Thursday, December 16, 2010

Changing Acronyms and Moving On


Much has changed in the last few weeks. We have left our community based training center in Midelt, become full-fledged volunteers(PCVs) instead of trainees (PCTs), moved to our permanent location, moved in with a new host family, gone to a craft fair in Marrakesh, and started our service with the co-ops.

Our swearing-in ceremony was memorable and took place in Rabat, the cosmopolitan capital of Morocco. The US Ambassador attended as well as various dignitaries of the Moroccan government. The speeches were short and to the point, we all took the PC pledge and then adjourned to a fine lunch on the beautiful grounds of the Peace Corps headquarters. The day was sunny and warm and the menu was turkey cooked several different ways since it was the day before Thanksgiving. We got to stay in a nice hotel in the heart of Rabat with private baths and hot water. Luxury!

Thanksgiving Day was spent on local transportation traveling to our permanent sites. As usual, whenever we have to haul our luggage around, it rained. We did manage to get to our site in time to enjoy the American version of Thanksgiving dinner with Pete, our youth development site mate who is an excellent cook. We had roast chicken instead of turkey and chocolate chip cookies instead of pumpkin pie, but otherwise it was a traditional and delicious meal.

The PCV craft fair in Marrakesh, Marche Maroc, came just days after moving to REK, our new site, so it was a learning experience for us. The fair wasn’t a big success for the artisans, which was disappointing. There were a lot of people in town for the international film festival but they didn’t seem to make it to the Artisanal Ensemble where the fair was held. Those who came seemed to be only buying small items which would fit in a purse or suitcase, or shopping in the Ensemble shops where credit cards were accepted. Our co-op’s only carpet sale was to a PCV. The next fair will be in Fez in April, and we all hope for a more successful market there.

Marrakesh is in some ways an overpriced tourist trap, but still a fun place to visit in a stunning setting, and the warm weather was much appreciated. The main square, Djema el Fna, is full of performance artists, snake charmers, musicians, and various hustlers. At night there are brightly lit food stalls where food is cooked in bubbling pots and over smoking grills. You can even have a goat head complete with eyeballs if you like. We ate kabobs there twice and they were tasty and fragrant. The most fun for me was relaxing on various rooftops overlooking the medina and the magnificent Koutoubia mosque.

We recently attended our first wedding. It was a two day affair. The first night was a henna party for the bride and the second night was the actual wedding. Everyone was dressed in their shiny, sparkly, lacy, sequined, gold and silver best. This included me in my borrowed caftan resplendent with crystal beads. Our family made quite a showing in our finery as we walked to the wedding with our host father pushing a wheelbarrow with a 50 pound bag of sugar—a traditional wedding gift. At the home of the bride, we were greeted at the door with drumming and chanting, and our usually quiet host mom burst forth with an astonishing ululation. The men and women were separated in different rooms, and I have to say the women appeared to have a lot more fun. There was dancing on the table, line dancing and belly dancing. Some of the older women could shake it with the best of them. We ate dinner around 10pm, first the men, then the women. I helped polish off the chicken tagine with the requisite round of bread when another course of meat tagine appeared. This was followed by couscous, and finally by a fruit plate. At that point, I decided to call it a night, but the party went on until 3am. The sensible part about wearing a caftan is that underneath all that shine and glitter, there may well be a pair of heavy knit leggings or pjs.

Friday, November 19, 2010

L-Eid L-kbir



I would be surprised if there is a PCV in Morocco who did not blog or call or email about their first L-Eid l-kbir experience which took place yesterday. L-Eid l-kbir is the annual sacrificial feast derived from the feast of the atonement, Abraham’s substitution of a sheep for his son in sacrifice. It is the central feast in Islam, and is accompanied by purification rites, prayer, and alms-giving. Every family who can afford it, buys a sheep for sacrifice on the given day. Although the animals are treated with respect, the slaughter is a traumatic occasion to experience, even for those of us who grew up with wild game hunting. I think it is the sheer magnitude of the event that was so unsettling—literally millions of sheep were killed with a knife slash to the throat at mid-morning yesterday. Everywhere I looked from the rooftop, there were groups of people bent over a dead sheep, and blood was literally running in the streets. The sheep are then skinned and hung to cure (ours was hung in the window next to our bedroom) and the innards are extracted, cleaned and eaten. I stayed in the kitchen for the bloodshed, but didn’t escape the evidence; soon there was a pan of intestines in the sink, a stomach on the drainboard, and a pan of liver and lungs and a charred sheep head on the table. Some of these were cooked over a wood fire grill that evening, but we declined to eat them, so they grilled a rabbit haunch just for us. It was quite tasty even though I knew it was from the rabbit hutch on the roof. The process of meat eating is very clear here. Four of us PCTs got together later to watch the movie “Love Actually” on the computer as a feel good way to end an otherwise distressing day.

