Beanu Beanik

One of my favorite-sounding phrases in Darija is pronounced “bean-u-bean-ik.” It means “between him and you,” or if you want to get technical, “between him/it and between you.”

I often hear this phrase when people in my community choose not to get involved in someone else's affairs. Having gotten to know every neighborhood in my 50,000-person town, I have to walk quite a bit. One hour of daily walking, check! So, I keep myself entertained by having conversations in my head with myself. One recurring debate is whether or not this beanu beanik mentality is for the better or worse.

Stereotypes aside, my Morocco is much more passive than my America. People tend to watch more than they act: whether it’s regarding a father beating on his misbehaved toddler, a foreigner yelling at the man who just grabbed her butt, or witnessing a thief exit his/her own crime scene. This country’s candid camera tv shows are extra-entertaining because the pranksters can pull off even more than I'd expect on the unsuspecting passerby-er. *That being said, people here (more so than Americans) in general believe Allah has a greater influence in this world.

The lack of a third party involvement leads to less town gossip/meddling and more direct communication. This can be a good thing for me (the me not getting my butt touched). If another Moroccan were to get involved in my affairs with someone else, I suppose we would say “beani beanu beanik” (between me, him, and you). However, this phrase sounds too much like a magician’s incantation for my ears’ liking.

Suppress your excitement and stay tuned for my upcoming post on favorite-sounding phrases in Tashelheit…inshallah.

بوسفر (Bousfer)

According to googletranslate's Arabic, bousfer means "bousfer," aka not a real Arabic word. بصفر is "with zero" and بسفير is "with ambassador." In Darija, the dialect of Arabic that Moroccans speak, بوسفر (bousfer) means something entirely different, and perhaps it doesn't exist in Modern Standard Arabic. I didn't even know this word existed in Darija until tonight. Perhaps I have the spelling of the word wrong, but the neighborhood confirmed بوسفر to me.

So what is bousfer? I'm still not quite sure. My friend, Karima, has bousfer. So she went to see a lady who does bousfer. Having bousfer is not something one is ashamed of because it's quite common. When we broke fast together, Karima took western medicine that seemed to target her stomach.

The very country-looking lady who does bousfer learned her trade from her grandma. Not everyone can do bousfer; it takes a special person to be qualified. A bousfer is kind of like a doctor.

Bousfer entails Karima to see this lady three days in a row. Yesterday, Karima bought a razor blade, which the lady keeps in her small coin purse. The lady sucks on what looks like a flat, plastic, mini-donut. Karima removes her head scarf, and the lady hisses/spits on her arms, neck, and legs. Then, she pokes Karima's legs and hands with the razor blade. Karima's face shows pain during this process.

If Karima bleeds, her bousfer has left her. Last night, she bled a lot, and she showed me her tiny scars. Before knowing what I'd witness, I thought, Oh, perhaps this is some sort of traditional acupuncture. She didn't bleed tonight. She will return to the lady's modest home on the outskirts of town tomorrow.

The lady offered to do bousfer on me, but I politely declined. After this session, Karima assured me that the razor is just for her, and it will be discarded tomorrow night (check, mini-health lesson completed). Apparently, I'm not able to learn how to do bousfer.

So, that's bousfer. The neighborhood wants to know what we call bousfer in English. Any suggestions on what to tell them?

T Minus 3 Months

Three months left, and time here continues to surprise me. Despite temperatures in the high 30s (C), I “fasted” and spent the afternoon in Haymr. On my way there, I walked through a few dust storms, which turned into hail. Yes, hail. First time I've seen hail or any icy product from the sky in Btown, in both the winter and summer. Cheers to global warming.

In February, I revised my "Action Plan," projects and goals I hoped to accomplish before I COS and their timelines. This meant consolidating and cutting many projects out. This week with Ramadan going on, I re-adjusted my plan (aka cut more things out). Am I a slacker? Or less idealistic? Daily harassment from strangers aside, I am enjoying my time here and plan on doing so until I leave. Relationships mean more than a stellar-looking resume. So here's the new plan:
1. New product development training with the Nasim girls.
2. Computer and internet training with the Nasim girls. One goal is to get the girls set up with facebook (their request).
3. Grant writing workshops and 2 applications with the Nasim girls.
4. Translate the Marketing Mix game into Darija/French for 3 associations to "play."
5. Correspond with my 4th WWS class, aka my cheerleaders.

