Something I have observed here in Morocco is how readily people ask for and give help. In America people pride themselves on being independent and doing things on their own. I have definitely found myself as a subscriber to this philosophy. For me, being in Peace Corps even represents that for me: "look at me! I'm here in a foreign country all by myself; living as one of the most isolated volunteers! I'm Alone!" Well the truth is that in Morocco it is impossible to exist "by oneself," independently. That is not the way this society works. Everyone needs help sometimes and it shows no weakness to openly ask for help and rely on the help of others to succeed.
For example, Peace Corps sent me a bag to be delivered by CTM bus. CTM is a passenger bus like a nice Greyhound but most of their money comes from the items that are in the cargo hold. So the bag arrived-- allegedly, but every time I went to the CTM office to pick up my bag it was closed and shuttered with no sign of life. I thought "this is ridiculous! I'm going to have to stalk this office and wait for a CTM bus to arrive and follow its cargo to the office!" CTMs do not even arrive every day in my town. There is no posted schedule of arrivals either. so I casually mentioned it to my host mother while in the company of one of her friends. Her friend, Wellid, said "oh, it's at the CTM station? Let's go!" When I told him it was closed he seemed unfazed and off we marched to the CTM. When we arrived, with it shuttered, complete with a metal grate, but we walked right past the CTM station and stopped at a metal door around the corner. Wellid, my new best friend, banged on this door yelling "EH! Azziz! Azziz! AZZIZ!" Eventually Azziz emerged looking like we'd woken him up. Wellid explained the situation with my bag. Azziz nodded, marched to the locked CTM station, opened the door and I had my bag -- easy as that.
This whole scenario would have been almost impossible or immeasurably more difficult had I not had Wellid's help. How would I have ever known that "Of course! Go to the CTM manager's home and yell up to his window!" Wellid's response to my million Thank Yous: "la shokran, ela wajib" or literally "No thank you, it is my duty." This really seems to be the truth. Help is readily given and received in a moment's notice.
Another small example of this ingrained hospitality: My host mother, her friend Fattiha, and my two younger host sisters went on a long walk that took us out of town. We'd walked probably about 4 kilometers and the girls got thirsty. So Fattiha saw somebody outside their home and said "hey you! Give us some water!" There was no "please" or "sorry to bother you but..." and the man nodded, went inside, and came back out with a glass of water.
A jogger in the states would have to be near death to ask for water from a stranger.
And if ever a "thank you" is even uttered, the response is inevitably "no thank you, it is my duty" -- although, "please" and "thank you" are seldom used. For example, my old host family would chuckle at me when I would say "Thank you" for pouring me tea, or handing me something. When I asked my language and culture facilitator about this he said that no thank you is required because maybe this time they're in a position to pour you tea, but next time, when you are in a position to pour tea, you will. That is a fair exchange and no pleases or thank yous are required. It's comforting to know that when I am (occasionally) a helpless American that there are many who have no qualms about helping me. It is understood that when I am in a position to help, that I will.
Table manners and what is acceptable/unacceptable in etiquette will be the topic of the next blog.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tafaughalt farm
This past weekend was another new adventure. Sometime in the middle of last week, my host mother asked me if I wanted to go to Oujda with her this weekend to see her mother and some family. Oujda is between four and five hours north of my town, and the closest big city. It's kind of like the hub of Eastern Morocco. So I thought about it for a second, and (the lazy) half of me said "blah, wouldn't you rather be by yourself and clean your new apartment so it's ready when you move in?" and the other part of me said "two days with Rahma and extended family!? My Arabic will get so good!" So of course the second voice won and I decided to go.
So on Friday night my host sisters slept at their friend's house and Saturday morning Rahma and I caught the 5am Souk Bus to Oujda. [Aside:Why is it called a souk bus? Well, one PCV I talked to named Jason thinks it's because the souk comes to you. Souk means market. The buses stop at every little city along the way to rest for a bathroom break and people come on the bus and try to hawk their goods at you. "No, I don't want your gold chain, no I don't want a kilo of honey." The downside of souk buses, besides no air conditioning, is the fact that you could buy a ticket and potentially have to stand, being harassed by people trying to sell you stuff, and it stops constantly. I feel like they stop every fifteen minutes. What would be a two-and-a-half-hour taxi ride turns into a five-hour bus ride. But I guess you get what you pay for. They're pretty cheap. They are like ratty, dusty Greyhound buses. ] [Language note: What we English speakers refer to as the souk bus, is, in Moroccan Arabic, referred to as a "kar," in singular form, and "kiran" in plural.]
So, Saturday morning we took the 5am to Oujda and arrived between 9:30 and 10. I met Rahma's mother at her house in Oujda proper. She was a pleasant lady and we ate lunch there. After lunch Rahma informed me that we would be going to a little place called Tafaughalt (pronounced just like it looks...haha) So I said sure. We hopped in a petit taxi, which takes you within the city, and we went to the taxi stand for the grand taxis, which take you out of town. The thing about grand taxis is they don't leave until they're full -- meaning 4 in the back and three in the front of a Mercedes sedan. So sometimes you may wait quite a while until the right amount of people are going your direction. Lucky for me and Rahma, we filled the last two seats of our Tafaughalt taxi. So onward we went. Let me tell you, Moroccans know how to eat and these women do not have small behinds and fitting four of us in the back of a sedan was no fun. But after 45 minutes or so, Rahma told our driver to halt and she and I got out...and found ourselves in the middle of nowhere. I thought "where on earth has she taken me!?" And then we started walking through the woods. I had to just go with it because what else do you do? So after a few minutes, in the distance, I saw a small farm house. That was our destination. Up and down slopes and slants we trudged through thick fog and found our way to a house FILLED with people. There must have been fifty people in this one house.
