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26 March, 2009

Our trip to the next town.

Saturday is a half day of school so we are free in the afternoon to spend time with our host family, study etc. Last Saturday, our host sisters Houda and Fadma decided to escort Amber and I to the next town about 4-5km north of our duwar(like a neighborhood). This town is our hub site where we meet occasionally with other training groups; and also our souk town, where every Wednesday, we can stock up on our weekly quota of produce, fuel, and grain. This trip however, was not business related. We came to party!
First, Fadma directed us through a maze of trails skirting corn fields, olive groves, and glowing poppies. The path is marked with sporadic ruins and buildings with massive colorful front doors. Upon arriving in town, we where instructed to sit on a bench while our older host sister Fadma rushed off into the crowded t'hanuts nearby. After a few moments of mild confusion regarding the nature of our trip, Fadma reemerged with a bright orange bottle of Fanta and four golden “sfunj”(donuts without sugar) tied together with a few long pieces of grass. Sitting down, Fadma doled out the fried circles of dough, and smiled excitedly while a refreshing hiss from her hand indicated that our soda was open for communal sipping. It was in this moment that we realized that our trip to souq town was a purely recreational event. In fact, we both had the distinct feeling like we were being taken to the circus with our grandmother. The crowds were exciting the foods smelled different, the people were bustling, and the soda was cold. What a thrill! I’m not being facetious. We were seeing this town through the eyes or our local host country sisters, and they were seeing it through our eyes. Suddenly this town really was full of intrigue and wonder.
After our snack, we got up and headed into the crowd from which Fadma had emerged. We made our way to the “sfung” shop and stood among a large circular crowd watching a dough magician manufacture donut after donut, each with just a few simple flips of his hand a wave of a long stick along the glistening surface of bubbling oil. Fadma waited her turn to acquire a bag for the road and then we were off to find a taxi. We quickly formed a group of 8 to fill a station wagon taxi whose windows had been plastered over with transparent rainbow graphics to help block the sun. A few feet out of town and the speakers started blaring with Moroccan dance music. The eager grin of our younger host-sister revealed that taxis are a new experience for her, which again colored our view of the ride. Packed tightly in the very back, with blaring music and rainbow vision, it felt like a ride at an amusement park. Soon we passed the road sign for our town, the ride came to a stop and the bars came up for a single file exit. What a ride! I like the Moroccan circus.

