On the frontier

Sometimes living out here in the middle of nowhere, I feel like I know to some extent what it was like to live on the American frontier. The houses here are scattered around the landscape like seeds of grain tossed onto a freshly plowed field. Though the distance between houses would dictate that no one is close neighbors with one another, there is a sense of community here. Every family knows every other family in the valley, and whenever there is a wedding, the entire tribe shows up to usher in their new life together.

When I say tribe, you may think of a Native American tribe and not be able to associate that image to the north of Africa, but the truth is not that different. The beni ourayn people have been here since before America was a fledgling nation. They have their own dialect and a sense of pride in retaining their berber culture. To this day, most will marry only others within the tribe, for only they could really know what it is to be ourayni.

The people here still plow their fields using teams of mules and wooden plows tipped with iron. The truth is, there really is no other way. These hillsides are far too steep and rocky for modern machinery, so everything must be done by hand. The mules plow the fields, the grains of wheat are scattered by hand, and the harvest is by sickle. The only mechanized part of the whole system is the actual sorting and separation of grain from the rest of the plant. This is a far cry from modern American agriculture. Perhaps this way of life isn’t as efficient, and maybe they don’t get as many kilograms per hectare of food, but they know exactly where that food comes from; they can see it growing from their front doors.

Here we go again

Oh goodness, my blog readers. It has been a while. Not that things haven’t been going on, lots have. Sometimes you just need a break from it all though. So, where to begin? Had a great weekend in Fes and got some Christmas shopping done for you lucky few who I have room in my bag for. If you don’t get anything, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, it just means that I’m a poor peace corps volunteer with limited packing space.

Had a rather low key birthday, huddled alone in my house trying to stay warm. However, the next day in Taza J and my tutor came through with an amazing cake. I was really touched that they had gone out of their way. It was good to have some celebration, no matter how small. Thanks guys! On that note, J is moving down to Taza for good… her previous site had some issues (lack of phone reception, dubious water, mouse/giant spider infestations, and mold EVERYWHERE to name a few). Also, we have two newbies in Taza from small business development, whom I’m proud to say are pretty cool cats. I forsee good times to be had by all in the near future.

Weather has gotten stormy as of late. We had a pretty good mountain hurricane going last week, in which I had to walk a couple of miles and subsequently got soaked. Thing is, once wet, things tend not to dry out until the sun returns. Therefore, I had a good amount of wet and soon to be smelly clothes that badly needed laundry and a chance to air dry. Did I mention that things get depressing when it is stormy for multiple days out here? I lose motivation to venture outside, but there are too few distractions and too little heat inside to make that prospect fun either. So when three straight days of rain and wind come a knocking at my door, I make like Edgar Allen Poe and go insane. No, it’s not really that bad, but lack of sunshine and running does bum me out. We’ve had a good solid four days or so of somewhat sunny weather, but even now I can hear the rain and the wind returning from wherever they scurried off to. Here’s hoping this storm front is friendlier than the last.

Went to the school and taught the kids a little bit about the food chain, how fossils are made, and some basic tree anatomy… you know, what the functions of leaves and roots are, etc. I tried to be interactive with them… even brought a fossil, but what I really need are some environmental activities. If you have some suggestions, don’t be shy about telling me about them. I have an hour lesson next Friday!

In other news, I’m really looking forward to my visit back to the good ol’ USA. I’m feeling a bit burned out by the winter weather already, and could use a good recharge of my batteries. Not to mention visits to friends, Christmas with the family, thai food, homebrew, and being nostalgic in Bellingham.  That's all for this episode, until next time dear readers,  Traq salama.

Restarting the Journey

IST (In service training) was in Marrakech this year, at the same hotel in which we spent our first night in the country. So yes, Deja vu. Some of the people from health staj we hadn't seen since swear in, six months ago, and it was good to have the whole crew back together again. There was much greeting and more scratching my head as to what some of their names were than I would have liked. I have a solid grasp on everyone who is in environment staj, because we see each other more often and there are only 27 of us I believe. However, even now some of the health staj is a little fuzzy. Made some new friends though!

We had some pretty interesting sessions (as well as a few boring ones). One that was especially good was a field trip to a couple of places in 'Kech. The first stop we visited was SPANA, which is basically an animal shelter for horses, mules, donkeys, and some dogs and cats. They nurse the sick animals back to health, and then return them to their owners along with information on how to stop it from happening again. We saw some pretty beat up mules there, mostly from improper loading or poorly made harnesses and bits. Sad stuff, but good to see that they are in good hands. They also do environmental education, and had some cool interactive displays in their visitor center. We also visited the department of renewable energy, and got some good plans for a wood stove. They also had some ideas for more efficient Hamam (public bath) boilers which is a possible project for Taza.

After a busy week of training, my whole CBT group decided to return to the Oaurzazat region to see our old host families. Although I called my host family ahead of time, some of my friends weren't able to reach their families and their arrival was a surprise. But true to Moroccan character we were all immediately and unequivocally welcome. In fact, perhaps we were too welcome. I think I wound up having about 25 cups of tea over two days as we visited all of our families and a few other old friends in town. It was good to come back and see the families that raised us for our first two months, and to be able to actually hold conversations with them now... that was a really good feeling.

Back to Taza now, welcomed by cold and rainy weather. Braved the elements to go to the school though, and now I'll be teaching english and/or environment lessons once a week after Eid el Kabir (Moroccan Thanksgiving, sort of). Sorry if this post was a little rushed. Lots to do today in town! Until next time, traq salama.

Anton

I'm Busy?

Yeah, that's right, it's been a pretty hectic week and a half believe it or not.  Went to Rabat early last week, and then on to El Kabab near Khenifra for VSN (Volunteer Support Network) training.  While I love my site, it was a really refreshing break to be around like-minded Americans.  Five of us were there for training, and there were two older volunteers there administrating.  It was a good chance to practice active listening and get in touch with what we can do to help volunteers through rough patches here in country.  I came into it thinking I knew how to be a good listener, but there were a lot of new techniques that I picked up.  It's harder than you think to not give your opinion on a subject, not to give advice, but merely to guide someone with questions and statements that allow them to help themselves. In the evenings after training we had some free time to relax.  Many games were played, everything from Challenge Uno to Bananagrams.  We were also blessed with some amazing volunteer cooks and ate wonderful American style food including apple pie!  My meatball subs also went over pretty well (thanks for the recipe mom!)

I even had some time to go to the hamam, which I haven't done since I was in Ouarzazat five months or so ago.  The bathhouses themselves always seem a bit dirty.  After all, people are scrubbing off layers and layers of skin, dirt, and God only knows what else. I'm sure that I described the hamam experience before, but there are always new revelations to be had.  This time I was with another volunteer and we discussed how hard it must be for gay men to go to these public bathhouses.  I mean, this place is filled with half naked guys, soaped up, scrubbing each other with a vigor not unlike Lady Macbeth trying to rid herself of the blood on her hands.  There is even the occasional groan as someone helps their friend stretch out their muscles.  I'll tell you, if you are questioning your sexuality... this is the place to go to find out.  (I'm pretty darn sure that I'm straight). 

On the way back to Taza, J and I went to Fes and stopped by our favorite place, Cafe Clock.  It's an establishment in the Fes Medina that is run by a Brit, and has an amazing atmosphere.  There is a rooftop that  looks out on a couple of Mosques, a real menu in English, and a lot of white people who know that this is the place to be.  After relaxing for a bit and becoming sufficiently caffeinated, we braved the Medina is search of a new guitar for J and a leather bag for myself.  A little bit of Arabic goes a long way in the chaos, especially with overzealous shop owners that won't let you out of their shops without looking at everything they have to offer.  I decided that I much prefer the shop that will let me browse relatively unmolested to the man shoving his wares on you.  J happened upon a guitar teacher in Cafe Clock who had a late student and a bit of time to show her where to get a decent guitar.  We walked less than a city block and we were suddenly in a shop (a bit like this) selling all manner of instrument, from classical guitar to the Moroccan equivalent of a lute (Lotar). The teacher fooled around with the guitar for a while, tuned it, and deemed it beginner student worthy. 

