It began with a side of broccoli. There it was, sitting matter of factly next to the largest piece of meat served to me in about 10 months. I had just said goodbye to my community in TToot a few days before and to my best friends via text and phone. Completely overwhelmed and, to be honest, pretty damned scared about what the next chapter of my life holds, I ate the broccoli. And it was good.
Now I'm in Park Slope, Brooklyn for the next few hours (even travel out of Morocco is complicated!) trying to take in all the things that seem familiar yet are totally freaking me out. Why are bagels so big here? Why are there bagels at all, actually? And the iced coffee I just had is easily five times the size of a coffee in Ouarzazate. Everyone speaks English, which is like soooo cool. There are no plastic bags hanging off trees! And everything is so shiny and new!
I kind of miss my desert town, and I know that I'll miss the simplicity of the life I led, even though it felt complicated at the time. Coming home early was a very, very difficult decision, but ultimately the right one. And I'm happy to say that it feels good to be on familiar territory and to see familiar faces. Not to mention the incredible amount of support I've received from the Peace Corps in Morocco volunteer community, my friends here in the States, and most of all, my family, who has prepared a room for me and is eagerly awaiting my arrival in San Diego tonight.
There's a lot for me to readjust to, so I think I'll still maintain this blog. There are a lot of things about Morocco I wasn't able to share in this forum that now I can, and I'll need a place to process the whole experience. I hope you'll continue reading! And if you're anywhere near Park Slope right now come to the Tea Lounge!
p.s. Kudos to my good friend, Evan, for picking me up at the airport last night on extremely late notice, and to Eric, my favorite rabbinical student, for coming down to Park Slope as I type!
June 25, 2008
June 11, 2008
Ridiculous Fun in Agadir
Last week I attended my training group's IST, or Inter-Service Training, and it was amazing! It was so great to be back with everyone (minus a couple wonderful colleagues who have returned to the States for various reasons) and to learn about their communities and projects. Even with eight hours of sessions everyday, we managed to have a bit of fun. Those of us who live in the desert were particularly fond of the hotel pool! From right to left: Danice, Quigs, Anny, Megan (it was her birthday so she got to be the "swan"), Matthew, me (big splash, no grace) and Brian.
May 28, 2008
An Open Letter to the Flies of the Ouarzazate Region
Dear Flies of the Ouarzazate Region:
First, let me commend you on your persistence and willingness to live in harsh conditions that until nine months ago I could never have appreciated. The desert life, with its sand storms, lack of fresh water and growing threat of scorpions, is harsh. That you have thrived in such an environment warrants both my admiration and consternation.
For you see, flies, your success here in the Ouarzazate region has made you arrogant. Never have I formally invited you into my home, yet you let yourselves in at all hours of the day, buzzing from 6:00 AM to all hours of the night. Nor are we friends, yet you insist upon sitting on my lap, leaning on my shoulder and landing smack dab in the middle of my forehead. In short, flies, you’re ridiculously rude and I hate you.
These sentiments may come as a shock, dear flies, but they are long overdue. Besides the few angry outbursts where I murdered you with Newsweeks I never intended to read, I’ve been quite tolerant of your inconsiderate ways. Indeed, I was even mildly flattered that you appeared to admire my cooking so much that you multiplied exponentially at the dinner hour. That is, until I noticed you preferred the vegetable scraps to my tortillas made from scratch!
Enough is enough. You should know that I’ve employed a small lizard to eat you. So don’t be surprised when you come to an abrupt, slimy end next time you’re sunning yourself on my bedroom window. Perhaps it will teach you to give a lady some privacy.
All the best,
Anjuli
First, let me commend you on your persistence and willingness to live in harsh conditions that until nine months ago I could never have appreciated. The desert life, with its sand storms, lack of fresh water and growing threat of scorpions, is harsh. That you have thrived in such an environment warrants both my admiration and consternation.
For you see, flies, your success here in the Ouarzazate region has made you arrogant. Never have I formally invited you into my home, yet you let yourselves in at all hours of the day, buzzing from 6:00 AM to all hours of the night. Nor are we friends, yet you insist upon sitting on my lap, leaning on my shoulder and landing smack dab in the middle of my forehead. In short, flies, you’re ridiculously rude and I hate you.
