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.

Site Announcement

I found out that I’m spending the next two years in Boujaad! Between my mom (who googled everything there is to know) and the current PCV (who talked on the phone with me about it), I’m pretty excited. According to the site selection papers PC gave me, here are some fast facts about Boujaad:

-Population: 40,513 people (if I meet 40,514 people, I’m going to complain to PC)
-Language spoken: Darija
-Local cooperatives: Sewers, electricians, blacksmiths, & carpenters
-Local associations: Electrical, Painting, & Sewing
-Communication Access: Landline, cell phone, telegrams, post office, & cyber (yay connectivity!)
-Utilities: Water, check; electricity, check; paved roads, check; indoor bathroom, check!
-Work done by previous PCV: Product development, sewing & printing bags, screen-printing
-Fun things available: Lettuce, ceiling fans, hot water, 5 hours from capital
-Future Host Family: Fatima the mom, Rabia another mom, & Ahmed the 12 year-old

I’m also excited because my current host family has extended family only 24 kilometers away from my future site. With them, extended family is really just family, and we hope to meet up. An American anthropologist wrote a book about them, and I found a copy in Arabic at our hub site (part of my gbye present). It’s called “Knowledge & Power in Morocco: The Education of a 20th Century Notable.” We have one more week of training in Aminaville, a few days in Beach Town, and then MOVE IN TIME!

Weekend Trip to 30-House & 30-Donkey Town

We had a free weekend to travel last week, and so I met up with some friends in another training site. It’s a quaint, peaceful town, but it has the sweetest, most hospitable people. I’ve never smiled so much or received as many cheek kisses in two days. It’s located off the one-lane main road off the side of a mountain. After getting dropped off on the side of the road, we walked downhill for 20 minutes before we got to Emily’s house, the first one in town. There are olive trees, a Kasbah (old castle-like house that another PCT lives in), an olive press, plump animals, and one hanut (where we found lighters with flashlights).

Azalia’s house was so welcoming. A part of me was slightly shocked to see a tv, appliances, big couches, a bed, contemporary Moroccan fashion magazines, a beautifully-tiled area, and donkey room. Yes, one donkey had its own indoor room with bales of straw, while another was tethered outside. With chickens and dogs lounging around almond and olive trees, the town’s so relaxed. And then comes Azalia’s 12-year old sister, who has enough liveliness to energize all UH football fans, who also acted as our tour guide and third arm. Everyone in town knows and greets each other, has tea and cookies together, and sits for impromptu meals.

We made pizza, donkey trekked along water aqueducts, visited the family’s olive trees, played Snakes and Ladders, cracked almonds with grandma, and even saw Jerry the Mouse swim in the douche (what a surprise…). I tasted one-day and one-year old olive oil, and I probably gained a few pounds from all the “tsh”-ing (eating) I was forced to do.

Over all, it was so relaxing-- the perfect way to spend the days right before Site Announcement…dun dun dun…post about it to come soon!

“Vegas, baby!”

Almost a month of training has passed by, and when I say pass, I mean flew. What’s kept me busy?

-LANGUAGE CLASS: 5.5 days a week of learning the Darija language. Learning involves
-a morning fruit/cookie break
-a huge, delicious lunch
-an afternoon tea/snacks break
-adventures with Sandala Del Mika (a fictitious character my sitemate, Henry, has made up)
-tales of world travels
-physical workouts (jump roping, mid-arvo walks, ab exercises from laughing too much)
-PB discussions (politics, business, and peanut butter)
-memorizing (if God wills it) 3 verb tenses and 150 verbs, question phrases, names of items, family members, numbers to a billion, food shopping vocabulary, and Amina’s perfect answers to all of our questions…in Arabic script for a challenge

-HIKING: Last weekend, an easy 5k hike to a barrage turned into a 5-hour trek to a mirage. A coke’s never tasted so good as when we got back to the first hanut. We passed heaps of fat sheep and goats though (see picture above).

-FAMILY TIME: Watching old Arnold Swartzenager (spelling?) movies on television, cooking together, sitting together in the salon, sitting together on the outside stairs, sitting together on the stairs inside, charades, eating breakfast and dinner together, reviewing my schoolwork…good ol’ family bonding time.

-TRIPS TO AZILAL: Peace Corps sessions, kefta sandwiches and kababs, wandering the streets looking for something fun to do…

Wow…it seems like I’m super busy here, but after typing this...not really. I’m off to a Women’s Day meeting soon though so cutting this short. Tomorrow, there will be a film screening at the Dar Shebab, and us PCTs are helping the PCV with it. The local film is about women’s rights codes. Hope all is well with you, and if anyone has advice on posting photos, please share!

Last section, things I didn't expect to hear my first month here:
-"I love you I love you I love you!" -group of screaming kids yelled at us when we first got to site
-"It's Vegas, baby!" -said by sitemate's host brother and friend over and over
-"If only we were Jewish we could have partied with that tour group" -sitemate regarding the Jewish reunion in town for the weekend
-"Yeah, sure" -typical response to a yes/no question
-"It's good" -typical response to any how question
-"Are there frozen peas in the market?" -PCT question to PCV

Local Artisans

Aminaville is known for its handmade, delicate jelaba-d-bizouia. Thin, homespun thread from local sheep and shiny silk thread are woven together on a “loom.” Sheep skin is washed, cleaned, and separated at the local gorge, called the Temda. [In the summertime, boys swim here and people picnic.] The artisans pull the sheep hair apart and spin it into yarn, or hire someone else in the community to do it.


Tree branches, wooden planks, and cords are somehow assembled together in a weaver’s house, where the weaving takes place. After the time-intensive process of setting up the loom, women sit on the floor and pass the thread back and forth through the loom by hand. One woman, Eric’s host mom, took three weeks to weave one fabric, called a jellaba. Jellaba is also the name for the hooded robes worn by local men and women. This particular fabric from Aminaville is of very high quality and worn only by the king and other affluent people who can afford it. Usually, men wear white and gold jellabas; women, colorful ones.

Every Friday, the vegetable vendors in town move aside for the outdoor Jelaba Auction. Women from all over the “city” will come here to sell their homespun yarn and put their jellabas up in the auction. This is a change from the past, where the market was dominated only by men. The auctioneers and buyers (middlemen who will travel to the big cities to sell the fabric) are still men; women look on (there was one middle-woman though). Three men run back and forth to the buyers, sweating over the delicate fabric and shouting prices.
Although the final customers seem to pay a very large sum for the fabric, the profits don’t trickle down to the artisans (Eric’s mom received 1200D for her fabric and she is not living lavishly). At the auction yesterday, the highest-priced fabric I heard went for 1600D. The women--who must pay a registration fee for each jellaba in the auction and a tax on each jellaba sold there--aren’t paid completely upfront for the sold jellabas. They wait, sometimes a month or more, for the middleman to sell the jellaba to the end customer. Cash flow and marketing definitely have room for improvement. This town and its gossip are the life of the weavers, mostly older, illiterate women. Although some artisans have some private clients who order directly from them, the whole jelaba-d-bizouia industry makes an interesting case study/working environment for a Moroccan PCV…and yes, there is one here.