The occasion was a sabu3, which is a baby-naming-party I may have mentioned in an earlier blog. [quick cultural reference: a sabu3 is held on the seventh day after the baby has been born and until then it is not named. Then there's a big party] It turns out Rahma's family is quite conservative as far as Morocco goes and the men and women were 100% separated the entire time. So when we arrived, I entered the women's room (not the bathroom) and greeted about 20 ladies, mostly elderly, who were sitting, dressed completely in jellabas and lizars (more than a head covering, it's like a bedsheet that's wrapped around you) so me and my jeans and definitely no lizar sat with these women on the floor. People sit on the floor a lot here, it's not big deal. But it is still weird to see such elderly ladies on the floor. They are sitting on ponges (like cushions) that are about 2 inches thick and pillows behind their backs against the wall. The funny thing was that these women were old and so conservatively dressed but when I looked down their socks made me chuckle. It's really important to take your shoes off on any carpeted service, so all these women were sitting there on the floor, legs outstretched, and all were wearing different mid-shin to knee high GOOFY socks. Socks with frogs, hearts, oblong shapes, English writing that made no sense... To make it better, these long socks had goofy pajama pants tucked into them, so their legs looked bumpy and strange. I kept thinking "why would you tuck your pants into your socks?" It's so funny how dressed up these women get on the outside when underneath they really just have on pajamas and goofy socks.
So I sat and was awkwardly silent for a while until some 14 year old cousins came and adopted me and took me on a stroll. We talked for a while. Nobody spoke any English, so I got a lot of good practice in. I was shocked at how little they knew about what I thought was common knowledge, but I guess it was good that they even asked. They asked me things like "who was the king of America?" and if and how Christians pray. We are taught by Peace Corps to avoid talking religion but there was no refusing to talk about it with these girls. The second they found out I was not Muslim, they began to try to get me to say the shehadda, which, apparently, if you say three times you become a Muslim (though this is not something all Muslims believe, so I'm told.) When I told them I didn't want to, they turned to the tactics that some Christians use in the U.S. "All your problems will go away" "you'll be so happy with life." "You can marry a nice Muslim man and your family would love it." (ok, so maybe that last one isn't used as much in the U.S.) So when I still refused, the girls ever so sweetly said that I should make the choice between roasting over a fiery hell like a ram shish-kabob (that's a quote) or go to heaven. They really emphasized the shish-kabob part. So of course I still refused. Telling them I had my own kind of Quran called the Bible and I prayed in my own way. Eventually, they let it go and still adored me anyway and we talked another two hours or so. The whole family and experience was thoroughly pleasant. These conversion attempts are fairly frequent, though this was, by far, the most intense thus far. Comes with the territory, I guess.
So the challenging thing about beautiful Tafaughalt is that there is no running water. Toilet-wise, this works fine because there is a big barrel of water in the bathroom and a little scooper so you can flush and what-not. But this was not what I would consider potable water. So my main predicament was how on earth was I supposed to brush my teeth? I would have asked the other 50 people who were spending the night at the house, or even the 20 or so women I was sharing sleeping quarters with, who were going to sleep on the floor next to me, but...alas....as I figured, nobody was brushing their teeth. Which, given my experience here so far, is not surprising. (I smell a youth development project...) So unfortunately, I went to bed with dirty teeth. When we awoke in the morning, nobody had yet gone down to the well to fetch more water and once again, nobody was attempting to brush their teeth. So there I stood with dirty teeth and dirty hands and dirty everything else. No running water has not been the norm for me here. I guess that's why Peace Corps Morocco is sometimes referred to as Posh Corps -- because I don't know how I would even get along without it. How high maintenance!
I know, I know, you're saying "Abby! You're an agent of development and change! Maybe if this family saw how you brushed your teeth twice in twelve hours, they would brush their teeth!" Yes, I thought about that, but I'm still too much in a guest mind-set, I guess. I should have insisted, I should have said, "I'm aware that you have to walk a kilometer or so in the fog and cold, but I really need to brush my teeth." "Drink it? No I'm not going to drink it, I'm just going to spit it out. Could you boil it first, too? Ten minutes -- rolling boil ONLY." Next time I will be more pushy.
This weekend at the farm was my first drinking unpasteurized dairy and I was not sick! l'Hamdullah!
So after breakfast I was able to reflect on what a great time I'd had with great people. Rahma decided it was time to be heading back to Oujda proper. So we tromped back through the woods and up to the main street. But wait...a taxi had dropped us off before when we asked to be let off in the middle of nowhere. How were we ever to find a taxi out here? So we started walking. Me, Rahma, our bags, and three liters of farm fresh olive oil. (heavy!) We walked for probably half an hour and I kept feeling like we were getting nowhere. Eventually we just stopped on a corner and waited. After a time, a taxi*** pulled up and we jumped in. We made it back to Oujda safe and sound.
My trip to the farm was beautiful and fun, but also it's exhausting to be with family, especially not your own. My Arabic definitely benefited a lot more than it would have if I'd stayed home and I'm glad I went. To see a few pictures of Tafaughalt, go to this link:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2221957&id=18806879&l=f71089f6c3
Sorry I don't have pictures of the family, but being so conservative, they did not want to be photographed -- let alone attached to facebook!
