One morning last week, I awoke inspired to bake a cake. After spending a lengthy amount of time attempting to sift through flour with a plastic strainer to get all the little black termites and larvae out, I turned on the oven to realize it was leaking a lot of gas. It seemed as though the regulator knob on the oven was faulty. Since the whole gas-operated oven business and the image of minor flame explosions makes me uneasy, I gave up baking and at 11 headed to Malika’s house to practice Tashlheet. She was sitting at her little boutique, hoping to sell clothes and accessories with the Eid el Kbir coming up. We chatted a while and I told her about my oven. She said she’d come take a look at it later to see what the deal was. As we were talking about the Eid and other miscellaneous things, she brought up the word “Takèt”, which I didn’t understand. I’d heard it before but forgot the meaning, like half the Tashlheet vocabulary. She said I absolutely needed to know what it was and took me to her sister in law’s house next door to see one. It turns out it’s a traditional mud stove, just like the ones I saw used in Benin.

I’d met the sister in law before, Larbi’s brother’s wife. She’s the one that had sat in their living room one day looking at Larbi’s sickly body and said “look at you, you’re just waiting for death”. She was surprised and very excited to have me in her house. Malika ushered me into the traditional kitchen, while the woman and her teenage daughter Raja started a fire in the Takèt to demonstrate. As smoke billowed all around us in the tiny room, they put a big clay pot on the mud stove and brought out already cooked bread to show me how they prepared it. Then they gave me a complete tour of the house, concluding in the modern kitchen where I examined their gas oven to see if I could figure out a difference between theirs and mine. I couldn’t. The sister in law wanted to give me a gift for coming to visit. Malika and I refused tea because we’d left the boutique unattended but she insisted on giving me a big white plate decorated with painted blue birds. She then went to her bedroom to fetch a container of almonds and poured fistfuls into my hands. I didn’t know where to put the nuts, so Malika had me stuff my pant pockets with them as we hurried out the door before the woman could give us anything more.

Later on, Malika and I walked to my house to look at my oven. She was just as stumped as I was about the problem so we decided to take the whole thing to the welder. We disconnected the hose from the butagaz bottle and awkwardly walked across the village with the oven. The welder took one look at it and said “your hose is dead”. We’d failed to see there was a big gash in it, hence the leaking. I’d been sold a bad hose at souk. He replaced it with some high quality stuff he uses on his welding machines and even screwed in a makeshift knob on my oven door since the original had fallen off within a week of purchase. He just charged me for the hose, 10dh, and as I fished it out of my pockets, a slew of almonds poured out onto the ground. The welder grinned at me and said “so you like almonds?”.

We transported the oven back to my house, where the welder’s assistant safely reconnected it to the butagaz and I was back in business. I went on a cooking frenzy the rest of the afternoon. I baked chocolate cake, a tarte a la moutarde, and made carrot ginger soup. Luckily I had fellow PCVs Sami and Dave coming to visit for the night to share the feast.

Conference on the Coast

During the last week of June I received a call from Abdelkader, the director of CDRT, inviting me to participate in their annual summer youth conference called “Université d’Eté” in Essaouira July 9-11. He also wanted to me come to the office the week prior to the conference to assist in the preparations with their youth committee. I was happy to be given a task and eagerly accepted. I headed into the Marrakech office on Monday morning, July 5. Abdelkader was busily meeting with professors from the Science University, so he directed me to their secretary, who was preparing a brochure on the Essaouira conference. The secretary explained the concept of the Université d’Eté in brief and introduced me to Soukaina, the conference youth coordinator. She is an economy student at the University of Marrakech and has been involved in these summer conferences for 5 years now. I was impressed when she showed me the detailed schedule and a task list for the youth committee members. She asked for any helpful feedback on their organizational methods. I said I’d have to wait until after the event to see how it goes.

During all these preparations, Soukaina and her colleagues were in the midst of final exams at the university. She invited me to come back the following couple days to help more in preparations. I intended to go, but the next morning, was plagued by sudden flu symptoms. I awoke with a pounding headache and paralyzing body aches. I barely moved from the house the next 3 days. The stress of moving out of homestay and settling into my new house must have caught up to me.

By Friday morning, though, I was feeling better. I set off for the bus stop at 5:30am, fumbling around in the pre-dawn darkness. The neighborhood pack of stray dogs was assembled near my house and started barking when I arrived. But, they know me well and thankfully subsided when they recognized me. They wagged their tails and followed me in the dark. The bus stop was void of life. I stood alone, guarded by a pack of stray dogs, for the next 30 minutes, hoping a taxi would go by. I finally resorted to taking the bus at 6:15 and barely made it to the 7am departure point at the Science University in Marrakech. We didn’t leave until 9am, as to be expected.

About 100 participants rode on 2 University buses to Essaouira. Everyone was between 20 and 30 years old. A group of older CDRT members and professors followed in cars. I sat next to Ailla, a gangly, chatty political science graduate student from Western Sahara. He was eager to discuss politics with me, which I politely avoided. He persisted by asking if I think Obama is really any better than Bush and what my opinion is of 9/11. I said the latter was tragic, and left it at that. He finally accepted that he wouldn’t get anything else out me and resorted to questions such as “are you married?”, “what are you doing in Morocco?”, “Do you live alone?”.

We arrived at the OFPPT center in Essaouira around noon and were welcomed by the cool Atlantic winds of this city that I’ve come to appreciate so much. OFPPT is a vast technical school complex at the entrance of town. We were put up in the dorms: rooms of 8 bunk beds on a hall way with co-ed showers and toilets. Co-ed showers at a Moroccan conference?! That’s practically unheard of. Everyone was rather surprised at this, but accepted it and moved on. This group of upper class youths pursuing higher education is not really the most accurate representation of rural Moroccan societal norms. Several young women wore no veil, had tight jeans and form-fitting short sleeved shirts that didn’t go down past their thighs. They were dressed like Westerners, and somehow, that shocked me. Many girls do wear the head scarf yet somehow it seems more like an accessory than anything else. They are always color coordinated, with gleaming jewels and pins adorning the fabric. Most of the girls and even boys brought suitcases twice the size of my overnight bag. We were only spending two nights!

I admit I felt rather out of place among all these university students who all knew each other and had their cliques established. I felt like I was back in high school trying to make friends, with little luck. Soukaina, the event coordinator, was clearly quite busy with her group of girls on the organizational committee, so I couldn’t talk much to them. I was in their dorm room, yet even when we were there, they chose to speak Arabic to each other as they did their make-up. They all speak impeccable French, which is why I was surprised they didn’t want to speak it with me.

Upon arrival, we were served lunch at the school cafeteria. It turns out the OFPPT Essaouira branch is primarily a hospitality and restaurant school, so we served by a crew of eager culinary students. Waiters in first class attire including red bowties brought us 3 course meals on neatly set tables with sparkling glasses and silverware. I ate lunch with a French-Moroccan girl named Sarah. She is an elementary school teacher at the French school in Marrakech and attended the conference as a representative of Widad Association. Each participant was there representing some sort of developmental association in the Tensift/Al Haouz region. Widad Association focuses on promoting and supporting unmarried women with children, a group of society that is severely discriminated against in Morocco because it’s against the law for women to have illegitimate children. Sarah was born in France, raised in Marrakech, went to college in Toulon, and has now returned to live in Marrakech. We hit it off and went to go grab a coffee on the beach while waiting for our first afternoon activity with the conference

The opening ceremony was held at the provincial palace. There were many speeches and discussions, but most of it was done in Arabic. Sarah was able to translate some for me, except when the speakers turned from Moroccan Arabic to more classic Arabic. The guest of honor was Mr Ramon Antunez, a professor at the International University of Andalusia in Spain. He spoke to our group about how Andalusia went through the process of decentralization or regionalization, because that is the new movement happening in Morocco right now. Mr Antunez gave a power point presentation in broken French, and later answered questions in Spanish while someone translated in Arabic. I was lost most of the time, fighting off drowsiness with little success.

