Is your motherland having an election today?

The title of this post is actually part of a text that I received a few days ago. And while the text was referring to the elections held in The Old Country -- Lebanon -- there also happened to be a parade going on in the street below my apartment, in honor of the upcoming Moroccan elections on Friday. It was my first Moroccan parade, and while it was small and contained no marching band, it was still quite an experience.

I've been handed many a flyer in the past few days, but my repulsion for politics, coupled with the fact that I am not a citizen of Morocco, means that this week I'll have to wallflower. The schools, neddi, and other associaton- and commune-run activites have been slowed down or stopped completely for the week, as all energies and resources are going toward the inti7abat. I'm interested in the issues (which include a topic near and dear to my heart: transportation), but I'm advised by PC to remain politically-unaffiliated, both domestically and, uh... internationally.

It's been interesting to experience, so far, as the buzz of the election is tangible wherever you go. This morning, my taxi driver had flyers (or is it fliers?) for a candidate on the dashboard. Last night, my brother and sister entertained themselves for hours with the 40-something flyers they had collected earlier that day. While these kids are five and eight, they can sense that this is an exciting time for the community. It'll be exciting to see what happens after Friday!

On a much less exciting note, I paid rent on my apartment for the first time yesterday, and will pay my electric bill after finishing this post. Nothing to write home about, but it does make me feel a bit more like I am indeed a member of the community, and not just an extended houseguest who insists on trying to speak Berber.

Beeping: A Moroccan Mystery

I like to consider myself to be pretty with-it when it comes to techy stuff, but I must admit that I cannot wrap my mind around the idea of beeping.

Beeping, for those that don't know, is pretty much the Moroccan equivalent to the text message. Texting is popular here, as well as in the States, but beeping is free. And in the pre-pay world, free is good.

Wait -- sorry, let me back up farther.

The large majority of cell phones in Morocco are pre-paid, meaning that both calls and texts cost money. Incoming anything is free, but outgoing is not. There are no minutes included, or free nights and weekends, or any of that jazz. There is also no unlimited texting, which breaks my heart (and occasionally, my bank). However, when you make a phone call and the other person doesn't pick up, that phone call is free (as there was no connection).

This -- calling somone and hanging up before the other party picks up -- is called beeping. It's quite popular here in both the Moroccan and PCV community, but I cannot get the hang of it. A beep can mean a number of things, I'm told, like the following:

-"I'm thinking of you and wanted to say hello."
-"Call me, I have to talk to you but I can't afford it."
-"I'm here/there/where we agreed to meet."
-"Are you coming?"
-"I'm waiting for you."

While I am a fan of options, I am a bigger fan of clear styles of communication. And for me, the beep isn't sufficient. I will now provide you two examples, along with my thoughts on the situation, to show you how your phone ringing once and hanging up can actually mean a number of things.

1. I was standing by my taxi tree this morning, waiting for a taxi into my souq town (what else would one be waiting for, next to the taxi tree?) where I was going to meet Hinde and Fadma, from way back in CBT, for a weekend of fun in my site. I was then beeped by Hinde.

Does this beep mean that they've arrived in my souqtown?
Or that they're just leaving their souq town?
Or that Hinde wants me to call her back because she can't come out this weekend but is low on minutes?

Maybe I have an overactive imagination? Let me give another example:

2. Approximately five days ago, I had a short text conversation with a Moroccan friend of mine. We volleyed back and forth about three times each, and very obviously ended the conversation. Then, this friend beeps me.

Have a good night?
I'm still thinking about you, even though we just said good night five minutes ago?
I have something more to say but it to be a surprise?!

I confessed my ignorance of the beep to a fellow PCV after situation number 2 happened, and to my relief, I found another confused party.

That makes two of us.

L-mohim iga...

Mohim: the most important thing; that which takes presidence; the matter you should really concern yourself with right now.

I'm not at all political, but this is important.

Really important.

Like, mohim.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8082862.stm

These are a few of my favorite... wait, what time is it again?

First things first:

For the second time in recent memory, Morocco has decided to observe an abbreviated Daylight Savings Time, starting yesterday and ending whenever Ramadan begins this summer, which will be sometime in the middle of August. This transition is awkward in the cities, but in my little village, things are all a-muck with questions of new time versus old time. The little old Berber ladies that I knit and drink tea with are either with it, or very much without. As in the language of Tashlheit, there is no grey area when it comes to time. You are either on old time or new time.

