Summertime, and the Living's Not Easy

L-hamdullah! The carpets have been shipped to Santa Fe for the July International Folk Art Market. But like most things, it did not go smoothly. It turns out that the special artisan price that we had originally been quoted by DHL was only available with the submission of a form that had to be filled out with a typewriter—not a pen, not online, only a typewriter. Now you would think that in a third world country, typewriters would be readily available, but not even Fatima knew where to find one, nor did DHL. (I later heard that the police station fills out their reports on a typewriter—should have guessed). The form also had to be signed and stamped by the Ministry of Commerce, so good luck getting that done in the two days we had before the shipping deadline. So we gave up and paid a higher price. Then the next day we were notified that the shipment had been held up in Casablanca for “high value” requiring yet another piece of paper. Several phone calls and the intervention of Peace Corps finally got the shipment moving. Ten days later, our two-day delivery arrived at its destination. Close enough. In late May, the green fields surrounding the town turned to amber with ripening grain rippling in the breeze. The walk to the souk through barley fields was a surreal experience as only people’s heads appeared above the shoulder-high stalks. But it’s harvest time now so that the beautiful grain fields will be turned into brown stubble until they are plowed under in the fall and the winter rains come again. Harvesting on the family owned farms is done by hand the old-fashioned way. The grain is cut with a scythe, tied in bundles which are loaded on a donkey then transported to a stack where they await the mill. Most of the wheat in the surrounding fields will be milled and consumed locally. From field to loaf of bread is a visible process here.

Spring Getaway

Now and then I feel the introvert’s need to regain my feeling of anonymity in the world, and what better place than among the tourist hordes in Piazza San Marco in Venice? Venice reminds me of an aging movie star—still beautiful but faded with her best days clearly behind her. She badly needs a makeover, but it won’t disguise the fact that she’s slowly slipping away. That said, we had a wonderful time there strolling the back streets where there were no crowds at all, marveling at the beautiful architecture, seeing the sights, but mostly discovering great little places to eat and drink and while away a couple of hours in the beautiful spring weather. We did feel the first earthquake in northern Italy which shook us out of our sleep and rattled the closet doors in the room. I recognized it instantly as an earthquake and it was confirmed by the morning news. Fortunately there was no visible damage in Venice. When we‘d had our fill of crowds, we took the ferry to Rovinj in the Istrian peninsula of Croatia. I loved Croatia. It felt like my vision of Italy of old. The cobblestone streets were swept and washed every morning, the Adriatic Sea sparkled with clear, clean water, boats bobbed in the harbor, and the food was a delicious blend of Italian, Mediterranean, and Hungarian, with fresh seafood featured in nearly every dish. When we tired of fish, we could eat goulash or roast pork loin washed down with an Ozujsko, the local beer. The locals in that part of the country regularly speak Croatian, Italian, German, and English. We visited churches, a castle over a deep ravine that inspired Jules Verne, traveled through the beautiful green countryside, took a boat up a fiord and visited an island with Roman ruins where Tito had his summer home for 30 years. It was fascinating to see all the exotic animals still living there (gifts to Tito from heads of state) and his 1953 custom made Cadillac convertible in which he reportedly tried to seduce Gina Lollobrigida. Okay so this wasn’t a highbrow trip, but it was fun and relaxing. Best of all was just being by the sea, hanging out in a fishing village, and watching the sunset.

Marche Maroc Fes, 2012

Last week was the last public Marche Maroc. These craft fairs were started by the Small Business Development PCVs in Morocco and are ending now that our sector is being phased out to concentrate on youth development. There will be another craft fair in Rabat mid-May but it’s a private fair for the American community and Embassy staff.

The good news is that the artisans have formed an Association of Artisans with the idea of continuing the markets. Zahara Amchech of Cooperative Adwal was chosen as 1st vice President of the board of directors. Given her will and fiery spirit, I have reason to think they will make a good effort.

