Hey friends, more Claire visiting updates soon but for now I made the LeadAmerica website as a staffer. Check it out.
http://www.lead-america.org/about/teamleaders.asp
Friday, December 31, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Claire and I found a Santa at the new fancy mall in Marrakech and as it turns out, only children are allowed to take pictures of that. We begged and pleaded but nothing (despite the fact that there was no one else waiting in line). As a substitute, we found theses animatronic Santas and took a picture with them.
Merry Christmas from Morocco!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Twas the night before, the night before Christmas.
Twas the night before, the night before Christmas and all through the Riad not a creature was stirring, not even mouse. The stockings were far away, hung in homes in Christan places, Moroccans having no idea what holiday was looming.
Happy Christmas Eve Eve to all!
I am crossing for a White Christmas for all of you!
Happy Christmas Eve Eve to all!
I am crossing for a White Christmas for all of you!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Two Angry French Women vs. a CTM Bus Full of People
Something I have experienced in the last 10 months has been people's interactions with each other and the way they differ from the American way I am used to. In the western world people are abrupt. They throw temper tantrums and fight for what they want, never for a second forgetting that they are the most important thing in the whole world and that everyone should bow down to them.
Moroccans, on the other hand, are much more passive. Cautious of new people and not generally looking at getting into a fight over a non-issue (excluding teenage boys who love to fight and bicker). They are "chill".
Today I got on the CTM bus to get my sister. As it turns out, it was 15dh cheaper than taking the taxi but about an hour longer. I decided to save my 15dh. When I got on the bus, no one was on. Then a huge German family got on and sat around me. Technically the busses have seat numbers and generally they are followed but today the bus was empty, so I sat where I wanted. By the time we got to Agadir (20km away) there was a whole bus full of people waiting to get on. This is when the drama started.
This family wanted to sit together so whenever Moroccans came over and requested one of the seats I just asked them if it was okay they sit somewhere else so the family could sit together. They had no problems.
Two minutes before we go to pull out these two French ladies get on the bus and find that their seats are taken by the family. Instead of asking nicely, they start throwing a temper tantrum. Yelling in French, grabbing bags and moving them, ect. They made so much commotion that the CTM employee got on and was trying to figure out what was going on. In the meantime one lady grabbed my backpack and threw it on the ground. I was not happy.
After these two older ladies finished yelling, I asked the CTM man if he would take my bag and put it under the bus so the yelling lady could sit down. He then told me (in Tashlheet so they didn't understand) that he was tired of tourists yelling and being angry for no reason. He also said he didn't want to go to France if the people were like the ladies there. I (along wiht the rest of the Moroccans) started laughing and this did not sit well with the women who threw my bag on the ground.
The issue was that since her and her friend got on the bus last they would have to sit apart when their printed tickets had seats next to each other. My opinion is that when you get on a full bus two minutes before its pulling out, you just deal with it.
After the CTM man got off the bus to move my bag, the lady started yelling at me in English about how I needed to move so that she and her friend could sit together. I said that I wanted this window seat and didn't want to move. She proceeded to huff and puff her way around the bus, making all the Moroccans uncomfortable until the German guy behind me started telling her to "sit down and shut up".
After watching two grown women throw temper tantrums on a full bus, I moved to a non-window seat up the way, next to a really nice french guy. The poor guy was so embarrassed they were French and he kept apologizing.
The CTM guy got back on, after getting his manager, and realized I had obliged and changed seats. He thanked me (in Tashlheet) and started telling me I was welcome on his busses anytime. I just told him that crazy people just like the ladies exist in America too.
He laughed and we pulled away.
The moral of this story is that two grown women, who threw temper tantrums, got what they wanted and managed to aggravate everyone else on the bus giving yet another bad impression of "pushy" and "loud" western tourists who come to Morocco and demand what they want with little regard to everyone else.
This was a time when I was pretty proud to have been an American/ Moroccan.
Moroccans, on the other hand, are much more passive. Cautious of new people and not generally looking at getting into a fight over a non-issue (excluding teenage boys who love to fight and bicker). They are "chill".
Today I got on the CTM bus to get my sister. As it turns out, it was 15dh cheaper than taking the taxi but about an hour longer. I decided to save my 15dh. When I got on the bus, no one was on. Then a huge German family got on and sat around me. Technically the busses have seat numbers and generally they are followed but today the bus was empty, so I sat where I wanted. By the time we got to Agadir (20km away) there was a whole bus full of people waiting to get on. This is when the drama started.
This family wanted to sit together so whenever Moroccans came over and requested one of the seats I just asked them if it was okay they sit somewhere else so the family could sit together. They had no problems.
Two minutes before we go to pull out these two French ladies get on the bus and find that their seats are taken by the family. Instead of asking nicely, they start throwing a temper tantrum. Yelling in French, grabbing bags and moving them, ect. They made so much commotion that the CTM employee got on and was trying to figure out what was going on. In the meantime one lady grabbed my backpack and threw it on the ground. I was not happy.
After these two older ladies finished yelling, I asked the CTM man if he would take my bag and put it under the bus so the yelling lady could sit down. He then told me (in Tashlheet so they didn't understand) that he was tired of tourists yelling and being angry for no reason. He also said he didn't want to go to France if the people were like the ladies there. I (along wiht the rest of the Moroccans) started laughing and this did not sit well with the women who threw my bag on the ground.
The issue was that since her and her friend got on the bus last they would have to sit apart when their printed tickets had seats next to each other. My opinion is that when you get on a full bus two minutes before its pulling out, you just deal with it.
After the CTM man got off the bus to move my bag, the lady started yelling at me in English about how I needed to move so that she and her friend could sit together. I said that I wanted this window seat and didn't want to move. She proceeded to huff and puff her way around the bus, making all the Moroccans uncomfortable until the German guy behind me started telling her to "sit down and shut up".
After watching two grown women throw temper tantrums on a full bus, I moved to a non-window seat up the way, next to a really nice french guy. The poor guy was so embarrassed they were French and he kept apologizing.
The CTM guy got back on, after getting his manager, and realized I had obliged and changed seats. He thanked me (in Tashlheet) and started telling me I was welcome on his busses anytime. I just told him that crazy people just like the ladies exist in America too.
He laughed and we pulled away.
The moral of this story is that two grown women, who threw temper tantrums, got what they wanted and managed to aggravate everyone else on the bus giving yet another bad impression of "pushy" and "loud" western tourists who come to Morocco and demand what they want with little regard to everyone else.
This was a time when I was pretty proud to have been an American/ Moroccan.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Good friends, Good hike.
My weekends have been filled with visiting volunteers and attempting to create the Christmas sprit I feel so empty with out. A few weekends ago I made the beautiful trip to nearby Tafroute. We stayed at Nicole's beautiful place, ate delicious food (as usual), watched great movies/ shows and got some much needed America time. We even hiked out to these painted rocks that were painted in the early 80's by some German guy. Nicole compares it to a real-life Candy Land and I think thats pretty accurate. It wa was a great weekend with great company!
HIking the painted rocks.
Its significantly colder at Sami and Dave's than at my place. We were in the middle of a Freaks and Geeks marathon.
HIking the painted rocks.
Its significantly colder at Sami and Dave's than at my place. We were in the middle of a Freaks and Geeks marathon.
My food slump makes a glorious comeback.
So I have been basically cooking from scratch for the last 5 months and it finally started to get old.
I was getting tired of the taste of the same fruits and veggies (oranges, peppers, carrots, onions, tomatoes) and getting annoyed with the similar taste most dishes had. For the last 2 weeks, this has been an issue. I have drained my stash of licorice and eaten through most of my American food but today I made en epic comeback. Cinammon rolls.
They tasted so great and were made complete from scratch. Heres the recipie if your interested. Maybe they can bring joy to your day too :)
Cinnamon Rolls:
In a medium mixing bowl, combine 2 cups of flour and yeast. Set aside.
In a small sauce pan heat 1 cup of milk, 1/3 cup sugar, 1/3 cup butter and 1 teaspoon salt until warm; stirring constantly.
Pour liquid mixture into flour mixture and stir.
Beat in 2 eggs for at least 5 minutes.
On a lightly floured surface, knead with 2 cups flour to make a moderatly stiff dough that is smooth and elastic, about 6-8 minutes.
Shape into a ball and put into a greased bowl.
Let rise in a warm place for 1-2 hours.
Roll out the dough to a 1/2 inch thickness.
Brush the dough with melted butter, sugar and cinnamon.
Cut into 1 1/2 inch strips and roll up.
Place in a buttered pan and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.
Bake for about 15 minutes.
While warm, top with frosting.
Frosting:
Add soft butter to powdered sugar. Slowly add milk until desired consistency is reached.
(This recipe is courtesy of the Moroccan Peace Corps Volunteer's cookbook, 2010).
I was getting tired of the taste of the same fruits and veggies (oranges, peppers, carrots, onions, tomatoes) and getting annoyed with the similar taste most dishes had. For the last 2 weeks, this has been an issue. I have drained my stash of licorice and eaten through most of my American food but today I made en epic comeback. Cinammon rolls.
They tasted so great and were made complete from scratch. Heres the recipie if your interested. Maybe they can bring joy to your day too :)
Cinnamon Rolls:
In a medium mixing bowl, combine 2 cups of flour and yeast. Set aside.
In a small sauce pan heat 1 cup of milk, 1/3 cup sugar, 1/3 cup butter and 1 teaspoon salt until warm; stirring constantly.
Pour liquid mixture into flour mixture and stir.
Beat in 2 eggs for at least 5 minutes.
On a lightly floured surface, knead with 2 cups flour to make a moderatly stiff dough that is smooth and elastic, about 6-8 minutes.
Shape into a ball and put into a greased bowl.
Let rise in a warm place for 1-2 hours.
Roll out the dough to a 1/2 inch thickness.
Brush the dough with melted butter, sugar and cinnamon.
Cut into 1 1/2 inch strips and roll up.
Place in a buttered pan and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.
Bake for about 15 minutes.
While warm, top with frosting.
Frosting:
Add soft butter to powdered sugar. Slowly add milk until desired consistency is reached.
(This recipe is courtesy of the Moroccan Peace Corps Volunteer's cookbook, 2010).
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Life in a Facebook World.