Sa3a ljdeed, or new time = GMT + 1 = 5 hours ahead of EST
Sa3a tqdeem, or old time = GMT = 4 hours ahead of EST

For the record, I plan on living my life according to new time... even though my host family is running on old time. This results in me losing a bit of sleep (both at night and during my siesta, as my afternoons run on new time), but I'm a big girl and I can deal with being exhausted for one more month.

Second things next:

I am asked a lot of questions here in Morocco, regarding everything from what I'm wearing to when I'm planning to marry someone's son. While I am not yet funny in Tashlheit, I do love to internally laugh when I hear these. Here are some of my favorites:

-Why do you wear your glasses? To be fashionable?
-Are you married? Why not? Do you want to marry a Moroccan? Do you want to marry someone from this village?
-Do you do gymnastics? Can you do the splits? Why not?
-How did you get so skinny?
note: this one's funny because I've actually gained weight since arriving here.
-Do you do sport? Should I do sport to get skinny?
-Do you think (insert a person's name here) is difficult? C'mon, you can tell me the truth!
-Are you fasting? Is Islam difficult? Do you like Islam? Do you pray?
-Is Obama good? Better than George Bush? Do you like George Bush? Do you know Obama?
-Where are you from? No, where are you really from? Where's your family from?
-Do you have (insert any common noun here, from sheep to taxis) in America?

Ahh, if only I could express sarcasm in Tashlheit...

I was never much for rollercoasters, but...

This week has been an emotional one.

The volunteer I replaced left on Monday, and things went downhill briefly after that. My hostmom doesn't handle stress in constructive ways, and I took an emotional blow that afternoon, when she voiced her opinion that I will not, ever, understand Tashlheit.

That was, far and away, my lowest point in country thus far.

Things were slowly improving on Tuesday night, and when word of our consolidation exercise arrived on Wednesday morning, I was ready again to face the world.

If things go awry while we're in-country, the Peace Corps has established Consolidation Points for volunteers. We got official notice of a consolidation drill on Wednesday morning, and it turned out to be a refreshing overnight stay in the next province over from mine. It really served to recharge my batteries and remind me that I am making great strides in, well, everything... and I'm very grateful that it came when it did.

Also, I happened to make a lot of friends on that trip, receiving multiple phone numbers and business cards from people that wanted to have me over for tea after I returned home. I was surprised at how social a taxi ride can be, but I shouldn't be; Morocco is known for its hospitality.

Speaking of, in the middle writing this post at my favorite cyber, I was invited to have lunch at a friend's house before heading to the dar shebab (youth center)... so I must run.

Ar imik, inshaAllah!

FYI: a short life update.

Just to keep you posted...

Re: Housing
The contract is signed, the house stuff has been purchased, and I've made that great wipe-my-hands-clean motion that goes along with the word safi -- you guessed it, I've got a house!

(Actually, it's an apartment. But you catch my drift.)

It's the same apartment that the volunteer before me used during her stay, which means that I don't have to move anything. It'll still be six weeks before I will live there full-time, but having everything secured and already there is quite the load off of my shoulders. I'm trying not to over-celebrate, as I'm anticipating another headache to take the place of moving... but it really is great to know that after homestay, the focus will remain on my integration into the community, instead of making sure that I have a plate on which to eat, a ponj on which to sleep, and a means with which to get both of those things home from the store.

Re: Bugs
Since my last post, I have recovered from the horror that was My First Scorpion, though I will be keeping my shoes in freezer-sized Zip-Loc bags from now on. Also, to answer your questions, we do indeed have camel spiders, though I have yet to see one. I've Wikipedia-ed the creatures, but am too creeped out proceed farther with research. Apparently I have more of a bug 'thing' than I thought.

Re: Pictures
Finally, after hours at the cybercafé trying to do so... preliminary pictures of everything thus far are officially posted. Enjoy!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/nicoleinmorocco

What, did the remote control fall down?

This week, I had planned on writing about how living in a foreign culture and a foreign language serves to both educate and humble. I wanted to share how I've had to learn how not to participate in conversations, how to rely on my gut instinct regarding individuals and situations, and how things that would be ordinary and mundane at home are either exhilarating or terrifying here.

That post has to wait, however, because I cannot write anything like that before getting this out into the open:

I saw my first live scorpion last night, and I was freaked the (explicit) out. I have chills just typing about this, in fact.

The situation played as such: I was reading some Che in the family room, while host mom, brother and sister were watching cartoons (something Japanese, dubbed into Arabic, on a channel with an English name). Some movement caught my eye by the television, and wouldn't you know... a big, black scorpion was scampering around on the floor, looking a bit lost and frantic. As I've been in this situation many times since coming to this country, I should've been a bit more understanding of this poor guy. He was probably just looking for a familiar face, or some dinner, or somewhere to rest his stinger for a while.