On Saturday, we divided into 4 groups to attend different workshops of our choice: Income Generating Activities, The role of the University in regional development, Environment and Development, and Art and Culture Development. I attended the Environment workshop along with 18 participants. Luckily, the presentations and discussions were done in French. Two professors gave presentations on climate change and biodiversity in Morocco, focusing particularly on the natural resources that should be valued in the Tensift region. During the presentation, I kept thinking this would have been useful knowledge during Pre-service training. To hear a Moroccan describing the environmental concerns of the country was something we never heard in Ouarzazate. In Asfalou, we even found ourselves wondering what the dire environmental problems were, apart from the trash which wasn’t even in colossal amounts because most households recycled bio-degradable waste and burned the rest. Trash is a serious problem at the Barrage though. During the discussions session, I hoped to get some proposed solutions from the group of university students in the room. I figured they may have some ideas on projects to clean up waste in rural villages. The issues were only skimmed over and there was a lot of talking with little being really said. At any rate, it was an interesting workshop. I did learn some things, most importantly I learned that Naima and I need to brainstorm on waste management projects ourselves because no one else seems to be doing anything about it.

We finished our morning session at 2:30pm and were supposed to return after lunch for more discussions, but the program changed and we were given the rest of the day off. I met up with Martin and spent a lovely afternoon, eating lunch on the ramparts and riding horses on the beach! I’d put “galloping on horseback at the beach in Essaouira” on my Peace Corps Morocco bucket list ever since the Gnaoua Festival two weeks ago. Here was my opportunity to cross that off the list. We each paid 100dh for an hour. My horse was a grey named Jimi, after Jimi Hendrix. Apparently, Hendrix spent some time on the beach of Essaouira and found inspiration at an abandoned fortress in the dunes, which we visited on horseback. On the way back to the horse and camel center, the guide said I could gallop if I wanted. So I went for it. I got to feel the exhilaration of the wind blowing in my face as the horse sped along the beach. I passed a couple participants walking from the youth conference. They seemed surprised to see me come out of nowhere, on a galloping horse.

In the evening, Martin and I met up with four other Volunteers in town for dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in the medina. We agreed to splurge for a true European meal. The restaurant was tastefully decorated, with jazz music playing in the background. I had a calamari salad and a big glass of red wine for 110dh. Thus ended another splendid day in Peace Corps Morocco.

On Sunday we concluded the conference back at the provincial palace with a series of speeches, workshop summaries, and feedback in a mixture of French and Arabic. Everyone received certificates of participation and we took a group picture. After lunch, everyone piled on the buses to head back to Marrakech. I said goodbye to Sarah, who was staying a few more days in Essa. We agreed to meet up once she returns to Marrakech. The ride back was incredibly hot and sticky. I sat by an English student named Hassan. He speaks better English than French. I was hesitant to make small talk with him at first, but his English is really good and we had a nice conversation. I told him he should look into applying for a Corps language coordinator position, but I warned him working with a small group of newly arrived, frustrated Americans was no easy task!

It was 110F in Marrakech. Hot air wafted into our faces when we got off the bus. We were all drenched in sweat, exhausted, and ready to go home. I caught the last bus to the Barrage and got home at 9:30pm. The weather was very windy, dusty, and dark. Haddoc was waiting for me, thirsty yet alive and well. The house was dusty from the wind storm that day, but otherwise in pretty good shape. Haddoc hadn’t broken into the kitchen or chewed anything up. Let’s see how he survives me being gone for two weeks at PPST (Post-Pre Service Training) in late July!

July 4th Weekend

I received some visitors the weekend of July 4^th to celebrate the holiday, my birthday, and our end of homestay. Cara, Sami, and Dave arrived on Friday evening from Tiznit. We caught up on the last few weeks and cooked gourmet Kraft macaroni and cheese, provided by Cara. My kitchen was not quite equipped to handle cooking a meal for 4 people, even though it was a Kraft mix. We had to cook macaroni in my tea kettle because the only other pot I had could only hold 2 cups of water. For the next 3 days, I had elusive noodles stuck in my kettle spout, coming out unexpectedly as I poured hot water in my cup of Nescafe. But, the mac and cheese was delicious, a taste of home.

On Saturday afternoon, we were joined by Martin from Essaouira, and Donniel and Nathaniel from Amzmiz. I decided to bake a quiche and a tarte a la moutarde for my guests. It was the first time I was using the oven so when we first turned it on, all the dust on it started burning and smoking. But we cleaned it up and my pies were a success. After dinner, I managed to skype with the family back home. They were having a big reunion at the parent’s house for the grandparent’s 80^th birthday party. Everyone on the Reid side of the family was there except Quade, Quinn, and me. The Bruce’s, Ralphs, Tom, Carol, Charlie, and even Clement and Audrey were there. It was nice to see everyone. They seemed to be having a great time. Daddy-Daddy entertained me with his silly comments and funny faces. I showed them my group of guests via my computer. We couldn’t hear each other well, but we got a few phrases across.

On Sunday morning, Naima, my counterpart, brought us a plate of Lmsmen, Moroccan crepes. She had also lent me some ponj’s for people to sleep on, and baked chocolate cookies for my birthday. She’s so sweet! I spent all morning taking care of rental agreements at the cyber with my landlord and came back exhausted from the ordeal. While I’d been out, Cara had gone back to Agadir, Nathaniel back to Amzmiz, and the others had visited the souk. I got home to find Donniel making us one of her delicious vegetable tagines in the tagine pot Nathaniel had brought me. The group had also bought me three house plants! Aloe, lemon verbena, and a plantana. How very thoughtful! After lunch, Donniel went home and Martin, Sami, Dave and I went on a walk to the lake. It was surprisingly breezy and slightly cool out, so we weren’t baking in the afternoon sun. We went to check out the popular weekend picnic and swimming spot by the lake. It’s definitely not someplace I would go without a male friend. The lakeshore was packed with half dressed Moroccan men lounging in a sea of trash. Music was booming as people swam and grilled food. Trash was everywhere and there were maybe 4 women among all the men. Condoms and beer cans were everywhere. We didn’t linger. At least now I know what it’s like out there so I can be sure not to go, especially on Sunday. In the evening, Martin made a chocolate cake in a cake dish he’d brought for my birthday. Sami and Dave made vegetable stir fry and rice. We played cards, ate great food, and enjoyed another great evening among good friends.

New House and More

As of July 1^st, I am living in my own house! The new found privacy and sense of independence of freedom did not come too soon. I didn’t realize how much I’d gotten used to living on my own in the last 4 years until I spent 4 months living with Moroccan host families. I was lucky to get two very nice families, but that fourth month was challenging and a true test of patience. I found myself finding reasons to spend days outside of site so I could escape my host mother’s constant inquisitive demeanor and at least some of her cooking. I’d had enough of the strictly bread or couscous diet. In her defense, Malika made efforts to be flexible and understanding and was therefore probably less imposing than other host families have been with fellow Volunteers, but I still couldn’t wait to live alone again, and on my terms. At the same time, these daytime excursions have been a great way to get to know the region in which I live. There’s much more exploring to be done!

So, when I returned from Essaouira on June 28, I set to work tracking down my landlord and getting the rental agreement signed. This was no easy feat. As promised, he’d done the necessary work on the house; patched up the hole in the wall of the courtyard, closed off the wall to the latrine/shower, and installed doors and windows. In addition to my Peace Corps rental agreement, the landlord, Mohamed, also wanted to get an official rental agreement typed up in Arabic and stamped by the commune. This is not always practiced when renting village houses, but I can understand why he would want to do it. The one cyber café owner in site knows how to do it and we had a rough time getting a hold of him. Three times we made the 20 minute trek across town to his cyber only to find the doors bolted shut. The tailor next door said the cyber man had supposedly lost his keys and therefore couldn’t open shop. By day five though, we finally found him and he typed up the document. Mohamed also signed my rental agreement, and I gave him my first month’s rent.

