Communal Elections

Voting
I witnessed my first elections here in Morocco. Every 6 years communal elections take place and this year in particular was revolutionary for Morocco. While visiting a fellow Peace Corps volunteer in her site and hanging out with our Moroccan friends we were able to participate in the preparation and aftermath of the elections. This year there was a strong push to fight against the corruption and get it out of the system. It was not easy my Moroccan friends informed to me. The days leading up to the election and the day of elections a lot of money, rocks and dirty words are thrown around as people try to convince one another to vote for their representative.

Corruption has become a norm in Moroccan life and politics. Particularly during the time of elections vast amounts of the illicit giving of money, promises, power and merchandise are used to persuade voters and vote counters. Sadly, violence also occurs on some levels.

“For instance, on Sunday, June 31, in the region of El-Attaouia, municipality of Kelaat Sraghna (south of Morocco), an electoral candidate accompanied by an authority assistant (Mqadem) were distributing money to people of the province when, suddenly, the local authorities of the Royal Gendarmerie arrested them with a sum of money estimated at 300 million centimes (approximately € 265686.29) . The detainee who is named Ennakaz L'Arbi, one of the elders and a former member of the municipal council of El-Attaouia, is a candidate belonging to The Istiqlal party whose leader is Abbas El Fassi, the Moroccan prime minister.

In the town of Mediouna, near Casablanca, violent clashes have also broken out between supporters of The Istiqlal party and those of Authenticity and Modernity, which lead to burning a barn and a house in the ownership of a candidate belonging to Authenticity and Modernity party. What is more, some people have tried to burn a fuel station in the same town
To conclude, it should be noted that the number of arrests related to elections has reached 320 accused. The majority of them are accused of using money in order to win over voters, exploiting the property of the State, and causing violence.”

Although this is slightly disturbing but surprisingly accurate a change is occurring as we speak. In this small town that I witnessed the elections in I am proud to report that the party fighting against corruption won in a few parts of town. Young people and old were chanting we need the change in opposition to some scary corrupt and powerful figures. It was reminiscent of my calls for the need for change with Obama. Corruption is not an easy thing to fight but with the support of the community, joining together and recognizing the inequalities currently in the system much can be done. This is a victory for parts of the town. While this one particular man won in a certain part of town, 8 others were also elected for different sections of town. I was told that 4 out of the 9 are not corrupt, a change they say, and a change it is even if it looks insignificantly low.

Another victory in the Moroccan communal elections is that of the progress and inclusion of women in the political system. Thousands of women ran for local council this year, an unprecedented number which is trying to fill the new female quota. The government wants to boost the current 127 women in council positions to over 3,300. This will give Moroccan the largest amount of female elected officials in any Arab country. The political spectrum has normally been an all mans club and for some women, this is their first attempt to enter the patriarchal arena.

The increased encouragement for women to enter politics is made possible by the new 2004 amendments to Morocco’s Family Law by King Mohammad VI, which granted men and women equal rights in important arenas. Not only is this good for Morocco but also boosted the King’s popularity with the International community, standing as a role model on equal gender rights for Arab countries.

The spaces reserved for women across the country were overflowing with candidates as women were embracing the opportunity to make a change in their communities, in their country. The elections in the town I viewed elected two females for seats. Victorious. The only fear that I have of women being thrown into these positions is that many are not qualified or educated which could potentially be a threat to the success of other women in future elections. It is an amazing feat that they are in these positions but it is more than just filling status quo. This is a true opportunity for change and I wish all candidates, male and female the best of luck in the battle against corruption and for changes that help empower and raise their people and country.