Instead, I freaked out -- well, as effectively as one can when one only has the linguistic capacity of a three-year-old.

I get flustered when I get, uh, flustered (read: when I'm paralyzed with fear), and I forgot how to speak momentarily. I Francafied the word scorpion because I couldn't recall it in Tashlheit, but hostmom didn't get it.

What, did the remote control fall? she asked me.

OOHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, shoof! SHOOF! I returned. No, look! LOOK!

She saw it finally, announced it as a scorpion, and amidst the shouting of my siblings, killed the sucker with her shoe. Safi, baraka, the emergency was over.

Oho, my friends, oho. <-- that's the Tashlheit word for no.

Host mom felt that I needed to be educated, so she swept the carcass (which had to be between 4 and 5 inches long) up onto an empty bag of something sugary, and lovingingly shoved it in my face to show me where the stinger was. Even after I nodded vigorously that I understood and the poor sucker was thrown out the second-story window, I was not relieved or comforted.

I love horror movies and haunted houses and the like, and am really only bothered by my irrational fear of falling to my death. However, after all of this sharing, I must confess: this sucker kept me up all night. I tossed and turned thinking about this little guy, worrying if one of his brothers could get under my mosquito net, and tried to decide if I should risk getting out of bed to tuck my mosquito net under my mattress or not.

Folks, I haven't been that scared since I went on the Raptor at Cedar Point in the eleventh grade.

Conclusion:
I know that the bigger the scorpion is, the less harmful he is. I also know that I live in Morocco, and that this is something I will have to deal with this for the next two years. And I promise that I will return to walking around barefoot with confidence... in a few days.

P.S. Pictures are on my USB key and ready to upload... but they have to take a backseat to a potential housing crisis regarding my apartment for after my homestay is up. I will let you know when they're posted.

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.

One-week anniversary / Happy Mother's Day

First of all, happy Mother's Day, mom!

Secondly, it's been a week and two days since I've gotten to my site. People are starting to recognize me, and I even have a few legitimate friends! Everything is going slowly, however, which is to be expected.

I'm back to living with another host family, as I did during training. My second family is just as warm as my first, although they're quite different. My host sister is 8, and my host brother is 5... so you can imagine how the music videos and constant Z Aflam Hindi movies have changed over to American cartoons dubbed (or subtitled) into Arabic. I watched Finding Nemo in Arabic the other evening, for example, and was graced with an episode of Barney this morning. The Disney Channel is big here, and my host sister is a big fan of Kim Possible, Hanana Montana and That's So Raven. Who'd've thunk?

My family, however, is really pretty close to my own back in the States. My brother and sister are three years apart in age, just like me and my brother. My host dad even resembles my real dad! He also plays guitar and has a band that he jams with, so that helps with the comparisons...

My mom is the president of an Argan Oil Cooperative-y kind of deal, though their paperwork is still being processed before they can become an official Cooperative. The details of that are a bit foggy, so I'll update that chapter later. She's a feisty lady though, and I think that having me around -- someone with whom she can engage in some girl-talk, even if I can't really respond -- is a relief for her from the cartoons and tantrums that come along with being five and eight years old. I can't wait to really get to talk to her once my language skills improve, inshaAllah.

On the technical side of things, everything's been relatively painless so far. My paperwork is being filed, so I won't get kicked out of the country (is it too soon to make that reference?), and I have a new mailing address, and will have a Tashlheet and French tutor this week, iA. All I need to do now is adjust to the heat and the altitude (it's actually been really rough on my body), and I should be all set. One week down, 103 weeks left. :)

And I thought life was a whirlwind before...

I made it, folks!

I arrived at* my final site -- in the beauuuuuutiful province of Tiznit -- about 2.5 days ago, and I have not stopped moving since. Ive been on a picnic, hiked up the Anti-Atlas Mountains, have had meetings with the mayor, the genderarmes and the Ministry of Health, and Im about ready to drop dead of exhaustion.

Lucikly, things will calm down by the end of this week. After my papers are filed and everyones seen my face, I can stop running errands and start getting to know people, the language and the community itself.

Im running short on time, but as Ive been reunited with my personal computer, Ill be sure to start drafting posts of substance (and proper grammar!) as soon as possible. Until then, please continue being patient with me!


*At? In? To? Im slowly forgetting how to speak English...