The night before, as is traditional, our host sister applied henna to the hands of several of us women. The designs were beautifully artistic although they look much better on young hands. We had a little party during the painting with cookies, little pastries, and tea. It was a lot of fun. We were told to wear socks on our hands until the color was set, but I abandoned mine about half way through the night, so it now looks like a skin disease.

Today, the second day of the holiday, I was dressed up in a beautiful jallaba and the women of the family went out visiting. We drank tea, ate cakes and cookies, and I sat and watched cartoons in French on TV since I only understood a few random words of the rapid conversation. L-Eid l-kbir is over. L Hamdullah.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Quite a Week


This was quite a week. We left for Azrou a week ago but it seems like ages. In Azrou we learned where we will be living for the next two years, then departed the next day, on our own, to our new site and another host family. We managed to negotiate a series of three taxis in the pouring rain to get us there. Our new site is in a town of about 10,000 and is an hour from Fez. The town isn’t much—lots of cement block buildings with flat roofs or unfinished top stories and vacant lots filled with trash and/or rubble, but the setting is beautiful with a snow capped mountain range and a deep valley at the bottom of the high plateau. We are very fortunate to be replacing a super-star PCV who left us with all kinds of information and possibilities. We will be busy. Our new host family is gracious and welcoming, and the mom is a fabulous cook.

Four of us went to Sefrou to see our delegate and see a little of the city. We road in a nuql, which is a van carrying several more than its capacity. When the van pulled into the parking lot, the crowd rushed forward and pushed their way onto the van while the passengers were trying to get off. Since there were four of us and we all had to get on, we joined the pushing crowd and managed to get in through the rear doors and snagged a seat. A little way out of town, the driver stopped by an auto shop for a new battery. We then took off again and went only about 10 yards when we heard the thumpity thump of a flat tire. We backed up to the shop, the tire guys came out and, like a pit crew, had the tire changed with all of us still in the van and the motor running.

In Sefrou at a café, we saw a young Moroccan man come in wearing a Yellowstone Park sweatshirt. He spoke excellent English and we discovered that he had spent six weeks in the US in a leadership program. Two of those weeks were spent at Montana State University in Bozeman, and he seemed excited to meet someone who had lived there and graduated from MSU--another small world story.

The week in our new site was full of meeting people, checking in with the gendarmes, exploring the community, and spending some quality time sitting in the sun at a corner coffee shop that is welcoming to women. We managed to meet several of the people we needed to meet as they walked by and stopped to talk to Lynn, the PCV whom we are replacing. We visited the weaving co-op where I will probably be spending most of my time, and also met with some other associations which are interested in marketing help. Doug was especially interested in the olive oil pressing and hiking tourism opportunities. There will be plenty for both of us to do. We are ready for the training part to be over and the real work to begin.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

The King is Coming!



Rumors abound. The king is coming to our community this week! The sudden flurry of construction activity adds weight to the rumors. Gravel is being laid on the muddy walkways, the park is being spiffed up with new plantings and retaining walls, holes in the road are filled in, strings of lights adorn the lamp posts, banners are hanging from all the government buildings, there is a visible increase in gendarmes and military officers, and the red and green flag of Morocco has sprouted from every building and along the streets. He may come Thursday or Friday or ?. Unfortunately we leave on Friday for a week so I hope he comes before then. It would be exciting to have the chance to see the king.