22 March, 2009

Taxi Etiquette

Today(last Sunday) "tarabut Hussein" , down one person lost to stomache trouble, boldly headed off to the bigger city of Azilal. We were dismayed to be unwhole, but determined to discover this new side of Morocco. The journey to Azilal began at about 8:15, with a 5km trail walk winding and rolling through fields of bright green timdeen (wheat) and zitune (olive) trees. Sprinkled throughout were poppies glowing neon red in the hot sun. Occationally we would pass a farmer with his donkey and share salutations: sSalamu allakum, wa allakum ssalam, labas, la hamdullah, kulshi bixir?, nkshrt irbbi, mamnk a tgit? Meanwhile the donkey pushes you off the trail with his saddlebags filled with wild flowers. Impolite, but still a lovely bouquette.
About 40 minutes later, we arrive in our hub town where we intend to get a taxi. From our last experience getting a cab in Ouzoud, I know that groups of taxi drivers use one "boss man" like a pimp of sorts to find fares and fill taxis to various destinations. I have also been told that I should not give money to taxi drivers until I arrive at my destination, and that I should negotiate a price in advance. Confident and flush from my morning trek, I approach the "boss man" that I recognize form previous experience. I say hello (reference above salutations) and say that 4 of us want to go to Azilal. He seems to understand perfectly, but directs us to another boss man who tells us we need to give him 72 dh now so that he can find a 5th person to go with us. Being the skeptical Americans that are, we say "ojo" (no), not till we get to Azilal". He tries a few more times and then goes off looking for another passenger to Azilal. Meanwhile a group of 6 men gather to go to Marrakech and we observe, to our chagrin, they all give their money to the boss man in advance. Now we are pretty sure that this boss man is on the up and up and we are willing to give him our money, but have we lost our chance? Luckily, an old man emerges from the crowd who is headed to Azilal, and we are once again told the price followed by a requesting open palm. This time we retort with 100 dh and happily recieve our change and hop in the cab. For a while, there was a definite mutual distrust. We wondered if we should be mad at him for trying to take advantage of us, or thankful for trying to help us get to our destination. Conversely, the “boss man” was surely wondering if we where trying to get out of paying or if we even had the money. When we finally gave him the dirham and got in the cab, all was forgiven and we were fast friends with many well wishes and handshakes. We even ran into him on our way back through town and were hardily greeted. Lesson learned and another friend made.
In Azilal, we joined a large group of fellow volunteers from various sites sharing stories and comparing adventures. In the interest of being less conspicuous (if that is possible for an American in Morocco), we redistributed ourselves into groups of 5 or so and tackled the thin market streets. This was not a souq. Souqs occur in all bigger towns and cities, but only on certain days, usually once a week. Souqs are madness. The colorful alley shops we visited, are laden with bright hanging dresses, scarves, and jalabas, mounds of wound yarn, slippers and shoes, candy carts, local grocery products, hardware items, and kitchen appliances; but in these streets there is order and ease that does not exist in the souqs. These shops called T’Hanuts are permanent community fixtures, and with the fixed walls come fixed prices. Prices for most items in Morocco are generally known and But’Hanuts (shopkeepers) ask a fair price and do not haggle prices in less you are a complete stranger to the land and seem like an easy target. While shopping for a skirt, Amber offered to pay 20dh for a skirt for which the But’Hanut had quoted 50dh. The But’Hanut was clearly embarrassed and taken aback by the proposal and awkwardly insisted that the price was 50dh. On the other hand, later that day, our friend tried to by a similar skirt and was quoted a much higher price. Knowing what Amber paid, she refused and offered 50dh which the But’Hanut quickly accepted. It seems that as soon as you prove that you are local by speaking the language or by knowing the appropriate prices of things, a fair price is offered and it should not be negotiated. Conversely, in Souks, everything is negotiable. Look forward to more blogs on that issue later.
After the shopping, we were enticed to visit a café labeled as a creamery. As of yet, Morocco has been lacking in two major areas; dairy and ice. The concept of ice cream seemed like a far away dream so we were not too surprised to find that this creamery did not have ice cream. What they did have, were simple refrigerated glasses with a mysterious white substance that the man at the counter called “danon” (yoghurt). I ordered a glass of this chilled dairy with a pain au chocolate and an apple soda (Poms), grabbed a plastic spoon from the counter, took a seat at one of the outside patio tables and tried what is probably the freshest yoghurt that I have ever tasted. Still not ice cream, but in the land of unrefrigerated boxed milk and laughing cow cheese, it’ll do as a treat. At the creamery we came across Brian, a current PC volunteer who has been in country for just over a year. We chatted with him for a while before heading over to the “pizzeria” which serves mostly chicken and no pizza. Brian once asked the café owner if he could order a pizza to which he responded “if you bring me all the ingredients and then come back the next day, I will make it for you“. Now volunteers just call the place “chicken man café”. To be fare, the food at Chicken Man is great. Amber and I got an order of lentils and small plate of fries each with more bread than a football team could consume for 9 dh each (that’s about a dollar). As we left the café, Brian exchanged friendly banter with some neighborhood children in our target language Taslheit. Seeing this raised my spirits like nothing else in Morocco has. To witness an American just like me or you casually talking with Moroccans without having to flip through a reference book or ask them to slow down and repeat what they say only to end the conversation with “urfhmg” (I don’t understand), was a boost of confidence. I still get frustrated and feel like I am pursuing an impossible task, but now I have visualized the possibilities and it seems that much more probable. Thanks Brian!
So now we have to get back home. Where was the taxi stand again? I think this is where we were dropped off, but they don’t always drop at the same place they pick up? And we’re going back the other direction. Should we be on the other side of the street? This is nothing like what I’m used to. Oh look, a crazy woman has come over to help us. She’s saying hello in 6 different languages and telling us in French to follow her to the bus station. Seems like a bad idea, but we’ll follow along for a little while until we see a better solution. I’m looking at her eyes and I know she’s a little off, plus it’s obvious she’s a black sheep with her tightly permed black shoulder length hair bouncing with each exuberant step instead of a head scarf, and a tight shirt and revealing pants instead of a jalaba or dress. But standing out works for her because within a minute or so, a cab pulled up ready to take us home. Still trying to decide if this was a scam, we pile into the cab and observe the cabbie give our crazy friend 2 dh for her trouble. Is this a trap? We make it a few blocks down the road and our cabbie stops to talk to a man in the middle of the road. Seems like just a friend, but we’re alert to say the least. On we go and out of Azilal, things are looking up until we pass a man lying under a tree. Without provocation, the taxi swerves to a stop and the driver gets out and walks back to the man under the tree to exchanges a few words. Now I’m concerned. This must be where the trap sets in. But how is the guy under the tree involved? Soon however, the taxi driver is back in the cab speeding around curves and tailgating like he should be, and I am put at ease when he reaches over my lap into the glove box, fishes out a cassette tape, pops it in the radio, and looks at me with a grin as he bounces his pointed finger at the tape deck. American Euro-techno is blasting from the speakers and he knows I understand the words. Maybe he noticed my unease and thought it would make me feel at home. Maybe it did.

