Giving Thanks

November 24 and 25 had much significance this year—Thanksgiving, Moroccan national elections, and the day that marks one year left in our Peace Corps service.

Thanksgiving day dawned sunny and crisp with fresh snow on the mountains promising a festive feeling. Things kind of went downhill from there. We had invited three other volunteers for dinner which I was going to cook. Cooking here is time consuming since everything has to be made from scratch. First, the bird has to be killed, gutted, and defeathered. Pumpkin pie starts with cooking and pureeing the pumpkin.

It was a two day process. Five minutes after the pie went into the new electric oven, the electricity went off. An hour later, the water shut off. Fortunately these both came back on again and then the buta gas tank ran out. Normally, we could run down and get a new one, but the truck hadn’t come in yet so we had to wait until two in the afternoon to replace the buta. It all had me wondering if the powers that be were intentionally sabotaging my effort, but eventually it all came together, and even with a meskina burned pie, the dinner turned out to be a success.

The next day we took a walk along the ridge trail in the bright sunshine. We saw some cute baby goats frolicking near the fence of the old military school compound. Of course we took out the camera and snapped a few photos of their antics before we looked up and saw five guards running toward us. They were pleasant but firm. You do not take photos of government property. I’d post a picture of the cute baby goats, but they were hastily deleted while the guards looked on.

Today the results of the first national election under the new constitution in Morocco were posted, and a celebration began. REK now has a representative in Parliament, one of three in the region! Each candidate has a symbol to represent them for voters who can’t read. (Wouldn’t this be fun for US candidates?) The winner for REK was the tractor.

Both of our co-op presidents worked hard for the tractor candidate. Latifa even campaigned for him on Facebook, and Fatima was the only woman on the victory truck. Time will tell if the election results satisfy the protesters.

Goodbyes and Hellos

The times, they are a-changing. We recently said goodbye to Pete, our Peace Corps site mate, as he finished his service. He was a big help and good friend to us and we will miss him. The community had a going away party for him at the town hall with traditional horn blowing, drumming, and dancing.

He's a youth development volunteer so all the high school kids came as well and put on an amazing show of skits, rap music and American music. I was impressed with the way they got up in front of an audience and performed so confidently. I fear for their futures though as there isn't much for them to do after high school--especially the girls.

On his last taxi ride out of REK, the taxi wouldn’t start and had to be pushed down the street until the driver popped the clutch and got it going.

If seemed like a fitting way to leave. Then we said hello to our new site mates, Gary and Kathy, who will replace Pete. They are retirees from Colorado so we have a lot in common.

Summer/fall is gone—almost overnight. It rained for about a week which brought a blanket of snow to the mountains and then it was winter/spring. Winter is a bit confusing here because it is cold, there is snow, it rains, but then there are sunny warm days, everything turns green, and little yellow wildflowers pop out.

Then it returns to cold and rainy. I’m reminded of spring in Montana. We have put away the sandals and dug the winter layers out of the box.

Another L3id l-kbir, the sheep sacrificing holiday, has come and gone. Since our balcony and kitchen window overlook several rooftops where the slaughters often take place, we decided to get out of town for a few days. When we returned, the only evidence was a sheep skin hanging on the roof. I didn’t see a single charred sheep head, bloody street, or have to eat any intestines or barbequed liver wrapped in stomach lining.

Apparently, the Moroccan Ministry of Education, along with USAID, has recently begun a new push to teach adult women to read and write. Illiteracy among adult women here is estimated at 65% and is higher than that in the rural areas--a reflection on one of the major gender differences. I was surprised to learn that, although most are literate, none of the women in Cooperative Adwal had finished high school. It’s surprising because there are several very bright and savvy women there.

One day, books and slates appeared at both of our co-ops along with a manual and a salary for a teacher to lead literacy classes. Co-op Adwal is having sessions every afternoon, and I am taking advantage by sitting in to learn Arabic script. I have mastered three letters so far and at this pace, may learn the whole alphabet by the time we leave.

Halfway There

Today marks the day when we are halfway through our Peace Corps service. We plan to have a mini celebration which is the only kind available, but have saved some taco shells brought back from Amsterdam for just such an occasion. Congratulations to all of us who have made it this far!


