for a few moments and then they told us to get in the other taxi. We asked about $$$ because we'd already put a 1/3 of the fare into the gas tank of the first taxi and we were not a1/3 of the way to our destination. They said not to worry about it. The drivers unloaded our luggage from the van and put it in the new taxi. It was your typical old Mercedes and we had to cram backpacks by the back windshield and wedge a couple into the "4th" seat in the back. When were finally moved into our new taxi, the drivers started talking money. We argued for a reduced fare, because of the inconvenience, but they wouldn't have any of it. After a few minutes of back and forth, we gave in. What were we going to do? This guy had all of our stuff packed into his car and we were on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
The remainder of this ride to Beni Melal was quiet. I was sick and tired of all the jerking around and felt like we had been totally taken advantage of. Sometimes drivers will take you all the way to your destination instead of going major city to major city the way they are supposed to. We tried to get this driver to take us all the way to Khenifra, but he insisted on dropping us in Beni Melal.
We got to the station and unpacked all of our bags. It was like a clown car – we just kept pulling bags from all corners of the car, including the roof rack. The station manager directed us to another taxi that did not have a roof rack. The new driver seemed surprised that all of our luggage, which he had just helped us unload, would not fit in his taxi. He, the station manager and a few other drivers stood around looking at our bags as if magically they would shrink and everything would fit in this car. After a couple minutes they directed us to a different taxi, also without a roof rack. Surprisingly, our luggage didn't fit in this one either!
Elizabeth pointed to another taxi with a roof rack and tried to explain that we needed one of those. They directed us to a third taxi, also without a rack, and I walked away. I was so frustrated and now hungry and thirsty because we hadn't really eaten since breakfast and it was 4pm. Luckily, they outfitted this new taxi with a couple brackets that functioned like a roof rack and loaded us up. This whole process took at least 45 minutes and then we had to stop at the Gendarm to get permission for the taxi to leave the province because Khenifra is in a different province. Finally, after an hour layover, we were on our way.
The final leg of our journey was uneventful and the driver took us to our hotel instead of the taxi stand. This way we didn't have to drag our luggage the 5 or 6 blocks from the station to the hotel. We were all a bit out of it and went across the street to get a bite to eat. We didn't talk much, until "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton came on their music system. It was the theme to my high school prom. I realized that it would be 10 years the following weekend. This started a conversation about proms, dresses, anti-proms, etc. It was nice to get to know the K-5 team better. Even though we'd just spent the entire day stuck in various taxis together, we hadn't talked much. Besides Tori and I, none of us had been great friends during training, so we still didn't know each other well. After dinner, we went to the hotel and crashed. Traveling takes a lot out of you.

Swearing-In

What a day! Our ceremony was held at a 5-star hotel about a 10 minute walk from the hotel we've been staying at for the past three months. The Berber Palace pays tribute to the movie industry in and around Ouarzazate. Recently, Babel and Charlie Wilson's War were filmed here, but the area has a long-standing history of movie making. We also heard rumors about a month ago that Leonardo DeCaprio and Matt Daemon were in town filming a new movie.
For all the glamour and over-the-top décor in the lobby of the hotel, the ceremony took place in a rather plain conference room. At the front was a podium, flanked by the U.S. and Moroccan flags. On either side, facing the center of the room, were the trainees – Health group on the left and Environment group on the right. The remainder of the room was general seating for PC staff and many of our host families from CBT. Mina had told me that she was coming, but I didn't see her or my host dad before the ceremony began. It was a surprisingly brief and straightforward ceremony. The Governor of Ouarzazate Province gave a brief speech (in Moroccan Arabic), followed by Bruce Cohen (speaking English), PC Morocco's director. Abderachmane, a PC staff person, translated these speeches. Then the trainee with the highest achievement in each of the 3 languages, gave speeches in their target language. It was pretty neat to see the audience, of mostly Moroccans, react to these speeches. We each learned just one language, so I only kind of understood the one given in Tamazight.
The ambassador couldn't join us, so the number 2 person from the embassy gave a brief speech. He spoke first in French and then gave the speech again in English. Finally, we took our oath and things were finished. There wasn't much fanfare or ceremony involved, but it was exciting. There were moments when getting to this point seemed impossible and others when I wondered if this was really where I wanted to be. Being here, today, confirmed that this is where I should be. I shed a few tears of joy, amazement and wonderment while we were repeating the oath. I am joining a group of Americans who choose to spread peace; we are a small group, but there is a common bond among those who take this road. today, I join 150 volunteers already serving in Morocco and more than 3,800 volunteers who have served here since 1963.
There was a reception after the ceremony with lots of food and soda. Mina and my host father were there – I spotted them at the end of the ceremony – so we sat together. We chatted and they told me to eat more. I hadn't felt like fighting the crowds for the food, so I only had a few things from the beginning of the buffet on my plate.
We spent the afternoon at the Berber Palace – they graciously let the new Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) stay for the afternoon and hang out poolside. It was glorious to bask in the sun in a swimsuit. After three months of pants or skirts that go to the ankle, shirts with sleeves that go past your elbows and nothing that remotely reveals cleavage or your midriff, it was slightly intimidating. My roommate and I joked about how white we were and how even though our swimsuits were ones we had worn Stateside, they seemed most inappropriate. It was weird to show all that skin.

