December 6, 2008

 

I'm sick again and have stayed in the house for the last few days. I don't know if it's just a really nasty cold or something slightly more sinister, but hopefully liquid intake and rest will make it rather short-lived.

 

On Monday, which was December 1^st, I worked with a women's association in my souk town to do a HIV/AIDS awareness booth at souk, the weekly market. It was a lot of fun, and I'm only disappointed that I found out about the association so late in my service. On Sunday, I met with 8 women in the association who worked the booth with me and we went over how to educate people on HIV/AIDS, what the plan was, and what the message was that we were trying to get out. The tent was a problem we didn't get resolved until about 7 o'clock that night, but we got it set up. I ended up having to spend the night at a hotel in town, though I didn't mind staying online until 11 in the lobby, or the fact that I had a few hours over some hot chocolate to get to know the new volunteer in my souk town, who is awesome.

 

Monday morning, though not as early as I'd like, we set up and ended up getting information to 1200 people over the period of about 4 hours. People were receptive and asked good questions for the most part, and I was very impressed at the professionalism and openness of the women from the association to discuss things as "hashuma" as condom usage with the men. We also had a nurse from the clinic in town come by for the last two hours, and she yelled at the men to use condoms, but in a way that was direct without being accusatory. She was also great at explaining the effects of HIV/AIDS and some of the intricacies that are difficult for me in Tamazight; I end up describing the virus as a "sickness that is asleep for a few years so you don't know it's there until the sickness wakes up and turns into AIDS…" which works but isn't as precise as I'd like it.

 

(If you haven't gathered by now, Tamazight is difficult. I speak French and Spanish at least twice as well as Tam even though I've been living here almost two years and the most immersion I've had of French is a month; Spanish only two weeks.)

 

All in all, I was satisfied with how it went, and was eager to come home and sleep for a day to recover from the stress of doing a project such last minute.

 

What I didn't realize was that for the next week, I'd only leave the house three times because of being rather disgustingly sick. I know, at home, a cold isn't a big deal. But here, when you have a fever for 3 days, can't breathe through your nose, taste anything, or pop your ears for 4 days, it doesn't get hotter than 50 degrees anywhere, there's no pharmacy within an hour (or nasal spray… and I can't find my Sudafed!), and no appliances like a dishwasher or washing machine or bathtub, it can get really miserable fast. Worse, in some ways, than when I had strep or gastrointestinal things because those are so much more short-lived. The last week has been pretty nasty… and I've learned how interesting it is to literally not be able to taste anything at all. That's never happened to me before, believe it or not, and eating bread or peanut butter (thanks, Mom!), or chicken noodle soup without tasting it is bizarre.

December 9, 2008

 

Mbrook l'eid!

 

I'm still not better, though I'm regaining some small sense of smell and taste, which is nice. I forced myself to shower (bucket bath in the cold) today which actually did help me feel better emotionally even if it does maybe make things worse. My friends from home are coming in a few days, so I have a few goals before then that I have to do (pack, clean, some paperwork), but other than that, I'm taking it easy for awhile longer.

 

Except today, because today is the biggest holiday for Muslims and here in Morocco: L'eid kbir (the big eid). I skipped out on watching the outdoor prayer this morning to sleep in, but dragged myself out mid-morning to wish the neighbors a happy eid and go to seven houses to celebrate. This sounds like a lot, but compared to last year's 31, it's really a little pathetic and I have a feeling I'll be having to explain to people why I didn't go, "digi tawla, digi khamoosh, samhi bizzef, tHlit ghuri welayni uHlgh…"

 

I tried to be good though; I put on a smile, a jellaba and a hijab-headscarf partially because of the holiday and partially because of the cold. All in all, with lunch and dinner at my friends' house, it was a good day.

 

January 6, 2009

 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year (a bit belated!)

 

I guess it's been awhile since I've blogged. In the last month, some good friends from home came and visited, which entailed a trip to Ouarzazate, Agadir, Essa, and Marrakech. I've blogged about each of these places before, so I'll only stick to new and interesting happenings since last time I've traveled there.

 

It was great to see my friends; I really love being with them even if we've made a habit of only seeing each other every few years. Unfortunately, after their stay at a swanky riad (Dar Dallah, www.riad-dardallah.com, highly reccomended), the mountain pass, which I sometimes call the pass of death, was a bit too high too fast and I met them, not at the bus station, but at the hospital in Ouarzazate for four hours in the emergency room for altitude sickness. Everything ended up okay, but it was a scary few hours. Luckily (coincidence?), one of the doctors who I met at our Training of Trainers in November was on the bus with them; she also speaks English, so she took good care of them and lent them their phone to talk to me on the way. It also ended up having somewhat of silver lining, as the next day, we went to tea at another person's house nearby that they met on the bus.