Interweaving

Carpets, carpets, carpets. Morocco is sure not in a shortage of floor coverings. Carpets galore, colors, patterns, wool and more. There are so many carpets to choose from in this country that it is hard not to associate Morocco with their carpets. I would even go so far as to say the country has enough rugs to swathe the Great Wall of China. The market is so heavily saturated that there seems to be no room to infiltrate the booming trade unless your product goes above the norm.
In Zaouiat we also make carpets but carpets of a particular variety. Women typically recycle old sweaters and unwind them into balls of yarn and weave them into home décor. Due to this, the rugs appear aged and the colors generally would not appeal to the general public, unless of course you are a backpacking, antique collecting daughter of a hippy. Carpets are also difficult for tourists to take with them and tend to be on the more expensive side of gifts to bring home. To be prepared to enter the market with our product many improvements and financial investments would have to take part. This did not appear to me to be a good option with the competitive market in which we are a part of. What about new ideas, new projects, something that is not easily found, something we already have the knowledge and materials to create?
I held a meeting with the interested women of Zaouiat to do a rough market assessment. In Zaouiat we do not have a shortage of sheep or knowledge of natural dyes and wool spinning. We also live in a cold climate and the town nearby attracts many winter tourists who frequent the ski slopes in the vicinity. Surprisingly however, winter wear is not easily available and what is available are products from Spain or France. Almost all women know how to knit or crochet. Putting these factors together we have now decided to delve into the creation of a new line of winter wear via knitting and crochet utilizing local wool when possible. Women seem excited and we have begun knitting and crochet classes. I gave one of my knitted caps to my neighbor and within a few days she had replicated it to a T. I feel that this will be a promising activity and even if we do not make a large profit women will be able to suit up their children in homemade warmth which in the end would save money for the family. It is encouraging to see women creating already just after one workshop. Many who missed our previous meetings have even approached me in interest. As long as the ball keeps rolling and interests hold this could be a very promising activity. This summer will hopefully be spent in the stage of creativity and production which should be ready for a new line in late fall or early winter.
It has even inspired me to delve into the world of crafts farther than I previously would be comfortable to admit. Researching knitting and crochet patterns has brought to my attention just how large the underground scene of young knitters is these days. Many people it seems are still getting their knit on with group gatherings of stitching and bitching as they say. Using local products will also hopefully boost the value of our product to the market which I hope is becoming more conscious of product origin. So as you read this we are getting our knit on.

Homes

In February I moved into my first place and the freedom was immense. As much as I love my host family and still greatly do it was nice to be able to get back on a schedule that slightly resembled my previous life. I was able to eat what and when I wanted, sleep during hours that suited my internal clock, decorate a space that I could call me own and play my music to the loudest my laptop can allow.
The house was modest to say the least. I had a bedroom, small living room, kitchen and a bathroom. During the cold months in which I lived in said house I slept in the small living room next to the fireplace. I more or less took up residence in one room of the house only escaping to the kitchen for a glass of hot coco. The walls were painted a pale yellow, floors were cold cement. There was one window in the kitchen with a view of the Cedar Mountains. I became attached to having my own place but difficulties ensued due to the harshness of this past winter. I had severe water leakage from the snow and rain storms that saturated my house. Even with weeks of clear blue skies my house would not dry and everything began to mold and decompose. My new box of white envelopes was all sealed shut, my clothes became cold and moist and the pages of my books were cornering.
The entrance to my home was also not secure to my liking. The front of the house was made up of nailed scraps of wood with a door locked by a child’s pad lock. With a space open at the bottom of the door I witnessed mischievous cats escape through the front door when I would return home. One day, children, being unsupervised children, tore down a few of the front panels which I must admit was all too easy to accomplish. After this incident I decided there must be a better home for me.
My site mate was leaving soon as her term was about to expire so I took up residence with her and now am living in her house which is a step up. Her apartment is all well tiled, much grander in scale and has a double lock metal door and many windows to enjoy the morning sun. I feel secure and have more room than I know what to do with. It consists of a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, entrance parlor and much larger living room where I even found a place to set up a desk to write this blog.
The house is also located near the river and I can enjoy the sounds of rushing water when I fall asleep and the sounds of donkeys braying when I wake. My new home is also large enough to host visitors so for those interested in a visit you are more than welcome and you will be accommodated as if you were a king in my village. I am glad I can share pictures with you but I would be thrilled to have you in my company in my first official house to myself. As the Moroccans would say MrHaba (your welcome).

One man says it well

Education beyond the books
A recent visit to Morocco brings to light a common humanity
Chase GunnellThe Daily Evergreen 02/25/2009