Wrapping Up Training

It's been a busy couple days as we wrap up training and prepare for Swearing-in on Monday. For the past couple months, all of our sessions in Ouarzazate have been separated between the health group and the environment group. We are at different hotels across town and have our training and meals at our respective locations. For the past couple days, we've been together for all the "boring"-we-have-to-tell-you-these-things sessions. Unfortunately, this means the environment group has to walk across town in the morning, walk back to our hotel for lunch, walk back after lunch and then return to our hotel at the end of the day. While the really horrible summer weather hasn't hit yet, it is already really darn hot and always sunny. The room we use for training is tight with 60+ people in it and doesn't have much air circulation, so we are all a little worse for wear.
Tonight was a talent show, hosted by the health group. They put a lot more effort into it than the environment group did, but we all had a lot of fun. Tomorrow, the environment hotel is hosting a traditional music group after dinner. These events were organized by Peace Corps staff and the theory among the trainees is that it is an effort to keep us from going out partying these last few nights we'll be together. It is kind of working, although I think everyone is pretty exhausted from the past three months.
We've also had more free time during this last week of training than we had previously. It is kind of weird because most of us don't know what to do with ourselves. Its like we forgot what free time was and how we used to spend it. It is also a bit frustrating, because one of the top complaints among trainees was the lack of free time during training. It seems like we could have spread it out more evenly over the weeks instead of getting it all at once at the end. I think PC staff might be preparing us for the next phase of our service – being in our village without any structure and lots of time on our hands.

Free Bananas

Although I was feeling better today, after sleeping for most of the afternoon yesterday, I still couldn't stomach much food. The hotel serves a lot of vegetables at lunch and dinner, but they always put cilantro on everything. I am not a big fan of cilantro, but have been eating the veggies for the past three months. Its starting to catch up to me though. With a somewhat upset stomach and a mostly empty one, the veggies just weren't cutting it for dinner tonight. Plus, they served a special pastilla dinner and didn't offer a vegetarian option like they usually do. Pastilla is a meat pie-like dish that is dusted with powdered sugar. I'm told its great, but I still haven't incorporated meat into my diet. I was hungry and there wasn't much to eat.
I walked over to my favorite vegetable stand to buy a couple bananas. Local fruit is extremely inexpensive, so my 2 bananas were about 3Dh ($0.40). I didn't have anything smaller than a 20Dh bill and he didn't have change so he told me to just take them. I can't tell you how much it made my day. I felt like I was finally starting to be at home. He recognizes me, knows I'll come back and pay him tomorrow and treated me the way he would any of his regular Moroccan customers.

