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.

November 30, 2007

Wedding Part II and A Few Other Things

I'm finally home and somewhat settled in my host family's house. Most of my things are still in another city, and I can't seem to get warm! I've never appreciated the warmth of a family pet so much! Oh, and I know I promised more about the wedding I attended so here it is:

OK, so not much happened on the second night! There was a bride, which was a plus in my opinion. The groom also attended, you'll be happy to know! The two arrived in a car in the courtyard of the hotel and were escorted, with lots of cheering, to two throne-like chairs under a beautiful metal canopy. There was a band, and lots of dancing. Some women danced and some chose not to. My host sisters were among those who did not, as they believe it is shameful (hshuma) to dance in the presence of men. Some women actually danced with men though! Whoa! But mostly the genders stuck to themselves.

At certain intervals the bride stepped out from the canopy, sat in a small cage, was lifted and carried throughout the dancing crowd. She waved a little like Princess Di. When she was set down, the groom was carried around. He actually stood up and did a little impromptu dance. Then they both left the courtyard and she came back in a new dress. Depending on the wealth of the family the bride will change clothes up to five times, sometimes more. What I remember most is that there was a lot of orange involved, and that it was too cold for me to sit out there the entire night. I understood why people danced despite the hshuma. However, I did get a couple of good pictures of my host family out of it. The first one is of my host mother, Zahara, with my host niece, Fedwa, and the second is of my with my host sister, Habiba. I couldn't have asked for a lovelier family.

Speaking of really lovely people, I also recently said goodbye to all of my new Peace Corps friends! On November 26th we all swore in as volunteers in Fes. Yay! But sad that we had to leave one another. There were definitely some moments when I wanted a little "alone time" but mostly I feel like my fellow volunteers are my family away from home. Here are a few pictures:


This is Jackie, my roommate for three months. She was the very first person I met upon arrival in Philadelphia, and she was an invaluable source of insight and support.



This is my CBT group from Ait Benhaddou! Mia, me, Mahri, Amina (our LCF), Megan, Kate and Anny. I miss them so! Every morning we debriefed about all of the wacky things that happened the night before. We struggled through Tashlheet together, and hiked the kasbah as often as we could. Reunions are definitely in the making.




I'm not sure I can say enough about these two incredible men, Matthew and Brian, so I won't try in this forum. Just know that I'm always safe and protected when I'm with these two.

The next two months will be spent living with my host family, implementing some development tools, collectively known as PACA, searching for a house of my own, and meeting the volunteers in my region. I'll also try to get back to answering all of the questions you've sent me. Happy holidays and lots of love from Morocco!

November 10, 2007

Wedding Part 1



"Part I," you ask. Yes, there are multiple parts to this story, and you're really only getting what I managed to pick up in a loud, crowded room with very basic Tashlheit skills. . . The second part will unfold tonight . . . And I have a feeling that both parts will differ from the nice description available at the link above.

Last night I attended the first night of my first Moroccan wedding. It was pretty spectacular. The town's women, dressed in some of the most gorgeous gowns I have ever seen, occupied the grand lobby of the kasbah hotel. One group of women sat in the center of the room and played drums, large and small. A second group of women rose to sing and dance in a circle. It was a sort of hand-clapping, shoulder-raising, hip-shaking dance. The movements were small, but the effect was grand as they moved slowly around the circle. The lighting was very poor but this should provide you with an idea of what was happening:



"Aren't there men in your town," you ask. Well, yes, of course, but they had been invited to attend the wedding during the day, and the few that were in attendance at night sat in another room eating dinner.

After some dancing (I joined in after much prodding from Rbia, my older host sister) the women were separated into smaller rooms with tables and given communal plates of chicken with tomatoes and onions and beef with prunes. We also drank Fanta. (I am nurturing a serious sugar addiction.) At the end of the meal, I noticed that I was the only who ate all of my food. Earlier I had noticed that my host sister, Jmeia, had served me less than the other guests, but I thought that was because I "eat in the time of a chicken". I was sooooooo wrong! The women were the ones who ate like chickens! And then they packed up the meat in plastic bags and put them in their purses. Whoa! That was not what I was expecting. I thought it had something to with not wasting food, which is a big deal here and deserves an entire post of its own. When Jmeia and I arrived home and she gave the meat to her mother and sister (who had not joined in the festivities) it all made sense.

