Mid-Ramadan

October 1, 2007

For some reason, I haven’t felt the energy or desire to blog about the last few weeks. I know, it’s a far cry from entries that have been fifteen or twenty pages in Word before I upload them to my blog, but, for some reason, there just hasn’t been much to say.

I finally had a visitor to my site this weekend: my friend who, as the crow flies, only lives about 10 k away: by far, my closest volunteer. We had a good time, though, really we stayed in and chatted most of the time. Good, deep conversations. I think maybe it’s the fact that it’s so difficult to communicate with people in our sites that make it that when we get together, sometimes, us Americans just won’t be quiet around each other. In any case, we took a walk, but I didn’t get to introduce her to as many people as I liked. Oh, well. We cooked up a storm: salad with bacon bits and Ranch dressing, macaroni and cheese, southwest egg scramble with melted cheese, strawberry banana orange peach apple smoothies, cocoa beans, spring rolls with Thai peanut sauce, and homemade frappucinos. Oh, it’s good to splurge on ingredients sometimes and eat food from home.

I fasted last Wednesday with a friend from home. It was really special actually: she emailed me and said she wanted to fast with me on the same day. I made sure not to cheat, and she fasted halfway across the world. If anyone else wants to fast, let me know and we can pick a “lets all fast for Ramadan” day where, again, I’ll be sure not to cheat. The rules, at least from what I’ve heard, are:

From sunrise to sunset, abstain from:
Food
Drink (including water)
Smoking
Sexual activity of all kinds
Swearing

I felt really connected when I fasted with my friend in Georgia. If you do fast, the hardest part is abstaining from water, so drink a lot before sunrise. Fast is broken, traditionally here, at least, with a date, which are just starting to ripen in the fields. Corn is also in season, and when I walk down the street, there are rooms and just stretches outside of corn drying in the sun.

I did break fast with a few new families now. The other day, I went to Ait Bahalu, the “compound” that, at my count, has nine adults living there and all their children. During the summer the number of adults nearly doubles. I ate lftor there, after shucking corn in the afternoon, and they wouldn’t let me go before eating brochettes and couscous later in the night. I actually tasted a tiny bit of goat lung. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, though it still completely creeps me out a bit to see children help with meat preparation and wind small intestines around their hands, then go play without washing them.

Other good news: I haven’t been sick in about two months now, which is amazing. There was a period of time where it felt like if I didn’t have one thing wrong with me, it was something else, but cooking for myself and living in a clean house, bleaching my vegetables, and keeping hydrated have really made my health much, much better.

When I update this, I’ll probably be writing from the provincial capital for our quarterly meeting with the ministry of health delegue for the province. It should be interesting, to say the least.

October 3, 2007

I love getting care packages, but sometimes they’re a curse: I’ve spent the last three days, literally, tearing apart a few books (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows FINALLY came!; the new book by the author of The Kite Runner), literally half a year of Harpers magazines, and Utne. I’m now on a book by an Argentine author that’s interesting.

I love to read, but it keeps me inside. For some reason, I don’t know if it’s just because the reading material is so good, or it’s English, but it’s hard to get out of the house when there’s something in the house I haven’t read yet. Yesterday, I didn’t leave. Once. My stomach was acting up, so in the morning, it wouldn’t have made sense, but even in the afternoon, I stayed in and tore apart reading materials.

Today, I vowed not to let that happen, so I climbed a mountain instead. I shall not tell a lie: it’s more of a foothill. There are a few hills by my town, so I climbed the one nearest to my house and literally stood there, letting the wind whip my dress and headscarf around me (yes, I wore both today), looking at the sprawling ighram (old town) beneath me. I counted houses (in my 450-house neighborhood, around 90-100 are two story and made of cement), and watched people walk up and down the alleyways.

