mini-update

Ok, more in depth updates to come, but we all went to chefchaohen (i've really no clue how to spell it) this past weekend. The bullet points are:

-hilarious taxi ride
-hiked in the rain to a waterfall in the Atlas Mountains, saw monkeys and swam
-took many pictures of the beautiful blue medina

keep your eyes peeled for better posts!

Moments of Peace

Le Palais Royal



This is my running buddy Tom.



This pool was filled with eels - a guy who lives/works there threw in some eggs for some of the other volunteers so they would come and feed. Cool.




Not bad for a bunch of old rocks, huh?


I especially liked the decor on this part.

9/19/09 - 9/22/09

So because of Ramadan there is this huge long weekend that is really wonderful. Traveling is difficult during Ramadan anyway due to the wonky train/bus schedules, but this weekend it's especially impossible. So, we all decided to hang out in Rabat and see all the tourist sites here. So, we went to the Palais Royal as well as Chella Gardens, both of which provided me with some beautiful views to behold and glorious silence to (not) hear.

Saturday afternoon Chloe, Viola, and I went out for a walk, and ended up meeting up with Henry, Simon, and Thierrie (another Frenchman much older than the rest of us who goes by Titi). We just kept walking and found ourselves close to le Palais Royal, and decided to go take a peek. Le Palais Royal was gorgeous, but a little underwhelming. We were also shocked at how easy it was to get into. Our bags weren't checked, we didn't all have our passports, but they let us right in after Simon did a little schmoozing with them. Granted, we weren't inside the palace itself, but we were close enough to have been able to throw something inside. The most striking thing about it was how quiet it was inside the gates. I don't notice how noisy everything is until I find a moment of silence. It was also very green inside the gates, a color lacking in the brown and red landscape of old casbah walls and concrete roads.

The Chella Gardens used to be known as the Necropolis of Chella, before the Romans moved farther inland and began to use the place as a burial ground for Royalty. Sultans then came along and added decorations to the tombs, giving it a more Moroccan flare. It was absolutely amazing to be there. Though it is an ancient site, there is very little roped off, and even then it is done rather carelessly and by means easily circumvented. It was easy for us to climb up into old trees and onto the casbah walls. I loved how unkempt and unregulated things were there. It made me feel like the place was still alive and made me think about the infinity of time. Whenever I'm at the beach I feel in touch with the infinity of space - but here I was thinking about all the events that have occurred in the same spot over hundreds of years. Pretty cool.

Monday Viola, Chloe, and I made another trip down to Skhirat Beach even though traveling was kind of unpleasant. Although, I was extremely surprised to see the woman next to me very unapologetically whip out her huge nursing breast to feed her baby on the crowded bus. Apparently that's not a big deal here, because it's not sexualized the way we tend to sexualize all nudity in the west (again interesting considering how revealing our clothing is compared to here). The thought is "Well duh, the baby has to eat." I like that.

No really big plans for today - we are simply trying to get used to "life after Ramadan." It's strange to be able to do things during the day. Last night I tried to head to the internet cafe just before 9 and my host parents looked at me like I was crazy...I stayed home. After some very slowly and simply spoken French I learned that we should be in by 10 each night because since it's after Ramadan it goes back to normal where it's dangerous later rather than between 7:30 and 9. Even Titi, who is 48 has to be home by 10.

I guess you never outgrow some things!

Open Arms

Ok Guys, in my last updating of the blog I left out an entry! Here ya go:

9/17/09

Rabat and Sale are sister cities (like Dallas/Ft. Worth). Many volunteers teach English or French in Sale, which tends to be the poorer of the two cities. There are some shanty towns there that are pretty discouraging to see. One of the centers there invited all the Projects Abroad volunteers to break the fast with the children tonight, and it was an absolute blast.

As unfriendly as some adults here can be toward Westerners, the children are completely enthralled with us and were literally mobbing us when we arrived, fighting each other to be close to us. They all surrounded us, each one eagerly asking "Comment tu t'appelles?"

