I finally went swimming yesterday! It was glorious and I am a bit jealous that my friend Tori can walk to the river whenever she wants. Tori lives just north of Khenifra, outside Mrirt in a small, agricultural community. I visited her and her host family yesterday and went went for a swim. Getting to the swimming was interesting, though.
I met Tori in Mrirt and we took a transit bus to her village. It was packed to the gills and these 2 boys kept asking us if we were going swimming and if they could have a couple Dirhams. We made the mistake of telling them we were going swimming because then they wanted to join us. We firmly told them no and thankfully, they got off well before we did. When we got to Tori's house, her host mom, Shumisha wanted to make tea, but we were anxious to get swimming so agreed to have tea afterwards.
We walked/hiked/slid through the fields and along a path to get to the river, but found the spot Tori swam last time to be overrun with young men. She knew of another spot further downstream, so we headed in that direction. Our walk was accompanied by the sounds of “Bonjour,” “You want to swim?” and plenty of stares. Just as we were spreading our towels on a rock and looking around to make sure we were alone, 2 young men emerged from the path and joined us. They were probably in their late teens or early 20's and spoke a little English. They wanted to join us for a swim, which we tried to decline, but they weren't taking a hint, In addition to simply wanting to be by ourselves, it would have been very inappropriate for us to swim with Moroccan men.
One young man was wearing his white boxer briefs and matching white Crocs; the other a looser pair of shorts – no shirts, no modesty that we could very clearly see their “family jewels,” and they seemed completely oblivious to the fact that we were uncomfortable with their presence. They encouraged us to jump in the river with them and one of them even jumped in to show us everything was OK. We continued to decline and increasingly, just ignored them. They finally took a hint and left, leaving Tori and I marveling at a society in which many women won't leave the house without their head covered, but men can walk around in their underwear.
We enjoyed the rest of our swim – the current was fast so we had to jump in and then swim as fast as we could to the edge. It was a rush and a welcome relief from the heat. We went back to Tori's house and lingered a bit too long over tea because we missed the last transit back to Mrirt, where we were going to meet Anna and Ian to make dinner and spend the night at Anna's.
We walked out to the road and waited a while, expecting one to come at any minute. I was sitting on a rock close to the ground when a herd of sheep and goats passed. We were talking and watching them walk by when a black goat at the end of the group strayed and approached me. I naturally said hello and he stared at me for a minute before rubbing his head against my shoulder. I was completely taken aback and busted up laughing, while the goat sniffed my bag. He lost interest and quickly joined the rest of the herd, leaving Tori and I laughing rather hysterically.
In the mean time, her host mom and aunt watched us from afar, waiting for us to admit defeat and come back to the house. It seemed like they were watching from a distance so that we wouldn't notice because as soon as we started to walk back, they scurried into the house and were seemingly going about their business when we got back. Like almost every Moroccan mother I've met, Tori's was concerned with how much dinner we ate. We were eating sharia, the spaghetti noodles with a creamy sauce, but everyone had their own individual bowls. Once Tori and I finished our first ones, Shumisha wanted to fill them up again. Tori asked for a half bowl and I tried to explain how nice it was to get something only half-filled because in my host family, you always get a full glass of tea even if you ask for half. Shumisha jumped on this and said that if that was the way it was in my house, she would fill up our bowls because she wanted me to feel at home!
We spent the night at Tori's and got up early the next day to go to Azrou, because one of the volunteers was having a get together so the new volunteers could meet the other volunteers in the area. Sharon definitely lived up to her reputation as the Martha Stewart of the Middle Atlas Mountains! She has a beautiful apartment and prepared quite a spread of food. There were quite a few volunteers and it was a nice day.
I traveled back to Khenifra with Linda, a small business volunteer who lives there. I misjudged when the last taxis to my site would leave and missed the last one, so I spent the night at Linda's. She is a lovely host and is endlessly inspiring. In her 60's, she is an “older” volunteer, but is still young at heart. There is something in Linda that reminds me of my Grandmom, but I haven't quite placed it. It is something beyond the obvious.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Packages from Home!
Oh the exquisite joy of mail! I went to the post office yesterday – I try to limit my visits to once or twice a week, otherwise I am disappointed when there is no mail. Much to my surprise, there were 2 packages and 4 letters waiting for me! My friend Andrea sent me my favorite shampoo and some other goodies from Lush as well as an assortment of books and magazines. Today, I took an extra long “bath” and finally washed my hair with good shampoo! I usually have to wash it twice with the shampoo I bought here because the first time it doesn't lather, just soaks up all the grease! gross, but this Lush shampoo is awesome! I used a dusting powder that Andrea sent and I felt like a woman again! It was downright luxurious.
My brother and sister-in-law sent some goodies, too! 2 bags of mini reese's PB cups, which are my favorite! They are a little melted and smooshed, but still delicious. I can't wait to have my apartment so I can put them in the fridge.
Mail is awesome.
My brother and sister-in-law sent some goodies, too! 2 bags of mini reese's PB cups, which are my favorite! They are a little melted and smooshed, but still delicious. I can't wait to have my apartment so I can put them in the fridge.
Mail is awesome.
Monday, June 23, 2008
My First Joke!
I was sitting in the way back of seat of a station wagon taxi waiting to go back to my village this afternoon, when I understood my first joke in Tamazight! The last passenger to show up had some large sacks of grain, which the driver was trying to fit in the trunk. Unfortunately, the other passengers had placed their souk purchases – mostly fruits and vegetables in the trunk and people were admonishing the driver to be careful not to crush their fruit. I was taking it all in, when the driver pulled out a plastic bag of figs and handed it to the man sitting in front of me. He examined his figs and declared, “These aren't figs, this is jam! Where's the sugar I bought? I'll just add it now.” I busted up laughing and then realized that I had understood what he said. People usually take notice and are really excited when they realize I speak Tamazight but today, no one noticed. I was a little disappointed that not one of the 10 or so people noticed that I was laughing with them, but I was pleased with myself for my progress at understanding the conversations taking place around me.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Americans!