 

Ait Benhaddou was really the only new part of the trip for me: it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, an old preserved kasbah where films like Gladiator and Prince of Persia were filmed.  After being in-country for almost two years, it was underwhelming, but I'm glad I finally saw it. I was also glad to be able to see the saffron-painting I had heard about: local artists mix tea and saffron and use it like watercolor paint. To bring out the richness of the sepia tones, the dry paper and paint are held over butagas flames. Note to anyone who wants to try this: be sure you use heavy watercolor paper because thin paper will just catch on fire (no, this is not from experience… … … um… yeah… convinced?).

 

We had fun at my site and souk town, where I showed them the handicap association there and gave my first tour. Two PCVs work there now, but neither were there. I really do love that association though.  They also braved the hammam, which was the most crowded and dirty hammam I've been to, and we were treated to couscous and buttermilk at my best friend in town's friend's family.

 

 Agadir, though a surprise stop in order to avoid the Titchka Pass, was fun, and I had a great conversation with my friend as we walked the beach, picking up shells, seaglass, and sea-polished rocks. It was a nice place to relax for a few days, and warmer than anywhere else I've been this winter! I saw (too many!) tourists in shorts and tank tops, we had delightful Indian chicken masala and light, crispy calamari for dinner.

 

Dramamine knocked me out on the way up the shore to Essa, which is a blessing; last time I made that trip with my parents, my stomach bothered me a little too much. Essa was sort of disappointing for me, as I was tired at this point, the guys at the fish stands at the harbor gave us a good deal but were annoying, and the power going out made it hard to find a simple cup of coffee. The last night of their trip, Christmas Eve, was a lot of fun in Marrakech.  After delicious food on the square and spicy tea (paid for by a man from my souk town who heard me speaking Berber to the seller at stand 69—the friendliest spiced tea guy around and who found out that I was his neighbor), and, to my utter disbelief, a man at a random stall in the middle of souk remembering me and talking to me in Tam, we headed up to their fantastic riad for one last game of cards. Christmas morning came, and it was hard to say goodbye.

 

I thought of going home, but I had been traveling so much that I decided to stay another night in Marrakech to recuperate before the long trek back. Luckily, another PCV was around… which quickly turned into several. I finally made it to the Marrakech tanneries, and found a place that can make me a very good quality, knee-length red soft leather coat for $250 to measure. I still don't know if I can do better, but I am in love with the style, the fact that they will custom-make it for me, and the quality that I saw with the examples. They also said that they could do it in one or two days, which is very fast turn-around. We'll see what happens with my budget, but I'm in love with the coat! Only a month's living allowance here in Peace Corps! Plus the women I talked to were great; not at all like the typical hard-sell Marrakechis, but more like a friend of a friend in town. I trusted them, I guess I should say.

 

I also walked around the leather souk with a volunteer friend for a few hours, trying to see if I bought the leather separately if it would be cheaper. It wasn't meant to be, although I was very close to buying a beautiful small piece of olive green leather to be made into a handbag. If I had a budget like I did in the US, it would have ended differently, I can tell you that.

This is a bit of a tangent, but I love that I can have things made to my specifications here. Whether it's jewelry, plates, clothes, metalwork, or even just the way I want my grain to be ground, I can draw things out or commission them here and a few days later I have it for very reasonable prices. My friend from the States took advantage of that and, at a tailor in my souk town who is from Tamazitinu, designed on the spot a beautiful dress jacket to be made. I haven't picked it up yet; though it might be ready already. If it's nice, which it should be, I might go online and find some women's dress-suit designs for job interviews in the States. He's promised to make them for me at a fraction of the price for an off-the rack one at home. Now I need to find the designs and fabric that I want.

 

Enough about getting things hand-made, though my dream now is to build a 3 or 4 room addition to my best friend's family's house here in Tamazitinu (they tell me that for $1200, I can build a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and Western bathroom, and that if I needed to they would even help me rent it out), come back for a few weeks each year, stopping in Marrakech or Fez or Agadir, once life settles down. It's tempting, especially since I trust and love the family.

 

That night, Christmas night, I tried to convince people to come to Mass with me since I had already missed the Protestant church's service. Instead, everyone opted for a Marjane (think Super-Wall Mart… but because of living without much product variety, it is a small paradise! In my souk town, if I want cheese, I can have Edam or Laughing Cow. Marjane has a whole counter with dozens of varieties… and shampoos! And conditioners! And…and you get the point…) we went again to dinner on the square, but this time it was with a bunch of PCVs. I've started converting people into the love that is the escargot in spicy ginger broth at some of the stalls, and we've discovered that one of the stalls is far superior to the rest, though for the life of me I can't remember the number. There was a skinny, young man on the square that night wearing a pathetically large Santa suit, and I begged some of my friends to take a picture with him.