Afterward, we cruised around for leather messenger bags for myself.  Fes is famous for its leather products, and there were many shops and myriad styles to choose from.  Eventually I settled on one, from the same place J got hers about a month ago, and was able to haggle it down to the equivalent of about $30 American. 

Then came this week.  The first day was a meeting in Taza about grazing policies in the park.  It was entirely in French, and wound up going for four hours, so it seemed to stretch on forever.  I was able to catch some of the slides, but my French is bordering on non-existent, so it was tough to follow. 

The next two days there were bee workshops in the park, about a two hour walk from my site.  I got up early and went with my friend Hossien across the valley.  We talked a bit on the way, and I learned that this man only had two years of formal education.  It got into a discussion of school systems here, and how we require students to go to thirteen years of school in the states.  Apparently it is the same here, but the government seems to have much less influence in the way people out in the boonies live their lives.  The workshops went well, and L (another volunteer in the park) was able to showcase a beebox that she built herself, for a fraction of the cost of a professional one. 

Now it is a send off party for my friend S in Taza, and then off to Marrakech for more training and meeting old friends that I haven't seen in entirely too long.  Sometimes there are dry spells here, where not much gets done and you have little to fill your free time with, and then the next minute you are flooded by a deluge of meetings and trainings.  When it rains, it pours.

Living in the clouds

Whoever said living in a cloud sounded like fun, well that guy was a no-good dirty liar. Sitting in a cloud... it brings up that white fluffy cotton ball imagery reminiscent of the hollywood version of heaven. Well, if heaven is really eternity inside a cloud, I don't want to go. I've had quite enough of it this week. You see, if I hadn't made it perfectly clear before now, I live in the mountains, a land which clouds like to visit from time to time. Being inside a cloud is something you've probably experienced before if you are from the northwest... it's a lot like misty fog. Cold, damp, and dreary. I'm just hoping that the whole winter isn't like this. I'll never forget my freshman year of college moving up to Bellingham from “sunny Sequim”. I think that year we had thirty straight days of precipitation. Yes, the sun peaked in for a couple hours now and then... but holy cow, thirty days! As of now I think it has only been five days or so, but it has been pretty solid. There are some things about rainy weather here that make it just that much worse.

First of all, when the rain started I almost had a full laundry basket, just waiting to be done. Then the rain set in, and when everything has to be air-dried, laundry just isn't that appealing. The sun finally poked in through the clouds this afternoon and gave me some hope. I set to washing my whole batch, which involved dumping all of my clothes into a giant plastic tub, adding detergent, several liters of water I painstakingly dragged up the hill, and having a one man dance party. Yes, that's right. I do my laundry by foot.  Don't think I'm crazy until you try it. It's way less work than doing everything by hand, with the added advantage that my feet are more immune to cold water than my hands (ah surface area heat dynamics). There was still a little bit of sun, but more clouds than I would have liked when I finished and hung everything up to dry. Long story short... it didn't get dry. So now at least half of my total wardrobe is hanging off of every possible location in my house... doors, on top of my mosquito net, cabinets, etc. Inshallah some of it will be done tomorrow, because I'm quickly running out of usable socks.

Second crappy thing about rain... when it comes in your house. L' hamdullah it's not coming into most of mine. I'm so glad that my roof was finished when it was, and that it is still keeping the weather out. My bathroom is still leaking, as is my “porch” area. Apparently I didn't buy enough plastic to cover those areas. But my room, which felt like a cave before, is now dry, relatively clean, and I love it. Everyone has been asking me if I have water in my house though, so it must be a problem that everyone deals with from time to time here. That's what we get for having plastic sheeting and mud roofs.

Third thing... it is cold! It was so hard to get out of my warm bed this morning. As of now I don't have any way to heat my house. No space heater, no stove, nada. I do have a corner of my house that is supposed to be used for making fires, but it doesn't have a covered chimney, so that whole area is pretty damp right now. Not to mention that I don't really have any firewood. I think that I may have to get that heater I've been putting off. I'm not sure how some volunteers survive the winter without indoor heating. I suppose part of it is that I am in one of the colder sites. I don't have to put up with the intense heat of summer, but the winters... well it should be an adventure. I have my blankets, my wonderful sleeping bag, and some pretty good winter gear, so I won't freeze to death, but I may be spending a bit of time hanging out at neighbors houses with fires during the day until I get that space heater. That's not too bad really... gives me an excuse to hang out and learn some shilha. I've been putting it off, hoping that my darija is good enough to communicate with them. However, J was over the other day, and they absolutely loved the little that she spoke to them. It would be good for me to get down at least a bit of the basics so that I can try and impress them. I mean... it's pretty funny if you step back and look at it. I learn darija from nothing, go to my village, and they can understand me, and I can sort of understand them, but they really aren't impressed at all. It is as though of course I should know darija, everyone does. But then you speak a couple words of their language that they speak among themselves, and suddenly they love you for even trying. Plus the fact that I realized when I sit down for dinner with them, I can't understand what they are saying at all. Maybe now I'll actually start picking up what they are talking about.

Well... here's hoping for sunny days in my future. Wishing the same for all of you.

Anton

p.s. Of Montreal is out with their new album False Priest and it's amazing. Love it.

Seize the day

Bled cookery... go!

So... full. The problem with cooking from the peace corps cookbook is that it doesn't really tell you how many it serves. Don't get me wrong, this thing is a lifesaver and has some great recipes. Much props go to those who made it, thus making our lives so much tastier. From this wonderful cookbook I made a giant pot of delicious corn and potato chowder. I then decided that it was much too much, and gave about half of it away to my neighbors. I'm still waiting to get my fridge from a volunteer who is leaving in November, so can't really refrigerate anything yet. I know it seems like bad timing to get a fridge just when I'm going to stop needing it, but it's a bargain, and I have another whole spring summer and fall ahead of me. Anyway, back to my wonderful soup! It was pretty good by itself, but adding a little hot sauce sent from the states and some bacon bits (Thanks Mom and Dad!)... that made it scrumptious. I think that this will be one of those meals added to the weekly repertoire, especially as the cold weather sets in. For now I'm still doing the basics... lentils, spaghetti, rice dishes, but I'm always looking for new simple recipes to add to the circuit. Still don't have an oven either, so that doesn't help much. But pancakes and crepes are on the menu, thanks to some syrup sent from one of my friends back home (Thanks Brooke!). I've decided that I should work a bargain out with one of my neighbors. I'll give them a sack of flour for their and my use, and they will give me a full loaf of bled style bread every day. Now I just need to figure out an easy way to get eggs and I'll be set!

On a completely different note, walking to my taxi pickup spot this morning was quite beautiful. The clouds had settled in the valleys, creating the illusion of a white cottony sea between us and the next row of mountains. For a moment I was reminded of the straight of Juan de Fuca, looking across to Vancouver Island and the mountains of Canada. Despite all the hardship that comes with living in such a remote spot as I do, the natural beauty of the place makes up for it all and then some. Hope that you all are appreciating your own backyard's natural beauty, be it the majestic Mt. Baker (Get up there to score some mountain blueberries while you can!), the Elwha River Valley, or your own little village tucked into the Atlas mountains of Morocco. Get out and enjoy it while the enjoying is good!

Here's the first part of a song I've been working on that rather sums it up nicely.

Ther'll be time in the winter for to contemplate
Ther'll be time in the winter for to waste
Seize the days, Seize the days my friends while they still last
For tomorrow they'll have vanished in the haze.

With that I bid you all adieu. Till next time, Traq salama and take care!