I met up with Tori, Kaylyn, Jake and Logan this weekend. It was Kaylyn's birthday so she came to visit us in Khenifra. Its amazing what a few weeks of immersion in another culture will do to people! I met up with everyone mid-afternoon and they had been talking since mid-morning. We continued to talk well into the night – I think it was close to 3am by the time we called it a night! Everyone had stories of host families, mild harassment in their sites, frustrations with the language and cultural barriers and those moments where all you can do is laugh at yourself because you are failing miserably to communicate with someone in your site. Lacking any solid time to interact with people who speak English, it felt like we had to get the most out of our time together. I thoroughly enjoyed it!
It is miserably hot this week, but I had no idea how hot it was. My village is at an elevation of approximately 6,000 feet and it was 100 F! Down in Khenifra, which is closer to sea level it was even hotter. Growing up in Chicago, where humidity can reach 100% and 90 F can be deadly, I was somewhat surprised at how well I was faring. OK, I wasn't doing fantastically, but I don't really have anyone to complain to, so I wasn't complaining. I have never really bought into the whole dry heat theory, but it has earned some credibility since I've been in Morocco. But, hot is still hot and my butt still sticks to the plastic chair at the internet cafe even in the “dry” heat. Thankfully, it cools off somewhat at night, although I have spent a few nights sleeping on the floor because simply laying on a bed was too hot.
It is miserably hot this week, but I had no idea how hot it was. My village is at an elevation of approximately 6,000 feet and it was 100 F! Down in Khenifra, which is closer to sea level it was even hotter. Growing up in Chicago, where humidity can reach 100% and 90 F can be deadly, I was somewhat surprised at how well I was faring. OK, I wasn't doing fantastically, but I don't really have anyone to complain to, so I wasn't complaining. I have never really bought into the whole dry heat theory, but it has earned some credibility since I've been in Morocco. But, hot is still hot and my butt still sticks to the plastic chair at the internet cafe even in the “dry” heat. Thankfully, it cools off somewhat at night, although I have spent a few nights sleeping on the floor because simply laying on a bed was too hot.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
PC Paunch AKA Bread Belly
Despite my best efforts to “maintain my figure,” as someone recently put it, I am growing a bread belly. Moroccans eat a lot of bread. Breakfast is bread with olive oil, butter, jam or honey. Lunch and dinners are usually eaten without utensils with bread serving as the means to getting food in your mouth. I've devised ways to eat less bread – stopping when I am nowhere near full because someone always insists that I eat more and puts another piece of bread in front of me or finishing my first piece of bread and then eating the potatoes and carrots in the tagine with my fingers or using as small a piece of bread as I can to scoop the largest chunk of vegetables. My family is catching on because they offer me utensils for some meals like the salad (chopped tomatoes, onions and garlic) usually eaten with bread, but I get to use a spoon. Other meals are simply delicious, but not at all healthy like fried zuchini or eggplant and french fries. Yummy, but not helping my waistline.
My attempts to exercise have been counteracted by the invites to tea and breakfast that I receive while out on my daily walk/run. I usually go out early to beat the heat and most people are at home still sleeping. When I return, my host mom has tea and breakfast waiting for me. Even if I've stopped for tea or breakfast on my way back, she still insists that I eat again and I have a hard time refusing her.
It would reflect poorly on Fatima if I lost weight while under her care. Many of the women tell me I need to gain weight so I can have a larger chest and a nicer belly. I try to explain wanting to be healthy, but it doesn't really translate, so I stick my belly out a far as I can to demonstrate that I have one. The chest is more difficult to prove because I wear looser fitting clothes to detract any attention from the men in my village. One women told me to keep eating because I don't have a chest and men like women with large chests. She demonstrated this last part by holding her hands out well beyond a reasonable size!
Despite what I eat, someone always tells me that I don't eat enough. I honestly think I could eat a whole tagine, and they would still tell me I didn't eat enough. I think part of it is that I don't eat meat, so they want to make sure I eat more than my share of vegetables and bread. Part of it is cultural, they tell everyone to eat. Except that they are much more persistent with me. If someone else says they are full, the pressure to eat is off. But when I say I'm full, I am faced with “a little more, please?” Sometimes its a nice request and other times its a sharp directive to “EAT!”
Thankfully, my pants still fit and I'll be cooking for myself in a month. I have visions of stir fry and eggs over easy dancing in my head.
My attempts to exercise have been counteracted by the invites to tea and breakfast that I receive while out on my daily walk/run. I usually go out early to beat the heat and most people are at home still sleeping. When I return, my host mom has tea and breakfast waiting for me. Even if I've stopped for tea or breakfast on my way back, she still insists that I eat again and I have a hard time refusing her.
It would reflect poorly on Fatima if I lost weight while under her care. Many of the women tell me I need to gain weight so I can have a larger chest and a nicer belly. I try to explain wanting to be healthy, but it doesn't really translate, so I stick my belly out a far as I can to demonstrate that I have one. The chest is more difficult to prove because I wear looser fitting clothes to detract any attention from the men in my village. One women told me to keep eating because I don't have a chest and men like women with large chests. She demonstrated this last part by holding her hands out well beyond a reasonable size!
Despite what I eat, someone always tells me that I don't eat enough. I honestly think I could eat a whole tagine, and they would still tell me I didn't eat enough. I think part of it is that I don't eat meat, so they want to make sure I eat more than my share of vegetables and bread. Part of it is cultural, they tell everyone to eat. Except that they are much more persistent with me. If someone else says they are full, the pressure to eat is off. But when I say I'm full, I am faced with “a little more, please?” Sometimes its a nice request and other times its a sharp directive to “EAT!”