Last week I cooked an America dinner for our host family. I decided on fried chicken, roasted vegetables, and applesauce because it’s easy and I could get all the ingredients here. It took about three times longer than it would at home. First I had to have a chicken killed. Luckily there are places that do this for you. Then I had to peel the apples and vegetables with a dull knife. I couldn’t find fresh rosemary at the market but I saw some growing in the flower garden in front of the military complex, so when I walked by I surreptitiously picked some. My host mother was horrified when I told her where I got it although I’m not sure she understood my gun shooting gestures. The meal turned out great and they ate everything, so I call it a successful cultural exchange
.
We have made some new discoveries, the most important of which is a pizzeria and patisserie all in one. The French pastries are cream filled and look delicious. We visited again tonight and had a mushroom pizza which is called by the off-putting name of fungus. It wouldn’t stand up to our favorite pizzas at home, but it’s a welcome break from the usual fare. The owner speaks some English, so when we speak darija (to sounds of laughter from the kitchen) he helps us out.

On Friday we go to Azrou again and will get together with the other four SDB groups for more training and to exchange stories and experiences. The highpoint of the meeting will be when they tell us where our sites will be for the next two years. We are trying to stay open to all possibilities and not have any expectations but it’s difficult not to speculate. We are trying to stay focused on going where our knowledge and skills will be most useful.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Settling In


Shopping here is an exercise in math. Prices are often quoted in ryals which don’t exist. The money used is the dirham which is 1/20th of a ryal. To complicate matters further, the sellers see our foreign faces and give us the price in French numbers, so we have to translate the number into darija and divide by 20, then try to bargain. I’m terrible at bargaining so if a price sounds fair to me, I just accept it. As I was concentrating on the money part of the transaction, I managed to buy a pair of orange fuzzy slippers without noticing that the large applique design on the toe was a marijuana leaf. I hope our host family doesn’t notice either as I wear them around the house.

We’ve encountered some really nice people lately. A little girl found a book that Doug had lost and chased us down the street the next day to give it back. A couple of young men in a hardware hanut didn’t have any oil that Doug wanted for a squeaky hinge so they gave him the oil they use and just asked him to return it the next day. It’s nice to know people are so honest and trusting. I don’t know how the little girl knew the book was Doug’s, but most everyone in this part of town knows who we are. Having done my share of rooftop surveillance, I can guarantee that there’s always someone watching what’s going on.

I guess I am acclimating to life in Morocco as I no longer hear the barking of the roaming dog packs in the night or the early call to prayer. I like waking up to the cooing of doves and clucking of chickens. It makes me think I’m on a farm. Two buckets showers a week seem normal. I’ve also discovered the many advantages of wearing a headscarf. I now walk in the streets like everyone else because even if there is a sidewalk, it usually ends abruptly in a mud hole or a steep drop-off. My host sister or host mom and I sometimes walk hand in hand as is the custom with both men and women. The language remains a big challenge because there are few vowels in darija and the pronunciation is difficult. There is only a matter of emphasis between saying “spend the night” and “armpit”. .

Our weekend get-away last Sunday was to a nearby lake. There was not a tree in sight, the shoreline was rocky, and the wind blew constantly but the water was a startling blue and the setting had a harsh beauty. When we arrived, the guards would not let us drive down the paved road to the lake so we lugged all our stuff including the “portable” butane stove and cooking pots over the rocks to a suitably level place. Shortly after we set up the cooking apparatus, one of the guards came climbing over the rocks to our spot. I thought he was going to tell us to move or something, but it turns out he was just there to bask on the rocks in the sun and wait for the food to cook. He hung out with us for at least two hours and shared our lunch, but mashi mushkil as there was nothing to guard against-- only one other car showed up as we were leaving. On the way back we stopped at a posh hotel on the edge of town and had cokes in the lounge just to see how the tourists live

A PCV who’s nearly done with her service came to visit us this week. Her stories and advice had us all enthralled for the entire morning. One of the many things she learned was how many donkey loads of wood it took to heat her house for a month. I found her inspiring because she successfully dealt with a challenging site and was, to our ears, fluent in darija. I like knowing it’s possible to go from here to there.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

The Days Go By

The days go by with little change in routine. Every day except Sunday, we go to class where we study language and cross-culture. On Sundays we go to the souk which is always interesting. Last week we met with the artisan co-op that we will be working with during our training. It was a very interesting session, conducted through our LCF as interpreter. We saw some of their products which were beautifully crafted, and heard about some of the problems they are facing. Their embroidery work is exquisite, showing no difference between the back and the front. Our task is to come up with recommendations for them at the end of the training period. We have many good ideas but who knows if they are practical? We hope to meet with the again this week.

