The Zawid

As I was in the process of writing the last blog post I got a phone call from my counterpart asking me to come to my new house. I hurry over there and turns out she has already started construction. I was really worried about "moroccan time" and whether or not it would be done by the July 1 move in date. Today they made two new windows through the concrete blocks and installed what will soon be the countertop in my kitchen. I was amazed. The added bonus to this whole excursion was that she even asked me what color/ type of tiles I wanted for the kitchen, entry way and bathroom. She told me that it was mine and she wanted me to feel at home. I thought that was great. Next she is asking me about moving the electrical box and I am trying to tell her I dont care where it is, as long as its out of the bathroom. Suprise, in walks her brother from Rabat who is FLUENT in English. I am so happy he was there because during my extensive language tranining we just hadnt quite got to housing lingo. I haven't yet mastered ventilation, sconce, light fixture, electrical box, hazard and tile in Tashlheet. I cant wait to see how the whole place turns out.

After we finish up at the house, we head over to Msaida's house. I have known all along that this place has some religious meaning to the community and that they was a tomb of a very spiritual and good woman (their version of a Saint) in the town and that Msaida and her family were responsible for the care and protection of it. This place is called Zawid. As soon as we get there, I realize that something is going on. This has happened once before, like the first few days I was at post and I didn't know enough people or Tashlheet to really understand what was going on.

What is happening is the beginnings of a celebration for the deceased women in the tomb. There must be 20 women and at least that many men in the compound. I immedately grab a seat next to the ladies that I trust the most and speak the Tash that I understand. Within 5 minutes, two very zween (an arabic word that means pretty, classy, put together, beautiful, ect) women walk up to me and introduce themselves in english. YES! Whenever these people are with me in situations where I am confused I rejoyce that they will be able to explain to me what is going on. These two women live in Rabat and were so excited I was in Ait Erkha, I was American and I spoke English and Tash. (As a side note, the people of the villages call Tashlheet Shilha. Its a strong pride point for them and when foreginers speak their language they become overcome with joy and admiration. Its the guarenteed way to get a good price or a favor in Southern Morocco).

Here is what I learned from the awesome Rabat ladies. The Zawid contains the bodies of three women. They are all related in one way or another. The most recent of them died and was buried at the Zawid on May 3rd (explaining the last party I went to on the 6th of May). They are essentially very holy and spiritual women (a lesser equilivent of a Saint). There are a couple of cool things. First the families of these women are supposidly decendants of the Prophet himself. There are 5 main families in Morocco that are distant descendants of the Prophet (not including the King's family). This particular family has a long Arabic name I cannot remember and dumbly forgot to write down. They are the "family" that rules the Southern part of Morocco and includes the Western Sahara. This family was important to Southern Morocco in fighting off French occupation as well as fighting to maintain control of the Wester Sahara (which is still under conflict today). This family gained a lot of credibility during the early 1900's by being well educated and very spiritual. These three women are just very holy and special women that the people of Southern Morocco hold in high esteem. Thus the Zawid.

I also found out some cool information about my counterpart and her families relation to this power family belonging to the three women buried in the tomb. Apparently the grandmother of my counterpart and her sisters, who live in the Zawid, were "slaves" (I am not sure if that word translated correctly) or servants of this family. The family took this new servant family in as their own and the close family ties began. So my counterpart and her family that live in the Zawid are not blood related to the women in the tombs but instead the close family friends that have been integrated into that family.

All in all I think its a pretty cool story of how these awesome women were so special that they get their own tombs where a couple of times a year their families, friends and members of the community come to worship and pay respects to these women. On another note, I mentioned before that the weather has changed drastically in the last few days. Turns out the three celebrations, including the last burial in May, the weather was nice for the few days before then became cold and overcast during the celebration. A lot of the people in the Zawid found this extremely spiritual and I personally think it is pretty cool. It is another reaffirmation of faith for these believers.

Today the party continued with over 200+ people and at least 30 women cooking. I cannot even begin to explain the insanity that was today. Lots and lots of women running around cooking, cleaning, making tea, serving tea, wow. The men were in seperate rooms, as usual and the women were busy running back and forth to bring them tea, bread and other snacks before lunch. The day before I was told to come for "lunch" which basically ranges from noon until 5pm and can happen anytime in that timeframe. I played it on the safe side and headed to the post office before hand around noon, (thanks for the package Aunt Ruth), then headed to the Zawid. About 4:30pm I admitted a little defeat and took a nap amist the insanity. Contrary to what you may think, it takes an enemorous amount of brainpower and energy to try and speak/ understand a new language. About 6pm I woke up and to my suprise, no even everyone had eaten. I headed to see my host mom and counterpart who were in a smaller room buchering the newly killed sheep. I had to leave the room. I have always eaten meet, seen a dead deer or two but I guess I had never been present for the actual dismantling. It was not pleasent only reaffirming my decision to eat as little sheep as possible around here. Then my mom handed me a back full of dead sheep parts (including the head) and asked me to walk it back to the house. I gagged and then my mom presented me with an option, either take the bag of dead sheep parts of stay in the room and help my counterpart take apart the rest of the sheep, I choose the bag. I had to stop twice because I thought I might throw up from the smell but I eventually made it to my house. Needless to say this was not the hilight of my day.

When I got back to the house I just cleaned some dishes, prepared some cous cous plates, help cut up some fruit and was getting ready to head out when someone noticed that I hadnt eaten yet. Darn. Not eating is comporable to a sin around here and its just not an option. I was hoping in the insanity of the day that the women had forgotten about the blue eyed American and I could escape without eating a mound of food, I was wrong. What I did sucessfully do was trade my giant plate of cous cous for some watermelon, melon, bananas and oranges. This way I was "eating" but not eating so much I felt like I would fall over.

The greatest lesson learned during this party was a lesson taught to me by the great James Cameron movie, Titanic. For those of you who remember the movie, Jack is a poor man, he lives in the steerage section of the boat. Rose is wealthy and lives in the "classier" part of the boat. In one scene Jack and Rose leave the classier dinner party for a more fun party below ship. This is when I first realized that life is more fun in "steerage". There are many real world examples of this but two main ones cross my mind during my time in Morocco. The first was the thank you party we had for our training host families. The men wanted to seperate themselves because they didnt want to party and celebrate with the women, this turned out great for us. With the men gone the women were so full of life, joking around, playing games and having the time of their lives. The men on the other hand sat in the room and stared at themselves for an hour. Not fun.

The second time was the party mentioned above! The classier women from Rabat who were direct discendents of the women buried had their own sepearte rooms and I kept getting taken into them. Some of them spoke English which was the only saving grace of the room, but in general they were less celebratory than the rest of the women in the other rooms. Whenever possible I escaped to where the women of the village were, in and near the kitchen. This was where the real party was. All of the women were goofing around, making jokes, being silly and having fun. Life is really more fun in "steerage".

Overall everyone of these cultural events I go to allows me to meet more people and integrate better in the community. I did get two guys who asked me for my phone number (which is a MUCH bigger deal in Morocco than it is in the states) and I kindly avoided the question playing dumb with my Tash (this strategy is only going to work for so much longer, so I have to use it while I can). I do like the chance to get my face out there and get many of the questions people have answered by my counterpart and friends in the village since I am the first volunteer they have ever had. It also reminds me of the great family parties, holiday celebrations, ect that I cannot wait to return home to.

Love ya.