A year and a half later, my idea's catching on...Check out these freshly painted neighborhoods:
11 October 2011
A Color Town
After visiting Chefchaouen last spring, I came back to Btown with an idea to increase tourism in town. Google Chefchaouen, and you'll see that the town is painted in beautiful blue and white tones. So I told some rug sellers here (half joking), "What if we paint Btown green? We'll be known as the green city, and all the tourists will come here and buy your rugs!"
A year and a half later, my idea's catching on...Check out these freshly painted neighborhoods:
A year and a half later, my idea's catching on...Check out these freshly painted neighborhoods:
Flashback Email from RIM
Oh, how innocent and excited I was when I first joined PC!
-----Original Message-----
From: K [mailto:@gmail.com]
Sent: Thursday, July 17, 2008 2:59 AM
Subject: Life with a Host Family, unproofread and written fast, pls feel free to fwd to friends/fam
Been living with my stage family for just about three weeks now. The worse few days have been the last few days, because I had a really bad case of diarrhea (I think it's because I was dumb and had a couple of frozen hibiscus sugar popsicle-like things called ball de bastiques, which are made with unfiltered water). That's pretty much out of my system thanks to antibiotics. Got to spend a day back at the Peace Corps center in a fly-free, ac room, drinking all the Gatorade I wanted (which wasn't much at the time, since whatever I ate went straight through me). I'll no longer take for granted being in a room with less than ten flies, furniture, or moving air. The up sides of having diarrhea have been getting to bond with other sick volunteers (bowel movement is a popular topic of convo) and not being afraid of using the outdoor bathroom/douche (aka hole in the ground). I've become completely efficient at bugspraying the douche and using a teapot sans toilet paper, all while holding my flashlight in between my head and right shoulder.
In other news, I'm starting to get adjusted to life here. Every morning, I have bread and tea for breakfast, which kind of makes me feel like I'm in prison, but it's food so I can't complain. Then, I walk for about ten minutes past the goats, cows, chickens, dogs, and donkeys that roam the sandy road to my 4-hour long language class. It's not very productive for me, but I just keep telling myself that any French I learn is helpful.
Doesn't matter that most people here speak Hassaniaya.. We eat rice and fish every day for lunch, called maruhoot. It's so hot and humid in the afternoon, it's no surprise the whole town shuts down between 12-4. I usually hang out with my family or with any neighboring family (a few PC volunteers live near me and my neighbors have electricity and tvs). At 4:00, I go back to language for a couple hours. Me and two other kids are learning French now, and hopefully, inshallah (if god wills it), we'll switch over to hassaniya soon. After class, I either visit friends, play cribbage, play Frisbee, or watch tv at someone else's house. I've hit it off with a 27-yr old Sonnike woman. We sometimes have dance parties, joke about stealing babies, and pretend to steal other people's husbands. Sounds strange, I know. But here, marriage, kids, and religion are life. To be 23 and not married with no kids is crazy. I've received countless marriage proposals, questions why I'm not married, and offers to convert to Islam.
Sometimes I can joke around with answers, and sometimes I have to talk to really ignorant people who get me so mad. I just have to keep putting myself in their shoes: some toubab (foreigner) who doesn't know our culture, speak any one of our languages, and doesn't cover herself from head to toe in 100+ weather, and who left the land of riches and opportunity to come here, single and old, must be crazy. Why else would she come here?
My 14 year old sister is married and has a baby. Right now, our host mom is in Nouakchott, so it's the 14 yr old, me, our 5 yr old brother, and the baby at the "house." Typing this now, it sounds odd that she's taking care of everyone, and the 5 yr old is already an uncle, but that's pretty normal here. Naked babies and naked kids, who pee anywhere they please. I had another brother, but one day he left for Nouakchott and I don't think he's coming back soon. He's 8, and the 5 yr old really misses him. Since he's been gone, I've become one of the 5 yr old's favorite toys. The kids on my street think I'm a great toy, and there are so many of them, and they all know my name (I realize my English grammer sucks now). My neighbors have a pet cow and goat, and my other neighbors have a pet monkey. Kids are free to roam around the town. It's so interesting how there are no street signs and people don't know what day they are born on, but everyone knows their way around and how old everyone is.
