Lol, sorry I cut myslf off mid word b/c I was skyping the parents and forgot that I was blogging too. Hee hee, hey! That's an idea, you should all set up skype accounts so I can talk to you guys, or at least leave skype messages.
So as I was saying before. I think the PCVs i my province deliberatly celebrate things in a hilariously non-sequitar manner. During CBT (remember those posts? they feel like a life time ago) we celbrated Easter at the Buddist's home, Halloween was celebrated by dining on sushi in Marrakech, Thanksgiving was enjoyed at the home of our beautiful PCV of Latina origin (I would like to specify here- for those who might be offended... it's funny. You know it. Admit it and set yourself free.);) and we will be spending a very festive and jouyous Christmas at the home of the only Errachidia/ Midelt resident Jew. Hee hee hee Have I mentiond I love my provintial gang? We're the nicest, prettiest, and best team-work-doing group in Morocco.
There, the gauntlet is thrown, if there are any other PCV Moroccans reading this, I dare you to prove me wrong!
In other news, there may not be any Christmas spirit here yet but I can tell I'm getting in the mood, I always celebrate the Holidays by cooking and it's no different here. But I must add, in reference to the song, No there is no Christmas in Africa... alas. If anyone wants to send me some snow I'de be glad. (Dearest brother, hint hint:P )
Ha! Here's a funny PCV Erika Story. One day I was feeling so sad that there's no Christmas and there aren't any evergreens here to have in my house (not even a Charlie Brown miskeen one!) so I drew one on a giant sheet of paper and taped it to my wall. And I drew an angel and some bulbs... and one charlie Brown Bulb in honor of how miskeen this is.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Good heavens where does the time go? When last I checked in (poem not included) I was headed off to Azilal to work with Operation Smile... that was the beginning of October. Now it’s nearly Christmas... I blame ninja monkeys.
Whew, I have so very much to tell you all, my faithful and patient readers. Operation smile was amazing. When I agree to these shenanigans I assumed they would be having me do filing, and pushing a pen. Imagine my surprise when they threw me right into the thick of things. O. S. is based in the U.S. but it has branch offices all over the world. The offices represented this time around were the Casablanca, Rome, and Philippines offices. This meant all the doctors and anaesthesiologists
were Arabs, Italians, and Philippines. With so many nationalities and so many languages spoken they had to find one over arching language to speak; Italy’s primary languages are Italian and French, Morocco’s are Arabic, French, and Spanish, and the Philippines use Tonka, English, and French.
Therefore it should come as no surprise to anyone that the language selected was English. I’m stymied too. Even more flummoxing is that the American PCVs were chosen to be the translators for all the admin and patients. So who did I translate for? Ah well I am an EMT and therefore have “medical training” so I worked in the recovery room and translated and assisted the intensivist and the two nurses who worked with her. The intensivist’s name was Roberta (an Italian) and her nurses were Arab Moroccans (this means they speak Arabic instead of the Tamazirt I speak). Roberta
spoke Italian, Greek, English, and a little French, one nurse spoke Arabic and some English, and the second nurse spoke Arabic, a little English, and only knew the parts of French that Roberta didn’t know. This meant that not only was I translating between the patients and the doctors I was also translating between the doctors... after five days I had a splitting headache. It was a relief when the patiens came in after surgery b/c it meant no more talking for a while.
My job with the patients had 2 sides. 90% of our patients were between the ages of 6 months and 8; these patients were the hardest b/c they were just coming out from the gas when they would be wheeled in to us. This meant that we had someone who was too young to understand what had happened to them waking up in a room full of strangers in incredible pain. My job, along with my friend, and fellow EMT Andrew, was to play human straight jacket with the kids long enough for more drugs to kick in and knock them out. This was done to keep them from rolling off the bed or ripping out their IVs; it was actually kind of fun... as much fun as getting kicked and smacked
by semi- conscious wee ones can be. The 10% of the patients that were adults we helped were much easier. I just had to tell them in tam what the doctors told me in English; they usually nodded dreamily and then took a nap. They were nice.
The way the system works is that we spend the first two days of the week processing patients then we have three days of surgery. This operation we did over 170 surgeries and I saw all of them. When I got home all I wanted to do was sleep. Alas no sleep for me.
I was home for a few days then I had to head off to Marrakech for more PC meetings and training. That was quite the event. It’s a beautiful and historic city so it’s definitely worth seeing. The trouble is it’s also very touristy so it’s really expensive and, therefore, not somewhere you want to stay. Not only is it expensive but the taxi drivers assume all foreigners are tourists so they try to rip us
off. They also only speak French and Arabic. At this point my Tam is a million times better than my French so this was both hard and profoundly frustrating to me. One very eventful experience involved an especially persistent driver who would not take “let me out” for an answer.
It was about 10 pm and I was on my way home from dinner; my comrades were headed to the bar but I only had enough money for my taxi home so I said my goodbyes. I hailed a cab, climbed in, said the name of my hotel, and we were off. After about two blocks I realized the meter wasn’t on so I asked him to turn it on. He only spoke French so I only caught about half of his sentence but it amounted to, “No, it’s night time so the fare is extra.” I asked how much and he said something I
didn’t understand, I had to ask him three times before I got it... 50 dhs. BTW it was 18 dhs to the
restaurant from the hotel, naturally, I lost my temper. I said, “No, it’s 18 dhs from there to here so it should be 18 back.” He said, “No, it’s late. I won’t get anyone on the way back. You have to pay double for the trip.” (Double 18 is 32, not 50) I said, “No, it’s too much, pull over. I’m done.” At this point he backs down and says, “OK, OK 30 dhs.” Too late, I was way past bargaining. I said, “No, pull
over.” The guy kept driving and insisting that 30 was a fair price. So I popped the door open on the moving taxi... he turned on the meter. Hee hee hee. At this point I pull out my money and realize I only have 15 dhs so when the meter reached 15 I told that was all the money I had, he needed to pull over. To this he responded, “No, no, I have to take you all the way or God will punish me.” Not
only did I win, I also beat the system! I’m amazing.
Finally, back home. For the last two months my friend James and I have been working with one of our Moroccan friends to teach a class of 10 high school students about HIV/AIDs and have them paint a poster and write a skit. They are having a competition with other classes in the area led by other PCVs this weekend. I am so proud of my class; they have an amazing skit that totally defies what the world’s culture heretofore has taught. They are vilifying the disease rather than the people
who have it.
This project was moving along so smoothly and I had three others lined up to start doing at the local youth center where I could teach English, health lessons, and arts and crafts. I was just about to begin when all of a sudden the administrator was pulled and sent to another town a million miles away and wasn’t replaced. So the building has been closed since the end of October.
How can this happen? Well, around September the powers that be decided to shuffle state lines about a bit. The only trouble is that the different regional governments don’t communicate with one another. This meant that the 13 villages I live and work in wound up in a limbo like area... think the Afghanistan- Pakistan Border minus war and conflict. It was during this vague time that I was trying to get permission for my AIDs Awareness Project... that was dreadful. First I took a 45 min
taxi to Errachidia, my old capital city, and my officials informed me that my village was now in the Midelt province. I was nonplussed but accepted my fate. Took the 45 min taxi home then caught an hour long bus to Midelt, the capital of Midelt (they like to keep things simple). It was here that I was informed that my village was in Errachidia and the state lines hadn’t moved that far south... yeah. I
decided if the powers that be don’t care enough to figure out which province I was in they wouldn’t care if I taught some lessons; I was right, no one cared.
Long story short someone finally found their crayon and finished re drawing the state lines. I am now in Midelt. Upon realising that they had a new village with a fabulous administrator in the youth center they decided they had a better place for him. Thus they shipped him off elsewhere and forgot to file the “replace this guy” paper work. Hmph. With any luck this will soon be resolved.
In other news the weather is cooling off and the scorpions have all gone into hibernation, as have most of the more unpleasant bugs. Also, there is no heating in Moroccan houses so those that are still awake feel little need to come inside. I thought this was a great boon... until I was sitting in my main room one night and a mouse ran across the room. I was not impressed. The solution I came up with for this problem fits with another thing I’ve been thinking about for quite so time. A few
months ago my friends cat had kittens and I wanted one, now I had an excuse! We decided on her name by having her walk on James’ Italian book and the first name she put her paw on would be hers. Her name is Elizibetha, I call her Lizzy and she is so cute! Although one of the first things she did when I let her into the house was run full tilt into a wall and knock herself silly. It was in that moment I began to appreciate how a parent feels when they watch their child do something very, very stupid. It was a "Dear God, why did I get the retarded one?" moment.
This brings us to Thanksgiving. We had a small gathering of just the ppl who live nearby; it was nice but it’s just really hard to get into the holiday spirit when the leaves are only just beginning to turn. Back home the leaves have already fallen, been raked up, and snow fallen to cover the branches with whit instead of green and gold. I feel more like picking apples than singing carols. Ah well, I’ll
just appreciate being home for the Holidays more when I finally get there.
Hee hee, I think the Peace Corps Morocco/ Errachidia gang delibertly does things to m
Sorry for the length but this brings us up to today. I’ll try to do better next month.
Whew, I have so very much to tell you all, my faithful and patient readers. Operation smile was amazing. When I agree to these shenanigans I assumed they would be having me do filing, and pushing a pen. Imagine my surprise when they threw me right into the thick of things. O. S. is based in the U.S. but it has branch offices all over the world. The offices represented this time around were the Casablanca, Rome, and Philippines offices. This meant all the doctors and anaesthesiologists
were Arabs, Italians, and Philippines. With so many nationalities and so many languages spoken they had to find one over arching language to speak; Italy’s primary languages are Italian and French, Morocco’s are Arabic, French, and Spanish, and the Philippines use Tonka, English, and French.
Therefore it should come as no surprise to anyone that the language selected was English. I’m stymied too. Even more flummoxing is that the American PCVs were chosen to be the translators for all the admin and patients. So who did I translate for? Ah well I am an EMT and therefore have “medical training” so I worked in the recovery room and translated and assisted the intensivist and the two nurses who worked with her. The intensivist’s name was Roberta (an Italian) and her nurses were Arab Moroccans (this means they speak Arabic instead of the Tamazirt I speak). Roberta
spoke Italian, Greek, English, and a little French, one nurse spoke Arabic and some English, and the second nurse spoke Arabic, a little English, and only knew the parts of French that Roberta didn’t know. This meant that not only was I translating between the patients and the doctors I was also translating between the doctors... after five days I had a splitting headache. It was a relief when the patiens came in after surgery b/c it meant no more talking for a while.
My job with the patients had 2 sides. 90% of our patients were between the ages of 6 months and 8; these patients were the hardest b/c they were just coming out from the gas when they would be wheeled in to us. This meant that we had someone who was too young to understand what had happened to them waking up in a room full of strangers in incredible pain. My job, along with my friend, and fellow EMT Andrew, was to play human straight jacket with the kids long enough for more drugs to kick in and knock them out. This was done to keep them from rolling off the bed or ripping out their IVs; it was actually kind of fun... as much fun as getting kicked and smacked
by semi- conscious wee ones can be. The 10% of the patients that were adults we helped were much easier. I just had to tell them in tam what the doctors told me in English; they usually nodded dreamily and then took a nap. They were nice.
The way the system works is that we spend the first two days of the week processing patients then we have three days of surgery. This operation we did over 170 surgeries and I saw all of them. When I got home all I wanted to do was sleep. Alas no sleep for me.
I was home for a few days then I had to head off to Marrakech for more PC meetings and training. That was quite the event. It’s a beautiful and historic city so it’s definitely worth seeing. The trouble is it’s also very touristy so it’s really expensive and, therefore, not somewhere you want to stay. Not only is it expensive but the taxi drivers assume all foreigners are tourists so they try to rip us
off. They also only speak French and Arabic. At this point my Tam is a million times better than my French so this was both hard and profoundly frustrating to me. One very eventful experience involved an especially persistent driver who would not take “let me out” for an answer.
It was about 10 pm and I was on my way home from dinner; my comrades were headed to the bar but I only had enough money for my taxi home so I said my goodbyes. I hailed a cab, climbed in, said the name of my hotel, and we were off. After about two blocks I realized the meter wasn’t on so I asked him to turn it on. He only spoke French so I only caught about half of his sentence but it amounted to, “No, it’s night time so the fare is extra.” I asked how much and he said something I
didn’t understand, I had to ask him three times before I got it... 50 dhs. BTW it was 18 dhs to the
restaurant from the hotel, naturally, I lost my temper. I said, “No, it’s 18 dhs from there to here so it should be 18 back.” He said, “No, it’s late. I won’t get anyone on the way back. You have to pay double for the trip.” (Double 18 is 32, not 50) I said, “No, it’s too much, pull over. I’m done.” At this point he backs down and says, “OK, OK 30 dhs.” Too late, I was way past bargaining. I said, “No, pull
over.” The guy kept driving and insisting that 30 was a fair price. So I popped the door open on the moving taxi... he turned on the meter. Hee hee hee. At this point I pull out my money and realize I only have 15 dhs so when the meter reached 15 I told that was all the money I had, he needed to pull over. To this he responded, “No, no, I have to take you all the way or God will punish me.” Not
only did I win, I also beat the system! I’m amazing.
Finally, back home. For the last two months my friend James and I have been working with one of our Moroccan friends to teach a class of 10 high school students about HIV/AIDs and have them paint a poster and write a skit. They are having a competition with other classes in the area led by other PCVs this weekend. I am so proud of my class; they have an amazing skit that totally defies what the world’s culture heretofore has taught. They are vilifying the disease rather than the people
who have it.
This project was moving along so smoothly and I had three others lined up to start doing at the local youth center where I could teach English, health lessons, and arts and crafts. I was just about to begin when all of a sudden the administrator was pulled and sent to another town a million miles away and wasn’t replaced. So the building has been closed since the end of October.
How can this happen? Well, around September the powers that be decided to shuffle state lines about a bit. The only trouble is that the different regional governments don’t communicate with one another. This meant that the 13 villages I live and work in wound up in a limbo like area... think the Afghanistan- Pakistan Border minus war and conflict. It was during this vague time that I was trying to get permission for my AIDs Awareness Project... that was dreadful. First I took a 45 min
taxi to Errachidia, my old capital city, and my officials informed me that my village was now in the Midelt province. I was nonplussed but accepted my fate. Took the 45 min taxi home then caught an hour long bus to Midelt, the capital of Midelt (they like to keep things simple). It was here that I was informed that my village was in Errachidia and the state lines hadn’t moved that far south... yeah. I
decided if the powers that be don’t care enough to figure out which province I was in they wouldn’t care if I taught some lessons; I was right, no one cared.
Long story short someone finally found their crayon and finished re drawing the state lines. I am now in Midelt. Upon realising that they had a new village with a fabulous administrator in the youth center they decided they had a better place for him. Thus they shipped him off elsewhere and forgot to file the “replace this guy” paper work. Hmph. With any luck this will soon be resolved.
In other news the weather is cooling off and the scorpions have all gone into hibernation, as have most of the more unpleasant bugs. Also, there is no heating in Moroccan houses so those that are still awake feel little need to come inside. I thought this was a great boon... until I was sitting in my main room one night and a mouse ran across the room. I was not impressed. The solution I came up with for this problem fits with another thing I’ve been thinking about for quite so time. A few
months ago my friends cat had kittens and I wanted one, now I had an excuse! We decided on her name by having her walk on James’ Italian book and the first name she put her paw on would be hers. Her name is Elizibetha, I call her Lizzy and she is so cute! Although one of the first things she did when I let her into the house was run full tilt into a wall and knock herself silly. It was in that moment I began to appreciate how a parent feels when they watch their child do something very, very stupid. It was a "Dear God, why did I get the retarded one?" moment.
This brings us to Thanksgiving. We had a small gathering of just the ppl who live nearby; it was nice but it’s just really hard to get into the holiday spirit when the leaves are only just beginning to turn. Back home the leaves have already fallen, been raked up, and snow fallen to cover the branches with whit instead of green and gold. I feel more like picking apples than singing carols. Ah well, I’ll
just appreciate being home for the Holidays more when I finally get there.
Hee hee, I think the Peace Corps Morocco/ Errachidia gang delibertly does things to m
Sorry for the length but this brings us up to today. I’ll try to do better next month.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Holy-whatever-u-worship, where did November go?
Gah! I blink and it's December! What the kiblashery? so I have this lovely million mile long blog typed up and ready to be posted... on my laptop which I left at home. Hee hee... sorry. I'll post it when I'm in town again I promise! For now I shall write you all a poem thqt doesn't rhyme. Hey, if the Greeks can do it so can I.
Nine months in a foreign country.
Foreign smells, language, even minds.
When I lived in the US I took so much for granted.
Never again will I fail to acknowledge your gifts, oh toilet paper.
Yet nine months is not long at all.
A year ago next week I was told I would go on this adventure.
When last I posted I had not even thought of my
cotume for all Hallow's Eve.
Now I am making a paper tree to celebrate Christmas Eve.
Fini
I'll make up for it next time. the post is so long you'll need to take bathroom breaks. Like that billion hour Civil War movie Gods and Generals. Except mines better b/c the beards don't suck.
Stay tooned...
Nine months in a foreign country.
Foreign smells, language, even minds.
When I lived in the US I took so much for granted.
Never again will I fail to acknowledge your gifts, oh toilet paper.
Yet nine months is not long at all.
A year ago next week I was told I would go on this adventure.
When last I posted I had not even thought of my
cotume for all Hallow's Eve.
Now I am making a paper tree to celebrate Christmas Eve.
Fini
I'll make up for it next time. the post is so long you'll need to take bathroom breaks. Like that billion hour Civil War movie Gods and Generals. Except mines better b/c the beards don't suck.
Stay tooned...
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Oh My God It's October Already?
I have now been in country for seven months and am shocked to realize it. The newest wave of trainees arrived in Morocco a few weeks ago, it seems like just yesterday I was doing what they are now: using my first squatty potty, realizing the only dish washers here are at the distal end of each arm- good word to know, look it up, and hot running water is a gift from God. Ah, I laugh to think of these new, unbroken trainees... Actually I don't b/c these are all business and school volunteers so they'll all live in cities and never really see the rustic life. I feel sorry for them, PC will probablybe harder for them b/c they will continue to live the way they did in the States but w/ less advanced technology so they will be reminded every day of what they are doing w/o. I have simply upended my life all together and have mostly forgotten the technologies I once had. I actually didn't realize I didn't have a dish washer until a few weeks ago, it was weirder realizing I hadn't noticed than it was realizing I didn't have one. I was talking to a business PCV last week who still uses a hair dryer. I'm proud of myself if I was my hair more than once a week so the thought of a hair dryer left me speachless.