This link is some photos of Bouarfa, the city where I will be living for two years, hopefully: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2221955&id=18806879&l=fb59c96379
***for the real foot note of this "taxi" you must ask in an email or facebook message.
So on Friday night my host sisters slept at their friend's house and Saturday morning Rahma and I caught the 5am Souk Bus to Oujda. [Aside:Why is it called a souk bus? Well, one PCV I talked to named Jason thinks it's because the souk comes to you. Souk means market. The buses stop at every little city along the way to rest for a bathroom break and people come on the bus and try to hawk their goods at you. "No, I don't want your gold chain, no I don't want a kilo of honey." The downside of souk buses, besides no air conditioning, is the fact that you could buy a ticket and potentially have to stand, being harassed by people trying to sell you stuff, and it stops constantly. I feel like they stop every fifteen minutes. What would be a two-and-a-half-hour taxi ride turns into a five-hour bus ride. But I guess you get what you pay for. They're pretty cheap. They are like ratty, dusty Greyhound buses. ] [Language note: What we English speakers refer to as the souk bus, is, in Moroccan Arabic, referred to as a "kar," in singular form, and "kiran" in plural.]
So, Saturday morning we took the 5am to Oujda and arrived between 9:30 and 10. I met Rahma's mother at her house in Oujda proper. She was a pleasant lady and we ate lunch there. After lunch Rahma informed me that we would be going to a little place called Tafaughalt (pronounced just like it looks...haha) So I said sure. We hopped in a petit taxi, which takes you within the city, and we went to the taxi stand for the grand taxis, which take you out of town. The thing about grand taxis is they don't leave until they're full -- meaning 4 in the back and three in the front of a Mercedes sedan. So sometimes you may wait quite a while until the right amount of people are going your direction. Lucky for me and Rahma, we filled the last two seats of our Tafaughalt taxi. So onward we went. Let me tell you, Moroccans know how to eat and these women do not have small behinds and fitting four of us in the back of a sedan was no fun. But after 45 minutes or so, Rahma told our driver to halt and she and I got out...and found ourselves in the middle of nowhere. I thought "where on earth has she taken me!?" And then we started walking through the woods. I had to just go with it because what else do you do? So after a few minutes, in the distance, I saw a small farm house. That was our destination. Up and down slopes and slants we trudged through thick fog and found our way to a house FILLED with people. There must have been fifty people in this one house.
The occasion was a sabu3, which is a baby-naming-party I may have mentioned in an earlier blog. [quick cultural reference: a sabu3 is held on the seventh day after the baby has been born and until then it is not named. Then there's a big party] It turns out Rahma's family is quite conservative as far as Morocco goes and the men and women were 100% separated the entire time. So when we arrived, I entered the women's room (not the bathroom) and greeted about 20 ladies, mostly elderly, who were sitting, dressed completely in jellabas and lizars (more than a head covering, it's like a bedsheet that's wrapped around you) so me and my jeans and definitely no lizar sat with these women on the floor. People sit on the floor a lot here, it's not big deal. But it is still weird to see such elderly ladies on the floor. They are sitting on ponges (like cushions) that are about 2 inches thick and pillows behind their backs against the wall. The funny thing was that these women were old and so conservatively dressed but when I looked down their socks made me chuckle. It's really important to take your shoes off on any carpeted service, so all these women were sitting there on the floor, legs outstretched, and all were wearing different mid-shin to knee high GOOFY socks. Socks with frogs, hearts, oblong shapes, English writing that made no sense... To make it better, these long socks had goofy pajama pants tucked into them, so their legs looked bumpy and strange. I kept thinking "why would you tuck your pants into your socks?" It's so funny how dressed up these women get on the outside when underneath they really just have on pajamas and goofy socks.
So I sat and was awkwardly silent for a while until some 14 year old cousins came and adopted me and took me on a stroll. We talked for a while. Nobody spoke any English, so I got a lot of good practice in. I was shocked at how little they knew about what I thought was common knowledge, but I guess it was good that they even asked. They asked me things like "who was the king of America?" and if and how Christians pray. We are taught by Peace Corps to avoid talking religion but there was no refusing to talk about it with these girls. The second they found out I was not Muslim, they began to try to get me to say the shehadda, which, apparently, if you say three times you become a Muslim (though this is not something all Muslims believe, so I'm told.) When I told them I didn't want to, they turned to the tactics that some Christians use in the U.S. "All your problems will go away" "you'll be so happy with life." "You can marry a nice Muslim man and your family would love it." (ok, so maybe that last one isn't used as much in the U.S.) So when I still refused, the girls ever so sweetly said that I should make the choice between roasting over a fiery hell like a ram shish-kabob (that's a quote) or go to heaven. They really emphasized the shish-kabob part. So of course I still refused. Telling them I had my own kind of Quran called the Bible and I prayed in my own way. Eventually, they let it go and still adored me anyway and we talked another two hours or so. The whole family and experience was thoroughly pleasant. These conversion attempts are fairly frequent, though this was, by far, the most intense thus far. Comes with the territory, I guess.
So the challenging thing about beautiful Tafaughalt is that there is no running water. Toilet-wise, this works fine because there is a big barrel of water in the bathroom and a little scooper so you can flush and what-not. But this was not what I would consider potable water. So my main predicament was how on earth was I supposed to brush my teeth? I would have asked the other 50 people who were spending the night at the house, or even the 20 or so women I was sharing sleeping quarters with, who were going to sleep on the floor next to me, but...alas....as I figured, nobody was brushing their teeth. Which, given my experience here so far, is not surprising. (I smell a youth development project...) So unfortunately, I went to bed with dirty teeth. When we awoke in the morning, nobody had yet gone down to the well to fetch more water and once again, nobody was attempting to brush their teeth. So there I stood with dirty teeth and dirty hands and dirty everything else. No running water has not been the norm for me here. I guess that's why Peace Corps Morocco is sometimes referred to as Posh Corps -- because I don't know how I would even get along without it. How high maintenance!
I know, I know, you're saying "Abby! You're an agent of development and change! Maybe if this family saw how you brushed your teeth twice in twelve hours, they would brush their teeth!" Yes, I thought about that, but I'm still too much in a guest mind-set, I guess. I should have insisted, I should have said, "I'm aware that you have to walk a kilometer or so in the fog and cold, but I really need to brush my teeth." "Drink it? No I'm not going to drink it, I'm just going to spit it out. Could you boil it first, too? Ten minutes -- rolling boil ONLY." Next time I will be more pushy.
