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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.

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.

First Hammam:

Bodies of women crowded into a hazed room of steam. Body on top of body being scrubbed down. Women of all sizes, children. There was fighting and loud talking between women who were territorial over the limited sitting spaces on the ground. The floors were wet, walls cold, ceiling dripping condensation onto our heads. The walls and floor all tiled and slippery from soap. Women scrubbed each other with their hand mitts like a piece of meat. Four hours one woman can spend in a Hammam. Two hours for me was enough. I sat outside and waited for at least an hour for my host mom to come out. The time she had in there must have been very valuable to her, it was an escape from the house.
It was not like my experience in the Hammam in Rome except for the fact it was dimly lit, warm and there was water. There were so many bodies around. I was the only one in there who had short hair and was blonde. I was a spectacle, everyone watching me.

You scrub your skin and layers peel off of you. You are left with a fresh coat of flesh like the day you were born. It was dark in there. There was a warm yellow light. Haze. Children screaming and crying due to the heat. Women drinking from the faucet to keep hydrated. Older women with henna in their hair, the color melting away, running down their backs in the steamed room.
You sit in a wet space and soap up while seated in your underwear. Scrub yourself, have others scrub you, you scrub others. Rinse. Sit. Scrub again. Rinse. Sit. It is a repeated process until one feels they have cleansed themselves fully.

I can cook I promise

I’v been insisting that I learn how to kneed bread and that I want to help them but my mother just gently laughs at me and tells me my hands are for writing. I did however convince them that I could cook and I made my first attempt. A simple alfredo. I took a trip into Ifrane and searched high and low for the right type of cheese settling for the only package of grated cheese I could find. My only other option in the entire city was a block of Gouda. When I brought the package home my family was astonished at the package and it took a few moments to convince them that yes it was in fact cheese. Normally cheese is grated at home.
I went to work in the small kitchen and was being surveyed closely by my host sister, brother and mother who found it amusing that yes this young American girl does know how to cook. It was a little difficult trying to cook with them there as the sister refused to let me strain my own pasta or stir the pasta myself, afraid that I would burn myself. Luckily alfredo does not take a long time to prepare and before we knew it we commenced eating. I closed my eyes for just a few seconds with the first bite and briefly envisioned myself sitting in the Piazza of Santa Maria in Trastevere in Rome with a nice glass of vino. Luckily the family enjoyed the pasta and I received a round of applause at the end of the meal by my whole family.