The Lion Moos When It Is Angry

A woman at an association I work with shared with me a delightful little book printed here in Morocco. Her sister is using it to study English. Translated, the pocket-sized paperback is entitled Learning the English Language, copyright 2008/1429, by alouma@menara.xx. ½ Arabic-English dictionary and ½ useful phrases, it amused me. I’ve quoted some excerpts to share with you (spelling and punctuation intentional):

-“Books are very interesting and contain a lot of knoledge.”
-“Look at that blind, he tries to know the way by his stick.”
-“Can I found large shirts according to my size”
-“Kangaroo moves especially by jumping”
-[See title of this blog]
-“There are machines to wash dishes instead of women.”
-“People need to eat meat because it contains proteins.”
-“Christians unfortunately believe by mistake that Jesus is the God child.”
-“Work law forbids to hire immature children.”
-“Glue is useful for students at school and the shoe repairer too”
-“This voice from the control device is due to the ironic keys in the bag.”
-“I benefit from my bank accout by repetitive bank loans”
-“I hear strange voices at night.”
-“Recently, young clothes become very tight.”
-“I don’t know why the blood is running without stopping.”
-“My fathers-in-law are all still alive.”
-“Acids have an acid taste”
-“In each year, there are three handered and sixtee five days and a quarter of a day.”
-“The tongue pronounces easily all languages”
-“It’s wonderful to go to amuse ourself in the nearest forest.”
-“Muslim, jew and Christian can live together in mutual peace.”

To be fair, my organization compiled a useful guide to Darija in order for me to promote technical assistance and cultural exchange. Here are some direct quotations of what I “studied:”

-“The mouse is scared of the cat.”
-“Hassan is singing in the shower.”-
“She doesn’t like beer.”
-“But this is not the place for bicycles.”
-“Police! Okay, may God help you.”
-“I’m just a normal citizen from America. My job is to help people in Morocco. That’s all I know.”

These quotations in no way reflect my point of view, or that of PC or the U.S. government. I know my tongue does NOT easily pronounce all languages, and what the hell is a normal citizen from America like??? I’m a fan of mutual peace though. In 2010, I hope not to hear any lions mooing.

Ashnu katdiri? (“What do you do?”)

I’ve been living in B-town for a month or so, and no, I haven’t met all 40,000 townspeople yet. Most people in my neighborhood, my chocolate-fix guy, the students I teach English to, the girls who meet to sew together every afternoon, the traditional handicrafts center “staff,” my clothing store friend and her family circle, and a few random other people know me. A lot of kids know my American and Moroccan names, which they love to shout repeatedly as soon as I walk past them. Some kids are confused and think my name is “Chinois” (bad joke). But how well do they, including my host family, know me?

I’m unmarried (and almost pass the market’s desirable marriage age), speak the local language as well as the unborn babies I don’t have (but should have by my age), offend people by not eating enough (and I can wolf a Chipotle burrito easily), dress like a pre-teen boy or girl, and can’t name 5 Tony Braxton/Celine Dion/Bryan Adams songs. I may or may not be Chinese, but I have a pretty face and pretty hair. One day, my hair will be long and then I will be prettier. I’m unfortunate because my family is not with me and so I’m all alone. Fortunately, I speak English and will go back to America, if anyone wants a free visa. This all makes people either avoid me like H1N1 or gravitate towards me. I wish that this wasn’t the first impression most B-townians have of me, but most give me a 2nd chance and ask, what do I do here in B-town?.

Such a complicated little question. Technically, I work with an American organization that sends volunteers abroad for cultural exchange and to provide technical assistance. On paper, I’ve been assigned to collaborate as a small business development agent with the Ministry of Artisanat and Tourism: I’m to focus on the traditional handicrafts sector. With this ministry’s handicrafts center and a local development association, I’ve sat and sat and understood only bits of the conversations. I assume they must not sit when I’m not there. The volunteer before me introduced me to the girls she taught introductory screen-printing classes to, and I sat with them as well. I’ve met other people interested in starting a business making/selling handicrafts, and they want to consult with me. I helped plan a vigil for climate change awareness. I introduced American card games to kids. I help students with their English and French homework, and I teach English at another association (BUT I don’t want to be known as “the English teacher”). I can’t make a proper Moroccan tea, but my host family likes my delicious “American-esque” meals. I sit in hanuts, sometimes acting like a sales assistant. I spent a week in bed sick. Four times a week, I watch a Mexican soap opera translated into the local language to “study.” I carry my notebook everywhere else. I go on walks with no destination, just to see a new part of town (my host sister cannot fathom why I’d do so). So what do I do?