One of our favorite spots in the medina, Cafe Clock, generously offered us an unused room for a showroom with the idea of showcasing some of the products available at the market. Unfortunately, the room was accessed down a dodgy looking alley between two chicken butchers and wasn't much visited. If only tourists had discovered it, they could have had a hassle-free, fixed price, authentic artisan shopping experience.

On leaving Fes, we discovered the grand taxis were on strike. All this meant though was that we had to walk down the hill to the disgusting end of the taxi lot normally used as a latrine where the taxis were parked around the corner. From there they appeared to be doing business as usual. It was an exceptionally long wait though for the taxi to fill up.

A young vendor brought out a plastic chair for me to sit on and gave me a tiny stuffed bear from his cart. It’s moments like those which make the other not-so-nice times bearable. Back in REK it was still cold although the predictions for this week are in the 90’s. So it seems we will go from the freezer to the frying pan.

NOW winter is over (Maybe)

I have not been motivated to write anything for the last month. This has been a trying time for me both psychologically and physically, so I was following the adage “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Winter was NOT over as last I wrote. BUT, today was finally a beautiful glorious day. The sun shown, it was warm, the wind wasn’t blowing, and it didn’t rain. It was a perfect day for a walk on the well-worn path along the ridge which connects the main part of town to the original settlement.

The old part feels like a rural village with its mellow sound of animals rather than the usual cacophony of engines, saws, mills, and loud voices all talking at once. There is new snow on the mountains and wildflowers in the fields. Goats, sheep, and donkeys graze happily on the green grass. Apple and cherry trees are blooming.

We met two Berber women on the walk, one with the traditional tattooed face, in the old town. They consented to having their pictures taken, then invited us to their house for tea. This is customary of Moroccans—the most generous and welcoming people I have ever met.

We passed by a large group of boys who started in with the usual “bonjours”, but when I said we were Americans, one of the boys ran alongside me saying in English, “Hello, my name is Ali.” Our lovely walk ended at a café for coffees. There, I was excited to see two young girls sitting at an outside table with their fathers. Things are definitely looking up!

Happy Easter everyone. Enjoy your ham!

Winter is Over

Today after work we drank coffee at the café under a willow tree exploding in thin bight green leaves. Later we sat in the late afternoon sunshine on the balcony shelling new peas. The streets rang with the shouts of children running, playing ball, and chasing each other. Just like that, winter is over.

Cooperative Adwal is busy preparing for the Santa Fe International Folk Art Market. Both the women going to Santa Fe successfully applied for and received their visas to the US. I sat with Hind at the cyber as she filled out the State Department applications online, in English, with only a few questions. She is my tutor and friend and I have to say she has learned a lot more English than I have learned Arabic. Visiting the US is a long- time dream of hers and I‘m so glad it’s finally going to happen. Her sister, Adwal’s President, went last year to the 50th celebration of Peace Corps in Washington DC so it’s not a new experience for her, but she’ll be seeing an entirely different part of the US. With luck, my grant application will be funded so that they can also attend the Handweavers’ Guild of America conference in California and get to see LA and the Pacific Ocean.

Last weekend, a British artist friend came to REK and put on a workshop for both my and Doug’s co-ops. One was on creativity and the other was on choosing a logo. They were both brilliant as she would say. The women were engaged and enthusiastic. Now we are looking into funding so that she can travel around Morocco and present similar workshops to other women’s co-ops. Since Peace Corps discontinued the small business development program in Morocco, I’d love to see something ongoing like this to add a little inspiration and motivation.

Speaking of inspiration, we were fortunate to be invited to a “meet and greet” with Hillary Clinton at the American Embassy in Rabat. Several PCVs were there as well as the embassy staff and the press. We were as close as we’ll ever be to a US Cabinet Secretary. I didn’t get to shake her hand as some did, but I was impressed with her very personable yet commanding presence. I am a fan.