The wedding

First of all, let me say that my friend J is back in Taza, and that we are all happy to have her back.  I feel like with her here, some of the projects I have been researching can finally come to fruition.  We are planning on getting this woodstove thing off of the ground in the near future, just as the cold weather starts to hit.

Now let me continue on to the main subject of this post: the wedding. My buddy Hosien had a wedding last night, and suprisingly, it was my first wedding in Morocco.  I know a lot of other volunteers who went to weddings as far back as CBT, four months ago.  For some reason or other I was always busy with other prior engagements, off doing training, or otherwise unable to attend.  Also there were no weddings during Ramadan, so that adds on a whole month in of itself. But this was my friend Hosien, who had guided me through the local caves, and we were on pretty good terms.  I decided that I needed to make this wedding, and I'm glad I did. I had heard some things about weddings that made them seem not too fun to attend, that they were boring, that they dragged on.  Sometimes you don't even get to see the bride or the groom for goodness sake.  Well, apparently they do things differently in my town, because I had a great time.

As I got to my stop from the taxi, and made the hike down and back up the valley I could hear the festivities already going on.  Drums and horns were playing and a crowd of people were gathered together, all wearing traditional moroccan and berber garb.  It looked like all of the surrounding duars had come to visit, the most people I had ever seen gathered in my area.  I dropped off my bag at the house and wandered over to Hosien's house to see how things were going.  As I got there I must have shaken hands with a good fifty people, some of whom I had never met before.  A man named Mohammed handed me a Jelaba (imagine a Harry potter robe with a hood, and a traditional morrocan hat (a little bit like a fes without the tassle).

We did some singing and dancing, basic call and repeat stuff over and over, while linking hands.  Everyone was in a good mood and the dancing continued throughout the night.  And by everyone I mean, just the men.  The women sat and watched almost the entire night and only got up and danced one time that I saw.  Mostly it was small groups of men dancing with their particular shuffle, holding sticks in their hands, and tapping their feet.  Oh, and don't let me forget the shoulder shimmy.  That is an essential moroccan move.  In between dancing was the food. In shifts we ate dinner, because the room was not big enough to fit everyone at once.  It was a pretty typical meal: bread, olives, goat, followed by cous cous and a dessert of melon.  After dinner I convinced a couple of younger guys I knew to join me on the dance floor and do some American style dancing.  I'm not quite sure what they thought of it.  One old man came down and gave me a hand signal saying I was crazy, to which I replied, "yes, I know!"  He should have seen some of the Michael Jackson moves I wanted to pull out of the hat, but I figured that was too much.  Plus berber music isn't exactly conducive to the Robot.

 I think I was there from 2:30 in the afternoon until about 10:30 at night, at which point I called it quits and headed over to my house for some sleep.  Even so, all the activity from yesterday has left me exhausted.  Until next time, traq Salama!

Slowly saying goodbyes

A few of my friends are already on their way out.  Only a few more months and the eldest volunteers are going back to the US.  Out with the old and in with the new, that's the way it goes I suppose.  In turn, we will be getting some new small business volunteers, which will be an interesting change of pace.  It's hard to believe that I'll be a "sophomore" soon.  I don't feel like I really know that much, but compared to 6 months ago it really is day and night.  I know how to survive, have basic conversations, and I have projects that are do-able in the works.  I think it struck me when my old host brother called me on the phone and I understood everything he said.  When I left that place four months ago, I was catching only bits and pieces.  I'm excited to see the new volunteers, but sad to see the veterans go.  They are a testament to just how much can be accomplished if you put your mind to it. 

Quick Update

I don't really feel like sitting down and doing a long post right now, but I can't neglect this forever!  So yes, Ramadan is done, and it's nice to have things back to a normal schedule... eating in public, exercising, going to cafes when I'm down in Taza.  The weather is starting to cool down, or at least the hot stuff is supposed to be on its way out.  I have my roof completed, just in the nick of time for the next rainstorm.  I got some people in my village to help me out and I made them some coffee and rice pudding as thanks.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the job is good enough to keep the rain out for the whole winter.  Otherwise, it's not going to be a fun time.  It's interesting that all that is keeping my room from being a wet muddy mess is a thin layer of plastic and a layer of dirt on top of that to keep the whole thing from blowing away.  I've been told that people still build their houses in this manner instead of using cement or better building materials, because if they do it in a non-traditional manner they are obligated to also hire a contractor and they don't have the money to do that.  Hence mud buildings with satelite dishes on top.  Crazy stuff...

My favorite thing this week comes back from my college town, and is streamed to me via youtube.  It's a little thing called "Bellingham state of mind" and for anyone who has lived there for any length of time, it is a must see.  Must say it made me a bit homesick, and made me want to move back to that spectacular city once I'm all done my business here.  I'm so glad that I was able to spend my college years in such an beautiful and amazing place... thanks B-ham!

Hope that everyone is having a spectacular week, where ever you are viewing this from.  Take care and Lay 3awn!

The August Monsoon

This was an exciting week for me and my house. This freak August monsoon brought with it a myriad of new experiences. When I returned from Taza on Tuesday, I was filled with a renewed appreciation for rain... actual pouring, earth soaking rain. The heat had dissipated and it was almost feeling like a day back in the good old Northwest. On the bike ride back to my house everything looked renewed, and as I made my way through the forest I could pick out the scent of the pines just behind that freshness you get after it rains. However, along with the heat and dusty smell of summer, the rain also washed away parts of the hillsides, dumping heaps of mud over the roadway and causing a general mess. After cruising down the valley and back up the hill to my house my bike tires were completely caked, and I had spatters of mud all over my pants... but it felt good to be exercising again.

You see, Ramadan has created a sort of challenge for me in the way of exercise. Given the general heat wave typical of the middle of August, and the fact that I'm not technically supposed to be drinking water during the day if I'm fasting, I haven't been of the mind to do much in the way of intense workouts. I'm just not sure what a good time to do such a thing would be. I could do it in the morning, but I usually sleep in because I wake up at 3 to get in a last meal before the morning call to prayer. I could do it in the evening, right before the 7:15 call to prayer, but by that time my blood sugar is so low that I can't even speak Darija well, let alone go for a run. And exercising at night is right out due to the dogs that roam around barking all over the countryside. So yes, it has been hard, but I'll work something out eventually. I may just end up cheating on the water part of fasting to keep this feast/fast cycle from making me completely out of shape. Wouldn't it be ironic if I wound up gaining weight during the Ramadan fast?

Where was I? Ah yes... arriving at the house. I remembered that earlier in the year when there was just a little bit of rain I had a small leak from the roof. Unfortunately, with the large volume of rain, the problem became exacerbated. Stepping into my room, I braced myself for the worst, and was not disappointed. Water was dripping from multiple points in my bedroom, and had gotten a few of my papers, some of my clothes, and my bed area pretty sopping wet. There were small puddles on the ground, and rivulets running down towards one end of the room. There was but one of my ponjs that was untouched which I made use of for sleeping along with my still dry sleeping bag. At times it feels as though I'm living in a cave... damp, musty, with water dripping from the ceiling. The good news is that the floor is cement, and they included a drain hole in my room. That's how these things are built to be cleaned, so no big deal. Unfortunately drain holes are a two way street. Just because they let out water doesn't mean that they don't let in other things. Case in point... my mouse problems.

I've been waging war against the mice in my house for the last couple of weeks. It started when I went to get some flour for a recipe and discovered that my 5 kilo bag of flour had some holes in it... and small bits of fecal matter scattered around the outside. Needless to say I was not very pleased with the whole situation. Hence began the hunt... making things mouseproof (or so I thought), setting up elaborate traps (one involved the chimney, a tupperware container top, and a bucket of water), tearing up my back room looking for entry points, and wondering what to do with the mouse that was now swimming in six inches of water. I wound up killing the bugger by hand (gloves), much to the disappointment of you animal lovers out there. In my eyes it was an act of mercy, better than the slow death of tiring of swimming and slowly drowning. I thought there was only one, but they just kept coming, drawn to the food that I've tried so hard to keep from them. I've gotten four of them so far, and there is at least one more that has gotten away to date. Along with the tide of mice came another visitor to my house, drawn in by their scent no doubt.