3llaHsab means “it depends.” My answer to the 2nd question changes depending on so many factors: how patient is the person, how well do I know him/her, what kind of vibe I get, where am I, what time is it, how hungry am I, what’s the question’s motive, what was I in the process of…Even friends and family back home ask me what am I doing here. I’m sorry whatever answer I give never fully encompasses what I do. Even this blog—if a photo’s worth a thousand words, my blog’s really worth a million unwritten words (does that even make sense?). I’m busy doing, and I’m enjoying it. Or I don’t, and I do something else.

MaM #2

1
2
3
4
5
Name: Mmi Fatima Harti

Age: 78 (Born in 1931!)

Weekly Activities: Makes pasta from scratch for homemade soup, Watches a Mexican soap opera on full volume, Afternoon naps, Wears at least two head scarves all the time (covers her orange hair), Makes sure her grandson is always well-fed and happy, Visits other family homes in the neighborhood.

Family: Her husband is deceased, and she has one remaining brother, who has two wives. She has six daughters and one son, who all have children as well. She has one great-granddaughter (so far).

Interesting Facts: Can butcher a sheep while wearing gold sandals, Weaves rugs and blankets, Cooks a whole meal while sitting on the floor, Has a tattoo on her chin that represents her family’s tribe, Has daughters living in New York and France, Carries a pink and black purse with metal straps, Ties her house keys to a string belt she wears around her waist (under two layers of garments).

Be Careful with Her: She may steal the olives in your portion of the meal, I’ve never seen her use soap, She could be in a bread-eating competition, Loudest snorer I’ve met.

As with the last MaM, if you have any questions for Mmi Fatima, please feel free to email them to me.

Thursday Souq

Black Friday (aka the After-Thanksgiving Crazy Shopping Day That I Love to Avoid) came one day early here in B-town. On the outskirts of the city, one can find a huge dirt field that’s empty every day except Thursdays, when clothes/houseware/food vendors set up what seems like a million tents to sell their goods.

Coincidentally, L-Eid L-Adha (aka Feast of Sacrifice or L-Eid L-Kbir) happened to fall two days after Thanksgiving this year. How do Moroccans celebrate this holiday? Replace one turkey per a household with one mature sheep and gorge. Children wear new clothes, girls get henna-ed, mothers bake sweets, men pray together outdoors in the morning, and everyone looks forward to eating meat (I have yet to meet a vegetarian). This celebration means that this Thursday’s souq day was a madhouse as everyone rushed to buy holiday things (more meat skewers, grills, new/used clothes, the sheep, charcoal…) and a week’s worth of seasonal produce.

Walking to the souq, my host sister, Rabia, and I passed men rolling wheelbarrow carts of live sheep, men carrying sheep in their arms, men walking alongside sheep, and women carrying loaded striped plastic bags of groceries. We shook hands with and cheek-to-cheek kissed so many people, which is the standard greeting protocol.

Rabia bumped into an old friend and her daughter, Sara, who’s studying English at a nearby university. So, like 4 middle school girls at the mall, we just like, totally had to, walk together for all three hours we were, like, there. It’s not an easy task, and we bumped into kids running around, families trying to stick together, tent poles, carts, and vendors who set up their wares in the middle of the narrow dirt paths. The whole time, Sara mentioned how small this souq was compared to the big Moroccan cities and patiently answered all of my what/why questions. We hit it off.

How We Spent the Time:

-Negotiated prices on new shoes for Rabia’s son, who scored a pair of knock-off Converses.