This weekend at the farm was my first drinking unpasteurized dairy and I was not sick! l'Hamdullah!
So after breakfast I was able to reflect on what a great time I'd had with great people. Rahma decided it was time to be heading back to Oujda proper. So we tromped back through the woods and up to the main street. But wait...a taxi had dropped us off before when we asked to be let off in the middle of nowhere. How were we ever to find a taxi out here? So we started walking. Me, Rahma, our bags, and three liters of farm fresh olive oil. (heavy!) We walked for probably half an hour and I kept feeling like we were getting nowhere. Eventually we just stopped on a corner and waited. After a time, a taxi*** pulled up and we jumped in. We made it back to Oujda safe and sound.
My trip to the farm was beautiful and fun, but also it's exhausting to be with family, especially not your own. My Arabic definitely benefited a lot more than it would have if I'd stayed home and I'm glad I went. To see a few pictures of Tafaughalt, go to this link:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2221957&id=18806879&l=f71089f6c3
Sorry I don't have pictures of the family, but being so conservative, they did not want to be photographed -- let alone attached to facebook!
This link is some photos of Bouarfa, the city where I will be living for two years, hopefully: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2221955&id=18806879&l=fb59c96379
***for the real foot note of this "taxi" you must ask in an email or facebook message.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
S.E. Morocco
So today is the Muslim New Year. Today begins the year 1432. What is interesting is that nobody in town knew that today was the new year until last night. At about 9pm my host family and I were watching some TV when the show was cut short and a frozen image of a minaret came on the screen with a scrolling message. I couldn't read it but my family said "oh tomorrow is the new year! I guess that means no school tomorrow!" And that was it. Today I was supposed to start teaching English at the Dar Chebab too, but it's closed because of the holiday. I even saw the Moudir of the Dar Chebab yesterday and we had a long talk about my beginning today. I guess people really do fly by the seat of their pants here. I'm glad I didn't have anything really important planned. I wonder if transportation is affected....
So my host mother invited me to go to Oujda with her this weekend. That's the next closest full-fledged city. It's about 5 hours away. I'll be meeting my host mom's relatives and it should do wonders for my language.
My language is coming along well. I always understand worse in the mornings, but by mid day I'm doing fine. I feel like I can communicate without much trouble. I'm not doing anything like having philosophical discussions but maybe with some time. My newest language achievement is that I can now understand Moroccans when they are talking to each other! This means I'm understanding at full speed and not just at poor-American-can't-understand-me slow motion speed. Hopefully improvement continues. My weekend in Oujda where I'm not escaping to the solitude of my room will be great.
About Money:
So as PC Volunteers we're paid just a living stipend. I remember my mother referencing a college friend who joined the Peace Corps and was so not interested in material goods that he actually returned from Peace Corps WITH money. Well, I'm starting to think that I may be like that. In comparison to AmeriCorps I'm living the high life! That's not to say they're paying us too much, but that I have gotten so good at saving money that I just don't spend any of my PC money. Plus, everything is so cheap here. I may only be making equivalent to $250 a month but here're some examples of what things cost:
I could buy all the food I need for a week for about $6.
A cup of coffee costs $.50 at a restaurant. And I don't ever go.
This internet cafe is costing me about $.75 an hour.
My rent in a 2-bedroom apt I'll move into on Jan 1st. is $75 a month -- and that is money I'll be given in addition to my living stipend.
Yesterday I paid a man about $0.60 to cart a bookcase from one side of town to another in a wheelbarrow-like cart.
A night in a decent hotel in Errachidia (my stopping point for going anywhere) is about $8. I could go as cheap as $4 and still have a halfway decent hotel room.
So I'm feeling like I'm living the luxurious life (relative to Peace Corps). I'm sure I'll learn to spend money again as time goes on. I can't imagine how much I'd have if I lived in a smaller city where there wasn't even anywhere to spend your money.
So my host mother invited me to go to Oujda with her this weekend. That's the next closest full-fledged city. It's about 5 hours away. I'll be meeting my host mom's relatives and it should do wonders for my language.
My language is coming along well. I always understand worse in the mornings, but by mid day I'm doing fine. I feel like I can communicate without much trouble. I'm not doing anything like having philosophical discussions but maybe with some time. My newest language achievement is that I can now understand Moroccans when they are talking to each other! This means I'm understanding at full speed and not just at poor-American-can't-understand-me slow motion speed. Hopefully improvement continues. My weekend in Oujda where I'm not escaping to the solitude of my room will be great.
About Money:
So as PC Volunteers we're paid just a living stipend. I remember my mother referencing a college friend who joined the Peace Corps and was so not interested in material goods that he actually returned from Peace Corps WITH money. Well, I'm starting to think that I may be like that. In comparison to AmeriCorps I'm living the high life! That's not to say they're paying us too much, but that I have gotten so good at saving money that I just don't spend any of my PC money. Plus, everything is so cheap here. I may only be making equivalent to $250 a month but here're some examples of what things cost:
I could buy all the food I need for a week for about $6.
A cup of coffee costs $.50 at a restaurant. And I don't ever go.
This internet cafe is costing me about $.75 an hour.
My rent in a 2-bedroom apt I'll move into on Jan 1st. is $75 a month -- and that is money I'll be given in addition to my living stipend.
Yesterday I paid a man about $0.60 to cart a bookcase from one side of town to another in a wheelbarrow-like cart.
A night in a decent hotel in Errachidia (my stopping point for going anywhere) is about $8. I could go as cheap as $4 and still have a halfway decent hotel room.