Saying Goodbye

Today was our last day in CBT and it was tough to say goodbye to my host family. In the 4 short weeks I've spent with my family, I've developed a great relationship with them. I feel as if I truly have a new family in Morocco. They welcomed me with open hearts and arms and made me feel at home. I will miss hanging out in the kitchen with my host sisters and pointing to all the different pots and pans, teapots and coffee pots and the fridge and asking "matta wa?" (What is this?) They let me ask the same questions over and over and never lost patience. I will miss the silly games they play – mainly sneaking up behind each other and tickling the person. Their laughter is contagious and watching them reminds me of my sister.
My host mom and I haven't talked much, mainly because she doesn't slow down her speech so I can understand. But she always welcomes me with a big smile, a warm welcome and her standard question of," how was school?" My reply was always along the lines of, "good." Sometimes she asked about the other PC people in my training group and I tell her they are good. I will miss these exchanges and the excitement and tinge of surprise in her voice when she met me at the door. It was almost as if she was pleasantly surprised to find me at the door every evening after school.
My host sister, Mina, is the dominant force among the women in the house. She is always telling my other host sisters what to do and how to do it. I am mostly inferring this from the tone of her voice, her body language and the limited words I pick up from their conversations. She isn't mean or rude, just takes charge of the situations. She reminds me a lot of my sister. Mina is a natural teacher – she intuitively knows when I don't understand and usually comes up with a way to explain things so I understand what's happening. She takes the time help me with homework and talk with me. Keep in mind that I have the vocabulary of a 5 year old, so it can't be easy. I think I will miss her the most.
Fatima is quiet and a little shy, but she is quick to smile and make sure I have everything I need. One evening while we were doing the dishes, she reheated some leftover coffee as a little treat. I'd been wondering how they made it and asked her. She thought I wanted more and started getting things out to make it! It took us a couple minutes, but we figured it out and made a date for the next morning. She carefully walked me through everything, from how much coffee, to warning me not to put the milk in until the very end.
My sister-in-law, Zin, is mom to baby Ouassim. She is tender with him and is a natural parent. She is soft-spoken and I think she would like to help with my homework, but stands back to let Mina shine. She has a beautiful smile, but flashes it only rarely.
I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to my host father. He had already left for work by the time I got up. Mohamed was always a bit intimidating, but I think it was his physical presence and the lack of communication between us. I always got the impression that he was proud of me, though.
After lots of hugs and a few last-minute gifts exchanges, Mina walked me to school. I think if we let her, she would have climbed in the taxi with us.

Sick!

I woke up feeling awful today – headache, upset stomach and a bit of a fever. I had hoped to go to the fields with my host sisters, but they left at 7am and I didn't roll out of bed until close to 10. I made an effort to be social and hang out with my host family, but all I really wanted to do was put my pjs on and go to bed. One of the other girls in my training group hadn't had the henna experience yet, so we had made a date for her to come over for henna in the afternoon. Liz arrived after mid-afternoon tea and we spent a couple hours getting henna on our hands. Afterwards we went for a walk in the fields – Mina was kind enough to take us on a walk even though she didn't need to go down for anything.
On our way back home, Liz and I stopped by the family we had our school at. The women wanted to dress us up in traditional clothes and take some pictures with us. Just as they got a beautiful jellaba over my head and a traditional scarf tied on, I started to feel nauseous. We snapped a few quick photos and then quickly took everything off. I felt horrible – I had been excited because we'd been talking about doing this for a few weeks and Sphia and Aicha were so obviously happy to see us when we got there.
Arik and his host brother had stopped by to find out what time we were leaving the next morning and they escorted me home. It was about 8pm and I really just wanted to sleep, but I hadn't eaten much all day and was feeling kind of hungry. I asked Fatima what was for dinner and instead of answering me, asked me why I wanted to know. I told her my stomach was still upset and wondered if she could make me a bowl of rice or sharia to eat. She told me it wasn't a problem and I went and laid down. I was somewhat surprised and also kicking myself when they woke me up for dinner because everyone was eating rice! I should have known that she wouldn't let me eat rice while the rest of the family ate whatever was on the menu for the evening. Instead we all ate out of the huge bowl of rice. It was wonderful – exactly what I wanted, a Moroccan version of comfort food.

