a new baby and global warming

A new baby and global warming
I woke up to a brisk morning and found only the youngest sister moving about. Quickly I was brought up to date. My other sister who lives nearby went into labor early this morning. We ate breakfast quickly and hustled to the clinic on the top of the hill. Once there we waited patiently and my host sister drenched me in a strong perfume. We waged whether it would be a girl or a boy. The family was pretty sure it would be a boy. I had a strong feeling that it would be a girl but we all decided either way the baby will be loved and we were all excited.
I brought my Where There Is No Doctor book to the clinic in case something went wrong. Let me first tell you about this book. This is a village health care handbook that covers everything from diarrhea to tuberculosis. It explains procedure in simple words with aid of very detailed drawings, some of which I wish I had not seen. I could learn how to build an outdoor latrine, making sure it is well ventilated, how to put in a catheter and even scarier how to perform circumcisions; if the occasion just happened to present itself. I have no medical background but with this book I should be able to handle any of those procedures. Or so it claims. The only thing far scarier than the Where There Is No Doctor book just might be Where There Is No Dentist which does actually exist. Another important lesson that the book states in bold that I wanted to share is, DO NOT GET YOUR CHILDREN USED TO DRINKING CARBONATED BEVERAGES.
The thought of using the book made me sick. I’m not a fan of blood or pus so I’d rather not partake in medical procedures but if someone has to I suppose I would. Luckily the mid wife was perfectly capable and my fears were subsided.
I found myself picking the place apart. The one bathroom was filthy, there was blood on the floors, they were un-swept, and it was cold. The baby would be cold. The fire was started and the rooms were smoke filled. To start the fire my sister suggested throwing in a large plastic bottle. I looked at the clinic person for comfort seeing if she thought it was a bad idea to be burning plastic in an enclosed space where a child was just born. I received a blank stare as she sat at her desk, her head resting lazily on her hand. She saw no problem with it or why it might be a problem and just said, it’s going to go up the pipe anyways.
The baby was born into a world of melting plastic and cheap perfume.
I know burning plastic isn’t a direct influence on global warming but what about pollution, cancer, resperatory problems? I actually was a little aggravated and said in English in an overwhelmed mixture of concern and frustration with the problems of pollution and the diminishing quality of our environments health, “What about Global Warming!?” Then I laughed at myself for being irrational. In this moment a truth manifested itself to me. Teaching the concept of global warming and climate change and pollution to a majority of the world is extremely difficult and calls for a basis of understanding of some basic principles in science and environment. Teaching global warming to people who have never had the opportunity for education would, as I imagine, be mind boggling and appear foolish. We are expected the world to make a change and take on more environmental choices. The ones who have the opportunity and I believe the responsibility to do so is the wealthy, educated countries. Those who have the ability to make some sacrifices and chances, those countries that significantly influence others. The underdeveloped and developing worlds are consuming our products, our plastic products, our un-biodegradable, polluting products. This is being done at such an alarming rate and without any education of its harmful effects or proper disposal methods. Burning of plastic is very much a part of daily life.
There was however a valuable lesson learned about fire safety, the danger of carbon dioxide poisoning. My host mother wasn’t aware that it’s important to have a room well ventilated. How fire eats oxygen, a vital component to our survival. She just thought because you are cold you start a fire and close the doors and that’s fine. We sit in smoke filled rooms often.
While the father patiently waited outside, the baby was born around 3 pm. It was a girl and she would forever be called Maysam. She is truly beautiful, as babies are. She came with a full set of black hair.
After the baby was born I went over the mid wife’s house to hang out for a bit. We made friends. She is my age and is studying Economics in Meknes. She speaks English pretty well and we agreed to meet up often.

Aid-el-Kbir

December 9, 2008


*Reader discretion is advised. Once again the thoughts in this blog are mine and not that of Peace Corps. I am responsible for the words I write and take full responsibility. It is also important to keep in mind that I am a bordering vegetarian and my views are as I know rather subjective in this entry.