(young woman modeling traditional Berber wedding robe)

Yesterday we went to Fes with Doug’s co-op president, a Moroccan friend, and a driver to purchase some equipment for the co-op. It was fun to ride in a big truck in fake fur covered, dangling bead splendor instead of being squashed in a taxi. On the way, we were motioned over at a gendarme checkpoint where our driver was fined for not wearing a seat belt. Really? I have yet to see anyone in Morocco wearing a seat belt, but it is the law. I tried to fasten mine, but there was nothing to hook it into so I draped the strap over my shoulder and held it in place for the next two checkpoints. Again we were motioned over where they opened the back doors of the truck only to find an American sitting on the wooden bench. The third time, we were waved on through.

In Fes, we went to a western style store with fixed prices, then to some Fes hanuts where Doug and I disappeared down the street so the Moroccans could negotiate a local price. On our way back, the three Moroccans kept up a continual conversation in the style of the country—everyone talking at once in escalating volume. This may be why their conversations are peppered with “Did you understand?” which might really mean “Did you hear me while you were talking over me?”

A lot has happened in the last month. I helped Cooperative Adwal put together photos of their products and prepare an application to take part in the 2012 International Folk Art Festival in Santa Fe. If they are selected (we’ll hear in December) it will be a huge honor, but also the bar will be set high for the quality of products they bring.

We took a much needed vacation to go to Oktoberfest in Munich and to spend a few days in Amsterdam, with stops in Brussels and Paris on the way back. It was a wonderfully relaxing time where we enjoyed the overwhelming selection of food and drink, schweinbraten, the Bavarian Alps,

sidewalk cafes populated with women and children, high speed trains with wifi, hot showers, clean streets and landscapes, European art and architecture, canals and windmills.

Back in Morocco, we were visited by our friends, Jill and Ian, from England. Six years ago our paths crossed in a library in St Chinian, France, and we have kept in touch ever since. We delighted in introducing them to the Morocco that most visitors never see and experiencing the daily life and living conditions of most of the people, including a white knuckle ride in a taxi to Fes with Jill sitting in the inside back seat with a close-up view of the mere inches between us and oncoming vehicles. In the evenings, they entertained us with stories of their extensive travels and shared their Bordeaux wine and goodies brought from Europe. Their account of their visit to our town can be read at Maxted Travels http://modestine2011.blogspot.com/2011/10/ribat-el-kheir.html Their many pictures, keen observations, and British wit make for good reading.

Fantastic Fantasia

This weekend there was a festival in our village. I don’t know what the occasion was but it seemed like the whole town was in attendance. As the only foreigners, we heard “bon jour” and “ca va” everywhere we went. They still think we’re French (a good thing sometimes). There was music, men in yellow robes doing a traditional dance, meat sizzling on charcoal burners, popcorn popping, and craft tents with things for sale.

Co-op Adwal had carpets on display, and the sisters’ co-op had a couscous table. But the highlight of the festival was the Fantasia—synchronized Berber horsemen. There they were all in a row—men in white robes and turbans on highly ornate saddles straddling magnificent horses, gunpowder rifles raised high.

They started at the far end of the field, gathering speed as they charged toward us. Closer and closer the thundering hooves came. Then, when it seemed like they would run right over us, they leveled their powder rifles right at the crowd, raised them in the air, and fired a deafening volley as they pulled to a halt right in front of us. Holy mother!

The crowd of boys and I stumbled over each other leaping away from the fence as a shower of dirt, leaves and debris rained down, and powder smoke filled the air. We all looked around in astonishment. Then it was back to the fence as the horsemen turned and rode off, while another group of riders charged at us again--over and over with the same result.

For a while, on a warm late summer evening, I was ten years old again. It was awesome.

The End of Ramadan

Ramadan has ended. This morning the streets are full of families going house to house greeting each other, hugging and kissing, and no doubt offering congratulations for making it through a month of sacrifice. Many are dressed up in wedding finery, and children sport new clothes. All hanuts and markets are closed and no transports are running. The feasting will soon commence.

The month of Ramadan was hot, dry and miserable. The relentless sun bleached all color out of the landscape. The horizon was barely visible with the brown of the land fading into the gray of the sky. Everything inside and out was covered with a film of dust.

We endured our hottest day in Morocco yet on a day when we were coming back from blessedly cool Rabat through oven-like Fes. It was reportedly 114 degrees. It felt like it. The man who runs the big open dusty chaotic taxi lot had a wet towel on his head, and all the drivers were spraying each other with water. They couldn’t drink any though. It made me wonder about their ability to drive, especially after we came upon two accidents on the way home. Some of our friends witnessed fights in the streets, and I heard a woman screaming at her children with a voice out of “The Exorcist”.

Clearly, the heat, hunger, dehydration, and nicotine withdrawal, had people on edge, but it’s now over for another year. There is a lot to be said for collective suffering and celebration as the entire country experiences Ramadan together.

