Wed, Nov 17, 2010.

Mabrouk L3id! Today is the day, many sheep die. I went for a run at 7 and returned an hour later to hear loud prayer chants resonating across the commune, announcing this holy day of the Great Feast. I hurried to be at Naima’s house by 9am, in time for the sacrifice. I found Naima, her mother, and her older sisters at home with the children. They were still in their pajamas, busily at work in the kitchen. I sat and joined them for tea and cookies while the men made their way back from the Mosque. Fatima was making pan bread. She’s the quietest of the sisters. She sat in a corner of the kitchen pretty much all day. Batoul and Naima talk so much it’s surprising to see their sister is so different. Malika is the workhorse among the sisters. She’s always cleaning and getting her hands dirty. She has two children, Jalila and FtaH. There were 3 of Naima’s brothers at the house. One of them I frequently see on his motorcycle around town. The two others are from Agadir. One has an adorable 4-year old girl named Hiba, and his wife is 8-months pregnant. The other brother is father to a gangly and sweet little 10 year old girl named Acima, a 12 year old boy who always hangs around FtaH, and a new baby boy named Rbi3. The grandfather of the family is Ahmed, husband of Rkoush. Together, they make an adorable family.
After the men had their breakfast, they prepared the courtyard for the sacrifice. The oldest nephew helped the three brothers and their father with the huge task. They had 3 sheep to kill, skin, and cut up. One of the rams, the first to be sacrificed, was one of the biggest sheep I’ve ever seen. He was about the size of a Shetland pony: Tall, strong, and majestic. He had large curled horns on his proud head. As I sat in the kitchen chatting with Batoul and cooing over little Rabi3, I saw one of the brothers in his black hooded cloak pulling the beast past the doorway. Another smaller ram lay tied against the wall, braying. The women said they don’t usually watch the sacrifice, so before I knew it, FtaH ran in to fetch my camera and take photos. I hurried out to watch. They’d already slit the throat of the biggest ram. He lay with his head barely attached, as a pool of bright red blood covered a large part of the courtyard. They were bleeding him. He was still alive and kicking. At one point, his body heaved as if the animal was taking a deep breath, and his severed esophagus made a gurgling sound. The nerves to his brain were also severed, so I kept reminding myself the animal couldn’t feel anything. His legs kicked violently as blood continued to squirt out of his neck.
The women kept calling me inside to have more tea and pancakes. I finally went in but later witnessed the second sacrifice. Now that there were two dead sheep in the courtyard, there was much work to be done. Malika and Naima helped sweep all the blood down the drain. The men hung up the sheep and skinned them after blowing air through a hole in its leg so the skin would detach more easily. They handed the women the organs to clean up. The liver and heart were brought to the kitchen to be boiled as they cleaned the stomach and intestines of all their contents and removed the lining of stomach fat. Later, the boiled liver was cut up into squares, wrapped in fat, and skewered for a noontime barbecue. Every house in Morocco was doing the same thing; preparing a lunch of organ and stomach fat kebabs. The first kebabs were brought to me to eat sprinkled with salt and cumin, wrapped in bread. I was uneasy about eating sheep liver but I had to try it. It didn’t taste too bad. The stomach fat didn’t go down as easy, but I swallowed it all slowly, getting away with eating just one.
Afterwards, as everyone busied themselves with cooking kebabs or cleaning all the organs, blood and bits of sheep, I ran home to grab hydrocortisone cream for Acima, who’d developed hives from new clothes purchased especially for the celebration. I ran into my neighbor the Haj on my way back out the door. He asked me to come say hello and have a kebab. I decided to accept his invitation despite some previous electricity pirating issues in the past. They are my new neighbors after all. They’d moved in to the new house the day before. The walls are all unpainted and some were missing the last coat of cement, but otherwise it’s looking good. He gave me a little tour and took me to the kitchen where his sister and wife were cooking kebabs. This family had sacrificed a smaller sheep and a goat. Goats have less cholesterol, so some families kill a smaller sheep plus a goat for those with cholesterol problems. We all ate a kebab together while the Haj’s two young children giggled excitedly and played peek-a-boo with me. Before long I thanked them and excused myself from the awkward silences, as Acima was waiting for my hydrocortisone cream. I went back to Naima’s, put the cream on her niece, and sat in the living room with the women a while before continuing to Malika’s house in early evening. She was boiling sheep meat in the kitchen while Larbi was cleaning up the last of the entrails of their sheep on the roof. They insisted I stay for dinner: a platter of steamed meat served with salt, cumin, and bread on the side. I ate a couple mouthfuls and announced that I was “meated-out” and getting heartburn from all the sheep. It wasn’t a lie. They know of my aversion to meat so they didn’t push it. We sat together a while chatting. Larbi told me this year was special because he’d been given en entire five days off work at the mine for the Eid. I joked that he’d better spend it eating sheep to fuel his frail body for the remainder of the year working non-stop.
At 8:30, Malika and I joined Naima and her nieces to go watch the musicians in the village center. We sat in the street among a gaggle of women and girls waiting for the music as the Boujloud and Tamashut ran around terrorizing youths. There were 3 Boujlouds and several Tamashuts. The Boujlouds dress in goat skins, covered head to toe in it. Every time they passed by, the unmistakable billy goat stench wafted in my face. I wouldn’t make it 5 minutes in those costumes. These young men spend an entire day running around the village making grunting noises and chasing people with sticks. From my understanding, the Tamashuts are supposed to resemble cats. They paint their skin black and stick cotton balls on their faces. They look more like they’ve been tarred and feathered. Naima explained that each day of the Eid, a different group of boys dress up in the costumes. The stronger, older boys are Boujlouds and the younger, weaker ones are tamashuts because the costume isn’t as constricting. Their aim is to drive out evil spirits from the village. They run around smacking people with sticks until they give them a dirham. I was smacked a couple of times.
The music began at 10pm or so and lasted a few hours. Young men and children entered the circle, shuffling and bouncing along with the Berber music. The girls and women remained seated and huddled on the outside, sporting their elegant new clothes and giggling secretively with their friends. Naima and I retired from the cold and hurried home to our beds by midnight. Thus ended my experience of this joyous Moroccan holiday.

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!