The first rains of the winter have started and we are all bundling up for the classroom since there is no heat source in the building. Ceiling plaster occasionally sifts down on our heads, and the broken window panes alternately let in flies or cold wind. The landlord brought new glass for the windows but it was too big, so we taped plastic over the holes until the right size glass can be found. Luckily we have a great cook and a large delicious lunch to sustain us.

Last Friday we traveled to Azrou to meet with the other 22 small business developers for further training and to report on the first phase of our meeting with the artisans. It was fun to swap stories with the other trainees about our host families and our experiences. One trainee told of his taxi ride between towns where a passenger actually got in and sat to the left of the driver so that here were four in front. Another trainee lives in a house without a bathroom door and has a host mom who tries to tuck her in at night. Then there are a fortunate few who have their own bathrooms and hot showers (not us).

Our environment here has taken some getting used to, for example, new odors, no fixed prices or schedules, one glass of water passed around the table, herds of sheep crossing the street, heating water on the stove for bucket showers, call to prayer five times a day, people riding donkeys, and red dust forever blowing. But the light can be extraordinarily beautiful, the stars are bright, and the people are amazingly friendly and helpful when we try to speak our limited darija.


Thursday, September 30, 2010

First Day Off







Sunday when we awoke the electricity was off. Mashi mushkil (no problem—a useful phrase) the lights are rarely on anyway and we were going early to the Sunday souk. We stuffed six people plus the driver into a taxi and headed to the souk on the edge of town. What an amazing sight! The souk is spread out over several acres and has everything you can think of for sale. Great crowds of sellers and buyers milled about, goats bleated, donkeys brayed, chickens squawked, aromas of mint and cilantro and other not so pleasant scents filled the air. Melons, peppers, carrots, bananas, all kinds of fruits and vegetables were piled high, popcorn popped, goat meat sizzled, and ears of corn roasted over open grills. We filled a huge bag with enough vegetables to feed seven people for a week for a cost of about $20.

That same afternoon, five of us trainees, our culture and language facilitator (CLF), two teenage boys, the director of a medical association, and a hired driver all piled into a five seat van to take an excursion into the mountains to see the spring that is the source of the water for our city. We took along a cooking pot, a butane portable stove, a large platter, chicken and vegetables for a picnic, and an African drum. Our driver had his own tea set and a quilted padded dashboard edged with braided drapery trim and dangling crystals—very classy. Off we went over a rutted rocky road for about 8 kilometers until we came to a river. I thought we would stop there but instead, we drove right into the river where of course we got stuck. “So we are fixed” said the CFL cheerfully and started playing his drum. The men got out to push, and finally, we made it to the other side and continued on to the spring. It was a beautiful and interesting spot, but it was very hard to imagine that this small spring could serve a city of about 40,000.
After cleaning the chicken and vegetables in the spring, we turned back, roared through the river without mishap, and stopped by an apple orchard. I’m not sure who owned it but mashi mushkil we picked a bunch of apples and went on down the road. Another stop yielded fresh bread from a farm house. Finally we arrived at a picnic spot and the cooking began. Even though we didn’t eat lunch until 4pm, it was well worth the wait. The chicken and vegetables were dished out into a big serving dish and we all ate the Moroccan way using our hands and pieces of bread for utensils.
We traveled home with the music of Morocco playing at full volume accompanied by Jamel on his drum. It was the best day so far.

Monday, September 27, 2010

A Few Pictures



These are pictures of lunch at the community based training center (always a decicious meal), a view from the rooftop of the center, and a street scene from the beach town where we stayed on arrival.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

First Week of CBT




We are now in the south of the Middle Atlas Mountains. The landscape is bleak but with a desert quality beauty and a climate not unlike that of Montana in September. Our group of small business developers left the beach town on a bus, again escorted by the gendarmes, and traveled to Azrou where we were split into groups of six to go to our communities. Hours later, we arrived here, seeing a lot of the countryside on the way. After being dropped at the taxi stand, we stood in the rain while drawing a crowd of onlookers until we could catch a local taxi to the training center. We then went to our host family homes where we will live for the next 10 weeks. My “mother” is about 20 years younger than me and is a leader in her community. We have three delightful siblings, all older than 16. I can’t say much about them to protect their privacy but they are a kind, welcoming family who are trying to make us feel at home. That said, there is nothing more awkward than moving in with people you don’t know and can’t communicate with. Dinner was mostly a silent affair as we exhausted our Darija words after “pleased to meet you”. Each day gets a little easier.