So I'm feeling like I'm living the luxurious life (relative to Peace Corps). I'm sure I'll learn to spend money again as time goes on. I can't imagine how much I'd have if I lived in a smaller city where there wasn't even anywhere to spend your money.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Ram slaughter
Here is a public link to the facebook album of my photos from Eid Kbir. They are a little graphic. The captions tell a pretty good story though, so read them!
All is well.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2220557&id=18806879&l=898ed07e06
I don't think you need a facebook to view them.
All is well.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2220557&id=18806879&l=898ed07e06
I don't think you need a facebook to view them.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Eid Kbir
This is a quick blog
I want to write a really lengthy one on Ram Slaughter Day, but I haven't had the opportunity to do so yet.
I will say this:
- They didn't scream, like I thought they would
- they kicked LONG after their throat was slit. that was rough
- The first one had no idea what was coming, but the second one sure did and tried to escape. Didn't work though. It just prolonged it.
- It wasn't as bad as I thought it was, but maybe that was because I was tired of living in a barn and would rather live in a meat freezer.
- Yes, the streets ran red with blood. Thick blood. And no, they didn't hose it off or anything. It's probably all still there. That's a weird smell. There are a lot of weird smells here.
So the reason I haven't written a really good blog about the whole experience is because I was moving. I moved from my training town and now I'm on the coast near Rabat (the capital) because tomorrow, ::drum roll!:: I will be sworn in Officially as a Peace Corps Volunteer (and not a trainee) by the ambassador. And then Thursday morning, Thanksgiving day, I will be on my way to South Eastern Morocco to start my two years of service. There is almost no grace time in between, other than that it will take me two days to get there. (carting everything I own on public transportation!)
So since I am officially the most isolated volunteer in my training group-- by far-- I have been enjoying socializing with the other 60 or so volunteers with whom I'll be sworn in, since I won't be able to see people that often after Thursday. I'm five or six hours away from the closest volunteer I actually know. And I'm a two hour taxi ride away from the closest volunteer-- period.
So I'll catch up on my blog next week when I'm all alone in my new town.
By then the ram intestines that they have stuffed with other good stuff and made into sausage should be ready so I can write about all of it at once! Yay!!!
Lovin' every minute of it!
I want to write a really lengthy one on Ram Slaughter Day, but I haven't had the opportunity to do so yet.
I will say this:
- They didn't scream, like I thought they would
- they kicked LONG after their throat was slit. that was rough
- The first one had no idea what was coming, but the second one sure did and tried to escape. Didn't work though. It just prolonged it.
- It wasn't as bad as I thought it was, but maybe that was because I was tired of living in a barn and would rather live in a meat freezer.
- Yes, the streets ran red with blood. Thick blood. And no, they didn't hose it off or anything. It's probably all still there. That's a weird smell. There are a lot of weird smells here.
So the reason I haven't written a really good blog about the whole experience is because I was moving. I moved from my training town and now I'm on the coast near Rabat (the capital) because tomorrow, ::drum roll!:: I will be sworn in Officially as a Peace Corps Volunteer (and not a trainee) by the ambassador. And then Thursday morning, Thanksgiving day, I will be on my way to South Eastern Morocco to start my two years of service. There is almost no grace time in between, other than that it will take me two days to get there. (carting everything I own on public transportation!)
So since I am officially the most isolated volunteer in my training group-- by far-- I have been enjoying socializing with the other 60 or so volunteers with whom I'll be sworn in, since I won't be able to see people that often after Thursday. I'm five or six hours away from the closest volunteer I actually know. And I'm a two hour taxi ride away from the closest volunteer-- period.
So I'll catch up on my blog next week when I'm all alone in my new town.
By then the ram intestines that they have stuffed with other good stuff and made into sausage should be ready so I can write about all of it at once! Yay!!!
Lovin' every minute of it!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
It's Christmas in Morocco/Meat Hygiene
Well, not really Christmas, but it kind of feels like Christmas. On Wednesday is the biggest holiday of the year. It's called "L'Eid Kbir" which literally means "big feast." It reminds me so much of Christmas because everybody's family is in town, people are happy, there are bands playing in the gardens, and there are lights like Christmas lights everywhere, plus it's a little chilly. The big difference is that we're going to slaughter a couple of rams!
Here's the story:
You may or may not be familiar with the old testament story of Abraham and Isaac. But basically, the Kor'an has the same story but with Abraham and Ishmael, his other son. Abraham was told by God to offer his 'only' son as a sacrifice to God, and he was so obedient that he said he would, and he got ready to do it and then God sent a ram instead, and Ishmael wasn't slaughtered. So Muslims have l'Eid Kbir to represent Abraham (or Ibrahim)'s obedience to God and then the mercy that was given. I think I have that right.
The rule is that every household must slaughter a ram on the day that commemorates this.
We have my host family's oldest daughter in town now, with her husband and two kids, ages 8 and 3. So it's two households together, therefore two rams must be slaughtered.
Fast Forward to this morning: I hear some commotion outside my bedroom and so I get up and open my door and they are setting up a "stable" right outside my room! This is not a big house. It's MAYBE 700 square feet. When you walk in the front door there is a little entrance area, maybe 10 ft. by 5 ft. And off of that there are two rooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom and that's it. So then I look toward the door and there are two large rams, alive and well, being led into the house and backed it to a corner! Then their "stable" was made by using a table and a couch turned on it's side to block the animals into the corner. They were pretty well mannered through this whole process, and treated fairly well. (the meat is only considered "halal", like Kosher, if the animal is treated well before it's death.)
So my 700 square foot house now has 6 adults (another one will arrive tomorrow), two kids, and two big rams.
