MaM #3

3 blogs, 3 days in a row! (don't get used to it...)

It's been awhile since the last MaM, but here we go!

Name: Naima

Age: 18

Family: 2 grandfathers, parents, 2 siblings. But...

Marital Status: Engaged, and lives with fiance's family. Her fiance proposed to her by asking to borrow her pen, to write down her number!

Daily Activities: Making sugary, herbal mint tea in the morning and afternoon; Cleaning and mopping the house and family storefronts; Playing with her future nephew-in-law; Preparing three meals a day and cleaning up afterward; Afternoon nap

Interests: The color purple, Jewelry, Shopping for jellaba fabric and shoes, Looking at fashion magazine photos, Dancing (in private), Moroccan Arabic and Berber music

Any questions for Naima? Let me know and I'll pass them on to her!

A Man with Hair

Today, I found out that Hamid, one of the artisan teachers at the woodwork association, committed suicide yesterday. Some of his closest friends also work at this association, and although the news shocked them, their faces showed no emotional distress. We snacked on Dove chocolates (compliments of my mom) and green wheat stalks, while basking in the late afternoon sun and talking about American products like IcyHot.

A friend of another artisan (a potential translator for me) asked if I knew Hamid. I told him a story about a time when a bunch of the artisan guys and I were talking about marriage. Only Hamid and another artisan had thick, dark hair, and they were the only two unmarried men. We joked that marriage caused baldness or gray hair, and we proved the hair/marriage test with all the guys in the artisanat center. It was a fun moment that made me feel a bit closer to the association members, and today we had a second bittersweet laugh over it. Hamid was 36 years old, an age that reminded me of someone else dear to me. His story is neither the first death nor suicide I heard about since moving here to B-town, but unlike the men who knew him better than I did, my eyes were wet.

Regardless, life goes on. With my new translator, I interviewed another artisan. Learned that while the association members all share the same workshop space and collectively teach 20 boys the trade, each of them had his own customers. I was surprised because I thought they operated as one association, not individually with single orders. I asked if this environment created any internal competition, especially since each artisan had a family to support with the income generated from these sales.

Hamid’s best friend jumped into the conversation and said he “haites” the others—joking and charading that he both “hates” and “hits.” The artisans believed there was no competition between them because they are friends first. I got a list of reasons why they’re proud to be part of the association and its benefits. Even at craft fairs, the products with the best quality will sell. WOW-what a concept.

It was getting dark, and Hamid’s bff asked if I wanted to interview him next. He said he needed some time to cope first with his friend’s passing, which I almost forgot about because of the interview’s light-hearted atmosphere. He asked if we could talk in three days instead…

Although I was invited to dinner with Hamid’s family and friends, I declined—feeling like the attention due to the family would instead shift to me and afraid that I may start crying once I met the women. What’s the culturally appropriate thing to do in this kind of situation??? I wanted to find out more information online. Instead, I found out a friend from high school just gave birth to a little boy! What a ___…not a coincidence, not a small world, but…I’m loss for words…God provides, that’s what the artisans said.

Friday Night Out

This evening, my friend asked me if I wanted to do a tour of town and exercise off some of couscous lunch. With her and her future sister-in-law as my body guards, we linked arms and enjoyed a harassment-free walk and shopping trip.

For a moment, I thought I was back in America, or definitely NOT in a PC country. I experienced a different side of B-town. We looked at nail polish, mp3 players, and handbags. As we tried on cute shoes and trendy western clothes in boutiques, the time flew by. I tried on a pair of skinny jeans (the largest size in the store), and it was still too small…. We also shopped for more jellaba fabric, trading advice on what designs and colors were zweyn. I taught the words bling bling and adorable. Earlier this week, I was afraid my fashion sense had adapted to Moroccan standards, but after this trip, I realize I haven’t reached the full glitter/rhinestone/accessory galore appreciation yet. Alhumdullah. We looked at new clothes until the stores shut down.

Tonight was the latest I’ve ever been out in B-town. It was also nice to “let my hair down” and let out that suppressed, frivolous girl part of me OUTSIDE of the house WITH my Moroccan friends. It was interesting to see hanuts closed, the street vendors all packed up, coffee shops empty, no football cheering or hear music, and the male street loiters gone. Even bumped into a friendly, drunk guy!

What time did I get home? A bit after 10pm. Exciting nights* here in B-town!

*During summer and Ramadan, nightlife is rumored to be bustling. I’ll keep ya updated. Also, since coming back from Kesh (and the successful workshop/craft fair there), the neighborhood boys have been good :)

Boys are Made of Frogs and Snails

Girls are made of sugar and spice and all that’s nice. At least, the girls in my neighborhood are. Ever since I moved into my house at New Year’s, they greet me, kiss my cheeks, and are so polite. Sometimes, the little boys do the same.