In the meantime, I’d already gotten a key to the house and moved in. Malika helped me sweep the cement chunks and dust out of the rooms on the evening of June 30. Freedom was within reach, finally, and I just couldn’t wait another night to move in. After throwing the last bucket of dust out the door at 9pm, I ran down to the town center to find a man with a motorcycle wagon who could transport my things from Malika’s house. By 11pm, I was alone in my new house and jumping for joy in the courtyard. I can now walk around in my underwear when its boiling hot out and I don’t have to worry about being seen by my teenage host brothers or my host father. I can get up when I want, eat what and when I want, and come and go without explanation. Oh the simple joys in life.

But, I am not completely alone in my house. I have a an adorable four-legged companion: a dog named Haddoc. I adopted him from Sara, a fellow Volunteer in my region who decided she didn’t want a dog anymore. Sara brought him to Marrakech by feeding him Benadryl and managing to place him in a souk bag and sneak him onto the city bus without the driver seeing him. By the time I was ready to take him home, the drugs had worn off and I couldn’t get him in a bag so secretively. The driver saw me coming with a dog in my arms and shook his finger “no”. I walked him about a mile out of the city to the taxi stand. There, I got at least part of him in a bag and held him on my laps as we drove to the Barrage. I named him Haddoc, in keeping with the tradition of naming my pets after the Tintin et Milou comic book characters. He’s 100% mutt, and about 4 months old. During the first two days, I found him surprisingly calm for a puppy. But, it must have been a combination of the Benadryl and the adjustment to a new house and owner. It turns out he’s just as wacky and energetic as any puppy, and I hope the puppy stage doesn’t last the entire 2 years.

The most challenging thing is poddy training him, as he was apparently not trained to do his business outside the house. But, despite his fascination for chewing on trash when we go on walks, he stays with me without a leash, and can keep up on 5 mile runs. He’s definitely going to keep me occupied the next several months.

Gnaoua Festival

On June 22, 2010, I headed to Essaouira again for the annual Gnaoua Music Festival. I was fortunate to be invited to participate in a Training of Trainers for HIV/AIDS awareness projects with other Volunteers. The training was coupled with participation in a HIV/AIDS testing and information booth with a local association during the Gnaoua Music Festival. We spent the two days before the festival discussing HIV/AIDS in Morocco and how to raise awareness without crossing over cultural and religious taboos associated to it. It was my first time being involved in an AIDS training and I found it to be inspiring. Hearing other Volunteers speak of their experiences in Peace Corps and in the States encouraged me to look into doing some kind of AIDS and STI education project at my site.

About 25 Volunteers participated in the training and the Gnaoua booth with the ALCS (Association de la Lutte Contre le SIDA) office in Essaouira. I had been invited to attend because I speak French and can therefore communicate with the target audience: Gnaoua festival goers, particularly young Moroccan men because they represent the majority of the attendees. During three days of the festival, the Volunteers working the booth were given red ALCS t-shirts and baseball caps as we handed out fliers and lured people walking by to go get tested and get more information on AIDS and STIs. ALCS was providing free, anonymous testing for HIV and Syphilis, with results in 20 minutes. Our jobs were to inform people that they could get the test for free without giving their names, and that ALCS has offices around the country providing free support and services for people living with HIV. Standing outside for hours during midday heat, beckoning passersby who often did not want to be bothered was draining to say the least, but many people were quite receptive and friendly. Hundreds of people were tested during the festival.

I did get to enjoy free time during the festival of course. All the volunteers working the booth stayed in a Riad at the medina. This riad was called the “work house”, while a few doors down, some volunteers had rented another riad for those coming to enjoy the festival on their vacation time. This was called the “party house”. In the evenings, we had ample time to socialize and enjoy the concerts around the city. I didn’t attend many concerts because they were extremely crowded and mostly full of teenage Moroccan men high on glue and/or drunk. Lots of groping and pick pocketing was involved, as in any music festival around the world. During those three days, the small, usually calm medina was transformed into a city crammed with 400,000 blazed festival goers. I mostly enjoyed sitting around with friends, listening to music, sipping on wine, and eating a good home cooked meals by fellow volunteers.

First Month at Site

First Month at Post

I can’t believe it’s been nearly a month since I arrived at site. I’ve been keeping busy with getting to know the village and surrounding towns, going on long runs, meeting with the women’s association and work partners, and doing my best to adjust to the growing heat of summer. During the last half of May, I had my first meeting with the president of the communal council of Lalla Takerkouste. Naima and I went to present a project proposal provided by CDRT regarding the solar powered fruit drier. We went on a Sunday, souk day, because that’s when many people come into town and request to meet with the president. The proposal was written in French, and was actually a brief first draft sent by Abdelkader, (CDRT Director) presenting the project and listing the roles and responsibilities of each party: the beneficiary association, the commune, and CDRT. The commune is supposed to provide a locale for the machine, CDRT provides the material to build the machine and training for using it, and the association does the work. We wanted to present the proposal to see what the commune had to say about their ability to participate in the project.

Most of the meeting was conducted in Arabic so it went right over my head. But they sprinkled in some French when addressing me. We had to explain to the commune my role here in the community and why I was working with Naima’s association specifically. The president also asked me what kind of financial assistance I was bringing to Naima and I had to clarify that I was a human resource assigned to work with all interested and willing members of the commune, yet my main project was to work with CDRT and Naima’s association. There’s some underlying political tension between her association, the Kaid (sort of like the mayor), and the communal council. From what I’ve gathered, the commune and Kaid have a reputation for seizing projects from associations in order to take their money. However, they aren’t quite sure what to make of me and this fruit drier idea. They barely scanned the proposal and went straight to the section describing the commune’s responsibilities in the project and said they needed us to present more technical information and a budget before they could sign any type of project agreement. This seemed fair enough, so I arranged to meet with Larbi and Abdelkader at CDRT to go over that.

It took another two weeks to finally meet with Abdelkader at the CDRT office in Marrakech, and we spent most of it going over what model of solar powered fruit drier would be best for the space Naima has set aside for the project. That I know of, there are two other fruit driers in the country set up for use at the rural association level, and this may be the third one. Therefore, it’s a new concept and they’re still working out the kinks on the best functioning machine. Abdelkader has a background in engineering, while the paperwork and political side of the project is more Larbi’s specialty. In the coming weeks, we will hopefully tackle the signing of an agreement so we can move forward. At any rate, I feel as though I’m getting a good start on work, because I am partnered with an extremely motivated women’s association and an NGO armed with highly educated, resourceful members.

Weekend in Essaouira

On May 28, I went to spend my first weekend away from site to celebrate my CBT friend Martin’s birthday in Essaouira. Sami, Dave, and Cara from CBT all came up from the Tiznit region in the south, as well as a few health volunteers around Essaouira. We rented a Riad in the medina and spent a lovely two days catching up on site stories and exploring the city. Essaouira is right on the ocean, between Agadir and Casablanca. It’s a small city yet very popular with tourists. All the buildings are painted white with vibrant blue doors and shutters. Everything seems to follow this color scheme. Even the taxis are blue and white. The medina is smaller and calmer than the clamor and whirlwind aura of Marrakech. There are endless kiosks and tourist craft boutiques, but the shopkeepers aren’t nearly as aggressive at trying to lure you into their store. Essaouira has a strong presence of culture and art as well, with many beautiful crafts and paintings adorning the cafes and riads (typical medina houses). The best part of Essa is the constant cool breeze blowing in from the ocean. It supposedly doesn't get nearly as hot here in summer as the interior regions. We walked along the city ramparts, watched the sunset over the Atlantic, and roamed past the rows of blue boats at the marina.

After hearing about the other volunteers’ sites, I affirmed that I have once again been really lucky with my Peace Corps assignment. The fact that I speak French and can easily communicate with my counterparts is a huge help in getting things done. Some of the others live in tiny douars (small villages) of 10 houses with no kiosk and no transportation in or out. They have to walk up to 2 hours to find a taxi or get to their souk town. I have a city bus that stops by my douar, several kiosks that sell fruits and vegetables every day, a weekly souk, and I’m only 40 minutes ride from Marrakech.

I returned from my weekend away feeling recharged and ready to face another month of host family homestay.