-Found the used purses section of the market. Over the next two years, I will spend hundreds of Dirhams on 3 Dirham bags Spanish women have “donated to Africa.”

-Walked back and forth between two tents selling pajama sets, as Rabia and her friend decided between purchasing the pink or red outfit for the holiday for a family member in Casablanca.

-Picked through piles of tomatoes, onions, apples, bananas, celery, and eggplant. This week, we didn’t buy as much veggies because L-Eid mandates that we eat meat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

-Dropped our shopping bags off with the friendly olive oil guy to do more shopping.

-Greeted the chicken man, who we bought a chicken from last week. Right in front of your eyes, he will take a live chicken and turn it into a plucked, clean whole-carcass-in-a-plastic-bag.

-Held up pedestrian traffic by greeting other shoppers.

-Stuck my tongue out at a little boy who stuck his tongue out at me first (the heat and exhaustion from walking around so slowly and aimlessly was getting to me). He then tripped, which means I won. Yes, I am 25 years old.

-Spent 100 Dirhams on goat meat for the week, just in case the whole sheep wasn’t enough for me, Rabia, her son, and grandma.

-Took a horse carriage back to the house with all of our goods, finally. Sara told me she always wears socks to souq, and I understood why since my feet were covered with dust. And no, we didn’t have to haul a sheep home because we ordered one to be delivered there. …Sheep Hut…Pizza Hut may want to think of expanding its franchise line.

Overall, Moroccan Black Thursday reminded me a lot of American Black Friday. Next year, inshallah, I’m going to skip it, like I do in the states. L-Eid was a nice time. I visited many hospitable, warm families, and I ate a lot of cookies, cakes, and sheep. Even though I’ve only been in town for a couple of weeks, so many people kindly (or very insistently) opened up their houses to me. I look forward to returning the invite next month in my own home!

At my host family’s house, we hired a butcher to slaughter our sheep on our roof. So many big smiles, mishwi (bbq) and kebabs, Darija shouting that I don’t understand (grandma’s slightly deaf), and jokes about drinking my home (Hawai soda). Living in RIM desensitized me to the act of the slaughter and butchering of meat, organs, and waste. What disgusted me instead was grandma’s lack of using soap throughout this whole butchering to bbq-ing process. In my head, I could hear my mom saying, “eww eww eww,” but that only made me smile and pray to everyone’s god that I don’t get too sick from digging in to the mutton. You only live once, right? Thanks RIM for making my stomach so strong.

MaM : Meet a Moroccan

Every so often, I plan on showcasing a local who is really interesting. Here's the first:

Name: Ahmed

Age: 12

Likes: Eating snails, watching television (like Japanese cartoons, Jackie Chan, American films), singing and dancing, eating chocolate, learning magic tricks, listening to music (like Bob Marley and Michael Jackson)

Dislikes: Eating vegetables, being away from his mom, homework

Interesting Facts: Has a green belt in karate, is the smartest in his class, is the shortest in his class, can dance like Michael Jackson

Any questions for him? You can leave a comment, and I’ll let you know!

Two Months In

Stage is coming to a close… I’m finished with language lessons, passed the language test, exchanged photos/music, drank tea, and seem to just count down the days until I become a real volunteer (again).

Being reflective, I definitely took for granted having three sitemates going through the same experience at the same time with me. Mike took care of transporting the empty butagaz canisters from the house to the refill truck. Seth killed and disposed of bugs that freaked me out in my house. Colleen was always there for long walks and girly talk (actually, so were the other two). Now that I’m used to having other PCVs around me (especially after this CBT experience or a whole day with locals), being the only PCV in an entire region for two years will be interesting. (Oh wait no worries, if I need an American fix, we can travel and I’m getting visitors.)

On Thursday, we have an Official Swearing- In Ceremony in the capital and a fun night out in town (I already have the address to the Mexican restaurant!). The next morning, we’re supposed to find our way to our permanent sites on our own. We won’t be babied anymore.

