Fat Bread

Last year, my home-stay family served me cold khobz shHma, aka fat bread. By "fat," I mean lard, which can be very delicious when cooked right. However, the oily tortillas wrapped around congealed fat were not delicious, and that night, it coated my mouth and throat no matter how many times I brushed my teeth. Since that meal, I tried to avoid khobz shHma.

Have I been missing out...

Last night, my neighbor and I prepared the most delicious fat bread, and it changed my point of view. Here's her "recipe:"

Knead:
-Flour
-Pinch of salt
-Yeast
-Warm water
Cover dough and let it rise. In the meantime,

Saute:
-2 cups finely diced red onions
-1 cup finely diced frozen fat (ideally, saved from the 3id Kbir sheep)
-bushel of finely chopped coriander
-Salt, pepper, ginger, cumin, paprika, and hot pepper flakes to taste
-1 T olive oil

1. Divide dough into ping-pong ball sizes and roll like mochi.
2. With well-oiled hands and surfaces, flatten one ball as thin as possible into a tortilla. The tortilla should be larger than my hand.
3. Put a tablespoon of the cooked fat mixture in the center of the tortilla.
4. Fold the top third of the tortilla over the mixture. Repeat with the bottom third, then the right side and left side. Turn the "burrito" upside-down.
5. Roll out another well-oiled ball into a well-oiled, thin tortilla.
6. Place the first "burrito" in the center of the second tortilla. You should see only one layer of dough above the spoonful of fat.
7. Fold the top third of the tortilla over the other "burrito." Repeat with the bottom third, then right side and left side.
8. With well-oiled hands, pat the tortillas down so they are only about an inch thick.
9. Repeat until you've used up your fat mixture and dough. *We counted out how many balls of dough pairs were rolled, then we divided the fat mixture into equal spoonfuls accordingly.
10. Place oiled "double burritos" on a well-oiled tray and bake on low heat. *We don't use temperature gauges here.

When the bread layers are lightly golden and crisp, turn over each "burrito." Cook until the whole flaky bread is golden brown.

Serve the fat bread hot! Enjoy with a hot glass of sweet mint, flio tea!

Unfortunately, I was too busy eating to take a photo of our fat bread (which I heated up again for breakfast, and again forgot to take a photo of). If you combine the two photos below into one, our fat bread would look like that:


For recipe variations, meat, fish, or any non-watery vegetable can also be added to the fat mixture. Let me know how your fat breads turn out!

Women's Empowerment

Karima called me last night, wondering if I was back in B-town. I told her that I was sick but hoped to visit her soon. So today, Fatiha knocks on my door to check up on me. She walked all the way across town by herself, which is a first, to give me the biggest hug I've gotten in awhile. She thought the craft fair went very well BZAAAF, and she's bursting with new ideas and opinions for the next fair.

We watched http://vimeo.com/17120288, a video interviewing six empowered Moroccan women that was made by a former Morocco PCV, again. Fatiha met one of the speakers at the Kesh craft fair, so it was especially rewarding to re-watch that part. Fatiha told me that Amina gave her so much good advice and motivation at the fair (or at least, that's what my Darija thinks she said). Having left the girls' development association, Fatiha and other girls want to start their own association. Or cooperative. Association? Nothing like coughing your way through a discussion on the differences between the two groups to get you going. In the end, we agreed that a cooperative would be better for her and the girls. I hope she'll remain as dedicated and gung ho as she seems.

When she left, I told her I'm coming with her because I wanted to collect my laundry from the rooftop. She chastised me for being sick and doing my own laundry, instead of calling her over to come do my laundry for me. Obviously. I asked if she wanted to see something gross. What is my Darija word for gross? *Scrunching my face up and saying eww ewww ewww. She comes up on the rooftop with me and steps on the dead baby bird, looking around for the gross thing. I told her she stepped on the dead bird (#3 on my rooftop), and she responded, "So what? It's only a dead bird." She couldn't believe I was afraid of a dead bird, and I couldn't believe she picked it up and flung it around my roof. First, on the plastic staircase covering; second, against the wall. I was afraid she'd joke around and fling it at me, which a glint in her eye told me she thought about it. Instead, she flung the bird off the roof--no warnings given to passerbyers below. Believe me, I'm so thankful I wasn't walking by, and that she got rid of the dead bird for me.

What happened with the other two dead baby birds? Another PCV took care of the first, and the second magically disappeared after a few days. What is God telling me with these birds?? Hrmmm...

(Painting done by local artist, Mohammed, of the walkways in B-town. You need to walk through one of these doorways to get to my house.)

I’m From Morocco; Where the F*** You From?

My close friend does not like B-town. She says the real B-towners have moved away to work (like her), and they only return to visit family on holidays or if they have haneen (nostalgia). Everyone else in town is from the country-side. So all the verbal harassment I get from men (both little boys and wizened men) and shocked stares from women come from outsiders, not B-towners. The true B-towners know there is no future or economy here, a small town that can’t compete with Casa or Marrakesh.

