Un Petit Update

I know that I owe you guys an update about my recent vacation to the glorious (albeit soul-less) city of Agadir, and that will come on Wednesday, incha'Allah. For today, since I'm here in my souq town against my will (I had to come to send in paperwork for an upcoming training session), let me give you a quick life update. The following bullets are in no particular order, so bear with me.

1. It's Ramadan right now, if you didn't read the top of the page, and the Ramadan fast is intense. A month of no food, water, sex, smoking, other miscellaneous naughty vices or bad thoughts from sun-up (that's around 4:30a at this time of year) to sun-down (about 7:15p). When you throw in altitude and the absurd heat of August in Morocco, it's even more of a challenge.

And, just to make things interesting, I've come down with a headcold. You know, because I thought it'd be a fun challenge to take on.

(There's no cold medicine allowed during fasting, friends.)

Other than my nose running constantly and feeling perpetually disgusting, I'm loving Ramadan so far. It's a time of family and community and charity, and those sentiments are palpable wherever you go (except when you're buying produce -- more on that coming up soon).

2. My running water's been regulated to five hours every other day, which is SO EXCITING. It's so nice to be able to budget your water consumption, let me tell you. Before Ramadan started, the water was on haphazardly -- once every four days, during some weeks. I'm thankful to have running water in general, but regular running water is a true luxury, even if it's only a few hours a week.

Also, if you were curious, my water comes from a well with an electric pump (also an amazing luxury), and I treat it with bleach or by boiling it. My mom my water situation interesting, so I thought I'd share with the whole class.

3. My body insists on napping in the afternoons while I'm fasting. While I haven't dreamt much since coming to Morocco, my mid-fast naps have provided some interesting dreams. I've dreamt twice that my brother came back to visit, once with his children (which do not exist right now, to my knowledge) (they were also blonde and spoke only Spanish. Matt, tienes algo que contarme?). I also dreamt that I was picking up a pizza from a restaurant that my family frequents back home, and I spoke Tashlheit with the guy behind the counter. He responded in Tash, no problem. And then, when he turned to another customer and spoke flawless American English, I was shocked that he spoke English so well! In the dream, even though I was in America, I didn't think that English would get me very far. This leads me to believe that I'm going to be spectacularly awkward when I come home.

4. August is a terrible month for produce in my part of the country. Tomatoes, especially, have suffered greatly. A kilo went from 2 dirhams (henceforth referred to as MAD) to 10 MAD in three weeks! I know that MAD probably doesn't mean anything to those of you back home (1 USD = approximately 8 MAD if you must know), but trust me, it's a price change worth griping about. Everyone around here talks to me about the tomatoes. Wa ifla7n, you should know that the Berber ladies and I down here are not happy about this.

5. Speaking of food, my newest Favorite Summer Treat is Berber Iced Coffee. The recipie is technically challenging and requires a great deal of concentration (I'm ranking it at the intermediate-mid level), but I'll include it for those that feel like they're up to the challenge.

Berber Iced Coffee

note: Don't tell my hostmom about this! Berbers, from what I've seen, do not consume tea or coffee cold and have no idea why anyone would ever think to do so.

Ingredients:

Instant coffee, preferrably Nescafé
Milk (ideally from your own cow, but packaged milk will suffice if you're in a pinch)
Sugar (vanilla sugar if you're feeling sassy)
A few drops of vanilla, almond or hazelnut extract (again, if you're in the mood)
One mug
One spoon or similar mixing instrument

Combine Nescafe, milk and sugar and stir well, until a pleasant froth appears. Mix in extract if you're so inclined, and then pop the mug in the freezer until the mixture's at the desired texture. Consume at will.

6. After a short break, I'm back to the what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life-after-this-is-over dilemma. The list has been narrowed down considerably since I last went through this, but this is still a huge decision to make. More on this later.

7. Time is still flying. Literally, I do not know where this summer went. My brother moved back to school yesterday, and tomorrow is September! L3id (or L'Eid, or Eid, however you want to transliterate it), celebrating the end of Ramadan, is right around the corner. Then comes in-service training (IST), like, three hours later, and then before I have time to catch my breath, I'll have COSed, gotten my PhD, married, and my brother will have those blonde Spanish-speaking children!