Yes,friends, I only wash my hair once or twice a week, and bathing happens even less often... I was able to avoid becoming a dirty hippy all through college yet 7 months in Morocco and I'm debating if dreds aren't an acceptable look after all. HA! gotcha, I'm not to dredlocks yet, I just wanted to scare you.
As for the blistering heat, yes it has finally broken. It dropped thirty degrees in about two weeks. This made me laugh because I was glorying in the cool weather when I saw the bank thermometer in town and realized if was a "cool" 90 degrees. I quess I'm aclimated. BTW, weather here isn'tlike weather back home. In CO it gets hot then cold and back to hot, etc. Here it's a constant wave, the temp gets war,er spring through fall then gets colder fall through spring. I kind of miss COs pschyzo weather, this is boring. I probably won't be saying boring in Jan after three months of 30 degrees.
Actually Oct is my favorite month so far. The weather is perfect it's just a little warmer than crisp but everything feels fresh... Like the weather back home around mid sept.
The older PCVs say it gets cold around Nov and snows Jan- Feb. This doesn't sound too bad... Ionly dread it because there are no heaters in this countery. Did I already tell you guys about this? If so please forgive me. There is only one kind of heater, its a small ceramic coil you twist into the top of a propane tank and light. Yes, a heater here is an open fire at the top of a propane tank. The PCV I replaced gave me hers but I'm definatly intimidated by it. I'll probably only use it when I have to bathe- that probably won't be very often- lol. Otherwise I'll be wrapped up in blankets drinking Hot cocoa. Yes, I have that here, I have to make the recipe myself b/c they sell unsweetened cacao powder here. Not comlaining, it's pretty good stuff and cheap too.
OK, so brief update since last blog.
I went to a city called Meknes a couple of weekends ago just for a break and I visited the ancient ruins outside the city. It was a Roman city called Volubilis and the ruins were amazing! The fact that they could do these amazing works of art and architecture two thousand years ago boggles the mind. The Romans might have had their flaws but you have to hand it to them for their engineering too.
The week after that we had a festival called the Wedding Festival just outside of a mountain town called Imilchil. A group of PCVs worked a health booth educating ppl about blood pressure and why high blood pressure is a problem. There were 5 ppl in the booth trained to take blood pressures and we were able to take well over 500 bps in 2 days.Yes I feel like strutting around going, "Look at me and my bad self." It's not surprising that we had so many ppl at the booth. Remember when you were a little kid- unless you're like me in which case, remember last week?- and you would go to the bp machine in the King Soopers Pharmacie just to have the machine test you heart rate and bp even though you had no idea what it meant. That's how Moroccans are with regular bp cuffs. They don't know what it means they just like to sit there. At the booth we would explain why they should care about their bps- it helped that they were attached to the cuff when we started talking so they couldn't escape. HAhahaha, I forced knowledge on them, I am so crafty.
HA just noticed I spelled Pharmecy w/ an ie and I'm leaving it b/c that's the French and it makes me laugh that I had to read the word three times before I figures out why I thought it looked funny.
Alright friends, I must dash, I am headed to a city called Azilal -check ur maps to find me- to help an American NGO called Operation Smile. For thos ethat don't know they're a group that preforms free surgeries on bebies born with cleft pallets. Since I have medical training- not much but it's enough I guess- they need me- and the other EMS PCVs- to help with pre and post op patients. In other words, I'm off to go help babies have a brand new start at life! Be jealous bwahahahaha! I'm totally being a jerk on perpose, Operation Smile has offices State side too so instead of being jealous you should contact them and help out.Heeheehee, was that manipulative?
OK must dash, wish me luck!
Yes,friends, I only wash my hair once or twice a week, and bathing happens even less often... I was able to avoid becoming a dirty hippy all through college yet 7 months in Morocco and I'm debating if dreds aren't an acceptable look after all. HA! gotcha, I'm not to dredlocks yet, I just wanted to scare you.
As for the blistering heat, yes it has finally broken. It dropped thirty degrees in about two weeks. This made me laugh because I was glorying in the cool weather when I saw the bank thermometer in town and realized if was a "cool" 90 degrees. I quess I'm aclimated. BTW, weather here isn'tlike weather back home. In CO it gets hot then cold and back to hot, etc. Here it's a constant wave, the temp gets war,er spring through fall then gets colder fall through spring. I kind of miss COs pschyzo weather, this is boring. I probably won't be saying boring in Jan after three months of 30 degrees.
Actually Oct is my favorite month so far. The weather is perfect it's just a little warmer than crisp but everything feels fresh... Like the weather back home around mid sept.
The older PCVs say it gets cold around Nov and snows Jan- Feb. This doesn't sound too bad... Ionly dread it because there are no heaters in this countery. Did I already tell you guys about this? If so please forgive me. There is only one kind of heater, its a small ceramic coil you twist into the top of a propane tank and light. Yes, a heater here is an open fire at the top of a propane tank. The PCV I replaced gave me hers but I'm definatly intimidated by it. I'll probably only use it when I have to bathe- that probably won't be very often- lol. Otherwise I'll be wrapped up in blankets drinking Hot cocoa. Yes, I have that here, I have to make the recipe myself b/c they sell unsweetened cacao powder here. Not comlaining, it's pretty good stuff and cheap too.
OK, so brief update since last blog.
I went to a city called Meknes a couple of weekends ago just for a break and I visited the ancient ruins outside the city. It was a Roman city called Volubilis and the ruins were amazing! The fact that they could do these amazing works of art and architecture two thousand years ago boggles the mind. The Romans might have had their flaws but you have to hand it to them for their engineering too.
The week after that we had a festival called the Wedding Festival just outside of a mountain town called Imilchil. A group of PCVs worked a health booth educating ppl about blood pressure and why high blood pressure is a problem. There were 5 ppl in the booth trained to take blood pressures and we were able to take well over 500 bps in 2 days.Yes I feel like strutting around going, "Look at me and my bad self." It's not surprising that we had so many ppl at the booth. Remember when you were a little kid- unless you're like me in which case, remember last week?- and you would go to the bp machine in the King Soopers Pharmacie just to have the machine test you heart rate and bp even though you had no idea what it meant. That's how Moroccans are with regular bp cuffs. They don't know what it means they just like to sit there. At the booth we would explain why they should care about their bps- it helped that they were attached to the cuff when we started talking so they couldn't escape. HAhahaha, I forced knowledge on them, I am so crafty.
HA just noticed I spelled Pharmecy w/ an ie and I'm leaving it b/c that's the French and it makes me laugh that I had to read the word three times before I figures out why I thought it looked funny.
Alright friends, I must dash, I am headed to a city called Azilal -check ur maps to find me- to help an American NGO called Operation Smile. For thos ethat don't know they're a group that preforms free surgeries on bebies born with cleft pallets. Since I have medical training- not much but it's enough I guess- they need me- and the other EMS PCVs- to help with pre and post op patients. In other words, I'm off to go help babies have a brand new start at life! Be jealous bwahahahaha! I'm totally being a jerk on perpose, Operation Smile has offices State side too so instead of being jealous you should contact them and help out.Heeheehee, was that manipulative?
OK must dash, wish me luck!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Ah hahahaha I lived!
Sorry it's been so long my internet connection wouldn't allow me to access my blog (blah) but here it is now.
Ramadan was a most interesting time. I quit fasting after about a week and a half, I gained ten pounds when I switched my daytime habits for my night time habits and it made me very sick, constant headaches, cranky all the time (we know how I can be when I’m hungry), and I felt like crap on the whole. once I was back to breakfast, lunch, and dinner at normal times all was well in the world again; when I attempted to explain to ppl that fasting made me sick they said, “No, it’s good for your health.” There was no discussion, just no, you don’t feel sick, fasting is good for you. So in the end I just lied to everyone and told them I was fasting; no, I don’t feel guilty at all.
Even though I wasn't fasting everyone else still was so there was nothing to be done during the day except wait for that dreadfully boring month to pass, ugh. Imagine if you will a month of undeserved house arrest. Glorious saints be praised for my amazing parents who sent me non-perishable foods and crafts to kill the time. This was an absolute God send, especially when I ran out of fruits and veggies and was in no mood to venture out into the market place where all the cranky, fasting shop keepers were in no mood to try to understand my heavily accented tash.
Having so much time on my hands has also lead to the development of such fascinating time killing hobbies as cleaning house, paper making, and finding new materials with which to make crafts. Yes friends, you read correctly, house cleaning- le gasp! I, who have embraced so dearly the idea of creative clutter, clean my house everyday and sweep it entirely out every other day. The sweeping is necessary only b/c my thatch roof is forever dropping bits of dirt and on the rare occasion it rains I have small rivulets of mud that come through my two windowless skylights; those funny German steins make so much sense now. Actually, mud thatching doesn’t shed nearly so badly as straw thatching so I really can’t complain- The Germans of yore had it much messier; all the same, I do have a newly found appreciation for drywall. No, what has me most alarmed is not that I clean house so often but how thoroughly I do it and the fact that I can’t go to bed until everything is exactly where is should be. I don’t think I’ll ever be my messy self again, I shall have to venture forward ever bravely, and more tidily, I guess.
The crafting with new materials is much more interesting though. I have learned that you can crochet with plastic bags! I feel most resourceful. The idea was given to me from a rumour that women in other parts of Morocco get together and crochet market bags out of used plastic bags; they are then able to sell them to local general store keepers for a little spending money of their own. I thought I might be able to do the same for the women in my site, should they have the free time to get together. The women in my site are constantly working so finding the time to have a crochet circle is improbable. Here’s hoping all the same.
A little background on why this is such an innovative idea out here in the middle of the desert. Very few communities in Morocco have trash pickup, as a matter of fact even my souk town, which, by Moroccan standards is a city, doesn’t have trash pickup. This means that in the less developed areas like mine all non-biodegradable wastes are dealt with in two ways: they are thrown to the side of the road, or are burned. Burning trash in Morocco is illegal... yet there is still no national waste management system... a conundrum- ‘though many ppl burn their trash anyway. Long explanation shortened, the trash that isn’t burned is polluting the countryside; most of this garbage is made up of candy wrappers, plastic bags, and disposable diapers. The most obvious action for a PCV such as myself to do would be to collect the garbage, no? This would be especially significant with the diapers, as they pose an immediate health hazard. The problem with this clever idea is what would I do with the garbage once collected? See above to my options... burn the plastic? Hmm, do we leave the plastic as it is- an eyesore- or burn it- thus creating toxic and environmentally harmful fumes... back to the drawing board. Ah ha! Turn the garbage into a commodity! Corporate America’s done it with all our excess corn (see any ingredient list near you) why can’t this American do it with plastic?
Environmentalists everywhere will tell you to just leave the current mess and turn your attention instead to preventing it from growing. So why can’t I just accept the fate of the environment and focus myself on other tasks? Allow me to answer this question with a story. One morning about two months ago I was sitting on the patio at a cafe sipping an espresso waiting for my friend to meet me. Mozart was playing in the background and I was watching birds as they rose and fell high above me, playing on the spiraling updraft created by the mountains surrounding the city. It was a serene moment as I watched the black birds weaving among the white birds, then I saw a bright blue bird in the group and realized I was watching probably a hundred plastic bags caught in the wind... the serenity of the moment was destroyed; even Mozart seemed garish at that moment. Every time I see a bag thrown to the side of the road I am reminded of that experience and am, therefore, unable to focus my hopes on other projects.
All of you duckies back home might thing of paper making as a quaint passtime, I know b/c I too felt that way when I lived in a country in which there is organized waste management and recycling. Now that I must either break Moroccan law and burn my waste or throw it to the side of the road I find myself seeking ways to reduce not only my plastic waste but all others too. It is with great fervour, therefore, that I recycle my scrap paper into new paper. Of course my means are very rudimentory so I can't get that thin notebook paper we are all so fond of. All the same, if anyone would like to get a letter on some of my very not fancy handmade cardstock be sure to send me a letter w/ a return address, or, of course, post it in a comment here, but I would prefer a letter for a letter. It's much more fun
Unfortunately for my boatloads of free time paper making, developing new crafting materials and cleaning house don't actually take that much time. In America our culture is to sit down with some sort of junk food and a movie at times like this. Now that I have a computer I have been able to buy a few movies but junk food (or any comfort food for that matter) is much harder to come by. For example, if I want chips and salsa I must first travel the 3km to the main road, from whence I take a taxi to the market to buy all the ingredients I need (this requires going to two different stores and one veggie stand). Then retrace all the steps to get home again- now laden with groceries. Now that I’m home I can make my salsa, first I roast the peppers, then dice everything, then mix it and set it aside to let the flavours marry. Now, I have to make the chips, first, I make the tortillas (they don’t have those here) and cut them into chips, then I heat some oil, fry said triangles, and salt them. Now I can sit down and enjoy my chips and salsa while watching a movie. Don’t think I don’t feel smug; I am quite smitten.
A final thought. Remember in my last entry when I vented about the proper use of “beg the question”? I saw it written in the “improper” form the other day and I nearly had a heart attack due to the source. It was written in a book by Michael Pollan, the man who is the Knight Professor of Journalism at Berkeley (that’s a big deal, for those of you who don’t know), a frequent contributor to The New York Times, and one of my favourite investigative authors. The fact that a man of this calibre would use such a phrase leads me to one, humbling conclusion. *le deep sigh* The English language has once again evolved and begging the question now has two meanings.
Begging the question [begıng ðıe kwestſn] 1) To argue a point without first establishing the truth of its basis. 2) To bring something to mind that was not afore mentioned.
Most gracious readers, I admit defeat and bow to the inevitable. Honestly I shouldn’t be upset that the English language continues to evolve. After all, language is no different than anything else; that which does not change with situations will die. Something the French Academy should remember, fun fact, the French Academy (no I don’t know who they are either but apparently they have some sway over the French Language) will not allow the language to change. Pronunciations do not change, meanings of words are never altered, and words are neither added nor subtracted from the official language. I don’t know how they do it but this seems to be their primary purpose in existing.
Until next time my dearest friends.
Ramadan was a most interesting time. I quit fasting after about a week and a half, I gained ten pounds when I switched my daytime habits for my night time habits and it made me very sick, constant headaches, cranky all the time (we know how I can be when I’m hungry), and I felt like crap on the whole. once I was back to breakfast, lunch, and dinner at normal times all was well in the world again; when I attempted to explain to ppl that fasting made me sick they said, “No, it’s good for your health.” There was no discussion, just no, you don’t feel sick, fasting is good for you. So in the end I just lied to everyone and told them I was fasting; no, I don’t feel guilty at all.
Even though I wasn't fasting everyone else still was so there was nothing to be done during the day except wait for that dreadfully boring month to pass, ugh. Imagine if you will a month of undeserved house arrest. Glorious saints be praised for my amazing parents who sent me non-perishable foods and crafts to kill the time. This was an absolute God send, especially when I ran out of fruits and veggies and was in no mood to venture out into the market place where all the cranky, fasting shop keepers were in no mood to try to understand my heavily accented tash.
Having so much time on my hands has also lead to the development of such fascinating time killing hobbies as cleaning house, paper making, and finding new materials with which to make crafts. Yes friends, you read correctly, house cleaning- le gasp! I, who have embraced so dearly the idea of creative clutter, clean my house everyday and sweep it entirely out every other day. The sweeping is necessary only b/c my thatch roof is forever dropping bits of dirt and on the rare occasion it rains I have small rivulets of mud that come through my two windowless skylights; those funny German steins make so much sense now. Actually, mud thatching doesn’t shed nearly so badly as straw thatching so I really can’t complain- The Germans of yore had it much messier; all the same, I do have a newly found appreciation for drywall. No, what has me most alarmed is not that I clean house so often but how thoroughly I do it and the fact that I can’t go to bed until everything is exactly where is should be. I don’t think I’ll ever be my messy self again, I shall have to venture forward ever bravely, and more tidily, I guess.
The crafting with new materials is much more interesting though. I have learned that you can crochet with plastic bags! I feel most resourceful. The idea was given to me from a rumour that women in other parts of Morocco get together and crochet market bags out of used plastic bags; they are then able to sell them to local general store keepers for a little spending money of their own. I thought I might be able to do the same for the women in my site, should they have the free time to get together. The women in my site are constantly working so finding the time to have a crochet circle is improbable. Here’s hoping all the same.
A little background on why this is such an innovative idea out here in the middle of the desert. Very few communities in Morocco have trash pickup, as a matter of fact even my souk town, which, by Moroccan standards is a city, doesn’t have trash pickup. This means that in the less developed areas like mine all non-biodegradable wastes are dealt with in two ways: they are thrown to the side of the road, or are burned. Burning trash in Morocco is illegal... yet there is still no national waste management system... a conundrum- ‘though many ppl burn their trash anyway. Long explanation shortened, the trash that isn’t burned is polluting the countryside; most of this garbage is made up of candy wrappers, plastic bags, and disposable diapers. The most obvious action for a PCV such as myself to do would be to collect the garbage, no? This would be especially significant with the diapers, as they pose an immediate health hazard. The problem with this clever idea is what would I do with the garbage once collected? See above to my options... burn the plastic? Hmm, do we leave the plastic as it is- an eyesore- or burn it- thus creating toxic and environmentally harmful fumes... back to the drawing board. Ah ha! Turn the garbage into a commodity! Corporate America’s done it with all our excess corn (see any ingredient list near you) why can’t this American do it with plastic?
Environmentalists everywhere will tell you to just leave the current mess and turn your attention instead to preventing it from growing. So why can’t I just accept the fate of the environment and focus myself on other tasks? Allow me to answer this question with a story. One morning about two months ago I was sitting on the patio at a cafe sipping an espresso waiting for my friend to meet me. Mozart was playing in the background and I was watching birds as they rose and fell high above me, playing on the spiraling updraft created by the mountains surrounding the city. It was a serene moment as I watched the black birds weaving among the white birds, then I saw a bright blue bird in the group and realized I was watching probably a hundred plastic bags caught in the wind... the serenity of the moment was destroyed; even Mozart seemed garish at that moment. Every time I see a bag thrown to the side of the road I am reminded of that experience and am, therefore, unable to focus my hopes on other projects.