Larbi’s Birthday

June 3^rd was my host father’s birthday. He turned 57 and had previously informed me he’d never celebrated a birthday in his life. Meanwile, Malika doesn’t even have a birthday. Her identification card states she was born in 1961; no day or month. So on June 3^rd, I bought some birthday candles and decided to bake Larbi a cake. I showed Malika how to make banana bread and she had her son Mehdi record every ingredient and step in Arabic so she could replicate it later. In the evening, we had a little family birthday party in the guest salon. Malika and I wore traditional dresses, Larbi put on a nice shirt, they bought a bottle of soda, and we lit the candles. Larbi was very grateful and beamed from ear to ear after blowing out the candles. It made my day to see him smile. The banana bread was a hit. Hicham ate about half of it himself.

House Hunting

One of my key assignments during the first two months is to find a house to rent for the next two years. Peace Corps set a maximum monthly rent allotment of 500-600DH (roughly $65). Most volunteers in the Marrakech region have trouble finding housing at that price, because so many Europeans live here and hike up the rent. Many end up getting approval for a higher cost. My host family arduously wanted me to stay with them for two years, which is something I could do if I wanted. But, the prospect of living up on the roof with little privacy and control over my schedule for the next two years wasn’t my cup of tea. Plus, in the last two weeks, the weather has been getting excruciatingly hot and the non-insulated cement room I call my bedroom turns into an outright inferno. I’ve even resorted to sleeping on a rug outside, under the stars, which is actually quite pleasant.

At first, Naima and Malika told me there weren’t really any good houses to rent in the douar, and all the available apartments were on the other side of the river, in the Arab side of town. Rent there is expensive, and I would be victim to much more harassment. All the young men and drunks come by the busload from Marrakech every weekend, along with tourists to rent 4-wheelers and party on the lakeshores. The berber douar is calmer, safer, and separate from the weekend hustle and bustle. Anyway, once I convinced my host family that I couldn’t survive the heat up on the roof and I needed my own house, they were more than happy to help me find one. Malika was paramount in getting the word out and before I knew it, I was visiting a couple different houses a day. All of them are in varying degrees of completion or degradation, but most consist of 2-3 rooms, a kitchen, a latrine, and a central cement courtyard. I finally found one that I really like, however it’s not quite finished. It’s got a vast courtyard, 3 rooms, and a kitchen with a sink and cement countertop. There’s a big man-sized hole in the wall of the courtyard leading into another abandoned, unfinished house. Some of the windows and doors haven’t been installed yet, but my favorite part is that there’s roof access. Iron rods stick out from everywhere up there, but there’s a magnificent, panoramic view of the village and the mountains. With Malika and Larbi’s help, I negotiated the rent at 600DH and the landlord agreed to get everything finished and secured by July 1^st. Today, June 5^th, the Volunteer warden for the Marrakech region came to do a ‘house check’ and approved the house. So now I have to cross my fingers that the work gets done and I can sign the rental agreement in the next couple weeks! I am so excited to live on my own and get settled in a house!

First Week at Post

After a few more days of administrative sessions and lots of socializing in between in Ouarzazate, the Health and Environment sector trainees wrapped up Pre-Service Training with a swearing-in ceremony on May 5^th. The ceremony took place at the Ouarzazate Palais de Congres, a lavish building with plush auditorium chairs and the ever-present photograph of the King. The Ouarzazate governor, the Director of Peace Corps Morocco, the US Ambassador, and three trainees gave speeches before we took the oath. It felt strange taking that oath again. It brought me back to the Benin swearing in ceremony in the field outside Lokossa, 5 years ago. All the new Volunteers there had sported matching fabric outfits for each sector. We’d sat through the ceremony in plastic chairs under makeshift open tents, with traditional musicians performing a dance and drum routine. Afterwards, we’d joined the mad dash to the snack and soda pavilions only to get out-run by the all the Beninese host families and find only crumbs leftover. In Morocco, we all pretty much wore Western business casual attire. Two people out of 69 trainees wore traditional outfits. Afterwards, we were ushered to the cocktail hall for Moroccan sweets, smoothies, and tea while we took group photos and chatted with the governor.

On Thursday, May 6^th, I took the bus to Marrakech with all my belongings. The winding roads across the Atlas Mountains proved challenging once again, as I fought off nausea and exhaustion from the previous night’s celebrations. To avoid dragging my obscenely heavy suitcase, backpack, and handbag across town, I opted for the more expensive route and bought out an entire bush taxi to take me to Malika and Larbi’s door in Amzour. Malika was waiting with open arms. I felt like I was home.

I’ve been keeping pretty busy since I’ve arrived. On Friday I went to see the Gendarmes in Amzmiz, 25 km south of Amzour. I presented myself and began the process to acquire a carte de sejour. Morocco does not require a Visa, but after three months, we must get one of these cards as proof of residence and to be able to go in and out of the country. That’s what I understand from it anyway. It’s a painstakingly long process involving loads of paperwork, passport photos, a 100DH fiscal stamp, the presence of a host family member with all their identification papers, and lots of waiting. Luckily for me, there are two Volunteers in Amzmiz, and the Gendarmes here are friendly, efficient, and accustomed to the process. I returned on Tuesday with more documents and spent about 4 hours with the commandant but managed to leave with a receipt document that will be my carte de sejour until the actual card comes in, inch’allah.

On Saturday, I spent an afternoon in Marrakech with Malika and Hicham. We took the bus in and visited Jema’l’Fna and the medina for a few hours. Malika went to all her customary wholesaler stores to buy gowns, sandals, and undergarments to resell at a tailor shop in Amzour. The vendors seem to know her well. She’s quite the businesswoman. The covered souk is full of textiles, crafts, spices, and so many people. I was burning up and dizzy from all the movement, yet I was happy to visit the city with a local. We walked around the square, munched on roasted peanuts, bought Hicham an ice cream cone, and then took the crowded bus back to the Barrage at 6:30. We all went to bed early that night.

On Sunday, an Italian tradesman who works with Naima’s association brought another order of baskets for the women to weave. His name is Nicola and he works with various associations in Morocco and India to fabricate textiles and re-sell them from Italy. He brings the raw material, shows the women how to make the product, then comes back to buy their work. This time, he brought 15 straw baskets and bags of turquoise sequins to be woven all around the outside of the baskets. One of the women, Aicha, already knows how to do the work, so she showed the others, including myself. I spent several hours weaving, which they greatly appreciated. It’s arduous and tough on the fingers. Nicola wants to pick up the baskets on Thursday already. Aicha gave me a basket to work on at home. I’ve been doing a little each day but I’m not even halfway done yet. Even if 15 women each took a basket home to work on, I don’t see how they could get it done in 4 days, with all the other household chores they accomplish each day.

I returned to Marrakech on Monday to meet two current Volunteers in the region for a day of shopping. Donielle is posted in Amzmiz, so I met her on the bus to the city, where we met Sara from Tahanaout. We went to the outskirts of the city to a brand new shopping mall and Carrefour supermarket. It reminded me of the Midtown mall in Miami. We definitely didn’t feel like we were in Africa. The shopping center opened in April so some stores aren’t open yet, but there’s a United Colors of Benetton, an imitation of Starbucks, a food court, a TGI Friday’s, swank restrooms, and a movie theater. The Carrefour has all the French brand names of groceries, great produce, a liquor store called La Cave, and an extensive electronics and household items section. I bought cheese to make quiche for my host family.

In the afternoon, Sara and Donielle headed home and I managed to set up a meeting with CDRT through my program manager, Mohssine. I met with my counterpart, Larbi Didoukane, at a café by the Science University on the northeast side of town. He took me to the CDRT office nearby, located in a quiet residential neighborhood of villas and bougainvilleas. The office is large and well-equipped, with several secretaries and interns busy at their computers. We had a meeting with the Director and the President and discussed my role in their capacity building project with partnered associations in the region. CDRT works with 100 associations in a vast area around Marrakech, reaching as far west as Essaouira. Because I am based in Lalla Takerkouste, they’d like me to first work with the women’s association there on the fruit drying machine project. Then, they’d like me to meet with all the partnered associations in the commune and identify the ones capable of carrying out a project, then help them realize it. We discussed the philosophy behind their work and this capacity building project in particular. Overall, it was a good meeting and I’m excited to see where it goes. They have some paperwork to do regarding the fruit drying machines, and then Abdelkader, the Director, would like me to go visit the manufacturer once they’ve identified who can build the machine. In the meantime, I have to explain to Naima that the machines won’t be ready by apricot season this year, which is in less than two weeks.

