Okay, vacation's over.

So I've survived training, made it to my final site, and will finish homestay shortly (inshaAllah). I've also travelled by myself, found the fastest cybers, and managed to locate the most important punctuation symbols on the French keyboard.

Now, I should probably organize the ol' blog.

The plan is to update twice a week: once, with a description of what life is like and how things are going here in the Souss, and again, with a fun (or embarrassing, or tear-jerking, or whatever) anecdote from the week.

Or, maybe I'll include a recipie.
Or my newfound love of (insert my new favorite anything here).

On second thought, let's just say I'll post something... different.


Before this starts, however, there are a few things that you need to be caught up on:

Photos:
I'm sorry that I haven't posted any photos yet. I'm not a fan of taking photographs, and have been very, very, very lazy with this aspect of my travels. My sincerest apologies, and I promise to post photos this coming week.

Speaking of photos... the scarf:
The photos that I will eventually post are pretty telling of the times when I'm wearing a scarf, and the times when I'm not. The scarf has been both a blessing and a curse, and I'm still working out the details of wearing it without looking too Moroccan (not that there's anything wrong with this; however, I'm here to represent the States, and I can't effectively do that if everyone thinks I'm just a chic-y Moroccan that refuses to speak English or broken Tashlheet). Pass any appropriate judgement, but keep in mind that my work comes first, and that if wearing a scarf hinders my work here... the scarf has to go.

The site:
My. Site. Is. Beautiful.
I really can't stress this enough!

The land here is more of a khaki color than the red of Azilal, but it's still a beautiful neutral to help contrast the green of the argan and palm trees. I'm still not authorized to speak on argan, but I (again) suggest that you Google it. The oil is highly labor-intensive (and, for this reason, iغla bzzef-- very expensive) and is manufactured solely by women here in the south. It's got this amazing nutty flavor that makes it... oh, gosh, is it lunch time yet?

Anyhow, my dad emailed me the other day about the doors, and I have to say that Morocco has doors that would bring my dad -- or any door-lover, for that matter -- to his knees. They're typically either wooden or metal, and almost always with a gorgeous paint job. Morocco's flag is green and red, but their national color should be sky (Carolina) blue, as doors and windows are frequently painted this color. I will post pictures of the doors soon, I promise.

The animals:
Host family has cows, goats, sheep and stray cats that just keep coming back... but unlike my first homestay, these animals have their own little house to live in. The fresh dairy products are delightful, though, and the stray cats are only a nusiance when they get in to things at night when... uh... someone happens to leave the door to the kitchen/back room open. Oops.

The host family:
My host family is outstanding. My hostmom sometimes forgets that I don't yet speak Tashlheet, but that problem will be eradicated soon enough (I hope!). She also loves to give me the mealtime guilt trip of:

Nicole, you didn't eat anything. Why not? Was it not delicious? Am I not a good cook?

Yes, hostmom, you're a good cook. Look at how much I ate! In fact, I'm quite full from eating this much (insert food item here) in one sitting. Would I like some more? No, I'm quite full already, thank you. Oh, you're going to put more on my plate anyway? Well, I guess I can stomach a few more bites...

My hostdad works all the time, but when he's at home, he's always in a good mood. He's incredibly patient, and is willing to help out with anything I need -- even if what I need is just some quiet time.

Hostbrother and hostsister are wonderful, but rambunctious (is that even close to the proper spelling?!). Hostsister can't seem to understand how I can not understand Tashlheet, but she's catching on to the words I do know. Hostbrother does not stop talking, ever. He's energetic and loud and silly and fits the mold of a typical five-year-old... but he keeps me on my toes.

The Maruja story:
note: Maruja is pronounced muh-roo-ha, in case you're not familiar with Spanish phonetics.

Maruja, if I haven't already told you this, is the chocolate to eat in Morocco. It's imported from our friends to the North (hence the j that sounds like an h), and it's got bits of delicious Spanish almonds mixed into its milk chocolate-y goodness that make me swoon a little with every bite.

Anyhow, after arriving to site, I made it a point to stop by and meet my local shop owner (called a boot-hanut) to say hello and to let him know that I had arrived. I decided to purchase a Maruja and some Tide (pronounced teed) that afternoon, with which to consume and to do some laundry, respectively. This went off without a hitch, and enjoyed my Maruja some time later.

Last week, I woke up for breakfast with the ladies one morning, and a woman made a joke about me smoking. This was pretty strange breakfast conversation, as I've been here under a month (not to mention that I don't smoke). I thought I had heard things wrong, so I laughed along with the lady awkwardly, and went about my breakfast of bread, jam and warm milk flavored with Nescafé. I was about to head back to my room to study a bit when my mom stopped me, and pulled me down on the ponj for a talk.

That woman at breakfast heard that you bought cigarettes from the boot-hanut last week, she told me. I told her that you don't smoke, but you know that if you do, it'd be best to buy your cigarettes from the city down the street, not here in town.

Uh, what? were the only words I could squeak out, along with the appropriate facial expression. This had me baffled on both a linguistic and a personal level.

It turns out that some punk (that woman's son, perhaps) had heard me ask for a Maruja, and when he didn't recognize the name as a brand of chocolate but saw the red label, he jumped to the conclusion that I must've bought cigarettes.

The scandal-that-could've-been has since been cleared up, thankfully, and I will be sure to be more wary of my surroundings (animate or otherwise) when I next choose to indulge a craving.

SIDA Day:
Yesterday was my first legitimate project! I scooted down the road to a friend's site to help out with her SIDA (AIDS) Day activity in her college. There were seven of us, total, that came and helped, and we had a fabulous girls' night in afterwards, complete with a trip to souq, a spaghetti dinner with garlic bread, and an episode of American Idol and Friends! And don't even get me started on the blueberry pancakes from this morning... I'm tearing up just thinking about how beautiful they are. But, to finish off the lovely girls' night, the bus I caught took the long way home, driving through the beautiful Ameln Valley. Talk about a pleasant surprise! The mountains here are incredible. Again, pictures soon.

Alright, friends, safi. Baraka. I'm done! You're now fully caught up on my life, and when we next speak, I will be sure to offer you a few visuals to go with my words. Until then, be careful about your chocolate purchases, and make sure to make a big deal about how much you've eaten, so as not to offend the chef.