That brings us to the snake. Yes... a snake in my bedroom of all places! I'll bet you that not many Americans can say that, barring the few that keep them as pets. There I was, minding my own business and watching How I Met Your Mother on my computer, when out of the corner of my eye I see some movement. I said something to the effect of “Jesus!” and lept off of my one dry ponj. He decided to take that as a hint to slither on by into my living room/kitchen area. It snuck into the the corner, behind my elaborate mousetrap, hissed at me and coiled itself up. Running outside, I picked up an appropriate stick and pinned the sucker down, then deftly flipped him into a giant pot and slapped on the lid. Let me make perfectly clear that this was no small snake... he was easily 3-4 feet long, and I being unfamiliar with snakes in the area, potentially dangerous. The danger being neutralized for now, I ran over to the neighbors and told them that I had a snake in my house. Well, from the viewpoint of the snake, that was a bad idea. Instantly it was decided that the snake must die, and I must say that I didn't put up much of a struggle against it. I have this thing about creatures invading my territory. Mice, scorpions , snakes, bugs... if I find them outside they are free to live, but once they cross the threshold of my house they have made a crucial mistake. They are no longer in nature... they have invaded my space, and therefore must die. So yes, the snake now lies dead... however I am a bit saddened now that such a beautiful specimen of an animal was killed for just doing what was natural for it... following its nose.
The monsoon continued last night, but hopefully things will dry up soon. Today will be a day filled with laundry, airing things out, and preparing my house for its new plastic sheeting which I bought yesterday at souk. For all the curveballs that Morocco has been throwing me, I'm still in the game, and hey, a curveball once in a while is what keeps it interesting.

Ready for Ramadan?

That's right, Ramadan is here, and from what I've heard it is going to be tough.  The locals consider it fasting, and to an extent that is true... If one is "fasting" then they should eat no food, and drink no drink (including water) from dawn to dusk.  This seems to me incredibly difficult as Ramadan falls this year from the beginning of August until early September.  However, from what I've heard, as soon as the evening call to prayer goes off people guzzle water and scarf down sugary treats galore.  This seems to me less like fasting, and more like living nocturnally for a month.  But whatever it is, I'll be participating this year.  I'm not Muslim, but I think that this will help me integrate into my community better, and get me some major brownie points.  I guess you could call it peer pressure.

Coming from the Northwest, specifically the Washington coast, I don't think we have a good idea of what "hot" really is.  I was in the water and forestry office today, picking up my mail and checking some email.  This office is one of the few places in Taza that has air conditioning, but that almost makes it worse.  You see, when I stepped out of that office I think the closest experience I could equate it to would be opening an oven.  Except in this case, you don't close the oven and let whatever is cooking finish, you step into the oven and cook yourself.  And let me make perfectly clear that Taza has nothing on the raging inferno that is Fes, especially when you are in a crowded souk bus that has decided to stop for 15 minutes in the middle of the day.  

The projects continue!  From all the information that we gleaned at PPST, J and myself sat down and created not one, not two, but fourteen potential project ideas for the next two years, including everything from efficient wood stoves to international school skyping, and everything in between.  I'll be doing some of the initial research this coming month, feeling out the community for what they view as priorities, and formally and informally meeting with the local associations to get them onboard.  My first step right now is to get a few things in the ground... by the end of the month I'd like to have lavender, saffron, and vetiver (an erosion control grass) all planted in a small community garden/nursery.  This way we can see how well these plants will survive the winter, and begin to propagate new plants.  Depending on how well these plants do, I plan on expanding this into a small nursery project in the not too distant future.  

That's all I have time for today unfortunately, so I'll let you know how Ramadan is going next time. Have a good week back in the states, or wherever you happen to be reading this from!

PPST

That stands for Post-Pre Service Training for all of you non-peacecorps types.  Sounds a little oxymoronical, doesn't it?  That's the way things go here though, and I'm not going to try and give them a new acronym to add to the billion that I already have to remember.  We have been learning everything from successful past projects to grant writing and fund procurement, so there's lots to think about and bring back to the site.  Hopefully I can jump right into it as soon as I get back, but I'm slightly afraid that my language will have suffered from the two weeks of speaking almost exclusively English.

For our weekend a couple of us went through Meknes and up to Volubilis, an area of pretty extensive Roman ruins and a major archeological center.  There were some pretty amazing mosaics, massive arches, and pillars all over the place.  As of right now, most of the archeological finds are in Rabat, but a new beautiful museum is being built at the site for showcasing what has been excavated so far.   After exploring for a bit, the sun did us in and we decided to head back to Moulay Idriss for lunch.  Moulay Idriss is one of the holiest cities in Morocco, and it is said that five trips to the Mausoleum there is equal to one trip to Mecca.  A pilgrimage to Mecca is one of the five pillars of Islam, and Mecca is a very long and expensive trip for the average Moroccan, so this city is very important to them.  I believe it was named after Moulay Idriss I, who was a decedent of the prophet Mohammed, and the founder of Fez.

The next day a group of volunteers and I wandered up trails into the mountains around Azrou, following the streams to their sources and enjoying the glory of trees that were more than 40 feet tall (that's nothing in the PNW, I know, but here it is significant).  We saw some large oaks as well as Atlas cedars, and even some plants that looked like they were in the Rhody/ Mountain Laurel group of plants.  I'll have to sit down and try to ID them from a nature guide someday soon.

I'm feeling anxious to get back to site... there is a lot of work to be done, and I'm missing my community already, despite the crazy and backwards nature of the bled from time to time.  I have just been told that card playing is about to commence, so I'm going to cut this a bit short, but more to come in the near future, I promise.

The House!

Ah... yes, the house.  After much trouble and stress, it is mine.  I finally moved all of my things over to the new place, and just got them organized.  Unfortunately, this whole ordeal has thrown off the daily routine, so this week I have to get back into running again, figure out how the  food situation is going to work most effectively, and learn how to cook some new dishes.  As of right now I am sleeping on the Moroccan equivalent of a couch... the ponj.  By November, a volunteer from a previous group will be leaving, and I'll be inheriting his bed and mini fridge.  I'll just have to make due until then.  The house is rather typical for the bled: mud exterior and cement innards, roof made from wood beams covered with tightly strung bamboo, and a mud and plastic covering on top of all that.  I have four rooms: my bedroom, the central living area where I do my cooking, a storage room, and a bathroom. Running water, ha!  That's a luxury, and therefore not in my house. Water is a bit fun at the new site... it's from a well, and has to be lugged up a hill.    As a precaution, I'm chlorinating or boiling all of my drinking water, so yes, I'm pretty much drinking pool water. On the plus side, my shoulders will be in pretty good shape.

 Yesterday, R came over and checked out my site.  We hung around most of the day, I showed him around, and we learned how to make mint tea correctly.  LOTS of sugar by the way... a chunk about the size of a fist in a big tea pot.  It's a wonder everyone doesn't have diabetes.  But I'll be damned if it isn't delicious.

I've got my ticket back to the States as well... or rather my parents have obtained one for me.  Christmas in the USA... only 5 and a half months to go.   I'm excited to see how much everything has changed since I left.  New trends, new movies, getting to talk to people I haven't seen in ages... already miss you guys bunches! There's going to be a lot to catch up on.  Nine months of American culture for one.