I think I’ll be moving about a lot with the position, namely to Marrakech. It’s a lot of transportation costs, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. I headed back to Amzour and chatted with Naima at the pharmacy before heading home at 8pm, thoroughly exhausted and famished. Malika had squash duwaz and coffee waiting for me. Duwaz is a common, simple and tasty dish here. It’s basically a mixture of vegetables and sometimes meat pressure cooked for a long time and served with bread.

On Tuesday, after visiting the gendarmes in Amzmiz, I went to the town’s weekly souk, which is absolutely enormous. I met with Donielle for a lunch of tajine at her house. She’s pretty much my post mate and I get along real well with her, l’Hamdulah. There’s another Volunteer there, who’s currently vacationing in the states. I’ll meet him in a few weeks.

Today, Wednesday, I finally baked a quiche for Malika and the family. She’d been eagerly anticipating that since I mentioned it during site visit. It definitely went better than the rice mush dinner in Asfalou. It was quite delicious even. Mehdi really like it and already requested that I make more. Maybe next time I’ll make tarte a la moutarde…

Last Week in Asfalou

We’ve finished up our last week of training in Asfalou. It’s been a long and rather boring week, as far as training sessions. We returned all pumped up from our site visits and after telling all our stories about the past week, we were extremely reluctant to sit through hours of class, learning language and whatever administrative information we still needed to cover. Our LCF was a bit more lenient though, and we were able to convince him to let us have loads of study time. I spent most of it swapping music and movies with other trainees or playing minesweeper. We went to souq in Ouarzazate on Sunday. It’s gigantic. I bought some gifts for my host family: head scarves, perfume, a shirt for my host dad, and a pair of bright green plastic house shoes for my host mom because the ones she has are 3 sizes too small. She’s got the same size feet as me! Imagine that, a Moroccan woman with boat feet too. I also got some coloring books for the kids.

On Wednesday, we went to the souq in Timdlin to buy ingredients for a host family party. We all enjoy going to souq because it’s a great way to practice bargaining, learn the price of things, and interact with vendors. Not to mention there’s a growing selection of fruit, and we all love going to a particular peanut vendor. He sells honey-coated peanuts, sesame flavored cookies, salted peanuts, golden raisins, and roasted chick-peas. The dried dates at souq are delicious as well. They come in a wide variety of qualities, and levels of moisture. A kilo of good quality dates cost less than $2.50.

On Wednesday night, I decided to cook an “American” dinner for the family. The night before, I had told Najat, Brahim, and Khadija that I would make some sort of rice dish. I went with a Chinese stir fry type theme and bought hot peppers at the souq. I was planning to cook for four people, but then the entire family showed up right at 7:30pm. There was Fatima and her husband, Zahra with her son and husband, Maryan, and Halima. The sisters were picking up Khadija so that they could all travel to Marrakech in the morning. They’re going to visit their brother Omar there. Anyway, the dinner party grew to eleven people. The pressure was on. All the women crowded in the kitchen to see what I was doing, and Najat had Brahim running back and forth from his boutique getting spices and ingredients for me. I was intimidated to cook in front of all these women. Their husbands were pressed to get back to Timdlin so they kept telling me to hurry. It turned into a bit of a fiasco. The rice was not of stir-frying quality, so it turned to mush. The hot peppers were hotter than I thought. I mixed the spicy vegetables with the rice mush and threw in some eggs. Najat and I heaped the sticky mound of food onto a big platter and brought it to the table of guests. It didn’t look very appetizing. Plus, Zahra had told me a couple weeks before that they always add orange or red food coloring to their dishes because in Morocco, food is not considered palatable unless it’s got an appetizing color. My rice mush was looking rather pale, with only green vegetables sprinkled in.

Anyway, everyone dug in with their spoons. It was tasty, yet extremely spicy. Khadija, who complains to Najat all the time about there being too much spice or salt at dinner, took one bite, gasped, and clamored for a glass of water. Everyone had the sniffles and huffed and puffed all through the meal, but they kept eating. The plate was scraped clean, l’Hamdullilah! Gou-Brahim said “we will always remember Felicie and her rice dinner now”. They told me numerous times it was delicious, but I still felt like I’d flopped the dinner. Anyway, I’m happy I did it. I’m sure they appreciated the gesture. I now know a bit more how Najat feels every day. She constantly has to cook and make tea at a moment’s notice. The number of guests can increase ten-fold in a minute and she is still expected to prepare a delicious meal in a timely fashion.

After dinner, Khadija and her daughters got ready to leave. They showered me with hugs and kisses. Khadija didn’t want to let go of me. She’s quite short next to me, so she buried her head in my chest and weeped for about a minute before joining the others in Grou-Brahim’s car. I was touched by how attached they were. I’m really going to miss this family.

Thursday we took our language proficiency interviews. It basically entailed 15 minutes of conversation with a Tashlhit language tester. Our minimum level requirement is Novice High, I scored Intermediate Low. I think I could have don’t better if I’d studied, but I was worn out and just figured I’d do fine with my French. I managed to communicate to the tester in Tash where I worked in the states before coming here, that I served in Peace Corps Benin doing environmental projects, and what I’ll be doing in my new site.

We had our host family party in Asfalou Friday afternoon. Our amazing cook Rqia made cakes and donuts for 50 people. I had told my host family about the party on Monday. On Wednesday, Najat said she wouldn’t be able to go because Brahim wouldn’t allow it. He doesn’t let her go anywhere that includes a lot of men. This upset me a bit, even though she just laughed it off. I asked Brahim if she could go and he said only if there were separate rooms for men and women. None of the other host families seemed to have made this request, but we decided to have the party at Rqia’s house and she said we could do two rooms. All of us were wondering if people were going to show up. Our family members seemed so nonchalant about the whole party idea. When we asked if they were coming, they shrugged and said “inch’allah”. But, sure enough, at 4pm, everyone was there, dressed up in jellabas and colorful scarves. My host mom was the last to arrive, after I’d begun to fear she was still not allowed to come despite the separate rooms. Rqia and her sister busily ran back and forth between the two guest rooms and we all sat in semi-awkward silence for a while. We loosened up little by little, and with the help of the kids to create distraction, we were all laughing and chatting by the end of the afternoon.

On Saturday, I got hennaed again by Najat’s sister. The women had been planning this all week. Apparently it’s a customary sending off procedure. She covered my hands and feet in beautiful designs. It looks really cool; I just don’t like the part where I have to sit for 3 hours and not touch anything until it dries. I sat with my hands in the air and my feet propped up on a pillow, nodding off in front of the TV. Najat took me to my room and had me lay down for a while until I could wash it off.

In the evening, Brahim invited me, our language trainer, and the other trainees to dinner and music at the hotel by the river. He’s taken me there several times to listen to berber singing and to hang out with his friends who run the place. We had a nice last evening in Asfalou. I cant believe it’s been two months already.

Lalla Takerkoust

Lalla Takerkoust, April 23, 2010.

I just spent an invigorating few days at my site. On Saturday morning, I took the bus along with several other trainees from Ouarzazate to Marrakech. It’s a long and difficult ride across the High Atlas but the views are absolutely spellbinding. Each bend in the road (and there are many) presents a better view than the last, though I had to keep my eyes closed much of the time to keep carsickness from getting the better of me. We arrived in Marrakech in early afternoon, and about 7 of us had lunch by the souk and walked to Jamè Lfouna, a large mosque in the center of the city. The square next to it is surrounded by shops, restaurants, and hotels, and bustles with snake charmers, monkeys, and tourists. I went to find the hotel recommended by Peace Corps to spend the night as the other trainees continued to Rabat or East into the mountains to their sites. I wound up not being able to get a room because my photocopied documents didn’t suffice, so after trying several hotels and huffing and puffing around town with my heavy backpack, I decided to head straight to Lalla Takerkoust.

