Watch the news report here (flash forward past football to 16-minute marker):
http://www.2m.ma/Infos/node_3807/2010/node_12817/12h45-11
Here's a picture of 2M at the Settat fair, interviewing one of the Chamber of Artisans' leaders:
11 July 2010
National News
The rug weaving association made it on national television! 2M came to town and filmed the week-long craft fair yesterday. We watched the report at the AIR-CONDITIONED tent today.
Watch the news report here (flash forward past football to 16-minute marker):
http://www.2m.ma/Infos/node_3807/2010/node_12817/12h45-11
Here's a picture of 2M at the Settat fair, interviewing one of the Chamber of Artisans' leaders:
Watch the news report here (flash forward past football to 16-minute marker):
http://www.2m.ma/Infos/node_3807/2010/node_12817/12h45-11
Here's a picture of 2M at the Settat fair, interviewing one of the Chamber of Artisans' leaders:
10 July 2010
Settat Fair
Settat, my regional capital, now has a royal golf university, remains of a kasbah, race track, cement factory, and “Mexican” cafe. Seasonal watermelons and cantaloupe flourish in the local soil, and boys and men sell the fruit all along the main highway. As the province’s administrative center, beautiful buildings, parks, cafes, and banks occupy the center of town. Back in the day, according to the Chamber of Artisans’ president, people living in this region developed Setata to help caravans safely pass between Casablanca and Marrakesh, protecting their goods from thieves.
Invited to the Chamber of Artisans annual week-long craft fair, I visited Settat for a day trip. 7 local B-town artisanal groups would have booths to display and sell their traditional handicrafts, and the Chamber also brought old Moroccan tools, antiques, photos, and clothes to display as well.
Getting there was a small adventure. Apparently, lots of B-towners wanted to head up north, so I didn’t mind paying for an inflated priced ticket. Despite the early morning heat, the old man next to me was wearing a ski jacket. I asked him where he was going (Casa), and I told him I was going to Settat. He immediately caused a scene and told me I was on the wrong bus. I told him I was advised to head up north to another town, and then transfer to another bus that would take me directly to Settat. The bus manager calmly assured him I was on the right bus, and the old man told me he would point out my transfer-point city. Despite his thoughtfulness, he fell asleep.
At the transfer city, the bus manager introduced me to another group also going to Settat. We got off on the side of the road, and then I found out the group wasn’t heading to Settat… Fortunately, one other young man said he was heading there (I didn’t know whether or not to believe him), and an approaching bus on the other side of the road was where we needed to be.
We ran to the other side, where a policeman stood near the “bus stop." Although it looked like just another part of the sidewalk to me , it’s uncanny how locals know where these unmarked bus stops and checkpoints are. Apparently, it’s illegal for buses to pull up on the side of the road, and they are fined if caught. As the bus approached, my new stranger friend/stalker (still couldn’t tell at this point) and the bus driver made large gestures to each other. The bus drove on, and--thinking we missed the bus--I asked the man why don’t we just head to the bus station instead. He told me the bus driver will circle around again for us, but we need to walk a few 100 meters down the road. At first, I didn’t believe him, but the bus u-turned and I thought, thank god for his travel company.
This bright idea to move the “bus stop” down the road was actually not a bright idea because the policeman followed us. He waited about 20 meters away from us in the middle of the round-about, and when the bus came back, he made it pull off on the side of the road. Men descended the bus, papers were taken out, and lots of back and forth talking ensued.
I asked my travel companion (who’s also from B-town, dad works at a prison in transfer town, and who’s origin is Settat) why don’t we board the bus or at least find out if this bus is indeed going to Settat (I know, I need to stop asking why questions). He assured me it was and that we should wait right where we were. Preferring the sunny breeze to the hot bus vacuum (and a bit afraid that we were the cause of the bus driver’s trouble), I agreed. Soon, a car pulled up and asked my new friend for directions to Settat. We got a free ride there (I even wore a seatbelt!). It turned out the craft fair was right next to the building that the driver was seeking. Also going on in town were crystal/quartz and pottery exhibitions.
The craft fair didn’t start until the evening and wasn’t open to the public until the mayor and president arrived, so I had to talk my way into the fair. It was pretty easy, since strangers are easily impressed with foreigners who speak darija and the first booth consisted of a B-town rug maker who knew me. I had a nice “preview sale,” got to chat with all the artisans, bettered my relationship with the Chamber of Artisans, and caught a free, informative ride back home with the president. We even stopped for coffee and much-needed cold water at an all-male roadside café. Photos to come on facebook.
Today marks the grand-opening of the rug association’s in-site, week-long craft fair that the association president told me I’m working at. Despite my affection for the weavers, the association is swarming in town gossip for its politics and graft. I’m not sure what to expect, but if the Settat adventure taught me anything, it’s to go with the flow, be active, be honest, and accept things as they are beyond your control.
In other work-related news, the screen-printers grant was approved this morning!!! I’m off to share the good news and figure out last minute logistics!
Invited to the Chamber of Artisans annual week-long craft fair, I visited Settat for a day trip. 7 local B-town artisanal groups would have booths to display and sell their traditional handicrafts, and the Chamber also brought old Moroccan tools, antiques, photos, and clothes to display as well.
Getting there was a small adventure. Apparently, lots of B-towners wanted to head up north, so I didn’t mind paying for an inflated priced ticket. Despite the early morning heat, the old man next to me was wearing a ski jacket. I asked him where he was going (Casa), and I told him I was going to Settat. He immediately caused a scene and told me I was on the wrong bus. I told him I was advised to head up north to another town, and then transfer to another bus that would take me directly to Settat. The bus manager calmly assured him I was on the right bus, and the old man told me he would point out my transfer-point city. Despite his thoughtfulness, he fell asleep.