8. Save the Date: Michigan Football starts 5 September. GO BLUE!

Wherever you go...

...go Blue!

Now's the time of year when I start to really, really crave Michigan football. The flag's been hung, the hoodie's washed and ready to wear, and I've even got a source for football games should the longing for the Maize and Blue start to interfere with my work. The source is two days' travel away, but for a glimpse of the boys and the band, it'd be worth it.

So, friends, while I'm away at the beach this weekend (and breaking the fast with Pizza Hut's lftur meal), I leave you with this clip and the schedule to help get you as excited as I am about the pending season. If you're jones-ing for more, don't forget about mgoblog. Tbarkallah, he's good at what he does.

Moussems and civic holidays and fasting, oh my!

After returning home from training on Monday of last week, life has been a blur of activity.

This week, it turns out, will be no different.

I'll be about 70km down the road working at a health booth for a local festival on Monday and Tuesday, and then for Thursday and Friday's civic holidays, I'll be at the beach for a few days of sun, scarves and getting yelled at for wearing a burquini in the water.

(I don't actually own a hijabi swimsuit, but if I did, I'd wear it proudly in France)

Then, friends, Friday/Saturday starts Ramadan! Posting will be either very limited or much more regular, as I'm limiting myself to once a week at the internet. It's a month of spiritual and self-reflection (and maybe a quick trip up to Rabat), and I plan on doing that from the comfort of my food-free abode. More details of the Moroccan Ramadan experience will come as we get deeper into the month.

Until then... hang on to your hats!

PPST - just another outstanding Peace Corps acronym.

First things first: I will be getting wireless modem for my house (and anywhere else I choose to drag my computer) in three months or less. A COSing volunteer (COS stands for 'close of service') is selling hers when she leaves in November, so if my search for a new laptop doesn't pan out before then, I will still have the internet by the middle of November. I look forward to Skyping you all from the privacy of my apartment.

Alright, back to the actual point of this update: my two-week stint up North, for Post Pre-Service Training. Bad name, but a successful training overall.

We were in a city called Azrou, up in the Fez/Meknes area of the country. It's a full two days of travel for me to get there (an 11-hour bus ride and then an 8-hour train ride, if you were curious), but it was totally worth it. The thing that struck me the most about the region, other than the lack of my Berber dialect being spoken up there, is the unbridled carnal longing I felt for trees.

Yes, I said trees. Green, leafy, shade-providing, oxygen-producing climb-able trees. Growing up in Michigan, I took them for granted. Now that I'm surrounded only by harsh-looking argan trees and Moroccan tumbleweed, I've come to appreciate them even more. Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder. I even considered writing a haiku for this post.

Anyhow, our hotel was zween bzef (that's code for really, really nice), with western toilets, private bathrooms in each room and balconies! I love reading on a balcony, I must admit. Any book I read is always better on a balcony for some reason. But, I digress.

The training was two weeks long and focused on working through our project framework: three objectives, broken down into three parts each, describing the long-term goals of the Rural Community Health program here in Morocco. The first objective focuses on education of issues surrounding maternal and child health, HIV/AIDS and basic personal hygiene (washing hands, brushing teeth, etc). The second revolves around the training of Moroccans in leadership positions, whether they be presidents of associations, nurses, teachers or qablas (traditional birth attendants). The third goal is what I'll be focusing on for my main project, which is sanitation, solid and liquid waste managment and water treatment. It's a dirty job, but I wasn't expecting the fabulous life anyway. Having a cell phone still blows me away sometimes, let alone having the option of getting satellite TV and wireless internet in my house.

Our daily schedule was pretty full, with two technical sessions and a language session daily. Along with the technical information, however, was the opportunity to really get to know and connect better with the members of our training group. They're the ones that we do everything with (pre-service training, post pre-service training, in-service training, mid-service medical exams... you get the idea), and the volunteers that we know the best outside of our province. While we lost a member of our stage to a medical evacuation (after struggling for months with a parasite, he was found to have a blood clot in his lung), our time together proved productive and relatively drama-free.

