March 12, 2009

Wow! So much to catch up on. (And a very belated happy birthday to my mother!)

As a quick update: still no answer whether or not I'm extending an extra six months or not. I haven't heard from Peace Corps, and I keep debating whether or not it's worth it, though I'm still leaning towards staying if the opportunity arises. We'll see!

Today was a crazy day, in a good way. My morning started the way many mornings start: watching movies and listening to podcasts while eating breakfast, which extends into early afternoon. I made myself go out of the house to visit my favorite family, since due to the nomad festival I went to this weekend and VSN training (read on), I haven't seen them
in two weeks.

They were as wonderful as always. Nothing warms my heart the way that Touda smiles and welcomes me with her warmth and expressions that show that she truly is happy to see me. I sometimes feel like most of the community still sees me as an oddity, or an outsider. They're
friendly, but it's not a true friendship. This is mostly my fault, as it's really difficult and energy draining to maintain a real friendship here but it makes what I have with Touda and Souad even
more special. I love being able to be myself, laughing, and whispering with them.

One of her twin daughters (and I hope nobody that knows Touda and speaks English happens upon this blog) confided to me that she has a text-message boyfriend crush (she's 14) and that I was a loyal friend for not telling anyone in town about it, which flattering and endearing. I also got Touda to accompany me to give my condolences to a family. I love that she's so willing to go with me to sibas (celebrations after births), sedacas ("charity" couscous parties), weddings, and to give condolences to families who have lost someone because if I don't know what to say, she'll whisper it in my ear, she'll make excuses for us to go when the timing is right, and she'll make sure I'm culturally appropriate. You'd think after two years in Morocco that I'd know by now, and I mostly do, but I love having her to guide me through it anyway.

The story of this death is tragic. It's ridiculous: there have been three very tragic deaths of Moroccans who I've known peripherally in the last few months. They've all been young and accidental. One of them is the brother of a teacher at a friends' site who I have worked
with a few times. Last November, when we covered her elementary school in a few hours doing toothbrushing lessons, he worked with me. In December or January, he drowned while swimming in the river. He was 17. The second death was a good friend of mine's best friend. She was 19, and essentially lived with my friend as a host sister and best friend for two years. Her dreams were far-reaching beyond her provincial town, and she had high hopes for the future, but died from a fast-acting flu after being sick three days.

The woman who died in my town was in her mid or late twenties and died while giving birth to her third child. Her oldest son is three, her second son is two. The girl, now nine days old, is living with her grandparents now. When we went to see the family so I could give my condolences, the oldest boy was playing around but it was obvious he still didn't get it. I don't know how she died, though I do know it was a home birth, but she did manage to get in the ambulance to go to the hospital in my souk town. Her husband is mourning, as they had a
really good relationship, and her children are motherless at an exceedingly young age.

I don't know how to react to these deaths; I haven't cried, but I do mourn for them in my own way. After expressing condolences to all of them and trying to play with the oldest son (unsuccessfully; peek-a-boo was okay, but he was still to wary to approach the "crazy foreigner") I went back to Touda's for awhile, then decided to go home.

I ran into my teacher friend, and decided, since several people today had already told me, "Congratulations! You look stronger!" (translation: "You look great, now that you've gained some weight!") that I'd walk the mile and a half to her house and back for the extra exercise (reason number 234 for staying an extra six months: I'm sure to lose weight in the heat of the summer!). I had coffee but no cake at her house, and decided to walk back right as the sun was going down.

About four minutes into the walk, I came upon some ladies walking in
the same direction. "Salaam u aleikum!" I greeted them. The younger
one asked if I was going to "ighrm" (my town) and I said yes. She then
proceeded to hand her elderly mother off to me and said, "great, go
with her!"

It's normal, especially at night, for people to walk each other
places. I was a bit apprehensive, as the woman looked pretty frail and
a little annoyed since I was trying to keep my heart rate up, but it
saved the younger woman a two-mile walk, so I agreed and took the
woman's hand.

She didn't know me, but had seen me around. I was amazed with this
woman, Luhou. She was "almost 70" but I barely had to slow my pace and
she kept up. She understood everything I said, which is rare even with
younger women, most people have to get used to "my version of
Tashelheit," and was very practical. I found out that she was going to
a family members' house because her niece was taking off the white
clothes that marked the mourning of her husband.

About half-way to where she was going, a car drove by. "Do you want me
to flag it down and see if they'll take you where you're going?"

"No, of course not," she responded, matter of factly, "We're almost there!"

I mentioned how beautiful the weather was. "I love spring," I said.

"Oh, spring," she responded, "you know, I love Rabat in spring. I was
just there visiting one of my sons and they took me around to see
everything. Everything! The park, the beach, the houses…"

"Do you like Rabat?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes. I have family there, what isn't there to like about it?"

She held my hand until she was at her family's house (which is
incidentally, where I pay my rent; her sister's son is married to my
landlord's daughter) and then I was on my way home… or so I thought.

Two women who looked familiar but who I didn't know stopped me and
asked if I'd "look at their brother who can't walk." I warned them I
wasn't a doctor but would see what I could do.

I got to their house, an old-style mud house that is less
modern-feeling than mine, walked through their soot-filled kitchen
with an indoor mud bread oven, and went to meet Ali.

I wish I knew what kind of illness he has: he's in his mid-twenties,
hasn't been able to walk since he was two (and his legs are locked up
and weak), is blind, and doesn't leave one room.

What was amazing was his smile, his ability to respond to some
questions, and the care that his sisters gave him. There are five
people living in the house, three sisters, Ali, and his brother who
also has medical problems and is on medicine for Parkinsons' disease.
They don't have regular work, but somehow manage with love and respect
for their siblings. I promised to try to do what I can to help, but I
don't know what can be done in the next two months.