I think what I miss most about the states is all the diversity. With food, people, ideas. Tradition is pretty big here. You don't question why things are done a certain way (which of course frustrates me cos I'm a huge WHY person). Yet at the same time, I think I'm slowly accepting everything and trying to fit in. Mark called me the other day, and I cried at the end of the call. There's no such thing as privacy here: during the call, the 5 yr. old was on me, the baby was crying a few feet away, and my sister was trying to listen in on an English conversation. She asked me why I was crying, and I told her that I really missed my family and friends back in the states. She started crying with me and we bonded. She said that she cried because her mom's in Nouakchott for a couple days (a 6 hour taxi ride I think? away). It was funny because we had a business lecture today, where the man said American and Mauritanian women can bond over emotional attachments, and here I was, bonding.
Two funny stories before I sign off. Yes, random haphazard email, I know.
1. There's a soda called Hawai here. I tell people I'm from there, and sometimes that my family owns the soda. It's great.
2. Last night, if I can't create any positive change in Mauritania, at least I know that I've been able to educate another family about my culture and life in general. I was visiting a friend, and her host brother asked if I knew Jet Li. I said he's my brother, and they got sooo excited. So I said I was just kidding, and explained that the difference between Chinois/Chinese and Japonais/Japanese people (the family thought they were the same). I also was able to explain that so many different kinds of people immigrated to the States, so that is how I'm Japanese and also American, and how there are so many kinds of people in the USA. My family doesn't speak French as well as this family, so I'm sure they still think I'm weird. But this family at least knows. I also told them I ate frogs and snails in the states, and they do not, so they still think I'm weird. It's a good weird though.
Tea is a huge custom here, and I had tea at their house. The more foam in your shot glass, the more esteemed you are, and I had 75% foam. It's the most foam I've ever been served. Me and my weird eating habits, someone who doesn't eat fish and rice for lunch every day, someone who wanted rice for dinner instead of lunch (very shocking and unacceptable here), got 75% foam. So all in all, despite the diarrhea, wild animals and crap everywhere, lack of material comforts, and extreme heat, life is pretty good here.
In a couple of days, all the volunteers regroup from their stage families and come back to the center. We'll head out on a week long site visit to wherever we will be for the next two years. Word on the street is I may end up in Atar. Google it, and I'll confirm the next time I have internet access...
All the best from RIM! Please keep in touch and let me know what's new with you. Sorry if it takes me awhile to reply back (even though other volunteers have updated blogs with pictures). I've been hanging out with local families and other volunteers instead of going to the cyber cafes. Also, my family's kind of poor, and I don't want to flash my American wealth yet. But I appreciate America more than ever and can't wait to come back!
Kathryn
PS my cell phone may be broken? Not sure, but I'll try to be late to class one day (stores, like the post office, are only open during the same hours we have class) to visit the phone store and find out.
-----Original Message-----
From: K [mailto:@gmail.com]
Sent: Thursday, July 17, 2008 2:59 AM
Subject: Life with a Host Family, unproofread and written fast, pls feel free to fwd to friends/fam
Been living with my stage family for just about three weeks now. The worse few days have been the last few days, because I had a really bad case of diarrhea (I think it's because I was dumb and had a couple of frozen hibiscus sugar popsicle-like things called ball de bastiques, which are made with unfiltered water). That's pretty much out of my system thanks to antibiotics. Got to spend a day back at the Peace Corps center in a fly-free, ac room, drinking all the Gatorade I wanted (which wasn't much at the time, since whatever I ate went straight through me). I'll no longer take for granted being in a room with less than ten flies, furniture, or moving air. The up sides of having diarrhea have been getting to bond with other sick volunteers (bowel movement is a popular topic of convo) and not being afraid of using the outdoor bathroom/douche (aka hole in the ground). I've become completely efficient at bugspraying the douche and using a teapot sans toilet paper, all while holding my flashlight in between my head and right shoulder.In other news, I'm starting to get adjusted to life here. Every morning, I have bread and tea for breakfast, which kind of makes me feel like I'm in prison, but it's food so I can't complain. Then, I walk for about ten minutes past the goats, cows, chickens, dogs, and donkeys that roam the sandy road to my 4-hour long language class. It's not very productive for me, but I just keep telling myself that any French I learn is helpful.
