December 28, 2007

Orange is the New Black

Does anyone else remember that Banana Republic ad campaign a few years back that really pushed orange? There were orange scarves and orange coats and orange knit wool tights. Vogue even touted it as the new "bold neutral." Personally, I never bought into it. And I still don't.

One of my favorite artisans here, Rbia, loves orange. It's best with green in her opinion. It also goes well with brown and black. Or at least that's what she pointed to on the color chart I made for her. Many of her peers agree with her. Indeed, I know some candy marketers that would whole-heartedly agree with all of them.

One of the most interesting parts of my job (aside from the sheep's brain I kind of accidentally ate the other day) is walking the fine line between encouragement and constructive criticism. Rbia works so hard on her products. The time she spends at the association working on them takes away from her household duties, her work in the fields, and her family.

On the other hand I really want that time to be worthwhile. It's my job to tell her what my American eyes see, and what they saw tonight are handbags that could be vastly improved with a bit more attention to color combinations and improvements in technique and consistency.
The wonderful thing about Rbia is that she's open to new ideas and she doesn't (appear to) take criticism personally. We have lots to look forward to. Now if I could only get the whole "organizational management" project underway.

In other news: I saw the king twice this week. He's just as handsome as he is on TV. And tomorrow I'm taking my first "overnight" to see Matthew and Anny (see earlier post) so I'll have a whole new town to tell you about, along with the experience of an inter-city souk bus. Whoa, baby!

Update 27/01/2008: Orange is beginning to grow on me. After being bombarded by the colors over and over again while shopping in the souks for what seems like a hundred days straight, I'm coming around to Rbia's point of view. I still maintain that it is not completely appropriate for the American market though. The color chart I made for them has worked wonders, yet there are red and green bags on the looms as we speak! Imik s imik, (little by little) right?

December 22, 2007

The Big Feast



My horoscope for yesterday: Quality time with animals will transform your mood. Visit a stable to hang with the horses, go for a hike in the woods with your dog, or volunteer to help out at a rescue league.

Yesterday each family in my town slaughtered a sheep (or two, in my family's case) to commemorate the sacrifice of Ishmael (I know some you want to say, "Oooooh, Anjuli forgot; it was Isaac." Not here it wasn't.) Each house has a lovely, skinned sheep hanging in some shady spot on the roof, or in the living room. It's not really that gross, until you make the connection between what's on your plate and what's hanging upside down behind you . . .

OK, so my horoscope was a little off the mark (astrology is an imperfect science, OK?), but my mood was transformed. The whole ritual slaughtering of sheep thing was a little depressing. (I'm sheltered; I admit it.) Later in the day, however, we got dressed up, put on some make-up, and strolled about town, visiting other families. I met about twenty women I'd never seen before. There was some dancing (girls only), a whole lot of cookies, a little tea, and my favorite treat of all: coffee. Yum. I also made an amazing discovery. Widade, my one English student, owns a sewing machine! Sewing machines are kind of rare here, so this is a huge boon for my association. It's all about making connections.

December 14, 2007

Kiss and Tell

Birthdays are always a little trying for me. There’s the pressure to celebrate, to appear popular in some way. There’s the constant distance between my family and me. And in the past there was always the fear of an unwanted phone call from my estranged father - a guaranteed argument and tears all around.

On the other hand my family does an amazing job at making me feel quite special. Phone calls, cards, presents, and expressions of love are in abundance every 14th of December. My mother makes a point of calling me as near to 9:29 AM PST as possible, simply because that’s the time at which I was born.

Traditionally, birthdays are not celebrated in Morocco. Indeed, many people don’t even know when their birthdays fall. It’s a hallmark of our individualist culture that we expect to celebrate the birth of a single, normal person.

Needless to say today was rough. I missed home all the more, and waiting until 5:29 PM GMT to talk to my Mom seemed unbearable this morning, as I sat knitting a hat and trying to do yoga in a culturally appropriate manner. (Impossible. Bending over and sticking your butt in the air is never culturally appropriate, but for some reason it’s OK to do on the roof in full view of the entire community . . .)