A word on that - I love the confused look people get on their faces when I tell them my name. I usually follow it with "Comme le mois Avril, mais en anglais - April." If they speak French they usually understand a little better then, but their pronunciations still sound like a mix of "apple" and "opera." I love it, and it is absolutely fine with me because I have a lot of trouble pronouncing their names as well haha. It's funny, I never thought about it before, but I have a much harder time pronouncing things if I can't imagine a spelling in my head.

The food was amazing, and there was music and dancing, and some of the older kids who take dance and circus class at the school performed. Above is a picture of Me and the French guy Simon and Allah (Allah married me and Simon at the dinner table - that's fine). Also are some photos of Simon DJing along with his little helper.

Come Onna My House

Here's a few pictures of "my" house!



The Tiny Door to Chez Grellane


The Living Room/Dining Room

The Small Parlor to the Side of the Living/Dining Room

The Newly Renovated (As in they did it last week) Other Side Parlor

The Terrace

A Word About Faith

9/18/09

I live at the end of an alleyway off a major street in the Medina of Rabat, Morocco. Officially the street is called Rue Boukrane, but all the volunteers refer to it as "Vegetable Street." As I exit the house each morning I can hear the merchants beginning to set up their stands. They suspend tarps and sheets above their small squares of street, lay out boxes and baskets of fruits, vegetables, and herbs. I enjoy the quiet, knowing that an entirely different street will greet me when I return after work.

Sure enough, upon my homecoming there are people everywhere and I must maneuver skillfully through the crowd in order to avoid disturbing my co-pedestrians of Vegetable Street. Common obstacles on this daily course include tiny old women half my height hobbling along alone, old men pulling their merchandise in heavy carts behind them, fully veiled women dragging children with backpacks to school, and countless djellaba-clad habitants of the Medina simply trying to arrive at their next destination. Hagglers bargain for prices of eggplant and dates. Women bake Moroccan bread and pancakes. Merchants weigh freshly caught fish, cows' hooves, and live chickens while their assistants sweep small rivers of blood and other mystery liquid down the sewers. A myriad of stray cats line the walls, hunting for scraps and avoiding the uneasy footfall of Western tourists and the heedless speed of bicycles and mopeds.

"Pardon," I say to the fish merchants sharpening knives and sweeping fish remains into the drain directly in front of the alley where I live. Every day they smile and let me pass, still confused to see a Western girl living in the Medina. A demain mes amies.

---------------------------------

It is extremely rude to take pictures of people here without asking their permission first. In fact, you are putting your face in danger of being slapped and your camera in danger of being destroyed if you do. At the very least, you'll be very passionately yelled at in Arabic. To many here, photographs are related to the worshipping of idols (remember that Dutch cartoon and that English teacher with the teddy bear that got everybody so upset?) and they do not take kindly to Western tourists "stealing their souls." Because of this, it is extremely likely I will not take any photographs which accurately portray life in the Medina. I hope my description above has helped you to imagine what the streets are like where I live. I took the picture above on a smaller street as Viola and I took a shortcut through the Medina to the beach. I was lucky to capture the street on a moment when it was empty.

The people here have an unwavering and dedicated faith I have never seen before in my life. Every single night prayer mats are laid out in front of the Mosques for the overflow of people praying. This entire nation has been fasting for a whole month. Businesses are closed during the day, trains and buses are all off schedule, the beaches are empty because swimming might cause you to swallow some water. Can you imagine anything making it worthwhile for businesses to lose money for a month in the West?

I do not know enough about their faith to say I agree or disagree with its teachings. It is true that I am sometimes met with intolerance from passersby - but the people here are more committed to their faith than I have been to anything in my entire life. Time and again they "walk the walk" with pride through rough terrain and bad weather.

Is there anything I am willing to starve for?