My home-stay family lived near the end of town in the same neighborhood as the screen-printers, my tutor, and association girls. Over the past year, these neighbors have seen me adjust to B-town, and they say I know the town better than they do. I’m probably closer to them than I am to my SBD stagemates. This one neighborhood consists of some of my most favorite people in town, and these people are not B-towners. Most speak fondly of the countryside, where there are animals, grass, fresh water, and clean air. People know and respect each other there, and they’ve invited me countless times to their country homes.

Officially, I am on my third year of PC service: 14 months in RIM and 15 months in ROC. ROC time flew by much faster than RIM time, as I’ve been busy with work projects (3 grants approved!), friendships, access to PC’s library, and home internet. Granted, here in ROC I do not have daily euchre games with interesting American sitemates. Despite spending a slightly longer time in ROC, I feel like I relate to my RIM time and RIM PCVs so much more. I’ll be visiting another ex-RIM PCV in Egypt next month, which makes me so ecstatic just thinking about it!

In the meantime, I have a difficult time commiserating with SBD PCVs here. I just came back to site from Mid-Service Medicals, where we meet with the doctors, dentist (yay, no cavities!), and program staff to recap our 1st year and plan for our 2nd. One of the doctors was my PCMO in RIM, and it was so nice to catch up with her and let out some tears. She said that half of the office shut down, the furniture was given to PC Senegal, housekeeping staff moved to the embassy, and our educated, dedicated program staff faced an almost non-existent job market and personal loans. If you think the economy is pretty bad in America, imagine Nouakchott. They were given a month’s notice that the PC RIM program would be “suspended.” My program manager appeared to have gone into depression. It is such an unfortunate situation, and I am reminded that I'm so blessed to have had the option to move to Morocco.

During MSMs, we had a whole session about how some PCVs feel like they aren’t paid enough and want to be compensated for their "business expenses." I know first-hand that some events, like the craft fair in Kesh, require lots of personal floos. Accordingly, inshallah, PCV expenses will be compensated for grant projects. Yet, that wasn't enough for everyone. These same PCVs grocery shop at the fancy supermarkets (as opposed to the local souk or hanuts), bump into me at expensive restaurants that target foreigners, travel like tourists around country, and some don’t even drink alcohol. How the hell did I save 700 Euros (not dirhams), pay for work projects out of pocket and monthly internet/landline, and treat myself to all the food/beverage luxuries available? Care packages help, but they aren't the reason (thanks for sending the boxes though!). Regardless, I also turned in my Living Allowance survey (apparently only 2/19 SBD PCVs did), which lets PC know how we spend our money. If PCVs want more money, why didn’t they turn in their overdue paperwork? One older woman said to everyone that she doesn’t budget and so couldn’t fill out the form. My silent response: that’s a life skill, not PC’s problem.

Okay, yet another blog entry turned into a rant entry. Believe it or not, I am actually very satisfied here. The Tataoua girls had a blast in Marrakesh: understanding better firsthand business concepts, networking their hearts out, flirting with the PCV boys, and selling a necklace to the US Ambassador’s wife. They made enough profit to invest in new materials for the next fair, and many PCVs complimented their colorful, hand-drawn inventory system. We also saw Keanu Reeves together!~~My rug/couscous artisan introduced me to new parts of Marrakesh’s medina that foreigners don’t enter, and he volunteered to help plan the next Marche Maroc craft fair.
~~All PCVs were invited to the Ambassador’s house for a fabulous dinner (Aunty A: first course after drinks was borscht!), and I bumped into my Moroccan friend there.~~My Marrakesh and Rabat hotels had friendly staff, hot showers, and plenty of stairs for free exercise. The Marrakesh receptionist told me that he loves PC and the tv show LOST, and that I spoke Darija better than any other PCV (that is perhaps an exaggeration on his end).~~Despite feeling completely fine (except for my small cold now), I have a parasite. Nicknamed Lucy, she must be the reason I’ve lost 5 pounds here. Or, it could be due to the abundance of fresh produce and meat (granted I’m a sucker for salt & vinegar chips and local pastries).~~I just ate corn/clam chowder with dill, but I started off with Aunty M’s cookies. Life’s pretty sweet. Happy Holidays!

To end on musical note, another PCV showed me the music video to one song I hear on so many boys’ cell phones in B-town. Check it out here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WVirGjPrT1s

PS: 1st pic is from the "certificate ceremony" at Marche Maroc. 2nd pic is my SBD eating buddy and I sharing chicken caesar salad, lasagne, a bacon cheeseburger, and a milkshake for me and root beer float for her. Love the American Club and friendly waiter who gives us poor PCVs larger portions!