Midnight Bus to Marrakesh

If any Peace Corps staff read this they will know that I violated the rule against traveling after dark. But honestly, if you have to commit 12 hours to a souk bus ride, wouldn’t you rather give up the night?—when there is at least a tiny chance of sleeping through part of it? The rule is for safety purposes, and young women or women traveling alone should definitely obey it, but my Moroccan traveling companion and I are both “mature” women who are relatively safe from harassment when traveling together. Since we were hauling several bags of carpets to Marche Maroc craft fair, it only made sense to take the only bus going all the way from REK to Marrakesh.

The bus ride itself was bearable except for the constant coughing and sneezing from the person behind me without any attempt to cover nose or mouth. I rode most of the way with my face buried in my coat. The nearly unbearable part was the four hours spent in a cold bus station, which, like bus stations the world over, was populated with the homeless and mentally ill. At 4 am we were treated to a song and dance routine from a man who appeared to be unnaturally animated. Later, when my traveling companion went to pray, I was approached twice by toothless men whom I couldn’t understand. A third stopped and spat at my feet. When he reached out as if to grab my arm, I jumped up and yelled “go away from me!”. Three young men kindly grabbed him and steered him away. In only 10 minutes alone, I became a firm believer in the no–travel-after-dark rule. Never again.

In Marrakesh, it was colder than I had hoped, but after the first day, the sun came out and warmed our bones. The craft tents were set up in what at first seemed an ideal location next to the main square where all the snake charmers and other tourist entertainers congregate. Plus, it was the weekend of the Marrakesh Marathon which brought an international crowd.

Although well located, the park (dubbed “pee park” by a PCV) was ringed by horse drawn carriages which cut the tents off from view of the tourists passing in the street beyond and created unpleasant odors. Even though we didn’t get the hoped-for tourist crowds, there was a steady stream of locals who did buy things. My counterpart made travel expenses plus some so it was not a bust. We are all awaiting final sales figures to compare to previous markets.

Since Morocco is discontinuing Peace Corps Small Business Development after our group leaves this fall, it’s not clear whether the artisans will continue these fairs without us. We will have at least two more this year and thankfully they are much closer to home.

The Food Network Comes to Town

In my considerable daydreaming, I never imagined that an English television network would come to our little town. But they did. Jenny Morris , the “Giggling Gourmet” celebrity chef from South Africa is starring in several segments on Moroccan food for the Food Network EMEA (Europe, Middle East and Africa). One of the segments is on the making and cooking of couscous, a staple Moroccan food. Thanks to our connection with Gail of Fes Food, Cooperative Eljawda , a couscous and bread cooperative in Ribat El Kheir, was chosen for the filming. I think I was more excited than the women, possibly because they have never seen the show and don’t realize how widely distributed it is.

First, the co-op women were filmed making couscous from scratch—rolling, rubbing, and sieving, through three different sized baskets to produce progressively smaller uniform grains. This is an arduous process that is rarely done today outside of rural North Africa. Most couscous is now made by machine. Since it takes days to dry, the following cooking segment was filmed with couscous already dried.

Jenny then set up on the ridge trail overlooking the valley to do her cooking segment where she made a sweet couscous dish (using my cloves!). We were extremely lucky to have a bright sunny day for the filming, and the snowcapped mountains made a dramatic backdrop. The co-op women were then brought in to taste the finished product. I missed this part since it had already gone dark and the final filming was done inside a house, so I will have to wait to see their reaction on (someone’s) TV.

A week later the film crew was back to do a segment on traditional olive oil pressing with the large stone horse-driven grinder. Jenny then made a salad with the olive oil in a dressing which Habib, the mill owner, and Doug were filmed tasting. I had to be away at a craft fair so I also missed this segment and will have to wait to see it. Who knows what will make it through the editing process and actually appear on the Food Network, but the film crew has promised us a DVD of the show.

The actual filming was a rather tedious process with many stops and starts and redos. Mostly we had to sit and wait and watch since our work of dealing with the logistics and with the local bureaucracy had already been done.