A Different Easter

9/16/09

Today was a fantastic day at work. We had one of our littlest kids there today and he is quite the bundle of energy. His name is Fahid (all the spellings of names and places are phoenetic guesses since I haven't the slightest clue how to write Arabic), and he is around 3 years old with what appears to be a slight touch of downs syndrome. The files we have on the children are really unofficial. Hicham showed them to me the first day and they appear to be short paragraphs a past volunteer wrote and basically only include information as detailed as "Saiid is physically and mentally disabled," which of course I could tell you by looking at him. I'm not sure if it's that these children haven't ever received proper diagnoses from a doctor or if the center simply doesn't have access to all the medical information...

One of the things I love about working with children is that you absolutely must match their energy in order to hang with them. Otherwise....well you know those really frightening paintings of people being pulled into a fiery sea of ghouls and demons? Yeah it's kind of like that. Thankfully, after many summers of camp counseling, I think I have mastered riding the waves of their powerful energy. And, just like surfing, it is both tiring and a blast.

Hicham invited all the volunteers to a pageant of sorts being held at the center that night. This night is a special night of Ramadan when God supposedly spoke to Mohammed. On this night God looks down on everyone and if you're being good, he forgives your sins, and if not....well I guess we just assume you're being good. On this night everyone is out in the streets praying. It's pretty wild.

"So, what does this have to do with the children?" you ask. Well, like most holidays in most religions, it's used as an excuse to dress up the kids all cute. On this night the children dress in traditional Moroccan clothing and the parents essentially show off for each other. I was reminded of Easter growing up and all the floral print dresses and white patent leather shoes and wide-brimmed hats with bows that decorated me.

In the center of the room was an offering of incense, dates, and milk. Near this offering the girls got henna tattoos...they mostly just kept staring at their hands looking all confused. It was pretty cute. There were a couple pre-teen girls there who really took a liking to me and kept taking pictures with me and asking their mothers, who work at the centre, how to say things to me in French or English. Everyone was so welcoming to us, and I was so grateful to be a part of their celebration.

Thank goodness for renewal, of all kinds.

Un Jour Á La Plage!

La piscine a l'hotel pres la plage ou je boit un jus de peche. (forgive the lack of accents - i'm on an American keyboard, and any errors in grammar/spelling - i'm not a native French speaker)


Mes amies marchent en la plage.

9/12/09

Today is Lise's last day here, and I'm pretty bummed about it. Though I've only known her a week, she has been a wonderful friend and tour guide to me. She also provided me with a list of places I have to travel to on the weekends.

So, we all went to the beach! We took the bus and a cab (under $1 total each way) an hour south to a nicer beach than the one in Rabat. It was gorgeous (as you see in the pictures above). It was wonderful simply to feel the sand and the wind, listen to music, and get some color (even if that hue is a little more pink than bronze). The water was a great temperature and we got to play in some pretty amazing waves. Amrita and Henry even got a free surf lesson from a pro surfer who happened to be there!

Being at the beach with good company is an extremely healing experience, and I recommend it for anyone feeling a little bit out of touch with the world. The beach is the perfect place where your own 5 senses have a chance to pull you outside yourself and into something more infinite. Thank goodness for places like that.

Later that night Viola, Lise, Tom, and I went to a restaurant called The Syrian as another farewell event for Lise. I am very excited to add Antwerp to my list of places I have to visit.

Nice to Meet You

9/10/09

Another volunteer arrived in our house today! Her name is Chloe - she is from New Jersey and will be working at the Hospital where Lise and Tom work. She is going to become a Midwife. She has been to about a zillion different countries, speaks French (thank God), as well as some German and Sign Language. All these people are starting to make me feel very poorly educated! She goes to Hampshire College and is, of course, a total hippie. I like her very much.

