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
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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.