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?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
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.
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