Thankfully, my pants still fit and I'll be cooking for myself in a month. I have visions of stir fry and eggs over easy dancing in my head.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Circumcision Celebration!
Yes, you read correctly. Today, was circumcision day at the clinic and there was quite a bit of celebrating to accompany the procedures. All last week, people in town would stop me and ask if I was going to the hospital on Sunday. They would hold up their pointer and index fingers on one hand and mimic a scissors with the other hand. “They are cutting the boys,” was the message I took away from these interactions.
This morning, I walked to the clinic to find a large group of women gathered outside and some kids hanging around. I had my usual group of girls accompanying me and we hung around outside for a while. My host father noticed me and invited me to come into the hospital. I was a little nervous about what I would see, but figured I should check things out since everyone made such a big deal about it.
Thankfully, there were a lot of men from town milling around and drinking tea, and they stopped me to chat for a few minutes. I learned that they bring in a handful of doctors from the larger hospital in Khenifra about once per year to perform the procedure. They were surprised to learn that in America, most boys are circumcised before they leave the hospital. The boys here are circumcised anywhere from 6 months to 4 or 5 years old. Families from the surrounding countryside traveled to the Sisterhood for the procedure.
As for the actual procedure, I have no basis of comparison to what happens in the U.S. In my village, they had desks from the school set up as operating tables, which were covered with plastic. Each boy was propped up on a pillow and held spread eagle by a male member of the community – not a family member (they waited outside). The doctor performed the procedure and then bandaged the boy, who was returned to his mother with a “goody bag.” The goody bags had yogurt, a hard boiled egg and some bread.
I didn't have the stomach to watch an entire procedure, so I watched the end of one and it was gruesome enough for me. The interesting part was that the pillow the boy was laying on matched the set in my room at my host families house! I thought, “No, someone else must have the same set,” but when I returned home, a pillow was missing from the room!
Back to the hospital. I was struck by the less than sterile environment. One doctor had a pile of peanuts and a cup of tea on the edge of his “operating” table. They would wipe the surface off after each procedure, but it didn't look like they were disinfecting anything, merely washing things off.
I went outside to see what was happening and found the women singing and celebrating. It was a small Haduse, involving drums and singing. Some of the younger girls were dancing. I couldn't help but notice one boy who wouldn't stop crying. He was strapped onto his mother's back and it must have been putting pressure on his recent wound. I felt so bad for him, but his mother seemed oblivious to his cries.
After the last of the surgeries, I hung out for a while chatting with the doctors. Several of them spoke English and I was a bit of a novelty, We talked about life in Morocco and life in America and compared notes. They were surprised that I liked living in my village. We went to lunch at the home of a prominent community member. It was a bit surreal as I was one of 2 females – the other was a nurse from Khenifra who had helped earlier in the day. Lunch was a dish that must be reserved for special occasions – its a large chunk of meat (I don't know what kind, maybe lamb or beef) served over a bed of onions and topped with stewed dates. This obviously doesn't leave much for me to eat, but I dug into the onions and dates and when someone noticed that I wasn't eating the meat, we got into quite a discussion.
Normally, I tell people that eating meat makes me sick. While not entirely true, after 8 years of not eating it, I'm sure it would make me sick. This usually works on the women in my village, but this was a room full of doctors! They weren't buying it, but I insisted and told them that I didn't eat meat in America either, which seemed to satisfy them.
After lunch a man started chanting and the others joined in. I wasn't sure what was happening, but this continued for a couple minutes with the men bowing their heads and placing their hands palms up, one on top of the other. Afterwards, they explained that they were chanting a verse from the Qu'ran and the man who initiated it was the Imam. A short time later, the festivities broke up and I headed home to join my family for a nap.
This morning, I walked to the clinic to find a large group of women gathered outside and some kids hanging around. I had my usual group of girls accompanying me and we hung around outside for a while. My host father noticed me and invited me to come into the hospital. I was a little nervous about what I would see, but figured I should check things out since everyone made such a big deal about it.
Thankfully, there were a lot of men from town milling around and drinking tea, and they stopped me to chat for a few minutes. I learned that they bring in a handful of doctors from the larger hospital in Khenifra about once per year to perform the procedure. They were surprised to learn that in America, most boys are circumcised before they leave the hospital. The boys here are circumcised anywhere from 6 months to 4 or 5 years old. Families from the surrounding countryside traveled to the Sisterhood for the procedure.
As for the actual procedure, I have no basis of comparison to what happens in the U.S. In my village, they had desks from the school set up as operating tables, which were covered with plastic. Each boy was propped up on a pillow and held spread eagle by a male member of the community – not a family member (they waited outside). The doctor performed the procedure and then bandaged the boy, who was returned to his mother with a “goody bag.” The goody bags had yogurt, a hard boiled egg and some bread.
I didn't have the stomach to watch an entire procedure, so I watched the end of one and it was gruesome enough for me. The interesting part was that the pillow the boy was laying on matched the set in my room at my host families house! I thought, “No, someone else must have the same set,” but when I returned home, a pillow was missing from the room!
Back to the hospital. I was struck by the less than sterile environment. One doctor had a pile of peanuts and a cup of tea on the edge of his “operating” table. They would wipe the surface off after each procedure, but it didn't look like they were disinfecting anything, merely washing things off.
I went outside to see what was happening and found the women singing and celebrating. It was a small Haduse, involving drums and singing. Some of the younger girls were dancing. I couldn't help but notice one boy who wouldn't stop crying. He was strapped onto his mother's back and it must have been putting pressure on his recent wound. I felt so bad for him, but his mother seemed oblivious to his cries.