Housing troubles and the trek to Tazekka

Here we go... haven't posted in a while, so let's get you guys caught up with the situations up here in the Bled. First, let's talk about the housing situation. So, a week and a half ago I thought I was finally making some progress when some peace corps staff came up to do site checks. I enlisted the female PC staff's help, and went with her and my host dad to meet with the man who was supposed to rent to me. When we got there, after trekking about a kilometer off the main road to get there, we were told that he didn't want to rent this house because they use it as a sort of vacation house for their kids from France when they are off for the summer. I'm a bit frustrated, but we go and check out a few more options that turn out to be only a few spare rooms scattered around town. The Peace Corps requirements are a bathroom, a kitchen area, and a bedroom, so none of these fit the bill. I was getting into a pretty desperate situation. As much as I love my host family, and how wonderful they all are, I need my own personal space. Somewhere that I can have my own schedule for eating and the ability to cook for myself, increased privacy, and simply a feeling of home. So we ditch my host dad back at the house and head out for bab boudir, only to stop halfway there when we get a call from the environment director saying that moving to that site won't work because there is not enough work to do there. He goes on to say that he talked to Aziz, director of the water and forestry office, and that he says that the people who wouldn't rent to me before will actually rent to me, they just had a problem with my host dad. Apparently there are two rival associations in town, they don't get along, and I've gotten dragged into this mess. The good news is that it all worked out in the end... I saw the house, it checked out, and I'm even getting to keep a couple of ponjs (moroccan couches) with the house. I even met up with the rival association leader, filled out the paperwork, and ate dinner with my landlord tonight in Taza. Things are smoothed out, my house is a reality, and now I can enjoy my fourth of July weekend with my American friends uninhibited by worrisome thoughts.

Now let me tell you of biking and hiking. A couple of days ago I rode my bike over to a fellow volunteer's site (J) in Admam. We met up with another volunteer (R) from the area and checked out the site for the day. I was able to meet her family briefly and get a few things to eat for the hike the following day. I had tea with the family, but was hesitant to stay for dinner due to the fact that J had been getting sick from the food/water in the site and had somehow contracted giardia from this household about a month ago. I'm not sure if sanitation, the germ theory, or scientific deduction has really made it here. Let me give you an example: One of the girls staying at J's homestay has been sick with a cough that's so bad that she sometimes vomits. Their solutions so far have been to try and give her breastmilk from another woman and to give her cigarettes and make her smoke them in order to kill the bugs inside of her. So, that being said, I didn't stay for dinner and made up an excuse to come back another time. J had recently obtained the house that she was going to live in for the next two years, so R and I slept in her house and J slept at her homestay family's house.

In the morning, R and I got up early and set out to climb Tazekka. As we hiked up the path, the tree species around us changed, from the scrubby green oak that are everywhere at my site, to the old growth atlas cedar that inhabit the upper regions of the mountain. We ate some lunch up at the top, looking out onto the Rif mountains to the north for miles and miles. Returning to Admam, we met up with J breifly, and I allowed my aching feet to rest for a bit. I then proceeded to bike uphill to Bab Bouidir, refilled my scant water resources, and made the long trek back to my site. The hiking total for the day: 26k, biking: another 20-21k. Let's just say I was happy to be back home at the end of it all.

I limped my way (ah blisters!) into the bathroom to take a bucket bath. It was so wonderful to get the two days of sweat off of me, but then I realized how much better it would be with an overhead flow of perfect temperature water. Showers are quite nice... we take them for granted in the states, and some people I know take half hour showers almost every day. That is ridiculous. That is exorbitant in every sense of the word. Besides the massive amounts of water you are using, think about all the energy it took to heat it up to that level. When I take a bucket bath, I see how much water I'm using, I know what kind of an impact that is, and I usually haul the water to the house. Lesson to be learned from all this? I'm not sure, I think it was just a rant. Well I hope you are satisfied now! I'll have more to tell in the near future, inshallah.

Grief: theirs and mine

Some days are harder than others. A man died in town yesterday, old apparently. Therefore, I went with my host dad to the funeral... yes, the whole shebang. We went early and watched the process of the grave being dug. This took forever due to the extreme rockiness of the soil... between pickaxe wielding and dirt shoveling wedges and sledgehammers were definitely involved. I sat in the shade of the shrubby green oaks that adorn the hillside by the mosque, I talked and I listened, and I tried to understand. This is always incredibly mentally taxing for me. Sometimes I feel like the days that I accomplish the most in my language and cultural integration are the days where I am extremely burnt out by the end of the day. That was the case this day. After the funeral the language increased in complexity. While having some lunch with my host family I engaged in a conversation with my host dad about the major problems and differences between American and Morocco... such as gasoline use, trash management, possible solutions to our problems, etc. After the exhausting conversation I sat in my room and did some research on bees and small scale beekeeping. It is actually pretty interesting stuff, and I'm considering bringing it back to the states for use on my dream homestead. My host dad came in and asked me why I do things by myself sometimes. He doesn't understand that I need my alone time, my decompression time, my American time. Neither do my host brothers. Somebody, damn them, decided to give the seven year old one of those cheaply made toy guns that makes all the wonderful car alarm sounds. He's been having a blast... shooting it pretty much constantly at anything that moves... sheep, goats, dogs, his little sister, me... to name a few.

So back to my day... I'm trying to relax in my room, and I always feel a little guilty when one of them comes in and I am watching a TV show or playing a quick game of hearts. So I show my host dad what I worked on this week in tutoring, which was arabic script. He was pleased, and the proceeded to tell me how I should learn, and tried to teach me by doing some script by himself in front of me on top of my notes. Some of it was minorly helpful, but I just wasn't in the mood for learning at the time, and not especially happy about my room being constantly invaded. He said that I was invited to go to the funeral dinner, and that I should come to experience Moroccan culture. I tell him “inshallah” and sit in my room a bit longer listening to some music. He comes in once again and says that it is time to leave. I reply that I am very tired and have to prepare for a visit from peacecorps staff who are coming tomorrow. He hesitantly says “ok” and gives me a look that says it isn't, and I proceed to tell him that if he really wants me to come that I will. He says, “Ok, let's go” and I die a little bit inside. That's the kind of person I am... I do things my own way, but if someone I am at all friendly with needs something, I will go out of my way and go the extra mile for them. Sometimes it seems like being friendly is overrated .

Whenever he and I walk somewhere in town, he always has this habit of talking with me and if he wants to make some sort of point he makes me stop and listen until he is finished and then we resume on our way. This results in a very staggered, slow pace, as we stop a good five or ten times every time we go for a walk. I was completely burned out on Darija at this point, and decided that I was going to stop trying so hard and just start speaking English. He does know some English, but if I'm actually speaking at regular speed and not enunciating completely correctly, he catches very little. “Yes... problem, yes” is what I get in response. I think to myself “That must be what I sound like to him all the time”. We arrive at the house and sit, and wait, and sit, and listen to a Eulogy of sorts that I caught very little of. There was one good part where I think he said “Everyone dies, but not everyone truly lives” But on the other hand I was very tired and may just be putting words in his mouth. Dinner didn't start until 11:30, and we left the house at midnight. Sadly, the dinner wasn't even that good... semi cold food and no fruit (I find that fruit for desert is pretty standard fare). Needless to say, I was exhausted and more than a little ticked off that I got dragged along when I didn't want to go in the first place. I need my own space and my own life back. Preferably a place where the dogs aren't barking up a storm all hours of the night, like right now. Well, that's the tragic story for the day, perhaps it will make you feel better about your own troubles.

From the mountaintop

This week we finished up a workshop where teachers learned how to teach environmental education. I won't take much credit, because it was really the work of the volunteers who were here already. We had some of my staj show up though, ate some really good food, and went on a hike with the teachers. The second morning a few of us hiked up the mountain at 4:30 in the morning to watch the sunrise. I really should watch the sun come up more often... it is a spiritual and glorious event.   Plus, I snapped some pretty great photos.

