Beautiful landscape

This was taken en route to school. This is what I look out upon every day as we drive to RasTabouda. The trees are olive trees, which are everywhere, and the harvest is just beginning. Olive oil accompanies many dishes, and it is not unusual to see a dish set out at breakfast time.

Ifrane lion

This statue is located in Ifrane, which is a resort town in the Atlas Mountains. If you want people to know you have been here (where the king has yet another palace), you have your picture taken in front of the lion. This section of Morocco is unlike any of the other areas I have seen. The trees were losing their leaves, the air was fresh and cool, and there was water everywhere: ponds, waterfalls, rivers. I was almost homesick. Even the architecture was different. Because they get snow here in the winter, the rooves were pitched. We had a lovely walk through the woods along the water, and en route, Salah had a ride on a horse along the lake.

October 26, 2006

October 26, 2006
I now have more than five days to catch up on, because I went from being sick (which really ate up my energy and my desire to do anything...nothing serious, I think I just had an allergic reaction to something in the harira—the soup served during Ramadan, and it took about six days and a trip to the doctor's to figure out what was making me ill) to being on holiday. There is so much to cover that I will attempt to clump things into subjects rather than try to write chronologically.
First of all, school. Mostafa's school in Ras Tbouda has more than most rural schools but what a contrast to what we have in Epping! And the routines are so very different. For a start, students move in groups. As a result, scheduling is nearly a breeze. If you want to change the schedule, all 30 + students change their schedule. I think this is reflective of the focus of learning. There is a new initiative in Morocco to make classes more student centered, but our schedules show how student centered we already are. Here, students choice is simply determined by their track: are they science/math or social sciences. What year are they in their high school cycle? They basically move in a pack, whereas in Epping, some of my students will only see their French classmates in my class on any given day.
Curriculum is determined by the state. Mostafa, for example, has been handed a textbook for first year English that says right in the foreword that it is a second year book! It results in massive frustration on the part of the teacher (because he is required to cover the material lesson by lesson and will be evaluated accordingly) and especially on the part of the student who is required to operate at a second year level without having ever been exposed to the language! Mostafa and I have talked about it extensively, and he is sort of working around the book by presenting material from last year's first year book (which began at the beginning!), throwing massive amounts of material at the students in hopes that when he finally gets to lesson 1, they will have some context. Imagine, they don't know the alphabet, and they are supposed to discuss what their schedule is at school, family relations, routines, likes and dislikes, etc. So much for national curriculum. It's an idea that makes some sense: no matter where you go in the country, you will be studying the exact same thing as your peers. And when you finish, any employer or tech school or university will know what you have covered. But the texts are chosen by individuals who may have little or no experience in the subject area, much less teaching. I feel blessed that I am allowed to choose the text I feel I can best teach. And I get done what I feel absolutely has to be done, regardless of where the book ends. According to Mostafa, they are mandated to finish the book here.
Teaching styles vary quite a bit (as they do anywhere). Mostafa employs a lot of strategies to encourage speech, lots of open ended questions especially with the upper levels. Whereas Ali's class was quite cut and dry. “Take out your copy books and write the answers to (concrete) questions #1-8.” (no variation). He complained that the class was very weak, but when there is only one right answer, I think students feel intimidated by questions. Interestingly enough, both teachers seem to assume that reading or homework is very rarely done outside of class. And yet, today, when Mostafa attempted to draw out discussion on the questions he had given them for homework, I saw plenty of paragraphs, but few students willing to communicate what they had written. I think they are very shy and unsure of themselves, perhaps especially because of me. Most of them indicate this by looking away, smiling or covering their mouths. Perhaps they are even unaware of this. Peer correction seems to be encouraged, however, and students are obviously used to being corrected by their classmates.
One practice I find very interesting is that students are encouraged to attend other classes when they are free: for example, as long as there are seats, if you are taking first year English with Ali, you can sit in on Mostafa's class during a different period if you are not scheduled for another class. This allows them to review what they may have learned earlier or catch up on work they may have missed. Good system.
Another item that surfaced in the second year class, while discussing memories of other school years, was that corporal punishment, although officially banned, is fairly widespread. A common punishment is to have a student take off his shoes and then beat his bare feet. Other students in the classroom can actually be called upon to perform this task! This is only done at the primary level and only in public schools, but I still find the practice reprehensible. Yet I know that corporal punishment was still popular when I was growing up, so we're not that far ahead. (Yeah, I'm old but not that old!)