Doesn't matter that most people here speak Hassaniaya.. We eat rice and fish every day for lunch, called maruhoot. It's so hot and humid in the afternoon, it's no surprise the whole town shuts down between 12-4. I usually hang out with my family or with any neighboring family (a few PC volunteers live near me and my neighbors have electricity and tvs). At 4:00, I go back to language for a couple hours. Me and two other kids are learning French now, and hopefully, inshallah (if god wills it), we'll switch over to hassaniya soon. After class, I either visit friends, play cribbage, play Frisbee, or watch tv at someone else's house. I've hit it off with a 27-yr old Sonnike woman. We sometimes have dance parties, joke about stealing babies, and pretend to steal other people's husbands. Sounds strange, I know. But here, marriage, kids, and religion are life. To be 23 and not married with no kids is crazy. I've received countless marriage proposals, questions why I'm not married, and offers to convert to Islam.
Sometimes I can joke around with answers, and sometimes I have to talk to really ignorant people who get me so mad. I just have to keep putting myself in their shoes: some toubab (foreigner) who doesn't know our culture, speak any one of our languages, and doesn't cover herself from head to toe in 100+ weather, and who left the land of riches and opportunity to come here, single and old, must be crazy. Why else would she come here?
My 14 year old sister is married and has a baby. Right now, our host mom is in Nouakchott, so it's the 14 yr old, me, our 5 yr old brother, and the baby at the "house." Typing this now, it sounds odd that she's taking care of everyone, and the 5 yr old is already an uncle, but that's pretty normal here. Naked babies and naked kids, who pee anywhere they please. I had another brother, but one day he left for Nouakchott and I don't think he's coming back soon. He's 8, and the 5 yr old really misses him. Since he's been gone, I've become one of the 5 yr old's favorite toys. The kids on my street think I'm a great toy, and there are so many of them, and they all know my name (I realize my English grammer sucks now). My neighbors have a pet cow and goat, and my other neighbors have a pet monkey. Kids are free to roam around the town. It's so interesting how there are no street signs and people don't know what day they are born on, but everyone knows their way around and how old everyone is.
I think what I miss most about the states is all the diversity. With food, people, ideas. Tradition is pretty big here. You don't question why things are done a certain way (which of course frustrates me cos I'm a huge WHY person). Yet at the same time, I think I'm slowly accepting everything and trying to fit in. Mark called me the other day, and I cried at the end of the call. There's no such thing as privacy here: during the call, the 5 yr. old was on me, the baby was crying a few feet away, and my sister was trying to listen in on an English conversation. She asked me why I was crying, and I told her that I really missed my family and friends back in the states. She started crying with me and we bonded. She said that she cried because her mom's in Nouakchott for a couple days (a 6 hour taxi ride I think? away). It was funny because we had a business lecture today, where the man said American and Mauritanian women can bond over emotional attachments, and here I was, bonding.
Two funny stories before I sign off. Yes, random haphazard email, I know.
1. There's a soda called Hawai here. I tell people I'm from there, and sometimes that my family owns the soda. It's great.
2. Last night, if I can't create any positive change in Mauritania, at least I know that I've been able to educate another family about my culture and life in general. I was visiting a friend, and her host brother asked if I knew Jet Li. I said he's my brother, and they got sooo excited. So I said I was just kidding, and explained that the difference between Chinois/Chinese and Japonais/Japanese people (the family thought they were the same). I also was able to explain that so many different kinds of people immigrated to the States, so that is how I'm Japanese and also American, and how there are so many kinds of people in the USA. My family doesn't speak French as well as this family, so I'm sure they still think I'm weird. But this family at least knows. I also told them I ate frogs and snails in the states, and they do not, so they still think I'm weird. It's a good weird though.