Setting of the stage:


Today the Islamic world celebrated its yearly sacrificial feast. It is known in Morocco as the “Great Feast” similar to our Thanksgiving in that regard. It was derived from the feast of atonement in which Abraham sacrificed a ram. As the story goes, Abraham was about to sacrifice his only son to demonstrate his faith and submission to God when fortunately a ram appeared in a nearby thicket. God spoke to Abraham, that he needs not to sacrifice his son, instead a ram would do. This is the same story as Abraham and Isaac in Christian and Jewish traditions. If you are still unfamiliar with the story and prefer a lyrical interpretation of the event I suggest listening to the song Abraham by Sufjan Stevens on their Seven Swans album. It is short and to the point. The whole album is worth listening to, yet questionably not as good as the album, Illinois: Sufjan Steven’s Invites You To Come On And Feel The Illinois. Okay, on with it…
The animal according to principle must be mature and without blemish. Each family must have its own sheep for the sacrifice or if one cannot afford a sheep a goat or a less expensive animal will suffice.


Prior to sacrifice, the people must purify and sanctify themselves. Personal cleanliness is practiced and men typically get a haircut and occasionally women apply henna. Henna serves the purpose of not only cosmetic purposes but also is believed to protect against evil influences. Some even paint henna on the sheep before the sacrifice. Following the feast, almsgiving and prayer ensue. The chief praying ceremony takes place in the morning at the mosque.
The Quran instructs that animals which are sacrificed should not suffer. Prayers and respect are offered to the animal. Other animals should be witness the sacrifice and the neck is to be cut with a sharp knife in one clean stroke. The animal is bled at sacrifice since blood is a cultural medium. The single stroke across the jugulars and carotids sufficiently reduces blood flow to the brain so that the animal is rendered senseless. Humane sacrifice and exsanguinations are similar qualities of ‘halal’ and ‘kosha’ meat. It is a time of humility in which practicing Muslims are expected to provide for the poor and reconcile differences within families and communities.
On the first day the liver, heart stomach and lungs are eaten within hours of sacrifice. At night the head and feet are eaten and the rest of the meat is spread out over the remaining week, sometimes even preserved through sun drying for a whole year.

The First and Final Act:



The night before our sacrifice, someone from town delivered a sheep to our house as part of almsgiving. We already had purchased a sheep however and it was decided the gift sheep would be kept as a pet for a year and be sacrificed the following year. It was far too skinny to provide sufficient protein anyways.

We woke up around 7:30 and had a breakfast of sweets. There was a lot of movement in town and there was a heightened frequency of animal sounds. My sisters and I quickly visited some relatives and around 10 the slaughter was to begin. In Morocco one cannot begin their slaughter until the king has performed his. On television we watched as the king dressed all in white slaughtered two massive rams which put the size of our sheep to shame. His rams were decorated in henna and had on a garter of orange flowers around its neck. With a white sheet protecting the king from the rams, and four men holding it down the task was handled quickly.
In most cases the man of the household would perform the ritual but as my father is blind that would not work out. Instead, the husband of one of my sisters and our cousin came to the house to help out.

I was not sure how I would react and was not sure if I was ready for what I was about to see.
The sheep was carried out of the barn with some resistance and laid on its side outside in the open courtyard near the drain and bathroom. I probably shouldn’t have but I looked into her eyes. I don’t know if I am giving sheep more credit in terms of awareness of preceding events but I swear she knew what was about to happen and she had an almost passive 'I give up look in her eyes'. Maybe it was my sadness reflecting in her eyes but I felt for her. This was going to be harder than I thought.



My family wanted me to take pictures of the event. I was excited at the chance of capturing such a cultural celebration but it was difficult.
Before I knew it the knife was slashed across the sheep’s neck, a lot smoother than I thought it would be. Immediately blood started streaming from the sheep’s neck, and convulsions soon followed. For minutes following, the animal with its neck slashed kicked its legs with such intensity as if it was caught in a nightmare and trying to escape with full force across an open field from an antagonizing predator.

