One evening in crowded center of Marrakech will enchant you, leaving you exhausted and wanting more. A second day will break the spell. Spending any more time than that will only irritate you. We took full advantage of our time in the magical city- buying handcrafted goods, visiting the obligatory souqs and stalls, making friends and drinking tea with vendors, and even crossing the path of a well-known actress currently filming the "Sex in the City" sequel movie- but when the time came to say goodbye, we were ready. And though it was fun to experience the more extravagant and free-spirited tourist lifestyle in Morocco, by far the most rewarding moments in Marrakech occurred when I connected to the local people in ways that only a PCV can. Seeing people's eyes light up when they realized we were speaking to them in TashlHite was priceless. And I was fascinated to find myself in arguments with people whose racism ferments deep hatred for the Berbers of Morocco, a people they insist are irreligious and barbaric. I may not have changed their minds, but I felt more like a local, and more like a Berber than ever before, arguing for the equal rights and respect of Morocco's indigenous inhabitants. So, while it was hard to say goodbye to Denise and Amber who were headed to Fez for more fun-filled city exploration, it was with pleasure that I put my volunteer hat back on, and headed back to the bled.
From Marrakech I took a bus to Agadir, where I met Jess and Marge from my CBT group. Together we took a taxi a bit further south down the coast, to their stomping grounds of Tiznit.
The Tiznit Provence is known for its vast silver market, its exotic argan nuts (supposedly grown nowhere else in the world), its conservative religious tendencies, and its lack of work (which correlates directly to a lack of males, most of whom travel elsewhere for employment). As result, only female Peace Corps volunteers are sent to the region and the area is affectionately referred to as "the convent". It was, therefore, with great caution and stealth that I smuggled myself into Jess's house, where we spent the evening making Thai food and watching movies. Early the next morning we exited Jess's village with equal surreptitiousness, returning to the casual, sunny city of Tiznit (Tiznit's sleepy beach community atmosphere reminds me of a very young San Diego). There we spent hours wandering the bright dusty streets witnessing what seemed like miles of silver shops. We ate delicious harsha (like flat corn bread) with honey and melted butter, in a cafe whose impressive display of pastries was improved by the constant buzzing of bees attracted by sugary glazes. We visited the two major Tiznit tourist attractions; the iconic adobe mosque spiked with logs, which supposedly help spirits climb to heaven; and the original city spring, steeped in legend and sadly mistreated. And before I left, we played Marge's recently purchased "Moroccan Monopoly", with property names, train stations and utility companies that we recognized from around Morocco! My only complaint was that the all-important "souq" was not represented on the board.... oh and the "chance" cards, sadly, were in French.
The next morning I left Tiznit on an early bus, and arrived home, just before dark, to a bitter-sweet homecoming. I felt homesick and missed my community, but I also sensed that my extended absence had distanced me from my neighbors and friends. Also, my language was out of practice, and Amber's absence (she was still away in Fez), made the house lonely and complicated my ability to reengage friendships with community members, particularly women (As you may have gathered, Moroccan culture does not openly accept friendships between people of the opposite sex. Any relationship between a man and a woman who are not related is assumed to be sexual. Of course, this varies from region to region, and is much less true in bigger cities. In our town it is okay to have mixed friendships if you are married, as long as the married couple is together. I doubt that I could even have a tutoring lesson with our female tutor without Amber present).
I moped around the house without direction, making very little contact with the community and inadvertently addicting myself to episodes of "Mad Men" (more on this later hopefully), before finally deciding to focus. By the time Amber returned, I had mentally reinvented my approach to working, and I was redoubling my efforts to assimilate in the community. Soon things started looking up. We had some really great interactions with people in the community, our language was seemingly on the rise again, and we were encouraged. Together we decided that the best thing for us to do, both for our sanity and for the sake of our work, was to stay firmly planted in our community for a length of time, and avoid further travel. I don't know if this is a Morocco thing or a Peace Corps thing, but the life we lead here is one of constant contradiction. Within days of our resolution to remain stationary, we were told that we would need to travel, with only one days notice, to Rabat for the weekend.
Entrusting keys and cat to our lovely neighbors, we begrudgingly made our way back to Marrakech, where we quickly caught a train to Rabat. Despite our misgivings about traveling, I was excited for the opportunity to take the train, which seem to be an elusive and luxurious form of travel compared to the souq buses we normally employ to traverse the countryside. At the very least, the path of a train promised less severe curves and was therefore less likely to cause nausea. Also, I discovered the added benefit that you can get up and wonder the halls when you are bored or need to stretch your legs. By the time we arrived in Rabat, although still plagued by the guilt of impermanent progress in my site, my ire had dissolved to mild indignation, which over the course of the weekend, would be overcome by the soothings of Rabat.
(learn what makes Rabat such a great city and why the chicken crossed the road in the next riveting installment soon to come)
On the one hand…
12 years ago