The rams will be chilling outside my room until Wednesday, which is the actual day of L'Eid Kbir, when we will lead them, one at a time, onto the roof, and my host sisters husband will slaughter them. For the meat to be halal they cannot be slaughtered in front of another animal, and you have to use a big knife and slice the jugular with one clean, hard stroke after saying "bismillah" which means something along the lines of "God bless this." One stroke is ideal, two is acceptable. So then, apparently, it kicks around a little and all the blood gushes and squirts all over the place, and within a few minutes it stops squirming and is quite dead. Everyone tells me that is humane and it doesn't feel anything; that after the first stroke it just kicks around because of nerves. I definitely do not believe that at all, but I am comforted by the fact that it dies quickly. So then all this animal's blood is washed down the drain pipe and onto the 'street' (alley) below. All the neighbors will be doing this at more or less the same time. I wonder if the rams will scream? The streets turn red with blood, so they say, and I imagine they're right. After the first one, they'll take the other one to the roof and slaughter it. The stomach and liver are eaten first. Over a period of weeks the entire thing will be eaten, including the brains, and the fur will be turned into a rug.
So am I going to like this? Probably not. In fact I'm a little terrified that it will be traumatizing. Not to mention the fact that I may get sick. I've never seen anything get killed before! I gutted my first fish today while cooking lunch (Sundays are such hard work!) and then I gutted about twenty more, and then I cleaned a raw chicken for the first time in my life and felt squeamish doing that! (yes, I cleaned a chicken today!) So what is this ram slaughter going to be like???
Speaking of barn animals, lets talk a little about HYGIENE
We were told that if we plan on writing a blog, we should write it in a very culturally sensitive manner; as if our host families are going to read them. So I intend to do that, but I just have to share the fact that it is NOT hygienic, in my opinion, to keep barn animals in the house. Especially with the lax hand washing policies here.
FOR EXAMPLE! The two rams were butting heads a bit and so Hasna, my host sister, got involved to separate them. She had been in the kitchen slicing some potatoes and beets when the commotion started. So after separating these barn animals and then sweeping up their excrement, she went back into the kitchen and CONTINUED SLICING THE VEGETABLES without so much as rinsing off her hands. AH! I was SO grossed out. I mean, think of what is covering those animals that now is being mixed with the food we're eating for lunch!? How gross is our new "stable" going to be in 48 hours?!
Now you may be thinking "why don't you say something?!" But it's really not as easy as that. There is a fine line between sharing cultural points, and being insulting. Especially since nobody is sick. So what I did was volunteer to help her and washed my hands well with soap right in front of her. I was scrubbing like I was about to go into surgery. Luckily, this particular batch of potatoes and beets were to be boiled, and as our Peace Corps Medical Officer says repeatedly "heat kills all pathogens!" so I was able to relax a little.
Later on, we continued cooking lunch which involved raw fish and chicken and we cross contaminated like crazy; though not anything I was doing. Hasna went from touching raw chicken, to slicing cucumbers that we were going to eat raw. I kept hinting that we needed to wash our hands, and she picked up on my suggestions, but really didn't use soap, and did not change utensils.
This must be how it is done all the time, and yet, I'm not sick and have no parasites... yet. (Though one of the six of us in my training group does have parasites.) Have we just been overly cautious our whole lives? I feel like I've just been lucky so far. But I didn't eat the cucumbers at lunch. I guess all I can do is set a good example and volunteer to help in the kitchen as much as possible-- even if all I want to do is leave the kitchen because there are so many health violations in every direction I look.
Anyway, we'll see how the Eid Kbir goes and I'll give you my reaction to the slaughter when it's gone and done with.
I'm having a bunch of those "this is Peace Corps!" moments this weekend, and I guess that's why I'm here! So I'm happy with that. :) Welcome to Morocco.
Here's the story:
You may or may not be familiar with the old testament story of Abraham and Isaac. But basically, the Kor'an has the same story but with Abraham and Ishmael, his other son. Abraham was told by God to offer his 'only' son as a sacrifice to God, and he was so obedient that he said he would, and he got ready to do it and then God sent a ram instead, and Ishmael wasn't slaughtered. So Muslims have l'Eid Kbir to represent Abraham (or Ibrahim)'s obedience to God and then the mercy that was given. I think I have that right.
The rule is that every household must slaughter a ram on the day that commemorates this.
We have my host family's oldest daughter in town now, with her husband and two kids, ages 8 and 3. So it's two households together, therefore two rams must be slaughtered.
Fast Forward to this morning: I hear some commotion outside my bedroom and so I get up and open my door and they are setting up a "stable" right outside my room! This is not a big house. It's MAYBE 700 square feet. When you walk in the front door there is a little entrance area, maybe 10 ft. by 5 ft. And off of that there are two rooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom and that's it. So then I look toward the door and there are two large rams, alive and well, being led into the house and backed it to a corner! Then their "stable" was made by using a table and a couch turned on it's side to block the animals into the corner. They were pretty well mannered through this whole process, and treated fairly well. (the meat is only considered "halal", like Kosher, if the animal is treated well before it's death.)
So my 700 square foot house now has 6 adults (another one will arrive tomorrow), two kids, and two big rams.
The rams will be chilling outside my room until Wednesday, which is the actual day of L'Eid Kbir, when we will lead them, one at a time, onto the roof, and my host sisters husband will slaughter them. For the meat to be halal they cannot be slaughtered in front of another animal, and you have to use a big knife and slice the jugular with one clean, hard stroke after saying "bismillah" which means something along the lines of "God bless this." One stroke is ideal, two is acceptable. So then, apparently, it kicks around a little and all the blood gushes and squirts all over the place, and within a few minutes it stops squirming and is quite dead. Everyone tells me that is humane and it doesn't feel anything; that after the first stroke it just kicks around because of nerves. I definitely do not believe that at all, but I am comforted by the fact that it dies quickly. So then all this animal's blood is washed down the drain pipe and onto the 'street' (alley) below. All the neighbors will be doing this at more or less the same time. I wonder if the rams will scream? The streets turn red with blood, so they say, and I imagine they're right. After the first one, they'll take the other one to the roof and slaughter it. The stomach and liver are eaten first. Over a period of weeks the entire thing will be eaten, including the brains, and the fur will be turned into a rug.