The bush taxi ride barely took 45 minutes. I craned my neck eagerly, my eyes glued to the landscape as we neared the village. The land around Marrakech is very flat and I got excited as the terrain began to undulate more and more. In my opinion, the more hills there are, the more hiking opportunities. Lalla Takerkoust is split in half by a river and large dam built in 1938. One side is newer, populated by the families of the dam workers and now by miners, many of which are Arab. The older side is primarily berber, made up of the original inhabitants of the village that was displaced by the construction of the dam. The new side is more commercial and houses the weekly souk, post office, a pharmacy, internet cafes, and several shops, kiosks, and restaurants. The older side is much quieter, with just a couple kiosks. I am staying in old side of the village, known as Amzour. My post has just the right mixture; quaint, withdrawn from the city and surrounded by rolling hills and mountains, yet equipped with a variety of amenities to live comfortably.

Moroccan Host Family Number Two

My host family in Lalla Takerkoust is quite different from the Maali’s in Asfalou. My host father is a small, wiry man named Laarbi. He is 56 but looks 70, with a weathered, gray-bearded face, several missing teeth, and a worn down posture. He thankfully speaks very good French and I learned a great deal about him in the first couple days. He is a gardener in the orchards of a big mine 15km east of Lalla Takerkoust. He works 6 days a week from 7am to 3pm, and has had no holiday or vacation in the last 15 years. Up until 3 years ago, he used to walk over the hills to the mine and back every day: 30 km. He now takes a bus. His salary is quite meager, and he hasn’t managed to get a raise because there are so many unemployed people around seeking to work for less money. All this hard work and no savings to show for it has turned him into a rather cynical man, and he has a gruff demeanor but once you manage to see past it, he’s quite nice. His wife, Malika, is a stocky, gregarious woman of 50 with loads of pep. She speaks no French, which is perfect for me to learn Tash. The first couple days were tough as far as communication, but she is relentless and loves to talk, so I’m catching on. The Tashlhit spoken here is a little different from the Ouarzazate region. They understand all the words I use, but they have some different vocabulary so I have to re-learn many words.

Malika and Laarbi have two sons, Mehdi who is 15, and Hicham, who is 10. They both go to school and spend the majority of their time out of the house. Because Laarbi didn’t get married until he was 37, he is accustomed to doing many household chores himself. I was surprised to see him doing his laundry, making us tea at snack time, and even helping Malika cut up vegetables for dinner. Brahim Maali would never do that sort of thing. Malika is also a bold, outspoken woman who doesn’t hesitate to go out into the village. She is Vice President and Treasurer of the women’s association and sells clothes and jewelry in surrounding villages. As my community partner put it, “she’s not afraid of anyone”, which is rare in this culture for a woman I think. The combination of her social omnipresence and the lack of other females in the household makes for a sometimes messy home. Their house is new and only half finished, so much of it is bare cement walls and floors. The kitchen is well-equipped and usually littered with piles of accumulated dirty dishes and food scraps, but she’s a fantastic cook and showed me how to make breads and tajine and plans to show me much more. After the customary 2-3 days of being a guest, she let me help her wash dishes and cook.

My room is on the roof, with a splendid view and apt outdoor space for doing laundry. I had to coax them into letting me sleep in my own room because they were reluctant of leaving me alone at night. I spent two nights sleeping with Hicham and Malika but when they found me sleeping on a couch outside one morning to escape Malika’s monstrous snoring, they decided to clean up the dusty storage room on the roof for me. Laarbi chuckled for hours about it because he also can’t sleep in the same room as Malika and her snoring.

Amzour Women’s Association

The women’s association I will be working with is headed by Naima, my community partner. She’s 28, had has a History degree from the university in Agadir. She works at the village pharmacy 6 days a week and spends all her free time working on projects for the association. About 8 women, including my host mother Malika, are active members. They started the association less than a year ago with a larger group of women, but many dropped out as they lost interest or didn’t find the monetary benefits they’d expected. At any rate, the remaining members are extremely motivated and active. They work from a tiny loft donated by Naima’s father, making Moroccan pastries and breads to sell to shopkeepers in town. They are working on getting a larger workspace to get the fruit drier from CRDT NGO in Marrakech and hope to get some larger ovens to make bread en mass for local restaurants and guesthouses. Naima has many contacts from working at the pharmacy, as a large part of her clientele is local Europeans, regional shopkeepers, and tourists.

I helped the women make little anise-flavored croquettes in the evenings as they were working on an order for 8kg. They sell them at 15DH/kg, with a profit of about 6DH/kg (less than 1USD). The association also pays two young women/ teenagers to tutor elementary students in the evenings. Maybe I can get one of them to tutor me in Tash. Naima and I have discussed all sorts of potential projects we’d like to work on. I told them about my projects in Benin, and they really liked the recycled art with bottlecaps. Some of the kids started collecting caps for me already.

On Tuesday, Malika and I were invited for tea at a retired couple’s house. They’ve both been to Mecca and are referred to as L’Hej and L’Heja. Their son Jalil is an established artist specializing in recycled metal sculptures. He lives with his parents and has transformed the Moroccan villa into a veritable piece of art. The doors and walls of the courtyards are painted vibrant shades of blue, with ornate moldings and welded metal decorating every corner. L’Hej, is big supporter of Naima and put her in contact with CRDT. He heard of my recycled art ideas and took me to meet Jalil at his art shop in town. He indeed does remarkable work, which he’s exposed numerous times around Morocco. We drank tea in his office and discussed the possibility of working together. He also liked my bottlecap idea and wants to create a sculpture with them. He’s ready to work with me and let me learn some of his trade, which I’m super excited about!

Running in Lalla Takerkoust

I didn’t wait long to communicate to Naima and my host family that I love hiking and running. As advised by Peace Corps, it’s best to gage the level of conservatism in a locale before going out running on the first day. They were very receptive to the idea and supported by wish to run the Marrakech Marathon next year. Naima was excited to hear I was a runner and said she would accompany me in the mornings. She’d wanted to start but was scared to go by herself, especially because if the villagers saw her out and about alone in athletic gear they’d start making stories about rendezvous’ and promiscuity. We decided to meet at 6am, and sure enough, she was at my door at 6 sharp. I ran and she walked most of the way, but she loved it and diligently accompanied me every morning. Word got around and two other women joined us for an hour run/walk. Naima says at least five more have expressed interest in running with us! There’s a basketball court at the school fields that isn’t used much as the boys prefer soccer. Some girls play basketball during gym class. I told Malika’s 14 year old niece I liked basketball and would like to play with them sometime and she came back from school one day with a petition of 15 girls who want to start basketball training with me on Saturdays!

Site Announcement

Yesterday was the big day. We were given our post assignments for the next two years! Folders were passed around the room with our names and site names, most of which were quite difficult to pronounce. I have been assigned to the village of Lalla Takerkoust. It’s in the Al Houz region, only 30 km south of Marrakech. It’s a town of 3500, with a paved road running through it. There is a dam that generates electricity for the entire Marrakech region, and a large lake attracting many Marrakech families for weekend picnics on the shores.

I will be working with a women’s association who is supposedly extremely active and motivated. I hope at least one of the members resembles my host aunt Zahra! Their key project right now is to build a hybrid fruit drier (gas and solar powered) for local income generation. So I may have access to quality dried figs and apricots! My Peace Corps program manager also informed me I will be working on the NGO liaison pilot project very soon. I am to work with an NGO based in Marrakech called Centre de Developpement de la Region de Tensift (CDRT). It’s made of a team of physicians, engineers, and technicians who work on projects such as hybrid fruit driers in the region. So I will be traveling to Marrakech frequently to work with them. I am extremely excited about all this.

I am the first volunteer in this village. I will know much more in a week. Tomorrow I’m going to Marrakech to meet with a current PCV working on a similar project in another village, and we will travel together to Lalla Takerkoust on Sunday.