These sentiments may come as a shock, dear flies, but they are long overdue. Besides the few angry outbursts where I murdered you with Newsweeks I never intended to read, I’ve been quite tolerant of your inconsiderate ways. Indeed, I was even mildly flattered that you appeared to admire my cooking so much that you multiplied exponentially at the dinner hour. That is, until I noticed you preferred the vegetable scraps to my tortillas made from scratch!
Enough is enough. You should know that I’ve employed a small lizard to eat you. So don’t be surprised when you come to an abrupt, slimy end next time you’re sunning yourself on my bedroom window. Perhaps it will teach you to give a lady some privacy.
All the best,
Anjuli
21 Simple Steps to Enjoying Yourself at a Patisserie in Rabat
Quite often I’m struck by the incredible amount of time it takes to complete simple tasks, such as making a deposit at the bank (1 hour 30 minutes), purchasing stamps (45 minutes), or obtaining a menu at a restaurant (25 minutes). On a recent trip to the capital, I was looking forward to the quick pace and efficiency of a large city. It turns out simple pleasures can consume a great deal of time as well! Here are 21 simple steps to enjoying yourself at a patisserie in Rabat.
1. Enter patisserie around the corner from the Gare du Ville, Rabat
2. Peruse vitrines of pastries, wondering if the thing that looks like a pear tart is, in fact, a pear tart, or if it secretly contains raisins for some reason.
3. Wriggle nose at thought of being surprised by raisins.
4. Ask in Arabic if there are brownies. Wesh kayn brownies?
5. Hear response in French, but pretend not to understand. Oui, il y a brownie.
6. Repeat question in Arabic. Wesh kayn brownies?
7. Hear exclamations of “A foreigner who speaks Arabic! My God will wonders ever cease? How do you know Arabic?” Whda rmi lli tkllmha l’3rbia? Tbark llah 3lik! Fn t3llemk l’3rbia?
8. Realize that you are utterly incapable of answering this question in the proposed language.
9. Explain that actually you don’t speak a lot of Arabic (Ana tkllmt l’3rbia shwiya. . .); you really know Tashlheit because you live in Ouarzazate (. . . walakayn ad sawlgh Tashlheit ashku ad zdghgh gh Ouarzazate).
10. Hear exclamations of “Holey moley! An American who knows Berber! God bless your parents.” Tbark llah 3lik!! Marikaniya wHda tkllm shlHa! Lla y-rHm l-walidim.
11. Ask again if there are brownies.
12. When told, “No, there are no brownies” order a pear tart despite aforementioned risk of raisins.
13. Pay cashier after server places tart atop a doily upon a tray.
14. Walk upstairs to find a table, making sure to find the one with the best view for people watching and the occasional suggestive, if accidental, stare.
15. When waitress approaches your table, ask for a café crème, prepared to repeat steps 5 through 11, substituting coffee for brownies.
16. Sigh.
17. Watch as waitress leaves with your tart, vaguely wondering if it was defective.
18. People watch, noticing that no one around you is speaking Arabic, slowly realizing that you exposed yourself as a country bumpkin downstairs.
19. Feel slightly relieved when waitress returns with your coffee and tart.
20. Raise an eyebrow when you notice that the tart has returned sans doily and now sits on a neat white plate with a fork and knife.
21. Dig in.
1. Enter patisserie around the corner from the Gare du Ville, Rabat
2. Peruse vitrines of pastries, wondering if the thing that looks like a pear tart is, in fact, a pear tart, or if it secretly contains raisins for some reason.
3. Wriggle nose at thought of being surprised by raisins.
4. Ask in Arabic if there are brownies. Wesh kayn brownies?
5. Hear response in French, but pretend not to understand. Oui, il y a brownie.
6. Repeat question in Arabic. Wesh kayn brownies?
7. Hear exclamations of “A foreigner who speaks Arabic! My God will wonders ever cease? How do you know Arabic?” Whda rmi lli tkllmha l’3rbia? Tbark llah 3lik! Fn t3llemk l’3rbia?
8. Realize that you are utterly incapable of answering this question in the proposed language.
9. Explain that actually you don’t speak a lot of Arabic (Ana tkllmt l’3rbia shwiya. . .); you really know Tashlheit because you live in Ouarzazate (. . . walakayn ad sawlgh Tashlheit ashku ad zdghgh gh Ouarzazate).
10. Hear exclamations of “Holey moley! An American who knows Berber! God bless your parents.” Tbark llah 3lik!! Marikaniya wHda tkllm shlHa! Lla y-rHm l-walidim.