Movies

It was a relatively quiet day – we had a practice language test with Hoda, watched a couple movies in Tamazight and prepared for our good-bye party. First, a word about movies in Morocco. All TV and professional movies are in French or Moroccan Arabic, so there are many semi-professional and amateur movies in the local Berber languages. They range from ridiculous to almost professional with serious plot lines. My host family is currently watching a series about a young woman from a wealthy, educated background who marries a taxi driver, against the will of her parents. In the episode we watched this week, the woman's mother tricks her into getting divorced. We then flash forward 2 years to the woman with her toddler child, who is subsequently abducted by the ex-husband. The fight scene that follows involves the ex-husband running away with the child strapped to his back. When he gets caught there is a lot of obviously fake fighting and lots of grunting. The best part is when his aggressors slam him back into a tree with the baby still strapped on! Then someone gets a knife and slices the fabric holding the baby in – and the baby falls softly into its mothers arms! My group was so excited to see this scene that we sat through 45 minutes of a movie we mostly didn't understand just to see it.
Our good-bye party was a lot of fun – we invited all of our families and some of the other community members we worked with during our training. We drank a lot of soda and ate a lot of cookies, but because of a death in the community, we could not play any music. We even successfully told the group about our final sites and they understood! Language is getting better every day!
The afternoon ended almost appropriately because the trouble-maker in town followed Liz and I as we walked home. He's bothered us a couple times before and ignoring him usually works. Tonight, though, he was rather insistent that we play soccer with him. Neither Liz nor I wanted to engage him so we told him no, but he continued to follow us and eventually threw the soccer ball and nailed me in the back of the head. I flew around and started yelling at him in Tamazight, while shaking my fist at him. He was so startled that he ran away. Liz somehow caught the ball bouncing off my head and was going to keep it, but he came back for the ball and started bothering us again. She chucked the ball as far as she could and the boy chased after it, giving us enough time to get home.

Shjr n Zitoun Sale

We had our olive tree sale yesterday. I think we have a picture of each person receiving their two trees! We didn't get quite the outpouring we expected, so we are continuing the sale today. The Association members have been great – they completely ran the show yesterday and we kind of hung out and took it all in. The town has one machine that grinds their wheat into flour and it lives in a small house near our school. It is commonly known as the "Machina n Ali" around town. Ali is the man who runs and cares for the machine. We stored the trees and sold them from there. It was kind of surreal to sit in that room with the men from the association. We were sitting on flour sacks, some full and functioning as stools and others empty and laid out on the ground like a blanket. The Moroccan men were at one end of the room and we Americans and Hoda were at the other...not sure what the men were discussing but we were playing cats cradle with some string we found on the ground and generally shooting the breeze.
Everyone in the village seemed quite happy to have the olive trees. The trees are still very small and won't produce many olives for at least 5 or 6 years. When they mature, the olive harvest will supplement the income of the families in the village. I was amazed when I learned how many olives a tree makes in one year – its 40 kilos! Depending on olive prices, one tree could generate 500 Dh (approximately $70) per year. That might not sound like much, but it could buy school books for 3 or 4 children. This is sometimes a prohibiting cost that keeps families from sending all of their children (usually the girls stay home) to school.

Takurt!

It's been really hot and the sun is constant, which makes for long days. Its a bit cooler in our CBT village, but still hot enough that we haven't ventured out for walks at lunch time. We had our tree sale today and it started out as a nice sunny day, but by afternoon the wind had picked up and the dark clouds rolled in. We watched the storm approach from the mountains and could see the wall of rain move towards us. It was a good storm with lots of lightning and thunder. The thunder was a low rolling rumble, not the violent claps we have in Chicago. It was a welcome reminder of spring time at home; the rain even smelled the same – that earthy, fresh smell.
Everything cooled off and the storm cleared before we left school. When I got home, we drank tea and then my sister Mina and I walked to the cliff overlooking the river. Due to the rain, the river is full and she wanted me to see it. We ran into Arik and his brother doing the same thing, so we walked down together. It was a beautiful evening, cool and breezy and the sky was kind of pink with a few puffy clouds. The river was definitely full of water and mud! It was brown!
Dan and his host brothers were playing takurt (soccer) at the field there, so I joined them. It was the first time I've played soccer since I arrived in Morocco! Living with a family of mostly women, I haven't had an opportunity to play. Even though I'm horrible and don't know the strategies, I had a great time. They treated me like one of the boys – when I got knocked down, the game continued as if nothing happened! I picked myself up and got right back in the game. I even scored a goal. It was great to run around and work up a sweat.
My family was a bit concerned about me because women and girls in my CBT village don't play soccer and they were worried that I wore myself out. When we finished dinner at 10:15, I was exhausted and ready for bed. They told me it was because I had played soccer, but I think it was because I'd been going since 7am that morning!