Sitting at the bus stop, typing on my computer. Somewhat risky behavior but I hid behind busses to prevent any possible theifs from getting too close. A boy, maybe 16 or 17 approaches me and in French tells me my bus isn't here yet. Random. After a few minutes of trying to talk to me in French, I tell him I don't speak French. Trying to ignore him, he blurts out "I have Facebook, will you be my friend?"
The other day a few volunteers and I watched the new Sorkin movie, "The Social Network" and it got me thinking a lot about the impact social media has on us, our "modern" and "technological" generation. A random Moroccan telling me in perfect English to be his friend on Facebook is just another example of that. Also, if you haven't seen the movie, you should. The writing was great (of course its Sorkin, who also brought the world "The West Wing") but its genuinely funny and provides some interesting insight to a website that has gotten more clicks than Google some weeks.
Facebook (and other social media outlets) connects people from all over the globe in a way even the telephone couldn't. Here Moroccans can learn about American culture, French movies and Indian music, all via the web.
Most of the women in my village can't read and some have never even ventured further than 40km away but their children are worlds away. Checking Facebook, Skyping friends, reading up on the latest trends and learning more about the world than their mother's could ever dream of.
This is the reality of social media. While I will not be Mohammed's friend on Facebook, it is cool to think about what sort of things he can learn and share with this one tool.
Just something to think about.
The other day a few volunteers and I watched the new Sorkin movie, "The Social Network" and it got me thinking a lot about the impact social media has on us, our "modern" and "technological" generation. A random Moroccan telling me in perfect English to be his friend on Facebook is just another example of that. Also, if you haven't seen the movie, you should. The writing was great (of course its Sorkin, who also brought the world "The West Wing") but its genuinely funny and provides some interesting insight to a website that has gotten more clicks than Google some weeks.
Facebook (and other social media outlets) connects people from all over the globe in a way even the telephone couldn't. Here Moroccans can learn about American culture, French movies and Indian music, all via the web.
Most of the women in my village can't read and some have never even ventured further than 40km away but their children are worlds away. Checking Facebook, Skyping friends, reading up on the latest trends and learning more about the world than their mother's could ever dream of.
This is the reality of social media. While I will not be Mohammed's friend on Facebook, it is cool to think about what sort of things he can learn and share with this one tool.
Just something to think about.
December Adventures.
The weeks in Morocco just seem to get better and better. What a welcome relief.
Here is an update of a few things that have happened recently.
- I have learned how to make Chai tea. Yes I was a HUGE Chai fan in the states but once I got over here, I realized I have no idea how to make it. Thankfully Nicole, my savior, taught me and supplied me with some key ingredients to make it. Now my life is complete. I have been drinking delicious homemade Chai tea and even found an ingredient supplier in Tiznit. After wandering around the souk area (which I regularly avoid) I found my "spice guy". Morocco is known for its spice vendors (despite the lack of spice in most Moroccan dishes) and I feel like one of the last volunteers without a spice guy. The good news is that my spice guy is very nice, patient with my broken Tashlheet and doesn't speak French to me, three key things in a good Hanut guy. Today I bought some key ingredients for my Chai tea and even some cinnamon sticks for the apple cider I am hoping to make this week. Towards the end of our encounter I asked him to get me some cardamom pods. He told me that since he had to import them from India they were expensive. I told him it was fine and he poured me some. Turns out "expensive" means 5 dh, so not expensive. I am feeling good about this new relationship and my new supply of lots of "hard to get" ingredients.
-My electricity has been pretty reliable compared to most other volunteers/ villages in Morocco. I have only lost electricity once or twice compared to some volunteers loosing it daily. Recently the winds have started picking up and my electricity has started to flicker so I figured it was only a matter of time before it went out. As it turns out my breaker box made a loud noise and all the electricity went off. A little fearful of reseting the box when it was so windy outside I just left the electricity off and studied for the LSAT by candle light. The next morning I woke up, reset the box and headed to Tafroute to celebrate Dave's birthday. What I failed to remember was that my oven, which was sitting on top of my ponges (couch) was never unplugged from when the electricity went off. I left for the weekend and when I returned a few days later I smelled something, unsure of what it was I started checking the fridge, heater and even the Buta gas container but all of them were off. A few hours later I went to sit on my ponges and read when I noticed the oven was plugged in. Damn. I had left my oven, on top of my ponge, on full heat for a few days.
I am lucky nothing caught on fire (not that there is a lot of flamable things in my house) and instead it just burned the ponge cover. I am actually grateful for the ponge cover burning and here's why.
-Moving into any home is stressful. Moving into a rock home without running water in the middle of a remodel in a small Moroccan village is beyond stressful. Its downright hard. Due to these stresses and the overwhelming feeling of needing a space of my own, I made some mistakes early on. Of course heinsight is always 20/20 but one major mistake was the covers for my ponges. My co-op and counterpart donated some stuff on my behalf for my new home. One of those things was a large rug. Its green, black and red in a crazy design and has seen better days but I was happy to have it. Initially thinking I was going to use the rug in my bedroom, I bought custom ponge covers from a shop in Tiznit. When I picked out the fabric, I thought it would be awesome. It was sort of a Moroccan version of Vera Bradly. As it turns out, the fabric was ugly, expensive and makes my living room look terrible. Moroccans even comment on the terrible clash of patterns and colors which says a lot since my villagers don't exactly have "matching" and "coordinating" down. I have been wanting to replace them for quite some time but felt like it was a frivolous use of money. Then something awesome happened. My oven burnt my cover and now I have to replace them since one is burnt, right? This time I ventured into Tiznit without a Moroccan and vowed to pick a fabric I liked and get something that matches. I did exactly that.
After checking out quite a few shops on the street of fabrics, I found a guy. A really nice, non-creepy guy. He was patient with my broken Tashlheet and new vocab words. Best of all, he gave me a GREAT price. Instead of 150 per ponge for the covers he is only charging me 200dh total, for 3 ponge covers and two pillow cases, all in black. Awesome.
I knew the day would come when my confidence with the language and culture, my knowledge of "good" prices and my abaility to ignore harassment would make my shopping experiences fun and the day has come. I had fun shopping for ponge covers today and am hoping that they will greatly improve the look of my living room, actually I am confident of it.
-This week I witnessed my first Moroccan funeral. I have celebrated most other Moroccan cultural events including holidays, weddings and births but had yet to experience a funeral. After heading into souk to pick up some eggs and check my mailbox I saw the Moroccan equalivent of a funeral procession. A station wagon cab with the seats removed holding a wooden platform/ coffin carrying a deceased man with a train of his (male) family and friends following along singing. Once they reached the end of the souk they continued to processional on foot to the mosque where the prayers happened. It was interesting to see the processional and how much respect everyone in the village gave as the processional passed by.
-I finally cleaned my computer after about 10 months of dirt and dust. I broke out my magic eraser from America and gave my computer its much needed bath. It looks so much better, new even.
-Thanks to some fellow volunteers I have recently been able to catch up on some much needed movie time by watching Shrek Ever After, Toy Story 3 and the Christmas Glee. I enjoy my small glimpses of America.
-I have been listening to as much Christmas music as possible, fondly remembering snow, Christmas lights and the holiday prep!
-Finally, my sister comes in just 6 days. I am finalizing plans, cleaning up my house, buying supplies and getting my money situation figured out. My vacation forms are submitted to Peace Corps for our post- Morocco Madrid adventure. I can hardly sleep most nights because of how excited I am for her to arrive! I cannot wait to see her in Marrakech! It should be a fun month and you can check out her blog (and mine) for pictures and post from her travels. (www.clairestuckel.blogspot.com)
Happy Holidays to all!
Here is an update of a few things that have happened recently.
- I have learned how to make Chai tea. Yes I was a HUGE Chai fan in the states but once I got over here, I realized I have no idea how to make it. Thankfully Nicole, my savior, taught me and supplied me with some key ingredients to make it. Now my life is complete. I have been drinking delicious homemade Chai tea and even found an ingredient supplier in Tiznit. After wandering around the souk area (which I regularly avoid) I found my "spice guy". Morocco is known for its spice vendors (despite the lack of spice in most Moroccan dishes) and I feel like one of the last volunteers without a spice guy. The good news is that my spice guy is very nice, patient with my broken Tashlheet and doesn't speak French to me, three key things in a good Hanut guy. Today I bought some key ingredients for my Chai tea and even some cinnamon sticks for the apple cider I am hoping to make this week. Towards the end of our encounter I asked him to get me some cardamom pods. He told me that since he had to import them from India they were expensive. I told him it was fine and he poured me some. Turns out "expensive" means 5 dh, so not expensive. I am feeling good about this new relationship and my new supply of lots of "hard to get" ingredients.
-My electricity has been pretty reliable compared to most other volunteers/ villages in Morocco. I have only lost electricity once or twice compared to some volunteers loosing it daily. Recently the winds have started picking up and my electricity has started to flicker so I figured it was only a matter of time before it went out. As it turns out my breaker box made a loud noise and all the electricity went off. A little fearful of reseting the box when it was so windy outside I just left the electricity off and studied for the LSAT by candle light. The next morning I woke up, reset the box and headed to Tafroute to celebrate Dave's birthday. What I failed to remember was that my oven, which was sitting on top of my ponges (couch) was never unplugged from when the electricity went off. I left for the weekend and when I returned a few days later I smelled something, unsure of what it was I started checking the fridge, heater and even the Buta gas container but all of them were off. A few hours later I went to sit on my ponges and read when I noticed the oven was plugged in. Damn. I had left my oven, on top of my ponge, on full heat for a few days.
I am lucky nothing caught on fire (not that there is a lot of flamable things in my house) and instead it just burned the ponge cover. I am actually grateful for the ponge cover burning and here's why.
-Moving into any home is stressful. Moving into a rock home without running water in the middle of a remodel in a small Moroccan village is beyond stressful. Its downright hard. Due to these stresses and the overwhelming feeling of needing a space of my own, I made some mistakes early on. Of course heinsight is always 20/20 but one major mistake was the covers for my ponges. My co-op and counterpart donated some stuff on my behalf for my new home. One of those things was a large rug. Its green, black and red in a crazy design and has seen better days but I was happy to have it. Initially thinking I was going to use the rug in my bedroom, I bought custom ponge covers from a shop in Tiznit. When I picked out the fabric, I thought it would be awesome. It was sort of a Moroccan version of Vera Bradly. As it turns out, the fabric was ugly, expensive and makes my living room look terrible. Moroccans even comment on the terrible clash of patterns and colors which says a lot since my villagers don't exactly have "matching" and "coordinating" down. I have been wanting to replace them for quite some time but felt like it was a frivolous use of money. Then something awesome happened. My oven burnt my cover and now I have to replace them since one is burnt, right? This time I ventured into Tiznit without a Moroccan and vowed to pick a fabric I liked and get something that matches. I did exactly that.