All of you duckies back home might thing of paper making as a quaint passtime, I know b/c I too felt that way when I lived in a country in which there is organized waste management and recycling. Now that I must either break Moroccan law and burn my waste or throw it to the side of the road I find myself seeking ways to reduce not only my plastic waste but all others too. It is with great fervour, therefore, that I recycle my scrap paper into new paper. Of course my means are very rudimentory so I can't get that thin notebook paper we are all so fond of. All the same, if anyone would like to get a letter on some of my very not fancy handmade cardstock be sure to send me a letter w/ a return address, or, of course, post it in a comment here, but I would prefer a letter for a letter. It's much more fun
Unfortunately for my boatloads of free time paper making, developing new crafting materials and cleaning house don't actually take that much time. In America our culture is to sit down with some sort of junk food and a movie at times like this. Now that I have a computer I have been able to buy a few movies but junk food (or any comfort food for that matter) is much harder to come by. For example, if I want chips and salsa I must first travel the 3km to the main road, from whence I take a taxi to the market to buy all the ingredients I need (this requires going to two different stores and one veggie stand). Then retrace all the steps to get home again- now laden with groceries. Now that I’m home I can make my salsa, first I roast the peppers, then dice everything, then mix it and set it aside to let the flavours marry. Now, I have to make the chips, first, I make the tortillas (they don’t have those here) and cut them into chips, then I heat some oil, fry said triangles, and salt them. Now I can sit down and enjoy my chips and salsa while watching a movie. Don’t think I don’t feel smug; I am quite smitten.
A final thought. Remember in my last entry when I vented about the proper use of “beg the question”? I saw it written in the “improper” form the other day and I nearly had a heart attack due to the source. It was written in a book by Michael Pollan, the man who is the Knight Professor of Journalism at Berkeley (that’s a big deal, for those of you who don’t know), a frequent contributor to The New York Times, and one of my favourite investigative authors. The fact that a man of this calibre would use such a phrase leads me to one, humbling conclusion. *le deep sigh* The English language has once again evolved and begging the question now has two meanings.
Begging the question [begıng ðıe kwestſn] 1) To argue a point without first establishing the truth of its basis. 2) To bring something to mind that was not afore mentioned.
Most gracious readers, I admit defeat and bow to the inevitable. Honestly I shouldn’t be upset that the English language continues to evolve. After all, language is no different than anything else; that which does not change with situations will die. Something the French Academy should remember, fun fact, the French Academy (no I don’t know who they are either but apparently they have some sway over the French Language) will not allow the language to change. Pronunciations do not change, meanings of words are never altered, and words are neither added nor subtracted from the official language. I don’t know how they do it but this seems to be their primary purpose in existing.
Until next time my dearest friends.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Five months in and still learning new things.
Fun Moroccan Fact: Women don’t take their husbands last name, they keep their own. More interestingly, even though they move into their husbands’ house- and this often means leaving their own village- they do not take their husbands family as a part of themselves. I am referring to the idea of the wife becoming a part of the husband’s family, ie “mother-in-law.” (the amazirt call them the parents of my husband/wife) Another example, even if I were to marry a Smith from Golden and move to Golden I would still consider myself a Pullen of Arvada my entire life. I imagine the adoption of the husband’s family is a product of our culture of taking on the last name so I see it as interesting. I fixate on this point b/c it created an Erika-puts-her-cultural-foot-in-her-cultural-mouth moment.
Remember my telling you guys that my site is all one big family? Well that means that all the families share the same name and when I leave the site it’s such a small village that, when asked where I live, I tell them Ait (the people of) that last name because nobody knows the village. Everyone knows that family though. Well I mentioned that to my host sister (who is a member of that family) and she laughed and said yes, it’s a small ighram and they are all related. Well some women were talking about this same thing a few days later, and I didn’t understand everything they were saying but I kind of was following. One woman said, yeah I have to tell people I live in Ait ____ b/c nobody know where _____ is. Then a bunch of the women got defensive that the place shouldn’t be called Ait _____ (It’s common to call bled tribes by the founding family’s name instead of coming up with a real name) So they looked to me to solve their dispute, remember I didn’t understand most of what they said so I decided to answer honestly. I said, When I talk to the gendarms I have to call it Ait ____ (bad idea). All the women threw their hands in the air and informed me that none of them were of that last name, that was when I learned the women who called it Ait ____ was one of the single women of that last name and all the other women had married into the village and, therefore, do not identify with my village.
Idle thought, because I have too much time on my hands thanks to Ramadan, marriage in Europe (specifically England is what I’m referencing but it’s pretty much the same across the board) just two or three centuries ago (a few hundred years is a “just” in the anthropologists mind) were not unlike these marriages. Women would have arranged marriages or be married off to anyone their parents could afford to marry them too and even so the woman would be considered part of her family from that region and not really a member of her husband’s family. She was just “accepted” into the cool kid group if she had a son.
So for simplification of explaining relationships out in the boondocks of Morocco, think of England in the mid 15 or 1600’s. I specify the boondocks because the big cities are much more revolutionary, in Marrakech people even date, not openly and they certainly don’t hold hands, but there is relationship building before marriage. The social upheaval of the rebellious youths is upon us, Lord have mercy.
In other news, Ramadan is going well. It started four days ago and, actually, it’s not as hard as I had thought. Actually, I’m kind of cheating, I’ve changed my day life for my night life, I stay up and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at night till morning call to prayer at 4 am. After call to prayer I go to bed and stay there till about 11 am. Then I just have 8 hours to kill before I can eat again.
Remember my telling you guys that my site is all one big family? Well that means that all the families share the same name and when I leave the site it’s such a small village that, when asked where I live, I tell them Ait (the people of) that last name because nobody knows the village. Everyone knows that family though. Well I mentioned that to my host sister (who is a member of that family) and she laughed and said yes, it’s a small ighram and they are all related. Well some women were talking about this same thing a few days later, and I didn’t understand everything they were saying but I kind of was following. One woman said, yeah I have to tell people I live in Ait ____ b/c nobody know where _____ is. Then a bunch of the women got defensive that the place shouldn’t be called Ait _____ (It’s common to call bled tribes by the founding family’s name instead of coming up with a real name) So they looked to me to solve their dispute, remember I didn’t understand most of what they said so I decided to answer honestly. I said, When I talk to the gendarms I have to call it Ait ____ (bad idea). All the women threw their hands in the air and informed me that none of them were of that last name, that was when I learned the women who called it Ait ____ was one of the single women of that last name and all the other women had married into the village and, therefore, do not identify with my village.
Idle thought, because I have too much time on my hands thanks to Ramadan, marriage in Europe (specifically England is what I’m referencing but it’s pretty much the same across the board) just two or three centuries ago (a few hundred years is a “just” in the anthropologists mind) were not unlike these marriages. Women would have arranged marriages or be married off to anyone their parents could afford to marry them too and even so the woman would be considered part of her family from that region and not really a member of her husband’s family. She was just “accepted” into the cool kid group if she had a son.
So for simplification of explaining relationships out in the boondocks of Morocco, think of England in the mid 15 or 1600’s. I specify the boondocks because the big cities are much more revolutionary, in Marrakech people even date, not openly and they certainly don’t hold hands, but there is relationship building before marriage. The social upheaval of the rebellious youths is upon us, Lord have mercy.
In other news, Ramadan is going well. It started four days ago and, actually, it’s not as hard as I had thought. Actually, I’m kind of cheating, I’ve changed my day life for my night life, I stay up and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at night till morning call to prayer at 4 am. After call to prayer I go to bed and stay there till about 11 am. Then I just have 8 hours to kill before I can eat again.
Thoughts and Opinions
This is going to be an opinion entry; I have it separate from my usual update/ anecdote entry so you can skip it if you don’t really want to hear my ranting. This also involves a short quest inside the inner workings of my mind (scared or intrigues?)
This is a super random thought that arose in a very stream-of-consciousness route. I can’t remember where I heard it but someone was trying to sound intelligent so instead of saying “that brings up the question...” they said “that begs the question...” I wasn’t part of the conversation so I couldn’t correct them but the misuse of this word put my mind on the track of debates and arguments in general and how they are often confused and debate is, tragically, an art that is dying before our very eyes and people don’t even realize it. For those of you who don’t know/ have forgotten here is a review of the rules. The party that wants to make the change, I think their called the support, goes first. They present why they feel the status qua needs to be changed with points and proof (reliable evidence). Then they sit down and wait while the other side presents. The second party, the defence, then stands up and defends the status qua via the support’s arguments; if they’re very talented they can slip their own points into their argument. There are, of course, other rules such as never address the other side- you aren’t trying to change your opponent’s mind, you’re persuading the audience to agree w/ you not them, no adhom- insulting-, no here-say –rumors or things that can’t be proven (i.e. she said, “I’m going to kill you,” is here say unless there are witnesses/ recordings), and no begging the question. This brings us full circle to what put me on the topic, to beg the question means to make an argument that is based on something not previously established/ defined; the point not previously established is the question that has been begged. For example, to say “Sinners go to Hell” begs the question that Hell exists. The proper form of that point would be to first prove that Hell exists, and then prove that sinners go there. Begging the question is especially common with people who are debating opinions and ideas.
Fun Fact, in the official debate forum the rules are only broken if the opposing party notices and calls it out. Rather like in the court of law, one attorney has to call out the other attorney’s ere, (you know, “objection your honor...”)
Btw, yes my mind went through all of these steps of defining debate, then the rules just to arrive at the topic of the debate- of course I already knew these things so it only took a fraction of a second to skim the interesting points.
This brings us, finally, to my opinion entry; I have a couple of thoughts. First, the art of debate is fading into the annals of history and the only places you see them anymore are in High School clubs and the courts; this is actually really tragic because the debate form is much more useful than people realize. We could avoid so many stupid fights if we could all just approach things in a more debate like manner. This idea is best applied in the context of relationships because the only way you’re going to get two ppl wanting to approach things in this style is if both parties want to work through the issue. I say “form” and “style” because you are trying to persuade the other party to see a) agree with you or b) see where you’re coming from. That, by the nature of the beast, is not a debate.
Scenario 1: (The argument) A couple are walking down the street when the classic “woman in the red dress” walks past and smiles at the guy. The boyfriend nods and notices that she’s a pretty woman but doesn’t rubber neck or anything. The girlfriend is hurt and becomes jealous and accuses the man of being a pig then refuses to speak to him the rest of the evening thus ruining the entire date.
Scenario 2: (The debate) A couple are walking down the street when the classic “woman in the red dress” walks past and smiles at the guy. The boyfriend nods and notices that she’s a pretty woman but doesn’t rubber neck or anything. The girlfriend is hurt so she says, (note says, not shouts or accuses) “It makes me feel insecure when you stare at other women, I feel like you don’t think I’m pretty enough for you anymore.” To which said boyfriend responds, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world and I’m the luckiest man in the world that you walk with me in public. I felt it would be rude of me not to acknowledge when someone greets us on the street.”
The discussion might continue for a time back and forth with both sides making points, but they eventually come to a resolution and enjoy the rest of their evening AND have a better understanding of one another. Several days later, they are walking down the street and another pretty woman smiles at the man. He puts his arm around his girlfriend’s waist/ shoulder and nods at the woman in a cordial manner. Behold, girlfriend knows he is just being polite and boyfriend is being considerate to girlfriend’s feelings...Of course in real life “boyfriend” might consider doing the same with any woman and not just attractive woman, just to avoid unwittingly building a complex w/in said girlfriend.
Like I said before this plan only really works w/ relationship b/c both ppl have to be willing to listen and share their opinions/ emotions. Also, if trying to apply this, do remember that ppl play follow the leader. If one person loses their temper and starts yelling the other person will, most likely, follow suit.
My second opinion is pertaining to the loss of the art of debate. The “Abortion Debate” is total bullshit. Think about it, I want you to sit down and look at the cesspit of words that is a product of the two sides hurling arguments at the one another.
From the very first, both sides are guilty of breaking the most fundamental rule and destroying the entire illusion of a debate. They’re trying to change their opponent’s mind, not the audiences.
The “Pro- Life” side makes argument after argument of the un-ethicality of abortion, and that it’s murder, etc on and on (btw they are very thorough about proving the murder side of their arguments but totally drop the ball on the question of ethics, stop begging the question and define/ defend what you mean and what your basis of ethics, please). This is all well and good but they never shut-up. This makes it impossible for them to hear the “Pro- choice’s” opinion. Also, they are forever resorting to adhom calling the other side “murders” etc.
Now the “Pro-Choice” side doesn’t even try to maintain a debate form, this is probably because they don’t realize that, since they are what is the current action and “pro-life” is trying to change that they are the defence. That means that to make a debate they have to hear and respond to the supports arguments. They don’t. Instead they go on and on about amendment rights, and the danger of illegal abortions, etc. (we all know the arguments) Here they, too, are guilty of begging the question, they are very thorough about proving how dangerous illegal abortions are; but nobody ever defines why the choice is theirs to make (“my body my choice” begs the question that you own the other body too, if this is your defence it, too, needs to be defended). Just like their opponent, pro-choice, too, never shuts-up to hear the other side
This is not a debate, its two groups of small children screaming at each other with their hands clapped over their own ears so they can’t hear what the other side is saying.
The most frustrating thing is that these people are so busy proving they’re right they can’t see that they aren’t even arguing the same topic. This farce of an argument will never be resolved if the two sides don’t grow up and see they aren’t on the same page, actually, they aren’t even in the same book at the moment. Pro-life is screaming about ethics and souls. Pro-life is screaming about human nature and statistics. If these people don’t learn to sit down, shut-up, and not interrupt they will just continue to make meaningless noise pollution forever.
All this because someone miss used “begging the question,”... at least I’m never bored.
This is a super random thought that arose in a very stream-of-consciousness route. I can’t remember where I heard it but someone was trying to sound intelligent so instead of saying “that brings up the question...” they said “that begs the question...” I wasn’t part of the conversation so I couldn’t correct them but the misuse of this word put my mind on the track of debates and arguments in general and how they are often confused and debate is, tragically, an art that is dying before our very eyes and people don’t even realize it. For those of you who don’t know/ have forgotten here is a review of the rules. The party that wants to make the change, I think their called the support, goes first. They present why they feel the status qua needs to be changed with points and proof (reliable evidence). Then they sit down and wait while the other side presents. The second party, the defence, then stands up and defends the status qua via the support’s arguments; if they’re very talented they can slip their own points into their argument. There are, of course, other rules such as never address the other side- you aren’t trying to change your opponent’s mind, you’re persuading the audience to agree w/ you not them, no adhom- insulting-, no here-say –rumors or things that can’t be proven (i.e. she said, “I’m going to kill you,” is here say unless there are witnesses/ recordings), and no begging the question. This brings us full circle to what put me on the topic, to beg the question means to make an argument that is based on something not previously established/ defined; the point not previously established is the question that has been begged. For example, to say “Sinners go to Hell” begs the question that Hell exists. The proper form of that point would be to first prove that Hell exists, and then prove that sinners go there. Begging the question is especially common with people who are debating opinions and ideas.
Fun Fact, in the official debate forum the rules are only broken if the opposing party notices and calls it out. Rather like in the court of law, one attorney has to call out the other attorney’s ere, (you know, “objection your honor...”)
Btw, yes my mind went through all of these steps of defining debate, then the rules just to arrive at the topic of the debate- of course I already knew these things so it only took a fraction of a second to skim the interesting points.
This brings us, finally, to my opinion entry; I have a couple of thoughts. First, the art of debate is fading into the annals of history and the only places you see them anymore are in High School clubs and the courts; this is actually really tragic because the debate form is much more useful than people realize. We could avoid so many stupid fights if we could all just approach things in a more debate like manner. This idea is best applied in the context of relationships because the only way you’re going to get two ppl wanting to approach things in this style is if both parties want to work through the issue. I say “form” and “style” because you are trying to persuade the other party to see a) agree with you or b) see where you’re coming from. That, by the nature of the beast, is not a debate.
Scenario 1: (The argument) A couple are walking down the street when the classic “woman in the red dress” walks past and smiles at the guy. The boyfriend nods and notices that she’s a pretty woman but doesn’t rubber neck or anything. The girlfriend is hurt and becomes jealous and accuses the man of being a pig then refuses to speak to him the rest of the evening thus ruining the entire date.
Scenario 2: (The debate) A couple are walking down the street when the classic “woman in the red dress” walks past and smiles at the guy. The boyfriend nods and notices that she’s a pretty woman but doesn’t rubber neck or anything. The girlfriend is hurt so she says, (note says, not shouts or accuses) “It makes me feel insecure when you stare at other women, I feel like you don’t think I’m pretty enough for you anymore.” To which said boyfriend responds, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world and I’m the luckiest man in the world that you walk with me in public. I felt it would be rude of me not to acknowledge when someone greets us on the street.”
The discussion might continue for a time back and forth with both sides making points, but they eventually come to a resolution and enjoy the rest of their evening AND have a better understanding of one another. Several days later, they are walking down the street and another pretty woman smiles at the man. He puts his arm around his girlfriend’s waist/ shoulder and nods at the woman in a cordial manner. Behold, girlfriend knows he is just being polite and boyfriend is being considerate to girlfriend’s feelings...Of course in real life “boyfriend” might consider doing the same with any woman and not just attractive woman, just to avoid unwittingly building a complex w/in said girlfriend.
Like I said before this plan only really works w/ relationship b/c both ppl have to be willing to listen and share their opinions/ emotions. Also, if trying to apply this, do remember that ppl play follow the leader. If one person loses their temper and starts yelling the other person will, most likely, follow suit.
My second opinion is pertaining to the loss of the art of debate. The “Abortion Debate” is total bullshit. Think about it, I want you to sit down and look at the cesspit of words that is a product of the two sides hurling arguments at the one another.
From the very first, both sides are guilty of breaking the most fundamental rule and destroying the entire illusion of a debate. They’re trying to change their opponent’s mind, not the audiences.
The “Pro- Life” side makes argument after argument of the un-ethicality of abortion, and that it’s murder, etc on and on (btw they are very thorough about proving the murder side of their arguments but totally drop the ball on the question of ethics, stop begging the question and define/ defend what you mean and what your basis of ethics, please). This is all well and good but they never shut-up. This makes it impossible for them to hear the “Pro- choice’s” opinion. Also, they are forever resorting to adhom calling the other side “murders” etc.
Now the “Pro-Choice” side doesn’t even try to maintain a debate form, this is probably because they don’t realize that, since they are what is the current action and “pro-life” is trying to change that they are the defence. That means that to make a debate they have to hear and respond to the supports arguments. They don’t. Instead they go on and on about amendment rights, and the danger of illegal abortions, etc. (we all know the arguments) Here they, too, are guilty of begging the question, they are very thorough about proving how dangerous illegal abortions are; but nobody ever defines why the choice is theirs to make (“my body my choice” begs the question that you own the other body too, if this is your defence it, too, needs to be defended). Just like their opponent, pro-choice, too, never shuts-up to hear the other side
This is not a debate, its two groups of small children screaming at each other with their hands clapped over their own ears so they can’t hear what the other side is saying.