After the last of the surgeries, I hung out for a while chatting with the doctors. Several of them spoke English and I was a bit of a novelty, We talked about life in Morocco and life in America and compared notes. They were surprised that I liked living in my village. We went to lunch at the home of a prominent community member. It was a bit surreal as I was one of 2 females – the other was a nurse from Khenifra who had helped earlier in the day. Lunch was a dish that must be reserved for special occasions – its a large chunk of meat (I don't know what kind, maybe lamb or beef) served over a bed of onions and topped with stewed dates. This obviously doesn't leave much for me to eat, but I dug into the onions and dates and when someone noticed that I wasn't eating the meat, we got into quite a discussion.
Normally, I tell people that eating meat makes me sick. While not entirely true, after 8 years of not eating it, I'm sure it would make me sick. This usually works on the women in my village, but this was a room full of doctors! They weren't buying it, but I insisted and told them that I didn't eat meat in America either, which seemed to satisfy them.
After lunch a man started chanting and the others joined in. I wasn't sure what was happening, but this continued for a couple minutes with the men bowing their heads and placing their hands palms up, one on top of the other. Afterwards, they explained that they were chanting a verse from the Qu'ran and the man who initiated it was the Imam. A short time later, the festivities broke up and I headed home to join my family for a nap.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Hospitality
Moroccan's have a wonderful sense of hospitality. I think if I wanted to, I could stop cooking for the next two years and just rotate through my community. It seems like everyone I meet wants me to come to their house to eat lunch or dinner and spend the night. That old saying of “What is mine is yours,” really applies in Morocco.
One family invited me for tea and then insisted on watching what I wanted to watch on TV. Most families have satellite, so the channels are endless and I really don't know what is available in English. They flipped through the English channels and we settled on the news. I was somewhat enthralled and after we exhausted our conversation in my limited Tamazight, I happily learned what was happening in the world. This was one of the wealthier families in town, so they insisted on me using their computer to check my email. WOW, I thought, this is not the Peace Corps I pictured. The family insisted that I stay for dinner and then asked if I wanted to take a shower! My protestations of no clean clothes were met with offers to loan me clothes and no worries about shampoo, soap or a towel, either. As I was leaving, the family invited me to come back whenever I wanted to watch English TV, use their internet or take a shower. They even told me they have multiple TV's so I could watch in English by myself while they watch their shows!
I joined another family for tea and over the course of conversation, my habit of not eating meat surfaced. They invited me to lunch the following week and planned it so that it would be the day after souk, so they could buy lots of fresh vegetables. The meal was huge! Lots of vegetables for me, 3 hard-boiled eggs they expected me to eat by myself, a tagine, and salads. This was topped off with honeydew and watermelon and more tea. We rested for a while after lunch and they showed me some of their handicrafts. When I tried to leave, they insisted I stay for evening coffee. After coffee, I was leaving and they invited me to stay for dinner! I declined because I needed to get home, but they invited me back the following week for lunch and a bath (more on that later).
I simply have to walk out my door and down my street to receive an invitation for tea. If it is evening, tea usually turns into an invitation to stay and eat dinner and then spend the night. The sleeping over thing still confounds me, but I guess it is standard procedure.
One family invited me for tea and then insisted on watching what I wanted to watch on TV. Most families have satellite, so the channels are endless and I really don't know what is available in English. They flipped through the English channels and we settled on the news. I was somewhat enthralled and after we exhausted our conversation in my limited Tamazight, I happily learned what was happening in the world. This was one of the wealthier families in town, so they insisted on me using their computer to check my email. WOW, I thought, this is not the Peace Corps I pictured. The family insisted that I stay for dinner and then asked if I wanted to take a shower! My protestations of no clean clothes were met with offers to loan me clothes and no worries about shampoo, soap or a towel, either. As I was leaving, the family invited me to come back whenever I wanted to watch English TV, use their internet or take a shower. They even told me they have multiple TV's so I could watch in English by myself while they watch their shows!
I joined another family for tea and over the course of conversation, my habit of not eating meat surfaced. They invited me to lunch the following week and planned it so that it would be the day after souk, so they could buy lots of fresh vegetables. The meal was huge! Lots of vegetables for me, 3 hard-boiled eggs they expected me to eat by myself, a tagine, and salads. This was topped off with honeydew and watermelon and more tea. We rested for a while after lunch and they showed me some of their handicrafts. When I tried to leave, they insisted I stay for evening coffee. After coffee, I was leaving and they invited me to stay for dinner! I declined because I needed to get home, but they invited me back the following week for lunch and a bath (more on that later).
I simply have to walk out my door and down my street to receive an invitation for tea. If it is evening, tea usually turns into an invitation to stay and eat dinner and then spend the night. The sleeping over thing still confounds me, but I guess it is standard procedure.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Weekend in Fes
I met up with a couple volunteers from my training group in Fes for the weekend! It was great to get out and travel on our own without the rules and restrictions of training. We barely saw any of the city, but had a good time!! I met Jonathan, Phil and Erin.
Fes has a new city, built by the French and an old city built over the past 1,000 years by the locals. The old city, Medina, is still surrounded by defense walls, but has large “doors” or entrances. We stayed at a hotel near Bab Boujeloud which offered views of the nearby mosques and the beautiful “door” to the city.
We spent Saturday morning walking through the Medina, which is a maze of roads and alleys. There were narrow alleyways where it looked like the buildings on either side were reinforcing each other with wood beams. Others where you'd see a sign directing you down a side alley towards a shop promising wonders. We found our way to a leather shop and after much discussion, back and forth bargaining and pleas of “we have very little money, we are volunteers,” all 4 of us left with new leather bags! The shopkeeper had to go check with the “owner” to make sure he wasn't accepting to low a price. He made sure to tell us what a deal we were getting.