After checking out quite a few shops on the street of fabrics, I found a guy. A really nice, non-creepy guy. He was patient with my broken Tashlheet and new vocab words. Best of all, he gave me a GREAT price. Instead of 150 per ponge for the covers he is only charging me 200dh total, for 3 ponge covers and two pillow cases, all in black. Awesome.
I knew the day would come when my confidence with the language and culture, my knowledge of "good" prices and my abaility to ignore harassment would make my shopping experiences fun and the day has come. I had fun shopping for ponge covers today and am hoping that they will greatly improve the look of my living room, actually I am confident of it.
-This week I witnessed my first Moroccan funeral. I have celebrated most other Moroccan cultural events including holidays, weddings and births but had yet to experience a funeral. After heading into souk to pick up some eggs and check my mailbox I saw the Moroccan equalivent of a funeral procession. A station wagon cab with the seats removed holding a wooden platform/ coffin carrying a deceased man with a train of his (male) family and friends following along singing. Once they reached the end of the souk they continued to processional on foot to the mosque where the prayers happened. It was interesting to see the processional and how much respect everyone in the village gave as the processional passed by.
-I finally cleaned my computer after about 10 months of dirt and dust. I broke out my magic eraser from America and gave my computer its much needed bath. It looks so much better, new even.
-Thanks to some fellow volunteers I have recently been able to catch up on some much needed movie time by watching Shrek Ever After, Toy Story 3 and the Christmas Glee. I enjoy my small glimpses of America.
-I have been listening to as much Christmas music as possible, fondly remembering snow, Christmas lights and the holiday prep!
-Finally, my sister comes in just 6 days. I am finalizing plans, cleaning up my house, buying supplies and getting my money situation figured out. My vacation forms are submitted to Peace Corps for our post- Morocco Madrid adventure. I can hardly sleep most nights because of how excited I am for her to arrive! I cannot wait to see her in Marrakech! It should be a fun month and you can check out her blog (and mine) for pictures and post from her travels. (www.clairestuckel.blogspot.com)
Happy Holidays to all!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Rainbows, Rainbows everywhere.
Since moving to Morocco I have seen six rainbows. Yes, six. That is exactly 6 times the number of rainbows I had seen in real life before moving here. Apparently Morocco is where God (and the sun) hides all his rainbows. Awesome.
Just a few examples!
Just a few examples!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
A Brain Workout.
I have been out of college for a year and half now and in Morocco for 9 months, needless to say my English vocabulary is going. In an effort to regain some of this "lost" knowledge I have been diving into more academic papers, intellectual books and cranking through my LSAT prep.
I wanted to share with you some vocabulary words I have learned recently in both Tashlheet and English that I find amusing.
English:
apex: the top or highest part of something, esp. one forming a point. The highest level of a hierarchy, organization or other power structure regarded as a triangle or pyramid.
archipelago: a sea or stretch of water containing many islands.
cacophonous: a Harsh, discordant mixture of sounds.
eschew: deliberately avoid using; abstain from
fervor: intense and passionate feeling.
fulcrum: the point on which a lever rests or is supported and on which is pivots. A thing that plays a central or essential role in an activity, event or situation.
guise: an external form, appearance, or manner of presentation, typically concealing the true nature of something.
heed: pay attention to; take notice of.
inexorable: impossible to stop or prevent.
nascent: (a process or organization) just coming into existence and beginning to display signs of future potential.
persnickety: placing too much emphasis on trivial detail; fussy.
ruminate: thing deeply about something.
salient: most noticeable or important.
sinuous: having many curves and turns.
swath: a row or line of grass, grain or other crop as it lies when mown or reaped. A broad strip or area of something.
trepidation: a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen.
welter: a large number of items in no order; a confused mass.
Tashlheet:
drunkard: askayri
generalize: smun kulshi (literally translated to 'collect everything')
day before yesterday: assfan
day dream: tiwerga
to flirt with: t'brram f
lame: abiDar
There are days when I feel so daunted by the task of learning (and understanding) Tashlheet and then there are days where I learn the word for the 'day before yesterday' is assfan and I have to giggle.
One final note, the way my villagers say 'Oh my God' is "wak, wak". Yes, wak, rhymes with quack. When all of the women do it, they sound like ducks on a pond. Amusing for sure.
I wanted to share with you some vocabulary words I have learned recently in both Tashlheet and English that I find amusing.
English:
apex: the top or highest part of something, esp. one forming a point. The highest level of a hierarchy, organization or other power structure regarded as a triangle or pyramid.
archipelago: a sea or stretch of water containing many islands.
cacophonous: a Harsh, discordant mixture of sounds.
eschew: deliberately avoid using; abstain from
fervor: intense and passionate feeling.
fulcrum: the point on which a lever rests or is supported and on which is pivots. A thing that plays a central or essential role in an activity, event or situation.
guise: an external form, appearance, or manner of presentation, typically concealing the true nature of something.
heed: pay attention to; take notice of.
inexorable: impossible to stop or prevent.
nascent: (a process or organization) just coming into existence and beginning to display signs of future potential.
persnickety: placing too much emphasis on trivial detail; fussy.
ruminate: thing deeply about something.
salient: most noticeable or important.
sinuous: having many curves and turns.
swath: a row or line of grass, grain or other crop as it lies when mown or reaped. A broad strip or area of something.
trepidation: a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen.
welter: a large number of items in no order; a confused mass.
Tashlheet:
drunkard: askayri
generalize: smun kulshi (literally translated to 'collect everything')
day before yesterday: assfan
day dream: tiwerga
to flirt with: t'brram f
lame: abiDar
There are days when I feel so daunted by the task of learning (and understanding) Tashlheet and then there are days where I learn the word for the 'day before yesterday' is assfan and I have to giggle.
One final note, the way my villagers say 'Oh my God' is "wak, wak". Yes, wak, rhymes with quack. When all of the women do it, they sound like ducks on a pond. Amusing for sure.
A Love of Reading.
As I child, I loved to read. I think this was due in great part to my mother's constant encouraging (pushing) of us to read, even going so far as to require "reading hours" after our homework was done and before the TV ever got turned on. Since my mother was a stickler for our TV watching, just as she was for our after homework reading, (I never saw a Friends episode until I got to college), it was probably better that we read instead of being frustrated by the lack of "approved" channels and shows.
When I was about ten or eleven years old, I shoveled our entire driveway after a big (for St. Louis anyway) snow storm. It took me the better part of an entire day to complete the daunting, uphill task. My reward, a book. Yes, I shoveled snow all day for a book and trip with my Dad to the bookstore. (I don't need to be reminded of how nerdy I am, this story says enough).
I share this somewhat embarrassing story with you to make a point. Reading is a luxury and we are lucky that we can. If you are reading this right now, you are a part of a very lucky, very small percentage of people worldwide that can read. That is a gift, something we should be grateful for.
This point hit me hardest when I was visiting my host family for lunch a few weeks ago. I brought with me the book I was reading at the time (Packing for Mars) because everything in my host family's world takes hours to complete, even simple tasks such as lunch. At some point during the long process, I usually get bored of watching my host sister cook and run out of things to say in Tashlheet, so I head to living room and crack open my book. After the Cous Cous was served and the dishes piled, my host sister, Khadija (Ha-de-ja) joined me in the living room and started questioning me about my book.
In the best language I could, I started explaining all about NASA, the race to the Moon, America and Russia in the 1960's and what it would take for people to go to Mars. After the glazed over look appeared, I asked her if she enjoyed reading. Mind you, she told me when I first moved in that she graduated high school, when indeed she did not, she did complete the 9th grade, but that was all. Weary of her not always truthful answers, she started going on and on about how much she loved reading and how after seeing me read so often, she started reading instead of watching TV. Ecstatic, I asked her to bring down some of the books she had been reading.
When she came back downstairs she had a pile of French magazines, these were her "books". She doesn't read French and cannot speak more than basic vocabulary, but yet these magazines were her "books". Most of them were cooking magazines, some were gossip type pieces, all sent from her aunts who live in France.
It was in that moment that I realized what different playing fields we were on, I might as well have been from Mars asking an earthling. Her "reading" comprised of looking at pictures. How could I ever share with her my extreme love of books and reading, when her reading was so far different from my own? How could this key part of my identity be so misunderstood despite our strong friendship?
I often wonder if the children here will ever know the real joy that comes from reading. When my youngest sister Maddy moved into our home nearly 8 years ago she didn't posses this love of reading that was instilled in the rest of my family. She struggled at it and hadn't yet discovered the pleasure that books can bring. Eight years later, books are all she can talk about. From the newest Twilight book, to the Harry Potter she just finished, or the novel she was assigned to read in class and fell in love with, reading has enveloped her life. I think she is better off for it.
It seems worlds away in my small village in southern Morocco. Parents in America are reading their unborn child "Baby Einstein" books and finishing every day with a bedtimes story, long before the children can even talk.
In my village, the children do not even have access to books to read. There are no public libraries nearby and my local high-school has a library room that doesn't contain a single book. I have heard so many times that knowledge brings power, yet how can the children here attain "knowledge" with nothing to read? How can they expect to learn about the world and themselves when their only information source is the TV?
During my time in Morocco I have embraced the pliable work schedule and ample free time. I have filled this time with books. Books provide enjoyment, knowledge and most importantly the opportunity to practice English so I do not return home with worse language than when I left. I often wonder how village Moroccans fill their time without books since reading comprises a great portion of my day. I only wish they could read and enjoy the stories as I do, if only to serve as a temporary escape from the day-to-day reality of life in the bled.
Reading has brought so much excitement and happiness into my life. I love the stale smell of a library full of books. I am entranced by a hardback book with crisp pages and the way it feels in my hands. I am captivated by the stories told and topics learned. Most of all, I cherish this breathtaking gift I was given, the ability to read.
P.S. I just finished reading, Packing For Mars; the Curious Science of Life in the Void, a witty and intelligent book by Mary Roach about life in space and the affects space has on the human body. I laughed the entire way through it. I recommend this non-fiction masterpiece to any space junkie interested in what life is like outside of the Star Trek/ Star Wars universe.