The most frustrating thing is that these people are so busy proving they’re right they can’t see that they aren’t even arguing the same topic. This farce of an argument will never be resolved if the two sides don’t grow up and see they aren’t on the same page, actually, they aren’t even in the same book at the moment. Pro-life is screaming about ethics and souls. Pro-life is screaming about human nature and statistics. If these people don’t learn to sit down, shut-up, and not interrupt they will just continue to make meaningless noise pollution forever.
All this because someone miss used “begging the question,”... at least I’m never bored.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
There's No Place Like Home
Well friends, my two weeks of training/air conditioning/ swimming pool/ consistent internet access is at an end; and so I say goodbye to Oz. Now it’s back to the bled with me. Just in time for Ramadan. I have had this threat of the month of fasting looming over my head for some time now (ppl start asking if I fast around June) I have decided that yes, I am going to fast. Not all the way though, they aren’t allowed to drink water during the day, and I won’t give up my water. I stay inside all day because it’s cooler in my house (my “cool” house is 100 degrees) No, I will continue to drink my nine liters of water and be bewildered that I don’t pee. I know that means I need to drink more but I can’t, there aren’t enough hours in the day. As it is I spend the whole day with a bottle attached to my face. Oh well, at least I’m not in Tata (it’s 140 there)... Actually, that’s what I say every time I think it’s too hot to live.
Speaking of water, the water here in Oz is so weird! It tastes ever so slightly like mold, yum.
Anyway, I’m off on another adventure fraught with bus riding (yay for CTM- the one with A/C) and taxis.
I learned a great deal about both potential projects and Moroccan culture/ Islamic views of sexuality this week and I want to tell you guys everything but I’m sitting at the bus station and my bus is due to leave in a few minutes so I’m afraid that will have to wait until next time. It will probably be another essay so be prepared. Pop some popcorn and enjoy.
I should leave you guys with something though. OK...
“We do not see things as they are. We see things as we are.”
Speaking of water, the water here in Oz is so weird! It tastes ever so slightly like mold, yum.
Anyway, I’m off on another adventure fraught with bus riding (yay for CTM- the one with A/C) and taxis.
I learned a great deal about both potential projects and Moroccan culture/ Islamic views of sexuality this week and I want to tell you guys everything but I’m sitting at the bus station and my bus is due to leave in a few minutes so I’m afraid that will have to wait until next time. It will probably be another essay so be prepared. Pop some popcorn and enjoy.
I should leave you guys with something though. OK...
“We do not see things as they are. We see things as we are.”
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Americans by the Pool
I would like to begin by thanking my dear brother for the hugely entertaining comments he left on my last posts. I was rather tickled, and thanks for the news updates too, it's really nice to know what going on in your lives. I'm having a grand adventure but I rather like to hear about everyone's adventures too (be them as grand as learning to walk on water or as wee as finding an ice cream bar in the freezer that had been forgotten about)
Never underestimate the healing power of a shower. The hotel we’re having our meetings/ training at has showers, bathtubs, and - glorious saints be praised- a swimming pool. When we arrived at the hotel after an 8 hour bus ride without a/c in 120 degree weather I wanted to do everything all at once. I haven’t had a shower since May and I haven’t even seen a bathtub since the hotel in Philly back in March.
That isn’t to say I don’t bathe, of course, but bathing for me involves boiling a kettle of water on my stove then pouring it into a large bucket and adding cooler tap water until it’s a safe temperature. (I say “cooler” instead of “cool” because the weather is so hot even the tap water is between warm and hot depending on the time of day.) Then I sit on a stool in by bathroom and use a cup to clean myself. Being able to takes baths and showers has totally made up for the fact that we are sitting in training sessions from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm everyday for the last week and have more of the same next week. Blah.
On a brighter note, we have the weekend off from meetings. I spent the day sitting with the other PC ppl here with me reading by the pool, occasionally jumping in to cool off (I swear we’re a mile from the sun) and drinking over-priced coke (yes, dear friends, they have coke here- a little slice of home I can have in my fridge)and eating the Moroccan version of pizza (It's not too bad either). I hadn’t realized how much I needed this break. I don’t want to whine, and don’t think I’m not happy as a clam here, b/c I love where I am and what I’m doing, but I’m exhausted. Before today there has been no such thing as a “day off.” No matter where I go or what I do I am still a stranger living in a strange land. There is no taking a break from having to speak a foreign language or having to eat unfamiliar foods (they eat the goats head here, it’s an honor to be served one). Ha! side note, my yuckomiter is officially busted, I at sheep butter the other day and my mouth registered it as "not yummy" but it wasn't until I had eaten the appropriate three to four tablespoons worth that if occurred to me I would have thought this disgusting back home, weird eh? If I’m at home people, especially little kids, come to my door all the time asking for water, or to see my house, or all sorts of random things. They’re very cute and respectful so I am always happy to indulge them (until they want me to give them my belongings, I draw the line at that) Also, even if I’m telling myself I’m taking the day off and not studying my language or working on developing projects for my site b/c I need the day off I still have to visit w/ ppl from my site. They don’t understand that the simple act of living in Morocco is tiring, so if I blow them off for a full day they are hurt. Like I said, I needed the break.
Speaking of projects, the purpose of these training meetings is to help us brain storm idea to help better the lives of our sites. My mind is so full of project ideas that my community needs it’s spinning. Now if I can just draw up a project to fulfil these needs I’ll be all set to start working with my site.
Another purpose for getting my staj (the ppl I came here with and who are also in the Health Education Sector with me) to come to these meetings was to do language test to see if our language skills have improved since we finished our official language training and have only been studying on our own. I have increased my language skills by two levels! I was in Intermediate Low and I am now an Intermediate High! Don’t think I don’t feel smug, because I do. I am very proud of myself. My tester was very impressed with me. For those that don’t know Intermediate High is the level you would be expected to be at after roughly five or six semesters of college level language course. I have done it in four months, and two of those months were without the aid of a teacher. ‘Though credit where credit is due, I have gone to see a tutor about six times in the last two months; so not 100% me, but pretty close. I shall choose to be smug anyway. Lol Oh, and I found a Spanish grammar book so I’ve started teaching myself Spanish; but his is a Moroccan book so all the explanations are in French. That means I’m teaching myself Spanish via French and, by necessity, reviewing a great deal of my French too. This came in handy on my eight hour bus ride b/c I me a girl on the bus who lives in Majorca (an island off the coast of Spain) who only spoke Arabic and Spanish. It was so much fun, she would speak in Spanish and I could totally understand her and I would speak in French and she could understand me! Languages are a lot more fun than I ever gave them credit. (I finally understand your interest in Linguistics, “Aurora”- you know who you are ;P) On the down side, with all this learning of foreign languages I find myself forgetting English at an alarming rate. Oy vay, you’ll never get everything all at once will you?
Never underestimate the healing power of a shower. The hotel we’re having our meetings/ training at has showers, bathtubs, and - glorious saints be praised- a swimming pool. When we arrived at the hotel after an 8 hour bus ride without a/c in 120 degree weather I wanted to do everything all at once. I haven’t had a shower since May and I haven’t even seen a bathtub since the hotel in Philly back in March.
That isn’t to say I don’t bathe, of course, but bathing for me involves boiling a kettle of water on my stove then pouring it into a large bucket and adding cooler tap water until it’s a safe temperature. (I say “cooler” instead of “cool” because the weather is so hot even the tap water is between warm and hot depending on the time of day.) Then I sit on a stool in by bathroom and use a cup to clean myself. Being able to takes baths and showers has totally made up for the fact that we are sitting in training sessions from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm everyday for the last week and have more of the same next week. Blah.
On a brighter note, we have the weekend off from meetings. I spent the day sitting with the other PC ppl here with me reading by the pool, occasionally jumping in to cool off (I swear we’re a mile from the sun) and drinking over-priced coke (yes, dear friends, they have coke here- a little slice of home I can have in my fridge)and eating the Moroccan version of pizza (It's not too bad either). I hadn’t realized how much I needed this break. I don’t want to whine, and don’t think I’m not happy as a clam here, b/c I love where I am and what I’m doing, but I’m exhausted. Before today there has been no such thing as a “day off.” No matter where I go or what I do I am still a stranger living in a strange land. There is no taking a break from having to speak a foreign language or having to eat unfamiliar foods (they eat the goats head here, it’s an honor to be served one). Ha! side note, my yuckomiter is officially busted, I at sheep butter the other day and my mouth registered it as "not yummy" but it wasn't until I had eaten the appropriate three to four tablespoons worth that if occurred to me I would have thought this disgusting back home, weird eh? If I’m at home people, especially little kids, come to my door all the time asking for water, or to see my house, or all sorts of random things. They’re very cute and respectful so I am always happy to indulge them (until they want me to give them my belongings, I draw the line at that) Also, even if I’m telling myself I’m taking the day off and not studying my language or working on developing projects for my site b/c I need the day off I still have to visit w/ ppl from my site. They don’t understand that the simple act of living in Morocco is tiring, so if I blow them off for a full day they are hurt. Like I said, I needed the break.
Speaking of projects, the purpose of these training meetings is to help us brain storm idea to help better the lives of our sites. My mind is so full of project ideas that my community needs it’s spinning. Now if I can just draw up a project to fulfil these needs I’ll be all set to start working with my site.
Another purpose for getting my staj (the ppl I came here with and who are also in the Health Education Sector with me) to come to these meetings was to do language test to see if our language skills have improved since we finished our official language training and have only been studying on our own. I have increased my language skills by two levels! I was in Intermediate Low and I am now an Intermediate High! Don’t think I don’t feel smug, because I do. I am very proud of myself. My tester was very impressed with me. For those that don’t know Intermediate High is the level you would be expected to be at after roughly five or six semesters of college level language course. I have done it in four months, and two of those months were without the aid of a teacher. ‘Though credit where credit is due, I have gone to see a tutor about six times in the last two months; so not 100% me, but pretty close. I shall choose to be smug anyway. Lol Oh, and I found a Spanish grammar book so I’ve started teaching myself Spanish; but his is a Moroccan book so all the explanations are in French. That means I’m teaching myself Spanish via French and, by necessity, reviewing a great deal of my French too. This came in handy on my eight hour bus ride b/c I me a girl on the bus who lives in Majorca (an island off the coast of Spain) who only spoke Arabic and Spanish. It was so much fun, she would speak in Spanish and I could totally understand her and I would speak in French and she could understand me! Languages are a lot more fun than I ever gave them credit. (I finally understand your interest in Linguistics, “Aurora”- you know who you are ;P) On the down side, with all this learning of foreign languages I find myself forgetting English at an alarming rate. Oy vay, you’ll never get everything all at once will you?
Monday, July 26, 2010
Internet in the Bled- One of Life's Little Jokes
One of Moroccan PCVs’ favourite jokes is technology in Morocco. There are just so many things to laugh at about it. First, the fact that all the technological toys that can be purchased in the USA can also be found here (at least in the big cities) yet more than half the country can’t read. This is humorous to those of us trying to improve the literacy rates b/c we are continually wonder how it is these ppl use their toys –the answer is pictures, and those that can’t read can’t afford iphones and the ilk. Another joke, many of our PCVs don’t have running water but they have DSL...hmm. Before this year there were two PCVs who had no electricity; one of those sites recently became attached to the electric grid and within three months of gaining electricity that PCV had internet. I, myself, have every amenity I could want and I recently purchased internet which works more or less like the MyFi in the US. The comedy of this is that, even though the modem is attached to my computer it runs at the speed of dial up with the reception of stealing wifi from the apartment one floor up and two apartments over. With any luck my reception will one day be reasonable, until that time please don’t be hurt that my blog updates continue to be slow.
But for the next two weeks(ish) I will be in Oz so I will have fabulous reception (enchallah) so if you wish to reach me I will have frequent access to the glories of the interweb and you, my beloved and fearless readers.
LE GASP! A scandal of the most scandalous nature! Do you remember, most devoted readers, that is said in one of my previous posts that I live in a duplex? Well, please allow me to correct this misconception. First, please allow me to introduce you to my neighbour, Mina. It’s impossible to tell age in this country b/c everyone is undersized due to poor nutrition and they age quickly and not-at-all-gracefully b/c they lead hard lives. My guess at her age is late thirties early forties b/c her oldest son is in his late teens. She has three sons, who are wonderful humans and always help her with everything and are eternally patient with their kid sister who is somewhere between 4 and 8 (like I said, no gauging age) who I suspect has a mild developmental disorder of some sort. Mina’s husband died two years ago leaving her to raise four children with no income and no way of making an income (there are three jobs for women in my province: cooking, cleaning, or selling their bodies- the idea that a woman should work is so foreign to people that when I tell them I worked on a ambulance-there is no word for EMT- they assume I cleaned it). Having no income means that Mina feeds, clothes, and buys supplies for her children using sedaka (charity) one of the pillars of Islam is that you give a portion of your monthly income to the poor (specifically widows and the old w/o family).
Mina is very amazing, and she’s taken me in as her kid, she is continually sending her children over to my house with bread or buttermilk (a treat that ppl love to drink here- I use it for pancakes and biscuits). Last week I was laid out for two days with a migraine which i suspect was a product of dehydration. When she found out I had been sick and hadn’t been able to even cook for myself she lectured me. I should have kicked the wall or called her name, she would have made me soup. Next time I am to ask for help, it’s like having a mom... actually it’s exactly like having a mom b/c she demands I tell her when I’m leaving site and where I’m going. One day I’ll cut the apron strings I’m sure.
Now you know Mina; moving on to the scandal. When I moved into my house Mina invited me over for couscous (a dish I eat at her house at least once a week now) where she told me I was always welcome anytime and if I felt lonely and didn’t want to sleep alone she told me the door is always open. I told her she was welcome at my house as well; to this she vigorously shook her head. She said that my landlord was very rude to her, didn’t like her, and threatened to hit her if she ever went to my house. (There are laws and courts that protect Mina from this fate, but she has no education and doesn’t know that) I was shocked and said I was very sorry and I couldn’t understand how anyone couldn’t like her. She said thank you. A few days later the whole story came out and I was flabbergasted. Are you ready my friends? My landlord is her late husband’s brother and what I had thought to be my half of a duplex is, actually, the half of Mina’s house that my landlord inherited when his brother passed away and then stole out from under his sister-in-law and her four children.
I was in shock when I found this out, I said I was so sorry but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Mina said she it was OK b/c it meant that we could be neighbours. I almost cried.
I would hate to end on a sombre not like that so here are two more anthropological observations. First, let’s build on the poor nutrition I referred to earlier. Not all the children in my site are under-nurished, the most telling signs of family prosperity are the childrens sizes. If the kids are fat the family is wealthy, even if their clothes are dirty and ratty you know the family has a decent if not posh income if the wee ones are fat all over. I specify all over b/c I don’t mean like on those Send –Money-To-African-Orphan shows where you see small children with huge tummies and spindly arms and legs (that’s severe starvation and their tummies are all swollen b/c their tissues are water logged and tummies are full of parasites- ew) No, I mean pure, unadulterated, chubby babyness. Probably a fourth of my site has enough money to have happy pot bellied kids. There isn’t much of a middle ground, either their rolly pollies or their rail thin and you have no idea how old they are. Mina’s children are an extreme version (Looking at her oldest son I can tell they were poor even when her husband was alive) I know that, let’s call him Kevin, is seventeenish b/c he is taking the test to see if he can get into college next year. They take that when they finish high school at eighteen. When I fisrt met him I thought he was thirteen. He is pencil thin, maybe 5’4”, and –judging by the bow of his legs- I think he had rickets as a small child. I might focus on the undersized nature of these ppl but don’t be fooled into thinking them frail. They are tiny but wicked strong, I saw Kevin toss a sack of grain almost as tall as he was to another guy and I can barely pull the sack when it was on the ground.
I promised I’d tell you guys about the Moroccan education system too. All schools are public so all education is free, even university; the family has to buy books and supplies. Just as with our public schools is very good for those who are in affluent areas in these areas b/c the more money the area has the better the teachers will be. Differing from our set up in which the family has to live in the are to get the good school, students are able to travel to better areas to get better educations and some schools provide dormitories for those unlucky students who don’t have family to live with in the desired area. All ppl have equal access to education until they finish highschool, then they take a test called the Bach to see if they can continue on to University. We can associate it with the SATs /ACTs except it is exponentially more stressful for one reason: only the top 40% of everyone in all of Morocco who takes the test each year continue on to University. That means that even if all the test takers in the entire country score over 90% on the exam only the best 40% will continue to University. Ouch. To make the situation even harder on all test takers, if you fail one year you can take the test again the next year. I’m not sure if there is a limit to the number of times you can take the exam. Still this means that you are not only competing with everyone in your age range in the country, you are also competing with previous years. Also, there is no secret choice B, you failed the test you have to pay for University. No, you just don’t go on to higher learning.
Yet another depressing point, there is very little job market here. One of the guys in my CBT site who helped our group learn about Moroccan culture has a degree in English and works construction, when there’s work at all. Another case, one of my favourite tajine and lentil places is owned and run by a man with a degree in Chemical Engineering. This is not just a product of the poor job market though, it’s also a great deal to do with the culture. You don’t leave your family and the thought of living alone is so alien ppl don’t trust Moroccans that live alone. So a lot of ppl will finish their degrees then move back home to be with their families; not all, some move to big cities or France or the US too. But a large enough number don’t use their degrees that it’s noteworthy.
Hmm, I had hoped that having a computer would mean I could post more often and not bog you guys down with huge tomes of blog... The posts are more often, at least.
But for the next two weeks(ish) I will be in Oz so I will have fabulous reception (enchallah) so if you wish to reach me I will have frequent access to the glories of the interweb and you, my beloved and fearless readers.
LE GASP! A scandal of the most scandalous nature! Do you remember, most devoted readers, that is said in one of my previous posts that I live in a duplex? Well, please allow me to correct this misconception. First, please allow me to introduce you to my neighbour, Mina. It’s impossible to tell age in this country b/c everyone is undersized due to poor nutrition and they age quickly and not-at-all-gracefully b/c they lead hard lives. My guess at her age is late thirties early forties b/c her oldest son is in his late teens. She has three sons, who are wonderful humans and always help her with everything and are eternally patient with their kid sister who is somewhere between 4 and 8 (like I said, no gauging age) who I suspect has a mild developmental disorder of some sort. Mina’s husband died two years ago leaving her to raise four children with no income and no way of making an income (there are three jobs for women in my province: cooking, cleaning, or selling their bodies- the idea that a woman should work is so foreign to people that when I tell them I worked on a ambulance-there is no word for EMT- they assume I cleaned it). Having no income means that Mina feeds, clothes, and buys supplies for her children using sedaka (charity) one of the pillars of Islam is that you give a portion of your monthly income to the poor (specifically widows and the old w/o family).