9/11/09

So today Lise led me, Amrita, Barbara, and Chloe to the Hammam and showed us how it's done. So basically this is how it works:

-Grab your bucket, stool, bowl, exfoliating glove, black soap, shampoo, and comb

-Walk to the Hammam (you can buy your glove and soap there if you want)

-Pay 9 dirhams (under $1.25)

-Go into the changing room and strip down to your bikini. Exchange 1dirham for two buckets

-Pick a room (there are three: hot , hotter, and nearly unbearable)

-Fill your buckets with hot water 3/4 of the way, then the rest with cold water

-Find a spot near the wall, sit on your stool

-If you are Moroccan, get completely undressed, if you are Western and more shy, take off your top.

-Bathe (you can also pay a little extra to have someone else bathe you)

It was so beautiful to see all these women completely comfortable being naked in front of one another. On the street they are so covered up, but inside the Hammam they aren't a bit shy. This would NEVER be so common in the West. I was speaking with Chloe about it, and we concluded that because the women here are so covered up in their daily lives, they aren't plagued by the same body-image issues Western women are. For us, we see daily other women's bodies flaunted in our faces, and this makes us compare ourselves to them. Here, it is a complete non-issue.

It was wonderful to be in such a communal space filled with women of all (and I mean ALL) shapes, sizes, and ages, each one happy and excited about being clean and feeling smooth and pretty. If I were to go to such a place in the West, I'm sure I'd end up extremely depressed and feeling ugly because I would've just been embarrassed about my body or something. How silly!

At any rate, I feel very close to the other female volunteers now.

Catching Up!

That's Lise and Friederike, then Amrita, Barbara, and Me!

There's Chloe, Amrita, and Lise

Ok, so a lot has happened in the past week and I'm going to try and catch up on it all!

Every Tuesday night there is a gathering for all the volunteers. Usually they are done at one of the host family homes, but until the end of Ramadan we are having these gatherings at cafes or restaurants (it's far too tiring for the families to entertain late at night after they've been fasting all day). We went to a nearby cafe and I really enjoyed meeting everyone. There are a couple German girls, Friederike and Laura, who I work with in the mornings, a couple British guys, Will and Tom (Tom has become my running buddy), a French guy Simon (who insists I speak to him in French - no matter how poor it is), my roommates, and the other Americans I mentioned before. I was thinking about how it makes so much sense that we should all get along so well - we are clearly all outgoing and curious people with similar interests. It seems obvious, but it wasn't something I thought about as one of the wonderful things I'd gain on this trip. I now know fantastic and inspiring people all over America and Europe! (this will only further agitate the enormous bite the travel bug has given me)

Work is going well. The center is located in a very poor part of Rabat, and the change in economic climate is extremely apparent upon exiting the taxi. I think many children are taken to this center simply to be kept out of trouble. My boss Hicham started the center himself and speaks Arabic, French, and English. He and I speak in a (mostly English) mix of English and French. He is trying to help me by speaking French with me, but usually I look so confused he switches to English haha! He is extremely nice, as are Laura and Friederike. Right now our enrollment is very low because of Ramadan, but Hicham anticipates many more children will begin to show up in October. I don't mind the small class though - it's giving me a chance to slowly settle into things. The children especially enjoy drawing and those memory games with animals where you spread out all the little tiles face-down and flip over two at a time, trying to remember where all the matches are.

Before arriving here I was confronted with the reality of how uncomfortable I was made by people with disabilities. In the west things like that are hidden from the public eye and tend to a taboo subject. The reason it made me uncomfortable was because it wasn't something I was used to seeing or having to handle. In Rabat that is far from true. People with disabilities are everywhere. I have seen a few people in the Medina with elephantiasis, several in wheelchairs without the ability to speak or move, and it seems more people than not have a limp of some kind. It makes me want to take extremely good care of the working body I'm blessed to have.

9/6/09

Today I had my induction meeting with Asmaa, one of the Projects Abroad staff members and three other new American volunteers: Amrita and Barbara (recent graduates from law school in California), and Henry (recent graduate from high school in Maryland). It was so wonderful to speak English with all of them!