My newest book is Where the Wild Things Are; Life, Death, and Ecological Wreckage in a Land of Vanishing Predators by William Stolzenburg about the relationships keystone predators play on ecosystems all over the world. I am 100 pages in and cannot put this book down. This is a great book for anyone interested in general ecology and the effects of predator/ prey relationships (aka Miss Natalie Rada). It is sort of like the General Ecology course I took in college, minus the boring mini-themes.
When I was about ten or eleven years old, I shoveled our entire driveway after a big (for St. Louis anyway) snow storm. It took me the better part of an entire day to complete the daunting, uphill task. My reward, a book. Yes, I shoveled snow all day for a book and trip with my Dad to the bookstore. (I don't need to be reminded of how nerdy I am, this story says enough).
I share this somewhat embarrassing story with you to make a point. Reading is a luxury and we are lucky that we can. If you are reading this right now, you are a part of a very lucky, very small percentage of people worldwide that can read. That is a gift, something we should be grateful for.
This point hit me hardest when I was visiting my host family for lunch a few weeks ago. I brought with me the book I was reading at the time (Packing for Mars) because everything in my host family's world takes hours to complete, even simple tasks such as lunch. At some point during the long process, I usually get bored of watching my host sister cook and run out of things to say in Tashlheet, so I head to living room and crack open my book. After the Cous Cous was served and the dishes piled, my host sister, Khadija (Ha-de-ja) joined me in the living room and started questioning me about my book.
In the best language I could, I started explaining all about NASA, the race to the Moon, America and Russia in the 1960's and what it would take for people to go to Mars. After the glazed over look appeared, I asked her if she enjoyed reading. Mind you, she told me when I first moved in that she graduated high school, when indeed she did not, she did complete the 9th grade, but that was all. Weary of her not always truthful answers, she started going on and on about how much she loved reading and how after seeing me read so often, she started reading instead of watching TV. Ecstatic, I asked her to bring down some of the books she had been reading.
When she came back downstairs she had a pile of French magazines, these were her "books". She doesn't read French and cannot speak more than basic vocabulary, but yet these magazines were her "books". Most of them were cooking magazines, some were gossip type pieces, all sent from her aunts who live in France.
It was in that moment that I realized what different playing fields we were on, I might as well have been from Mars asking an earthling. Her "reading" comprised of looking at pictures. How could I ever share with her my extreme love of books and reading, when her reading was so far different from my own? How could this key part of my identity be so misunderstood despite our strong friendship?
I often wonder if the children here will ever know the real joy that comes from reading. When my youngest sister Maddy moved into our home nearly 8 years ago she didn't posses this love of reading that was instilled in the rest of my family. She struggled at it and hadn't yet discovered the pleasure that books can bring. Eight years later, books are all she can talk about. From the newest Twilight book, to the Harry Potter she just finished, or the novel she was assigned to read in class and fell in love with, reading has enveloped her life. I think she is better off for it.
It seems worlds away in my small village in southern Morocco. Parents in America are reading their unborn child "Baby Einstein" books and finishing every day with a bedtimes story, long before the children can even talk.
In my village, the children do not even have access to books to read. There are no public libraries nearby and my local high-school has a library room that doesn't contain a single book. I have heard so many times that knowledge brings power, yet how can the children here attain "knowledge" with nothing to read? How can they expect to learn about the world and themselves when their only information source is the TV?
During my time in Morocco I have embraced the pliable work schedule and ample free time. I have filled this time with books. Books provide enjoyment, knowledge and most importantly the opportunity to practice English so I do not return home with worse language than when I left. I often wonder how village Moroccans fill their time without books since reading comprises a great portion of my day. I only wish they could read and enjoy the stories as I do, if only to serve as a temporary escape from the day-to-day reality of life in the bled.
Reading has brought so much excitement and happiness into my life. I love the stale smell of a library full of books. I am entranced by a hardback book with crisp pages and the way it feels in my hands. I am captivated by the stories told and topics learned. Most of all, I cherish this breathtaking gift I was given, the ability to read.
P.S. I just finished reading, Packing For Mars; the Curious Science of Life in the Void, a witty and intelligent book by Mary Roach about life in space and the affects space has on the human body. I laughed the entire way through it. I recommend this non-fiction masterpiece to any space junkie interested in what life is like outside of the Star Trek/ Star Wars universe.
My newest book is Where the Wild Things Are; Life, Death, and Ecological Wreckage in a Land of Vanishing Predators by William Stolzenburg about the relationships keystone predators play on ecosystems all over the world. I am 100 pages in and cannot put this book down. This is a great book for anyone interested in general ecology and the effects of predator/ prey relationships (aka Miss Natalie Rada). It is sort of like the General Ecology course I took in college, minus the boring mini-themes.
There's No Place Like "Home" for the Holidays
The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas has always been my favorite. The 24/7 Christmas station, the relentless hours at Bath and Body Works encompassed by the fragrant smells of the season, the frantic dash to buy the perfect gift that embodies your feelings for a particular person and the ceremonial decorating of the Christmas tree.
The year, the season feels different. No chilly wind, no snow predicting forecasts on the nightly news, no holiday fragrances, no Black Friday or computers for two hundred dollars, no Christmas music filling the airwaves and no sense of "holiday cheer".
The biggest holiday in the Islamic year just happened. Eid El-Kebir. It was fun, filled with family and featured plenty of food for sure, but lacked that special 'something' I was hoping for. There was no holiday decorations, no signs all over town and no special music to celebrate the occasion.
While I realize most of this "Christmas" cheer I long for is commercialized, I love it regardless. I enjoy the mall decorations, the Wal-Mart Holiday display that spans the entire store and the music, written just for this holiday. To be frank, I miss it. I miss it a lot.
In a valiant attempt to recreate some of the commercial cheer in my home, I put on Christmas music, baked some cookies and decorated my little trees. On my way back from Thanksgiving in Essaouira I stopped at Marjane (the Wal-Mart of Morocco) to find a somewhat small but welcome Christmas display complete with chocolates, string lights, giant teddy bears and even Christmas trees. It was a nice attempt on the part of an Islamic hyper-marche. I purchased a small tree, some garland, a package of small ornaments and a stocking complete with a photo of Santa Claus. Excited about my new holiday cheer, I headed home and prepared my day of celebration.
When I got back I headed to the post office to find my mother had mailed me a box with sweaters, Pumpkin flavored mixes and a tiny Christmas tree. I felt like the tiny tree, tiny ornaments, tiny garland, tiny tree skirt and even a tiny manger scene were made in America for people like me, Americans abroad missing the feeling of Christmas.
The entire next day was filled with the smell of baking cookies, hot chocolate, christmas music, tree decorating and some favorite Christmas movies.
While my little display is by no means ideal, it is perfect. My friends in the village stop by and ask about my tree, my stocking and my manger scene. I explain to them all about the culture of Christmas at home, while leaving out the part of Jesus' birth. (Trying to convert someone out of Islam will land you in jail here in Morocco. I cannot even imagine what sort of hell lies behind the walls of a Moroccan jail). It is a great way to share culture and customs of America. I even baked them some cookies to share. They women of my co-op were extremely grateful.
While my holiday season has not been filled with as much cheer as I would have liked, I think I am doing a good job creating it on my own. The most exciting thing about this holiday season is the arrival of my sister Claire on December 21st, just in time to celebrate Christmas in a land of Islam. It should be an adventure.
For now I am watching The Muppet Christmas Carol, Elf, Holiday Inn and The Grinch on rotation, just to make my rock house feel like a little more like home. After all, there is no place like home for the holidays.
The year, the season feels different. No chilly wind, no snow predicting forecasts on the nightly news, no holiday fragrances, no Black Friday or computers for two hundred dollars, no Christmas music filling the airwaves and no sense of "holiday cheer".
The biggest holiday in the Islamic year just happened. Eid El-Kebir. It was fun, filled with family and featured plenty of food for sure, but lacked that special 'something' I was hoping for. There was no holiday decorations, no signs all over town and no special music to celebrate the occasion.
While I realize most of this "Christmas" cheer I long for is commercialized, I love it regardless. I enjoy the mall decorations, the Wal-Mart Holiday display that spans the entire store and the music, written just for this holiday. To be frank, I miss it. I miss it a lot.
In a valiant attempt to recreate some of the commercial cheer in my home, I put on Christmas music, baked some cookies and decorated my little trees. On my way back from Thanksgiving in Essaouira I stopped at Marjane (the Wal-Mart of Morocco) to find a somewhat small but welcome Christmas display complete with chocolates, string lights, giant teddy bears and even Christmas trees. It was a nice attempt on the part of an Islamic hyper-marche. I purchased a small tree, some garland, a package of small ornaments and a stocking complete with a photo of Santa Claus. Excited about my new holiday cheer, I headed home and prepared my day of celebration.
When I got back I headed to the post office to find my mother had mailed me a box with sweaters, Pumpkin flavored mixes and a tiny Christmas tree. I felt like the tiny tree, tiny ornaments, tiny garland, tiny tree skirt and even a tiny manger scene were made in America for people like me, Americans abroad missing the feeling of Christmas.
The entire next day was filled with the smell of baking cookies, hot chocolate, christmas music, tree decorating and some favorite Christmas movies.
While my little display is by no means ideal, it is perfect. My friends in the village stop by and ask about my tree, my stocking and my manger scene. I explain to them all about the culture of Christmas at home, while leaving out the part of Jesus' birth. (Trying to convert someone out of Islam will land you in jail here in Morocco. I cannot even imagine what sort of hell lies behind the walls of a Moroccan jail). It is a great way to share culture and customs of America. I even baked them some cookies to share. They women of my co-op were extremely grateful.
While my holiday season has not been filled with as much cheer as I would have liked, I think I am doing a good job creating it on my own. The most exciting thing about this holiday season is the arrival of my sister Claire on December 21st, just in time to celebrate Christmas in a land of Islam. It should be an adventure.
For now I am watching The Muppet Christmas Carol, Elf, Holiday Inn and The Grinch on rotation, just to make my rock house feel like a little more like home. After all, there is no place like home for the holidays.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
So I have been worried about Thanksgiving for a while now, like since before even leaving for Morocco. Thanksgiving was always one of my favorite holidays and my favorite "family times". My mother cooking delicious food and pies, a freezing cold golf game early in the morning and college football after nap time were staples of my childhood. This was going to be the first year I missed it.