Mina is very amazing, and she’s taken me in as her kid, she is continually sending her children over to my house with bread or buttermilk (a treat that ppl love to drink here- I use it for pancakes and biscuits). Last week I was laid out for two days with a migraine which i suspect was a product of dehydration. When she found out I had been sick and hadn’t been able to even cook for myself she lectured me. I should have kicked the wall or called her name, she would have made me soup. Next time I am to ask for help, it’s like having a mom... actually it’s exactly like having a mom b/c she demands I tell her when I’m leaving site and where I’m going. One day I’ll cut the apron strings I’m sure.
Now you know Mina; moving on to the scandal. When I moved into my house Mina invited me over for couscous (a dish I eat at her house at least once a week now) where she told me I was always welcome anytime and if I felt lonely and didn’t want to sleep alone she told me the door is always open. I told her she was welcome at my house as well; to this she vigorously shook her head. She said that my landlord was very rude to her, didn’t like her, and threatened to hit her if she ever went to my house. (There are laws and courts that protect Mina from this fate, but she has no education and doesn’t know that) I was shocked and said I was very sorry and I couldn’t understand how anyone couldn’t like her. She said thank you. A few days later the whole story came out and I was flabbergasted. Are you ready my friends? My landlord is her late husband’s brother and what I had thought to be my half of a duplex is, actually, the half of Mina’s house that my landlord inherited when his brother passed away and then stole out from under his sister-in-law and her four children.
I was in shock when I found this out, I said I was so sorry but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Mina said she it was OK b/c it meant that we could be neighbours. I almost cried.
I would hate to end on a sombre not like that so here are two more anthropological observations. First, let’s build on the poor nutrition I referred to earlier. Not all the children in my site are under-nurished, the most telling signs of family prosperity are the childrens sizes. If the kids are fat the family is wealthy, even if their clothes are dirty and ratty you know the family has a decent if not posh income if the wee ones are fat all over. I specify all over b/c I don’t mean like on those Send –Money-To-African-Orphan shows where you see small children with huge tummies and spindly arms and legs (that’s severe starvation and their tummies are all swollen b/c their tissues are water logged and tummies are full of parasites- ew) No, I mean pure, unadulterated, chubby babyness. Probably a fourth of my site has enough money to have happy pot bellied kids. There isn’t much of a middle ground, either their rolly pollies or their rail thin and you have no idea how old they are. Mina’s children are an extreme version (Looking at her oldest son I can tell they were poor even when her husband was alive) I know that, let’s call him Kevin, is seventeenish b/c he is taking the test to see if he can get into college next year. They take that when they finish high school at eighteen. When I fisrt met him I thought he was thirteen. He is pencil thin, maybe 5’4”, and –judging by the bow of his legs- I think he had rickets as a small child. I might focus on the undersized nature of these ppl but don’t be fooled into thinking them frail. They are tiny but wicked strong, I saw Kevin toss a sack of grain almost as tall as he was to another guy and I can barely pull the sack when it was on the ground.
I promised I’d tell you guys about the Moroccan education system too. All schools are public so all education is free, even university; the family has to buy books and supplies. Just as with our public schools is very good for those who are in affluent areas in these areas b/c the more money the area has the better the teachers will be. Differing from our set up in which the family has to live in the are to get the good school, students are able to travel to better areas to get better educations and some schools provide dormitories for those unlucky students who don’t have family to live with in the desired area. All ppl have equal access to education until they finish highschool, then they take a test called the Bach to see if they can continue on to University. We can associate it with the SATs /ACTs except it is exponentially more stressful for one reason: only the top 40% of everyone in all of Morocco who takes the test each year continue on to University. That means that even if all the test takers in the entire country score over 90% on the exam only the best 40% will continue to University. Ouch. To make the situation even harder on all test takers, if you fail one year you can take the test again the next year. I’m not sure if there is a limit to the number of times you can take the exam. Still this means that you are not only competing with everyone in your age range in the country, you are also competing with previous years. Also, there is no secret choice B, you failed the test you have to pay for University. No, you just don’t go on to higher learning.
Yet another depressing point, there is very little job market here. One of the guys in my CBT site who helped our group learn about Moroccan culture has a degree in English and works construction, when there’s work at all. Another case, one of my favourite tajine and lentil places is owned and run by a man with a degree in Chemical Engineering. This is not just a product of the poor job market though, it’s also a great deal to do with the culture. You don’t leave your family and the thought of living alone is so alien ppl don’t trust Moroccans that live alone. So a lot of ppl will finish their degrees then move back home to be with their families; not all, some move to big cities or France or the US too. But a large enough number don’t use their degrees that it’s noteworthy.
Hmm, I had hoped that having a computer would mean I could post more often and not bog you guys down with huge tomes of blog... The posts are more often, at least.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Very Long Product of Too Much People Watching Time
I’ll start off this time with the boring business stuff. My dad has been having trouble getting letters to me; they keep being returned labeled “incomplete address”. After much sleuthery he deduced that the problem was that the US Post Office doesn’t speak French so they don’t know Maroc, you need to write “Morocco”.
Now on to the interesting stuff; this will be a slightly too sympathetic-to-be-objective-anthropological-view of my site.
Remember when I boasted about being at a third year level with language skills? Funny story, that’s in the dialect of the language I studied... not the dialect from my irgham (new word for douar) That being the case I spend a lot of time sitting and listening with the hope that I will eventually know what they’re all saying. This is further complicated by the fascinating anthropology of my site.
First, let me outline the way languages work in Morocco- specifically out in the bled (Arabic for douar and implies (accurately) areas super isolated from major cities, with low/no educated ppl and few if any amenities. This is more than a little complex so hold onto your scholars cap and I’m sorry if I confuse you. The primary language spoken throughout Morocco is Moroccan Arabic, the English word for it is Darija, my tribal dialect calls it tarapt. The next major language spoken by all educated people, city people, and most shop keepers, is French. (In my site there are a handful of French speakers). After French comes the tribal languages; there are, for our purposes, three of these. I can only remember the names of two of them b/c the third one is not spoken in any of the areas we have PCV so we don’t learn it or focus on it. The two I know of are Tamazirt – tam- a- zeert (technically what I speak), and Tashlahate- tash-la-haat (practically what I speak) *Enter our descent into the madness that is language in my site*
Waxxa, not only are there three tribal languages but there are about a dozen dialects of each language depending on what tribe you are from. Add regional accents to that and you get a linguistics dream world and a PCVs nightmare. So the reason I said I quasi speak both languages is b/c the area I am in is the gateway region between the Tam speaking tribes and the Tash tribes. Therefore I speak a dialect that uses Tamazirt verbs, Tashlahate nouns, and Arabic adjectives just to be ornery. Further confusion ensues, I speak tam but we call it tash, until I meet a tash proper speaker; then I have to telapathetically (oh the ways in which I am) know that they speak tash proper so I amend it saying I speak tam but call it tash. Thank God ppl here know their languages are baffling so when I say that they know I speak the hybrid of the two and have more patience with me then they might have with someone who spoke tam or tash proper. (Yes there is a “proper” form of these-there is even a tam TV station, no I can’t understand it)
Is tfaHmt? (Do you understand?) Good. Now it gets better. My site has a funny quirk, it was started by one very large family and is now made up of only one family. The way they avoid incest is quite ingenius. All the women in the irgham are educated as highly as they can reach-I’ll expand on that shortly- then are married out of the site; basically they have MRS educations b/c the higher their education the wealthier the men they marry. On the flip side, the men are educated as highly as they can be and either grow up and move away flat out, or else have a wife and family here and work in another city and send money home. I’m sure you’re wondering from whence these wives come if all the women in site are family. An excellent question for which I have two words Arranged Marriage. *More on that anon* The reason this quirk is pertinent to my piece on language is b/c all of these blushing brides come from different regions; that means, you guessed it, there are a lot of different dialects here. Phew!
About a fourth of the women in my site speak only Arabic (some regions are like that I guess). The rest of the women speak dialects of tash (tam) from all over Morocco. This is a real problem because if you understand one dialect of tash you can basically get them all (so long as you know what you’re listening too) but if you’re trying to LEARN tash here it suck b/c everyone wants to help you... so everyone tells you THEIR word for something. At the end of the day you will have been told eight or nine words for the same thing and you won’t remember any of them. BTW The only reason I know the bit about the regions is b/c one of the sons of the irgham who permanently moved away came to visit his mother and he explained all of this to me in French (I am so glad i studied that in University)- This guy is a professor at the University of Meknes so he speak French with a French accent, otherwise I might not have gotten this much info. The Moroccan French accent is way slurred (rather like the way we slur y’all and a’ight). For example “un hour” becomes “unur”. Have I mentioned oy vay yet? Just in case... OY VAY!
I’m really glad Brahim came home to visit and explained that to me b/c I thought I was going insane. Before I asked a couple girls here the same questions to see what answers I got. The questions I asked were things I sort of knew the answer too anyway this was just to get a cross section. First, “we speak tam but call it tash? Pahalpahal?” G1: “La (no) machi pahalpahal (not the same) there are three berber dialects and you are speaking a mix of two.” Me: “So it’s OK I can’t understand the TV tam?”G1: “Very OK you don’t speak that dialect.” Same questions. G2: “Kifkif.” (here dialect for same) “The TV speaks what we speak, you’ll get there little by little. Have patience.” I had thought I knew what was going on until I got two answers (I understand everything G1 says all the time and only half what G2 says BTW) When Brahim came by I asked him what was going on and he explained everything.
On the up side, all these languages make my listening skills amazing! Really, on the whole I love my site and my understanding skills are miles ahead of other PCVs who came with me to Morocco. It’s just my speaking skills that aren’t going anywhere, I still talk like Yoda with the vocab of a three year old. “Go, I must. Food I have. Dieing from hunger I am me.” (that’s what they say instead of I’m hungry it’s my hunger is killing me) This cultural bit reminds me. One of the biggest hang-ups I have with understanding is that I lack the culture to understand the question. I understand the words, but I can’t find the question within the words. Does that make sense? For example. There are rarely questions we ask each other that haven’t been asked before. What’s your name? Where are you from? Etc. When someone asks a question out of thin air and in an unfamiliar way we get lost: “Peanuts come from the ground, almonds from trees, walnuts from trees too yeah?” This is just something I find interesting that I wanted to share.
Two things that really help me are that ppl here know I’m learning a trillion dialects so they’re eternally patient. Also, and this is probably buying me more time than other ppl might get, I am the walking definition of knock out in Morocco. Cultural difference, in the States anyone can be beautiful as long as they rock what they have properly; therefore in the States I’m pretty but so are a lot of other ppl so I’m taken for granted ;) j/k. Here (and this is all Morocco) they have a list of what is pretty and the more checks you have on the list the prettier you are. No jealousy or competition (only as far as looks go, don’t get me wrong. There’s jealousy and competition) Would you like to know the list? Tall, light skin, fine hair, dark brown eyes, thick (curvy, not stupid lol), and (the cherry on top) a facial mole. Who does that sound like? ME! That buys me so much patience it’s hilarious. Don’t think this is going to give me a big head. There is nothing like living in a new country, with new cultures, new languages, and lacking skills the natives think are as natural as can be so they laugh when you get excited about drawing water from a well or think you’re handicapped b/c you can’t clean your clothes properly to keep you humble.
I wasn’t lying about the lack of jealousy of looks. Ppl just seem to feel you’re born pretty or you aren’t. Literally the first thing women say (few men, it’s Hachuma for men to talk about it in public with women) when they meet me is “you’re pretty.” “Thank you.” “No, you’re really pretty.” One of my sisters was so excited to tell me I’m pretty she said “you’re pretty and I love to look at you. You fill my heart to the fullest to look at you.” (This intra-gender affection is very normal)
This leads into my piece about arranged marriages. Yes my friends, they are alive and well here in Morocco. At first I was mortified, some women see their husbands for the first time on the wedding night. (Actually this is usually the case so most would be more appropriate than some). The more time I spend here seeing this culture the more I realize it works well and I can see why they think we’re scandalous for (le gasp) DATEING! It’s a simple matter of misunderstanding, like weird questions. In this culture men and women never interact. They men are at the cafe or the store all day (my site is special b/c the men work most sites the men do next to nothing). The women are in the fields or cleaning the house all day. At social functions the men are in one room and the women are in another. Husbands and wives rarely even vacation together. The only time a husband and wife are together is when they are eating dinner or in bed. That being the case an arranged marriage works for the culture. I am not saying it’s great. Lord knows I would never take it for myself, nor defend it; I’m just saying it isn’t the crime against humanity I (and I’m sure I’m not alone) once thought it to be. With this situation multiple wives also make sense b/c it’s like having a sister to help with chores (and fully share jokes about this stranger you’ve both married). So much time spent w/o the opposite gender means a lot of time spent w/ your own. This means there is a great deal of affection that is shared w/o being afraid of seeming homosexual. Also, homosexuality is such a profane idea here they don’t even consider it as a possible event. Thus men hold hands no worries. And so my sister can say poetic things like looking at you fills my heart with all the love in the world w/o fear of seeming weird.
On the flip side, Moroccans can’t imagine a world in which men and women works and play together so they think the only reason we date is for perverse indulgence. I love to tell women and (on one occasion under classroom circumstances and therefore not Hachuma) a small group of guys that in the States husbands and wives spend a lot of time together, and we don’t have the constant community that they have here, so it’s a lot of time spent together alone. I enjoy explaining the need to date in our culture so we can see if we can stand spending that much time together. It always has a mind boggling effect on the women here. They always say they couldn’t spend that much time w/ their husbands. (This is a much more complex idea then the cruel idea it seems on the surface. Maybe I’ll be able to explain it one day.)
Alright friends, I have rambles quite a bit and probably bored many of you. I’ll attempt to explain the Moroccan education system to you next time but it’s a bit complicated as well. Don’t worry, not like the language bit, that’s almost cruel enough to warrant attention from the Geneva Convention ;)
Now on to the interesting stuff; this will be a slightly too sympathetic-to-be-objective-anthropological-view of my site.
Remember when I boasted about being at a third year level with language skills? Funny story, that’s in the dialect of the language I studied... not the dialect from my irgham (new word for douar) That being the case I spend a lot of time sitting and listening with the hope that I will eventually know what they’re all saying. This is further complicated by the fascinating anthropology of my site.
First, let me outline the way languages work in Morocco- specifically out in the bled (Arabic for douar and implies (accurately) areas super isolated from major cities, with low/no educated ppl and few if any amenities. This is more than a little complex so hold onto your scholars cap and I’m sorry if I confuse you. The primary language spoken throughout Morocco is Moroccan Arabic, the English word for it is Darija, my tribal dialect calls it tarapt. The next major language spoken by all educated people, city people, and most shop keepers, is French. (In my site there are a handful of French speakers). After French comes the tribal languages; there are, for our purposes, three of these. I can only remember the names of two of them b/c the third one is not spoken in any of the areas we have PCV so we don’t learn it or focus on it. The two I know of are Tamazirt – tam- a- zeert (technically what I speak), and Tashlahate- tash-la-haat (practically what I speak) *Enter our descent into the madness that is language in my site*
Waxxa, not only are there three tribal languages but there are about a dozen dialects of each language depending on what tribe you are from. Add regional accents to that and you get a linguistics dream world and a PCVs nightmare. So the reason I said I quasi speak both languages is b/c the area I am in is the gateway region between the Tam speaking tribes and the Tash tribes. Therefore I speak a dialect that uses Tamazirt verbs, Tashlahate nouns, and Arabic adjectives just to be ornery. Further confusion ensues, I speak tam but we call it tash, until I meet a tash proper speaker; then I have to telapathetically (oh the ways in which I am) know that they speak tash proper so I amend it saying I speak tam but call it tash. Thank God ppl here know their languages are baffling so when I say that they know I speak the hybrid of the two and have more patience with me then they might have with someone who spoke tam or tash proper. (Yes there is a “proper” form of these-there is even a tam TV station, no I can’t understand it)
Is tfaHmt? (Do you understand?) Good. Now it gets better. My site has a funny quirk, it was started by one very large family and is now made up of only one family. The way they avoid incest is quite ingenius. All the women in the irgham are educated as highly as they can reach-I’ll expand on that shortly- then are married out of the site; basically they have MRS educations b/c the higher their education the wealthier the men they marry. On the flip side, the men are educated as highly as they can be and either grow up and move away flat out, or else have a wife and family here and work in another city and send money home. I’m sure you’re wondering from whence these wives come if all the women in site are family. An excellent question for which I have two words Arranged Marriage. *More on that anon* The reason this quirk is pertinent to my piece on language is b/c all of these blushing brides come from different regions; that means, you guessed it, there are a lot of different dialects here. Phew!
About a fourth of the women in my site speak only Arabic (some regions are like that I guess). The rest of the women speak dialects of tash (tam) from all over Morocco. This is a real problem because if you understand one dialect of tash you can basically get them all (so long as you know what you’re listening too) but if you’re trying to LEARN tash here it suck b/c everyone wants to help you... so everyone tells you THEIR word for something. At the end of the day you will have been told eight or nine words for the same thing and you won’t remember any of them. BTW The only reason I know the bit about the regions is b/c one of the sons of the irgham who permanently moved away came to visit his mother and he explained all of this to me in French (I am so glad i studied that in University)- This guy is a professor at the University of Meknes so he speak French with a French accent, otherwise I might not have gotten this much info. The Moroccan French accent is way slurred (rather like the way we slur y’all and a’ight). For example “un hour” becomes “unur”. Have I mentioned oy vay yet? Just in case... OY VAY!
I’m really glad Brahim came home to visit and explained that to me b/c I thought I was going insane. Before I asked a couple girls here the same questions to see what answers I got. The questions I asked were things I sort of knew the answer too anyway this was just to get a cross section. First, “we speak tam but call it tash? Pahalpahal?” G1: “La (no) machi pahalpahal (not the same) there are three berber dialects and you are speaking a mix of two.” Me: “So it’s OK I can’t understand the TV tam?”G1: “Very OK you don’t speak that dialect.” Same questions. G2: “Kifkif.” (here dialect for same) “The TV speaks what we speak, you’ll get there little by little. Have patience.” I had thought I knew what was going on until I got two answers (I understand everything G1 says all the time and only half what G2 says BTW) When Brahim came by I asked him what was going on and he explained everything.
On the up side, all these languages make my listening skills amazing! Really, on the whole I love my site and my understanding skills are miles ahead of other PCVs who came with me to Morocco. It’s just my speaking skills that aren’t going anywhere, I still talk like Yoda with the vocab of a three year old. “Go, I must. Food I have. Dieing from hunger I am me.” (that’s what they say instead of I’m hungry it’s my hunger is killing me) This cultural bit reminds me. One of the biggest hang-ups I have with understanding is that I lack the culture to understand the question. I understand the words, but I can’t find the question within the words. Does that make sense? For example. There are rarely questions we ask each other that haven’t been asked before. What’s your name? Where are you from? Etc. When someone asks a question out of thin air and in an unfamiliar way we get lost: “Peanuts come from the ground, almonds from trees, walnuts from trees too yeah?” This is just something I find interesting that I wanted to share.