MARRAKESH, Morocco – No carefully crafted word or scenic photograph could do it justice. An oasis for the senses, Morocco captures your mind and tugs at your soul.
Islamic prayer calls echo from mosques five times daily, mixing with the beat of African drums. The taste of kebabs, mint tea, honey and other more alien cuisines. The fragrant smell of incense and hashish, mixed with the scent of sweat, donkeys and motorbike exhaust. The sight of orange groves and golden minarets. The feel of the scorching desert sun overhead and dusty streets underfoot.
It is a place of blinding contrast. There is abject poverty in the market alleys and Ferraris parked outside the Royal Gardens. Women are covered head-to-toe in traditional Muslim dress, walking with men wearing Gucci jeans. Whole chickens are roasted over open flames and are eaten by hand, only blocks from KFC.
As a white American in Arabic Africa, to me, Morocco felt otherworldly. A place far beyond the familiar, marching to a very different beat. But it’s a beat that is entirely captivating.
My Moroccan education began in the chaotic and crowed alleys of Djemaa el Fna, Africa’s largest marketplace. A giant square at the base of the Koutoubia Mosque, the Djemaa is an anthill of activity.
Wandering among the forceful hustling of orange juice sellers, kebab venders, snake charmers, fortune tellers and black market dealers with everything from fake designer brands to leopard skins, it’s a trial by fire. But one that leaves you wiser if you make it to the other side.
Adhan, the Islamic prayer call, rings out over the city every few hours. It’s beautiful when it’s not waking you up at 5 a.m.
Observing a man dismount his bicycle in the middle of the sidewalk, remove his shoes, kneel facing Mecca and begin rigorously giving praise to Allah, I felt fortunate to experience a window into a religion grossly misunderstood by Western society.
Saturday, a bus trip to the Ouzoud waterfalls in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains brought a glimpse of Moroccan life beyond the city walls. Under snow-capped peaks, we passed sheep herders, olive groves, and Berber villages to a place of both astounding natural beauty and wrenching poverty.
The falls themselves are one of the tallest in Africa, sending cascades of water – red with African dirt – into a gorge more than 100 meters deep. But nearby is a collection of vendors and beggars living off a trickle of tourist trade.
On our final day in Marrakesh, Tony – my traveling companion from WSU – and I choose to forgo the 80 Dirham (about $10) cab ride and walk to the airport far on the outskirts of town. Leaving Africa humbly on foot seemed fitting.
Trekking through the desert, down dusty streets and past herds of camels, I contemplated my experiences in Morocco – seeing the Arab and African world up close, living meagerly, haggling for every meal, and immersing ourselves in a place so vastly different from the one we call home. It was an unparalleled cultural education.
The U.S. is at war in two Muslim countries. Our soldiers are dying in distant lands, fighting people who seem foreign and out of touch with our Western reality. We see terrorist attacks on the nightly news and cringe at an entire culture.
Truly capturing Morocco is beyond my skill as a writer. But if there’s one thing I could impart from my journey, it’s that underneath the veil of culture, religion, and dress, the people here are as human as you or me.
Travel brings one indisputable truth: Arab, African, European, American, we are all citizens of humanity. We can recognize our differences – they make life exciting – but we must learn to celebrate this universal union before petty contrasts rip us further apart.

Pup

Dogs in morocco do not wear swanky sweaters, jeweled collars, rain boots or ribbons. Mention doggie boutique and be faced with puzzlement and possibly disgust. The life of a Moroccan dog in the country is rough and unpolished. You survive if you are fit to survive. A dog is on his own in a dog biscuit less world. Some dogs do have owners but most roam around searching for a place to rest or something to eat. However, many are sick, dirty, homeless and emaciated. Without the practice of neutering or spading puppies are born like chicken eggs.
Due to the inherited instinct of territorialism and cruel treatment by children, dogs that are owned by people can be vicious and extremely dangerous. I have frequently come across such hostility on my daily runs or bike rides and had to bend down to pick up a stone for fear of my own safety. Having been bitten before I have adapted precautionary measures. Although wildly frightened of the unleashed roaming dogs I sympathize with them. I know that they are how they are because of the conditions in which they live.
Having a weakness for canine companionship I put out a word to a few friends that if they happen to come across a puppy in distress I just might be interested. This of course was much easier than I really thought at the time and within a week a friend called me about a puppy she saved in the streets. I was to meet her in a few days to get the puppy but due to common illnesses faced by young pups she passed away within a day. A few days later another friend of mine knew of a family that just had a litter of three puppies. I went to go see them and fell for one. I had to wait a few weeks to pick him up as he was too young. A week later the puppies were all eaten by another dog, he also managed to eat a chicken. The same friend found another puppy which he took in for a night and brought it to me the next day. She was beautiful with bright green eyes. I spent the whole day playing with her and thinking of a name. Finally a puppy.
After sincere contemplation I came to name her Veda after the Bhagavad-Gita. Some of the earliest Sanskrit Hindu scriptures. It directly translates to wisdom or knowledge.
The first night however she started getting sick and wouldn’t hold down food. After not eating all the next morning or afternoon I tried to at least get her to drink water. Via syringe I gave her water and chicken broth. Every effort was met with regurgitation. For two days I tried to feed her with the syringe, enticed her with tasty chicken but no improvement. She would try to run away and find a quiet spot to hide and lay. After three days of having her she passed away in the night. I have never personally handled a dead animal but it was heartbreaking.
Life is hard here as it is and taking an animal in without the proper facilities such as a veterinarian nearby it would only be more distressing to have an animal. I have wished I could have done more for Veda but she went down her path regardless. I have called off the forces on searching for a pup. Maybe in a different environment I could try again.