At the transfer city, the bus manager introduced me to another group also going to Settat. We got off on the side of the road, and then I found out the group wasn’t heading to Settat… Fortunately, one other young man said he was heading there (I didn’t know whether or not to believe him), and an approaching bus on the other side of the road was where we needed to be.
We ran to the other side, where a policeman stood near the “bus stop." Although it looked like just another part of the sidewalk to me , it’s uncanny how locals know where these unmarked bus stops and checkpoints are. Apparently, it’s illegal for buses to pull up on the side of the road, and they are fined if caught. As the bus approached, my new stranger friend/stalker (still couldn’t tell at this point) and the bus driver made large gestures to each other. The bus drove on, and--thinking we missed the bus--I asked the man why don’t we just head to the bus station instead. He told me the bus driver will circle around again for us, but we need to walk a few 100 meters down the road. At first, I didn’t believe him, but the bus u-turned and I thought, thank god for his travel company.
This bright idea to move the “bus stop” down the road was actually not a bright idea because the policeman followed us. He waited about 20 meters away from us in the middle of the round-about, and when the bus came back, he made it pull off on the side of the road. Men descended the bus, papers were taken out, and lots of back and forth talking ensued.
I asked my travel companion (who’s also from B-town, dad works at a prison in transfer town, and who’s origin is Settat) why don’t we board the bus or at least find out if this bus is indeed going to Settat (I know, I need to stop asking why questions). He assured me it was and that we should wait right where we were. Preferring the sunny breeze to the hot bus vacuum (and a bit afraid that we were the cause of the bus driver’s trouble), I agreed. Soon, a car pulled up and asked my new friend for directions to Settat. We got a free ride there (I even wore a seatbelt!). It turned out the craft fair was right next to the building that the driver was seeking. Also going on in town were crystal/quartz and pottery exhibitions.
The craft fair didn’t start until the evening and wasn’t open to the public until the mayor and president arrived, so I had to talk my way into the fair. It was pretty easy, since strangers are easily impressed with foreigners who speak darija and the first booth consisted of a B-town rug maker who knew me. I had a nice “preview sale,” got to chat with all the artisans, bettered my relationship with the Chamber of Artisans, and caught a free, informative ride back home with the president. We even stopped for coffee and much-needed cold water at an all-male roadside café. Photos to come on facebook.Today marks the grand-opening of the rug association’s in-site, week-long craft fair that the association president told me I’m working at. Despite my affection for the weavers, the association is swarming in town gossip for its politics and graft. I’m not sure what to expect, but if the Settat adventure taught me anything, it’s to go with the flow, be active, be honest, and accept things as they are beyond your control.
In other work-related news, the screen-printers grant was approved this morning!!! I’m off to share the good news and figure out last minute logistics!
02 July 2010
At Least There Were No Placentas On The Road
God bless America. I won't ever complain again about the Veteran's Hospital in DC (where PC referred me as a patient) or the Hawaii-based insurance my Virginia-based job provided me with.
I started this entry to write about my experience with a local hospital, but then I got distracted. Time flew, and I owe my mom an update. How about a news-headlines-esque blog entry instead?
Guess who happily eats watermelon and cantaloupe now? Although I once thought of these as puke-smelling fruit, I actually enjoy it! My friends have been serving platters of fresh, juicy watermelon, cantaloupe, apricots, and plums after our lunches and dinners together.
At a recent Jazz Festival in Rabat, yours truly heard a Scandinavian band and saw one of the musicians grabbing pizza afterward.
At a more recent Ganaoua Festival in Essaouira, yours truly joined a crowd of thousands of boys to hear a popular hip hop artist perform at 4am on the beach. She also promoted free SIDA (HIV/AIDS) testing and encouraged testers to wait in an orderly line.
My first Moroccan host family warmly welcomed me back to their renovated home. Despite having not kept in touch, knocking on a once-blue-now-black door, and having a stranger answer, I soon caught up with my host family (and met my host mom's father who was in Spain last year). We could actually speak well with each other, and we laughed over some miscommunication from the home-stay experience. My host mom impressed me with how much of me she remembered. Maybe she's Moroccan CIA...
Rumors are afloat of bringing an inflatable couch to the watering hole at my first training site. And of visiting a water park in Marrakesh. (get the afloat pun? ha ha ...ha).
I read an article about the Dunning-Kruger Effect ("our incompetence masks our ability to recognize our incompetence") and wonder how it can apply to us PCVs...
The screen-printers and I are patiently waiting to find out if our grant was approved. This would provide them with material to screen-print clothes for themselves and shirts to sell.
From 50 to 5: this is the number of weavers who still go to the workshop daily. There's an upcoming rug craft fair in site, and they are getting ready for it! Badges with pictures for all exhibitors to come.
Yes, the townspeople have acknowledged that sif (the hot season) has arrived. Wearing 4 pants and 2 long-sleeve tops underneath a jellaba, the local women still confuse this blogger.
The World Cup is actually a big deal here. With Brazil and Ghana out, who will Moroccans cheer for next?
And more importantly, how much longer will all the ice cream/potato chip/cotton candy vendors stay open after sif is over?
*So the blog title was to remind me to put things in perspective. My regional capital's hospital is a place I would never ever want to do another lab test, despite the selectively friendly staff. At least it does not dispose of its placentas and used needles out in the street (like some other hospitals in the world).
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