Two things that really help me are that ppl here know I’m learning a trillion dialects so they’re eternally patient. Also, and this is probably buying me more time than other ppl might get, I am the walking definition of knock out in Morocco. Cultural difference, in the States anyone can be beautiful as long as they rock what they have properly; therefore in the States I’m pretty but so are a lot of other ppl so I’m taken for granted ;) j/k. Here (and this is all Morocco) they have a list of what is pretty and the more checks you have on the list the prettier you are. No jealousy or competition (only as far as looks go, don’t get me wrong. There’s jealousy and competition) Would you like to know the list? Tall, light skin, fine hair, dark brown eyes, thick (curvy, not stupid lol), and (the cherry on top) a facial mole. Who does that sound like? ME! That buys me so much patience it’s hilarious. Don’t think this is going to give me a big head. There is nothing like living in a new country, with new cultures, new languages, and lacking skills the natives think are as natural as can be so they laugh when you get excited about drawing water from a well or think you’re handicapped b/c you can’t clean your clothes properly to keep you humble.
I wasn’t lying about the lack of jealousy of looks. Ppl just seem to feel you’re born pretty or you aren’t. Literally the first thing women say (few men, it’s Hachuma for men to talk about it in public with women) when they meet me is “you’re pretty.” “Thank you.” “No, you’re really pretty.” One of my sisters was so excited to tell me I’m pretty she said “you’re pretty and I love to look at you. You fill my heart to the fullest to look at you.” (This intra-gender affection is very normal)
This leads into my piece about arranged marriages. Yes my friends, they are alive and well here in Morocco. At first I was mortified, some women see their husbands for the first time on the wedding night. (Actually this is usually the case so most would be more appropriate than some). The more time I spend here seeing this culture the more I realize it works well and I can see why they think we’re scandalous for (le gasp) DATEING! It’s a simple matter of misunderstanding, like weird questions. In this culture men and women never interact. They men are at the cafe or the store all day (my site is special b/c the men work most sites the men do next to nothing). The women are in the fields or cleaning the house all day. At social functions the men are in one room and the women are in another. Husbands and wives rarely even vacation together. The only time a husband and wife are together is when they are eating dinner or in bed. That being the case an arranged marriage works for the culture. I am not saying it’s great. Lord knows I would never take it for myself, nor defend it; I’m just saying it isn’t the crime against humanity I (and I’m sure I’m not alone) once thought it to be. With this situation multiple wives also make sense b/c it’s like having a sister to help with chores (and fully share jokes about this stranger you’ve both married). So much time spent w/o the opposite gender means a lot of time spent w/ your own. This means there is a great deal of affection that is shared w/o being afraid of seeming homosexual. Also, homosexuality is such a profane idea here they don’t even consider it as a possible event. Thus men hold hands no worries. And so my sister can say poetic things like looking at you fills my heart with all the love in the world w/o fear of seeming weird.
On the flip side, Moroccans can’t imagine a world in which men and women works and play together so they think the only reason we date is for perverse indulgence. I love to tell women and (on one occasion under classroom circumstances and therefore not Hachuma) a small group of guys that in the States husbands and wives spend a lot of time together, and we don’t have the constant community that they have here, so it’s a lot of time spent together alone. I enjoy explaining the need to date in our culture so we can see if we can stand spending that much time together. It always has a mind boggling effect on the women here. They always say they couldn’t spend that much time w/ their husbands. (This is a much more complex idea then the cruel idea it seems on the surface. Maybe I’ll be able to explain it one day.)
Alright friends, I have rambles quite a bit and probably bored many of you. I’ll attempt to explain the Moroccan education system to you next time but it’s a bit complicated as well. Don’t worry, not like the language bit, that’s almost cruel enough to warrant attention from the Geneva Convention ;)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Dysentery Diet: an eating disorder lite
I’m just being melodramatic, it isn’t dysentery, it’s more like the ultimate colon cleanse once a week or so. Eh, it keeps me young, I’m sure.
Well it has been yet another highly adventurous month so another fairly long blog, be brave dear readers. I have learned that, as far as packages go, smaller gets to me faster. My parents sent me a box with my dresses so I can survive the summer in comfort and a few days later they sent an envelope of pens (the pens here are very sad indeed) I have the pens but I’m still waiting on the dresses; I’m sure they will get here soon it’s just a matter of patience.
In other news I have finally found a house to rent and moved in, glorious saints be praised! It’s a two room smallish duplex (I was so shocked they have those here, but yes my friends I live in a Moroccan duplex) Of course it’s made out of mud brick, thank heavens; the only other thing it would have been would be concrete and that’s no good b/c it’s super hot in the summer and super cold in the winter. I really love my house and I’m super lucky b/c I have electricity, running water, and a bathroom all inside my house. Nearly all PCVs have electricity, probably half, at most, have running water, and while it’s rule that we have real bathrooms a lot of the time the bathroom is in a separate building outside the house which is only annoying b/c you have to change out of your PJs and put on real clothes just to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It’s also a pain for female PCVs because it’s shameful for women to have wet hair in public so you have to wear a hat, or towel, or head scarf after washing your hair just to get back to your house. (That’s only the rule in conservative areas so some girls don’t have that annoyance) Also, my landlord’s super nice; before the house only had electricity so he but a bathroom and water in the house so I’d be more comfortable. Wahoo.
Moving in was really wonderful b/c the fabulous PCV I replaced, let’s call her Ariel, had a whole bunch of stuff that I bought off of her using the allowance I was given during training. She didn’t have a ton of stuff for most of the house (not that I need it, just ponjes (those are the pads we sit on instead of chairs and couches) but she had lots of kitchen supplies, so all I needed to buy w/ my settling in allowance was a set of drawers and a mattress. The PC gives us a decent amount of money b/c some ppl don’t replace PCVs so they have to buy everything they need for their places. Since I have so much stuff already I used my allowance to buy a laptop so I can do my Peace Corps / Moroccan Gov paper work in a timely and affordable manner. Also, enchallah, I will get internet soon so I will be able to talk to you guys more often. Won’t that be lovely?
As I was unpacking all the stuff Ariel gave me I came across all the teaching supplies she had inherited from the PCV she replaced. WOW! I have everything! Before I had been planning on teaching some sewing and knitting to the women, and having a health class at the school, I’ve also been toying with the possibility of offering first aid classes to anyone interested. Looking through her stuff though, I have fully drawn out lesson plans for English classes and health classes for both women and children and all sorts of women’s health pamphlets. Holy Cow! It’s like I was given everything any teacher could wish to have. I am so excited. Alright, to be honest I’m terrified too b/c I have the vocabulary of a three year old but it isn’t going to get better if I don’t try right?
I recently went off on a very grand adventure to one of our coastal cities called Essouara; there is a huge music festival there every year so the PC Vs in the Health sector work with one of the Moroccan SIDA (AIDs) NGOs (Non-Government Organizations) to have a booth where we can teach Moroccans (and any foreign tourists interested) about SIDA and offer free HIV testing. I didn’t help much b/c I hadn’t been able to make the training; this time I was there more to observe and learn but I’m super excited to came back and be more helpful next year. One of the other new PCVs who organized the new PCVs being able to come at all had the great idea that we possibly set up a blood pressure booth at some event. We also did some recon into that possibility. The festival is called the Gnaoua (sp) Music Festival and it’s huge. I believe both Jimmy Hendricks and Bob Marley played there back in the day. It was on my way to this grand adventure I was able to pick up my computer. There aren’t any buses from my souk town (and consequently my bus station) to Essouara. So I caught a bus to Marrakech (alas, there is no express train but one day I will take the express from Casablanca to Marrakech, mark my words) and had just enough time to buy a cheap laptop and grab some grub from Pizza Hut (OMG they have a Pizza Hut here!) Then I was off on another bus to Esso. Phew let me tell you, travel is exhausting but travelling in a foreign country where you chwia (little/ sort of) speak the language (my dialect is quite different from the coast and most ppl in Kech just speak Arabic and French) leaves you feeling half dead. Still it was a great experience and I’m excited to do it again next year.
Well it has been yet another highly adventurous month so another fairly long blog, be brave dear readers. I have learned that, as far as packages go, smaller gets to me faster. My parents sent me a box with my dresses so I can survive the summer in comfort and a few days later they sent an envelope of pens (the pens here are very sad indeed) I have the pens but I’m still waiting on the dresses; I’m sure they will get here soon it’s just a matter of patience.
In other news I have finally found a house to rent and moved in, glorious saints be praised! It’s a two room smallish duplex (I was so shocked they have those here, but yes my friends I live in a Moroccan duplex) Of course it’s made out of mud brick, thank heavens; the only other thing it would have been would be concrete and that’s no good b/c it’s super hot in the summer and super cold in the winter. I really love my house and I’m super lucky b/c I have electricity, running water, and a bathroom all inside my house. Nearly all PCVs have electricity, probably half, at most, have running water, and while it’s rule that we have real bathrooms a lot of the time the bathroom is in a separate building outside the house which is only annoying b/c you have to change out of your PJs and put on real clothes just to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It’s also a pain for female PCVs because it’s shameful for women to have wet hair in public so you have to wear a hat, or towel, or head scarf after washing your hair just to get back to your house. (That’s only the rule in conservative areas so some girls don’t have that annoyance) Also, my landlord’s super nice; before the house only had electricity so he but a bathroom and water in the house so I’d be more comfortable. Wahoo.
Moving in was really wonderful b/c the fabulous PCV I replaced, let’s call her Ariel, had a whole bunch of stuff that I bought off of her using the allowance I was given during training. She didn’t have a ton of stuff for most of the house (not that I need it, just ponjes (those are the pads we sit on instead of chairs and couches) but she had lots of kitchen supplies, so all I needed to buy w/ my settling in allowance was a set of drawers and a mattress. The PC gives us a decent amount of money b/c some ppl don’t replace PCVs so they have to buy everything they need for their places. Since I have so much stuff already I used my allowance to buy a laptop so I can do my Peace Corps / Moroccan Gov paper work in a timely and affordable manner. Also, enchallah, I will get internet soon so I will be able to talk to you guys more often. Won’t that be lovely?
As I was unpacking all the stuff Ariel gave me I came across all the teaching supplies she had inherited from the PCV she replaced. WOW! I have everything! Before I had been planning on teaching some sewing and knitting to the women, and having a health class at the school, I’ve also been toying with the possibility of offering first aid classes to anyone interested. Looking through her stuff though, I have fully drawn out lesson plans for English classes and health classes for both women and children and all sorts of women’s health pamphlets. Holy Cow! It’s like I was given everything any teacher could wish to have. I am so excited. Alright, to be honest I’m terrified too b/c I have the vocabulary of a three year old but it isn’t going to get better if I don’t try right?
I recently went off on a very grand adventure to one of our coastal cities called Essouara; there is a huge music festival there every year so the PC Vs in the Health sector work with one of the Moroccan SIDA (AIDs) NGOs (Non-Government Organizations) to have a booth where we can teach Moroccans (and any foreign tourists interested) about SIDA and offer free HIV testing. I didn’t help much b/c I hadn’t been able to make the training; this time I was there more to observe and learn but I’m super excited to came back and be more helpful next year. One of the other new PCVs who organized the new PCVs being able to come at all had the great idea that we possibly set up a blood pressure booth at some event. We also did some recon into that possibility. The festival is called the Gnaoua (sp) Music Festival and it’s huge. I believe both Jimmy Hendricks and Bob Marley played there back in the day. It was on my way to this grand adventure I was able to pick up my computer. There aren’t any buses from my souk town (and consequently my bus station) to Essouara. So I caught a bus to Marrakech (alas, there is no express train but one day I will take the express from Casablanca to Marrakech, mark my words) and had just enough time to buy a cheap laptop and grab some grub from Pizza Hut (OMG they have a Pizza Hut here!) Then I was off on another bus to Esso. Phew let me tell you, travel is exhausting but travelling in a foreign country where you chwia (little/ sort of) speak the language (my dialect is quite different from the coast and most ppl in Kech just speak Arabic and French) leaves you feeling half dead. Still it was a great experience and I’m excited to do it again next year.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Donkies Have Napolian Complexes
Greetings! I know it has been a long time but I did warn before that I might only have the chance to write once a month or so. That is my only excuse.
Here are a couple more cultural differences I think you guys might like.
Donkey is the most common mode of transportqtion in my site. Even the
nice ones are nasty and try to kick you. I think it's because they're
short and have long sticky out ears.
My site is just north of Jerassique Park and south of Tattoine. (Truly, Tattouine is even on the map, look south of Fes)
Morroco is is not the country time forgot, time remembers it well and plays cruel games with it. Half the country follows daylight savings time and half do not. This is not location specific, it depends on the person. My tutor follows it and her mother ( who lives in the same house) does not. My site has solved the problem by not following time at all. They keep time based on a very simple system of the sun and their moods. So largely it amounts to, 'It's tea-time-ish b/c I'm thirsty-ish'
This leads into the concept of Morrocon Time in which you tell people to meet at 2, the punctual few will arrive at 4 and the rest will trickel in over the next hour or so.
I once was a shower daily type, now I bathe twice to three times per week. Mostly b/c a 'bath' involves boiling a kettle of water on the propane stove, putting it in my bucket and adding cold water until it doesn't cook me, and then sitting on my stool to have a bucket bath.
B/c the hot Moroccon sun beats down on the chateau (water tower) all day there is no cold tap water in the summer.
Ramadan begins in early August.
And now, intrepid readers, I shall share annecdotes of my life here in the desert lands of Errachidia.This will be rather scattered b/c I have a months worth of experiences to share with you. Bon Chance!
Looking at the mountains around me everyday I often find myself humming the Indiana Jones Theme because the scenery around me really is just like the Raiders of the Lost Ark (pretty sure that was filmed here so that makes sense)
My site is amazing, I have both electricity and running water but
I'm a million miles from the main road. There a three roads that lead
to my site and all are an hour walk, and two cross the river which is
a trickle now but during rainy season will be unpassable. Actually,
all three of my roads are dirt roads so come rainy season I might be
stuck site side. I told the powers that be that I could not function
as a human or PCV without a bike so they double timed it and my bike
arrived at my site before I did. Really happy to have it but they
didn't take the time to look it over well and I got a semi broken
bike. Bummer.
I told the great-and-mighty-daddy of my plight and he told me that the gear cable
was either too loose or too tight so I fussed and tightened and
loosened and kind of traumatized my family here b/c girls aren't
supposed to do mechanical stuff. In the end they called the neighbor guy over and he made me stop doing that mens-work and worked on the bike for me. I contemplated going all feminist-anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-too, but realized it was much easier to let him do all the work while I sat and handed him the tools.
It would seem my rear derailer is ninty percent kaputz so I was emensly glad when he fixed it to having one rear gear that works. It's the 2nd gear which is a bit tough to use on my offroad road to and from the highway but at least it works.
I spent two days at the sbitar-clinic (where I'm technically based out of) and I have had the revelation that I probably won't be going there very often.
It's not that they aren't kind and welcoming and all; b/c they are
really great. The staff is made up of a female doctor, a female nusr,
and a male nurse. I don't think I'll be going there a lot b/c they
don't need me. I spent both days consolidating the birth control boxes
so that each box has a three month supply in it. Wee. This, on top of
the fact that it's a twenty min bike ride to sbitar from site, my
mokadem has asked my to teach in site, and I have been given my own
classroom at the school all add together to say I will be teaching
health outside of the sbitar. BTW mokadem is the tribal leader, my
mokadem has been very kind and offers his assistance in anything I
need or want.
Oh, that's something else you don't know. My work here is very self
directed. I have no schedules or set places to be and the only people
I am responsible to are the duty officer, I have to tell him where and
why I'm going places so incase of rampaging ninja monkies I can be
found. And I have to write a quarterly report to the PC powers that be
to tell them what I'm doing. Otherwise I'm on my own. I set my work
schedule, I find and make my own work, I set the time table for when I
need to have certain things done. This is the ultimate independent
study project. It's exciting and scary all at once.
I really do feel that in many ways I'm doing an anthropological
study, except I'm also trying to introduce new ideas which is very un
anthy of me. My site is going to be very challenging. I am the first
PCV to be set in my site (other PCVs have come in and taught
toothbrushing and handwashing in the school but I'm the first to live
and work the full two years in site) This means that I'm not living in
anyones shadow so I don't have t overcome a bad image, nor do I have
to live up to anyone; on the flipside, they have no idea why I'm here
and I have to start from the very basics of what the PC is. I see a
lot of projects I can and want to do but before I can do them I have
to learn the language and get to know the people. More importantly I
need them to know and trust me.
The most challenging part about my site is that they have a lot of
needs but no resourses and no idea that life could be different. They
all have tv and dish so they see the outside world but there is a
disconnect between the outside world and their world. Right now,
before I can do any of the projects I want to do I have to get them to
see the importance of education. I've translated the proverb about
giving a man a fish versus teaching him to fish and the few people
I've built relationships with so far understood when I told them so
that's a start. Now I just need to get everyone else to see that I'm
here to help them help themselves, not give them stuff. Their thinking
I'm here to give them stuff is definatly the fault of foriegn
visitors. Ppl come in from Europe and hand stuff out to people so
often that now they assume ppl who come to see them are there to give
them stuff. One of my host family's visiting family members has had
this trained into her so well that she walked into my room before she
left and asked me for my sunscreen and was kind of annoyed when I said
no. I don't think she understood when I tried to tell her I couldn't
because she WANTED it so she wouldn't get darker, but I NEED it b/c I
burn and get sick. I don't think they get sunburns so I'm pretty sure
she thinks I was lieing. Later I told my sister that the sun hurts me
and makes me sick if I get to much and she nodded and smiled but I
don't think she knew what I ment. That's OK, in two years I'm sure to
get at least one sunburn, then they'll understand. I think that's all
for now friends, I'm off to meet new people and butcher their
language.
Frogs are everywhere! I think after the plague in Egypt they didn't just vanish, they packed up and moved to Morocco. They are forever getting into the house (I usually have three or four living under my bed) It's comical that they get to my house at all b/c they come from the river and have to cross the road to get to me. It's like Frogger! I don't mind the frogs in my room at all, actually, b/c they eat the flies.