Med evacs, by the way, are different than being medically separated. A medical evacuation means being sent back to the States (or the nearest modern medical facility available, in cases of an extreme emergency) to receive treatment. A volunteer is given forty-five days to recover and return to country to continue service. A medical separation, on the other hand, is exactly what it sounds like.

Joe, if you're reading this, I'm still pissed at you for leaving. Quit being a pansy and get back here!

(Seriously though, we all miss you so much. Take care of yourself.)

After training was over, we parted ways toward our respective homes once again. While we're meeting up again in three months' time for IST (in-service training), it was a bittersweet goodbye.

I especially miss the trees.

On an unrelated note, I'm realizing more and more that there's no exaggeration in other volunteers' stories of time flying by here. Especially when compared to things happening in America, my head spins with how fast time is moving around me. For example, I bought some postcards before training, and wanted to send one to Wolverine Summer Camps, which was my summer home for the three summers previous to my service. I sat down to write it and realized that with their last camp finishing up at the beginning of August, anything I sent wouldn't arrive before they closed up shop. How did I miss an entire Camps season without sending a postcard? That really stopped me in my tracks. Also, thinking of Ramadan starting in two weeks, and the school year / college football season starting up next month really makes me feel like I'm falling behind... in life.

It also makes me ramble... sorry.

But for now, that's that. I'm safely back home and about to head to the souq, or weekly market, to grab groceries and start cooking my own meals again.

Anything to help get my mind off of those trees... /sniffle

It took a pair of Kiwis to make me miss America.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2M3LqJwisvE
Training is going well so far, and I promise that I'll update about that soon... early next week, incha'Allah. Until then, please enjoy the provided FOTC. They have nothing to do with my service or Morocco or Islam or anything, really, but they -- along with the email that the link came with -- made me smile. Thank you, Gervis!


As for something of substance, let's talk Ramadan.

Ramadan, the holiest month of the Islamic calendar, is quickly approaching. Here're a few resources to get you excited (or at least educated) about the holiday season, and a quick exchange with my brother regarding Ramadan and the use of the ubiquitous phrase incha'Allah.

http://french.about.com/library/travel/bl-ma-ramadan.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramadan
http://www.islamicity.com/ramadan/


Envoyé jeudi à 18:41
moi: yeah, im emailing mom and dad about ramadan right now in fact
Matthew: oh? when does it start again?
moi: 22 august, inchaallah
Matthew: is that really an inshallah moment - i mean, it wouldn't like... not start, eh?

Incha'Allah, or 'God willing', is used here in Morocco for anything that's going to happen in the future. In this fatalistic culture, it's used so frequently that it takes on an almost mechanical quality in its usage. The idea of invoking God's name doesn't change ('God phrases' are a big part of Islamic culture), but incha'Allah becomes automatic, like a 'thank you' after a post-sneeze 'bless you.' Nothing is guaranteed in a fatalistic culture, and when you mix fatalism with Islam, you get incha'Allah (which, again, is spelled with a ch here).

To be perfectly honest, it feels awkward when one mentions an event in the future without someone else following up with an incha'Allah. It's like a linguistic cliffhanger, or an unresolved chord progression. Painful to the ears, really.

So, Matthew, to answer your question: yes, that was indeed an incha'Allah moment.

Travels!

Dear friends and loyal readers (I like to think that I have a few),

I've packed, said my bsalamas and received my trek salamas in return. For the next two-ish weeks I'll be away from my tiggmi in the Souss and traveling to and around Northern Morocco for technical training. I'm excited to get out of the intense heat and to see other (cooler) parts of Morocco (where, by the way, they don't speak Tashlheit -- que dommage!), but I have no idea what's planned for this training, so I can't speak on when I'll get around to posting next.

So, just like waaaaay back during my first training: if I fall off the face of the earth for a few weeks, don't worry too much. I'll be fine. I will return home and on the old schedule by... oh, let's say Ramadan (the middle of August), incha'Allah.

Hope you all are staying cool!