11. Ask again if there are brownies.
12. When told, “No, there are no brownies” order a pear tart despite aforementioned risk of raisins.
13. Pay cashier after server places tart atop a doily upon a tray.
14. Walk upstairs to find a table, making sure to find the one with the best view for people watching and the occasional suggestive, if accidental, stare.
15. When waitress approaches your table, ask for a café crème, prepared to repeat steps 5 through 11, substituting coffee for brownies.
16. Sigh.
17. Watch as waitress leaves with your tart, vaguely wondering if it was defective.
18. People watch, noticing that no one around you is speaking Arabic, slowly realizing that you exposed yourself as a country bumpkin downstairs.
19. Feel slightly relieved when waitress returns with your coffee and tart.
20. Raise an eyebrow when you notice that the tart has returned sans doily and now sits on a neat white plate with a fork and knife.
21. Dig in.
April 4, 2008
Go Ephs!
It was recently brought to my attention by two very good friends that this blog was linked to by EphBlog, the blog of my very own alma mater, Williams College. How flattering! My entry on the Big Feast in December was quoted. (Don't pay any attention to the posted comment.) But how embarrassing to have not have posted anything for nearly two months!
On another note: if there are indeed current Williams students out there wanting to “connect” with current Peace Corps Volunteers, please by all means, contact me. And, alumni, remember, there’s no upper age limit, so you still have time, too.
And, no I won’t be at the reunion in June! Five years! It somehow feels both longer and shorter than that. We’ve all done so much and most of us have managed to live in at least two or three different cities in just that little bit of time. My friends and I are a nomadic bunch, I guess. For those of you that are going please take a million pictures!
On another note: if there are indeed current Williams students out there wanting to “connect” with current Peace Corps Volunteers, please by all means, contact me. And, alumni, remember, there’s no upper age limit, so you still have time, too.
And, no I won’t be at the reunion in June! Five years! It somehow feels both longer and shorter than that. We’ve all done so much and most of us have managed to live in at least two or three different cities in just that little bit of time. My friends and I are a nomadic bunch, I guess. For those of you that are going please take a million pictures!
My Aunt, the Columnist
My Aunt Lisa has recently become a columnist for Lesbian Nation. It’s called Inner Visions and revolves around her spiritual gleanings from a life well-led and ever-evolving. I’ve spent nearly 28 years taking and following her advice (and, yes, occasionally rebelling against it), so I highly recommend checking it out. Click here.
Congratulations, Aunt Lisa!
Congratulations, Aunt Lisa!
Never Underestimate a Good Eggplant
Tonight I made an excellent eggplant concoction (eggplant, rosemary, tomatoes and olive oil over penne) in my oddly supplied kitchen in my oddly furnished house. Having moved in a little over a month ago, I have yet to buy proper utensils, and so I eat all meals with a spoon and improvise in the stirring of sauces and flipping of vegetables. My stovetop has one setting: burn. I don’t own an oven. Most of my protein consumption comes through peanut butter and processed cheese, and I think it’s safe to say that I’m addicted to bananas and honey. Occasionally, I dilute them with the aforementioned peanut butter or yogurt, but, really, why should I? Did I mention that I don’t own a refrigerator, either? Hence the processed cheese. The roof leaks (sound familiar to anyone?) and there’s a beetle that insists this is his home, even though I’ve carried him as far away as an entire city block. Are there homing insects?
Nonetheless, I love my new house. It may be temporary for reasons that I won’t go into here, but the wonderful comfort of privacy is at last mine! The only thing that wakes me up in the morning is my alarm clock or, if I ignore that and sleep in too late, my host sister inviting me for tea. I’m right next door to the association, so I can hear when the door is unlocked and I can at last go to work (usually around 4:30 PM). I don’t actually hear the lock being turned, but the braying of the lambs as my artisans traipse through the adjacent barn. I keep a schedule similar to the women’s, with the exception that I travel into Oz a great deal more to see my delegate, develop photographs of products, or visit with other volunteers. In the morning, I clean my house and make meals, and in the afternoons I go to the fields - not to pick clover, but to run. Yes, me, running. I’m a total scandal even though I wear long pants and sleeves. There’s something about a woman moving so quickly . . .
