11-17 3id mobarek

So there are currently two sheep carcasses hanging from a ladder in the middle of my house, strips of fat on the laundry rack (with the wet clothes), blood all over the floor, and I think heart and liver cooking in the kitchen, but the 3id is not actually as hard for me as I expected. The 3id is the holiday celebrating the miracle of Allah providing Abraham with a ram to sacrifice instead of his son, and what do Moroccans do? Yep, they sacrifice rams. For the last week or so, Moroccan families have been buying rams and keeping them on their terraces, hallways and apartments. I was lucky in that my fam kept theirs in my host father’s currently empty shop, so I didn’t have sheep in the house until this morning. (I would not have expected them to be so loud—I’ve been listening to sheep outbursts for the last few days at the apartment, and if they were in the house, I don’t think we would have slept.)

Last night, my host grandparents and aunt came over, so we spent a festive evening eating two snacks and a dinner (at midnight), and I woke up this morning to my dad and brother dragging two big, mean-looking rams into the house. The slaughtering is actually quite a process—it took about three hours to kill, skin and gut the two of them. Mostly I hid out in the back of the house with Boutaina, but gradually I got more confident and actually watched the second one’s throat cut. Death is not pretty. I began to think about how most Americans are so disconnected and squeamish about their meat. In Croatia, we threw meat in a grinder and made sausages, and Moroccans slaughter sheep in their apartments, but I can hardly deal with raw meat. (granted, I don’t really eat meat when I’m in charge of my own meals) I think that as a meat eater (at all) it was an important process to watch, but I’ll have to admit, I was rather relieved that my camera is broken and so I had an excuse for not taking pictures.

On my own. And what am I most excited about? Eating lots of vegetables and going to bed early!

OK, finally up to what is happening now.

One component of my program is an independent research project, and the last month of the semester is set aside for completing this, and so for the next three weeks, I am on my own with no classes. I just moved out of my homestay on Sunday, and for the next two weeks I am sharing an apartment with my friend Erin and whoever happens to need a place to crash. The apartment consists of one bedroom, where we are storing all of our STUFF, two living rooms, where we actually sleep (like most Moroccan living rooms, they have couches all the way around the edges, which are converted to beds each night by removing the back pillows and putting on sheets), a kitchen (but no oven or refrigerator), and bathroom (but no shower or hot water). I had a realization yesterday of the extent of my perspective shift when Erin told this to her brother. He said “That’s ridiculous” and she replied “No, it’s normal.” Most urban Moroccan houses do have ovens, fridges and hot water, but their absence didn’t even phase us. We can heat water on the stove, we can go to the souk every day to buy what we need for the day (and store a few things outside the window at night). I think the lack of oven is the biggest disappointment, because we were really excited about baking, but we are improvising with the stove. We cooked nachos yesterday in a pan.

We ended up in Salé, the next town over from Rabat, and though the half-hour commute into Rabat is a bit of a hassle, it is so interesting to be in a place where there are NO foreigners. Rabat is not very touristy, but between study abroad students and a few tourists, there is always blond hair to be seen here and there. Here however, I am living in kind of a suburb, where no one has any reason to visit, and I can tell that everyone on the streets is baffled by the presence of three white girls. I’m really enjoying conducting daily life in this setting—to me, it’s actually way more interesting than visiting lots of different tourist destinations. Yesterday, I realized that I can conduct the necessities of daily life (greeting people, asking for directions, buying ingredients for dinner) almost entirely in Darija.