P.S. Yes, here we spell incha'Allah with a ch instead of the American sh. When texting, things get a bit weird: chukran, chebab, etc. The white people's language here is French, not English. If it pains you to look, avert your eyes.

P.P.S. I'm in Tiznit right now, at a cybercafé with air conditioning (!!!!!!!) and a Berber-banjo rendition of Oh, Susanna playing in the background. Ghwad ur igi 3di. Manza tamazightinu?!

A day in the life.

My brother, during his short visit here, expressed multiple times that he loved my life, and wanted it for himself. While this is flattering to hear, it hit me that he didn't really know what to expect before coming here... and I'm assuming that neither do any of you. With that in mind, let me run through today's happenings with you to try and show you a standard Saturday is like on this side of the Atlantic.

I woke up at seven fifteen, and then read, wrote and laid in bed fighting the daytime until about nine. I finally got out of bed, prayed, and had some breakfast in my newly-created breakfast nook: some leftover gazpacho, a frozen wheat-flavored yogurt (which is delicious, if you've never had it before) and an ice-cold glass of water.

I love my new fridge, can you tell?

Then, it was time to consider going to find some internet, courtesy of my souq town. I left the house around ten, and was greeted with shouts of Nicole! and La bas! and How are you!!!! in that great singsong-y way that only eight-year-old Moroccan children can greet you. I stopped, kissed two girls, shook one boy's hand, and then patted him on the head as he wrapped his arms around me. Greetings are far more important here than they are in the States, so a casual wave and 'morning would not do with these kids. After assuring them that I'd only be gone a little while, I then turned back toward the taxi tree and was assaulted by two other small girls shouting How are you!!!!, in English, courtesy of the previous volunteer. I greeted them, and their mother, in a similar fashion, and then walked the half-kilometer or so to my taxi tree with the girls still shouting How are you!!!! until I disappeared from view.

When I hit the top of the hill on my way to the taxi tree, I was greeted by my anti-fan club, who consist of a group of elementary school-aged boys who like to call my name and then hide from view when I try to say hello back. They, again, called out my name and a similar How are you!!!! until I was out of earshot.

I then dropped off my garbage (one cannot let garbage sit around the house for long when it's 40° and above), and finally arrived at the taxi tree. I flagged down three taxis en route to my souq town from the provincial capital, with no luck. These taxis will pick you up if there is an extra spot in the taxi (if someone has gotten out early, for example), but weekend mornings aren't good for that.

I was then greeted by a man who knew my name, but whose face I could not place. Nice guy... though I never figured out where he knew me from (aside from the fact that I'm the local foreigner).

And then, a car drove up to me - a standard car for my American standards, and a gorgeous car for my Moroccan standards - and the driver greeted me in English.

Its been three weeks since you were at my house. Do you remember me? he said in that standard, Moroccan French-laced English.

Unfortunately, I didn't remember him at all. This hasn't been a good morning for this kind of thing.

Three weeks since the election... he tried to prompt me.

Unfortunately, my brain wasn't making the connection with this man with the zween car and the firm handle on my native language. I normally remember people that speak English, as it's an uncommon trait here. But, I drew yet another blank on this man.

You were at my house... in (the name of his neighborhood)... again, with the prompting.

Unfortunately, I went to a lot of houses during homestay. Also, I couldn't shake the feeling that 'three weeks ago' was not truly three calendar weeks ago. My brain was stuck on this point when he told me blatantly:

You were at my party, with (the name of my friend that speaks fabulous English and invited me to the party with the security guards).

Oh!, I replied cunningly. That was your house? Tbarkallah aleek! I didn't realize that you owned that house.

(Yeah, yeah, judge away. I never claimed to not be socially awkward.)

So, there you have it. He and his friends in the beautiful car were headed in the opposite direction, so I was left standing at the taxi tree waiting an empty seat to souq.

Finally, I hear a frenzy of clanks and groans, and an engine turns over unwillingly at the café behind the tree. My favorite taxi driver pulled up alongside me and motioned me inside. We drive off in his (t)rusty old car, bouncing along the road to souq town. This man has always been determined to speak French to me, and today is no different.

Ca va? he asks me.
I respond in Tashlheit.
We sit in silence.