I also have vibrant memories of my Aunt Carol crying profusely whenever we did our "what we are thankful for" section and my cousin Tim was deployed. I envisioned my mother doing exactly the same.
The good news is that my fears were completely unfounded. I celebrated Thanksgiving with my new adopted family in Essaouira and it was a blast. We ate delicious food, had amazing conversation and spent an entire day in the dark with no running water :) We even witnessed a star gazing night better than I have ever seen. Six shooting starts in total. Amazing.
So thanks Essa crew for letting me join the fun! The food was great and the company was even better.
Now the Claire's arrival preparations begin! 3 weeks and counting.
The cab ride into Nina's site. It was a little tight.
Our delicious Thanksgiving Dinner.
The beautiful rainbow outside Nina's house.
I also have vibrant memories of my Aunt Carol crying profusely whenever we did our "what we are thankful for" section and my cousin Tim was deployed. I envisioned my mother doing exactly the same.
The good news is that my fears were completely unfounded. I celebrated Thanksgiving with my new adopted family in Essaouira and it was a blast. We ate delicious food, had amazing conversation and spent an entire day in the dark with no running water :) We even witnessed a star gazing night better than I have ever seen. Six shooting starts in total. Amazing.
So thanks Essa crew for letting me join the fun! The food was great and the company was even better.
Now the Claire's arrival preparations begin! 3 weeks and counting.
The cab ride into Nina's site. It was a little tight.
Our delicious Thanksgiving Dinner.
The beautiful rainbow outside Nina's house.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
My new desk.
My LSAT books, coffee mug, my new rug, my map of Missouri, my computer, my Tashlheet dictionary, my Moleskin and my desk. All key things in my life :)
What a Week.
This week has been arguably my busiest, both culturally and work-related, since moving to Ait Erkha. I didn't expect it, but alas, it came. I have been waiting for it.
Monday: Woke up early, checked in at the post office, bought my weekly groceries (since Monday is Souk day in my town) and then was supposed to pick up my new desk. As it turns out, the co-op was selling bread, so I sold with them. What was supposed to be only 2-3 hours turned out to be an all day thing, with us not leaving souk until dusk (around 6 pm). Needless to say, I didn't get to pick up my desk but I was exhausted from the day so I didn't mind.
Tuesday: Maria (my closest friend in the village and also the VP of the co-op) and I woke up at 6:15 am and grabbed the bread the women had been cooking since 3 am. We headed to Tighreirt (tear-reart) in the back of a stripped construction work van. I didn't think it was possible, but all in all there were 25 people in this van. Yes 25, thats not an exaggeration, I counted. Maria and I both kissed the ground when we finally got into town (a 45 minute ride away).
Maria and I posted up right in the middle of a walkway into souk and sold our bread. This time it only took us about 4 hours to sell 100+ pieces but it was not without its emotional costs. First of all, this souk was 100% men, except for the beggars. This made Maria and I stick out more than normal. More than one man approached Maria and asked how much it was to "rent" me. They thought I was a prostitute. Awesome. The ones who weren't trying to pay me for sex were helping me do math like two times three is six. Ten minus six is four. At first I thought this was just their way of helping a "poor foreign girl out" but then I started to get really frustrated, especially when they were doing the math incorrectly. One man wanted 10 dh change back from a twenty dirham bill when he bought 12 dh worth of stuff. It was funny that these men felt the need to help me do simple adding and subtraction when that would never happen in America. Finally around lunchtime we sold out of bread and headed to a fellow volunteer's house, Tiffany, for lunch. Tiffany made us some delicious lentils, eggs with cheese and even Crystal Light. It was cool to see Tiffany and show Maria another volunteer's place, plus Tiffany is way better at Tashlheet than I am so I enjoyed listen to her and Maria talk. At 1 pm we caught the bus where more crazy men started at Maria and I, only to have the money collector on the bus pick a fight with Maria. It was quite amusing because Maria kicked his butt. Needless to say, we only paid 4 dh for a 5 dh bus ride.
When we got back into town we convinced Maria's brother Mbark from Rabat to pick up my desk in town with his car. Success, my desk was finally delivered to my house. The truth is that the desk I very specifically designed is actually much taller than I wanted, but it will have to do for now, at least until I can get a local guy with a saw to come make it shorter. That may be a while.
The most adorable little girls ever.
Wednesday: See previous post. Mabroke Eid.
The sheep.
Thursday: Wedding day. At 7am I get a knock on my door. It was my friend Aiesha and she was inviting me to come to a wedding at her families compound. I have been hesitant about attending other weddings in town mostly because they are long, loud, crowded and involve lots of staring and question asking in Tashlheet or Arabic I don't understand. It usually ends up with me sitting by myself against the wall while the children stare at me and ask questions. This time thought it was Aiesha's family and Aiesha is like my second mother, I couldn't miss out. Around 1 pm Aiesha send her daughter, Hannan to come get me and off we went. Of course it started out exactly like I expected with lots of staring, lots of questions and lots of women. The good news this time was that my Tashlheet is getting better so I was better able to understand and answer the multitude of questions. Even thought I tried hard, the children found me and instantly became attached. After about an hour of them being a little too close for comfort I faked a trip to the bathroom and found my co-op women, decorating the wedding room. I got to help hang wedding rugs, place plastic flowers and keep children away. About 3 hours in, I asked Aiesha if I could go home and change clothes since everyone else at the wedding was "dressed up" for village standards and I was just in jeans and a jacket. After about 5 minutes of meeting, the co-op ladies decided it was time for me to wear a Tukshita (a traditional Moroccan wedding attending attire). My reluctance was overturned immediately and then we headed to dress me like a Moroccan Barbie doll.
The theme of this entire day was the different cultural concepts of beauty. In America the bride wears a beautiful (and expensive) white wedding dress that normally shows some skin and took months if not years to pick out. The bride at this wedding was wearing a white Tukshita, similar to the one I wore, with plain white Moroccan style shoes. Her head was covered with a white scarf and she wore eyeliner. This is probably the same white outfit that all of the girls in her family wear. The groom was in slacks, a white dress shirt and a white Jellaba. All of the women in attendance were wearing their version of their "sunday best". This is a little difficult to explain because these type of clothes just aren't sold or worn in the states but all outfit comprises of a multitude of layers, keep that in mind. On top is a dressy type floor length, long sleeved dress of sorts. Its usually made of some shiny material and decorated with sequence. On top of that is a pleated, elastic wasted skirt made of some synthetic material in a bold floral print. It is preferable if the dress underneath and the skirt over it clash in just about every way possible. Since its getting colder outside, the women are wearing crazy patterned socks in either stripes, checkers, floral or camo print. Their heads are covered with a tight fitting scarf and the whole ensemble is covered with a large white scarf that is draped over their heads but nearly hangs down to the floor. The whole outfit is put together with a thick black line of eye liner, only for the married women. The unmarried girls wearing something similar but its generally better fitting, better matching and looks more "put together".
I was pranced over to Aiesha's house and dressed in a maroon and gold Tukshita. The fabric was beautiful but I felt like a fool. My head was covered in a huge white scarf and my eyes were covered with a thick black line of eyeliner. When I say I felt like a fool, I felt like a big fool. The Tukshita is essentially the shape of a brown paper sack with a string tie at the waist. I do not have the most petit of frames and am usually very cognsant of the type of clothing I wear and the way it makes my "shape" appear, just about everything I wore was the opposite of attractive on me. This is the way I felt, anyway. Aiesha took me to a full length mirror and I burst out into laughter, I couldn't believe I was going to be wearing this in public. Despite what was going on in my brain, Aiesha loved it an pranced me back to the party. The women almost died of excitement. This is not an exaggeration. They couldn't stop telling me how beautiful I was, how I looked so much like a "woman" (ie a married woman) and how they could get me married in no time wearing this outfit. The pinnacle was when the one man in town that speaks basic conversational English saw me and said "Wow! You look so beautiful." I almost burst into laughter. Inside I felt about as ugly as I could possibly feel. I felt so out of place and awkward in my own skin and this man was telling me in English how beautiful I was, it was almost more than I could handle.
The rest of the day I got lots of compliments and lots of questions about whether or not I was married (typical for a normal day, but I was dressed in "married women" clothing). The one giant benefit is that I covered my head and face with that giant white scarf and the men had a harder time distinguishing me from the rest of the women, so they left me alone.
The wedding was a good time and I enjoyed hanging out with the ladies and seeing a couple show affection towards each other (completely shameful in any other context). I never saw them kiss, but I did see hand holding and thats a big step, believe me. I was lucky enough to have my picture taken with the bride and groom but the groom harassed me the entire time I was sitting there about why I wasn't a muslim. Annoying. Before I left he wished me good luck with my soul. Super annoying.
The wedding was packed.
My participation in the festivities ended when about 80 people crammed into a small room and started dancing and singing Berber music. It was fun for the first hour, but after a while sitting on the floor of a room with 80 other people in a Tukshita just wasn't going well for my mental sanity. I left when the men/ boys started throwing money at the women who were dancing. Sort of like a village version of a strip club I suppose, but just a little too off for me.
Directly after the wedding I headed to Maria's house and the entire family got quite a kick out of seeing me dressed in my Berber best. Oh man.
Dressed in my "Berber Best" with the bride and groom.
Friday: I had been promising my host family for quite some time that I would come over and have lunch with them. This is always an ordeal so I had sort of been blowing it off but Friday morning my sister showed up and told me I was coming to lunch at 1. So I did. As it turns out, I was right, it was quite an ordeal. I got there are 1 pm exactly with the beginnings of a headache. Friday is like the Sunday of Christianity or the Saturday of Judaism in Islam. After Mosque all of the men came back to my host family's house for lunch (since women don't attend mosque in my town). As it turns out I helped cook, serve and clean up cous cous lunch for 45 men. The women (ie my host mother, my host sisters and I) finally ate about 3:45 pm. At this point I had the worst headache I have ever had in my life, so I headed home. It was cool to see my family, chat it up with most of the extended family and eat my sister's AMAZING cous cous.
Saturday: After a morning of intense LSAT studying I was ready for a break so headed to Maria's house to see all of the kids. Since lots of family are in town for Eid, so are the kids. When I got there, my counterpart informed me that we were having lunch at fellow co-op ladies house. I was reluctant but came back at 2pm to head out. As it turns out we didn't leave until about 3pm. When we got there the most amazing spread of breads and dips were out. We followed that with a delicious tajine, cous cous and finally some cookies and tea. It was really a great lunch and the reason I even mention it is because it was the first time I felt really comfortable in a situation like this. I had enough language to converse, enough culture to understand the order and process of things and felt like I was really contributing to the conversation instead of just being a bystander. I felt like I really belonged.