There are a couple though, that get a huge kick out of banging on my door and running away, throwing rocks at my door and running away, leaving candy and beer packaging on my door, peeking thru the letter dispenser, and yelling through my windows “How are you? I am fine!”/”You are sexy!”/”What is your name? Are you fine?”

Two American friends stayed at my house this weekend, and, on top of the door pranks, some boys decided to yell, “F*UCK YOU.” Wow…that was a shock.

So today, when I heard prank knocking (which usually happens the most only when other Americans are at my site…so the boys leave a great impression on them), I decided to find the culprits.

They were playing at the end of a walkway, and they saw me approach. I wasn’t sure if these boys were the boys who banged on my door, but when they started to back away, I knew they were guilty. They ran away. In my ankle-length skirt, I sprinted after them. Men, who thought the boys stole something from me, ran after me. Unfortunately, it was nighttime and there were many narrow walkways, and we lost them. I told the men why I was running after the boys, and they told me not to worry—boys are only boys. It reminded me of my first trip to Casablanca, where a man grabbed my butt and I yelled at him in English. Other men ran after him, thinking he stole from me, but they stopped after I told them he only grabbed my butt. Great set of values, I thought.

So I was surprised when a woman knocked on my door later that night. She said she saw me run after the boys, and she asked why I did that. I told her about the immature harassment (knowing that some PCVs have to put up with worse), and that it’s not a big deal for her or me. She told me she knows the boys, and asked if I’d like to visit their houses. …YES.

She kindly greets the women who answered the doors, they exchange a flurry of pleasant-sounding words that I can’t catch, a boy’s brought out (not meeting my eyes), and he’s told to kiss my cheek. As we leave the houses, I hear shouting and hitting. My neighbor tells me she would also tell the boys’ teachers, who will also hit the boys…After almost 2 years of living in “Africa,” I’m immune to hitting kids as means of discipline. Wonder if the prank knocks will continue? She also warmly invited me to her house and enforced that we live in a calm, good neighborhood. Yay, neighborhood watch program.

In other recent news, I had the pleasure of participating in a week-long English immersion camp in Meknes, sponsored by the Ministry of Youth and PC. Met other PCVs and had fun running around. 100 new people know about Honolululu (yes, 3 lu's). I and friends visiting from Namibia travelled through the lovely towns of Chefchaouen and Fes for a few days. Got to eat mousse in Azrou again. Plan on heading to Kesh tomorrow for a craft fair. Been organizing the one-day workshop on selling well at craft fairs for about 50 artisans, and I think I don’t have anything left to be stressed out about. Don’t worry mom, pictures on fbook to come soon, inshallah.

Life is good.

In the News

Morocco Swarms with Street Vendors
By Siham Ali 2010-03-21

For many of Morocco's poor or unemployed, selling goods on the street provides a way to earn a meagre living.

Street vendors can be found all over Morocco, from working-class districts in outlying towns to the city centres in Rabat and Casablanca. For these unofficial traders, selling their fish, vegetables, fruit, clothes and other wares on the ground or from handcarts, life is far from easy.

They spend their days hoping to turn a decent profit and fearing that their goods will be confiscated by the Auxiliary Forces. Illiterates, graduates, young and old people, women and men – they all devote themselves to a profession that enables them to earn a fistful of dirhams a day.

In Rabat's city centre, 36-year-old Mohammed sells socks and sunglasses. He hopes to one day have a proper shop so that he can offer his family a stable life. As an informal vendor, he said, he earns between 30-50 dirhams a day.

A law graduate, Mohammed has been seeking a steady public-sector job for over a decade.

"No private company will recruit university graduates, so I've sat several competitive exams, but I've never been lucky enough to pass," he said. "I'm not ashamed of being a street vendor, despite my level of education, even though deep down I really hope for a better life for my children."

This hope is shared by many vendors who would like to see their source of income become more stable. They include women who do everything they can to overcome the hardships inherent in their profession.

One such woman is 44-year-old Rehma, a widow with four daughters aged 8-19. She sells smuggled goods such as shampoo, soap and pyjamas. "I spend all my time on the move buying my goods and selling them to my customers in several cities," she said.
"I would have liked to have a store of my own, but I can't afford it," Rehma said, adding that the authorities ought to take measures to help street vendors instead of driving them away from major roads.

Many people would like the authorities to build shopping centres at strategic locations and rent them at reasonable prices, so as to legalise this kind of informal business activity.