Earth Day Celebration Part Two. April 13, 2010

Our second day of celebrations proved to be just as successful as the first, except today all the participants were on time. At 2pm, the Zituna men came to pick up our 26 olive trees and we all headed to the school armed with paper, colored pencils, and markers for the kids. Brahim and a couple other men set to work digging holes for the trees around the schoolyard while we gathered the 40+ kids in the classroom to tell us what the environment is and then draw a picture of it. They were enthusiastic and put forth effort in the activity, which was gratifying to see. Because most of them had included trees in their drawings, we discussed why trees are important for us and the environment.

At 3pm, Zahara showed up as promised with the women’s group. She had had them draw pictures of the environment in her classroom, so while the children went outside to plant trees, we had the women tell us about their drawings. Many women had drawn flowers, their houses, the irrigation ditch, and the well. Water, or lack thereof, was the focal point of the drawings. Zahara was paramount in helping with the discussion. She has a way of keeping their attention focused, as they otherwise have a tendency to break off into a million simultaneous conversations. The women asked us to explain global warming and even asked why there was so much talk of melting ice caps on television. This was a poignant reminder of the power and impact of the media and particularly television in all corners of the world. We drew the classic greenhouse effect diagram and tried to explain that even though Asfalou doesn’t seem to have a pollution problem, not burning tires and plastic in the hamam and outdoors still plays a part in reducing the greenhouse effect.

Earth Day Celebration Part 1. April 12, 2010

So, Monday was day one of our Earth Day celebrations in Asfalou. As planned, the six of us plus Saïd walked to the school at 9am to meet the students, teachers, women’s group, and olive farmers’ association for a village trash pick-up. The schoolyard was empty except 5 young boys, who we assumed were there not to pick up trash but just out of curiosity as to what we were doing there. The two school teachers had made us believe on Friday morning that all the students would be there, along with the Zituna (olive tree association) men, and the women’s group. We came equipped with about 20 empty cement sacks and a poster displaying what trash items are ok to burn, and what should be buried instead. We’d drawn items such as sardine cans, plastic bottles, broken glass, and aluminum as non-burnable, and then cloth, paper, and cardboard as burnable.

The school director soon arrived from Ouarzazate, and my host dad Brahim came too. The director said the village was apparently not excited about this activity, unfortunately. The school only has class in the afternoon on Monday, which is why the schoolyard was empty. But, by 9:30, 3 more Zituna men arrived and about 25 kids appeared with gloves and rakes and shovels. Brahim and the school director were invaluable in helping us instruct the kids. We went over our poster, which had Arabic translations for our drawings, then we all spread out. A little squabble of 10 year old girls followed me. They’ve somehow decided I am their favorite trainee and whenever we go to the school or to meet with the women’s group, they appear at my side and fight one another on who gets to stand next to me and hold my hand. It was quite sweet at first, but it’s gotten a bit stifling at times. Regardless, the children here are adorable. We spent over an hour around the village collecting trash. More children showed up with shovels and wheelbarrows. It was quite an undertaking. We filled our bags and went to dump them in a big hole at the foot of the mountain behind the school. We each collected several bags full of rubbish, and probably the most unpleasant part was picking up used diapers. The stench at times was nauseating. There are a LOT of diapers.

The women’s group didn’t show up at the school until we were nearly done with the trash collection. They didn’t seem ready to collect trash but Zahara organized the group and sent them to a different side of the village to do their own trash pickup. We buried all the trash and concluded our efforts with tea and tajine at the school provided by my host family. It wound up being a pretty successful day. I think the fact that villagers saw us Americans and the school director (who doesn’t even live here) getting dirty collecting their trash (and diapers) hopefully made a decent impact.

Weekend Get-Away, April 10, 2010

We’re back in Ouarzazate for the weekend. This was one of our two weekends “off” during training and we all decided to come to Ouarzazate to be “American” for a day, essentially. We came here after our morning class on Saturday and spent the afternoon checking e-mail then went for a deliciously refreshing swim at another hotel. Afterwards, we had a cards and movie night in our hotel room. It was quite fantastic. The six people from my training group piled in the room, and we borrowed a movie projector from Peace Corps staff to watch it in ‘big screen’. We ate popcorn and vented about language classes and culture shock. Then we were all able to sleep in peacefully until 9 am without our host family members knocking on our door to inquire if we were still alive and well.

We had thought of spending the weekend in another town, Telouet, 45 km up river from Asfalou to do some hiking. Telouet is supposed to be a beautiful spot in the mountains with a kasbah built into the cliff-sides. But, the road turns to dirt after Asfalou and only tourist jeeps travel that road. Finding an affordable bush taxi and still having enough time to enjoy the place was merely impossible in a day and a half, so we opted for the familiarity and accessibility of Ouarzazate.

Last Sunday, I went for an epic walk with my host dad and Hassan, his 21 year old cousin. Hassan is going to law school in Marakech and was back in Asfalou for spring break, so we could converse a good deal in French. The three of us walked barefoot in the river for a few hours, then stopped at a village 15 km upriver from Asfalou. We were famished and sought a shopkeeper in the desolate village to sell us bread and sardines. I can’t get over how rural villages are so void of people. There are just mud houses and sand and emptiness. Where is everyone? Brahim says they’re either in their houses escaping the sun, or down by the river working in the wheat, barley, and olive plantations. After our snack, we followed the dusty road all the way back to Asfalou, arriving just before nightfall. We hitched a ride in the back of a pick-up for a couple kilometers, then followed the narrow and harrowing path alongside the irrigation ditch for the last mile. I have found my match for ‘hiking on the edge’. It turns out my host dad is as much of a dare-devil as I, if not more. He made me jump across crevices, walk along disintegrating cliff edges, and traverse the river over sketchy bridges made of rotted planks and cement bags. I had fleeting moments where I actually feared for my life… but we made it home safe and I was extremely satisfied with the thrill of the day. We’d walked a total of 27km!

Training this past week was hectic to say the least. We’ve been assigned the ambiguous task of organizing an Earth Day celebration with the village. So first we had to use our meager community assessment tools to identify partners to work with and to identify what the environmental concerns of the village are. This would probably not be so hard if we had a good knowledge of the language and a couple months to do it, but we just have one week and one person who can translate for us. I don’t really expect it to be a hugely successful project, as I understand that training is meant to give us some experience in community interaction so we know how to improve our approach when we do the “real thing” at our final post. But, we set out to do our best. We met with the local school, the women’s group, and the olive tree association of men to set up Earth Day celebration. The plan is to do a village-wide trash clean up Monday morning with the school, then we will do an informative session on what trash can be burned and what should instead be buried. On Tuesday afternoon, we will be going back to the school to plant olive trees in the schoolyard and have the students draw images of the environment and how to protect it. We are providing the trees and the drawing material. With Zahara’s help the women are hopefully going to attend as well.

Circumcisions and Extreme Exfoliation, March 27, 2010

On the weekend of March 27-28, Brahim’s sisters Maryam and Zahara invited me to a circumcision ceremony in their town, Timdlin. Their women’s association was sponsoring a mass circumcision for families in surrounding villages that lack the means to properly go through the ceremony. As soon as I finished class on Saturday, Brahim and I hailed a bush taxi to Timdlin.

Unfortunately, the ceremony and festivities were pretty much over by the time we arrived. A total of 76 boys age 1-3 were circumcised at the Timdlin hospital that morning. The association had set up tents outside the hospital and fed the families couscous for lunch. I was invited to share a platter of couscous with the cooks. They beckoned me to sit in the makeshift kitchen void of furniture. I sat on a metal stovetop on the floor and had 2 mouthfuls of food before Zahara took me to a tent where the women’s association had their lunch. I convinced them I’d eaten enough so they had me sit outside the dining circle. I got to watch a feeding frenzy of 13 wholesome women crowded around a couscous platter the size of a manhole cover. They babbled merrily in their high-pitched Berber dialect and hungrily ate fistfuls of couscous. Meanwhile, the desert wind was causing the tent flaps to billow violently, yet they didn’t seem worried about the tent flying away, as I did.