Tea is a huge custom here, and I had tea at their house. The more foam in your shot glass, the more esteemed you are, and I had 75% foam. It's the most foam I've ever been served. Me and my weird eating habits, someone who doesn't eat fish and rice for lunch every day, someone who wanted rice for dinner instead of lunch (very shocking and unacceptable here), got 75% foam. So all in all, despite the diarrhea, wild animals and crap everywhere, lack of material comforts, and extreme heat, life is pretty good here.
In a couple of days, all the volunteers regroup from their stage families and come back to the center. We'll head out on a week long site visit to wherever we will be for the next two years. Word on the street is I may end up in Atar. Google it, and I'll confirm the next time I have internet access...
All the best from RIM! Please keep in touch and let me know what's new with you. Sorry if it takes me awhile to reply back (even though other volunteers have updated blogs with pictures). I've been hanging out with local families and other volunteers instead of going to the cyber cafes. Also, my family's kind of poor, and I don't want to flash my American wealth yet. But I appreciate America more than ever and can't wait to come back!
Kathryn
PS my cell phone may be broken? Not sure, but I'll try to be late to class one day (stores, like the post office, are only open during the same hours we have class) to visit the phone store and find out.
10 October 2011
Jellaba Bead
Despite growing up in the technological age, I'm still a novice with my video camera. I'd like to blame 3 years of usage on this continent as the problem, but that would be a lie. Either way, here's my first video on how to make a jellaba button. Fatima, the woman whose hands are shown here, is one of the ladies who makes buttons for the Marche Maroc jewelry. She had a welder grind up a nail, which she used to hold the plastic inner tube.
In this culture, one learns by watching. It took me at least 4 demonstrations before I was kind of able to make my first bead. Thank Allah Fatima was so patient. However, I am an excellent shopper. So, mom, look forward to arts and crafts projects with +5,000 beads to choose from!
Soooo....my internet is too slow to load a video. Here are some photos instead:
(Fatima teaching her daughter how to make a button)
(Osama, Fatima's son, and our adorable distraction during the whole process)
(After observing, I finally had a hands-on opportunity)
08 October 2011
My Nokia Torch
In 2008, I purchased this cell phone in Mauritania.
It's been with me ever since.
I dedicate this entry to this phone, which accompanied me to many toilets, to 7 countries, and inside my mosquito net. It's guided me through blackouts, sandstorms, camping adventures, and empty streets. It was the only light source (after my rechargeable flashlight broke) for my first host family. Many meals were prepared and a baby named after me was even given birth by this light. It has probably been the closest thing to me these past three years (is that sad?). Here are some stats:
Messages sent on it=4905
Messages received=9998
Duration of all calls sent=6 hours, 50 minutes, 45 seconds
Duration of all calls received=90 hours, 11 minutes, 43 seconds
(*This counter actually reached 99:59:59 in 2009 and reset itself to 0, so I really received +190 hours of phone calls)
And, I'd like to thank all my loved ones and fellow PCVs for making these stats possible. May Allah reward your parents.
It's been with me ever since.
I dedicate this entry to this phone, which accompanied me to many toilets, to 7 countries, and inside my mosquito net. It's guided me through blackouts, sandstorms, camping adventures, and empty streets. It was the only light source (after my rechargeable flashlight broke) for my first host family. Many meals were prepared and a baby named after me was even given birth by this light. It has probably been the closest thing to me these past three years (is that sad?). Here are some stats:
Messages sent on it=4905
Messages received=9998
Duration of all calls sent=6 hours, 50 minutes, 45 seconds
Duration of all calls received=90 hours, 11 minutes, 43 seconds
(*This counter actually reached 99:59:59 in 2009 and reset itself to 0, so I really received +190 hours of phone calls)
And, I'd like to thank all my loved ones and fellow PCVs for making these stats possible. May Allah reward your parents.
Milliar-nare Scandel
(Maybe I will complete 100 blog entries...quantity not quality!)
Continuing with this milliar/money thing...
So two milliar-naires got into a fight last weekend, and everyone in town knows about it. Based on my limited Darija/Fusha, here's the town gossip (and what was written in the newspapers):
The man who owns the big gas station in town lent over 1,000,000DH over 5 years ago to another man involved in real estate. Both men are from B-town, and both partook in an elaborate lunch during the moussem at a Minister's house. All three men are milliar-naires.