We all miss our host families (OK, Erin misses hers a lot, I miss mine a little but am also relieved to be out of it, and Megan is mostly just happy to leave—but we all miss Erin’s host family), but it is really nice to be on our own. It’s so nice to have our own space and to be in charge of our own meals and eating schedule. As I mentioned, we are so excited about cooking. We’ve basically been cooking and eating nonstop wince we got here. (Yeah, so much for a break from constantly overeating, and now I can’t even blame Moroccan hospitality.) We’ve enjoyed some missed comfort foods from home as well as trying a few of our favorite Moroccan recipes. So far, the list includes: grilled cheese with tomato soup, peanut-butter cups (well, balls, actually) chicken marsalla, orange-mango smoothies, Moroccan mint tea, peanut-butter banana sandwiches, nachos (we made tortilla chips, salsa, and guacamole all from scratch), burritos, sfoof (a Moroccan desert/snack that is basically a powder made with peanuts, almonds, sesame seeds, flour, cinnamon, anise, honey and oil) and avocado juice. Looking at that list, I don’t think I should have been allowed to eat all that food in less than 48 hours—no wonder I have a headache…

And there must be a bunch of other things that I should have written about between southern excursion and now. Erin told me to read her blog to figure out what I’ve done.

10-31 Home again

Another delayed post:

It’s really nice to be home after so much travel. Time away from the fam made me realize that even though they are sometimes overwhelming (namely Boutayna, who is all over me all the time), they are so sweet and I am so glad to be part of their family. We had a little dance party the other night to the belly dancing on TV. I’m also getting more and more comfortable with Boutayna’s mischief as I get more comfortable and aware of social norms and what’s going on around me. I’m not sure I’ve talked about it before, but she likes to walk the line between acceptable and scandalous (I think it’s a thirteen-year-old rebellion thing, though she seems more boy-obsessed than the typical teenager). I’m considering actually playing her little game of social chicken. She’s been feeding me slang to say to the shopkeepers, and while I’m not sure how appropriate it is to say “Where’s it at, piece of meat?” (I think in this case it’s more vulgar than homeslice), I did get a piece of candy out of it yesterday.

Southern excursion

Wow, I just realized I haven’t posted in quite a while. It’s been kind of crazy, but more on that later. First, here’s a post I

actually wrote two weeks ago and just didn’t get around to finishing and posting:I just came home from a whirlwind tour of Southern Morocco, which involved seven days, six nights, approximately 33 hours on the bus, eight cities, and a camel.

It was great to see so much of the country, and kind of fun to get to play tourist. I don’t want to write a long “here’s what I did” summary—that’s boring—so I’ll just share some of my favorite stories.

Our first stop was Ifrane, and what a shock to the system. Firstly, it was FREEZING (ok, so it was probably 45 degrees, but I was not ready for that. I don’t think I actually processed it when I was told it might be snowing there.) Secondly, it looked like Switzerland (It was built as a French Colonial vacation town.) It was beautiful, but it also seemed out of place in this country.

In Azrou, a little town nearby, we had 15 mins to explore (yep, that was often how the trip worked) and I climbed a giant mount of rocks with a crown on top. We saw men some hundred feet below us waving, so we waved back. Then,one of them lifted a foot in the air as a challenge (I was standing at the very tip top) which I of course took. We also saw little boys in a park doing flips.

Next we drove through the cedar forest in the mountains we saw Barbary apes. They were so fuzzy and awkward looking.

Erin and I made a book club on the bus. I had read The Sand Child in the village and convinced her to read it. In the story, a man has seven daughters and decides to raise the eighth as a son. It’s so interesting and twisted and I felt like I didn’t have a very deep understanding and wanted to discus. When Erin started marking her book with sticky notes, I knew I had a best friend.

We went to the Sahara (Did you know that sahara means desert in Arabic? And har means hot) and rode camels into the sunset. My favorite part was running and jumping and tumbling and rolling down the dunes. The sand was unbelievably soft and a really beautiful orange-brown. Unfortunately, the dune I was on was experiencing a minor sandstorm (the wind was coming up from behind and blowing sand everywhere. The next morning when we woke up at 5am and climbed the dunes by moonlight to watch the sunset from the top. The dunes are absolutely surreal, and the soft light right before sunrise and the bright orange right after made them look spectacular.

On the road, I saw desert and barren, rocky mountains and mesas that would suddenly open into green oasis valleys. The oasis is such a romanticized idea, but the reality is pretty surprising and spectacular—a huge forest of green in the middle of endless brown.