Personal tasks include:
1. Souvenir shop: Prob spent over 10,000dh already! It's only strange to me when I compare RIM to ROC and what "souvenirs" I could pick up there.
2. Finish reading the Koran in English, "Islam in Morocco," and "Do it Herself."
3. Complete 2 more LSAT practice tests.
4. Update the resume and send it out to BD fields.
5. Lose 5 pounds: NOT happening with Ramadan. Instead of eating 3 meals during the day, I have 2 or 3 meals at night and maybe 1 meal during the day. Fried fat with onions in oil, with warm homemade bread to soak up the sauce, is absolutely delicious!

Perhaps I'm sharing these goals on my blog to hold myself to a higher standard of accountability (not much of it goes on in PC, but that is another blog entry). We'll see how I do come November!


(My food baby and I pretending to be a statue in Italy. Used up the last of my vacation days on this trip, and it was definitely worth it!)

Shebakia and an Ethical Dilemma

These fried treats immersed in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds are a Ramadan staple in Btown.

I went to Fatima's house to ask a simple question; instead, I sat for 4 hours making hundreds of these little cookies. Now that I know how much time, energy, and oil is involved in each cookie, I won't gobble them down as quickly.

*Family, we used a pasta maker to roll out the dough, but I have a "cookie cutter" as well. It only takes a couple hours of practice to form the perfect shebakia.

Yesterday, I visited 7 banks that had electronic exchange rate placards. None had euros for my dirhams. Today, I visited the place Fatima recommended, and here's where the ethical dilemma portion of my blog starts. Usually, when dirhams are converted into euros, the foreigner's passport gets stamped to record the transaction because King Mhd put a cap on the amount of dirhams each person can convert each year. My mul bazaar tells me that only his son can stamp my passport, and he's not here, so forget about the stamp. Mashi mushkil. We can still do the transaction. Because I head to Italy soon, I needed euros, and 7 other banks in Btown didn't have euros, the transaction must go on.

Word Problem:
I have 1700 dirhams.
11.627 dirhams = 1 euro.
Mul bazaar gave me a 11.25dh/euro rate.

How many euros should I receive?

Answer: 300 euros, plus 12.5dh in change.

Incorrect, right? I tried telling the mul bazaar it was way too much money at least 5 times. I told him I was a thief if I took the money. He kept punching numbers into his calculator and talked to me like I was just learning math. We counted the money out over and over. Each time, I counted out 150 euros, and he kept adding more bills to the stack. I'm sure he thought this silly foreigner knew nothing about math. He offered to go over the calculations again, so I left the shop. Then, I returned. A few more times, I tried to show him how I'm actually ripping him off. As (most/some/a few) Moroccan men in positions of power are to me, he didn't listen and kept reiterating his side. FINE! I left.

Would you keep the money? Would you go back to the shop for a 3rd time? Would you check to make sure the money wasn't counterfeit (thanks, Carl)? I'm wondering if the man will hunt me down next month when/if he realizes his mistake. Or am I mistaken? There were no receipts or documentation of this transaction. Half of me is so gleeful; the other half is ashamed. What to do?

Congratulations Week

Wherever I went today in Btown, a warm "congratulations aura" surrounded me. Kids and women ululated in the streets, the scent of cookies filled homes, and people exchanged mabrouks when greeting each other. Moreover, I only got harassed by two men today, and they just called me "beautiful."

Why the good vibe? Two ex-members of the girls' development association I worked with are getting married this week. Yes, I was very indignant last year when these girls (aka my neighbors/teachers/students/chefs/friends) told me they no longer could participate in the association because they were getting married instead. WHY NOT DO BOTH?! I wished were possible.