I awake at 4:30 am to the sound of the call to prayer which is immediately followed by a chorus of howls and barks from the countless stray dogs. After a breakfast of bread, oil, and honey, we walk to the training center along a rutted road that passes by flocks of turkeys and chickens and sheep. The adults stare and the kids follow us, often calling out “bon jour” as foreigners are assumed to be French.

Much of the time outside the training center, we don’t have a clue what’s going on. We are studying language and culture which includes meeting people in the town and going to the souk. Everything takes at least twice as long as expected even when allowing for Moroccan time. Our registry with the police took most of the afternoon with the closest scrutiny of my passport I’d ever received. Yesterday we spent nearly 2 hours just buying a few groceries, vegetables, and chicken.

Buying chicken at the souk was especially colorful. The shop had a large selection of live chickens. The process is to say how many you want, the chickens are grabbed, tagged, weighed and literally tossed in a basket. From there they squawk their last before being grabbed by a man with a knife. I studiously watched a soccer match on the TV while this was taking place. They are then dunked, plucked, cut up, washed, bagged, and weighed and are ready to take home. It’s chicken at its freshest.
Friday we get together with another group of six PCT’s in a neighboring community. It will be fun comparing experiences.



Thursday, September 23, 2010

Philadelphia to New York to Casablanca to Rabat and Beyond

We arrived in North Africa after an arduous journey by plane and bus and plane and another bus. For the last few miles we had a police escort which was a little alarming, but Peace Corps is serious about security. When we go for a walk or a swim or out for a Coke, the police are following. I feel like a rock star.

We are in a lovely seaside town where we are studying language and cultural training. Our trainee group of volunteers is a wonderfully diverse group of young and old (I am not the oldest!), every skin and hair color, body type and nose size, Caucasian, Asian, African, East Indian, Polish, and Lebanese Americans. I think we represent the US very well.

We are learning Moroccan Arabic as well as bureacratese as the PC has a acronym for everything from PST to COS. Our language learning is going well. I have learned to count to ten and say some pleasantries as well as the important words for “I’m full” to avoid having your plate heaped time and again. I even made a successful transaction at the hanut today where I bought a candy bar. I didn’t need a candy bar, but it was in the glass case within pointing distance while the soap I did need was on a high shelf. A hanut is the Moroccan version of a 7-11 in a tiny space with a counter in front and a great variety of goods stacked to the roof. You tell the shopkeeper what you want and he gets it for you which may involve scurrying up and down a ladder several times. It’s straightforward unless you don’t know the word for what you want or what it should cost.
Our schedule is very busy with language and culture learning with a break for lunch where we are served big platters of delicious food. ( I have more pictures of food than anything else). We even had a visit from the US ambassador to Morocco which was admittedly exciting. Soon we will leave for our community based service training sites (CBT) where we will be broken into small groups and start our homestays. Having lived independently for decades, I’m not really looking forward to this part but understand the concept. I’ll be posting some pictures when I have time to load them which could take hours with the on-and-off Internet currently available. Such is life here so far.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

We're Off

I once thought I would lead an exciting life as a foreign correspondent, traveling the world and reporting back to an important newspaper.  Instead I became an accountant.  Now, many years later, after having gone the traditional route of marriage, family and career, my husband and I have joined the Peace Corps, and I will be blogging about our experience.  It's hardly the same, but we ARE going to the land of Casablanca, Marrakesh, and Tangier.  We have our tickets and will soon embark on this challenging adventure.  I only hope that my volunteer service will in some way benefit the artisans of Morocco in our assigned community.

We're now visiting our daughter in California before heading off to Philadelphia for staging.  Our last act upon leaving our home of 36 years was to pitch the vacuum cleaner into the trash.  It seemed symbolic somehow. 

Karen