MaM #3

3 blogs, 3 days in a row! (don't get used to it...)

It's been awhile since the last MaM, but here we go!

Name: Naima

Age: 18

Family: 2 grandfathers, parents, 2 siblings. But...

Marital Status: Engaged, and lives with fiance's family. Her fiance proposed to her by asking to borrow her pen, to write down her number!

Daily Activities: Making sugary, herbal mint tea in the morning and afternoon; Cleaning and mopping the house and family storefronts; Playing with her future nephew-in-law; Preparing three meals a day and cleaning up afterward; Afternoon nap

Interests: The color purple, Jewelry, Shopping for jellaba fabric and shoes, Looking at fashion magazine photos, Dancing (in private), Moroccan Arabic and Berber music

Any questions for Naima? Let me know and I'll pass them on to her!

A Man with Hair

Today, I found out that Hamid, one of the artisan teachers at the woodwork association, committed suicide yesterday. Some of his closest friends also work at this association, and although the news shocked them, their faces showed no emotional distress. We snacked on Dove chocolates (compliments of my mom) and green wheat stalks, while basking in the late afternoon sun and talking about American products like IcyHot.

A friend of another artisan (a potential translator for me) asked if I knew Hamid. I told him a story about a time when a bunch of the artisan guys and I were talking about marriage. Only Hamid and another artisan had thick, dark hair, and they were the only two unmarried men. We joked that marriage caused baldness or gray hair, and we proved the hair/marriage test with all the guys in the artisanat center. It was a fun moment that made me feel a bit closer to the association members, and today we had a second bittersweet laugh over it. Hamid was 36 years old, an age that reminded me of someone else dear to me. His story is neither the first death nor suicide I heard about since moving here to B-town, but unlike the men who knew him better than I did, my eyes were wet.

Regardless, life goes on. With my new translator, I interviewed another artisan. Learned that while the association members all share the same workshop space and collectively teach 20 boys the trade, each of them had his own customers. I was surprised because I thought they operated as one association, not individually with single orders. I asked if this environment created any internal competition, especially since each artisan had a family to support with the income generated from these sales.

Hamid’s best friend jumped into the conversation and said he “haites” the others—joking and charading that he both “hates” and “hits.” The artisans believed there was no competition between them because they are friends first. I got a list of reasons why they’re proud to be part of the association and its benefits. Even at craft fairs, the products with the best quality will sell. WOW-what a concept.

It was getting dark, and Hamid’s bff asked if I wanted to interview him next. He said he needed some time to cope first with his friend’s passing, which I almost forgot about because of the interview’s light-hearted atmosphere. He asked if we could talk in three days instead…

Although I was invited to dinner with Hamid’s family and friends, I declined—feeling like the attention due to the family would instead shift to me and afraid that I may start crying once I met the women. What’s the culturally appropriate thing to do in this kind of situation??? I wanted to find out more information online. Instead, I found out a friend from high school just gave birth to a little boy! What a ___…not a coincidence, not a small world, but…I’m loss for words…God provides, that’s what the artisans said.

Friday Night Out

This evening, my friend asked me if I wanted to do a tour of town and exercise off some of couscous lunch. With her and her future sister-in-law as my body guards, we linked arms and enjoyed a harassment-free walk and shopping trip.

For a moment, I thought I was back in America, or definitely NOT in a PC country. I experienced a different side of B-town. We looked at nail polish, mp3 players, and handbags. As we tried on cute shoes and trendy western clothes in boutiques, the time flew by. I tried on a pair of skinny jeans (the largest size in the store), and it was still too small…. We also shopped for more jellaba fabric, trading advice on what designs and colors were zweyn. I taught the words bling bling and adorable. Earlier this week, I was afraid my fashion sense had adapted to Moroccan standards, but after this trip, I realize I haven’t reached the full glitter/rhinestone/accessory galore appreciation yet. Alhumdullah. We looked at new clothes until the stores shut down.

Tonight was the latest I’ve ever been out in B-town. It was also nice to “let my hair down” and let out that suppressed, frivolous girl part of me OUTSIDE of the house WITH my Moroccan friends. It was interesting to see hanuts closed, the street vendors all packed up, coffee shops empty, no football cheering or hear music, and the male street loiters gone. Even bumped into a friendly, drunk guy!

What time did I get home? A bit after 10pm. Exciting nights* here in B-town!

*During summer and Ramadan, nightlife is rumored to be bustling. I’ll keep ya updated. Also, since coming back from Kesh (and the successful workshop/craft fair there), the neighborhood boys have been good :)

Boys are Made of Frogs and Snails

Girls are made of sugar and spice and all that’s nice. At least, the girls in my neighborhood are. Ever since I moved into my house at New Year’s, they greet me, kiss my cheeks, and are so polite. Sometimes, the little boys do the same.

There are a couple though, that get a huge kick out of banging on my door and running away, throwing rocks at my door and running away, leaving candy and beer packaging on my door, peeking thru the letter dispenser, and yelling through my windows “How are you? I am fine!”/”You are sexy!”/”What is your name? Are you fine?”

Two American friends stayed at my house this weekend, and, on top of the door pranks, some boys decided to yell, “F*UCK YOU.” Wow…that was a shock.

So today, when I heard prank knocking (which usually happens the most only when other Americans are at my site…so the boys leave a great impression on them), I decided to find the culprits.

They were playing at the end of a walkway, and they saw me approach. I wasn’t sure if these boys were the boys who banged on my door, but when they started to back away, I knew they were guilty. They ran away. In my ankle-length skirt, I sprinted after them. Men, who thought the boys stole something from me, ran after me. Unfortunately, it was nighttime and there were many narrow walkways, and we lost them. I told the men why I was running after the boys, and they told me not to worry—boys are only boys. It reminded me of my first trip to Casablanca, where a man grabbed my butt and I yelled at him in English. Other men ran after him, thinking he stole from me, but they stopped after I told them he only grabbed my butt. Great set of values, I thought.

So I was surprised when a woman knocked on my door later that night. She said she saw me run after the boys, and she asked why I did that. I told her about the immature harassment (knowing that some PCVs have to put up with worse), and that it’s not a big deal for her or me. She told me she knows the boys, and asked if I’d like to visit their houses. …YES.

She kindly greets the women who answered the doors, they exchange a flurry of pleasant-sounding words that I can’t catch, a boy’s brought out (not meeting my eyes), and he’s told to kiss my cheek. As we leave the houses, I hear shouting and hitting. My neighbor tells me she would also tell the boys’ teachers, who will also hit the boys…After almost 2 years of living in “Africa,” I’m immune to hitting kids as means of discipline. Wonder if the prank knocks will continue? She also warmly invited me to her house and enforced that we live in a calm, good neighborhood. Yay, neighborhood watch program.

In other recent news, I had the pleasure of participating in a week-long English immersion camp in Meknes, sponsored by the Ministry of Youth and PC. Met other PCVs and had fun running around. 100 new people know about Honolululu (yes, 3 lu's). I and friends visiting from Namibia travelled through the lovely towns of Chefchaouen and Fes for a few days. Got to eat mousse in Azrou again. Plan on heading to Kesh tomorrow for a craft fair. Been organizing the one-day workshop on selling well at craft fairs for about 50 artisans, and I think I don’t have anything left to be stressed out about. Don’t worry mom, pictures on fbook to come soon, inshallah.

Life is good.