Inspired, though I was wearing Crocs and had no water, I moved to a hill a little farther away. Then the next one. The next one. An hour later, I was at the top of a rather large foothill, staring at my town, and the two outer douars that are nearest. I could see the edge of the town that is on the main road, ten or fifteen kilometers away. It was actually quite amazing, if rather a stupid stunt to pull, though I had my cell phone and made it back safely. Getting down was harder than coming up, but I did show restraint: a really cool looking mini-mountain was rather close and I resisted the temptation to climb it: there were some rather steep drop-offs I’d need to traverse. Not something to do alone, or alone in Crocs.

I got home and the water was back on! Today, I felt like I was in the Peace Corps I originally imagined, because for about 24 hours, we had neither electricity or water. I almost went to get some from the spring and boil it, but it proved unnecessary. After a nice bucket bath (it’s getting too cold for a cold shower!), someone knocked on my door. Or, should I say, rang my doorbell.

Yes, I have a doorbell. It’s a big white button outside that is connected to a plastic birdhouse over the door inside my house. When someone pushes the button, the birdhouse makes a “KUKUKUKUKUKUKUKUKUKUKUKUKUKU!” noise. It’s rather annoying, but it’s nice to have a doorbell. I suppose. Until kids think it’s fun to ring it incessantly while I’m trying to take a nap.

Well, I had magazines all over the floor, cups of tea and water on my table, a half-eaten pomegranate out (I’m eating about three a day now), and had just come out of the shower.

It was a neighbor girl, and I asked her to wait five minutes for me to get dressed and straighten things out. I was excited that she came over: she only stayed for half an hour but seems to be really sweet. She’s 16; the age where she’s really in a lot of ways an adult in this community.

After she left, I took another walk, this time, in town, and came home and made leftover spaghetti sauce into a killer minestrone soup. I stopped going to my next door neighbors for lftor (the meal that breaks the fast) because she kept talking about money. Money, money, money, money, money. It made me uncomfortable. My job is not to give people money here. It broke the straw when she asked me for colored pencils that I brought from the US. Her daughter had seen them, and she flat out asked me for them. That was the last time I ate at her house. I’m not having her bake me bread anymore either.

The upside, however, is that I’m eating lftor occasionally at different people’s house: now I’ve had it with six other families. Each one is different, and I feel really welcomed at everyone’s and so it’s a better experience anyway. Two nights ago, I went to the house of some really nice people over in Ihndar, the same people who had come to my hostfamily’s house a few months ago and literally dragged me to dinner. Not only did they make me stay for lftor and dinner after that, at about ten pm, but in between, there was a lot of television-watching, and, for my benefit, they kept it on English channels about a third of the time. Nobody has ever, EVER done that for me before here. Though the movie “Cadence” left a lot to be desired for as far as watching movies, the snippets of Al Jazeera in English were fascinating.

My favorite person at that house, besides the old father who looks like he’s in his seventies and is just the nicest old man I’ve met, is a young mother. I knew she was young, but I didn’t realize she was 19 with a 2-and a half year old daughter. It’s pretty typical here, but it’s still shocking. Fourteen year old brides… I can’t imagine. Her daughter is a doll. She’s always been afraid of me until that night and she finally warmed up to me. I always mess up her name though, and either call her “water” (aman) or “white” (amlal) instead of “Amal.”

Last night was the first time I was truly afraid being alone in my house. There was a huge storm, the power went out so all was quiet except the creakings of the house, and, I was convinced, absolutely convinced, that there were huge animals in the kitchen. I know it was just nighttime delusions, but first, I thought there were mice in my room, then a cricket that chirped like a bird in my rafters, then something that sounded as big as a cat or possum in my kitchen. When I woke up, nothing looked moved around in the house, except dirt that came in through the crack between the door and the floor, but it was absolutely terrifying. I kept thinking I’d wake up with something in bed next to me. Thank God it was just me psyching myself out… I hope.

I’ve been craving Reeses Peanut Butter cups, and my attempt of something similar to quench this craving didn’t work. I ground peanuts with sugar and hot cocoa mix, added powdered milk and enough water to make a slurry. Nope. Doesn’t cut it. It’s strange the things I crave sometimes here.

Packing tonight. Travel tomorrow, then the delegue meeting on Friday. I hope if they want me to translate from French that I’m able to handle it.