Change of Plans

We met with the Water Association this afternoon to finalize plans for the tree sale. Much to our surprise, they had decided to change key aspects of our plan! I'm glad we had Hoda there to help with translating because it would have been a challenge without her. At first they wanted to open the sale to all of the duars (villages) served by the Association. We were able to talk them out of that because of the limited number of trees and by explaining that this was our way of thanking our village for hosting us over the past two months. Then they told us that instead of three trees per family, they wanted to sell two trees per family – this is because they weren't sure how many families would participate. The final issue was whether or not to charge a small fee for the trees. We had previously decided to charge 3Dh per tree as a way to instill a feeling of responsibility and buy-in from community members. The Association members were concerned that the villagers would be suspicious of the Association and how they would use that money. It was kind of a strange discussion because they quickly dropped their arguments and agreed to keep the fee. I have a feeling that this isn't the last time we'll run into situations like this.

Harassment and a Carnival

One of the more challenging aspects of living in Morocco is the near constant harassment foreign women receive. While it doesn't happen very often in the small villages and towns we will be living in, it is prevalent in Ourazazate, where we have training, and in the big cities. One of the more annoying but harmless types of harassment is the shop owners and souk stand men who call after you trying to get you to come into their stores. A typical walk down the street includes calls of "Gazelle, come to my shop." "Parlez vous Francais?" "You are beautiful, come to my house for dinner." "Gazelle, do you speak English?" If you walk past a cafe, you often receive an invitation to join a group of men already there. In the larger cities, the men can be more aggressive – they follow you, or walk alongside you and continue to try to engage you in conversation. One of the reasons PC expects its volunteers to dress conservatively is to stave off some of this negative attention.
We leave tomorrow for our final visit to our CBT village, so I went out this evening after class to buy a few small gifts for my host family. After a walk around the souk and main street in town, I didn't have anything to show for my efforts. I was tired and didn't have the energy to deal with telling shop keepers that I don't speak French or to bargain over prices. (Many items get marked up, some 50 or 60% when a foreigner inquires about the price) Luckily, Arik, one of my fellow CBT-ers, offered to go with me for moral support and we found scarves and soap for my host sisters and mom, socks for my host dad and some Johnson's baby lotion for Ouassim. I also printed pictures I've taken of the village and with my host family and put together a little photo album for them.
Dinner was a special treat of pastilla (meat pie) without the normal vegetarian option so Tori and I went out for juice afterwards and to finish up our shopping. The date, almond and avocado juice really hit the spot – its almost a meal in itself! I was on the lookout for something to send my Grandmom for her birthday and went back to a shop where the owner had been kind and fair on prices to me before. I'd run into him earlier when I wasn't in the mood for bargaining and when he invited me in for tea, I told him I didn't have time and would stop by another time. He greeted me warmly and asked what I was looking for. I told him and he showed me a few things that were out of my price range. When I told him how much I had to spend, he showed me a few things and then brought out a beautiful necklace and sold it to me for about half of what I know others have paid for similar ones. It was refreshing and restored a little of my faith in the shop-owners in Ouarzazate.
On my way back to the hotel, I ran into a few people going to a carnival! They promised me real bumper cars, so I joined them. For a total of 15Dh ($2) we got into the festival, rode a ride and ate ice cream in homemade waffle cones! It was as close to an American carnival as I could have hoped for – there was corn on the cob, ice cream, and rides! The line for the bumper cars was long so we rode the "Cap Kennedy." It had a space/moon theme and looked like it was from the Kennedy era. We speculated that it no longer met U.S. standards for safety and was sold to this carnival. It was one of those rides where you sit with 2 or 3 other people in a car, with each car connected to the one in front of it. They go around in a circle, but the track has some hills in it. There is a modern version whose name I can't remember. Anyways, it was kind of like the wooden roller coasters because you could feel every joint and connection as we rode. All of a sudden something seemed to fall on us from above and we all started screaming, thinking the ride was breaking. It was just an awning coming up over the cars to cover us. Now we were in the dark and the ride started going backwards. We picked up some speed and then came to a halt! It was exhilarating, mainly because we all thought the whole thing would collapse at any moment.