 

Somehow, I was talked into staying another night in Marrakech, despite my exhaustion and lack of money, and the next morning, bright and early, we were off to go skiing.

 

What, you ask, skiing in Morocco? There are two places with skiing, the one near Marrakech is a town called Okaimden. People rent ski equipment on the side of the road, and there are 6 slopes, though the one I stayed at, the easiest of them all, was quite icy. I didn't really know what I was doing, as I've only skied once before, probably 6 years ago for one afternoon, but I managed, after figuring out how to put the skis ON, to snowplow down the bunny slope all afternoon. The hardest part, harder than skiing itself, was the T-bar.

 

Now, there is a huge slope, a black diamond, that has the highest ski lift in North Africa, and that one was a normal ski lift, with seats. However, the bunny slope merited a strange sort of lift with a bar and a small disc the size of an average dinner plate at the end. You're supposed to hang on, balance with your skis on the ground as you're pulled up, leaning back into the disc. At the end, somehow you disengage and let go, gliding off gracefully…

 

Hypothetically, that is. The top of the slope had a huge pile of mud at the turn off point, so I saw many faceplants, and I started getting off early after the first two or three rounds when I somehow teetered and tottered off but saw other people hit the ground hard.

 

I had tried down at the bottom to ski, but I realized that I had to just DO it. There were teachers available for a ridiculously cheap price ($12 for an hour's private lesson for the certified instructors; $5-6 for the "illegal" ones), but I was stubborn and cheap, so I learned on the way down. It was a lot of fun, especially since it was something I just did on a whim and decided on the night before. I only fell once; it was my last time up, and I tried to get off early, but just as I was getting off and hanging onto the disc with my hands, the lift sped up, and it dragged me faster than my skis could handle it and I fell, face-first into the snow. It was actually probably pretty funny to watch.

 

I headed home the next morning, again, thanks to the Dramamine my friends left, sleeping quite well through most of the Titchka Pass. It's getting easier every time I go on it, (knock on wood).  After a day or two of recovering at home, it was New Years, and a friend came over to celebrate. I thought we'd go for a walk in my town and I could show her around since it was her first time over, but we ended up sitting around and talking, literally for two days. I really appreciate friendships, especially new friendships like that, where you can sit and talk for hours and not get bored or cabin fever.

 

Since she went home, I have been lazy. I've had the girls over a few times, done henna on my hands and the girls', made them pizza, watched movies I picked up in Marrakech, gone out to two sibas (new baby parties), had lunch at my best friends' house, visited a family whose sick daughter I saw in the emergency room in Ouarzazate, visited the family where an old lady passed away, and somehow had an invitation to lunch at a new family's house I don't know very well. I guess that makes me sound busy, but I really haven't been.

 

That lunch invite was on Friday as my friend was leaving. I accepted, mainly because I was hungry and too lazy to cook lunch. It was fun talking to new people, though they all seemed to know a lot about me, and I didn't feel like an imposition at all because, as I later found out, there were 15 older ladies doing their Friday Qu'ran reading and recitation in their salon. I've run into this group a few times, and really like some of the women in it, like Raquia, my once-toothless but now dentured homestay next-door-neighbor, or Auntie Aicha, the eyeless woman whose appearance at first, I'm afraid to say rather frightened me, but who I now absolutely love and am still awed by how she moves around town and takes care of herself. After lunch, with, as seems to happen often in my town, young and not-so-young ladies asking me how to say vulgar things in English and teaching me, without my asking, dirty names for body parts in Tam, a few of us went in the salon where the old ladies had been praying.

 

They continued chanting, though I didn't understand it, I was pretty sure it was Berber songs about Islam, chanted in a call and response format, and I found out that the water that they had offered me in the communal cup earlier (that I accepted, at their insistence) was actually holy water that had been chanted upon. It was strange, because they know I am not Muslim, but they insisted on my having a sip as it was passed around after lunch anyway, only afterwards telling me that it was holy. "Water of the Qu'ran," they called it. In any case, I felt somewhat honored to be sitting in the room with them while they chanted, even though it wasn't really a somber moment, and some of the other women my age whispered through it or came and went.

 

And this all brings me to today. Tomorrow, I will run into town to talk about potential HIV/AIDS education in my souk town; I'll also try to set up a meeting with what the new volunteer in my souk town call "my ladies;" the association I worked with last month.

 

I can't believe how little time I have left. A part of me can't wait and is eager to take the next steps (namely finding a job), but a part of me is really reluctant to go.