Things started looking up at lunchtime, when I learned how to eat cous-cous (sksou in Tashlheit) with my hands. I know it seems impossible, but really it’s not. It’s just really messy and involves having fewer qualms about messiness than I have. This new technique caused me to eat much slower than usual (it’s possible), but my host sister, Habiba, was so excited to see me try it that it lifted my spirits - emotional eating at its best.

Later I went into Oz to check my mail (walu) and my email (bzzef). And there were tons of well wishes from all of you! Thank you! Not only do I have the best family in the world but also I have an amazing group of friends back home. I don’t know what I would do without your support.

On my way home, my Mom called, which made me feel tons better. After we finished talking, I entered the communal fields and ran into three little girls that are friends with my host niece, Ikram. We greeted in the normal way by grasping hands and kissing on the cheek. Then I greeted their mothers, whom I had never met before, in the same way. It was one of those rare moments when you treasure something totally mundane. I must give and receive dozens of kisses everyday, but these were special somehow. Maybe it was because we weren’t in a home (where it’s mandatory to greet this way) or because the girls were so happy to see me. I’m a complete stranger to this community. All they know is that some crazy American wants to learn Tashlheit and ask them lots of questions about household goods. But in those brief moments, and as I overheard the girls explaining who I was, I felt like I had connected with my community in some small way. Not a bad birthday present.

December 11, 2007

What are you wearing?

In another context this question might be considered mildly offensive, but it’s quite relevant to my position in Morocco. Navigating the clothing conundrum is one of the most important ways in which female volunteers adapt culturally and ensure their safety and security.

Something I haven’t talked a lot about is the heightened sense of the public and the private. How I would dress in a house of my own is very different than how I dress in my host family’s home, which, in turn, is very different from how I dress in public. I could wear shorts and a tank top in my own home and no one would care, but the minute I step out onto the street, my manner and dress convey multiple messages about who I am and what my intentions are.

My gender plays a significant role in all of this. As a woman I’m expected to cover-up quite a bit. (You can see how some of the young women in my community dress to the right.) Most days I wear jeans with a loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt. It’s always a plus if the shirt is long enough to cover the rear pockets of my jeans. If I’m in public or in the presence of men I never show above the elbows or knees, or my collarbones (the New York Times was right - they are an erogenous zone!). Cleavage is absolutely out of the question. As the temperatures are quite low this time of year, this hasn’t been much of a challenge. (I’m wearing four layers and sitting inside my sleeping bag underneath a blanket as I type this. I’ve formed an alliance with the family cat to keep warm at night! Oh, and I’m also knitting myself legwarmers, mostly for their function and, maybe, just a tiny bit (like 1%, I swear!) for their fashion. Oh, that hurt to admit.)

The consequences of dressing inappropriately can be serious. It’s considered disrespectful to both men and women to display a lot of skin. Today, over tea, my host sisters, Habiba and Jmeia, and I had a discussion about the hashuma of showing our shoulders. Their advice to me: don’t do it. In a large city like Fes or Ouarzazate a women could be mistaken for a prostitute if she wears too little clothing. Even in the blistering hot summer I’m expected to wear long pants and long sleeves. It’s important that I demonstrate my willingness to adapt to my community, otherwise they may not respect my efforts to work with them as a professional.

None of this is to say that Moroccan women don’t dress how they please. There are those who wear traditional j’llabahs everyday, and there are those who wear skinny jeans and look like someone plucked them right out of Williamsburg. The veil is not mandatory here, and many women adopt it by choice - even over the protests of their parents and siblings. I happen to live in a conservative, rural town that has certain expectations. Even so, I have to say that my community has also been respectful of my choices. No one has insisted that I wear a zif (head scarf) or give up wearing pants. They were very supportive, however, when I bought a pair of house slippers. tHla bezzef (very nice).

In other news: I now have Skype and I almost know how to use it. There’s a bit of a time delay, but I believe it’s beneficial to my mental health to hear your voices, even if we can’t carry on a totally normal conversation. So call me. I miss you guys.