On a separate note, I have a quote that pretty much embodies the whole moroccan situation.
“They would follow us, if we endured with them, and played the game according to their rules. The pity was, that we often began to do so, and broke down with exasperation and threw them over, blaming them for what was a fault in our own selves. Such strictures like a general's complaint of bad troops, were in reality a confession of our own faulty foresight, often made falsely out of mock modesty to show that, though mistaken, we had at least the wit to know our fault”
-T.E. Lawrence,
Seven Pillars of Wisdom

Goodness Gracious

What a week... just feeling down about the whole swing of things, wanting my own house, and my bicycle, wanting to be perfect at the language already, wanting to understand when people talk at me.  The way people think here is just so different from the way that I know sometimes, it's hard to relate, hard to understand what is going through their minds.  

On the upside, the weather has been pleasant for the last few days, a little chilly today, but generally sunny.  I also was able to check out Friouato Caves the other day, just the first main chamber for now, saving the two kilometer jaunt for another day and when I have some more money.   Ok, that's all for now.

The Bled Life

Had a rather rough start to the day... Host dad told me that the tranzit was coming at 6 in the morning to go to the Gandarme station where I needed to submit some paperwork. So I wake up at 5:45, groan my way out of bed and into some clothes, pack my bag, skip breakfast and head out the door. I figure that I'll get some food in the souk town. My host dad comes out with me and waits by the side of the road. 15 minutes, then a half hour roll by. This is perfectly normal by the way. I put in my headphones and try and feel better about the situation by listening to some music. By the way: music of the week is this interesting electronic sounding band by the name of La Roux. Check em' out (this means you Brooke) By the time an hour has rolled around, I'm getting tired of waiting and head back to the house for some food. No sooner than I sit down for some coffee and bread than my little brother comes running in the house saying that the ride is here, and I need to go now. Argh! I slurp down some coffee, grab a handful of bread with some laughing cow cheese spread (about the only cheese anyone eats in Morocco), and run to the spot where I'm supposed to be picked up. This tranizit is already pretty full. If you want a good idea of what it looked like, think Mexican Coyote vans (the ones they use to smuggle people across the border). Granted it was a pretty big van, with some bench seats on the walls and a single bar to hang on to if you were standing up, but by the time we were really on our way there were about 30 people in the van itself and a couple on the roof. After being crammed into the van, the roof looked rather appealing, but alas, peace corps policy says no to roof riding (way to ruin all the dangerous and fun things in life Peace Corps). The transit zoomed along at a stunning 30kph average, about 20 MPH for those who can't convert. I don't know this from the speedometers, which are for some reason always broken in this country, but by the fact that I was standing up for an hour on the 30KM ride to the souk town. I was a little ticked off with the whole situation until I realized the ridiculous nature of it all. The men were all joking around with each other like little kids, I was crammed in a vehicle full of people shouting stuff I couldn't understand very well at all, and to make things better, the old woman (who looked a bit like baba yaga) sitting on the bench next to me decided to cling to my pants and use them as a stabilizing device. This turned into her pretty much hugging my leg, and then letting go a couple minutes later to pick her nose. We arrived at our destination without too much more trouble, and I got out, shopped around at souk, did my paperwork and got some 25 cent coffee. That's the bled life for you...

Funniest thing I saw today: 12-13 year old boy wearing a Spice Girls baseball hat.

Freak Weather and Moroccan Life

Next blog entry... doing this ahead of time at the house. Lots of new stuff going on, and then lots of nothing. Some days seem incredibly busy, and others, like today, I hardly did anything at all because it was cold and started raining. Hard to meet anyone when no one is outside of their house. My host dad came back today after a few days of being gone. The guests who were at our house are gone, and are replaced by another relative of my host father. It seems like people are constantly flowing in and out of the house. There are either friends of the family, relatives, or other people who I have no idea why they are there at all times. It's kind of fun though... lots of new people to meet and talk to, or at least try to talk to. Went up the mountain the other day with the local goat herder. He took me to a cave system, and I got some pretty sweet pictures that you may see on facebook. The whole area around me is riddled with caves and caverns, I've already discovered a couple by myself just walking around. Actually, the largest cave in North Africa isn't too far away... it's called Friouato Cave, and I'm sure I'll be checking it out in the near future.
Another thing on my mind lately is the loss of the personal bubble. There is no sense of the personal bubble in Morocco. Taxis will often have seven people in a five person vehicle (Two in the front passenger seat, the driver, and four in the back seats). You have to get comfortable with being cozy pretty quick in this country. Also, this morning I was trying to read a book in the living area, and the seven year old got right up in my book trying to understand it. If you've ever had an attention needy cat, it was like that. People are often coming into my room... they don't seem to understand the concept of the psychological benefits of alone time. Usually during the day I have very little of this unless I am running in the morning, or I have said that I am going to sleep. In between, there is always someone who wants to hang out, be it in your room, around the house, or on a walk through town. Also, they are a lot like insistent grandparents. Their favorite phrase is Kul, Kul, (Eat, Eat) and then whatever it is that you aren't eating. Sometimes it's something you don't especially want to eat, and then you feel bad for not eating it.
If there was any question as to whether or not it would be cold in the winter here, it is gone now. It is mid-may, and a cold front came through. Not sure exactly the temperature, but I could see my breath inside the house in the middle of the day. When I was in Oaurzazat, there were a couple days that were in the low 90s and I was thinking to myself, why did I bring all this cold weather gear? But now that I'm in the mountains, I am so happy that I did. Haven't put on glove liners yet, but I'm thinking about it, and I have my wool hat on.
Till next time!

Officially a PCV!

Less than a week ago, myself and 68 fellow volunteers from the Health and Environment sectors were sworn in and officially became volunteers. Everyone got dressed up in their one fancy set of clothes that we all brought to Morocco, and will probably never use again.  We were able to meet with the Governor of Oaurzazat and the United States Ambassador. Congratulations all around, and lots of hugs.  Some of us may not see each other again for quite a long time.
        We are spread across the country now, North to South (except in the Western Sahara region), and East to West.  As a group we speak 3 different languages, tamazight, tashelhight, and Darija. We are in varying conditions, from the scorching hot of the desert to the bitter cold winters of the mountains.  I think that we all are extremely motivated to get started on integration into our communities, exploration of the surrounding area, and looking for future projects to work on once our language skills are up to par.  As for me, language is going great, life is good, and I'm stuck in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
         Been running, hiking, enjoying nature in general.  I still don't know the majority of plants here, but I know what they are similar to, and I'm learning the local names for many of them.  The day I get my hands on a good guide book to the area will be a happy day.  The children at the local school gave me a Moroccan name finally.  Xalid (the x is like a kh in the back of the throat like you are hocking a loogie!), which means "the thing that stays forever" from what I've been told.  Been looking for possible projects around the town, meeting lots of people, perhaps too many.  Names keep leaving my head as soon as they go in.  There are just too many people in a given day to remember everyone, not to mention these names are ones that I've never heard before in my life.  Oh well, such is life, and the ones that are important to know will stick eventually.

The new site

Spent the last week or so travelling, at least that's what it has felt like.  Last week we took off from Oaurzazat provence and made our way to our final sites for a visit.  For some, it was only a day's travel, but for others like me, it was as though we were travelling the entire length and breadth of the country.  From Oaurzazat, I traveled west to Marrakech (or kesh as the PCVs around here call it) by bus.  The mountain pass was windy and nausea inspiring for some.  They passed out plastic bags in case of such an incident, but I didn't see anyone become ill.  I remember that a few of the volunteers were quite nauseous when we traveled into Oaurzazat earlier in the month.  Made it to Kesh with no problems and transferred up to Rabat, where we would be staying the night.  The hotel usually frequented by volunteers was full, so we made our way down to another down the street.  It was a bit dirty, and my pillow was basically a sack filled with foam chunks, but there was a working bathroom with shower capabilities.  Hey, you get what you pay for when you only spend 70 Dh (about $9).  From Rabat, we traveled by train through Fes and on to Taza.  There we met up with a couple of volunteers, S and R (I don't think we are supposed to use actual names), one from SBD (small business development) and one from the Environment sector.