The blood was drained from the animal and quickly washed away into the drain by my host mother and sister. They tried to keep the mess down to a minimum. Some of the blood was saved in a large red cap but I am not sure where that went afterwards. I pulled away from the scene, as far from the event as I could be in the limited space provided. Leaning up against the wall my family looked at me to see how I was doing. I tried to appear okay but I was horrified, sad and felt bad for my fellow member of the animal kingdom.

The animal continued to convulse so rapidly that it was spinning itself around in circles on its side, blood spurting about. After most of the commotion was completed, the head was completely severed from the body and immediate my host mother took it into the kitchen and placed it on the fire, searing off the hair and preparing it for future consumption. Following, my brother in-law broke off a branch from the nearby tree and sharpened one end of it. A slit was cut in one of the hind legs and the stick was then placed in the hole and moved around to provide a passage way for air to be blown through. He put his lips to the slit and blew in air and the sheep expanded just like a puffer fish or a balloon would. This is done so that the skin can easily be separated from the meat. With the aid of the knife and downward thrust of his fist, the skin was easily separated in one clean piece from the animal. The hind legs were than broken and tied together to be used to hang the animal upside down on a hook to continue the dissection. At this point our cousin had arrived with his set of knives and the stomach was opened.



The insides were extracted carefully. Intestines pulled out away from the body as not to contaminate the rest of the animal. The intestines are removed from a distance as to reduce the transmission of brucella (an inhaled pathogen). The heart, liver, lungs and such were placed in a plastic bucket nearby.
It was then discovered that the sheep was pregnant. I had a feeling prior to sacrifice this might be the case as the utters seemed swollen. Maybe that is why it was fighting so hard. It was suffering the loss of not only its life but that of its unborn child. The sack in which the baby was in was taken out and placed on the ground and then opened up. The baby was small and did not yet mature to the stage of having any hair but was in the form of a sheep none the less. The neck was slit and it laid there. Everyone felt bad but all were interested in seeing it. It was a good opportunity for an impromptu science lesson. With the chilly air, steam from the freshly opened body churned in the air.

The whole operation was fast. This I was thankful for. The smell which filled the rest of the day however was a constant reminder of the events which occurred prior. All day long the head was placed over a pot of water to steam on the wood stove in the main sitting room. Smells of burning flesh, hair and internal organs filled the air everywhere I went. In the kitchen the internals were placed on a grill plate and cooked over the fire. Intestines placed on the handle of a wooden spoon, turned inside out to clean and then placed on the fire. Liver was chopped into small pieces, wrapped in fat and thrown on a skewer.

I was handed a piece of intestine and a piece of bread. With the intentions to not offend I took the smallest piece of intestine, largest piece of bread and ate it as quickly as possible. It must be a delicacy. The only parts not eaten it seems are the brain. This the cats ate.


That was about all I could handle for the day and ate mostly bread. I could not get the image out of my head. I missed the distant connection between me and my meat. I don’t really eat a lot of meat as it is but seeing the action made me feel that much worse about my meat eating habits. It is not something that I need to survive. It seems unnecessary. I am more of the berry and nut eating variety I suppose.
It was nice to find out that not everyone enjoys eating the insides. My host mother wouldn’t eat them as well as another friend of mine in the village. I suppose having to prepare it all morning might turn one off. I am grateful that I did not witness any excessive pressure about eating the meat. That whole day and the following two nights I experienced reoccurring flashbacks of the event and I am still literally digesting it all.


I must say that in this entry I do not wish to offend or demote the ritual. I understand its significance and I know that everyday millions of animals are slaughtered for consumption all around the world, even excessively in my own country which actually uses less humane methods, but I am sympathetic towards my meat. If anyone has any information about veganism please send it my way. This might be my best option for personal food consumption happiness.