Amrita, Barbara, and I are all working at the same place. They are teaching English in the afternoons and I am caring for the disabled children in the mornings. (I'll describe work in more depth later). We then went to the Projects Abroad office to go over some papers, drink some water, and rest for a moment. We then went with Asmaa to the Meditel store so the other volunteers could buy cell phones and to the bank to change/take out money.

Then Asmaa took me to meet my French tutor Salma. She lives near me in the Medina. We had our first lesson a few hours later...it was rough. She only speaks to me in French and I spent most of the time completely lost, but somehow I managed to get through the exercises. I understand much more than I can actually speak. I am noticing though that I'm getting better each day at deciphering other peoples' conversations in French. By no means am I able to translate everything, but its the beginning of Step 1!

I Have Always Relied on the Kindness of Strangers

9/6/09

So, determined to see some of the city despite my lack of communicative abilities, I threw on my backpack and set out into the Medina. I only got a few strange looks from people, and the most obvious gawking offenders were actually a group of 14 or 15 year old girls. Go figure.

I found my way (accidentally) out of the Medina and went over to the Oudaya which is basically a castle-looking place with lots of gardens, a cafe, and a museum inside. On the outside of the Oudaya is a path which leads to the beach. I decided to take a little walk on the beach and headed in that direction. I saw a Moroccan guy see me, turn around and start following me and I was feeling a bit nervous. He began talking to me after a few feet and turned out not to be frightening at all. His name is Mouhssine and we spoke in broken French/English (mostly English). He wanted to know what I knew of Islam. I told him I knew of Mohammed, and he assured me that Mohammed is "For Spanish man, American man, Moroccan man, all feeling good!" I think that's how Mohammed, Jesus, Buddha, and all those guys PLANNED it - too bad it didn't work out that way Mouhssine.

I enlisted Mouhssine to help me buy a phone and find an internet cafe, both of which he did with great pleasure. He also showed me some nice places to take pictures in the Oudaya, which can be viewed above. At one point he said "The sun is out to today!" I responded, "J'aime le soleil!" He laughed very loudly and said "But you're so white!" ....yeah I guess that's true!

We made our way back into the Medina, where I continued to get completely lost and not be able to find my way back home. He spoke to my Host Dad on the phone and stayed with me until Saiid came to meet us and help me home.

I'm pretty sure Mouhssine thinks I'm his girlfriend now...but we'll straighten that out later.

The Power of the Word

9/5/09

The first day living here was rough. I arrived around 1:30 in the afternoon, so I had most of the day to be in the house with the family. They speak no English, and after the very little bit of French I know where you say your name and ask how others are....there was nothing to say. The other two volunteers were on vacation for the weekend in Fes and weren't there to help translate, and it was pretty rough to have to sit there in silence with no idea what the hell was going on around me. I think because I couldn't talk the host mother kept feeding me, just so I would have something to do with my mouth....so much for that Ramadan diet.

Being able to express yourself is such a gift. Not being able to communicate with anyone here makes me think I'll never hold back from speaking ever again. That's one of those things we take for granted. I've had problems getting caught up in my thoughts and trying desperately to control what others are perceiving of me, persuade myself in and out of ideas, etc. Now I see what bullshit that is. If you are lucky enough to be able to express yourself, by all means, DO IT! Be it with words, art, music, or movement, I'm begging you to please do it.

Having to sit quietly and not be able to participate in conversation was really rough for me and I thought "Now I know the power of the word." There is book called The Four Agreements in which the author discusses the "Power of the Word" and "Being Impeccable With Your Word." And boy, let me tell you what, not having that power made me realize the privilege of speech, and that I absolutely must use that power impeccably. I hope I don't forget that three months from now.

By the way, if you haven't read The Four Agreements, you really should.

not in kansas anymore....

9/5/09

When I arrived in Rabat Youssef, one of the Projects Abroad staff members, was waiting for me. He drove me to the outside of the Medina, the enclosed old part of the city where all the volunteers live.