Maybe now you're wondering, "Why haven't you mentioned the bride and groom?" Well, dear, reader, they weren't there. After dinner all the women gathered outside in the hotel's courtyard and waited for the "asli". Soon I saw a group of people approaching the courtyard with a figure in shrouded in a white blanket. It was the groom! And, no he wasn't wearing anything under that blanket (or so I was told). A man guided the figure to the center of the courtyard and had him kneel before a small table of burning incense and basil, and some other things I couldn't see or identify.

An announcer-type man placed a bright red basket on the groom's head, and people started lining up to give the groom gifts. The announcer-type man would announce the gift as well as the name and giver's relationship to the groom. Then he would place the gift (usually cash) into the basket. Large comforters, picture frames and other items that might have caused the groom discomfort were placed at his side. It was probably the best way to be introduced to the entire community at once. Seeing them be so generous en masse was really quite beautiful and overwhelming.

Tonight it's the bride's turn to be the center of attention. I've gathered that she will be lifted up on a chair, which is appealing for many reasons, none of which I can go into here. I will try to write some tomorrow, but as I will be traveling for the next three weeks straight that may be difficult. Obviously, ask me any questions you have! I'm sure I've left out a million things.

November 9, 2007

A New Home

After seven days at my permanent site, I'm pretty sure I'm in love. It's deserty; it's green; it's warm and chilly simultaneously - it's all the little contradictions of Morocco stuffed into a tiny, tiny town of about 700 people in the Ouarzazate region. Plus, my new host family has wireless, and I took a shower with a frog the other day. What's not to love? Did I mention that there's an airport about thirty minutes away? Ummmm . . . yes, that means you (yes, you!) should definitely visit.

Here are a few pictures of my new town:










November 4, 2007

What, exactly, is a kasbah?

Before you read this you should thoroughly review the lyrics of the classic song Rock the Kasbah by The Clash. Not only does it have a rockin’ beat, but also it provides a lovely description of what actually used to happen to kasbahs. (OK, fine it’s more of a metaphor, and the person who asked this question is a musical man so I thought I would relate it to music in some way.) The term kasbah refers to an ancient fortified city. They generally look like castles, are multi-layered, and come in many shapes and sizes. Sometimes entire towns are considered kasbahs and sometimes just a small area is. Wikipedia may have a different opinion but this is what I’ve learned by living near one for six weeks. I’ve also read that it refers to small structures that acted as military strongholds of ruling sheikhs or kings. Before a town or city could be officially conquered the ruler’s kasbah had to be destroyed, usually by means of bombarding it, or if you like, rockin’ it.

The kasbah with which I am most familiar is Kasbah Aït Benhaddou, which is the largest and best preserved kasbah in the entire Sub-Atlas region. If you climb to the top of it you'll have this view of the Dades Valley. Let's just say that it's gorgeous and I love it. It draws a steady stream of tourists (and by steady, I mean that it’s the most visited town in all of Morocco). Most of the town’s population lives just across the Ouarzazate River, where running water and electricity are readily available (though not every day and not all day . . . ) A few families still reside within the kasbah walls and make a living by charging unwitting tourists a fee to enter through their homes. There are two other (free) entrances to the kasbah, which the town hopes to develop into more official entrances that will charge fees that will be reinvested into the maintenance and development of the site. It’s a UNESCO site, so it’s well-preserved and well-advertised, but alterations are a tricky business. In other news, my new site has a kasbah, too! Yay! So the obsession will continue, my friends. I know you're excited!