“Day of the first big snow”

December 2
I wake up in the morning to a foot and a half of snow layered out over my village like a fresh coat of vanilla frosting. School was cancelled because the roads were covered and the two plows in the region didn’t make it this way.
After a round of snow ball fights with the children outside I piled on the clothes and begun my trek to Ifrane. I had plans the day before to go with my site mate and another PCV nearby. We were determined to make it. We began our 4-5 mile hike around 12:30. The scenery around us was pristine and unscathed. Everything took on the appearance of a black and white photograph. All that was visible was white snow, and the wet, saturated tree trunks. The sky, having dropped off all it had to offer on the ground was now beaming sunlight.

We had begun walking through the forest towards the waterfall and stream nearby which had nearly doubled in size due to the past months of heavy rain.

On the way to Ifrane we saw two donkeys basking in the winter sun, trying to keep each other warm. Both had their front legs tied together which is common here so that they do not run away, however the technique provides them with the freedom to roam around larger spaces of land.

Up on a hill away from the road we spotted a group of boys skiing down a small slope. The younger children all stood up on the top of the snow mound watching the older kids ski down. One of the boys skied down to us and asked if we wanted to go for a run and we couldn’t pass up the offer. We climbed up the hill and traded in our snow soaked boots for a pair of ski shoes a few sizes too big. I was a little worried about the steep terrain and oversized boots but I made it down successfully none the less. After one run we thanked the young boys and were on our way, continuing our journey to Ifrane.

There were very few people whom we encountered on the unplowed street but we did come across a man and women walking from Ifrane back into their village. I was shocked a little when I saw that the women was carrying a large bag in each hand and one on her back as the man held nothing. He appeared to be in good shape and able. This is a common scenario I witness. Women do most of the heavy work.
Finally, our journey ended around 4:30 when we arrived to our destination in Ifrane. By this point the post office had closed and most of the tasks which we needed to accomplish had to be postponed as the sun was going down and most businesses had shut down for the day. Fatigued, cold and rather hungry we decided to stay with a friend’s family in Ifrane and carry on with what we needed to do the next day.

“Sheep”

December 1
We bought a sheep today but soon it will be dead. More on that later…

“Adjusting to the shower experience”

November 30

When I was a tot I remember taking baths with my mom in the room to supervise me. She made sure I did not drown myself in the tub and protected me from the burning sensation of shampoo in my eyes. As I grew up I enjoyed taking baths alone without any supervision. I would use the time to relax. I can turn on my music, maybe even light a candle and lay in the tub for a good while. Perhaps I might even read a book if I feel I am in need of an extra wind down.
Being here, I am once again reliving my childhood. No longer am I the independent self sufficient woman that I believed I was. With my limited vocabulary and comprehension I have a hard time articulating what I feel, need, want and don’t want. My family believes I am a young child who does not know the ways of the world. So when it came to bathing, I most certainly needed supervision.
It had been 8 days since my last bath. You might be disgusted to read this but let me assure you it is not all that bad. Being in the cold, I do not sweat and the thought of taking off layers of clothing to change sounds torturous. Towards the 7th day however you do begin to feel a little itchy. So on the 7th night, after dinner I mentioned to my host mother how I was going to go to the Hammam (public baths) the next day. Assured that I would catch a cold if I go, she insisted I bathe at home. I agreed and so the next morning I woke up to find that the living room was converted into the bathing room. The carpets were removed and a large metal bucket of water was placed on the wood stove. I was instructed to remove my cloths and sit in the plastic blue bucket near the stove.
I did as I was told, the same procedures as the Hammam. Undress and take everything off except for your underwear. So I did and I sat in the bucket, not yet warm from the water. My host mother wanted to stay in the room with me so as I undressed as she was sitting on the sofa watching me and instructing me how to mix the hot and cold water in the surrounding buckets to make it the right temperature.
So there I was, naked in the bucket. We had the television on and watched French cartoons, a language which we both do not understand. I am becoming less embarrassed about a lot of things and public bathing with my host mother is one of those things I have now come to accept. She does a great job scrubbing my back and I always leave feeling clean. What more can you ask for.