Monday: Woke up early, checked in at the post office, bought my weekly groceries (since Monday is Souk day in my town) and then was supposed to pick up my new desk. As it turns out, the co-op was selling bread, so I sold with them. What was supposed to be only 2-3 hours turned out to be an all day thing, with us not leaving souk until dusk (around 6 pm). Needless to say, I didn't get to pick up my desk but I was exhausted from the day so I didn't mind.
Tuesday: Maria (my closest friend in the village and also the VP of the co-op) and I woke up at 6:15 am and grabbed the bread the women had been cooking since 3 am. We headed to Tighreirt (tear-reart) in the back of a stripped construction work van. I didn't think it was possible, but all in all there were 25 people in this van. Yes 25, thats not an exaggeration, I counted. Maria and I both kissed the ground when we finally got into town (a 45 minute ride away).
Maria and I posted up right in the middle of a walkway into souk and sold our bread. This time it only took us about 4 hours to sell 100+ pieces but it was not without its emotional costs. First of all, this souk was 100% men, except for the beggars. This made Maria and I stick out more than normal. More than one man approached Maria and asked how much it was to "rent" me. They thought I was a prostitute. Awesome. The ones who weren't trying to pay me for sex were helping me do math like two times three is six. Ten minus six is four. At first I thought this was just their way of helping a "poor foreign girl out" but then I started to get really frustrated, especially when they were doing the math incorrectly. One man wanted 10 dh change back from a twenty dirham bill when he bought 12 dh worth of stuff. It was funny that these men felt the need to help me do simple adding and subtraction when that would never happen in America. Finally around lunchtime we sold out of bread and headed to a fellow volunteer's house, Tiffany, for lunch. Tiffany made us some delicious lentils, eggs with cheese and even Crystal Light. It was cool to see Tiffany and show Maria another volunteer's place, plus Tiffany is way better at Tashlheet than I am so I enjoyed listen to her and Maria talk. At 1 pm we caught the bus where more crazy men started at Maria and I, only to have the money collector on the bus pick a fight with Maria. It was quite amusing because Maria kicked his butt. Needless to say, we only paid 4 dh for a 5 dh bus ride.
When we got back into town we convinced Maria's brother Mbark from Rabat to pick up my desk in town with his car. Success, my desk was finally delivered to my house. The truth is that the desk I very specifically designed is actually much taller than I wanted, but it will have to do for now, at least until I can get a local guy with a saw to come make it shorter. That may be a while.
The most adorable little girls ever.
Wednesday: See previous post. Mabroke Eid.
The sheep.
Thursday: Wedding day. At 7am I get a knock on my door. It was my friend Aiesha and she was inviting me to come to a wedding at her families compound. I have been hesitant about attending other weddings in town mostly because they are long, loud, crowded and involve lots of staring and question asking in Tashlheet or Arabic I don't understand. It usually ends up with me sitting by myself against the wall while the children stare at me and ask questions. This time thought it was Aiesha's family and Aiesha is like my second mother, I couldn't miss out. Around 1 pm Aiesha send her daughter, Hannan to come get me and off we went. Of course it started out exactly like I expected with lots of staring, lots of questions and lots of women. The good news this time was that my Tashlheet is getting better so I was better able to understand and answer the multitude of questions. Even thought I tried hard, the children found me and instantly became attached. After about an hour of them being a little too close for comfort I faked a trip to the bathroom and found my co-op women, decorating the wedding room. I got to help hang wedding rugs, place plastic flowers and keep children away. About 3 hours in, I asked Aiesha if I could go home and change clothes since everyone else at the wedding was "dressed up" for village standards and I was just in jeans and a jacket. After about 5 minutes of meeting, the co-op ladies decided it was time for me to wear a Tukshita (a traditional Moroccan wedding attending attire). My reluctance was overturned immediately and then we headed to dress me like a Moroccan Barbie doll.
The theme of this entire day was the different cultural concepts of beauty. In America the bride wears a beautiful (and expensive) white wedding dress that normally shows some skin and took months if not years to pick out. The bride at this wedding was wearing a white Tukshita, similar to the one I wore, with plain white Moroccan style shoes. Her head was covered with a white scarf and she wore eyeliner. This is probably the same white outfit that all of the girls in her family wear. The groom was in slacks, a white dress shirt and a white Jellaba. All of the women in attendance were wearing their version of their "sunday best". This is a little difficult to explain because these type of clothes just aren't sold or worn in the states but all outfit comprises of a multitude of layers, keep that in mind. On top is a dressy type floor length, long sleeved dress of sorts. Its usually made of some shiny material and decorated with sequence. On top of that is a pleated, elastic wasted skirt made of some synthetic material in a bold floral print. It is preferable if the dress underneath and the skirt over it clash in just about every way possible. Since its getting colder outside, the women are wearing crazy patterned socks in either stripes, checkers, floral or camo print. Their heads are covered with a tight fitting scarf and the whole ensemble is covered with a large white scarf that is draped over their heads but nearly hangs down to the floor. The whole outfit is put together with a thick black line of eye liner, only for the married women. The unmarried girls wearing something similar but its generally better fitting, better matching and looks more "put together".
I was pranced over to Aiesha's house and dressed in a maroon and gold Tukshita. The fabric was beautiful but I felt like a fool. My head was covered in a huge white scarf and my eyes were covered with a thick black line of eyeliner. When I say I felt like a fool, I felt like a big fool. The Tukshita is essentially the shape of a brown paper sack with a string tie at the waist. I do not have the most petit of frames and am usually very cognsant of the type of clothing I wear and the way it makes my "shape" appear, just about everything I wore was the opposite of attractive on me. This is the way I felt, anyway. Aiesha took me to a full length mirror and I burst out into laughter, I couldn't believe I was going to be wearing this in public. Despite what was going on in my brain, Aiesha loved it an pranced me back to the party. The women almost died of excitement. This is not an exaggeration. They couldn't stop telling me how beautiful I was, how I looked so much like a "woman" (ie a married woman) and how they could get me married in no time wearing this outfit. The pinnacle was when the one man in town that speaks basic conversational English saw me and said "Wow! You look so beautiful." I almost burst into laughter. Inside I felt about as ugly as I could possibly feel. I felt so out of place and awkward in my own skin and this man was telling me in English how beautiful I was, it was almost more than I could handle.
The rest of the day I got lots of compliments and lots of questions about whether or not I was married (typical for a normal day, but I was dressed in "married women" clothing). The one giant benefit is that I covered my head and face with that giant white scarf and the men had a harder time distinguishing me from the rest of the women, so they left me alone.
The wedding was a good time and I enjoyed hanging out with the ladies and seeing a couple show affection towards each other (completely shameful in any other context). I never saw them kiss, but I did see hand holding and thats a big step, believe me. I was lucky enough to have my picture taken with the bride and groom but the groom harassed me the entire time I was sitting there about why I wasn't a muslim. Annoying. Before I left he wished me good luck with my soul. Super annoying.
The wedding was packed.
My participation in the festivities ended when about 80 people crammed into a small room and started dancing and singing Berber music. It was fun for the first hour, but after a while sitting on the floor of a room with 80 other people in a Tukshita just wasn't going well for my mental sanity. I left when the men/ boys started throwing money at the women who were dancing. Sort of like a village version of a strip club I suppose, but just a little too off for me.
Directly after the wedding I headed to Maria's house and the entire family got quite a kick out of seeing me dressed in my Berber best. Oh man.
Dressed in my "Berber Best" with the bride and groom.
Friday: I had been promising my host family for quite some time that I would come over and have lunch with them. This is always an ordeal so I had sort of been blowing it off but Friday morning my sister showed up and told me I was coming to lunch at 1. So I did. As it turns out, I was right, it was quite an ordeal. I got there are 1 pm exactly with the beginnings of a headache. Friday is like the Sunday of Christianity or the Saturday of Judaism in Islam. After Mosque all of the men came back to my host family's house for lunch (since women don't attend mosque in my town). As it turns out I helped cook, serve and clean up cous cous lunch for 45 men. The women (ie my host mother, my host sisters and I) finally ate about 3:45 pm. At this point I had the worst headache I have ever had in my life, so I headed home. It was cool to see my family, chat it up with most of the extended family and eat my sister's AMAZING cous cous.
Saturday: After a morning of intense LSAT studying I was ready for a break so headed to Maria's house to see all of the kids. Since lots of family are in town for Eid, so are the kids. When I got there, my counterpart informed me that we were having lunch at fellow co-op ladies house. I was reluctant but came back at 2pm to head out. As it turns out we didn't leave until about 3pm. When we got there the most amazing spread of breads and dips were out. We followed that with a delicious tajine, cous cous and finally some cookies and tea. It was really a great lunch and the reason I even mention it is because it was the first time I felt really comfortable in a situation like this. I had enough language to converse, enough culture to understand the order and process of things and felt like I was really contributing to the conversation instead of just being a bystander. I felt like I really belonged.
Eid El-Kebir (or Eid Immaquor).
Yep, its official, I survived my first Eid. Volunteers have been warning us about this big holiday (literally translated, Eid Kebir means big celebration) ever since we got to country last March. They warned us of the sheep death and the kebabs made of sheep parts most American's wouldn't touch. Well, day one (of three) is over and I am happy to say I made it through.
The fun started last night at 8pm when the women of my co-op started their all night bread making party. After refusing numerous invites to join the party I hit the sack and got up at 4am to help them out. One by one the families (mostly children) filtered into the rickety old bread making shack and got their "nice" bread for the days festivities (2dh a piece, or 25 cents). At about 9am I headed into my house, grabbed some breakfast and took a little nap. By 10am the neighbor's kids were beating down my door, it was time to kill the sheep.
I celebrated this day with my counterpart and her family. She lives with her two sisters, her three kids and her husband so together, they killed one sheep. Her brother, Mbark, and his family were also in town from Rabat, so they killed another sheep. All of the kids were dressed up in their holiday best and the dad's were outside preparing the sheep to be cooked while the women were cleaning up, tending to the crazy little children and preparing the necessary vegitables and spices for cooking the sheep.