The mountains were also surprising—or rather, the road through them was. It was windier than most Colorado mountain roads, but had NO shoulder, often no guardrail, was about as wide as a one-lane road in the US, and to top it off, we were in a giant bus.

Marrakesh is the touristic capital of Morocco,and I had heard so much about how magical it is, but I was a bit disappointed. At one point, when I was walking through the square with a couple of friends, a man approached us with wooden snakes, saying “Buy a snake, scare your boyfriend” and when we ignored him, another shopkeeper said “Sorry, I didn’t know you were lesbians.”

Our last stop was a surftown called Essaouira. It was touristy, but in a much more chill sense—meaning that it was clean and friendly, but didn’t feel like Disneyland. It was a really nice way to end the trip. I spent the afternoon at the beach swimming in the perfectly straight waves, exploring the sand dunes and watching the sunset.

Random updates

This one is from the week before last—I just didn’t get around to positng it before I left on my trip.

The other day, I was feeling restless while writing my paper in the library so I decided to go for a run. (By the way, somehow it has become acceptable in my mind to go for a run from school, come back all sweaty, change back into my clean clothes and go back to studying.) I got a bit more attention for being alone (as in every single car that passed by honked and stared at me) but it was relaxing to be alone for once, and so nice to watch the sun set over the ocean.

PS, check out the view where I run. It should be no surprise that Erin and I seem to get sidetracked and often spend more than half our time climbing down the rocks to explore or simply gawking at the view and the fact that we’re here.

Another day, I was running with my friend Alicia and we had an especially persistent suitor. He stopped in the middle of the road, shouting for our attention (and phone number), we ran by him and continued down the road. He then drove by us, trying to get out attention. At the next cross street, he had pulled in and was outside his car waiting with a phone. We continued to ignore him. Several more times, he drove by, completely holding up traffic on the highway to try to talk to us. Finally, he drove by again, and the girl in the passenger seat held out a piece of paper with a phone number.

Interesting occurrence—Boutayna and her friend Imam were playing with makeup and taking pictures, but as soon as Dad came home, they immediately stopped and huddled into the corner. A minute later, Boutayna asked me if her face was better—looks like daddy doesn’t allow makeup.

Another night, I was invited to go to a soccer game with some other SIT students and some host cousins. Rabat was playing Tunisia, and the stadium was far from full, but the fans that were there had plenty of enthusiasm—particularly the opposite side (which seemed to be having way more fun than my side). They unrolled a GIANT flag and were constantly dancing and singing and running around the bleachers. The next day, all the teachers were asking us about the game—apparently we made national TV. (They reported us as Rabat’s fans who had come all the way from America.)

In accordance with my practice of trying new things, when I saw strange fruits in the souk with green skins and funny lumps, I decided to buy one and see what was inside. Several of my friends were skeptical initially, but in the end, everyone gave in and tried it. It had the most unique and surprising flavor I have ever tasted—it reminded me of papaya, avocado, melon and strawberry. My friend Lauren said that she thought she’d had it in South America and it was called a membrio. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen it since.

Quote of the week: “What? Do I have American in my teeth?!” –Erin

Stalker of the week: I didn’t hear it, but Erin said that as we passed, he said “Hello, you’re so beautiful. I want to fuck you.” Hmmm…

Donkeys and chickens and goats oh my!

This is kind of a belated update, but about a week and a half ago, I spent a week in a rural Moroccan village. Here are the basics:

There were no cars (thought there were donkeys), no beds, no running water (and therefore no showers, no normal toilets, etc (Have I told you about the Turkish toilet? It’s a square of ceramic with two foot spots and a hole in the middle. They’re fairly common here.) The bathroom was located outside the house, and the guard dogs made nighttime bathroom trips slightly nerve-wracking. For the most part, though, it wasn’t too hard. I’ve spent plenty of time out in the woods.

Moreover, I loved being outside all the time. The neighborhood boys (I lived next to three other families, who we think were all various forms of cousins and second cousins, but knowledge is always questionable when communicating in Darija) loved to take the students up the surrounding hills. What a backyard!