For a little while February was terribly unbearable (is that too dramatic?) but then I reminded myself that February sucks everywhere. Clouds and rain aside, it’s the longest month simply because we expect it to be so short! And now it’s March and we have a gloriously long weekend here (two days for the Prophet’s Birthday!). I’ll be at the beach actually being scandalous in my very hashuma bathing suit. High tourist season officially starts this month, which means my women will sell a ton of items at the hotel boutique (inchallah, as they would say). Also, my delegate just returned from the capital, where (inchallah) he presented some of my project ideas to the entire delegation. I promise to share them with you once I have approval. For now, know that I’m alive and well, and doing my best to be happy in my small part of the world.
Nonetheless, I love my new house. It may be temporary for reasons that I won’t go into here, but the wonderful comfort of privacy is at last mine! The only thing that wakes me up in the morning is my alarm clock or, if I ignore that and sleep in too late, my host sister inviting me for tea. I’m right next door to the association, so I can hear when the door is unlocked and I can at last go to work (usually around 4:30 PM). I don’t actually hear the lock being turned, but the braying of the lambs as my artisans traipse through the adjacent barn. I keep a schedule similar to the women’s, with the exception that I travel into Oz a great deal more to see my delegate, develop photographs of products, or visit with other volunteers. In the morning, I clean my house and make meals, and in the afternoons I go to the fields - not to pick clover, but to run. Yes, me, running. I’m a total scandal even though I wear long pants and sleeves. There’s something about a woman moving so quickly . . .
For a little while February was terribly unbearable (is that too dramatic?) but then I reminded myself that February sucks everywhere. Clouds and rain aside, it’s the longest month simply because we expect it to be so short! And now it’s March and we have a gloriously long weekend here (two days for the Prophet’s Birthday!). I’ll be at the beach actually being scandalous in my very hashuma bathing suit. High tourist season officially starts this month, which means my women will sell a ton of items at the hotel boutique (inchallah, as they would say). Also, my delegate just returned from the capital, where (inchallah) he presented some of my project ideas to the entire delegation. I promise to share them with you once I have approval. For now, know that I’m alive and well, and doing my best to be happy in my small part of the world.
WANTED
A humble, unfurnished abode with one salon, one bedroom, half-bath and kitchen. Running water and electricity preferred. Windows and roof access a plus. Less than 80 USD.
RECEIVED
Large unfurnished dwelling, with three bedrooms (two locked), full bath (but the shower doesn’t work . . . yet), large salon, gated and walled garden, fully tiled kitchen, unpainted concrete walls, stained glass windows, and walled roof. Running water (room temperature only) and electricity. Exactly 80 USD, depending on the exchange rate.
RECEIVED
Large unfurnished dwelling, with three bedrooms (two locked), full bath (but the shower doesn’t work . . . yet), large salon, gated and walled garden, fully tiled kitchen, unpainted concrete walls, stained glass windows, and walled roof. Running water (room temperature only) and electricity. Exactly 80 USD, depending on the exchange rate.
January 30, 2008
An Easy Guide to Communal Eating
Double-dipping is a classic faux-pas that I engage in every single day. It's not that I'm rude, or don't care about spreading germs. It's that I eat with my hands from communal dishes. I can count on one hand the number of times I've used an actual utensil in the last two months. Even at restaurants, I prefer to tear off a piece of bread and use it to scoop up vegetables and meat. (Lentils were quite challenging at first but now I have the hang of it. The trick is to smoosh them a bit in the bowl.)
Anyway, I highly recommend giving up utensils and individual plates. It makes for less clean-up and more of a shared experience. Just remember to eat only what's in front of you and don't stray into your dining companions' eating territories. It helps if you imagine a pie chart, and one of the triangles as your "area." Eat the vegetables first and don't touch the meat until your host divides it amongst his guests. (Yes, it's almost always a "him" who divides the meat.) If you're eating cous-cous it is appropriate to pour your sour milk directly into the communal dish and use a spoon. Make sure to tell other people that they aren't eating enough, even as they stuff their faces.
Anyway, I highly recommend giving up utensils and individual plates. It makes for less clean-up and more of a shared experience. Just remember to eat only what's in front of you and don't stray into your dining companions' eating territories. It helps if you imagine a pie chart, and one of the triangles as your "area." Eat the vegetables first and don't touch the meat until your host divides it amongst his guests. (Yes, it's almost always a "him" who divides the meat.) If you're eating cous-cous it is appropriate to pour your sour milk directly into the communal dish and use a spoon. Make sure to tell other people that they aren't eating enough, even as they stuff their faces.