OK we didn't exactly leave with the bags. The straps on mine and Erin's bags were too long, so the man offered to shorten them for us. We paid half the agreed price and told him we would return before he closed at 7pm. When we returned later in the afternoon, he tried to charge us an extra 20Dh for the sewing job! We refused on the basis that he didn't tell us that previously and he kept telling us no problem to shorten the straps when we were bargaining. As were were leaving he told us “Well, I paid the man 20Dh but if you don't want to pay me then OK, but I paid him 20Dh.”
We barely touched the old Medina in our 2 or 3 hour stroll...I think we were still in tourist land and not into the heart of the Medina. One of our teachers from training, Said, lives in Fes and we met him for lunch. He took us back to his family's house and his mom and sister made us a wonderful feast! It was fun to see how city Moroccans live and to compare and contrast that with how people in rural areas live. We all practiced our language and also spoke English with Said and his brothers.
By the time we got back to our hotel it was 7pm and everyone wanted a shower and some time to relax. By coincidence, there were 4 PC volunteers from Gambia staying at the same hotel. They were at the end of a month-long vacation around Morocco! It was a great surprise and we spent the evening chatting and comparing our work and the PC rules. We Moroccan PC's had planned to go to a sushi restaurant for dinner and we convinced our new friends to join us.
The restaurant was just outside a fancy hotel/resort place and was a bit upscale for PC volunteers, but we were all craving “American” food and decided to go for it. We Moroccan PC's are still living with host families so we can't yet cook for ourselves and the Gambian volunteers stay with their host families the entire 2 years so they were really craving a taste of home. Over dinner we talked about food...we are sick of bread and tea here in Morocco but the Gambian volunteers were thrilled to see bread. I would love some beans, and they are sick of beans. So we decided its a give and take and no matter where you are, the local food will become routine and unexciting.
My sushi cost half as much as my new leather bag and I decided I would be staying home for the next month and saving my Dirhams. It was worth every penny, though – yes Fes is nowhere near an ocean and I am in Morocco, but I've been eating home-cooked Moroccan food for 4 months. When else will I get a chance to eat sushi?!
Sunday morning was too short! We slept late because they began tearing down the building next door at 1am and continued for most of the night, so none of us slept much. Since the streets are so narrow and crowded during the day, I guess the construction has to happen at night. There was yelling and then something would crash and then people would cheer. This happened over and over again...
We ate a leisurely breakfast and then said goodbye to Jonathan and Phil, who had an 11am train to catch. Erin and I walked around a bit until it was time to catch our buses. We passed the man from the leather shop and he greeted us like old friends, so I think the extra 20Dh request was just a way to get a few extra Dirhams out of us.
The bus ride home was long and hot. The bus was oversold and I waited until it was leaving to board. This was a mistake because people save seats on the buses and I hadn't saved one so I was stuck with the back row. I was relieved when I found that there was an open seat, but that feeling was short-lived. The bus was oversold, so they crammed an extra person in with me. So I spent the next 4 hours between a young man listening to his music and trying to make room for me and a man who alternately rested his arm on the seat in front of him or on my leg. Neither was pleasant because when he lifted his arm, I was overwhelmed with body odor and when he rested it on my leg, I was just plain uncomfortable.
There's no air conditioning on the buses and only 2 windows that actually open, so its like being in a greenhouse in the sun. By the time I got to Khenifra, I was drenched in sweat and thrilled to breathe fresh air.
Fes has a new city, built by the French and an old city built over the past 1,000 years by the locals. The old city, Medina, is still surrounded by defense walls, but has large “doors” or entrances. We stayed at a hotel near Bab Boujeloud which offered views of the nearby mosques and the beautiful “door” to the city.
We spent Saturday morning walking through the Medina, which is a maze of roads and alleys. There were narrow alleyways where it looked like the buildings on either side were reinforcing each other with wood beams. Others where you'd see a sign directing you down a side alley towards a shop promising wonders. We found our way to a leather shop and after much discussion, back and forth bargaining and pleas of “we have very little money, we are volunteers,” all 4 of us left with new leather bags! The shopkeeper had to go check with the “owner” to make sure he wasn't accepting to low a price. He made sure to tell us what a deal we were getting.
OK we didn't exactly leave with the bags. The straps on mine and Erin's bags were too long, so the man offered to shorten them for us. We paid half the agreed price and told him we would return before he closed at 7pm. When we returned later in the afternoon, he tried to charge us an extra 20Dh for the sewing job! We refused on the basis that he didn't tell us that previously and he kept telling us no problem to shorten the straps when we were bargaining. As were were leaving he told us “Well, I paid the man 20Dh but if you don't want to pay me then OK, but I paid him 20Dh.”
We barely touched the old Medina in our 2 or 3 hour stroll...I think we were still in tourist land and not into the heart of the Medina. One of our teachers from training, Said, lives in Fes and we met him for lunch. He took us back to his family's house and his mom and sister made us a wonderful feast! It was fun to see how city Moroccans live and to compare and contrast that with how people in rural areas live. We all practiced our language and also spoke English with Said and his brothers.
By the time we got back to our hotel it was 7pm and everyone wanted a shower and some time to relax. By coincidence, there were 4 PC volunteers from Gambia staying at the same hotel. They were at the end of a month-long vacation around Morocco! It was a great surprise and we spent the evening chatting and comparing our work and the PC rules. We Moroccan PC's had planned to go to a sushi restaurant for dinner and we convinced our new friends to join us.
The restaurant was just outside a fancy hotel/resort place and was a bit upscale for PC volunteers, but we were all craving “American” food and decided to go for it. We Moroccan PC's are still living with host families so we can't yet cook for ourselves and the Gambian volunteers stay with their host families the entire 2 years so they were really craving a taste of home. Over dinner we talked about food...we are sick of bread and tea here in Morocco but the Gambian volunteers were thrilled to see bread. I would love some beans, and they are sick of beans. So we decided its a give and take and no matter where you are, the local food will become routine and unexciting.