We then get flagged down by a small boy with a cold waterbottle, asking the taxi driver to take it to someone he knows. This is pretty common these days, I've noticed, and I was already in the taxi... so I sat back and let life take me where it would, as I do every other day here. We pass my souqtown to find this friend, who happened to be a portly man without a shirt sitting at the entrance of a campground just outside of town.

I haven't seen that much flesh in a long time, friends. I averted my gaze to retain my modesty (and my breakfast).

Finally, we roll into town (no, literally, we were coasting with the car shut off at this point), I pay the driver and I'm on my way to the internet. I debate buying a phone card, but decide to put it off in lieu of wanting to ask around to make sure that double-recharge doesn't start tomorrow. There's nothing worse than buying credit and then hearing that double-recharge -- which is just what it sounds like, double the credit you paid for -- started the next day.

I decide to stop in a favorite shop of mine for a bottle of water, as it's really hot again today, and I'm offered a glass of tea. I gladly accept, and get tea and some sweets along with my bottle of water. We make small talk for about ten minutes, and then it was across the street to my cybercafé, where I've been camped out for the past, oh, let's say four hours or so, catching up on emails and listening to the music that my brother so badly wanted while he was here: "fun Berber music."

The rest of my day will consist of buying a few necessities, having tea at my tutor's house (although she's out of town, her mother invited me over -- actually, her exact words were where have you been? Come over for tea! I love this woman.) and then sitting downstairs at the association underneath my apartment and working on a recipie for a ginger-garlic green bean sautée over crispy rice that I've been working on.

Summertime in Morocco, friends. Summertime in the Maghrib.

Asserting my independence.

Ever since I can remember, I've had a wicked independence streak.

I was that kid that ran around the supermarket, and church, and the neighborhood making friends.

I was that kid that talked to strangers, insisting to my family that they weren't strangers, because I had befriended them before having this conversation.

I was also that kid that ran - not walked, ran - through the doors to my first days of preschool and kindergarten (mom was not happy about that, let me tell you right now).

My whole life, for one reason or another, public declarations of my independence have been important to me. I believe that it was because of this, that the past four months of homestay were so taxing for me. Not being able to independently decide anything for myself, after a lifetime of strugging to do just that, was a shock to my system. Eating, sleeping, bathing, learning, relaxing, socializing and sight-seeing were all neatly planned out for me from the moment I stepped off the plane in Philadelphia to the moment I shut the door of my apartment a fortnight ago.

Even after I moved out of homestay and into my own place, I've still been yearning to spread my wings even farther. The act of finding my groove - buying groceries again, regulating my eat/sleep/bathe schedule, etc - has left me feeling socially awkward and frazzled. But that little voice in the back of my head said that it was time to shake off those feelings and do something to restore my sense of self.

So today, I bought myself a refrigerator.

It was a necessary purchase (as its hard to shop for groceries by the kilo when my kitchen hovers at body temperature for weeks at a time) but I did it all on my own. I went to a few stores, checked prices and features, set up a taxi to help me get it back to my place, and then made the final purchase this morning.

It doesn't sound like much, I know.

And I might've overpaid a bit.

But to restore my sense of adulthood and independence as strongly as this refrigerator has... it was worth it.

P.S. My first items to be refrigerated will be a pot of gazpacho, a melon-cucumber smoothie and iced tea, unsweetened but with lots of lemon.

ONE love.

I received my electricity bill two nights ago (no, seriously, the Assistant to the Regional Manager of my landlord came over at 10:30p, shouting up to me through the open kitchen window*), and this morning I ventured over to the cyber where I pay homage to O.N.E., the national office of electricity, each month.

Yes, I did just say that I pay my electricity bill at a cyber café. That's not even the weirdest part of this story.

The bill I was given was for 10.96 MAD, which sounded relatively correct; no one was living in the apartment for the month of June. This morning, however, I noticed that there was a negative sign in front of the amount.

Actually, since the bill is in Frenchabic, the amount looked like this: 10.96-

There was also a message with the word crédit in the middle, which made me even more suspicious. So, when my turn came (a little old man wacked my leg with an olive branch to signal that he was letting me go ahead of him), I asked what that was all about.