They showed us around town, from old Taza on top of the hill, to the newer, more modern and vibrant lower city of Taza.  We met up   and we were able to crash in town at S's house.  He had a great pad... fully tiled out, warm water, some carpets from the local co-operative he works with, and even a cat.  We were fairly exhausted from the journey, and went to bed pretty early.  The next day we were able to meet up with our counterpart, who is a government employee working for the dept. of forestry and water.  He was very welcoming and is even fairly fluent in English, which will be helpful initially when we want to talk about more complex development issues.  It's also dangerous, because it is an easy crutch to fall on if I don't want to work on my Arabic.  Language is actually coming along pretty well.  I know enough now to be able to communicate basic needs and wants, and even a few more complex concepts.

 After meeting our counterpart, my host dad came and met up with me.  He is a very kind man, the president of the local environmental association, and is very patient with my deficient language skills.  Surprisingly, he actually looks a lot like what  my father from the US looked like about 10-15 years ago.  It's kind of comforting in a way, but it also makes me realize just how much I miss my dad back home.  I'm not going to get too much into it here, but I was just realizing how great my dad was, always supportive and loving, and thinking about how much I'm going to appreciate spending some time with him when I get back to the states.

Anyway, back to Morocco.  After a few hours we caught the taxi that would take us up to our village, and after a winding trip up, we finally arrived.  My host family's house is a two story mud covered house that looks over a gorgeous view of the surrounding mountains.  The house is actually fairly large compared to a lot of those in town, and has a roof you can walk out onto and enjoy the surroundings.  They have a small herd of goats, a cow and calf, a donkey, and a mule.  We went for a walk to look out over the village. As I climbed over the first hill, I was at a loss for words.  The landscape was amazingly beautiful, and I realized how much I truly love being in the mountains. This town is very spread out, almost as if someone had taken a giant pepper shaker and dusted the landscape with houses.  We went to the Mo-qadim's house for dinner and I met with all the important men of the village.  It seems that some of them speak mostly the berber dialect, so I may have to learn some of that in time as well.  The dinner started with some mint tea and some pop-corn of all things.  Then it progressed to bread and a tagine dish of veggies and chicken.  The final course was a cous-cous dish covered in warm milk.  Kulshi bnin. Everything was delicious!  We walked home by the light of my flashlight that is built handily into my phone.  The next morning we had some hard boiled eggs and coffee.  There was time to sit outside and just appreciate the nature around me. I'll be the first to admit I'm usually someone who it is hard to get to sit still, but sitting there in the quiet embrace of the mountains, I was at peace.

After spending a couple days with my host family, travel back was fairly uneventful, although we met up with a couple more cool peace corps volunteers at the Peace Corps office in Rabat.  Arrived back in the Oaurzazat area yesterday, and everything is settling in.  I have a week or so more of language training, but the site is in sight, and I'm excited to get started.  Hope everyone is enjoying their spring back in the states.  Miss you all!
 

Easter Dab Hunt

Happy Easter... at least that's the day it was when I was writing this.  Due to my current lack of internet connection, it is hard to keep up to date and current.  What did you guys do for Easter?  Maybe an Easter egg hunt, Church service if you are religious, the usual.  Well, they don't celebrate Easter in Morocco, what with it being a Christian holiday celebrating the divinity of Christ, and the fact that they are almost all Muslims.  So for our Easter we went on a Dab hunt.  The Dab is basically a large lizard similar to a bearded dragon (although some of you herpetologists out there may disagree).  I would estimate them at about 1 ft in length, with a fat-ish spiked tail.  They vary in coloration from a rather drab green to fairly vivid reddish orange.  Another trainee at my site has a family who loves to hunt these guys.  Today our CBT group and I went out with a couple of our family members, equipped with sticks, a bag, and the equivalent of a pickaxe as well as another tool which was a mix between a hoe and a shovel.  We ventured out into the desert looking for their holes, and when we came upon one Abduraheem would poke one of the sticks inside to see the direction in which to dig.  Some of these holes we dug wound up being 2-3 ft deep, 1 ft wide, and up to 4 feet long.  Once he got near the end of the tunnel and the Dab, he would call one of us in to drag it out and capture it.   

 The best part was yet to come... after searching and digging for the next couple hours we had 8 of these dabs... all that would fit in the sack.  We then proceeded to go down to the creek that ran through the middle of the desert.  This creek created an Oasis of sorts.  Rushes grew everywhere the soil was a bit damp, tadpoles swam for cover as we passed by, and their parents could be heard in the distance, singing their songs.  Steven's host brother crouched down by the water and took a few dabs out of the sack.  He stretched one out in front of him, and  with a knife that was undoubtedly a bit too dull, he slit the first lizard's neck.  Although I was fine with the prospect of killing and eating the lizard, there is something about watching the life literally seep from another living creature that makes me sad inside.  To think about all the energy and time that went into getting it to this point, only to have it die for a snack...  I do love meat though, so I won't be dwelling on it too long, but it's something to think about nonetheless.  So to continue with the story, Steven's host brother killed 3 of the dabs and gutted them.  He made a small fire using sagebrush and basically put them right in the fire, perhaps slightly elevated by some sticks. They were cooked scale side down to reduce the charring, but never the less this resulted in a bit of an ashy-burnt taste.  Below that exterior was an interesting flavor between chicken and lobster, but I'm not completely sure.  The tail was probably the best cut, but to be honest there was surprisingly little meat on the thing.  But hey, for lizard, it wasn't half bad. 

3 weeks in... and feelin' fine

Oh, where to begin.  It's been such a long time since I last had internet! The town I live in doesn't have a working Cyber Cafe, so I have to live with internet once every two weeks or so.  That being said, I don't miss the internet too much.

Let me start with my host family.  They are wonderful people, always offering me more food to eat, more tea to drink, and more darija to speak.  The mother (Fatima) is a little bit... loud, and somewhat difficult to understand.  She says something to me in her screechy fast speech and I look helplessly to someone else in the room to translate into slower darija what she just said.  The father (Mohammed) speaks slowly and clearly, but with the knowledge I have, I only understand him about half the time.  He and his wife work most mornings out in their fields harvesting grass to keep their animals fed and crops to sell at the souk in Oaurzazat.  The other weekend I helped them pick some large beans (fool) that are basically like a mix between lima beans and peas.  He also grows matisha (tomatoes), onions, zit-toon (olives), wheat, and watermellon, among other things.  They have four sons that I know of.  Moustafa 35, who is often in Oaurzazat working, Hamid 34, who is designing a house for himself to move into, Yousef (20), Mohammed jr. 32 who has a wife (Saida) that lives with them all.  Mohammed Jr. and Saida have two children Anas (6), who is a cute shy little boy and very polite, and fatim zhara (1.5) who is super super cute, and has the makings of an afro.

Next my site... we are in a very dry area, and the only green in the area comes from irrigation from the river.  This water is pumped to the top of the hill next to the river and from there pumped into cement aquaducts which run about a kilometer past town and provide all the water for the crops.  The method for growing crops is flood irrigation, and I have been told that the farmers only get 2 hours per 25 days to flood their land with the water they will need for their various crops.  Given the heat I have been experiencing, this doesn't seem like nearly enough.  Outside of town and the irrigation system we basically have desert.  Not quite the sahara, but rocky scrubland with the occasional spiky or stunted plant. The town is split in about two by the highway.