My sushi cost half as much as my new leather bag and I decided I would be staying home for the next month and saving my Dirhams. It was worth every penny, though – yes Fes is nowhere near an ocean and I am in Morocco, but I've been eating home-cooked Moroccan food for 4 months. When else will I get a chance to eat sushi?!
Sunday morning was too short! We slept late because they began tearing down the building next door at 1am and continued for most of the night, so none of us slept much. Since the streets are so narrow and crowded during the day, I guess the construction has to happen at night. There was yelling and then something would crash and then people would cheer. This happened over and over again...
We ate a leisurely breakfast and then said goodbye to Jonathan and Phil, who had an 11am train to catch. Erin and I walked around a bit until it was time to catch our buses. We passed the man from the leather shop and he greeted us like old friends, so I think the extra 20Dh request was just a way to get a few extra Dirhams out of us.
The bus ride home was long and hot. The bus was oversold and I waited until it was leaving to board. This was a mistake because people save seats on the buses and I hadn't saved one so I was stuck with the back row. I was relieved when I found that there was an open seat, but that feeling was short-lived. The bus was oversold, so they crammed an extra person in with me. So I spent the next 4 hours between a young man listening to his music and trying to make room for me and a man who alternately rested his arm on the seat in front of him or on my leg. Neither was pleasant because when he lifted his arm, I was overwhelmed with body odor and when he rested it on my leg, I was just plain uncomfortable.
There's no air conditioning on the buses and only 2 windows that actually open, so its like being in a greenhouse in the sun. By the time I got to Khenifra, I was drenched in sweat and thrilled to breathe fresh air.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Transportation
My village is 4k from the main road to Khenifra and if there aren't any taxis or mini buses in my village I start walking to the main road, where there is a taxi stand and a few cafe's. This morning was a walking day, so I set out for the main road. A car I recognized from my village passed but didn't stop to offer me a ride and then a taxi went by and it didn't stop either. I was beginning to think that I would actually end up walking all the way, when I happened upon my host father getting his car fixed. He was talking to a group of men and I stopped to say hello.
A man I'd met previously was among the group and he asked if I remembered him. I did but couldn't remember his name. He gave me a hard time about it because he remembered mine and I tried to explain that it was easy for him to remember my name because I am the only white girl in town. There are 4,000 people in the Sisterhood and I am meeting so many people its hard to remember everyone's name. I have taken to writing them down along with an identifying characteristic, so I had Said write his name in my notebook. He drives an orange car.
Said ended up driving me out to the main road where we hung out for a while. An empty mini bus passed and they flagged it down. The driver was a friend of Said's and agreed to take me to Khenifra. He and his passenger were from my town and going to spend the day in Khenifra. Apparently the mini bus was the only vehicle they had to drive. We chatted in Tamazight and when we arrived in Khenifra would not accept payment and insisted on taking me out for coffee, which I really couldn't refuse.
A man I'd met previously was among the group and he asked if I remembered him. I did but couldn't remember his name. He gave me a hard time about it because he remembered mine and I tried to explain that it was easy for him to remember my name because I am the only white girl in town. There are 4,000 people in the Sisterhood and I am meeting so many people its hard to remember everyone's name. I have taken to writing them down along with an identifying characteristic, so I had Said write his name in my notebook. He drives an orange car.
Said ended up driving me out to the main road where we hung out for a while. An empty mini bus passed and they flagged it down. The driver was a friend of Said's and agreed to take me to Khenifra. He and his passenger were from my town and going to spend the day in Khenifra. Apparently the mini bus was the only vehicle they had to drive. We chatted in Tamazight and when we arrived in Khenifra would not accept payment and insisted on taking me out for coffee, which I really couldn't refuse.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Becky's No Good, Very Bad Day
Today started well enough – it was our first official staff meeting with the MEDA folks and the K-5 team had made plans to meet for lunch before our 3pm meeting. We had a pleasant and leisurely lunch and then split up for a while since we each had different errands to run while we were in the 'big' city of Khenifra. I cut my time at the internet cafe a little close and was power-walking to the office and hoping that this meeting, like all the others, would start late. I was right. The 5 PCV's spent 45 minutes in the conference room waiting for everyone else to join us.
Once the meeting finally started, Mr. S told us they would do their best to translate, but we might not follow everything. We spent the next 2.5 hours listening to a meeting conducted almost entirely in Arabic and French, 2 languages none of us speak! Mr. S has taken a liking to Elizabeth and MEDA is doing a lot of work in her site, so he took time to get her up to speed, but left the rest of us hanging.
I was hitching a ride home with Sidi Mo (MEDA, not my host uncle), Said and Rachida, so I hung around after the meeting while they finished up a few things in the main office. I was feeling rather down...aside from the whole not understanding the meeting thing, the weather was hot, the meeting room hotter and there wasn't any water to drink, so I had developed a headache and was kind of cranky.
As we walked to meet Sidi Mo across town, I asked Said what they talked about in the meeting. He told me it was an update for Mr. S and that I didn't really need to know. Mr. S requested our presence at the meeting, so I'm thinking he wanted us to know what was going on. I persisted and Said turned to me and said, “You didn't understand anything in the meeting?” “Hello!” I wanted to scream, “the meeting was conducted in 2 languages I don't know! Of course I didn't understand.” Instead I calmly told him I did not and repeated my request for an explanation.
Said speaks some English and between his English and my Tamazight and the similarity of many words between French and English, we usually communicate pretty well. By pretty well, I mean it takes us twice as long as if we both spoke the same language frequently, but hey its better than nothing. Said had taken time before to explain things to me, so I was a bit miffed by his dismissiveness.