The weather has also obligingly changed with the end of Ramadan, and it changed in dramatic fashion with rumbling thunder, sheet lightening and a downpour of rain and hail. The temperature is down to the high 80’s and a blanket is needed at night. It’s interesting to see how I now consider 90 to be a comfortable temperature. I’m really looking forward to fall.

Why Moroccans Always Walk in the Street.....

And not on the sidewalks:

The First Day of Ramadan

We had a good idea of what to expect during Ramadan, but as usual, the reality was not as imagined. I thought stores would be closed until evening and people would sleep most of the day, but when I went out in the morning of the first day, the town was bustling, all the hanuts were open, people were shopping at the vegetable and meat markets, and the carpenters' saws were buzzing. Smells of cooking wafted through the air most of the afternoon while the meal to break fast, called lftur, was being prepared. We are not fasting but are being culturally sensitive and respectful of those that are. We were invited to break fast with a Moroccan family which we consider an honor. We went to their home a little early to see the preparations. The women had been cooking all afternoon and the food was all put on the table a few minutes before the call to break fast so that when it came, we could dive right in. At about 7:30 we heard the call from the mosque and started in on the french bread, Moroccan bread, small round bread-like pancakes, large round pancakes, crepes, limsamn and fat bread, olives, honey, zmeta, dates, harira soup, kefta tajine, hard-boiled eggs, pastries with honey & sesame, caramel crunchy cookies, flan, tea, coffee and mango juice. Everything was delicious, but my favorite was the kefta tagine which I want to learn to make. After eating all this, we were surprised to be asked to stay for dinner at 11pm--something light they said--beef and onions. We declined (hopefully in a respectful way) saying that we couldn't eat any more and we were tired and had to go to bed early--all true. We would have used our age as an excuse but the 80+ father took a nap and was ready to eat again. When we left at around 10:30 they loaded us down with three kinds of bread, a big bag of olives, a large melon, sesame cookies and a liter of olive oil. They told us to come back any time and if we want something special to eat, just tell them and they will cook it for us. Although Ramadan is a time of giving as well as spirituality and fasting, their generosity was astonishing. How can we ever hope to reciprocate?

The Rest of July

July was an eventful month. The President of Co-operative Adwal, my counterpart, traveled to the US to take part in the Smithsonian Folklife Festival and 50th Anniversary celebration of Peace Corps in Washington DC. Fatima was one of two weavers chosen from Morocco to take part in the traditional craft demonstrations. It was a huge honor for her and the co-op and also the first time she had traveled out of the country. Fatima also put on a cooking demonstration of a traditional dish and was amazed at the number of people in the audience. She returned with many great pictures of herself in front of various monuments and the White House, and also some of herself on an escalator and going through a revolving door--both new experiences. We’re hoping that the fair exposure to so many tourists will motivate some to check out Moroccan carpets online, specifically those of Adwal.

During the same time, another Marche Maroc Peace Corps sponsored craft fair was held in the beach city of Essaouira. Adwal attended but I didn’t get the chance since we were meeting our daughter and son-in-law in Tangier coming over on the ferry from Spain. I enjoyed Tangier very much with its delicious fresh fish, cool sea breezes and faded haunts of the beat generation. It’s not nearly as seedy as the guidebooks would have you believe, and the view from the Kasbah over the Atlantic and the Strait of Gibraltar toward Spain was spectacular.

Back in REK, our family got a little taste of our life here. They visited the weaving and couscous co-ops we work with, where they got a wonderfully warm welcome. They were also able to experience a traditional three course, three hour lunch at the home of Fatima and her sister, and witness all the activities of a wedding ceremony that was held on a neighboring rooftop, complete with music until 5 am.

We also were then fortunate to spend a mini-vacation in Madrid and Cuenca, Spain with our daughter whose excellent Spanish paved the way for a relaxing time. In Madrid we enjoyed spectacular architecture, world famous museums, great beer, wine, ham, music, couples sitting together at sidewalk cafes, church bells, sidewalks, and the new Harry Potter movie in English.

In Cuenca, reached by a quick ride on a new bullet train, we marveled at the old city built on karst, a 12th century cathedral, picturesque squares with fountains, scenic countryside, and a free classical concert in a pedestrian square with amazing acoustics.
We are now in REK as they prepare for Ramadan which begins in August. The patisseries in Fes are literally piled high with date and honey treats that are eaten to break fast in the evenings. Businesses are preparing to shut down, and our neighbors killed a sheep on their rooftop.