After the lunch, the gas station man, his son, and his driver beat up the man who borrowed money because the man apparently had not repaid it.
Although this happened on a Saturday, the real estate man called on friends in the justice department to open the office so he could file a complaint. Now, the gas station man and the two others are in jail.
How long will the men be in jail? What's jail like for a milliar-naire? Was there a contract for the loan repayment? And if so, what were the details? Surely there were witnesses to the fight, and perhaps they could have stopped the attack? How hurt is the real estate man? Would this be news all over town if the men weren't famous/wealthy? How much influence must one have to open the office on a weekend? Who has more influence? What will happen? Those are some of my unanswered questions. But of course, mashi shguli ("not my business").
Continuing with this milliar/money thing...
So two milliar-naires got into a fight last weekend, and everyone in town knows about it. Based on my limited Darija/Fusha, here's the town gossip (and what was written in the newspapers):
The man who owns the big gas station in town lent over 1,000,000DH over 5 years ago to another man involved in real estate. Both men are from B-town, and both partook in an elaborate lunch during the moussem at a Minister's house. All three men are milliar-naires.
After the lunch, the gas station man, his son, and his driver beat up the man who borrowed money because the man apparently had not repaid it.
Although this happened on a Saturday, the real estate man called on friends in the justice department to open the office so he could file a complaint. Now, the gas station man and the two others are in jail.
How long will the men be in jail? What's jail like for a milliar-naire? Was there a contract for the loan repayment? And if so, what were the details? Surely there were witnesses to the fight, and perhaps they could have stopped the attack? How hurt is the real estate man? Would this be news all over town if the men weren't famous/wealthy? How much influence must one have to open the office on a weekend? Who has more influence? What will happen? Those are some of my unanswered questions. But of course, mashi shguli ("not my business").
07 October 2011
Mul Bazaar, Part II
So my faithful readers (aka just my mom) will remember my entry about trying to exchange dirhams for euros before my trip to Italy. Since that incident, everything with the mul bazaar has been uneventful at the money exchange hanut.
While sorting through my things today, I found 2,000DH that I must have hidden for emergencies ages ago. This week, I just balanced my Moroccan checking account and budgeted for the rest of my service here (still don't have a countdown), so I debated between treating myself to another shopping spree, investing the money into Fatiha's project, or converting the money into dollars.
PC is giving me $83 to check in my second bag twice and buy food at the Casablanca, Frankfurt, San Francisco, and Honolulu airports (on flights where meals are for purchase), so I decided to chance my luck and return to the mul bazaar.
The men there remembered me and, surprisingly, warmly welcomed me. I was told that the official exchange rate was around 8.58 dirhams to the dollar, but the men would be happy to give me the black market rate of 8.3 dirhams to the dollar if I just waited until the afternoon. I asked if I could get my passport stamped this time, and the mul bazaar said only if I take the official rate. Because I hoped to fill my passport with stamps (only have a few pages left!) and felt really bad about my amazing discount the last time, I requested the official rate. He told me to come back in the afternoon. ...um...ok.
So, I returned later to find out that the men still didn't have the key to the safe. I waited for a bit until the old man (see first mul bazaar story) returned with the key. Once the safe was open, the men had only a $100 bill and five one dollar bills.
God was sending me a sign to go shopping instead! I asked how many dirhams was the $100 bill worth. The mul bazaar said, "800." We traded. Sadly, no passport was stamped. He then told me the bill was town in two and taped together. I didn't even notice nor did I think that would be a problem, so he gave me a dollar for free. Then another dollar, then another, and so on until I had $5 extra.
I told the mul bazaar that this $5 was equivalent to more than 40DH and started to list off how many things I could buy with that amount. He laughed and said, "No problem." I asked to buy the $5 from him, but my offer was refused. The men told me that they won't restock dollars because everyone in town trades in euros. While waiting for the key to arrive, I witnessed many women trade dirhams for euros and vice versa. One woman had 20,000DH to trade; another had 300euros to trade. I felt pretty miskina.
So, I went to my friend's hanut to buy a rug that I've been eying my whole service. I have never come across another rug like it in all of the many souks and medinas I've visited. Unfortunately, she already sold that rug.