Oh, that's a credit, the man behind the counter assured me. We'll apply it next month.
Um, okay, I replied. Well, while I'm here, I'd like to change the bill into my name. I'm new to the apartment.
The man behind the counter looks at the name and laughs. He remembers the old volunteer, and realizes that I look nothing like her. Oh, don't worry about the name. Maybe we'll change it later, or maybe we won't change it at all! Really, it's not a problem.

So I walked out of the office without doing... anything. Hmm.


*I don't want to whine and complain about life here, because it's amazing, but the windows are open because it's hot. Like, hovering around 43°C/110°F all day, every day. With no air conditioning (I get that question a lot). And as the pipes leading to my tap are positioned to receive direct sunlight all day long... I get hot water during the day.

But, c'est mon vie. I still love Morocco. I'm just, uh, sweating excessively while I'm typing this. No biggie.



Addendum to post:

CONVERSATION OF THE WEEK

Introduction:
My brother, who had been wwoofing in Spain, surprised me with a visit early this week, and is here with me for the typing of this post. As I was finishing this up, he leans over the divider between our computers and this week's Conversation of the Week ensues.

Conversation:
Brother: By the way, if you have any pull in this place, do you think you could suggest some better music?
Me: (pauses for a moment, to take in the beauty of the Qur'anic recitations being played over the loud speakers at my favorite cyber café) You want me to ask them to turn the Holy Qur'an off? Do you know where you are? I can't do that!
Brother: I mean, uh... (awkward pause)
Me: Okay, fine, what do you suggest that I recommend?
Brother: You know, some fun Berber music or something.

Next time, brother. Next time.

Movin' on up!

I've officially moved, world.

After four months of exclusive homestay, I'm finally living on my own, in a little apartment on the main drag of my town.

I get to eat, sleep and bathe when I want, and I get to wear what I want (I chose to stay covered up when host dads/brothers were around). It's glorious and freeing and overwhelming and scary and has me questioning whether or not I remember how to live on my own.

But, I must admit: I've been walking around the house with a big, dopey grin on my face due to the sheer freedom that I feel.

NOT THAT HOMESTAY WAS BAD.
It was very educational, and I appreciated the warmth and generosity of my families very much.

It's just exciting to get to stretch my wings again. :)

My apartment, of which I will eventually post pictures, is on the second level of my building. There are three other big families that live there with me, and between the three of them, it's essentially like a kindergarten classroom 24/7.

But, it's home!

The front door opens up to a salon, with the bathroom and shower room on the immediate right. There are two doors opening off of the salon: one goes to my sitting room, and the other leads to the second salon.

In the second salon there's a Moroccan-style sink and mirror for hand-washing, and four doors which open up to my closet, my bedroom, the office/workspace, and the kitchen.

The house was painted a variety of pinks and purples by the last volunteer, so it's got a very girl-y, light-hearted feel. Each salon has a skylight, filling the house with the light and warmth that only natural sunlight can provide. This is not necessary when the air in my house is hovering around body-temperature (as it's been since I moved in), but it's better than living in a dark, dank first-story house, as I've seen some PCVs choose to do.

The pride and joy of my house is the monstrous double-sized bed and accompanying wooden frame. I paid a pretty penny for it (though the price I paid was more reasonable than what the previous volunteer paid for it when it was brand new), but it's my baby and I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning because it's so glorious. I'm smiling right now, just typing about it!

The last volunteer left me (read: I purchased from her) everything I need, save a fridge. All I need to purchase is that big-ticket item, and a few storage units for my bedroom, kitchen and first salon. Otherwise, I'm completely set-up and am ready to hit the ground running.

Unfortunately, while I am hyper-motivated right now, Morocco is not. As the heat has become stifling as of late, the activity in town has slowed considerably. People seem to only go out when they need to, and even that will slow down further as we get farther and farther into July and August, before Ramadan.

So, I'm left with a summer to decorate, organize and study language during the day, and socialize at night. I'll be traveling at the end of July for our post-training training, but other than that, life will be slow until things cool down.