The whole day reminded me a great deal of most holiday gatherings my family had growing up. Kids dressed in their Sunday best eating dirt and rocks, women chatting away about life and the kids, the dad's outside avoiding the women, sports playing on the TV and the inevitable fight between the kids that always involves screaming and crying. It is ironic how a celebration so different from my own celebrations growing up could be so similar. Its like there is a book somewhere that taught everyone how to throw a party. Crazy.
After the sheep were killed one by one, so that one sheep didn't hear or see the other sheep dying, the kids and I migrated into the cooking area to begin preparing the kebabs. The kebabs were made of liver, intestines, fat, lungs, heart and other various parts of the sheep that didn't include any of the parts I would have liked to eat. The meat was seasoned, skewered and grilled while the children kept the cats away. Frankly, I feared being woozy about the killing and the dismantling of a recently living and breathing sheep, but it wasn't bad. I am sure it is much more sanitary and humaine than most of the killing of the meat I ate at home (except my Dad's deer meat). I sort of enjoyed watching a family appreciate the sheep that much, even saying a little prayer before killing it. You could tell that nothing was going to waste or being taken for granted, like that sheep's life wasn't take in vain.
The family that I celebrated with is very aware of my hesitation towards meat other than chicken and didn't press too hard after my first kebab, but I did have to have just one. It took a few tries to swallow the fat and the heart, but after I wrapped each piece in some bread and tried to chew as little as possible, it wasnt too bad. I firmly believe that if I would have not seen the death and taking apart of the sheep, I would have though they were pretty good. The rest of the party-goers ate them like hot cakes and at the end there was nothing left.
After 2 rounds of tea (around 2pm) the kids, moms and I gathered together for a quick afternoon nap time. Nap time is pretty common in my village and is not frowned upon at all, frankly its encouraged. After about an hour of rest we got back up and started the cooking all over again. This time it was intestines, fat and stomach. These things were all pressure cooked to a nice gooey consistency. Frankly, the pot did smell good, but my stomach was still having difficulties from the heart I ate earlier so I passed but everyone else chowed down.
All in all it was a great day filled with a great sense of family and community. Widowed women stopped by with their children to eat and chat and wedding preperations were already in the works for a wedding a few weeks from now. The kids got dirty and played in the rocks, much to their mother's dislike and the men watched Brazil play Argentenia in soccer all while the women hurried around the kitchen like little elves either cleaning up from the previous meal or preparing for the next. Seeing this family made me nostaligic for my own holiday celebrations that I will be missing out on. The good news is that this family lovingly welcomed me into their home and treated me as one of their own, giving me a sense of purpose for now, and for that I am eternally greatful!
The fun started last night at 8pm when the women of my co-op started their all night bread making party. After refusing numerous invites to join the party I hit the sack and got up at 4am to help them out. One by one the families (mostly children) filtered into the rickety old bread making shack and got their "nice" bread for the days festivities (2dh a piece, or 25 cents). At about 9am I headed into my house, grabbed some breakfast and took a little nap. By 10am the neighbor's kids were beating down my door, it was time to kill the sheep.
I celebrated this day with my counterpart and her family. She lives with her two sisters, her three kids and her husband so together, they killed one sheep. Her brother, Mbark, and his family were also in town from Rabat, so they killed another sheep. All of the kids were dressed up in their holiday best and the dad's were outside preparing the sheep to be cooked while the women were cleaning up, tending to the crazy little children and preparing the necessary vegitables and spices for cooking the sheep.
The whole day reminded me a great deal of most holiday gatherings my family had growing up. Kids dressed in their Sunday best eating dirt and rocks, women chatting away about life and the kids, the dad's outside avoiding the women, sports playing on the TV and the inevitable fight between the kids that always involves screaming and crying. It is ironic how a celebration so different from my own celebrations growing up could be so similar. Its like there is a book somewhere that taught everyone how to throw a party. Crazy.
After the sheep were killed one by one, so that one sheep didn't hear or see the other sheep dying, the kids and I migrated into the cooking area to begin preparing the kebabs. The kebabs were made of liver, intestines, fat, lungs, heart and other various parts of the sheep that didn't include any of the parts I would have liked to eat. The meat was seasoned, skewered and grilled while the children kept the cats away. Frankly, I feared being woozy about the killing and the dismantling of a recently living and breathing sheep, but it wasn't bad. I am sure it is much more sanitary and humaine than most of the killing of the meat I ate at home (except my Dad's deer meat). I sort of enjoyed watching a family appreciate the sheep that much, even saying a little prayer before killing it. You could tell that nothing was going to waste or being taken for granted, like that sheep's life wasn't take in vain.
The family that I celebrated with is very aware of my hesitation towards meat other than chicken and didn't press too hard after my first kebab, but I did have to have just one. It took a few tries to swallow the fat and the heart, but after I wrapped each piece in some bread and tried to chew as little as possible, it wasnt too bad. I firmly believe that if I would have not seen the death and taking apart of the sheep, I would have though they were pretty good. The rest of the party-goers ate them like hot cakes and at the end there was nothing left.
After 2 rounds of tea (around 2pm) the kids, moms and I gathered together for a quick afternoon nap time. Nap time is pretty common in my village and is not frowned upon at all, frankly its encouraged. After about an hour of rest we got back up and started the cooking all over again. This time it was intestines, fat and stomach. These things were all pressure cooked to a nice gooey consistency. Frankly, the pot did smell good, but my stomach was still having difficulties from the heart I ate earlier so I passed but everyone else chowed down.
All in all it was a great day filled with a great sense of family and community. Widowed women stopped by with their children to eat and chat and wedding preperations were already in the works for a wedding a few weeks from now. The kids got dirty and played in the rocks, much to their mother's dislike and the men watched Brazil play Argentenia in soccer all while the women hurried around the kitchen like little elves either cleaning up from the previous meal or preparing for the next. Seeing this family made me nostaligic for my own holiday celebrations that I will be missing out on. The good news is that this family lovingly welcomed me into their home and treated me as one of their own, giving me a sense of purpose for now, and for that I am eternally greatful!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Wish me luck!
After much debate and deliberation, I have decided to take the LSAT on Feb 12th, 2011 in London!
My desk will be delivered Monday so I can start my intense studying.
My desk will be delivered Monday so I can start my intense studying.
Laundry.
As I write this post, I am coming down off a moment of insanity where, for a brief time, I was actually yelling at my laundry.
Since moving to Morocco, I have embraced many cultural norms and realities of life in a developing place. I have mastered the absence of running water, covered my arms and legs on 120+ degree days and eaten parts of animals I really didn't want to eat. For some reason, I cannot seem to master my laundry.
When I first moved into my own place, I enjoyed taking the couple of hours to wash all of my clothes and hang them to dry. Now that I have been doing it for 8+ months, the fun has been drained. Now that its cooler outside and the cold basin water doesn't feel so refreshing anymore, I have begun to resent having to wash my clothing at all.
The hatred sort of came to a head yesterday when I woke up extra early to get started on my wash so it would be dry by nightfall. I am one of the few volunteers without roof access or an outdoor courtyard to hang up my wet laundry. The first few months I was hanging a rope from one of the unfinished rebar pieces sticking out of the building next to mine and securing it to a rock wall attached to the bread ovens. This worked, sort of. At least once a month, the piece of string would fall off the rock and send my newly washed clothes onto the dirty ground below, forcing me to re-rinse everything I had just taken 2 hours to wash.
At first, this was annoying, then it became downright frustrating. Two weeks ago, before our IST training in Marrakech, I did some laundry, hung it out to dry and then poof, the string snapped in half and sent all of my clothes back onto the dirt. I didn't even bother rinsing them off, I just strung my string in a new place and hung them back up. Of course, the falling caused a delay in the drying time, so they werent dry before it got dark. About an hour after sunset, my counterpart collected all of my still wet clothing and knocked on my door, telling me people were going to steal my clothes if I left them out all night. Awesome. (Also, who would want to steal faded, holey, somewhat dirty clothes).
This time I strung up my string in the same place and just as I got the last thing hung, my host mother came by and said she needed to use the bread ovens. The issue being that my string was tied to the door of the ovens. Crap. Since I basically refuse to hang my clothes to dry on the rock wall, mostly because they end up dirtier than when they started, I was in a conundrum.
I went inside grabbed my bin and threw all my wet clothes in the bin, frustrated and aggravated that washing my clothes is never a simple process. After huffing and puffing around for a while and yes, even yelling at my clothing, my counterpart secured a new holder rod into the rocks and went and got me a new string to dry my clothes on.
After she finished making me a new clothing line, I hung up my clothes and sure enough, they didn't fall, at least this time.
Now that my laundry line has been secured and I have started washing my clothes in warm water hopefully things will start looking up on the laundry front. The truth is that I can't wait to go back to America and wash and dry my clothes with little to no effort of my own. Oh the modern luxuries.
Despite the laundry being a pain, all is going well here in Morocco and now that "winter" has set in and our days are still in the low 80's, I cannot complain. I am sure I will not enjoy living in the land of the fire come June, its not too bad in November.
Oh yeah and Claire comes in 38 days and counting! Woo hoo.
Since moving to Morocco, I have embraced many cultural norms and realities of life in a developing place. I have mastered the absence of running water, covered my arms and legs on 120+ degree days and eaten parts of animals I really didn't want to eat. For some reason, I cannot seem to master my laundry.
When I first moved into my own place, I enjoyed taking the couple of hours to wash all of my clothes and hang them to dry. Now that I have been doing it for 8+ months, the fun has been drained. Now that its cooler outside and the cold basin water doesn't feel so refreshing anymore, I have begun to resent having to wash my clothing at all.
The hatred sort of came to a head yesterday when I woke up extra early to get started on my wash so it would be dry by nightfall. I am one of the few volunteers without roof access or an outdoor courtyard to hang up my wet laundry. The first few months I was hanging a rope from one of the unfinished rebar pieces sticking out of the building next to mine and securing it to a rock wall attached to the bread ovens. This worked, sort of. At least once a month, the piece of string would fall off the rock and send my newly washed clothes onto the dirty ground below, forcing me to re-rinse everything I had just taken 2 hours to wash.
At first, this was annoying, then it became downright frustrating. Two weeks ago, before our IST training in Marrakech, I did some laundry, hung it out to dry and then poof, the string snapped in half and sent all of my clothes back onto the dirt. I didn't even bother rinsing them off, I just strung my string in a new place and hung them back up. Of course, the falling caused a delay in the drying time, so they werent dry before it got dark. About an hour after sunset, my counterpart collected all of my still wet clothing and knocked on my door, telling me people were going to steal my clothes if I left them out all night. Awesome. (Also, who would want to steal faded, holey, somewhat dirty clothes).