Site Visit

It's been a crazy couple days. I visited my final site this week and spent a few days with my host family. My site is a larger village about an hour drive into the mountains from Khenifra. It is a strange mix of urban and rural life. Rural because it is out in the mountains and you can't see much evidence of civilization outside the town. Urban because it looks like a mini-city and has amenities including running water, electricity and an abundance of hanuts (small stands that sell just about anything you really need).
Last Saturday, the 5 of us and Sarah (Environment volunteer who is almost finished with her 2 years) took taxis from Ouarzazate to Khenifra. It was a long day, but we had dinner at Matt's apartment and then went to a hotel to crash. Matt is also an environment volunteer who is about to finish his service. Both have been working with MEDA for the past two years and the K-5 will be continuing their work.
On Monday morning, we met with our new "boss." It was a brief meeting with Sarah (outgoing PCV) translating from French to English. We covered the basics – name, site, background and Mr. S told us a little bit about the project. We met everyone in the main office in Khenifra and left. This was where we parted ways – each of us trainees was headed to our new homes. I was excited and nervous about what lay ahead.
Sarah accompanied me to my new village. We tried calling my host father at the number PC provided, but he didn't answer. Luckily, when we got out of the taxi in the center of town, my host uncle was there and showed us to the house. We were ushered into the formal living room and promptly served tea. Sarah told them about my vegetarianism, which was met with a "little by little" response. My host uncle told us that I just needed to eat a little at first and before I knew it I'd be eating a whole chicken. He recognized that it might make me sick at first, but I'd get over it. Sarah told him that a lot of people in America don't eat meat and that she too was a vegetarian for a long time. We met a few family members:
Host mom – Fatima
Host brother – Zuhir
Host brother – Jawil
Host uncle – Sidi Mo
Mona, Sumia, and Mamaw