Today’s the last full day at our training site. It’s hard not to compare this experience with RIM’s last year. Other RIM volunteers might still be thinking, “What? Addresses in the capital? Mexican restaurants?” I’ve really enjoyed the time spent with my host family, but I don’t feel like my community was as warm and hospitable as that of our RIM training site. Despite all the amenities and luxuries, I haven’t made any close local friends to k.i.t. with, attended all-night teenager dance parties (which may be a good thing), or feasted at birthday/wedding celebrations. I can’t think of a local here who would call and wish me good health if I got sick, like all the people who did in RIM. Alhumdullah I didn't get really sick. Although my family were great hosts, I’m just adding them to the list of wonderful people on five different continents who have included me as an adopted family member.

On another note, my Darija language level now is almost the same as my Hassaniya level one year in and my French after 5 years in school. I am confident I can get from Rabat to Boujaad on my own this Friday. Not much shocks me anymore and I’m not afraid to talk to people in the local languages. I have internet access to keep up a blog. My sitemates and teacher have been so amazing to be around, learn from, and laugh with. So are the other SBDers and the YDers I’m looking forward to seeing again. My future site seems great for work potential and meeting new people. The “roughing it” PC experience has yet to hit me. Is PC worth US Govt funding? For taxpayers, I think not; for me, definitely.

This blog entry sounds like everything here is roses and peaches…give me two years and we’ll see what I think. Friends and family (*happy thoughts* to Aunty A at this time) and M, thanks for reading this impersonal/summarized account skimming my experience so far. The hardest part being here is keeping in touch, but at the same time, we seem to just pick up where we left off when we finally do see eachother again. No point really in this random entry except that, photographic proof shows, I can ride a donkey. Insightful details about the Moroccan way-of-life to come another time.

Site Announcement

I found out that I’m spending the next two years in Boujaad! Between my mom (who googled everything there is to know) and the current PCV (who talked on the phone with me about it), I’m pretty excited. According to the site selection papers PC gave me, here are some fast facts about Boujaad:

-Population: 40,513 people (if I meet 40,514 people, I’m going to complain to PC)
-Language spoken: Darija
-Local cooperatives: Sewers, electricians, blacksmiths, & carpenters
-Local associations: Electrical, Painting, & Sewing
-Communication Access: Landline, cell phone, telegrams, post office, & cyber (yay connectivity!)
-Utilities: Water, check; electricity, check; paved roads, check; indoor bathroom, check!
-Work done by previous PCV: Product development, sewing & printing bags, screen-printing
-Fun things available: Lettuce, ceiling fans, hot water, 5 hours from capital
-Future Host Family: Fatima the mom, Rabia another mom, & Ahmed the 12 year-old

I’m also excited because my current host family has extended family only 24 kilometers away from my future site. With them, extended family is really just family, and we hope to meet up. An American anthropologist wrote a book about them, and I found a copy in Arabic at our hub site (part of my gbye present). It’s called “Knowledge & Power in Morocco: The Education of a 20th Century Notable.” We have one more week of training in Aminaville, a few days in Beach Town, and then MOVE IN TIME!

Weekend Trip to 30-House & 30-Donkey Town

We had a free weekend to travel last week, and so I met up with some friends in another training site. It’s a quaint, peaceful town, but it has the sweetest, most hospitable people. I’ve never smiled so much or received as many cheek kisses in two days. It’s located off the one-lane main road off the side of a mountain. After getting dropped off on the side of the road, we walked downhill for 20 minutes before we got to Emily’s house, the first one in town. There are olive trees, a Kasbah (old castle-like house that another PCT lives in), an olive press, plump animals, and one hanut (where we found lighters with flashlights).

Azalia’s house was so welcoming. A part of me was slightly shocked to see a tv, appliances, big couches, a bed, contemporary Moroccan fashion magazines, a beautifully-tiled area, and donkey room. Yes, one donkey had its own indoor room with bales of straw, while another was tethered outside. With chickens and dogs lounging around almond and olive trees, the town’s so relaxed. And then comes Azalia’s 12-year old sister, who has enough liveliness to energize all UH football fans, who also acted as our tour guide and third arm. Everyone in town knows and greets each other, has tea and cookies together, and sits for impromptu meals.