We met my host father Saiid at the entrance to the Medina becacuse cars can't go inside (motorcycles/scooters aren't allowed inside either but plenty make it in anyway). The rest of the city was built around the Medina and is more modernized, but inside the Medina things are very old. The walls are very tall, giving you the impression you're walking through a huge maze. The streets are very tiny and there are vendors crammed next to one another selling everything from fish to clothes (western and traditional Moroccan djallabas) to cell phones.

From outside the house all you see is a tiny door which should belong to a home resembling that of Bilbo Baggins, but inside it is huge! The celing of the central roome xtends all the way up to the ceiling of th entire building and is oly partially covered so sunlight and breeze flow in.

Beside the central room are two long skinny rooms which seem to be parlors, one of which is also used for prayer. Two girls who wowrk in Saiid's bakery (which is actually inside the house by the door -- a long skinny entry hall leads to the rest of the house) sleep in those rooms. They help prepare food and clean but are acepted basically as family. Off of these rooms are two small bedrooms which belong to the Grellane children. Chaimae is 17 and speaks some English. It was sucha relief to be able to communicate with someone, even though it was ina mix of very broken English and French. El Hachmi is in Merrakesh studying to become a Police Officer. In El Hachmi's room reside the family cat and her four teeny tiny kittens only a week old. I look forward to them becoming old enough to play with - right now their eyes aren't even completely open.

Upstairs are two bedrooms with two beds each where volunteers stay. Right now two other girls - Lise from Belgium and Viola from Germany - are here, though theyboth leave soon. Apparently another girl is arriving Thursday but I know nothing about her yet. Mr. and Mrs. Grellane's bedroom is up here, as well as a small kitchen space and sink used for laundry, and a bathroom with a spot that doubles as a shower and a toilet. I use the more American bathroom downstairs. There is also a big breezy terrace where Mrs. Grellane does a lot of sewing and an opening onto the roof where laundry is hung, and where Zambu, the dog, has his pen. Zambu is hilarious and has huge paws, one of which he really likes to put in yoru hand to shake.

A word about the bathroom. I always have to think of my friend Alex and how appalled he would be by this bathroom. Fish are sold right byt hte house, and the bathroom has a normal stinky bathroom smell plus the fish odor...I just don't breathe through my nose when I'm in there. The shower has no door or curtain and is basically just a square cut out in the floor about 4 inches deep. The water pressure and the hot water work fine. The volunteers are supplied with their own toilet paper as people here don't tend to use it. We are also supplied with huge hugs of water so we don't use the tap water and get sick (although I have to say I haven't been feeling the slightest bit ill, despite all the warnings about the supposedly inevitable "Traveler's Diarrhea").

more to come

more to come later, but i have to run off to celebrate another volunteer's birthday. i have plenty of blogs pre-written to share with you all though, so keep your eyes peeled!

Bon voyage!

The actual trip here was pretty uninteresting in the way that you want airplane trips to be. This is Marilyn and Brian Payne:

They are on their way to Rome to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary. They also have visited at least one national state park a year for twenty years after going to Germany and Austria and realizing that there was so much of America they hadnt seen. they were delightful to sit next to on the very long flight to Paris (which turned out only to be 8.5 hrs instead of 9.5 - mustve gotten my time zones mixed up). Marilyn shared with me that the key to having a long marriage is "just really caring about the other person more than yourself." Thanks Marilyn.

And of course, I took pictures of the sunset:

and the sunrise:

The layover in Paris was long, but it gave me time to get a coffee, try and hear some French (plenty of which I heard, almost none I understood), and read. I also made friends with a very lively little boy who clearly had an abundance of imagination and energy - a wonderful, but formidable, combination.

The flight to Rabat was short - I slept through most of it!

I'M LEAVING FOR MOROCCO TODAY!

I leave Bush Intercontinental from Houston at 4, then have a 9.5 hour flight to Paris, 4 hours at Charles de Gaulle to realize how much French I don't know, then a 2 hour flight to Rabat.

Wish me "Bonne Chance!"