Sociologist Mohamed Kamal told Magharebia that despite the criticisms made regarding the existence of street vendors, the sector does help to maintain a certain socio-economic balance. He says that Morocco should draw inspiration from the experiences of countries that have successfully established legal venues for street vendors.
The government is working to bring more people into the formal economy. On January 19th, Trade and Industry Minister Ahmed Reda Chami told Parliament that an effective way of organising the sector was overdue.

In the past, he explained to legislators, the approach centred on town planning. Premises were built for street vendors in special locations.

The ministry has begun exploring the issue in partnership with local councils and chambers of commerce in order to find a lasting and effective solution, Chami said.

Pride

Today, my manager came to visit my site. I feel so blessed to have been placed here.

I'm also afraid to write blog entries. Last week, I re-read my journal from my 1st year experience in RIM. With my ignorant comments and naivety, I annoyed myself! At least only I know what I wrote there…

So go to my facebook instead. Just uploaded new photos of Portugal, I mean, Rabat. Very under-rated city, if you get off the tourist/administrative track.

Every Day Surprises Me

The night before, I think about what I’m going to do the next day. I don’t know why I keep doing this, because every day turns out to be different.

For example, today I planned on visiting Said’s family because I told him I would last week (but then went to Casablanca and Khenifra instead…more on that later). A member of the wood-working association, he has been so helpful with my wllft-ing (adjusting to life/work at site). I also found a great article with colored photographs of Moroccan woodwork that I wanted to give to him.

Walking to his house, I bumped into a woman in my aerobics class. I didn’t recognize her at first because she was wearing a jellaba and not workout attire. She invited me to her house…

Since it was a rainy, thundery Saturday, I assumed work at the artisanat center would be sluggish. Instead, party planning was in action. Rooms that are usually vacant and dirty were filled with rugs, couches, chairs, and new lightbulbs. Apparently, there was going to be a party at 2pm to celebrate Women’s Day; one weaver from the carpet association would be recognized for her accomplishments. The president invited, actually ordered, me to lunch with his “family.”

His family turned out to be members from the Moussem Association (they plan an annual Horse and Gun Show in town) and a girl from the countryside who was going to ride a horse today, despite the thunder. I was pretty confused with this “party” was going to be like. We feasted on a huge meat platter, powdered sugar couscous plate, and fruit bowl.

Then it was time to pick up the horse. The stable owner asked if I was Mustapha’s daughter.... Kawto, the girl, mounted the horse in her purple velvet jelleba and fine gold jewelry. The horse walked-not trotted/galloped-and we followed via car, attracting a large following of kids through town.



We approached women and kids carrying bamboo poles of scarves and fake flowers. Kawto’s horse put on a dance and energetic clapping ensued. Alhumdullah, I got to watch this event in a car and avoided the rain. The procession paraded around town and ended up at the artisanat center.

I’ve never seen the center so crowded. Bumped into lots of familiar faces and met new ones, like members of a music association—old men reviving the traditional music scene. They played instruments, we clapped, people fought over my attention, and I yelled at sketchy boys. Overall, it was fun (especially in the company of my former neighbors and English-loving lycee girls) and well worth it (since one of the screen-printer’s was there and we made a date to “talk business” tomorrow).

The screen-printer and her siblings walked me to my friend’s house. We meandered through the narrow medina maze avoiding a crazy man. Had delicious sugary tea at my friend Salwa’s house. She added green leaves that neither of us knew the name for in English/French/Darija. Helped her open her hanut, then I visited her sister Turia’s house. Apparently, out-of-town doctors were in town this weekend to help with eye surgeries, and Turia was asked to cater dinner.

I saw the largest cooking pot (it could have fit three of me inside) in my life there at her house. Cookies, couscous, and chicken were being cooked and plated. I asked to help out, but I was told to eat cookies and pastries instead. Okay, no problem!




Turia’s son is no longer afraid of me, which means he loves climbing, hugging, and playing with me. I guess I was there to keep him occupied while everyone else worked. Turia stuffed my bag with so much fruit and cookies to take home…yay for skimming off of the top.

Didn’t go to aerobics today, but I happened to walk by the “gym” just as all the women were leaving. Warm greetings in the rain at night made me feel oh-so-local. We munched on the roasted sunflower seeds my bread vendor gave me for free a few minutes before. After that, I owed my mom a blog entry, and here it is.

I also planned this morning to share a Tahir Shah book I just finished reading (yay bus rides to/from Khenifra). He lives with his family in Casablanca, where I spent the Prophet’s Birthday holiday (aka Feast of Tea and Cookies) last weekend. Stories interest him, and I highly recommend googling/reading him.

So long story short, I still have to visit Said’s house, but I did give him the article and did my Shah shoutout. I’ve been here for almost six months already and something tells me the next twenty are going to fly by.