This week, their families are bustling around, busy with wedding preparations: house visits galore to personally invite each guest, renting equipment (from a tent to pillows to music speakers), baking hundreds of cookies, henna, hair removal and styling, outfit tailoring/renting, and entertaining out-of-town guests.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to attend either wedding because Marche Maroc Essaouira happens at the same time. My artisan (also an ex-association member) and I plan on calling each girl on her wedding day, Friday and Saturday respectively, to congratulate her on such a momentous moment in her life. Both girls (age 19 and 18) will leave their families, virginity, and familiar Btown to move into their future husbands' homes in other towns.

I can't help but recall how I felt leaving HI for DC to attend college and be saddened that these girls won't be part of my routine Btown life anymore. One advantage I have though is the freedom to travel and visit them in their new homes, and both girls made me promise many times that I will. We jokingly wondered how many babies each young woman will have when I return to Morocco in say, 5, 10, or 20 years. They may be grandmothers before I'm even a mother...

The rest of town celebrated the posting of exam results in schools. Each student returned to school to see whether his/her name was assigned to the "passed" or "failed" side of the bulletin board. The Moroccan equivalent of high school seniors also found out whether or not they passed the college-entrance exams. This test affects the future of every child who hopes to continue studying in a university. Everyone I knew in town passed!!! One "high school senior" even texted me to let me know he njah-ted. I'm so happy to see these kids' studying (and cheating?) paid off. Families celebrated with soda and more freshly-baked cookies.

As I'm typing this, kids and families are still outside in the streets at 10PM (or 9PM Old Time). I hear frequent "Congratulations!" and "Ul-lu-ul-lu-ul-lu-ul-luuleee!" Wedding music plays in the background.

One more Moroccan man has my felicitations: my neighbor, Abdelghani. I helped him apply for his US visa, and he flew to America yesterday for the first time. It's also his first trip outside of Morocco, and he will be volunteering with a trail construction project in Vermont.

Yeah Btown!

Oh, and in honor of all the celebrations and American independence, I introduced chocolate pudding, a one-cup measuring cup, and rainbow sprinkles to a neighborhood. Boheja made the pudding by herself, but all the women and girls repeatedly dipped their fingers in the bowl. They participated in the (not-my-fault, honestly) ensuing pudding fight and dance party. I definitely did not expect that, but we had a delicious blast.

PS No photos will accompany this blog because the police gave my camera a virus, and I'm unable to see my photos. Congrats to my mom and her amazing tech skills--she'll tell me how to ameliorate this situation!

PC in Morocco and Harassment

Someone kind of high up in PC Morocco may have told me that the reason PC still exists here is because Morocco is a Muslim country. If you want my point of view on that statement, let's chat in person.

This year, PC has also redesigned its program: discontinuing the small business development, health education, and environmental education programs to focus just on youth development.

This means that the training groups in the near future will consist mostly of fresh-out-of-college (FOOC) kids--worldwide 80% of all PCVs--who are assigned to work in the Dar Shebab (youth center). Reminiscing to my FOOC days, I find it unwise for a FOOC-me to be developing the youth of Morocco. Happy hours which turn into sloppy late nights? Learning to live on my own? A salary for shopping sprees? Yes, please. Useful here? Not really. Decades of life experiences definitely translate into skills that FOOC people don't have yet. Yes, I'm generalizing and digressing...

So...even though I know some PCVs spend much of their time watching movies, cooking feasts, and traveling around (allowing a couple hours a day for "community integration"), I was bummed to hear that the SBD sector would be no more. The mudir (director) of the artisanat center, the local artisans (weavers/carpenters/entrepreneurs/couscous makers/metalworkers/jewelry makers/crocheters), my budding artisans (the girls who make products and attend PC-planned national craft fairs), my friends, and my hanai ohana seemed more bummed by the news. On one hand, some cried and said I needed to stay in Morocco; on the other, some just wanted another American to associate with (especially if that American was just like me). Others are just friendly with me on the surface and could care less about the future of PC.

Awwwww, right? Even if it takes two years to really understand the language and culture, humble myself and my expectations, and feel integrated--

Oh wait; I'm still getting harassed daily for being "Chinese" or for my body. Now that the school year is over, herds (yes, herds) of boys are free to roam around town calling out Arabic/French/English obscenities to my face and mostly to my back.