There was definitely poverty, but not ugly poverty, mostly just simple. It’s definitely a problem that they don’t necessarily have money for medical help when it is needed, and that if they have a drought, they will starve, but day-to day life seemed like hard work, but also wholesome. It game a new perspective on stuff. We have so much STUFF! And it’s so unnecessary! I loved going to sleep early and waking up at sunrise, and I will totally take the forest over the internet. Stones and grass seemed to serve just fine as toys. Call me a crazy hippy.

My host family was wonderful. It included a mom, who would rattle on in Darija (I was actually able to communicate way better than I anticipated), a man who might have been a father and might have been an uncle (mom said he was her brother, but one of the neighbors said he was her husband, so I was confused), a 14 year old sister, a 10 year old brother, and a four year old walking hurricane. He became my best friend. We would have conversations as cats and play shop by taking cans from the trash (ie the yard) and filling them with dirt. The family also included two cows, two dogs, a cat, and a slew of chickens, turkeys, pheasants, goats and sheep. I learned lots of animals in darija.

My family fed me lots of delicious food. Sure, I had bread 4-6 times a day, but it was delicious and fresh. They usually made tajine (stewed veggitables (minimal, in this case), potatoes, onions and chicken) for lunch—with bread, of course. My favorite part was the coffee—it didn’t actually contain much coffee, more like a delicious explosion of cinnamon, cardamom and ginger with a little coffee in fresh goat’s milk.

45 SIT students trecking across the countryside (in a giant mob--how else would we do things?)

We also painted the wall at the school. My tree is the one on the right.

I decided to make a debut at the hammam (the bathhouse) to celebrate. My host fam has a shower, so I hadn’t been yet, but lots of Moroccans go to the hammam about once a week. In the hammam there are various rooms ranging from hot and steamy to room temp. there is a basin full of scalding hot water and a cold faucet, from which you fill buckets to create the desired temperature. Then, you sit on a stool and pour water over yourself and scrub—and I mean scrub. Moroccan style means you’re not doing it right unless your skin is turning red. Oh, and I forgot to mention that everyone is topless. (Don’t worry—hammams are NOT co-ed.)

Catching up

I’ve been so busy lately, and for the fist time in a while, I’m not up to my ears, which feels quite strange. I guess this was midterms week, and though all of my papers were short and informal, being occupied for eight hours a day with school made even joke-papers feel like a heavy load. I ‘m finally catching up on all the little things that I have been neglecting, like laundry, replying to messages, seeing my host family, and of course, posting.

I think I’m really settling into life here—everything seems more and more normal. If posts begin to get sparse, it’s because I’m no longer seeing everything in contrast to life back home, and so I don’t see everything as a story to post—instead of a grand adventure, it’s just life (and of course because I seem to be getting more and more busy with school and life). It’s going to be strange going back to the US.

This afternoon, I played soccer on the beach again, which is always a highlight. This time, there were fewer Americans and more good soccer players (the two tend to go together), so mostly I was just running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I thought it was funny that they called a foul for hitting the “Anglizia” with the soccer ball (I was blocking the goal).

My host fam has a new pet—it’s a baby chick. I’m pretty sure we’re going to eat it eventually.Originally we had three (it was quite amusing buying them out of a box and walking home through the medina with them in our hands), but I guess two of them died while I was in the village. So now we have one. My friend Erin came over and named it Jean-Pierre, and now the who family refers to it as such (I don’t think Moroccans usually name their livestock.) Often, when I come home, loose in house, following people around, and wandering into my room as I study.

Last weekend, I had a free morning, and I went with one of my friends on a long run along the coast. I had been wanting to explore that area practically since I arrived, and it was cool to see the tide pools and watch the waves crash against the cliffs.

Shortly after, I experienced my first bout of food poisoning. (I was one of only a few who hadn’t been sick yet, so I guess it was overdue.) I decided being sick is kind of a drag, so I’ll lay off the figs from here on out, and maybe stick to fruit that can be peeled. (I did wash them. With soap. But figs are always a gamble, because the skin is so thin and it is always cracked.) But look how beautiful it is! can you blame me?