15 March, 2009

Sunday: A day off


Today we took a grand taxi to a famed waterfall in the high-atlas mountains where we witnessed beautiful views and a significant tourist trade. As we walked through town towards the trailhead, we heard numerous "bojours" because, of course, it is assumed that we are French. This is in fact an issue everywhere in Morocco, as most children are taught French in primary school. One interesting cultural point, however, is that we did not have to pay to see the waterfall, and there were no barriers, fences or limitation as to where you went or how close you got to the falls. On the contrary, people could be seen sitting inches from the edge braving the powerful falls for a good picture. The freeness of the area was a welcome suprise for a national site of interest. After enjoying the vista and the risidual mist (it is probably about 85°f today) we headed back towards our village, but stopped first in our hub site 5km away to get some lunch, buy some odds and ends, and hit up the cyber-cafe. This our first time venturing out of our site without a local language speaker. We did have each other, which helped tremedously, but I felt good about our ability to function, which gives me hope. Sapping my hope, however, is the fact that Amber and I are both already struggling with minor illness which is a tiring addition to an already exhausting experience.
Our host family is great about interacting with us even though we butcher they`re language. Our host-sister is 12 and she is patient and willing to help us with vocab and pronunciation as long as we are hopelessly entertaining, which is all the time. I have discovered that laughter truly is the best social adhesive. We have made many embarassing mistakes with our family, but if I can make them laugh, "mashi muskil"(everything is good). I am quickly learning not to take myself too seriously because I have no choice. "Ensha allah", I will bring this characteristic back to the states with me.

14 March, 2009

Community Based Training: Week One




Fifth day, and I am still waiting for my chance to bath "nsha allah". We live in the most beautiful stone house with open air central courtyard and lots of fun animals (chicken, donkey, turkey, sheep, etc). All houses here have a flat roof designed be used and the view from our roof leaves me without words. Our town is breathtaking and our host-family is so sweet. Also our host-sister is the cook for our daily training site so we get the best food in town for breakfast , lunch, and dinner. The food, of course, is amazing. We eat a tagine every day and we have delicious atay(tea) an qhwa(coffee) a few times a day. We study six days a week, but we get a half day off Saturday and all day Sunday. The language learning is extremely difficult and I seem to take one step back for every 2 forward. "Imiq s imiq"(little by little) is a common discussion ending around here. Our group of five trainees live near each other so we often meet up in the evenings to study or just hang out and play cards or listen to music with our younger host-siblings. I taugh the kids here how to play 21(wahed u eshreen) and Slap jack which they love. Amber blew their minds by shuffling with a bridge. In the mornings, we pick each other up and make the gorgeous 1km trek to school as a team. We have already gotten very close: We have a lot of fun in school and after. We named ourselves "tarbuse(team) hussein" after the shy;funny 6 year old living above our madrassa(school). Tomorrow is Sunday so we are planning on heading to a famed waterfall about 50 km from here and some of us hope to get our chance at a hmmam too. "nsha allah" we may be able to go see a play about AIDs put on by current PC volunteers in a town nearby.