October 31, 2007

Day by Day

This is probably the first time in my life that I’ve been content to take life one day at a time. Most of my control-freakiness has been (almost) entirely swept away by the simple fact that everything is out of my control! I don’t get to choose where I live or what my projects are, and I don’t have nearly enough knowledge to make an informed decision about those things anyway!

Here’s the dry version: We split our time between two communities, a large city we refer to as our Seminar-Based Training (SBT) site, and a tiny town we refer to as our Community-Based Training (CBT) site. The vast majority of our time is spent at CBT, where a group of six of us spend mornings learning language, and afternoons interviewing our artisan and formulating action plans. Right now I'm working on a product development project, to help our artisan make picture frames that are more appealing to Western tourists (see left). At night we go home to individual host families in order to practice our language further and get a bit of sleep. At SBT all thirty-eight of us live in one place, and attend seminars on health, security and technical training for ten hours a day.

Here’s the fun version!: Imagine everything I described above with a lot of crazy tangents thrown in! We eat candy for breakfast! I'm not kidding! Our current passion is learning the Michael Jackson Thriller dance. I’m not kidding. We’re pretty good. Beat It is next. We also spend a lot of time killing flies, avoiding wasps, recounting dreams, eating candy bars, and listening to Christmas music (Mariah Carey’s cover of All I Want for Christmas is You in particular).

Right now I’m also a little worried about my family. Due to the catastrophic fires in Southern California my aunt and uncle were evacuated from San Elijo Hills, which is near Carlsbad in northern San Diego. They are safe and sound at their best friends’ house in Orange County, but I didn’t find out until a couple days ago. My mom and grandma are safe and sound because they’re nearer to the coast and closer to the city proper. My cousins east of L.A. are also safe, according to the last news I received. But there are also hundreds of thousands of people who are scared and displaced, and many who have lost so much. My heart goes out to my hometown. Thanks to everyone who inquired about my family. I’m so isolated here that I actually wouldn’t have known about the fires if you all hadn’t shown your concern. Shukran bzzaf! And lots of love, too.

What's the funniest wrong thing you've said so far?

This is a fabulous question! As many of you know I’m learning a Berber dialect called Tashlheit, which is spoken mostly in the southeast region of Morocco. This is a multi-lingual culture, where one language is spoken on the street (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic) and another is spoken at home (Tashlheit in the case of my host family, or Tamazight in other regions of the country). French and Spanish are also widely spoken, not to mention the fact that my artisan broke out in Japanese yesterday!

As you may also know about Morocco: it’s a Muslim country and, while some secular people do drink alcohol, it is not openly consumed (except by insensitive tourists). The funniest thing I’ve said so far is “Ma tskrt?” which means: “Have you been drinking?” I’ve asked my (religious) host sister this question almost every day I’ve been with my family! The crazy part is that it also means “what ARE you doing?” So something very offensive is actually something quite innocuous.

There are two other very funny things I’ve said so far. When my host niece asked me if I had a boyfriend, I thought she asked me if I had any friends so I said, “bezzef!” which launched the entire dinner table into a fit of giggles. Unmarried women do NOT have boyfriends here (or at least none that they would admit having). Later, they brought over cousins for me to consider as boyfriends. Awkward . . . Another time I mentioned in passing that “I do not wash my friends” instead of “I don’t wash the dishes.” (imduklin vs. irukutn). This is actually only funny to us Americans, because in a hammam (public bath) one would wash her friends (or at least scrub their backs).

My training group’s favorite phrase is: is tgit ashishaw? (“Are you a chicken?”) As you might guess, we use it whenever someone is a little tentative about something. We’re constantly asking our Language and Culture Facilitator, (LCF), Amina, to translate ridiculous things. If there’s something you’d like to know how to say, just let me know.

If you’re wondering if Tashlheit is difficult, you’re on the right track. It’s insanely difficult, but after a month I feel like I’m beginning to understand the logic. It’s just that the whole language overflows with logic! I do feel ready for the language exam we have to pass in order to be sworn in November, so that’s good news.