We made pizza, donkey trekked along water aqueducts, visited the family’s olive trees, played Snakes and Ladders, cracked almonds with grandma, and even saw Jerry the Mouse swim in the douche (what a surprise…). I tasted one-day and one-year old olive oil, and I probably gained a few pounds from all the “tsh”-ing (eating) I was forced to do.

Over all, it was so relaxing-- the perfect way to spend the days right before Site Announcement…dun dun dun…post about it to come soon!

“Vegas, baby!”

Almost a month of training has passed by, and when I say pass, I mean flew. What’s kept me busy?

-LANGUAGE CLASS: 5.5 days a week of learning the Darija language. Learning involves
-a morning fruit/cookie break
-a huge, delicious lunch
-an afternoon tea/snacks break
-adventures with Sandala Del Mika (a fictitious character my sitemate, Henry, has made up)
-tales of world travels
-physical workouts (jump roping, mid-arvo walks, ab exercises from laughing too much)
-PB discussions (politics, business, and peanut butter)
-memorizing (if God wills it) 3 verb tenses and 150 verbs, question phrases, names of items, family members, numbers to a billion, food shopping vocabulary, and Amina’s perfect answers to all of our questions…in Arabic script for a challenge

-HIKING: Last weekend, an easy 5k hike to a barrage turned into a 5-hour trek to a mirage. A coke’s never tasted so good as when we got back to the first hanut. We passed heaps of fat sheep and goats though (see picture above).

-FAMILY TIME: Watching old Arnold Swartzenager (spelling?) movies on television, cooking together, sitting together in the salon, sitting together on the outside stairs, sitting together on the stairs inside, charades, eating breakfast and dinner together, reviewing my schoolwork…good ol’ family bonding time.

-TRIPS TO AZILAL: Peace Corps sessions, kefta sandwiches and kababs, wandering the streets looking for something fun to do…

Wow…it seems like I’m super busy here, but after typing this...not really. I’m off to a Women’s Day meeting soon though so cutting this short. Tomorrow, there will be a film screening at the Dar Shebab, and us PCTs are helping the PCV with it. The local film is about women’s rights codes. Hope all is well with you, and if anyone has advice on posting photos, please share!

Last section, things I didn't expect to hear my first month here:
-"I love you I love you I love you!" -group of screaming kids yelled at us when we first got to site
-"It's Vegas, baby!" -said by sitemate's host brother and friend over and over
-"If only we were Jewish we could have partied with that tour group" -sitemate regarding the Jewish reunion in town for the weekend
-"Yeah, sure" -typical response to a yes/no question
-"It's good" -typical response to any how question
-"Are there frozen peas in the market?" -PCT question to PCV

Local Artisans

Aminaville is known for its handmade, delicate jelaba-d-bizouia. Thin, homespun thread from local sheep and shiny silk thread are woven together on a “loom.” Sheep skin is washed, cleaned, and separated at the local gorge, called the Temda. [In the summertime, boys swim here and people picnic.] The artisans pull the sheep hair apart and spin it into yarn, or hire someone else in the community to do it.


Tree branches, wooden planks, and cords are somehow assembled together in a weaver’s house, where the weaving takes place. After the time-intensive process of setting up the loom, women sit on the floor and pass the thread back and forth through the loom by hand. One woman, Eric’s host mom, took three weeks to weave one fabric, called a jellaba. Jellaba is also the name for the hooded robes worn by local men and women. This particular fabric from Aminaville is of very high quality and worn only by the king and other affluent people who can afford it. Usually, men wear white and gold jellabas; women, colorful ones.