The flies here are dreadfully annoying, they dive bomb you and fly into your mouth as you're talking and they land on my glasses (while I'm wearing them)and leave little fly foot prints on them. What's especially gross is that I have to look at their nasty fly underbellies while they walk on my glasses. I'm being flashed by flies!
I have been promed that by mid -July it usually gets hot enough to kill the flies; 'though I'm not sure if that is good or bad. Rumor has it that July through August it's usually 120 degrees. Yikes! It's been in the mid to upper nines the past couple of weeks; one day it dropped down to the eighties and I was so cold I actually had to pull out a sweater.
Moving on. I feel very much like I'm living in one of those re-enactment settlments. A couple of days ago I was making myself a cup of tea but there was no milk in the fridge so I went into the back and milked a gless from one of the family cows. And a couple of days later I was making biscuits for the family and I needed butter but we were out. Fortunatly the cows had already been milked that morning. I had to pour some milk into a jar and make my own butter so I could make biscuits! Hee hee hee, it's rather fun actually.
On a similar note, I bought a glorious thing at souk a few weeks ago. I am now the proud owner of a lfrwaka and my life is so much easier! What is a lfrwaka you might ask? It is a wash board, and I don't know how anyone servived before their creation. My clothes are cleaner then I think they have ever been (even with a washing machine) and it requires half the time and a billionth the energy to wasdh my clothes. I'm sure, once I know what I'm doing, it will use less soap to; but I can build to that shwea b shwea (little by little)
So I have been absoluty terrible about the picture taking and what not but my friend Milo (I shall refrain from using real names so that should I choose to take artistic liscense no one is angery) is much better about being a shutter bug. Incase you didn't see my mom's comment on my last blog his photo bucket is http://s289.photobucket.com/home/megraves84/recentuploads?view=slideshow.
To take a slightly more serious tone for a bit. My mom raised a concern on one of my phone calls home about Morrocan men. She said that she was reading about how terrible they are on another PCV's blog. While I like to give you guys tales andlists of all the defferences about life her, really the people are very similar to Americans. And, hust like in America, the lound and mean 2% are making the quiet and gentle 98% seem bad.
Yes, I too have experienced sexual harrasment (only from middle and high school aged boys)nothing profain and I have never felt in danger. The two occasions that I found most shocking were the twelve year old boy in one of the large cities who said 'sex sex sex sex sex' as Milo and I walked past.I ignored him. The other was a boy from a high school near my site who told me I was 'always welcome in his room' I laughed in his face. I am also proposed to on a daily if not weekly basis, oh Hashuma! (shame) :P
These are dar and away the minority here, men in Morocco are very respectful and very halpful. At the place where my dirt road and the main road meet is a small community. Once I reach there I can get a taxi or bus to anywhere I need and so I don't need my bike anymore, it going from being vital to being annoying. The parkinglot guard somehow knew this telapathically and gave me the key to a small shed where I can leave my bike once I reached there. No charge, he just told me it was no trouble and he was glad to help.
Because my bike got to site before I did the Powers That Be left it at another PCVs site so I could pick it up at my lesure. The PCV in question had to go to PC HQ around the time I arrived so he left his key with one of his Moroccan friends so he could let me in to get my bike. This guy not only helped me get my bike but then invited me over to his house to meet his family and have tea. After tea he borrowed the PCVs bike so he could escourt me the 17 km bike ride to my house, just so I would not feel lonely.
I went over to a friends house the other day and by the time I got back to the place I leave my bike the sun had gone down enough that seeing the dirt road was difficult. I had forgotten my head lamp at home so the taxi driver who had taken me to the parking lot followed behind me so I could have his head lights to get home and he would not accept money for the kindness. All of these guys just say 'mashi mushkil' (it's nothing)
I usually get to the parking lot at the same time when I am going to my tutor's house so I often get the same taxi driver to the city. Everyone else who rides the taxi is always very excited to talk to a foreigner which is lovely but I often don't understand them. I only speak french and tashleheit and a lot of ppl here speak arabic too. Since this guy knows me he always tells them when they speak arabic 'no, she only knows tashleheit' (I can't tell the difference between the two) He is also able to feild a lot of the questions they have about me wich makes my life easier. For axample, some ppl here don't like the French, he knows who these ppl are and if they get in the cab and give me a dirty look he always says, shes American and she's teaching the kids to be healthy. Then everyone in the cab thinks I'm just wonderful. This guy also charges me half the usual fare to the city.
Oh the terrible terror that is Morrocan men. No, I want to put all your minds at rest, I am very safe here and the people are very kind. I do drink a ton of tea though, good heavens; the usual introduction goes something along the lines of, hello, how are you? Is everything well? are you well in every way you can be well? Are you rested? Have you adjusted? (they ask eachother this too so I'm not actually sure what ae are adjusting too) are you having a fine time? Oh thank God, thank God. What's your name? It's nice to meet you! come in for tea. No? But you must, tea keeps you alive! (I usually accept the tea) And after the first glass I say safee (done) and as they pour me another glass they say you will enjoy another one. tea is usuall three cups (the idea of the first cup is strangers, the second is business, and the third is family is more true then you think)So on the whole, nobody should be fretting about me.
Speaking of family, my entire site is one family, seriously everyone hase the same last name. And I have totally been accepted with open arms. Some ppl already call me xalti (pronounced like the H in Hannuka Halti) it means aunt on the mothers side.
And now I have to head out, hopefully it won't be so long untill my next post. Toodles yo.
Here are a couple more cultural differences I think you guys might like.
Donkey is the most common mode of transportqtion in my site. Even the
nice ones are nasty and try to kick you. I think it's because they're
short and have long sticky out ears.
My site is just north of Jerassique Park and south of Tattoine. (Truly, Tattouine is even on the map, look south of Fes)
Morroco is is not the country time forgot, time remembers it well and plays cruel games with it. Half the country follows daylight savings time and half do not. This is not location specific, it depends on the person. My tutor follows it and her mother ( who lives in the same house) does not. My site has solved the problem by not following time at all. They keep time based on a very simple system of the sun and their moods. So largely it amounts to, 'It's tea-time-ish b/c I'm thirsty-ish'
This leads into the concept of Morrocon Time in which you tell people to meet at 2, the punctual few will arrive at 4 and the rest will trickel in over the next hour or so.
I once was a shower daily type, now I bathe twice to three times per week. Mostly b/c a 'bath' involves boiling a kettle of water on the propane stove, putting it in my bucket and adding cold water until it doesn't cook me, and then sitting on my stool to have a bucket bath.
B/c the hot Moroccon sun beats down on the chateau (water tower) all day there is no cold tap water in the summer.
Ramadan begins in early August.
And now, intrepid readers, I shall share annecdotes of my life here in the desert lands of Errachidia.This will be rather scattered b/c I have a months worth of experiences to share with you. Bon Chance!
Looking at the mountains around me everyday I often find myself humming the Indiana Jones Theme because the scenery around me really is just like the Raiders of the Lost Ark (pretty sure that was filmed here so that makes sense)
My site is amazing, I have both electricity and running water but
I'm a million miles from the main road. There a three roads that lead
to my site and all are an hour walk, and two cross the river which is
a trickle now but during rainy season will be unpassable. Actually,
all three of my roads are dirt roads so come rainy season I might be
stuck site side. I told the powers that be that I could not function
as a human or PCV without a bike so they double timed it and my bike
arrived at my site before I did. Really happy to have it but they
didn't take the time to look it over well and I got a semi broken
bike. Bummer.
I told the great-and-mighty-daddy of my plight and he told me that the gear cable
was either too loose or too tight so I fussed and tightened and
loosened and kind of traumatized my family here b/c girls aren't
supposed to do mechanical stuff. In the end they called the neighbor guy over and he made me stop doing that mens-work and worked on the bike for me. I contemplated going all feminist-anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-too, but realized it was much easier to let him do all the work while I sat and handed him the tools.
It would seem my rear derailer is ninty percent kaputz so I was emensly glad when he fixed it to having one rear gear that works. It's the 2nd gear which is a bit tough to use on my offroad road to and from the highway but at least it works.
I spent two days at the sbitar-clinic (where I'm technically based out of) and I have had the revelation that I probably won't be going there very often.
It's not that they aren't kind and welcoming and all; b/c they are
really great. The staff is made up of a female doctor, a female nusr,
and a male nurse. I don't think I'll be going there a lot b/c they
don't need me. I spent both days consolidating the birth control boxes
so that each box has a three month supply in it. Wee. This, on top of
the fact that it's a twenty min bike ride to sbitar from site, my
mokadem has asked my to teach in site, and I have been given my own
classroom at the school all add together to say I will be teaching
health outside of the sbitar. BTW mokadem is the tribal leader, my
mokadem has been very kind and offers his assistance in anything I
need or want.
Oh, that's something else you don't know. My work here is very self
directed. I have no schedules or set places to be and the only people
I am responsible to are the duty officer, I have to tell him where and
why I'm going places so incase of rampaging ninja monkies I can be
found. And I have to write a quarterly report to the PC powers that be
to tell them what I'm doing. Otherwise I'm on my own. I set my work
schedule, I find and make my own work, I set the time table for when I
need to have certain things done. This is the ultimate independent
study project. It's exciting and scary all at once.
I really do feel that in many ways I'm doing an anthropological
study, except I'm also trying to introduce new ideas which is very un
anthy of me. My site is going to be very challenging. I am the first
PCV to be set in my site (other PCVs have come in and taught
toothbrushing and handwashing in the school but I'm the first to live
and work the full two years in site) This means that I'm not living in
anyones shadow so I don't have t overcome a bad image, nor do I have
to live up to anyone; on the flipside, they have no idea why I'm here
and I have to start from the very basics of what the PC is. I see a
lot of projects I can and want to do but before I can do them I have
to learn the language and get to know the people. More importantly I
need them to know and trust me.
The most challenging part about my site is that they have a lot of
needs but no resourses and no idea that life could be different. They
all have tv and dish so they see the outside world but there is a
disconnect between the outside world and their world. Right now,
before I can do any of the projects I want to do I have to get them to
see the importance of education. I've translated the proverb about
giving a man a fish versus teaching him to fish and the few people
I've built relationships with so far understood when I told them so
that's a start. Now I just need to get everyone else to see that I'm
here to help them help themselves, not give them stuff. Their thinking
I'm here to give them stuff is definatly the fault of foriegn
visitors. Ppl come in from Europe and hand stuff out to people so
often that now they assume ppl who come to see them are there to give
them stuff. One of my host family's visiting family members has had
this trained into her so well that she walked into my room before she
left and asked me for my sunscreen and was kind of annoyed when I said
no. I don't think she understood when I tried to tell her I couldn't
because she WANTED it so she wouldn't get darker, but I NEED it b/c I
burn and get sick. I don't think they get sunburns so I'm pretty sure
she thinks I was lieing. Later I told my sister that the sun hurts me
and makes me sick if I get to much and she nodded and smiled but I
don't think she knew what I ment. That's OK, in two years I'm sure to
get at least one sunburn, then they'll understand. I think that's all
for now friends, I'm off to meet new people and butcher their
language.
Frogs are everywhere! I think after the plague in Egypt they didn't just vanish, they packed up and moved to Morocco. They are forever getting into the house (I usually have three or four living under my bed) It's comical that they get to my house at all b/c they come from the river and have to cross the road to get to me. It's like Frogger! I don't mind the frogs in my room at all, actually, b/c they eat the flies.
The flies here are dreadfully annoying, they dive bomb you and fly into your mouth as you're talking and they land on my glasses (while I'm wearing them)and leave little fly foot prints on them. What's especially gross is that I have to look at their nasty fly underbellies while they walk on my glasses. I'm being flashed by flies!
I have been promed that by mid -July it usually gets hot enough to kill the flies; 'though I'm not sure if that is good or bad. Rumor has it that July through August it's usually 120 degrees. Yikes! It's been in the mid to upper nines the past couple of weeks; one day it dropped down to the eighties and I was so cold I actually had to pull out a sweater.
Moving on. I feel very much like I'm living in one of those re-enactment settlments. A couple of days ago I was making myself a cup of tea but there was no milk in the fridge so I went into the back and milked a gless from one of the family cows. And a couple of days later I was making biscuits for the family and I needed butter but we were out. Fortunatly the cows had already been milked that morning. I had to pour some milk into a jar and make my own butter so I could make biscuits! Hee hee hee, it's rather fun actually.
On a similar note, I bought a glorious thing at souk a few weeks ago. I am now the proud owner of a lfrwaka and my life is so much easier! What is a lfrwaka you might ask? It is a wash board, and I don't know how anyone servived before their creation. My clothes are cleaner then I think they have ever been (even with a washing machine) and it requires half the time and a billionth the energy to wasdh my clothes. I'm sure, once I know what I'm doing, it will use less soap to; but I can build to that shwea b shwea (little by little)
So I have been absoluty terrible about the picture taking and what not but my friend Milo (I shall refrain from using real names so that should I choose to take artistic liscense no one is angery) is much better about being a shutter bug. Incase you didn't see my mom's comment on my last blog his photo bucket is http://s289.photobucket.com/home/megraves84/recentuploads?view=slideshow.
To take a slightly more serious tone for a bit. My mom raised a concern on one of my phone calls home about Morrocan men. She said that she was reading about how terrible they are on another PCV's blog. While I like to give you guys tales andlists of all the defferences about life her, really the people are very similar to Americans. And, hust like in America, the lound and mean 2% are making the quiet and gentle 98% seem bad.
Yes, I too have experienced sexual harrasment (only from middle and high school aged boys)nothing profain and I have never felt in danger. The two occasions that I found most shocking were the twelve year old boy in one of the large cities who said 'sex sex sex sex sex' as Milo and I walked past.I ignored him. The other was a boy from a high school near my site who told me I was 'always welcome in his room' I laughed in his face. I am also proposed to on a daily if not weekly basis, oh Hashuma! (shame) :P
These are dar and away the minority here, men in Morocco are very respectful and very halpful. At the place where my dirt road and the main road meet is a small community. Once I reach there I can get a taxi or bus to anywhere I need and so I don't need my bike anymore, it going from being vital to being annoying. The parkinglot guard somehow knew this telapathically and gave me the key to a small shed where I can leave my bike once I reached there. No charge, he just told me it was no trouble and he was glad to help.
Because my bike got to site before I did the Powers That Be left it at another PCVs site so I could pick it up at my lesure. The PCV in question had to go to PC HQ around the time I arrived so he left his key with one of his Moroccan friends so he could let me in to get my bike. This guy not only helped me get my bike but then invited me over to his house to meet his family and have tea. After tea he borrowed the PCVs bike so he could escourt me the 17 km bike ride to my house, just so I would not feel lonely.
I went over to a friends house the other day and by the time I got back to the place I leave my bike the sun had gone down enough that seeing the dirt road was difficult. I had forgotten my head lamp at home so the taxi driver who had taken me to the parking lot followed behind me so I could have his head lights to get home and he would not accept money for the kindness. All of these guys just say 'mashi mushkil' (it's nothing)
I usually get to the parking lot at the same time when I am going to my tutor's house so I often get the same taxi driver to the city. Everyone else who rides the taxi is always very excited to talk to a foreigner which is lovely but I often don't understand them. I only speak french and tashleheit and a lot of ppl here speak arabic too. Since this guy knows me he always tells them when they speak arabic 'no, she only knows tashleheit' (I can't tell the difference between the two) He is also able to feild a lot of the questions they have about me wich makes my life easier. For axample, some ppl here don't like the French, he knows who these ppl are and if they get in the cab and give me a dirty look he always says, shes American and she's teaching the kids to be healthy. Then everyone in the cab thinks I'm just wonderful. This guy also charges me half the usual fare to the city.
Oh the terrible terror that is Morrocan men. No, I want to put all your minds at rest, I am very safe here and the people are very kind. I do drink a ton of tea though, good heavens; the usual introduction goes something along the lines of, hello, how are you? Is everything well? are you well in every way you can be well? Are you rested? Have you adjusted? (they ask eachother this too so I'm not actually sure what ae are adjusting too) are you having a fine time? Oh thank God, thank God. What's your name? It's nice to meet you! come in for tea. No? But you must, tea keeps you alive! (I usually accept the tea) And after the first glass I say safee (done) and as they pour me another glass they say you will enjoy another one. tea is usuall three cups (the idea of the first cup is strangers, the second is business, and the third is family is more true then you think)So on the whole, nobody should be fretting about me.
Speaking of family, my entire site is one family, seriously everyone hase the same last name. And I have totally been accepted with open arms. Some ppl already call me xalti (pronounced like the H in Hannuka Halti) it means aunt on the mothers side.
And now I have to head out, hopefully it won't be so long untill my next post. Toodles yo.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
It's Officially Official
I am now a fully fledged Peace Corps Volunteer. Today, after 63 days of constant language, culture, and basic-here-to-for-un-needed life skills training, I swore in to the United States Peace Corps. And the US Ambassador came to give us our oath; yes my friends, I'm kind of a big deal. I even had my picture taken with him, he and his wife are lovely people.
Now that I am officially a PCV I leave for my site again tomorrow but now it's for good; I don't know how often I will be qble to find a cyber in the next three months so I might not have a lot of posts until July of August. However, eventually I am going to get a small notebook type computer so after Ramadan you guys will probably hear more from me. Oh yeah, that reminds me, I had wanted to let you guys in on some of the big cultural differences here. I find them rather amusing.
1: Tide is the all powerful cleaner here. It removes tough stains from shirts, keeps the dishes sparkling clean, and some people have even been know to wash head wounds with it. That is one health concern I will be addressing.
2: Men hold hands with other men but they do not talk to women in public; parties are rather like 8th grade dances with the men on one side of the room and women on the other.
3: All parts of the body must be covered in public, this is true for men and women. But belching is completely normal wherever you may be.
4: During the month of Ramadan- they use a lunar calader so it is a deifferent time every year- everything stops and people just leave their cranky selves at home. My vote is that this is for the best.
Just some things I've noticed I'll make notes on more of them and post them as I can.
One last item of business; my mailing address has changed. Now that I have a final site I have a PO Box in mu souk town. I'm going to delete the other address so people don't try to send stuff there instead. Don't worry, anything that has been sent will be forwarded to me for the next couple of months. Although now I can get packages, dad seems to be having trouble with the US Postal system so you might see if Fed Ex or UPS is better. As far as needs I wish to impose on my dear friends to send me; books, any genre, any topic, any style. There aren't english books here so I need them from you guys. Also pictures of you guys would be nice, not to mention cheaper to send since those can be put into envelopes.
So from now on send all mail to:
Erika Pullen
BP 126
Rich 52400
Province D'Errichidia, Maroc
BP stands for Boite Postal which is French for PO Box, and to whom it may concern this is not anywhere near my home so it isn't a saftey breach to post this online.