I saw a bloated sheep in the river today. A large balding man on a picnic with his wife tried to push it downstream with his stick, so they could continue on. She stood watching over as the sheep was entangled between the uprooted tree.
She decided at one point to continue on with the picnic knowing that this incident should be normal, she played her part slightly disgusted.

cafe culture

I have to be careful and selective. Avoid the café’s frequented by prostitutes. Sometimes when I sit alone and a man walks in and sees me I feel these are his first thoughts. Here I am, French, a lone female traveler or just maybe the quick fix he’s willing to pay for.
Mostly men walk in and sit down with their miniature coffees, smoking their cheap cigarettes, lighters strategically placed on the table. The choice seats are by the window or curbside to carelessly gaze at the passerby’s, strangers and the estranged. Young boys, men, congregate by the door. If I enter with the opposite sex, a friend, it could possibly open the door for people to converse about me or feel more comfortable to approach me if I should return unaccompanied.
The known cigarette vendor walks around ready to respond and sedate the first nicotine itch. If you’re too broke to pay the durham and a half (.18), the toxic air will be sure to sedate you. Here smoking is more than ever a mask of idleness.

Lone men, wandering, easily aroused, standing, smoking, and stalking. Idle, dull escapism.

Types of cafes in Morocco
1. Women are not allowed and you wouldn’t want to try even if you desired to make a bold gender statement. These tend to be filled with the older crowd of gentlemen all faced towards the television screen or streets. Here you will find cigarette smoke and glares.
2. If you are women you are a prostitute so don’t be expected to be treated otherwise. Generally in larger towns or cities. I find these places have the best pastries. Young men, old men, all men are here. If you go bring a friend. You don’t need to make new friends at this café.
3. Moroccan women generallywill go accompanied by a male. I can go as I am a foreigner and not feel as if I am constantly being looked at. Establishments like these are found in larger towns and cities and cater mostly towards tourists. I am not French.

open the window i'm mad as hell

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dib2-HBsF08

Rabat

It wasn’t my first time in Rabat but the first time I wasn’t confined to my hotel under Peace Corps training rules. I remember when I was there prior under those conditions and I was scared of the city. It all seemed frightening. This time I am happy to say my mind has changed about the city.
I went to Rabat to attend a three day GAD workshop. GAD stands for Gender and Development. It is a committee I am on in Peace Corps. I was selected by my stage as a representative and am thrilled about the position. Here is an overview straight out of the donkey’s mouth:
Overview
The Gender and Development (GAD) Committee is a group of eight Volunteers, representing each stage, elected by their fellow PCVs. The purpose of the committee is to ensure that gender issues and activities are incorporated into community projects. Gender includes women, men, girls and boys. GAD is an integral part of all Peace Corps programming, staff and volunteer pre-service and in-service training. As such, committee members facilitate general communication among Peace Corps staff and volunteers, community partners, and other Peace Corps countries as well as provide resources on relevant gender and development trends in Morocco.