Every Friday, the vegetable vendors in town move aside for the outdoor Jelaba Auction. Women from all over the “city” will come here to sell their homespun yarn and put their jellabas up in the auction. This is a change from the past, where the market was dominated only by men. The auctioneers and buyers (middlemen who will travel to the big cities to sell the fabric) are still men; women look on (there was one middle-woman though). Three men run back and forth to the buyers, sweating over the delicate fabric and shouting prices.
Although the final customers seem to pay a very large sum for the fabric, the profits don’t trickle down to the artisans (Eric’s mom received 1200D for her fabric and she is not living lavishly). At the auction yesterday, the highest-priced fabric I heard went for 1600D. The women--who must pay a registration fee for each jellaba in the auction and a tax on each jellaba sold there--aren’t paid completely upfront for the sold jellabas. They wait, sometimes a month or more, for the middleman to sell the jellaba to the end customer. Cash flow and marketing definitely have room for improvement. This town and its gossip are the life of the weavers, mostly older, illiterate women. Although some artisans have some private clients who order directly from them, the whole jelaba-d-bizouia industry makes an interesting case study/working environment for a Moroccan PCV…and yes, there is one here.

Money & Markets

Morocco’s a mathematician’s dream. Lfloos, or money, is measured in dirham (or drahim if the number’s between 2 and 10), ryal, and centimes (or francs). Basically, 100 centimes=1 dirham. The currency itself is denominated in dirham bills and centime coins.

What makes shopping interesting is that most vendors say prices in ryal. 20 ryal=1 dirham. Not only do we have to do math in our heads, we also have to do translations. Story: my first morning at site (I’m not a morning person), I wanted to buy bread before class. The local hanut owner I bought cheese and yogurt from the day before quoted me a price of 24 francs (first he said “arbauashreen” then “Vingt-quatre francs”) for a piece of day old bread. I was shocked; why is he ripping me off today?, Are we playing the bargaining game already?, I’m not a tourist, I could buy a whole meal for 20 francs in France for that amount ran through my mind. I held up a 2D coin to show him I wasn’t paying more than this. He took it and gave me change. I had no idea how much that bread cost. That day in class, I learned about Morocco’s money system AND that hanut prices are fixed. Alhumdullah.


At the outskirts of town, there’s a weekly outdoor market, called a souq, where fresh meat, animals, veggies, fruit, knickknacks, clothes, spices, tea breaks, electronics, and beauty products are for sale. These prices (except for clothes) are also somewhat fixed. My CBT group took a field trip there once and stocked up on lunch supplies. We wandered up and down the aisles of tents offering such goods. Boys selling plastic bags and men selling cold drinks also roamed around. Unlike RIM, the souq is a male-dominated area.

Twice a week, Aminaville also has swiqas, outdoor markets right in town. Wednesdays are Produce Day and Fridays are Clothes and Household Goods Day. I’ve eaten fresh figs, pomegranates, and turkey (obviously, not together). It’s great. Last week, my site mate Donna and I watched a man who sold cactus flowers, which apparently stop bowel movements. He cut the ends off of the fruit and peeled off the skin. One of his clients ate seven of them right there in the swiqa. We would have watched him eat more, but we were caught staring and felt like we needed to walk on. . . .

Host Family

(CAPTIONS: 1-My host brother, Hatim. 2-I henna-ed my host mom, Nezha, for the end of Ramadan holiday. 3-My host dad, Yassin, and his mom, Zahara, at the meal to break fast. 4-Other PCV/PCTs, aka my American family, made lunch at a current PCV's house. 5-My bedroom.)

I live on the 3rd floor of a beautiful house, complete with my own bedroom, tiled floors, a comfortable salon, a well-equipped and well-stocked kitchen, rooftop with chicken pen and herb garden, and great view of olive trees and the rest of Aminaville. I’m not roughing it at all: sitting on thick sofas, drinking cold water from the fridge or smoothies from the blender, taking hot showers, and staring lovingly at the washing machine. It seems like my set up is a lot more comfortable than most of the other PCTs and ten times more relaxing than my PST house in RIM. A visiting American researcher actually wrote a book about my family. They were/are pretty prominent in town. My mom's sister, who live's fifteen minutes away, lives in a hillside mansion/palace. I kid you not.

Peace Corps assigned Zahara to be my host mom, but her daughter-in-law, Nezha, has been a surrogate mother to me as well. Nezha is 32 and also a housewife, which means she’s unbelievably busy cooking, baking bread and sweets, puttering around, managing the household, tutoring me in darija, and cleaning up after her son. Hatim, 6, is a ball of energy: constantly jumping around, riding his bike in the house, dancing, and making noise. He adores his parents, and so do I. Our dad, Yassin, owns a teleboutique, which is a store where people can make phone calls. He also sells his home-made honey (at 300D=$35 a liter!!!), olive oil, gaudy gold jewelry, and perfume.