Rachida joined the conversation to get a few punches in. She wanted to know why I didn't come to the El Kebab office and ride to Khenifra with them. I explained to her that the K-5 team got together for lunch and that I had told Said I wasn't going to meet them. We had this exchange about 5 times, back and forth essentially saying the same thing. I gave up which I don't usually do, but I couldn't see an end and I felt like she just wanted to pick on me for something.
By this time we had made it to the car, but Sidi Mo wasn't around. Said walked to the cafe he usually hangs out in and left Rachida and I waiting at the car. At this point, now that I'm feeling really crummy and the headache is getting worse, Rachida tells me that Sarah (the volunteer who finished her 2 years in May) spoke 4 languages – French, Arabic, Tamazight and English. She ticked them off on her fingers for emphasis. Then she kind of smirked at me as if to say I wasn't good enough. A little note about Sarah, she came to Morocco speaking French fluently and learned Tamazight during training and then switched to Arabic once she got to her village. So she really only spoke a little Tamazight and Arabic, but apparently that was enough.
I decided I was done for the day and really just wanted to go home. Rachida's comment left me feeling more than inadequate and wondering what the heck I was going to accomplish if I couldn't communicate with my co-workers and boss. Sidi Mo and Said arrived and we got on the road. Almost immediately, they tried to convince me to stay in EEK instead of going “all the way” to the Sisterhood. My village is 14k (approximately 8 miles) and about 15 or 20 minutes away from EEK. I was wondering why they even offered me a ride if they didn't want to give me one and thinking I should have just taken a taxi because I couldn't really bear all they badgering about staying in EEK. They even told me I could stay with the youth development volunteer who lives there! I happened to know that she was out of town and told them as much and then they offered for me to stay with Sidi Mo's family!
This line of conversation got dropped because we made a u-turn at the outskirts of Khenifra to see a house Rachida was thinking about buying. This turned into at least an hour long affair involving an argument with a man who seemingly was just trying to help. The “house” is an abandoned building that may have once been a house but isn't anymore. There was a telephone number painted on the wall and this man was telling Sidi Mo to call and talk with this person. I don't know all that transpired, but voices were raised, hands were flailing and I was sitting thinking, “Boy, does my head hurt. I'd really like to go home.”
Meanwhile, I was attracting quite a following of young children, 20 at least who followed us at a close distance and would shout, “Bonjour Madame!” or “Ca va?” I tried my usual tactic of ignoring them, but that didn't work. They just stood there and watched me and then the group would push one of them forward and he or she would repeat the “Bonjour!” Then the started singing, which really aggravated me. My head was pounding and this was making it so much worse.
Said took notice and told them to go away. They simply backed up a few feet. I told Said about my headache and asked if I could sit in the car. He unlocked the doors and I sat back and closed my eyes. Even after more admonitions from Said, the kids continued to hover and shout a “Bonjour” every now and then. At some point they found the owner of the house who had blueprints that were consulted over a pot of tea, while I tried to remain calm.
Once everyone piled back into the car and we got on the road, it was close to 8pm and the sun was starting to set. The conversation turned back to my staying in EEK, which I had no intention of doing. Even though I still feel like a guest with my host family, its the closest thing to home I have and its the only place I wanted to be. I finally convinced them on the grounds of not having my contact case or glasses with me. This was quite a conversation as I tried to explain contacts – it wasn't working very well. “Glasses for your eyes,” and hand motions of putting something in my eye had them thoroughly confused. Luckily, Sidi Mo was the aforementioned Sarah's host father and she wore contacts, so he explained the situation.
The Sisterhood had just come into sight when Sid Mo slammed on the brakes and pulled over. “Haddou's car is here. You get out and stay with him.” Oh how my heart sank. We were at the junction 4k from my village where the road meets the main highway to Khenifra. There are a couple cars that look like Haddou's so I thought maybe it wasn't him, but before I could gather my things there was my host father saying hello to Said. I reluctantly got out of the car and joined Haddou and several other men drinking tea.
Among them was another man from town who I know through his daughter and his work with the association. He insisted on feeding me and brought me back a yogurt drink and something like a hostess cake. Although I wasn't feeling hungry, I ate it all and somehow felt a little better. As I was sitting there trying to follow the conversation, a pickup truck with an entire soccer team pulled up. They must have won their match because they were singing and beating drums! Oh could this day get any worse I thought as my head started to pound with the beat of the drum. Luckily they were stopping to pick up soda's or something because they didn't stay long and my head returned to its own beat.
The men seemed to be conducting a business meeting and Haddou seemed to be the moderator. I observed quietly for a while and once they were finished, the conversation turned to me. I must have been showing my tiredness because Haddou asked if I wanted to go home. I promptly said yes. One of the other men drove me home and we talked for a few minutes about what Id done in Khenifra. It gave me hope for my language abilities as we communicated fairly well.
I was so happy to see my house. It was 9:30 or so when I got home and dinner wouldn't be for another hour at least. I told my host mom that I was going to bed and she tried to convince me to eat, but for once, I prevailed and went to bed without eating.
Once the meeting finally started, Mr. S told us they would do their best to translate, but we might not follow everything. We spent the next 2.5 hours listening to a meeting conducted almost entirely in Arabic and French, 2 languages none of us speak! Mr. S has taken a liking to Elizabeth and MEDA is doing a lot of work in her site, so he took time to get her up to speed, but left the rest of us hanging.
I was hitching a ride home with Sidi Mo (MEDA, not my host uncle), Said and Rachida, so I hung around after the meeting while they finished up a few things in the main office. I was feeling rather down...aside from the whole not understanding the meeting thing, the weather was hot, the meeting room hotter and there wasn't any water to drink, so I had developed a headache and was kind of cranky.
