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!
Sunday, October 3, 2010
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.
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