So am I going to like this? Probably not. In fact I'm a little terrified that it will be traumatizing. Not to mention the fact that I may get sick. I've never seen anything get killed before! I gutted my first fish today while cooking lunch (Sundays are such hard work!) and then I gutted about twenty more, and then I cleaned a raw chicken for the first time in my life and felt squeamish doing that! (yes, I cleaned a chicken today!) So what is this ram slaughter going to be like???
Speaking of barn animals, lets talk a little about HYGIENE
We were told that if we plan on writing a blog, we should write it in a very culturally sensitive manner; as if our host families are going to read them. So I intend to do that, but I just have to share the fact that it is NOT hygienic, in my opinion, to keep barn animals in the house. Especially with the lax hand washing policies here.
FOR EXAMPLE! The two rams were butting heads a bit and so Hasna, my host sister, got involved to separate them. She had been in the kitchen slicing some potatoes and beets when the commotion started. So after separating these barn animals and then sweeping up their excrement, she went back into the kitchen and CONTINUED SLICING THE VEGETABLES without so much as rinsing off her hands. AH! I was SO grossed out. I mean, think of what is covering those animals that now is being mixed with the food we're eating for lunch!? How gross is our new "stable" going to be in 48 hours?!
Now you may be thinking "why don't you say something?!" But it's really not as easy as that. There is a fine line between sharing cultural points, and being insulting. Especially since nobody is sick. So what I did was volunteer to help her and washed my hands well with soap right in front of her. I was scrubbing like I was about to go into surgery. Luckily, this particular batch of potatoes and beets were to be boiled, and as our Peace Corps Medical Officer says repeatedly "heat kills all pathogens!" so I was able to relax a little.
Later on, we continued cooking lunch which involved raw fish and chicken and we cross contaminated like crazy; though not anything I was doing. Hasna went from touching raw chicken, to slicing cucumbers that we were going to eat raw. I kept hinting that we needed to wash our hands, and she picked up on my suggestions, but really didn't use soap, and did not change utensils.
This must be how it is done all the time, and yet, I'm not sick and have no parasites... yet. (Though one of the six of us in my training group does have parasites.) Have we just been overly cautious our whole lives? I feel like I've just been lucky so far. But I didn't eat the cucumbers at lunch. I guess all I can do is set a good example and volunteer to help in the kitchen as much as possible-- even if all I want to do is leave the kitchen because there are so many health violations in every direction I look.
Anyway, we'll see how the Eid Kbir goes and I'll give you my reaction to the slaughter when it's gone and done with.
I'm having a bunch of those "this is Peace Corps!" moments this weekend, and I guess that's why I'm here! So I'm happy with that. :) Welcome to Morocco.
Friday, November 12, 2010
The King was here!
I was told by someone that my last blog showed signs I was becoming petulant. Well I assure you I am doing just fine and am in great spirits. I even got up this morning at 6:30 to run with two of my friends despite how freezing and muddy it is. (I can't wait to move to the Sahara! Two weeks!) Living with a family just gets old after a while. I'm sure it's like that with everyone.
The king came to our training city this week! This was a big deal for the town. Apparently, once a year, the king takes a month or two to travel around the country visiting different cities, and this year it was our turn. They were cleaning the city for probably a week prior-- cleaning all the litter up (or sweeping it over a ledge, out of site, in some places.) , painting the curbs, and hanging Moroccan flags on EVERYTHING. They even passed out pictures of his portrait. So this week we got a glimpse of the king! I saw the king! The first day he was here, we had Arabic school so we missed him. All the Moroccan schools here were closed and lots of stores and businesses so that everybody could watch and wave at the king. I was so sad because I thought we weren't going to get to see him. But the next day, yesterday, he was driving around town and I happened to be in the right crowded area at the right time and I saw him! It was mostly just his arm waving out the window of a car, but it was definitely him. So that was pretty cool!
A recourse of the king coming is that there are huge celebrations out on the street. It looks a lot like Christmas over here! They've hung lights on all buildings and the Moroccan flag is red and green so everything around us is red and green, plus everybody is walking around happily with their families. Tonight there was a concert in the garden full of Moroccan bands singing and playing traditional songs.
Because the king is here, security is very high, of course. Earlier today, Xavier, one of my Peace Corps training site mates, was wandering around and a plain-clothed security officer went by. He knew it was an undercover cop because he had a walkie-talkie under his clothes and the volume was up and it went off. Apparently he didn't know his walkie-talkie was live and he tried to muffle it right away. Real smooth. So I had this on my mind when I went to the gardens this evening with my sisters to enjoy the music. I wasn't consciously thinking of looking for secret police, but they were all over the place and nobody else seemed to notice! I'm already hypersensitive because I'm a foreigner, so I look different and I feel different and it is obvious that I AM different. So me being somebody "odd," I can spot other odd people in a crowd. And this includes secret police, apparently. Most people who walk by are with friends, walking with a purpose and looking straight ahead. The first undercover police officer I saw, I knew immediately because he was walking, seemingly with purpose, but very slowly and with shifty eyes. I took one look at his weird baggy turtle neck and jeans and I said to myself with certainty "that is a cop." and so as I followed him with my eyes and he passed me, I saw a black ear piece in his ear with a wire running into his shirt, so it was confirmed. I was watching him closely though and he definitely noticed and seemed bothered by my staring, and so when he passed us he stood about ten feet behind us. I know I should take it seriously because he has a serious job to do, but I was almost laughing because of how much he did not blend in. Our plain-clothed loss-prevention employees at the Gap did a better job blending in as customers than this guy did. So then my host sisters and I start wandering and this fellow starts following us from a distance. But again, it was very obvious he was following us. (Plus, I kept glancing back) So once we reached a certain part of the garden he stopped following us. Then we sat on a bench and within seconds another awkward guy with a low baseball cap (nobody is wearing baseball caps.) starts walking towards us slowly, and with shifty eyes. He passes us and then stops and stays a couple yards back. By this point, I decided that as amateur of an "undercover" operation this seemed to be, I should take them seriously, and I stopped staring. But still, one weirdo can always spot another weirdo in the crowd, I suppose.