The committee has three annual meetings, is a resource for volunteer efforts, and collaborates with Moroccan NGOs on gender issues and advocacy. Activities the GAD committee typically assists with include GGLOW (Girls and Guys Leading our World) activities and camps, regional gender and development workshops, tea talks, harassment (programming & training), International Women’s Day, Take Your Daughter or Son to Work Day, International Day to Eliminate Violence Against Women or 16 Days Campaign of Activism against Gender-based Violence, Women to Women (cross-cultural exchange curriculum), and more.
This was my first meeting and it was exciting to get away from my site for a little while and enjoy the big city life. While Rabat is nothing like New York big city life with its raves, bars and who know what’s, Rabat has nice high class restaurants, bars which is surprising since alcohol is not tolerated in Islam and some museums. While most of the big city life things are out of the range of my Peace Corps budget, I found some ways to enjoy the city. I spent a few nights hanging out with some Full Bright scholars that I was introduced to and experienced their life in Morocco. We went to the international film festival the first two nights. First film was an Irish film, although it was English it was Irish English and I really could have benefited from some English subtitles. It was about a lonely, simple garage man who worked at a gas station. It was kind of dark. The second night was a film in Portuguese with French subtitles about an old man looking for historical information about Christopher Columbus. Maybe it was because I could not understand most of what was said but it just might have been the worst film I have ever seen. This however was not a problem because I felt jazzy being back in the city.
I decided that I would take a personal day after my GAD meeting to enjoy the sun. It is remarkably warmer in Rabat than my site and I had to take up the opportunity to get away from the rain and snow. I spent the day being a tourist which is actually very enjoyable. I started it off going to an art exhibit showing some modern Islamic art as well as a great exhibit done by children aged 9-14. The children’s exhibit gave me some great ideas about some art activities I can do with my children here.
After the dose of encased culture I went to go see one of the cathedrals in Rabat. It was beautiful and new. The stained glass brought me back to Rome. The Stations of the Cross, depicted in a comic book like fashion was made out of pieces of tile. Following this, I went to the sea.
There I saw waves breaking as I sat up high at a little café nooked into a cranny, tucked into a garden. I spent a good part of the day there drinking mint tea without sugar and speaking some Italian with my waiter. I truly felt refreshed and ready to carry on.
During my time there I also saw a lot of construction, very well dressed people, expensive stores, bars and I really felt as if I was in a different country. There is a shocking contrast between the city and the village. I ran into a conversation at a restaurant/bar one night where this guy from the city was questioning a Peace Corps volunteer about why we were in Morocco. He felt that Morocco didn’t need us, that they were developed. Many people who grow up in the city just don’t know about how a majority of the people in the villages live. I guess there would be no reason for them to travel out that way. After a long conversation he felt sorry that people from outside of his country had to come in and help when some of the people within his country are able. I feel the conversation ended with providing all participants with some insight. We can all do something to help; we just have to find ways to do it. Opportunities are all around us if we look for it.
I thank Rabat, the guy at the restaurant/bar and GAD for a fulfilling, productive, enjoyable, contemplative and relaxing few days.

Dogs as wolves as dogs

So I know it has been a while and oh boy do I have stories for you.

This one goes way back into last year.

It was my first week officially at my site. A local friend at my site had begun a project of fixing up his cave. One of the many old caves in Zaouiat. It is where many families lived prior to having their now concrete buildings. Most homes are still built around them and are used as storage shelters, kitchens or barns of sorts. This young man in particular wanted to set it up as a tourist destination with the intention of hosting people there over night with local music, food and get this, playing old black and white Charlie Chaplin films on this old film projector he found.
So one day before some inspectors were coming to look at the cave I offered to come and give it a look over and help clean and set up. He called me in the morning and I walked over. As I descended some stairs outside into his house I was greeted by his dog.
The dog, doing what any good watch dog would do came charging at me. I had nothing with me, not a bag, a rock, nothing. The dog ran towards me while I stood half way down the stairs and immediately latched onto my leg. I was taken by surprise. I thought maybe he just wants to sniff, figure out who I am. But he went straight for the attack. I had on my heavy duty Levis which lived up to their legend of durability. I didn’t know how to protect myself as it all happened so fast. I just kept my hands away so that those would not be bitten. He clenched onto the inner of my left knee and I froze. Then he went for the back of my right leg. My friend’s aunt came to the rescue and shook him off me and dragged him inside.
I didn’t feel pain immediately and just shook it off like it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t want to start any problems and went on inspecting the cave as if nothing had happened. They all felt terrible about the incident. I didn’t look at the wound until a few hours later to realize that the bite had penetrated my skin and blood was drawn. Following protocol I went and got medical attention from Peace Corps and received all three of my rabies vaccinations. Luckily my friend had papers on the dog’s vaccination and I felt a little bit better. Who wants rabies?! Rabies is a scary, scary thing which doesn’t show signs for a few days.

The best part was the interaction with my host mother when I showed her my bites. She immediately had me sit on the coach and ran into the kitchen. I had no idea what she was grabbing. Antibiotic maybe, no, not antibiotic. Nothing prepared me for the shoe. She came out with an old white stileto shoe which she placed on the raging fire place and then attempted to burn my wound shut. I couldnt help but break into hysterical laughter, mostly out of nervousness. I most certainly did not want a burn ontop of a dog bite. I calmed her down and told her it was not necessary and that I had medicine. I went into my bedroom and reapplied it in front of her to assure her that I was okay. She felt terrible and dragged my friends aunt over to my house to reinspect my wound. We all sat down and drank tea together and constantly assured them that I was going to be okay and no I did not want to go to the hospital. Haha, what a day that was.
Now all that I have left is some pretty cool scars and a great story. I survived a dog attack. It has just reinforced my fear of dogs here and I don’t hesitate to pick up a large rock when I go for walks. Dogs here are breed for different purposes. Not for being cuddly affectionate animals but being sheep dogs, watch dogs and alarm systems.
I am alright but damn, dogs really are ancestors of wolves.