(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").
08 October 2011
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.
21 September 2011
From Wllfti to Wllfna
When I arrived in my site, strangers and acquaintances greeted me with the question, "Wesh wllfti?" Even after two months of intensive language training, I never recognized this verb before. It means something along the lines of, "Have you adjusted to life here?". Once I started hearing this question, I kept hearing it all through my almost 2 years of service. Just last week, a friend of a friend asked me this when I visited her site.
Now that I'm back in Btown, everyone seems anxious about my departure date. Instead of asking if I've gotten accustomed to life in Btown, people are telling me that they've gotten accustomed to me. The first time I heard my wedding planner friend tell me, "wllfnak," I was confused by the new verb conjugation. Hearing people tell me this gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. While I'm looking forward to finally coming home and spending some time in America (ok, eating in America), I tear up thinking about saying "see you later, inshallah" to my community. Just today, three girls kissed me on the mouth (...) and two kids starting crying when we talked about me leaving Morocco next month. I wish time would slow down a bit.
That being said, I'm proud of my two years here. This afternoon, my "students" begged for an English test today that was scheduled for next week. While weaving a blanket together, a mom and I talked in depth about the pros and cons of the possibility of her daughter working in Italy/America. Fatiha, my leading lady artisan, wanted to discuss project planning/grant applications and the "big picture" with her work. Two years ago, I wouldn't have imagined she'd develop into such a budding entrepreneur. I tip my hat off to her and people like her for expanding my mind's potential.
Better keep this short and log off. There's internet in America, but Btown is only here.
(I lied. Semi-related, semi-unrelated, I'm proud to have gotten to know these 16 business development volunteers as well. There won't be another BD program, as PC is focusing only on youth development volunteers. Cheers to us.)
Now that I'm back in Btown, everyone seems anxious about my departure date. Instead of asking if I've gotten accustomed to life in Btown, people are telling me that they've gotten accustomed to me. The first time I heard my wedding planner friend tell me, "wllfnak," I was confused by the new verb conjugation. Hearing people tell me this gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. While I'm looking forward to finally coming home and spending some time in America (ok, eating in America), I tear up thinking about saying "see you later, inshallah" to my community. Just today, three girls kissed me on the mouth (...) and two kids starting crying when we talked about me leaving Morocco next month. I wish time would slow down a bit.
That being said, I'm proud of my two years here. This afternoon, my "students" begged for an English test today that was scheduled for next week. While weaving a blanket together, a mom and I talked in depth about the pros and cons of the possibility of her daughter working in Italy/America. Fatiha, my leading lady artisan, wanted to discuss project planning/grant applications and the "big picture" with her work. Two years ago, I wouldn't have imagined she'd develop into such a budding entrepreneur. I tip my hat off to her and people like her for expanding my mind's potential.
Better keep this short and log off. There's internet in America, but Btown is only here.
(I lied. Semi-related, semi-unrelated, I'm proud to have gotten to know these 16 business development volunteers as well. There won't be another BD program, as PC is focusing only on youth development volunteers. Cheers to us.)
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.
10 August 2011
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?
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?
08 August 2011
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!)
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!)
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