The mountain of food before them disappeared in minutes. There was a slight lull in the conversation and Zahara said something about going to the Hamam. They all sighed and nodded. They’d spent an exhausting two days preparing for this ceremony, and now a group of them were going to reward themselves with an afternoon at the Hamam. I of course was invited to partake. I wasn’t prepared to go to a Hamam but Zahara provided me with all the necessary items; we trekked from her house across town with buckets, clothes, soaps, and shower mats to the public bath house. There’s a women’s side and a men’s side of course; entrance is 7.5 dh, or just under 1 US dollar.

It turned out to be probably the most exhausting bath I’ve ever taken. We stripped to our undies and entered the steamy bowels of the hamam. First we lathered our hair with henna, then they mixed some waxy Moroccan soap with henna and I was instructed to cover myself in the brown goop. For the next 2 hours, we scrubbed every inch of our bodies through and through. The women laughed when I lightly passed the scrubbing glove over my arms and legs and started rinsing off. They told me to scrub until my skin turned red. Zahara scrubbed my back and it felt like my skin was getting stripped off. After all the scrubbing, we washed with regular soap, then we washed again with flower-scented soap before rinsing out the henna from our hair and shampooing it. Meanwhile, 2 of the women’s 4 year old boys ran naked around us dunking their heads in buckets and having water fights. The heat and steam was exhausting. We came out squeaky clean, drained, and so relaxed. My hands were like prunes. We put on several layers of sweats and head scarves and sprawled out on a rug for a cup of tea. Moroccans typically bathe like this once a week and don’t really shower any other day. They just do a quick cleanse before prayer. They asked me if we go to hamams in the states. I said only once in a while and it’s expensive. So these women considered themselves lucky.

During our bath, Brahim had gone to another village for a funeral and didn’t return before dark. So I had to stay at Maryam’s for the night. I fell asleep at 8:30 and didn’t wake up until 7am. I had desperately needed sleep as I caught a bad cold and had lost my voice a couple days before. I woke up feeling groggy with a stomach ache because I’d drunk water at the hamam. My moral on Sunday was kind of low. I was stuck at Maryam’s house for long hours in the morning while the women did housework and told me to just sit and watch tv. All I wanted was to go back to Asfalou and brush my teeth and be able to walk around freely in a familiar house. Finally, at noon we piled into Zahara’s husbands car and returned to the village. It’s spring break for schools so the house was full of people. It looked like it would be another afternoon of sitting around and drinking tea while people babbled at me in Tashlhit and threw their hands up when I didn’t catch on.

My host mom could tell I needed some quiet so she invited me to go do laundry in the “urti”. The urti is reminiscent of a green, blossoming garden of bean plants, almond trees, and flowers. We sat by the irrigation ditch and washed clothes (I mostly watched her doing it) while Hiba and Mohammed picked fragrant roses and blew petals out of their palms. At 5:30, Brahim and his niece Mayma invited me for a walk. We were just planning on going in the fields for a simple stroll but then I pointed at the mountain across the river and asked if we could go up. I was sort of joking but Brahim said ok, and up we went. It was absolutely beautiful. We walked through a red rocky canyon to a hidden water spring and up to the mountain top where there was a view of the river valley and the villages along it. The sun was setting when we reached the top, and we walked back down to Asfalou by the enchanting light of the full moon. My moral was soaring by the time I went to bed.

On Monday, the sky was clear of the typical dusty haze covering the valley so our CBT group decided to climb up another mountain during lunch time. We could see all the way to the snow-capped High Atlas to the East and West. I am definitely looking forward to more hiking once training is over.

Vocab in the Fields

On Monday morning of our second week at CBT our language trainer, Saïd, sent us out to the fields to walk around, find farmers, and practice our Tashlhit by telling them about our daily activities. It was a bit unnerving, interrupting a villager hard at work to say “Hi, my name is Felicie, I am American. I get up at 6 AM every day. I go to school Monday through Saturday from 8 am to 6pm. I am learning Tashlhit”. I could barely even say that without my notebook in front of me. I ran into 3 farmers and managed to introduce myself and tell them at whose house I was living, and they told me what crops were in their fields. I still had a long way to go with the language. In the afternoon we interviewed an 80 year old farmer in the fields about olive and almond trees. Our teacher translated this time, so we learned a great deal. I love those kinds of interactions. I think when I get to post I’ll be able to find someone who speaks enough French to help me in such interviews, inch’allah.

One night, I was practicing sentences with the verb “to like” and going over them with my host mom. I tried to tell her “I like coffee with milk (half milk, have coffee)” and she erupted in laughter. Turns out I had told her “I like coffee with baby donkeys”.

Family Visit to Ouarzazate, March 20, 2010

Our first weekend “OFF” was March 20-21. This meant after our Saturday morning sessions, we were allowed to travel to Ouarzazate or another town in the region overnight if we wanted. Weekends are generally meant to be spent with host family but sometimes it’s good to get away and be surrounded by English speaking friends. I nevertheless decided to stay with my family. Brahim and I were invited to visit his sister Fatima’s family in Ouarzazate. Her husband, Goubrahim, is the director of a middle school and they live with their 4 children in a house on the school grounds. We had a really nice time. Gou drove us around town with his two lovely daughters, Mayma and Houda who are each in high school. Houda is actually deaf and mute but is able to go to a special school. She will graduate next year!

Ouarzazate has been dubbed as the Hollywood of Africa, as many films have been filmed in the region; the first big movie being Lawrence of Arabia decades ago. We visited the Museum of Cinematography, which displays many of the studios used for films such as Apocalypse, Nativity, and many Egyptian and Christian films. There were the chariots used in Lawrence of Arabia, and a collection of all the filming machines and cameras used back in the 60s. It also turns out my host dad was an extra in Gladiator. Gladiator and Babel were both filmed in Ait Ben Haddou and Tamdahkte, the two villages on either side of our CBT. They’re each about 3 km away and I run to Tamdahkte every morning.

After the museum, we walked around Ouarzazate’s center square and the souk as night fell. We drank a “panache”, which in Morocco means mixed fruit smoothie. It was probably one of the most delicious beverages I’ve ever had. The drink consisted of 3 layers: strawberry, avocado, and orange. I never imagined avocado would be a good mix with other fruit, but I stand corrected.

The plan had been for Brahim and I to head back to Asfalou that day, but Fatima insisted we stay the night and all go back to Asfalou together in the morning. So we spent the evening at the kitchen table, Fatima serving us cup after cup of tea as Goubrahim gave me a detailed account of Morocco’s history and the Berbers. Then I amused the family as I read aloud my Tashlhit assignments; putting together sentences about my daily activities.

We returned to Asfalou around 11 am on Sunday. I helped Najat and her neighbor, Fatima (I have come to the conclusion that 75% of the women in Morocco are named Fatima) get water. The water taps have been cut for weeks now and everyone’s reserves are gone. We walked to the irrigation stream and hauled several buckets of murky water for the donkey, sheep, and cow, then more brown water for the house toilets. After, we went to the well for “clean” water. As the weeks go by, the irrigation ditch water is getting less brown (or maybe my perception of clear water has just changed with time), so I go fetch a couple buckets every morning after my run to take a bucket shower and wash my clothes.

That afternoon, the women decided to dress me up like a Berber bride with Najat’s clothes. They pulled out shimmering fabrics from a suitcase stowed deep in her closet and made me put them on, wrapped my head in a traditional head scarf with tassels, and finished with make-up: black eyeliner, penciled eyebrows, rouge, lipstick… the whole spiel. I felt pretty ridiculous, especially when they made me go outside to take pictures.

In the evening, Brahim and I went for a walk in the fields and up the hill overlooking the village. We then went to visit Cara’s host family. Her host father is Brahim’s cousin. Cara had gone with the others to Ouarzazate and was not back yet so I drank tea with her parents and learned how to weave a rug until her return. Cara’s host mother makes rugs out of recycled clothes and rags cut into strips. It’s definitely not the fine work of a Kashmiri silk rug, but it looks nice and I love the recycling concept. Maybe I’ll get myself a loom at post and make rugs in my spare time.