As we walked to meet Sidi Mo across town, I asked Said what they talked about in the meeting. He told me it was an update for Mr. S and that I didn't really need to know. Mr. S requested our presence at the meeting, so I'm thinking he wanted us to know what was going on. I persisted and Said turned to me and said, “You didn't understand anything in the meeting?” “Hello!” I wanted to scream, “the meeting was conducted in 2 languages I don't know! Of course I didn't understand.” Instead I calmly told him I did not and repeated my request for an explanation.
Said speaks some English and between his English and my Tamazight and the similarity of many words between French and English, we usually communicate pretty well. By pretty well, I mean it takes us twice as long as if we both spoke the same language frequently, but hey its better than nothing. Said had taken time before to explain things to me, so I was a bit miffed by his dismissiveness.
Rachida joined the conversation to get a few punches in. She wanted to know why I didn't come to the El Kebab office and ride to Khenifra with them. I explained to her that the K-5 team got together for lunch and that I had told Said I wasn't going to meet them. We had this exchange about 5 times, back and forth essentially saying the same thing. I gave up which I don't usually do, but I couldn't see an end and I felt like she just wanted to pick on me for something.
By this time we had made it to the car, but Sidi Mo wasn't around. Said walked to the cafe he usually hangs out in and left Rachida and I waiting at the car. At this point, now that I'm feeling really crummy and the headache is getting worse, Rachida tells me that Sarah (the volunteer who finished her 2 years in May) spoke 4 languages – French, Arabic, Tamazight and English. She ticked them off on her fingers for emphasis. Then she kind of smirked at me as if to say I wasn't good enough. A little note about Sarah, she came to Morocco speaking French fluently and learned Tamazight during training and then switched to Arabic once she got to her village. So she really only spoke a little Tamazight and Arabic, but apparently that was enough.
I decided I was done for the day and really just wanted to go home. Rachida's comment left me feeling more than inadequate and wondering what the heck I was going to accomplish if I couldn't communicate with my co-workers and boss. Sidi Mo and Said arrived and we got on the road. Almost immediately, they tried to convince me to stay in EEK instead of going “all the way” to the Sisterhood. My village is 14k (approximately 8 miles) and about 15 or 20 minutes away from EEK. I was wondering why they even offered me a ride if they didn't want to give me one and thinking I should have just taken a taxi because I couldn't really bear all they badgering about staying in EEK. They even told me I could stay with the youth development volunteer who lives there! I happened to know that she was out of town and told them as much and then they offered for me to stay with Sidi Mo's family!
This line of conversation got dropped because we made a u-turn at the outskirts of Khenifra to see a house Rachida was thinking about buying. This turned into at least an hour long affair involving an argument with a man who seemingly was just trying to help. The “house” is an abandoned building that may have once been a house but isn't anymore. There was a telephone number painted on the wall and this man was telling Sidi Mo to call and talk with this person. I don't know all that transpired, but voices were raised, hands were flailing and I was sitting thinking, “Boy, does my head hurt. I'd really like to go home.”
Meanwhile, I was attracting quite a following of young children, 20 at least who followed us at a close distance and would shout, “Bonjour Madame!” or “Ca va?” I tried my usual tactic of ignoring them, but that didn't work. They just stood there and watched me and then the group would push one of them forward and he or she would repeat the “Bonjour!” Then the started singing, which really aggravated me. My head was pounding and this was making it so much worse.
Said took notice and told them to go away. They simply backed up a few feet. I told Said about my headache and asked if I could sit in the car. He unlocked the doors and I sat back and closed my eyes. Even after more admonitions from Said, the kids continued to hover and shout a “Bonjour” every now and then. At some point they found the owner of the house who had blueprints that were consulted over a pot of tea, while I tried to remain calm.
Once everyone piled back into the car and we got on the road, it was close to 8pm and the sun was starting to set. The conversation turned back to my staying in EEK, which I had no intention of doing. Even though I still feel like a guest with my host family, its the closest thing to home I have and its the only place I wanted to be. I finally convinced them on the grounds of not having my contact case or glasses with me. This was quite a conversation as I tried to explain contacts – it wasn't working very well. “Glasses for your eyes,” and hand motions of putting something in my eye had them thoroughly confused. Luckily, Sidi Mo was the aforementioned Sarah's host father and she wore contacts, so he explained the situation.
The Sisterhood had just come into sight when Sid Mo slammed on the brakes and pulled over. “Haddou's car is here. You get out and stay with him.” Oh how my heart sank. We were at the junction 4k from my village where the road meets the main highway to Khenifra. There are a couple cars that look like Haddou's so I thought maybe it wasn't him, but before I could gather my things there was my host father saying hello to Said. I reluctantly got out of the car and joined Haddou and several other men drinking tea.
Among them was another man from town who I know through his daughter and his work with the association. He insisted on feeding me and brought me back a yogurt drink and something like a hostess cake. Although I wasn't feeling hungry, I ate it all and somehow felt a little better. As I was sitting there trying to follow the conversation, a pickup truck with an entire soccer team pulled up. They must have won their match because they were singing and beating drums! Oh could this day get any worse I thought as my head started to pound with the beat of the drum. Luckily they were stopping to pick up soda's or something because they didn't stay long and my head returned to its own beat.
The men seemed to be conducting a business meeting and Haddou seemed to be the moderator. I observed quietly for a while and once they were finished, the conversation turned to me. I must have been showing my tiredness because Haddou asked if I wanted to go home. I promptly said yes. One of the other men drove me home and we talked for a few minutes about what Id done in Khenifra. It gave me hope for my language abilities as we communicated fairly well.
I was so happy to see my house. It was 9:30 or so when I got home and dinner wouldn't be for another hour at least. I told my host mom that I was going to bed and she tried to convince me to eat, but for once, I prevailed and went to bed without eating.
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