I think that's all for now friends.
Now that I am officially a PCV I leave for my site again tomorrow but now it's for good; I don't know how often I will be qble to find a cyber in the next three months so I might not have a lot of posts until July of August. However, eventually I am going to get a small notebook type computer so after Ramadan you guys will probably hear more from me. Oh yeah, that reminds me, I had wanted to let you guys in on some of the big cultural differences here. I find them rather amusing.
1: Tide is the all powerful cleaner here. It removes tough stains from shirts, keeps the dishes sparkling clean, and some people have even been know to wash head wounds with it. That is one health concern I will be addressing.
2: Men hold hands with other men but they do not talk to women in public; parties are rather like 8th grade dances with the men on one side of the room and women on the other.
3: All parts of the body must be covered in public, this is true for men and women. But belching is completely normal wherever you may be.
4: During the month of Ramadan- they use a lunar calader so it is a deifferent time every year- everything stops and people just leave their cranky selves at home. My vote is that this is for the best.
Just some things I've noticed I'll make notes on more of them and post them as I can.
One last item of business; my mailing address has changed. Now that I have a final site I have a PO Box in mu souk town. I'm going to delete the other address so people don't try to send stuff there instead. Don't worry, anything that has been sent will be forwarded to me for the next couple of months. Although now I can get packages, dad seems to be having trouble with the US Postal system so you might see if Fed Ex or UPS is better. As far as needs I wish to impose on my dear friends to send me; books, any genre, any topic, any style. There aren't english books here so I need them from you guys. Also pictures of you guys would be nice, not to mention cheaper to send since those can be put into envelopes.
So from now on send all mail to:
Erika Pullen
BP 126
Rich 52400
Province D'Errichidia, Maroc
BP stands for Boite Postal which is French for PO Box, and to whom it may concern this is not anywhere near my home so it isn't a saftey breach to post this online.
I think that's all for now friends.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
It's just like home... only not
Sorry for the delay but not to worry I am still alive and everything is freaking awesome! So my site, hmm how to describe it... imagine Moab meets Glennwood Springs. It's totally desert surrounded by sandstone mountains; and I have a natural hot spring that's just a thirty minute bike ride from my place. My life is so hard, kind of like being on a two yaer working vacation.
I can't tell you exactly where I am for security stuff but I'm nearish a city called Rich. I will be working in the thirteen surrounding daours, too. I don't have a sbitar (clinic) in my site. The sbitar is a thirty to forty-five minute walk from my daour which makes it really inconvenient for the majority of my daours. So it seems that my next two years will be teaching people preventative healthy and basic first aid so they won't have to rely on the sbitar for everything. Also, my province (pop quiz, who remembers the name?) has a lot of PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in it b/c it's in a part of the country that gets very little attention from the Moroccan gov. (Something about an assasination attempt on the previous king.) Having so many PCVs nearby means that we all work together to help each other with projects. I have two PCVs within a fifteen km radius of me so that's really nice.
I recieved a very warm welcome from my whole community, including the local officials. I told everyoine I will be working with the sbitar and the school and they told me they would help me in anyway they could. I could not possibly have asked for a better site or better people. Although I'm going to have to work a lot on my french b/c the big city authorities, and teachers I will be working with don't speak the Berber language I learned. They only speak Darija (Moraccan Arabic) and French. I already know the basics of French so I'm going to work on that rather than starting all over with Arabic.
There was one surprise though, I mean I should have logically realized if there is one animal the other would be here too. We have camel spiders, but don't worry there mostly small here, they don't get Iraq Camel Spider size. So far I've only encountered tiny ones about the size of a cupcake, although the other PCVs in the area tell me they can get as big as the scorpions. Oh yeah! We have scorpions too; guess who doesn't walk around barefoot. Me! And I've grown very fond of the vigorous shake I give all my clothes before putting them on, it's kind of thereputic really.
We had our final language test to see if I've learned Tamazirte well enough to be on my own in Moracco and I not only passed the test but I aced it. I absolutly had to make Novice High to pass-that's roughly what you're at after two school years of education. I scored Intermediate Low so I learned roughly three years worth of language skills in two months. Yes my friends, I have overcome my language learning block and become a linguist. HUZZAH!
One last thing, I know I'm rambling. I want to play a game with you guys, I have a funny-blister-story and I want to know if any of you can beat mine. Here in Marocco we don't have laundromats or washing machines, we do all of our laundry by hand. Well this requires finding your own method and style. In my first to learn my method I gave my self a blister... on the top side of my finger. So, I want to know if anyone has a sillier blister than a laundry blister?
I can't tell you exactly where I am for security stuff but I'm nearish a city called Rich. I will be working in the thirteen surrounding daours, too. I don't have a sbitar (clinic) in my site. The sbitar is a thirty to forty-five minute walk from my daour which makes it really inconvenient for the majority of my daours. So it seems that my next two years will be teaching people preventative healthy and basic first aid so they won't have to rely on the sbitar for everything. Also, my province (pop quiz, who remembers the name?) has a lot of PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in it b/c it's in a part of the country that gets very little attention from the Moroccan gov. (Something about an assasination attempt on the previous king.) Having so many PCVs nearby means that we all work together to help each other with projects. I have two PCVs within a fifteen km radius of me so that's really nice.
I recieved a very warm welcome from my whole community, including the local officials. I told everyoine I will be working with the sbitar and the school and they told me they would help me in anyway they could. I could not possibly have asked for a better site or better people. Although I'm going to have to work a lot on my french b/c the big city authorities, and teachers I will be working with don't speak the Berber language I learned. They only speak Darija (Moraccan Arabic) and French. I already know the basics of French so I'm going to work on that rather than starting all over with Arabic.
There was one surprise though, I mean I should have logically realized if there is one animal the other would be here too. We have camel spiders, but don't worry there mostly small here, they don't get Iraq Camel Spider size. So far I've only encountered tiny ones about the size of a cupcake, although the other PCVs in the area tell me they can get as big as the scorpions. Oh yeah! We have scorpions too; guess who doesn't walk around barefoot. Me! And I've grown very fond of the vigorous shake I give all my clothes before putting them on, it's kind of thereputic really.
We had our final language test to see if I've learned Tamazirte well enough to be on my own in Moracco and I not only passed the test but I aced it. I absolutly had to make Novice High to pass-that's roughly what you're at after two school years of education. I scored Intermediate Low so I learned roughly three years worth of language skills in two months. Yes my friends, I have overcome my language learning block and become a linguist. HUZZAH!
One last thing, I know I'm rambling. I want to play a game with you guys, I have a funny-blister-story and I want to know if any of you can beat mine. Here in Marocco we don't have laundromats or washing machines, we do all of our laundry by hand. Well this requires finding your own method and style. In my first to learn my method I gave my self a blister... on the top side of my finger. So, I want to know if anyone has a sillier blister than a laundry blister?
Friday, April 16, 2010
Just a short one
So I spent all my time putting like three pics up on mu photobucket account, I hope it works. My photobucket.com account is called Pullen_photos I think you guys can use the name to look at my pics. There aren't a lot b/c it takes forever to upload them but it's more then none. So I know my official site, I'm in the Errichidia Province and it's the eastern side of the mountains so I'm super dessert but high altitude. I think that means it's going to be like Colorado. I don't know anything more about my douar (remeber that word?) I'm going there tomorrow for a week so hopefuly I'll have more to tell you guys later. Wish me luck!
I'm super excited, I feel like I'm doing exactly what I've always been meant to do. Just thought I'de check in and let you all know I'm still in love with Morocco.
I'm super excited, I feel like I'm doing exactly what I've always been meant to do. Just thought I'de check in and let you all know I'm still in love with Morocco.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Have Pocket Hanky, Can Do Anything
Quick note on comments. Totally spaced on Em's comment from two posts ago, yeah Turia and Tarie are terrifyingly similar I deffinatly thought my world had all come together at once when my Morrocan name sounded like my Elvish name and leant almost the same thing as my brother's name... do doo do doo imagine, if you will...
I've read a great many adventure books in my time and you know what? Towels are useless to take everywhere with you b/c they're bulky and ppl stare. But pocket hankerchiefs set you up on a higher branch of the evolutionary scale. They travel well, are reusable, and can do everything a towel can do but dry faster. Tolkien is smarter than Adams, sorry to break the hearts of the masses but it must be done for the good of all.
We have a free weekend this week, that means that from sat afternoon until sundown today (sun) I can leave Azrou and go anywhere within the province of Ouarzazate. For my map friends, you going to need a really detailed map to find me. Quick note about Morocco, sorry non-map-reader friedns, there is real Morocco and then there is the Western Sahara, this is the skinnier, southern part of the map. You will only hear about the adventures of Turia in real Morocco b/c Western Sahara is a disputed area (like Kashmere) and it isn't safe for westernes. I like my pretty littlke head attached to my pretty little body (I know it's a weird quirck) so I'm staying north of the quasi border. That said, Ouarzazate is in the south eastern part of real Morocco, in the Mid Atlas region (those are the mountains). OK, so n your map find the big city of Ouarazate, go north east a bit. I don't know how far but it's a two hour drive to El Klaa M'Gouda (where I come for internet etc) then follow the road north a jump, if my bitty duoar (village) is on the map you'll be looking for Tabernashte, Azrou, or Tazrout. These are neighboring duoars and they're each made up of about thirty houses. Don' be distracted by the larger Azrou that's on most maps and is closer to the sea. That's a big city and it isn't me.
Back to talking about me and adventures, yay, me!So I decided to go on a mini vacation to a duoar I'de heard about that's north of Azrou called Boutaghrar ( pronounced boo tak errar)and I thought it would be fun to walk there. So I set out after class yesterday and start walking, it's so beautiful here. The almond trees and the roses are both in bloom right now and as I was walking along I could smell honysuckel somewhere in the fields. My life is just so hard. Well that was lovley and when I got into the next village over (Tabernasht) everyone was super friendly and greeted me; people get super excited here when foreigners speak the native language in stead of French or Arabic. Btw, I can' remember if I've told you guys; I'm learning Tamazirt, it's one of the local dialects spoken by the mountain berbers. Yup, I'm cool. Also, greeting ppl doesn't just mean sharing hellos here. It means stopping to say hi, ask how they are, and what they're doing. Even though we don't know each other, and you will be invited in for tea at least half the time. It's just they way of things, I hope you guys are ready for tea and cookies when I come home, it's going to be the way of things.:) Anyway, as I greated on person in particular he asked where I was going and I said Boutaghrar, he said really? So I askzd how far it was and he said twenty five kilometers, at this point I've walked one. Hmm I think to myself, maybe I'll grab the next transit (taxi) that comes by. So I start walking again and it's still just lovely. After another kilo or so I laeve the river vally and the road starts winding through the desert. Side note before anyone worries uneccassarily, I live. Sorry to spoil the ending :) Really though, I knew I had a treck ahead of me so I bought two liters of water before leaving Azrou and I had my pocket pink pocket hanky. The only reason I wanted to mention the desert treck is to tell you about how beautiful it is. The Atlas Mountains were made the same way the Rockies were and the are I'm in has a lot of sandstone, it's looks so much like the Colorado Utah border it was amazing. Ofcourse the random piles fo camel droppings would remind me of where I was but it was cool anyway.
My feet had just started to hurt and I had just stopped having fun, after about three kilometers when the transit showed up, yay! So I went the rest of the way in style, ant the whole ride cost about a buck and a half. When I got into Boutaghrar I was the only person there so the hotel owner made me tea and we sat and had tea together; I tried to talk to him but I was tired and my tam skills run and hide when I get tired so I excused myself for a nap. After my nap the Bulotel (hotel owner) took me to tea at his friends house (don't fret, this is very normal) and we sat and I asked about the few things I could think of, one of which was if they have a sbitar (health clinic. They said yes and asked why I asked and I told them when I was done with my trainig I was going to work for the minister of health in a sbitar. After tea I went back to the hotel and had a lovely evening with the bulotels whole family; they insisted I join them b:c I was the only hotel guest and they didn't want me to be lonley. This morning I caught a trznsit here to Klaa, it was pretty uneventful comparitivly. Well, that's life here, I'm off to the market for a coffee and some fruit. All my love!
I've read a great many adventure books in my time and you know what? Towels are useless to take everywhere with you b/c they're bulky and ppl stare. But pocket hankerchiefs set you up on a higher branch of the evolutionary scale. They travel well, are reusable, and can do everything a towel can do but dry faster. Tolkien is smarter than Adams, sorry to break the hearts of the masses but it must be done for the good of all.
We have a free weekend this week, that means that from sat afternoon until sundown today (sun) I can leave Azrou and go anywhere within the province of Ouarzazate. For my map friends, you going to need a really detailed map to find me. Quick note about Morocco, sorry non-map-reader friedns, there is real Morocco and then there is the Western Sahara, this is the skinnier, southern part of the map. You will only hear about the adventures of Turia in real Morocco b/c Western Sahara is a disputed area (like Kashmere) and it isn't safe for westernes. I like my pretty littlke head attached to my pretty little body (I know it's a weird quirck) so I'm staying north of the quasi border. That said, Ouarzazate is in the south eastern part of real Morocco, in the Mid Atlas region (those are the mountains). OK, so n your map find the big city of Ouarazate, go north east a bit. I don't know how far but it's a two hour drive to El Klaa M'Gouda (where I come for internet etc) then follow the road north a jump, if my bitty duoar (village) is on the map you'll be looking for Tabernashte, Azrou, or Tazrout. These are neighboring duoars and they're each made up of about thirty houses. Don' be distracted by the larger Azrou that's on most maps and is closer to the sea. That's a big city and it isn't me.
Back to talking about me and adventures, yay, me!So I decided to go on a mini vacation to a duoar I'de heard about that's north of Azrou called Boutaghrar ( pronounced boo tak errar)and I thought it would be fun to walk there. So I set out after class yesterday and start walking, it's so beautiful here. The almond trees and the roses are both in bloom right now and as I was walking along I could smell honysuckel somewhere in the fields. My life is just so hard. Well that was lovley and when I got into the next village over (Tabernasht) everyone was super friendly and greeted me; people get super excited here when foreigners speak the native language in stead of French or Arabic. Btw, I can' remember if I've told you guys; I'm learning Tamazirt, it's one of the local dialects spoken by the mountain berbers. Yup, I'm cool. Also, greeting ppl doesn't just mean sharing hellos here. It means stopping to say hi, ask how they are, and what they're doing. Even though we don't know each other, and you will be invited in for tea at least half the time. It's just they way of things, I hope you guys are ready for tea and cookies when I come home, it's going to be the way of things.:) Anyway, as I greated on person in particular he asked where I was going and I said Boutaghrar, he said really? So I askzd how far it was and he said twenty five kilometers, at this point I've walked one. Hmm I think to myself, maybe I'll grab the next transit (taxi) that comes by. So I start walking again and it's still just lovely. After another kilo or so I laeve the river vally and the road starts winding through the desert. Side note before anyone worries uneccassarily, I live. Sorry to spoil the ending :) Really though, I knew I had a treck ahead of me so I bought two liters of water before leaving Azrou and I had my pocket pink pocket hanky. The only reason I wanted to mention the desert treck is to tell you about how beautiful it is. The Atlas Mountains were made the same way the Rockies were and the are I'm in has a lot of sandstone, it's looks so much like the Colorado Utah border it was amazing. Ofcourse the random piles fo camel droppings would remind me of where I was but it was cool anyway.
My feet had just started to hurt and I had just stopped having fun, after about three kilometers when the transit showed up, yay! So I went the rest of the way in style, ant the whole ride cost about a buck and a half. When I got into Boutaghrar I was the only person there so the hotel owner made me tea and we sat and had tea together; I tried to talk to him but I was tired and my tam skills run and hide when I get tired so I excused myself for a nap. After my nap the Bulotel (hotel owner) took me to tea at his friends house (don't fret, this is very normal) and we sat and I asked about the few things I could think of, one of which was if they have a sbitar (health clinic. They said yes and asked why I asked and I told them when I was done with my trainig I was going to work for the minister of health in a sbitar. After tea I went back to the hotel and had a lovely evening with the bulotels whole family; they insisted I join them b:c I was the only hotel guest and they didn't want me to be lonley. This morning I caught a trznsit here to Klaa, it was pretty uneventful comparitivly. Well, that's life here, I'm off to the market for a coffee and some fruit. All my love!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Life...and Stuff
So I just want to give a quick shout out to everyone who gave me stuff at any point in my life before I left. It is so wonderful having little reminders here and there of people who love me and know what I'm saying most of the time. I have pictures from Jessi in my journal and notebooks that I get to see all the time; and there are a ton of songs on my Ipod that were gifts or suggestions from Daryl and Ashley. But one thing I use constanatly is a handkerchief Orion gave me years ago that I doubt he even remembers giving me. Thank you everyone so much, it's really nice to have those things whenever I feel homesick. Also, thank you Daryl for the b-day message, it was really touching. It's amazing the number of reminders I find of all of you through out the day. Different situations where I'll have to stop and think, now if I were (friend's name) I would totally know the answer to this.
Although I am finding myself feeling more and more self-confident. Just now I used three different languages to find a store that sold what I wanted, help some American tourists, and borrow a pen from a frenchman. I don' t care if this sounds cocky, I'm talented.
I was thinking about it I havn't really told you guys about my everyday life here, just anecdotes. I'm living with a family that's one mom and dad who are really nice, two sister-in-laws. One's 23, pregnant, and moody; the other is 19 and as sweet as the day is long. I also have a nine yearold sister who couldn't care less about my presence. I suppose that's better than not wanting me around or annoying me, right? This is just for another month for training until I go to my real site. I'll find out my real site in a week or so; I'm nervous and excited. On the whole my language skills are growing rather quickly, I' m surprised, languages have always been hard for me. yay! Well, I have to dash, we're in Ouarzazate now but we're headed back to Azrou in 45. Love you all!
Although I am finding myself feeling more and more self-confident. Just now I used three different languages to find a store that sold what I wanted, help some American tourists, and borrow a pen from a frenchman. I don' t care if this sounds cocky, I'm talented.
I was thinking about it I havn't really told you guys about my everyday life here, just anecdotes. I'm living with a family that's one mom and dad who are really nice, two sister-in-laws. One's 23, pregnant, and moody; the other is 19 and as sweet as the day is long. I also have a nine yearold sister who couldn't care less about my presence. I suppose that's better than not wanting me around or annoying me, right? This is just for another month for training until I go to my real site. I'll find out my real site in a week or so; I'm nervous and excited. On the whole my language skills are growing rather quickly, I' m surprised, languages have always been hard for me. yay! Well, I have to dash, we're in Ouarzazate now but we're headed back to Azrou in 45. Love you all!
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