Once tea was over, Sarah left and I tried to figure out what to do. My host mom was in the kitchen with a couple other women making cookies. I joined them for a few minutes but quickly realized I understood almost nothing they were saying. The kids had gone back outside to play, so I joined them.
They quickly welcomed me as one of their own and we played volleyball and a game called P1. We tried to talk a little bit, but I felt like they were speaking a different language than the one I'd been learning for the past 2 months! We got a few ideas across and they helpfully pointed to all the objects in sight and gave me their names.
The king was supposed to visit Khenifra on Tuesday and my family kept telling me that we were going to go there in the morning. At least that's what I thought they were telling me. On Tuesday morning I got up and ate breakfast with the family. Sidi Mo took me to the post office to open a post box. I wanted to walk around town, but wasn't sure if I should because they were still talking about going to Khenifra.
My host mom was visibly pregnant, but I didn't realize how pregnant she was until late-morning when my host dad showed up and said they were taking her to the hospital in Khenifra to have the baby! Off they went and I spent the rest of the day hanging out close to home.
I went for a brief walk around town after lunch and received several invitations to tea. I politely declined because I wanted to actually see the town. I ran into the pre-school teacher as I was desperately trying to explain to a group of women who I was and what I was doing in the village. He knew the outgoing PC Sarah and knew generally who I was. He explained who I was, and then invited me into his "classroom."
Sarah had told me about the classroom and that she had helped write a grant proposal to build a new one for the town. The room is a long narrow room in what looks like an abandoned house. There is no electricity and the children are overflowing the available desks. The teacher was kind enough to explain how the pre-school works, how many students there are, etc. and teach me a few new Tamazight words.
On Wednesday, Mamaw, Sumia and Zuhir and I boarded a transit to go to Khenifra. There was a festive feeling in the air. It took us a while to get there because we stopped at the taxi stand for a while and then for a long time in a town about 20k from Khenifra. I wasn't sure what was going on because the driver was hanging out near the van, but we weren't going anywhere.
Eventually someone spotted Sidi Mo and he put us on the bus to go the rest of the way to Khenifra. We walked to the hospital and found the rest of the family there visiting Fatima and the new baby. After some time visiting, the conversation turned to lunch. The family was concerned about what I would eat. I understood that they were talking about fish, but didn't know why. My host father, Haddou, speaks some English and asked if I eat fish, to which I said that I do. After some more discussion, we packed Fatima and the baby up and put them in a car to go home.
The rest of us went to lunch at a pizza/fish restaurant. Pizza sounded a lot better than fish, so I ordered a cheese pizza and everyone else shared a chicken tagine. I offered for everyone to try the pizza, but no one took me up on it. After lunch, we walked to the festival.
The festival was in a big lot and consisted of a lot of large tents. The ground inside of the tents was covered with rugs and some of the tents had ponjs around the perimeter. There weren't many people around, so we relaxed for a while. The festival was in honor of the king's visit and I learned that his visit had been pushed off until Thursday.
After a while, we went for a walk through the main market in town. Mamaw bought a few gifts for Fatima and the baby and the kids and I got something to drink and a snack. I was getting hot and tired...I had worn jeans and a long sleeve shirt not realizing we'd be outside in the sun for most of the day.
We returned to the festival to find that more people were there and the action was starting to pick up. Mamaw, Sumia and I walked around for a bit. There were lots of people and someone always had to hold my hand so I wouldn't get lost. I got the feeling they were scared of losing me, but I was starting to feel suffocated. I'm not good in large groups and the heat and the crush of people was overwhelming.
After a while, we returned to the tent to hang out some more. It was getting to be late afternoon and I thought we would be going home soon, but we kept hanging out. At one point, we walked to a cafe next to the taxi stand and I thought we were going to leave, but we just had a snack and then returned to the festival. I was starting to get a headache and feeling the effects of being in the heat all day with little to drink.
There was traditional singing and dancing outside the tent. It was great to see it in person. When that ended, the tent started to clear out and I thought we must be going home. But we hung out a while more and finally got into the transit we had rode in this morning. By this time, my head was pounding and all I could think about was closing my eyes and going to sleep. We waited a while on the transit, with people yelling and kids jumping around. They kept getting on and off and accidentally bumping and jostling me, which was making my headache worse.
The drivers were milling around near the transit and I couldn't figure out what we were waiting for. I was on the verge of tears, mainly from exhaustion and the headache, but was trying desperately to wait until I was alone before I started crying. Someone noticed and asked if I was OK and the floodgates opened! Once I started, I couldn't stop. Everyone seemed to spring into action. One of the young men spoke a little English and asked what was wrong. I explained the headache and almost immediately had asprin in hand. Someone else rounded up all the passengers and got them back onto the transit. We were on our way in seemingly record time! I wonder how long we would have waited around if I hadn't started crying.
There was a party waiting for us back at home. With the new baby, a bunch of family members were at the house celebrating and helping get Fatima settled. It was 11pm, but we all ate tagines and although the party seemed like it would go all night, I went to bed. Although I don't understand a lot of the conversations flying around me, I could tell everyone was talking about me the American who doesn't eat meat and who ordered at 24Dh pizza. They kept talking about how much the pizza was, which made me feel terrible. No one would let me pay for anything the whole day and now it seemed to me that everyone was talking about how expensive the pizza was.
I needed some reassurance, so I called my parents. I immediately started crying when I heard my mom's voice. I think I scared them a bit, because they swung into parent-mode – what's wrong? Are you OK? Where are you? Why are you crying? I assured them I was OK, just in need of a hug and some words of encouragement which they dutifully and lovingly provided.
I awoke Thursday morning feeling much better and ready to take on the day. I was meeting the rest of the K-5 in Khenifra, so we could spend the night there and get an early start back to Ouarzazate on Friday. Sidi Mo accompanied me to Khenifra, which was a production. It seemed like the entire village was going to see the king. We had a caravan of at least 15 taxis, trucks, and private cars – all jammed to the gills. It was almost like a parade as we drove down the mountain.
The streets in Khenifra were already lined with people and we drove to the other end of town, where all the vehicles were stopping to let people off. We met up with a few others from the village and started walking back to the center of town. We stopped at a cafe for coffee and were hanging out there for a while. I realized that we were around the corner from Matt's apartment, which is where I was meeting the rest of the group.
I tried to tell Sidi Mo that I was going to meet my friends, but he wanted to meet them. So, Matt kindly walked over to the cafe and introduced himself. Sidi Mo insisted that he have coffee or tea or stay and have lunch. Both Matt and I tried to politely decline and after some explaining about meeting the others and already having plans for lunch, we left.
Tori and Elizabeth arrived soon and we were at Matt's apartment debating what to do for lunch when we heard someone yelling from the street. We looked out to find Sidi Mo! He wanted to take us all out for tagines! I think he also wanted to check up on Matt and I – the fact that we were going back to his apartment alone would be unacceptable if we were Moroccan. Men and women don't have friendships and being alone in a house with a male friend is not OK for a woman. Luckily, Tori and Elizabeth reassured Sidi Mo and we promised to eat tagines another day.
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Jake and Sarah joined us in Khenifra and we made dinner at Matt's. The ride back to Ouarzazate was long and hot, but we made it without too much trouble. We even found a cab driver willing to bypass Marrakesh, which shaved a couple hours off our drive.