So today, I realized I agreed that YES, PC should invest resources in YD PCVs (ones that actually care to learn, plan activities, and participate in their communities). Perhaps if more Americans collaborated with more Moroccan youth and made each Dar Shebab a bustling center of fun and personal advancement, youth wouldn't care as much about harassing me for their own ignorant entertainment. Be-my-girlfriend proposals from boys over a decade younger than me may or may not stop, but Asian PCVs like me may get less harassment. And yes, everything comes back to me.

Seriously though, there have been soooo many days of school strikes this past year, kids who don't even attend school, and neglectful parents who are too busy sleeping through the day or working 10-hour days to provide for whole families. There also are many qualified, unemployed Moroccans (and PCVs) who could teach school subjects, computers, music, sports, dance, and theatre (all activities kids in general have expressed interest in) to those who say they're bored in Btown. What about promoting unexpressed interests in business training, safe sex classes, debate teams, chess teams, reading rooms, etc.? Besides the Dar Shebab, Btown has a cultural house, meeting spaces, and artisanat center that are underutilized. Any extra-curricular activities paired with a dedicated teacher/coach/counselor in a safe (perhaps I mean gender-divided/drug-free/open-minded?) environment to occupy kids' free time and develop their creativity and interpersonal relationships = PRETTY AWESOME.

Bottom-line, volunteerism doesn't really happen in Btown when one must first take care of himself and his family, and appearing to keep up with the Jones' is uber important here. Who would fund or contribute resources to any youth-development activities? Especially when these kids aren't part of the same family or tribe? How would such activities actually develop the youths' character, view on life, and amount of harassment to Chinese-looking people? Are those even the point of having extra-curricular activities?

I'm completely satisfied (sometimes exhausted) with my work projects; very, very close relationships with certain Btowners, and many superficial friendships with everyone I know in this town. The policeman: townspeople ratio is 1:714; American, townspeople, 1:50,000 (to be updated to 1:25,000 next month!). With 4 months left in country, I am not willing and able to tackle this extracurricular activities proposal (or wherever I'm going with this blog entry...dinner calls soon).

Personal experience has shown me though that a frisbee and motivated instructor (ie me) can mean more than a game of ultimate frisbee to a group of kids. That being said, sidewalk art and a motivated instructor (ie me) can only be fun for 15 minutes when the sun shines too brightly at the same time. To end on a positive note, those kids did say they enjoyed the project (liars?), wanted to take photos with me (in the shade) afterward, and no "chinouiya" was yelled.

I'm a Whore

Last week, PC invited me to assist with a training event for the 1st year PCVs. There, I got a million compliments/pick up attempts from Americans/staff/randoms on my Moroccan butterfly dress. It was a nice little-pick-me-up. Even though most of my wardrobe consists of pieces I'd never wear in America, I am not too shabby.

Summer started early this year, meaning today was a relatively cool 97 degrees. My friend invited me to her evening wedding on the other side of town. In order to not sweat into my "party clothes," I wore the outfit pictured above. My plans were to change into a jellaba after I walked across town, since my jellaba is much too hot for the day time.

While wearing that green sheath (with white pants and a sleeved pink shirt underneath), I got harassed soooo much more than usual. Boys, men, and workers all stopped to oogle me, invite me to their homes or to "tea," call out how pretty I was, and, of course, remind me that I'm Chinese.

When I got to my friends' houses, they all asked me if I wore my outfit outside. Duh? Apparently, my butterfly dress (ok to wear outside if you're a young girl) is considered pajamas here in B-town. So basically, I dressed like a Victoria's Secret model (pictured above) and thus deserve my harassment.

I really wish Moroccans at the PC training told me that my pajamas were inappropriate to wear outside (or at a PC event), instead of chatting with me about the dress' Moroccan price or how great the color looked on me. Of course, city Moroccans dress more liberally than brousse Moroccans. But then again, with other female PCVs in shorts and tank tops, a lot of us were "inappropriate." To sum up: here's another case of a well-intentioned foreigner making a fool of herself in another country. *Slaps forehead with hand.