My family’s so patient with me, and they constantly want to review whatever I learned in language class each day. Zahara and I smile and play charades with each other. We’ve cooked spaghetti together, cleaned house (with soap!...RIM folk will know how significant this is), and had dance parties with television music. Last night, Nezha made pasta alfredo and fish pizza. Wow and yum, is all I can say. After almost three weeks, I feel so lucky to have had only great moments with my family. PC calls this time the honeymoon period, and I am very smitten being here.

Aminaville

(CAPTIONS: 1-View of town from the top of the hill behind my house. 2-The “tour guides” who hiked with us. 3-View of town halfway up the same hill. 4-View of the market area and mosque from my kitchen window. 5-Main street, lined with shops, homes, and cafes [for men], at dusk. 6-View of the “suburbs” from my kitchen window. 7-Ti leaves?! My site reminds me a bit of Kauai. 8-These irrigation channels run all through town.)

Located somewhere in the rolling foothills of the Atlas Mountains, Aminaville is so pleasant. We just missed the summer heat and aren’t high enough to get hail/snow (like some other sites). It’s perfect for me and my summer wardrobe. Red dirt, olive/pomegranate/lime trees, cacti with edible fruit, a river, farming plots, a gorge with a summertime swimming pool, and plenty of hills to hike can be easily found. Although frogs and snails love my house, I have yet to see a cockroach or mouse.

People here, one rock-throwing incident aside, have been very friendly. Greetings are important. Some kids and women kiss my cheeks. Men sometimes shake my hand. People zip by on bikes, scooters, and donkeys. No marriage proposals or conversion attempts have been made, alhumdullah. The city is known for their delicate, handmade jellabas (more on that later) worn by the Moroccan king and other affluent people. There are potters and bakers, but no candlestick makers. Like most towns, there’s a hammam (public hot water baths); plenty of hanuts (little convenience stores); cafés where men drink tea and PSTs play cards; and merchants selling fresh meat, dried foods, spices, and produce. Amenity-wise, there’s wifi, cold yogurt drinks, plastic Christmas trees, and varieties of La Vache Qui Rit cheese. Trash and animal poop exist but are by no means overwhelming (compared to RIM). Kids playing in the streets can be overwhelming, but at least they are having fun.

There are five other PSTs in Aminaville with me, and I think we are a pretty awesome group. I learn a lot, laugh a lot, and eat a lot. There’s also another CBT group in the boonies of our town. Both of our groups are learning Darija, the Moroccan Arabic dialect. Three other SBD groups are learning two dialects of Berber, Tashelhet and Tamazight. YD PCTs are in a completely different region, learning Darija and apparently, playing baseball. It will be really interesting when we come together again at the end of stage, and with the time flying by, it will be very soon.

Weekend Trip to the Waterfall

One weekend, my sitemates and I took a day trip to the Ouzoud Waterfalls, aka Cascades (en francais) or Shllalat (f darija). A nationally known tourist destination/scenic spot, I saw heaps of backpackers, an Italian cameraman, a French motorcycle gang, Moroccan women in heels walking up/down the muddy steps, and some other CBT groups (Community-Based Training, us 25 PCTs have been separated into 5 different sites). *Correction, 23 PCTs now because 2 have ETed.

Usually, the water's clear, but a sudden rainstorm the day before muddied up the falls. It was refreshing to be outdoors and hang out at one of the many cafes serving tagines and tea. I ate two ice cream bars and "window-shopped" the local souvenir shops' offerings of woven fabric, beads, metal work, and tagine vessels. Six of us piled back into a compact Mercedes to drive past almond, olive, and pomegranate trees back to Aminaville, my new name for our training site. I feel really fortunate to be in such a warm, interesting, developed town, with a great Language/Culture Facilitator (named Amina), site mates, and host family. More to come in the next post.