This time I strung up my string in the same place and just as I got the last thing hung, my host mother came by and said she needed to use the bread ovens. The issue being that my string was tied to the door of the ovens. Crap. Since I basically refuse to hang my clothes to dry on the rock wall, mostly because they end up dirtier than when they started, I was in a conundrum.
I went inside grabbed my bin and threw all my wet clothes in the bin, frustrated and aggravated that washing my clothes is never a simple process. After huffing and puffing around for a while and yes, even yelling at my clothing, my counterpart secured a new holder rod into the rocks and went and got me a new string to dry my clothes on.
After she finished making me a new clothing line, I hung up my clothes and sure enough, they didn't fall, at least this time.
Now that my laundry line has been secured and I have started washing my clothes in warm water hopefully things will start looking up on the laundry front. The truth is that I can't wait to go back to America and wash and dry my clothes with little to no effort of my own. Oh the modern luxuries.
Despite the laundry being a pain, all is going well here in Morocco and now that "winter" has set in and our days are still in the low 80's, I cannot complain. I am sure I will not enjoy living in the land of the fire come June, its not too bad in November.
Oh yeah and Claire comes in 38 days and counting! Woo hoo.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A Beach Day in November
Life was rough this summer. 120 degree days were not uncommon and I threw myself a little soup party as soon as it hit the mid 80's. The heat was tough, tougher than I expected.
The one benefit to the insane heat of the summer is the nice and warm-ish weather we get in November. It is the first of November and we spent a whole day on the beach in Essaouira. Awesome.
As for Jancy, I am sorry you were in America during the "nice" weather of Taza and now the terrible winter will start. Hopefully you will warm up soon. Get your wood stove project piloted in your home :) Love you. Feel free to visit the desert south. (www.extractthehumor.blogspot.com)
The boys of Essa.
Us girls stayed clothed.
Camels walking along the beach.
My Chaco's, aka my saving grace(s).
The one benefit to the insane heat of the summer is the nice and warm-ish weather we get in November. It is the first of November and we spent a whole day on the beach in Essaouira. Awesome.
As for Jancy, I am sorry you were in America during the "nice" weather of Taza and now the terrible winter will start. Hopefully you will warm up soon. Get your wood stove project piloted in your home :) Love you. Feel free to visit the desert south. (www.extractthehumor.blogspot.com)
The boys of Essa.
Us girls stayed clothed.
Camels walking along the beach.
My Chaco's, aka my saving grace(s).
Friday, November 5, 2010
In Service Training.
Yep, we're 8 months in country so we have a week of training in Marrakech. This training is full of information and shenanigans. Enjoy the photos.
Socorra and her souk prom outfit, complete with her Camps sweatshirt and her A's hat.
Jancy and I eating Thai/ Japanese food in Kech. Amazing.
Soco and I went to church, then McDonalds, then onto the bar. It was a good night.
Steven and I before Souk Prom.
Prom court.
My family (aka my parents).
Socorra and her souk prom outfit, complete with her Camps sweatshirt and her A's hat.
Jancy and I eating Thai/ Japanese food in Kech. Amazing.
Soco and I went to church, then McDonalds, then onto the bar. It was a good night.
Steven and I before Souk Prom.
Prom court.
My family (aka my parents).
A Field Trip.
As a part of our In Service Training we are at this week in Marrakech, the environment stage broke up into groups and visited some places of interest in and around Kech. My group visit a women's association in a village just outside the medina that focuses on social development issues with an income generating part. It was great to talk with them, get some ideas and eat some delicious homemade snacks!
Happy Halloween to me.
This Halloween was not filled with pumpkins and fright but thanks to a great care package from Miss Natalie Rada, my Halloween included some Halloween themed Mac and Cheese.
It made my holiday :) Thanks Natalie.
Halloween shaped Mac and Cheese. Yummy.
Thanks for the box!
It made my holiday :) Thanks Natalie.
Halloween shaped Mac and Cheese. Yummy.
Thanks for the box!
Friday, October 29, 2010
My Favorite TV Show Characters
As many of your know, Peace Corps allots ample time to explore one's outside interests. Common choices among PCV's are cooking, baking, reading, yoga and TV show/ movie watching. I have explored all of these and right now, I am on my TV show kick. I have 350GB of movies and TV shows for my leisure and I wanted to use this post as an ode/ tribute to some of my favorite TV show characters who help pass hours of boredom and provide entertainment in times of need. Thanks a bunch!
Sheldon Cooper:
This neurotic Big Bang Theory character makes physics funny and helps explain the awkward science friendships I have had throughout my undergraduate career in science. I love him. Plus, it doesn't hurt that he is nerd-guy cute.
Jim Parsons, looking good.
Sheldon Cooper (played by Jim Parsons)
Ari Gold:
This erratic Entourage character is perfectly played by the handsome Jeremy Piven. Always ready for an insane comment and a curse word, he makes being mean look fun!
Ari Gold (played by Jeremy Piven)
Sheldon Cooper:
This neurotic Big Bang Theory character makes physics funny and helps explain the awkward science friendships I have had throughout my undergraduate career in science. I love him. Plus, it doesn't hurt that he is nerd-guy cute.
Jim Parsons, looking good.
Sheldon Cooper (played by Jim Parsons)
Ari Gold:
This erratic Entourage character is perfectly played by the handsome Jeremy Piven. Always ready for an insane comment and a curse word, he makes being mean look fun!
Ari Gold (played by Jeremy Piven)
A Weekend of Much Needed (Much Deserved) Fun.
This past week/ weekend was spent in a booming Moroccan city just outside Ouarzazet. About ten times bigger than I expected, it was the perfect place to host our Volunteer Support Network training in the home of our new VSN president, Wes.
This past month has been trying in regards to friendships in country and VSN training was a great weekend of learning to support one another and most importantly learning how to support myself while I am living in Morocco.
We covered a lot of awesome strategies, stories and some much needed time together, away from the hype and stress of life in the bled (village). I am eternally grateful! We also made an afternoon visit to the Tordra gorge and then got rained on :) So is life.
Here are some photos for your entertainment!
Before heading out to get some dinner in town and a visit to the new french pastry shop.
A delicious french pastry!
Hanging out in the gorge.
This past month has been trying in regards to friendships in country and VSN training was a great weekend of learning to support one another and most importantly learning how to support myself while I am living in Morocco.
We covered a lot of awesome strategies, stories and some much needed time together, away from the hype and stress of life in the bled (village). I am eternally grateful! We also made an afternoon visit to the Tordra gorge and then got rained on :) So is life.
Here are some photos for your entertainment!
Before heading out to get some dinner in town and a visit to the new french pastry shop.
A delicious french pastry!
Hanging out in the gorge.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
MIZ Z's OU.
Yep my (our) Missouri Tigers beat up on Oklahoma last Saturday leading the Tigers to the first win over Oklahoma in 10 years. It also makes Mizzou 7-0 for the first time since the 60's and only the 3rd time EVER. We also set the GameDay attendance record. Go Tigers.
Next weekend we play Nebraska. Cannot wait.
MIZ-ZOU! Go Tigers.
Next weekend we play Nebraska. Cannot wait.
MIZ-ZOU! Go Tigers.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
MIZ- Beat Ou.
This weekend my Missouri Tigers are taking on the Oklahoma Sooners in the battle of the decade. I cannot believe I am missing it. After a crazy previous weekend in college football (Number 1 OSU getting knocked off by Wisconsin and Mizzou beating A&M) ESPN College Gameday is coming to Columbia, Missouri. I cannot believe it.
College football Saturdays have been a staple in the Stuckel household as long as I can remember and saying my dad is a college football fan is an understatement. His fandom reaches its pinacle when it comes to his Alma Matter, the Missouri Tigers.
This Friday, thousands of people will flood the city of Columbia to celebrate a time honored tradition, Homecoming, and watch Mizzou take on Oklahoma. After all, Missouri started Homecoming in 1891 when Chester Brewer invited former Tigers to "come home" and watching Mizzou take on kU. (http://www.mizzou.com/s/1002/index.aspx?sid=1002&gid=1&pgid=569)
The sea of gold, the tiger tails driving down I-70 and the coolers packed with Missouri's finest brews will tell the entire state that this is Homecoming weekend and that the Missouri Tigers are down to do business in Faurot.
To all my fellow Tigers, I am so bummed about missing Homecoming and Gameday but I know you will celebrate in my honor. Pop a Budweiser for me, please. Don't worry though, I will be ESPNing all day saturday to not miss a moment.
Fight tigers fight for old Mizzou, right behind you EVERYONE is with you!
Happy Homecoming Mizzou and lets beat OU!
Meg and I enjoying the rainstorm of Homecoming 2007.
Homecoming 2008.
Danielle and I doing what we do best, tailgating.
Laura, Whitney and I at the game.
My family tailgating Homecoming 2009.
College football Saturdays have been a staple in the Stuckel household as long as I can remember and saying my dad is a college football fan is an understatement. His fandom reaches its pinacle when it comes to his Alma Matter, the Missouri Tigers.
This Friday, thousands of people will flood the city of Columbia to celebrate a time honored tradition, Homecoming, and watch Mizzou take on Oklahoma. After all, Missouri started Homecoming in 1891 when Chester Brewer invited former Tigers to "come home" and watching Mizzou take on kU. (http://www.mizzou.com/s/1002/index.aspx?sid=1002&gid=1&pgid=569)
The sea of gold, the tiger tails driving down I-70 and the coolers packed with Missouri's finest brews will tell the entire state that this is Homecoming weekend and that the Missouri Tigers are down to do business in Faurot.
To all my fellow Tigers, I am so bummed about missing Homecoming and Gameday but I know you will celebrate in my honor. Pop a Budweiser for me, please. Don't worry though, I will be ESPNing all day saturday to not miss a moment.
Fight tigers fight for old Mizzou, right behind you EVERYONE is with you!
Happy Homecoming Mizzou and lets beat OU!
Meg and I enjoying the rainstorm of Homecoming 2007.
Homecoming 2008.
Danielle and I doing what we do best, tailgating.
Laura, Whitney and I at the game.
My family tailgating Homecoming 2009.
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