I have 4 site mates and a language facilitator.  I am getting along with them all well, and I think we mesh well as a group.  I consider myself lucky, because a few of the other groups I have talked to have at least one or two people that make their lives less than perfect, and don't really get along with the group dynamic.  There are two other guys, Steve and Collin, and two girls, Socorra, and Tina (whose name we have changed to Mina because tina seems to be the word for a less than appropriate body part).

The language is progressing, but I need to study more often.  Sometimes it seems like I am not progressing as fast as I'd like to, or as fast as some of the other students.  Part of this is because I don't feel I speak enough Darija at my host family's house.  They either don't engage me, or try to speak in english or spanish when they can't get their point across.  It would be better I just told them to help me struggle through the language, but it is easy to use languages I am more fluent in as crutches.

More experiences to come!

From Southern Morocco onward!

We are currently doing training in Southern Morocco in the midst of the mountain ranges.  I have been learning a lot, including language, cultural norms, security, peace corps policies on everything, and tons more.  Today I found out that I will be learning Darija, which is the standard Moroccan Arabic that is spoken in most of the country and especially the big cities.  The other two berber dialects in Morocco are Tashelhit and Tamazight   (Tam and Tash as we call them), and several other groups will be learning one of those two languages.

I went to the Souk today (a little bit like a farmer's market, but better).  I wound up sitting down with a shop owner and talking over a cup of mint tea, as is the custom here.  He sold me a pretty cool necklace which I haggled him down a little bit using some of the basic Arabic I have learned so far.  Bezzef!  (That's too expensive).   I got a picture, but it's been hard to put things up because the internet speed isn't great especially with 20 people trying to access it at once.


  We are splitting up into groups tomorrow and I will finally be able to meet my host family.  For the last few days we have been living in hotels and undertaking group training until all the details are ironed out.  As I may have said before, there are about 70 of us, and tomorrow we will be split into groups of 5-7 and shipped off to our CBT sites (community based training sites).  If I have learned one thing so far, it is that government agencies LOVE acronyms.  I'm excited for the change of pace, because it means I will be one step closer to integrating into Moroccan culture and learning more about the environmental training aspect of service.  So far it has not been very specialized... but there are a lot of basics to cover when living in a new country!  

The food is great, the tea is wonderful, and the staff we have are spectacular, Lhamdulla (thanks be to god).  It's funny saying that... being an agnostic and living in a country where religion has seeped its way into everyday language... everything is related to god... lhamdulla, Enshallah (God willing).  For example, in the US one would say "hopefully I will get an A on my test tomorrow"  But here you would say, I will get an A on my test Enshallah.  I don't really mind saying these phrases, as they are part of the everyday speech, but it still seems funny when I think back on it.  Don't worry... I'm not thinking about doing something radical and converting to Islam or anything.

Here's wishing you a great weekend from sunny Morocco!  Oh, and if you have any questions, just post a response, and I'll try to get back to you.  Not sure if I'll have any internet for the next few days, so be patient people!

P.S.  in response to the comment about interesting fauna... I saw a hawk in a pet store the other day... maybe a small eagle.  In any case, it was quite large and quite expensive... Before haggling he said it was 6000 Dh (about $650).  Holy cow!

Traveling to Philly, Staging, and the First day

Hey everyone!  Things are going great over here.  Let me catch you up to what has happened so far.

I was told that the Peace Corps would be an emotional roller coaster, and I expected that, but I wasn't expecting to have this multitude of feelings all before the first week! Taking off to Philly was great, got to see the East coast side of the family, I was feeling excited, and ready to meet all my fellow volunteers. I met a girl on the airplane I took out who was flying out of Seattle who was doing the Peace Corps as well... she had the tell tale blue folder that we were all carrying around.  Uncle Mark picked us up and dropped us off at the hotel I had no idea how many would be there, but I was guessing about 30 or so.  Arriving at staging the next morning, it turned out to be more like 70 volunteers in all, split about 60/40 health and environment respectively.   We split into groups by last name, filled out paperwork, did some exercises to get us ready for being in a different country, and went out on the town for our last american dinner.  

A bunch of the group and I went out for Sushi at this fairly classy place.  I think I would up spending about $40 among the glass of plum wine, the appetizers, the delicious sushi, and the mango mochi for dessert.  I didn't mind too much though... had to go out with a little style.

The next morning we went out to JFK by bus, and along the way we saw the amazing skyline of New York, which was immense.  The wait at the terminal was long, and I was able to take care of some last minute details like canceling out my phone, getting some last minute New York style cheesecake, doing some phase 10, anything to kill the time.  By this time some of the initial excitement had worn off, and I was feeling a bit down and had a headache.  I was just trying too hard to meet everyone, remember all their names, and make witty conversation.  Witty conversation is surprisingly draining when you are doing it for several hours a day straight, in case you wanted to know.  With 70 people, another thing reared its ugly head.  People who I had just met were reminding me of the personalities of people at home, and I was starting to feel a little sad for all the people I was leaving behind.  The plane ride itself was about 7 hours long, and I don't think I slept more than a half hour.  I just can't seem to fall asleep on planes.

By the time the plane had reached the shoreline of Morocco all of my anxiety and sad thoughts had left and were replaced with ecstatic energy and excitement to be seeing the place I would call home for the next couple years.  First thing that surprised me was how green it is here!  There are tons of palms, fields, fallow pastures, lots of sheep, cattle and goat herding.  The drive from the Airport (Casablanca) almost reminded me of the ride I took from the airport in Costa Rica.  (I'll put up some pictures as soon as viably possible).  We took a couple of charter busses to Marrakesh... what a beautiful ride!  I spotted some olive trees from the bus, and when we got to our bungalos (the group quarters hotel we are staying at tonight) I found a couple more plants I knew... Citrus trees, hibiscus bushes, some sweet pea plant, and a purple version of a morning glory.  Some of my knowledge might transfer after all!

We went through more peace corps protocol, a lot more paperwork, some basic arabic, and then we were off for the day (apparently today is our recovery day), and I needed it.  I haven't really slept since yesterday morning... I'll be ready to crash tonight!  There is more to tell, but I have dinner to go to now, so I'm going to go.  Until next time... Salam! (Peace)

Here starts the journey!

I know that not everyone has facebook, which is where I will be doing a lot of my keeping in touch, so this is a secondary venue for sharing my adventure over the next 27 months with you.
I have had a lot of feedback from people who want to hear how I'm doing while I'm away, so here is your chance.

So here is blog post number one. I'm still state side for now, but within a week that will all be changing. March 3rd, I'm flying into Casablanca, Morocco to start my 27 month service as a peace corps volunteer in an environmental education position.

Things have been going pretty smoothly so far... I had a great going away party up in Bellingham with a bunch of my friends. I'm going to miss that town a lot. It was truly just starting to feel like home. I arrived in the fall of 2005 to attend Western, and through the years I got to know the good places to hang out, I made an incredible network of friends, and I started to love the town for all the things that it offered. The nightlife, the environmental awareness, the beating pulse of the city. Sequim is my hometown, and I can't rag on it too much, but it is rather reserved, and well, Bellingham knows how to have a good time! Thanks everyone for making my experience there easily one of the best times of my life.

The last few weeks I have been slowly collecting the necessary items for a two year journey... various things to make life a little easier... new hiking shoes, some thermal clothes, a netbook for keeping in touch with those stateside and writing reports. While I have been gathering some last minute items, much of the last few months has consisted of getting rid of items accumulated over the last few years. I think I probably gave a good half of my clothes to goodwill, got rid of my car, gave away various items to my brothers (snowboard, desktop computer, etc), and consolidated my life down to what will fit in a couple backpacks and a duffel. It's actually rather freeing getting rid of all of your material goods... less junk to worry about honestly. You guys should try it sometime.

Well, I have to get some rest... tomorrow brings further last minute details before my departure. Hope you are all enjoying the early spring!

Anton