All the weirdos came out last night Some strange lady approached me and started grilling me about where I was from. She started friendly enough and told me that she worked for a while picking strawberries in Spain. Then she started telling me I should have my head covered because it's cold...then that leapt to Haram in America. (Haram is like "sinful" according to the Koran) She said things like that America is nothing but Haram and that I like to drink and smoke and wear short sleeves and so does everybody else. None of it was in question form- it was all statement after statement of what many haram things I do. (I do enjoy short sleeves...) Eventually I just tuned out and stopped understanding, mostly on purpose, but my sisters stepped in and did a good job of defending me.
I guess you meet crazies everywhere you go!
All is well. About one week until L'Eid Kbir, the biggest holiday in Morocco (like Christmas for us!) and that should be really fun, and then in two weeks I'll be done with training and officially become sworn in by the ambassador as a Peace Corps Volunteer! Yay! That's on Nov. 24th, and should be awesome.
The king came to our training city this week! This was a big deal for the town. Apparently, once a year, the king takes a month or two to travel around the country visiting different cities, and this year it was our turn. They were cleaning the city for probably a week prior-- cleaning all the litter up (or sweeping it over a ledge, out of site, in some places.) , painting the curbs, and hanging Moroccan flags on EVERYTHING. They even passed out pictures of his portrait. So this week we got a glimpse of the king! I saw the king! The first day he was here, we had Arabic school so we missed him. All the Moroccan schools here were closed and lots of stores and businesses so that everybody could watch and wave at the king. I was so sad because I thought we weren't going to get to see him. But the next day, yesterday, he was driving around town and I happened to be in the right crowded area at the right time and I saw him! It was mostly just his arm waving out the window of a car, but it was definitely him. So that was pretty cool!
A recourse of the king coming is that there are huge celebrations out on the street. It looks a lot like Christmas over here! They've hung lights on all buildings and the Moroccan flag is red and green so everything around us is red and green, plus everybody is walking around happily with their families. Tonight there was a concert in the garden full of Moroccan bands singing and playing traditional songs.
Because the king is here, security is very high, of course. Earlier today, Xavier, one of my Peace Corps training site mates, was wandering around and a plain-clothed security officer went by. He knew it was an undercover cop because he had a walkie-talkie under his clothes and the volume was up and it went off. Apparently he didn't know his walkie-talkie was live and he tried to muffle it right away. Real smooth. So I had this on my mind when I went to the gardens this evening with my sisters to enjoy the music. I wasn't consciously thinking of looking for secret police, but they were all over the place and nobody else seemed to notice! I'm already hypersensitive because I'm a foreigner, so I look different and I feel different and it is obvious that I AM different. So me being somebody "odd," I can spot other odd people in a crowd. And this includes secret police, apparently. Most people who walk by are with friends, walking with a purpose and looking straight ahead. The first undercover police officer I saw, I knew immediately because he was walking, seemingly with purpose, but very slowly and with shifty eyes. I took one look at his weird baggy turtle neck and jeans and I said to myself with certainty "that is a cop." and so as I followed him with my eyes and he passed me, I saw a black ear piece in his ear with a wire running into his shirt, so it was confirmed. I was watching him closely though and he definitely noticed and seemed bothered by my staring, and so when he passed us he stood about ten feet behind us. I know I should take it seriously because he has a serious job to do, but I was almost laughing because of how much he did not blend in. Our plain-clothed loss-prevention employees at the Gap did a better job blending in as customers than this guy did. So then my host sisters and I start wandering and this fellow starts following us from a distance. But again, it was very obvious he was following us. (Plus, I kept glancing back) So once we reached a certain part of the garden he stopped following us. Then we sat on a bench and within seconds another awkward guy with a low baseball cap (nobody is wearing baseball caps.) starts walking towards us slowly, and with shifty eyes. He passes us and then stops and stays a couple yards back. By this point, I decided that as amateur of an "undercover" operation this seemed to be, I should take them seriously, and I stopped staring. But still, one weirdo can always spot another weirdo in the crowd, I suppose.
All the weirdos came out last night Some strange lady approached me and started grilling me about where I was from. She started friendly enough and told me that she worked for a while picking strawberries in Spain. Then she started telling me I should have my head covered because it's cold...then that leapt to Haram in America. (Haram is like "sinful" according to the Koran) She said things like that America is nothing but Haram and that I like to drink and smoke and wear short sleeves and so does everybody else. None of it was in question form- it was all statement after statement of what many haram things I do. (I do enjoy short sleeves...) Eventually I just tuned out and stopped understanding, mostly on purpose, but my sisters stepped in and did a good job of defending me.
I guess you meet crazies everywhere you go!
All is well. About one week until L'Eid Kbir, the biggest holiday in Morocco (like Christmas for us!) and that should be really fun, and then in two weeks I'll be done with training and officially become sworn in by the ambassador as a Peace Corps Volunteer! Yay! That's on Nov. 24th, and should be awesome.
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