08 March, 2009

Pondering the Near Future

I’m sitting on the roof of my hotel overlooking a forest of olive trees. Along the horizon, tall, pink, grey, and terra cotta buildings peer back at me. Beyond them, a picturesque mountain range holds my future. Today is our first day off since arriving in Morocco. We have been working hard these last four days to orient ourselves in this new culture, learn the language, and understand our purpose for being here. Tomorrow, we travel the switchback roads into the heart of the mountains,. where we will each meet the families that we spend the next 2 months with while we continue our CBT (Community Based Training). For most of us, myself included, this is as of yet the most exciting and stressful step along our journey. We will need to be especially culturally sensitive as we make our first impressions in our rural communities. Additionally, while our limited Darija (Moroccan Arabic) may get us through the introductions, most of our families do not speak Darija, but rather one of the three Berber dialects (Tashalheit in my case). For the next two months, becoming proficient in Tashalheit, perhaps the oldest existing language on earth, will be the focus of my training. We will also hopefully develop good relationships with our host families who will be our liaisons to the village and help us understand Moroccan culture.

My experience here has been difficult to assimilate. Moments of clarity tell me that this is one of the most important things that I have ever done, both for myself, and for the world. Rarely have I felt as enthusiastic or poised for progress as in this moment.

06 March, 2009

First Impressions

Morocco is Green! In my short-sighted minds eye, I had not pictured the lush verdant fields which greeted us in Casa Blanca and followed us on our 4 hr bus ride inland to the base of the Atlas mountains. Amidst the green are waves of bright yellow, orange, and purple wild flowers being consumed by small groups of sheep, goats and cows. These animals are often accompanied by leisurely strolling shepherds mildly coaxing with staff in hand, and sometimes with only a single cow to watch. Scattered along the roads are gardens and small farms whose gentle farmers, often in a hooded cloaks (jalabis) and walking stick, pass along the edges of their keep, prodding and kneading the soil as necessary. Numerous propped tarps along the roadside shelter men watching after their groups of live chickens for sale. Plots of land are offset by a variety of trees (many look like olive trees), agave, handmade stone walls, and dense massive prickly pear bushes. These prickly pair bushes, ingeniously, are used as impenetrable fences and for holding freshly washed clothes left out to dry. Transportation of every kind pass along the same highway and at any given moment you may glimpse a bus, car, Pugeot motor bike, bicycle, horse-drawn carriage, or donkey slung with canvas bags on either side. Diesel, which the US ambassador tells us is subsidized by the Moroccan government, is widely used and can easily be detected in the bigger towns and cities. The people of Morocco seam to have a knack for patience, and though the city can be quite loud and bustling (especially in the souks) there is no sense of urgency. On every block, fancy euro-style coffee shops with large covered patios are a haven for thousands of men who sit with small gold-gilded glass cups of tea or coffee. They will often sip for hours while they read papers, play cards, watch the people on the street, or chat with friends. The first 5 days of training are held at a beautiful hotel with snow topped mountains on the horizon. We are fed three delicious buffet style Moroccan meals punctuated by two tea/coffee breaks daily. On Friday, a special couscous dish is eaten from a large central platter topped by local steamed vegetables including fava bean, zucchini, squash, comquat, carrot, and delicious spiced stewed beef. All meals include many varieties of salad dishes; beets, fruit salad, potatoes, sliced tomato, bell pepper, onion, etc. The food is amazing, diverse, and by nature, local. Trainees are as diverse as the food. At times they seem awestruck and bewildered, but they are generally impressively optimistic and always friendly. This is truly a great group of humans to reflect US culture!