RIM beats 'ROC

Since I now have internet in my house, I can blog whenever I want: as soon as I wake up, on my way to the bathroom at 2am (from drinking too much tea in the evening), while cooking dinner...the possibilities are endless.

I am blogging now because the friend I was supposed to meet has been snowed in at site and can't leave. So, instead of having a FABULOUS WEEKEND GETAWAY IN MARAKESH TOGETHER, I am taking advantage of my UNLIMITED NEW HOME INTERNET CONNECTION. It got me thinking. There are some parts about being a PCV in Mauritania that definitely beat life here. Such as:

1. Snow never kept you away from your travel/vacation plans.
2. I never wore my American winter jacket indoors over 4 tops, jeans, and two pairs of socks AND still felt cold.
3. There were no yummy pastry shops in town to spend your money at and get fat.
4. Kids listened to Shakira and Akon on their cell phones, not Bryan Adams and Toni Braxton.
5. Bathrooms had makareshs (teapots to assist with pouring water to clean yourself), not large buckets.
6. Never saw a mouse swim in a toilet in Mauritania.
7. People knew less English, so you could talk about them without them knowing.
8. Hand-washed clothes dried faster.
9. Houses had yards. I had a huge yard that kept more street noise away.
10. PC chose hotels for volunteers that had hot water, ac, and television included in the rooms.
11. There were more wedding celebrations than funerals (perhaps other towns are luckier than mine).
12. Never had to wait for hours for the internet installation guys, the painters, and cement roofers to come to my house.
13. Shelves were concrete blocks and wooden planks. No hastles with bargaining and carrying plastic dressers back home.
14. We used checkbooks, not atm cards, to get our money. And there was a bank at my site. No atm fees.
15. Less tourists meant less people trying to rip you off in the big cities. And more genuine hospitality.
16. Never got dropped off on the side of a freeway at night on my way to visit host family friends.
17. Rubbish went over the neighbor's wall or was burnt in the yard. Didn't have to cart it down the street to the bins.
18. Businesses didn't post hours of operation signs that they didn't follow. You never expected a place to be open, so you never got annoyed when it wasn't.
19. Sitemates were AMAZING.
20. Got to share care package treats, instead of overindulging and feeling sick.
21. I lived better than my neighbors. Here, my neighbors offer to let me wear their clothes, use their washing machines, eat their food, give me work projects, clean my house...

I miss the good old days in the Posh Corps. I guess I have to face the harsh realities of the tough life here. They take away from my dedication to goal one, but...I'm trying to face and accept daily life here. Thank you for your support!!

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

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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.