In other news, I received my final site assignment! There's an airport nearby so there are no longer any excuses! Start pricing tickets (and setting wedding dates) so you can visit me! xo

October 25, 2007

What’s the food like?

Food? What food?

OK, I’m just kidding. They feed me constantly! I feel like I’m being fattened for the slaughter! (Before you judge my gluttony please, keep in mind that refusing food or drink is considered extremely disrespectful to your host.)

Here is my feeding schedule:

8:15 AM My host sister serves me tea (with lots of sugar) and bread with honey and butter before I leave for "school" (language and technical training).

10:00 AM We have a snack of tea (with lots of sugar), coffee (with lots of sugar) and plain yogurt with honey.

12:30 PM We have tea (with lots of sugar), a tajine or omelet, freshly baked bread, and tangerines. A tajine is cooked in a really cool looking pot made from clay. The whole dish is made in layers: first the red onions, which will burn, but in a good way. Then the chicken and lots of spices that I can’t even begin to identify. On top of that are carrots, potatoes and whatever other vegetables are available that day. (Yay! for seasonality!) Keep in mind that this meal ends at 2:30 PM.

4:00 PM Tea (with lots of sugar), coffee (with lots of sugar), and crepes or bread stuffed with olives and tuna fish.

6:00 PM My host sister often visits with her sister-in-law, whose house is on the way from "school". Occasionally, I end up in the kitchen, drinking tea (with lots of sugar) and explaining that I can’t eat the bread because I might explode!

9:00 PM Dinner! This varies widely. There’s always tea (with lots of sugar). Sometimes it’s lentils, bread and spinach. Other times it’s lamb’s heart (ul n wulli) and chicken (is tgit ashishaw?). Last night we had bread stuffed with boiled eggs, black olives, french fries and pureed tomatoes. Sometimes there’s coca-cola or freshly made orange juice.

I’m convinced that I’m made to eat more than other family members. My host sister says that I can’t return to America as a skinny girl because then people will think she didn't feed me. I hope that the record is clear from this description.

What about couscous, you ask? Contrary to popular belief (and many cookbooks) couscous is not a common dish. Before arriving I though it would be like rice in Chinese cuisine - always there! Actually, it takes a long time to prepare, and is usually eaten for Friday lunches. Many families don’t eat it at all during Ramadan, so my first and only couscous meal wasn’t until I’d spent nearly six weeks in the country.

Thanks to everyone who posted questions and words of encouragement. It makes it so much easier to be hear knowing that I have support back home!

October 15, 2007

Why haven't you written a second post?


Needless to say there have been about a million changes in my life over the past two months. I left New York; I said goodbye to all of my friends; I spent more time with my family than I have in the last eight years; I moved to Morocco; and I met about 50 of the coolest people you'll ever find. For a while it felt like absolutely everything had changed and, yet, I couldn't articulate it. So that's why I haven't written. But I plan to - a lot. And I need your help. Send me questions and tell me what you're curious about. It will help me process it all and help me share it, as well. I miss home a great deal, but really feel like I'm on the right path here in Morocco. I hope to hear from everyone soon!

p.s. Enjoy this picture of the spectacular Kasbah Ait Benhaddou! My CBT group is obsessed and we hike it at least once a week!

August 21, 2007

Family Holidays


My grandmother’s birthday is a lot like a national holiday. People stay home from work, plan elaborate celebrations and experience a general feeling of warmth and happiness. That’s just the kind of woman she is. Yesterday she turned seventy, which is actually an appropriate “grandma age”. People always say that she is a “young grandma” like it’s odd to have a grandmother that works full-time, drinks Wild Turkey, keeps me out until 3 AM and insists on going to Disneyland at least twice a year.

Her youth-in age and spirit-has been a tremendous blessing in my life. And as I prepare to leave
home yet again, I’m reflecting more and more on how my family has shaped me. As the matriarch, Grandma has set an incredible example of how to blend affection with resilience and perseverance. I hope that I can reflect those attributes to my new friends and colleagues in Morocco over the next two years.