January 26, 2008
Zebras Eat People and Other Interesting Facts
Growing up in San Diego afforded me many, many trips to the World Famous San Diego Zoo (I believe that's its official name, just like San Diego's official tagline is "America's Finest City", which I've actually heard used in broadcasts in other cities). In third grade my class spent an entire week visiting the zoo, learning about the various animals, their natural habitats and diets, and the then-fledgling panda and gorilla projects. The Zoo and the Wild Animal Park in Escondido continue to be two of my favorite places to visit whenever I'm home.
I was unexpectedly reminded of my love for these places while watching television with my host family last night. Television is a nice, quiet way to bond with them and practice my Tashlheit and Arabic. I can make exclamations, such as, "Hey!" when there's violence, or we can laugh over the fact that we rarely laugh at the same moments during American films with Arabic subtitles. My favorite times are when what I think of as the Animal Planet of satellite TV comes on. (I have yet to find shark week in Arabic.) Displaying ten to fifteen second clips of animals, insects and plants (sometimes animals eating animals and plants eating insects) this channel provides zoning out at its best, providing the simple pleasure of watching nature without getting muddy or cold. Without voice-overs or subtitles, I like to think of this type of programming as universally enjoyable. On this particular occasion I decided to make a vocabulary lesson out of the program, because you just never know when you'll need to know how to say "tiger."
Zebras showed up first, and I learned that they were himar waHsi, which I repeated a few times because anything with more than three syllables trips me up. As the tigers (nimmr) came and went, my host sister said "himar waHsi ibbi l-middn rika kmmi d nkki." And I said, "Zebras? No, tigers do. The things with the stripes? They eat people? Noooooo." And my host sister said, "Yeeeeees." And I said, "Maybe, but I'm pretty sure they eat plants only, just like donkeys." (Donkeys are an excellent frame of reference.) And so I decided that actually she meant the tigers, but just to be sure I decided that I would ask my tutor.
My tutor confirmed that zebras do, in fact, eat people. Himar waHsi directly translates into "beasts of the forest." I had always thought they lived in tall grasses on the African plains (hence the silly striped outfit) and ate plants, but I could be wrong. Third grade was a long time ago, after all.
Later, when I suggested my friend Mia procure some lizards (tqllit) in Marrakech for her spider problem, I was told that lizards cause melanin loss in the skin, creating large white patches, and that they eat people, too.
I'll just have to stick with cats, I guess.
I was unexpectedly reminded of my love for these places while watching television with my host family last night. Television is a nice, quiet way to bond with them and practice my Tashlheit and Arabic. I can make exclamations, such as, "Hey!" when there's violence, or we can laugh over the fact that we rarely laugh at the same moments during American films with Arabic subtitles. My favorite times are when what I think of as the Animal Planet of satellite TV comes on. (I have yet to find shark week in Arabic.) Displaying ten to fifteen second clips of animals, insects and plants (sometimes animals eating animals and plants eating insects) this channel provides zoning out at its best, providing the simple pleasure of watching nature without getting muddy or cold. Without voice-overs or subtitles, I like to think of this type of programming as universally enjoyable. On this particular occasion I decided to make a vocabulary lesson out of the program, because you just never know when you'll need to know how to say "tiger."
Zebras showed up first, and I learned that they were himar waHsi, which I repeated a few times because anything with more than three syllables trips me up. As the tigers (nimmr) came and went, my host sister said "himar waHsi ibbi l-middn rika kmmi d nkki." And I said, "Zebras? No, tigers do. The things with the stripes? They eat people? Noooooo." And my host sister said, "Yeeeeees." And I said, "Maybe, but I'm pretty sure they eat plants only, just like donkeys." (Donkeys are an excellent frame of reference.) And so I decided that actually she meant the tigers, but just to be sure I decided that I would ask my tutor.
My tutor confirmed that zebras do, in fact, eat people. Himar waHsi directly translates into "beasts of the forest." I had always thought they lived in tall grasses on the African plains (hence the silly striped outfit) and ate plants, but I could be wrong. Third grade was a long time ago, after all.
Later, when I suggested my friend Mia procure some lizards (tqllit) in Marrakech for her spider problem, I was told that lizards cause melanin loss in the skin, creating large white patches, and that they eat people, too.
I'll just have to stick with cats, I guess.
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