Today was an interesting, energizing day, to say the least…

***

What else has been going on since I last blogged? A lot, I suppose:

- A few health lessons
- VSN training
- Nomad Festival

(Yes, all this in under a month)

I'll try to be brief. "Try" is the operative word.

Really, I suppose I've only done two health lessons recently. The day
after I last blogged, I was able to a lesson on pregnancy care for 33
women in town. I was really happy with how it went, especially since
women seemed to love the pictures of fetuses at various stages of
growth. They had never seen anything like that before. I also loved
being able to draw a uterus on the blackboard and explain things like
why women have a menstrual cycle. It's such an integral part of life
and sometimes I think many of us take for granted understanding why
women menstruate, what purpose it serves, and even how things like
ovulation and implantation work.

That next Saturday, however (2/21), the health lesson did not go as
well as I had planned. But for that, I have to back up a little.

I worked with a womens' association in my souk town a few weeks before
to do a general hygiene/cold lesson for 40 women in town. At the same
time, another association woman talked about intimate hygiene to the
women, such as how to wash, bathroom hygiene, what underwear is best,
how to prevent yeast infections, etc. The president's (of the
handicapped association where two of my Peace Corps friends work) wife
is a member of the women's association, and through a friend, asked me
to present what I thought was the other part of the lesson: the
feminine hygiene part. This would have made sense because the woman
who originally taught it only speaks Arabic, and the association women
speak mainly Tashelheit.

I put off the lesson plan until the night before because I really
don't want to talk about it and am not comfortable with the vocabulary
(there are no unshameful words for most intimate parts of female
anatomy) and I dreaded having to demonstrate or draw on the board how
to wipe from front to back rather than back to front. I added some
other important elements to the lesson plan, and presented it to 13
women and girls, with several faux pas.

When I finished, the association presidents' wife said, "Okay, now
talk about nutrition and hygiene and…" and she proceeded to list
everything in the lesson I had done before and was much more
comfortable with. A miscommunication! She hadn't asked me to do the
intimate hygiene lesson, but my favorite lesson which is much more
mellow and interactive and that I enjoy presenting. I was rather
shocked and embarrassed.

Luckily, my plan is to go into town tomorrow and do that lesson with
the girls and boys, men and women of the association. It should be
fun.

Dmi yadnin?

I spent almost a week preparing for and leading a VSN (Volunteer
Support Network) training in a friend's site a bit up north. I don't
know how much I've talked about VSN before, but it's a peer counseling
active listening program, and interested volunteers go through a
three-day training. This is the second one I have helped to facilitate
and they are a lot of fun, though, when it was all said and done, I
ended up being out of site almost a full week because of it.

Though the better part of me thought I should go back to site and stay
there, a part of me really wanted to go to the 6th annual Nomad
Festival down in M'hamid el Ghizlane, the other part of Morocco with
sand dunes. Eventually, I talked myself into going, and had less than
a day to pack after VSN before leaving on the long trek down south.

The festival was both awesome and disappointing. I realized I really
like Zagora province, even if it is hotter then lafa, I invested in
some Tuareg jewelry, stayed in a tent barely big enough to hold four
ponjs for a few nights, and had, all in all, a great time. The first
night, the music was in the baby-dunes.

It was majority Moroccan audience, and the acts included a rather
interesting new age/vaudevillian crazy French woman singing about "Oh,
les histoires, les histoires, les histoires, ah ha ha ha!" and
feinting fainting on top of her synthesizer (yes, I have a video), a
duet from Cameroon who was rather fantastic, and a little boy in the
audience who was the happiest, most energetic dancer that I've seen
since I've been in country. A guy from our campsite who we all quickly
befriended took us there in his 4x4 (though we all got out to push a
little white Fiat out of the sand on the way), and we came back to a
bowl of hot harrira.

The next morning, after exploring small M'Hamid, we spent a few hours
playing drums and making up Tam/Tash songs in our friends' shop, after
sleeping until 11 and walking down the sandy streets. It's amazing:
there are no real dunes in M'Hamid; the largest I saw might have been
20 feet high the night before, but it's literally a town built in sand
desert: small piles of sand surround some of the mud walls, and
everything of mine was covered in sand when I got home. It was a very
chill place—touristy, yet subdued. I bought a full-body wrap on a whim
because I loved the colors and patterns and wore it for the rest of
the day. A friend of mine bought a few Tuareg outfits, and we went
crazy dancing in the campsite.

That night, the concert was in the center of town. There was a
fantastic singer from Spain who is now living in Casa: the band was
Barbarita y su Bamboli. I met her afterwards and she invited us to
hang out in Casa sometime. Really cool music, really nice band.

Before the concert, our friend took some of us off-road to a sandy
campsite with a group of Belgian tourists who were about to go on a
5-day trek. It was very tempting to throw caution to the winds and go
with them. I couldn't imagine hiking out to the 300-meter dunes for
five days but it'd have been awesome. We had fun nibbling on the food,
drinking tea and "red tea," dancing, and eating Belgian chocolate.

The next day was rather interesting. We ate a late breakfast (see a
theme emerging?) and went to the "exchange with the nomads." This
ended up being driven out to a douar three kilometers outside of town
to a small village. We wandered around a bit, herded rather
energetically to our chagrin by some of the festival organizers. It
was bizarre at first, but at the end, all of the women separated from
the men and we went to the neddi: women's center and were greeted by
enthusiastic singing and dancing. I befriended some very little girls
(who spoke only Arabic… one liked to show off singing the Arabic
alphabet for me), and all in all had fun until the men came in and
announced thank-yous. About half of the women covered their faces
because of the men's cameras.

Though it was about a 10 hour trip each way, almost, all in all it was
great and a whole lot of fun.

All right! I have to get some things done for tomorrow. Take care!