Moral of the story: sometimes you snooze you lose (ie with the rug), and sometimes you snooze you win (ie with the leftover dollars). I will pass on my 5 dollar bills to other people in town. Easy come, easy go (moral #2).
In other "financial" news, I finally got a straight answer on how much money exactly is a "milliar." It's one billion ryals, or 50,000,000 dirhams, or about 5 million euros. According to town gossip, there are about 9 people who are milliar-ers in Btown. Perhaps the woman with the 20,000DH was one?
In "Kat" news, I realize that I type my blogs in simple language, as if I wanted to translate this story into Darija. I hope my advanced high school vocabulary comes back to me once I'm in America LATER THIS MONTH!
Disclaimer: THIS IS NOT MY MONEY! I am still miskina. It's the grant money I withdrew from my account for one of the Marche Maroc craft fairs.
While sorting through my things today, I found 2,000DH that I must have hidden for emergencies ages ago. This week, I just balanced my Moroccan checking account and budgeted for the rest of my service here (still don't have a countdown), so I debated between treating myself to another shopping spree, investing the money into Fatiha's project, or converting the money into dollars.
PC is giving me $83 to check in my second bag twice and buy food at the Casablanca, Frankfurt, San Francisco, and Honolulu airports (on flights where meals are for purchase), so I decided to chance my luck and return to the mul bazaar.
The men there remembered me and, surprisingly, warmly welcomed me. I was told that the official exchange rate was around 8.58 dirhams to the dollar, but the men would be happy to give me the black market rate of 8.3 dirhams to the dollar if I just waited until the afternoon. I asked if I could get my passport stamped this time, and the mul bazaar said only if I take the official rate. Because I hoped to fill my passport with stamps (only have a few pages left!) and felt really bad about my amazing discount the last time, I requested the official rate. He told me to come back in the afternoon. ...um...ok.
So, I returned later to find out that the men still didn't have the key to the safe. I waited for a bit until the old man (see first mul bazaar story) returned with the key. Once the safe was open, the men had only a $100 bill and five one dollar bills.
God was sending me a sign to go shopping instead! I asked how many dirhams was the $100 bill worth. The mul bazaar said, "800." We traded. Sadly, no passport was stamped. He then told me the bill was town in two and taped together. I didn't even notice nor did I think that would be a problem, so he gave me a dollar for free. Then another dollar, then another, and so on until I had $5 extra.
I told the mul bazaar that this $5 was equivalent to more than 40DH and started to list off how many things I could buy with that amount. He laughed and said, "No problem." I asked to buy the $5 from him, but my offer was refused. The men told me that they won't restock dollars because everyone in town trades in euros. While waiting for the key to arrive, I witnessed many women trade dirhams for euros and vice versa. One woman had 20,000DH to trade; another had 300euros to trade. I felt pretty miskina.
So, I went to my friend's hanut to buy a rug that I've been eying my whole service. I have never come across another rug like it in all of the many souks and medinas I've visited. Unfortunately, she already sold that rug.
Moral of the story: sometimes you snooze you lose (ie with the rug), and sometimes you snooze you win (ie with the leftover dollars). I will pass on my 5 dollar bills to other people in town. Easy come, easy go (moral #2).
In other "financial" news, I finally got a straight answer on how much money exactly is a "milliar." It's one billion ryals, or 50,000,000 dirhams, or about 5 million euros. According to town gossip, there are about 9 people who are milliar-ers in Btown. Perhaps the woman with the 20,000DH was one?
In "Kat" news, I realize that I type my blogs in simple language, as if I wanted to translate this story into Darija. I hope my advanced high school vocabulary comes back to me once I'm in America LATER THIS MONTH!
Disclaimer: THIS IS NOT MY MONEY! I am still miskina. It's the grant money I withdrew from my account for one of the Marche Maroc craft fairs.
B-town Pick Up Lines
Top 3 Ways to Get Men and Women to Talk to You Without Saying a Word to Them:
1. Ride a fancy, new bike (with a helmet) around town.
2. Carry a large tagine from one end of town to the other.
3. Pass out American candy with a big smile on your face.
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