Another interesting facet of Moroccan public education is that the study of the Islamic religion is also mandated. (Once again, we take so many of our freedoms for granted, don't we?) For those of you who may not know what the five pillars of Islam are:
There is one God and Mohamed is his prophet.
One must pray five times per day (and there are specifics at to how this is to be done.)
Fasting during Ramadan (if you are old enough and able to do so) is required from sunup until sundown for the 28 or 29 days during that lunar month.
Alms must be given to the poor.
If you are physically and financially able, you should make a pilgrimage to Mecca.
There is ritual cleansing before prayers or before entering a mosque, and only Muslims are allowed in the mosques. There are restrictions as to what you can eat or drink, and although I was aware of the prohibition against pork, I was not aware of the fact that animals that are killed for food must be slaughtered in a certain way. It follows basically the same rules that exist for kosher food, so when Mostafa comes, I will need to know how to provide him with appropriate food.
One final note about school is that there is no place for students to be when they are not in class (which may be one reason why sitting in on other classes is encouraged). If you are not in class, you are in fact LOCKED OUT of the compound and made to wait in the space outside of the school which is totally unprotected from the elements! This is also true during lunch! So if it's raining or snowing or boiling hot, tant pis! What do you think of that, Epping students?
Ramadan is finally over, so I don't have to feel guilty anymore for eating during the day, but what a wonderful insight into the culture. On the 26th day of Ramadan, little girls and boys were dressed in traditional costumes, as if for a wedding, and put in these silver horseless coaches and carried about just like brides and grooms are carried about at a wedding. This becomes especially true on la nuit du destin which marks the revelation of the Koran to the prophet. I was allowed to go to Salah's preschool to witness this, and I have some great pictures I will try and share here. Girls henna their hands and wear beautiful caftans. Boys are dressed in the traditional white or off white caftans with matching fez. The picture taking is everywhere, and people are out til nearly midnight with their children while this is going on. The traditional music is played everywhere, which is much like what I described watching Salah's baptism video. There are these long horns that make this huge ear splitting noise that almost sounds like a giant kazoo, although that description can't possibly allow you to get an idea of the sound. There were some stringed instruments as well, but they played a series of the same notes over and over. Once again, it is in praise of Allah and quite hypnotic. (and loud). Interestingly enough, I have not heard American music played anywhere! So different from in France, where American culture, especially the music, invades the senses no matter where you go.
So, some more observations. Moroccan homes are absolutely immaculate (at least all the ones I have seen). The floors are mopped daily (there are even drains in the tiled floors to catch the water), windows are scrubbed, carpets are swept. But go outside of the home, and there is garbage literally everywhere. I talked to Hind about this, and she thinks it is because of a) a lack of education and b)anger that only the rich areas have regular trash removal, so people just throw things into the street. We went to this beautiful stretch of beach while outside of Casablanca, and there were dirty pampers, water bottles, yogurt containers, and all manner of trash in piles on the sand. We stopped en route to Casablanca and at this little strip mall where Mostafa bought cookies and water, there were piles of trash everywhere. The fields are littered with plastic bags and pieces of paper. It is very sad, because the landscape in many places is quite breathtaking. The coast, especially, knocked my socks off. Incredible surf (and there were a group of boys and young men surfing right next to the Hassan II Mosque in these huge waves), wonderful shades of blue and gray and green water. We sat in a cafe (yes, at this particular cafe on the coast in a resort town called El Jadida, there were women and children in the cafe) and watched the sunset over the ocean while Salah played in the sand. It was beautiful.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, has a TV. People will even sacrifice basic needs (from what I have read) to ensure they have a TV in their home. Around dinner time in Mostafa's household, the TV goes on and is on most of the time in the evening. I guess this is probably pretty typical of the U.S. (many people call it USA, pronounced OOZA), but I hardly ever watch TV, so, for me, the plethora of satellite dishes arrayed on the rooftops is such a contrast to the clotheslines next to them. When I talk to people, their view of the USA is based almost exclusively on what they have seen on T.V. One of the statements made to me that meant the most came from Hind's mother who told me that I had projected perhaps the best possible image for her on the face of America. (We had had many philosophical discussions about our foreign policy, our leaders, what people in the USA perceived of the Arab world, during which I really felt the importance of my presence here.) However, what continues to impress me is that many of the programs are broadcast in various languages—primarily Arabic, of course, but next French, some in Berber and some in English with Arabic subtitles. This is truly a multilingual nation. Even Salah, who is only 3 and a half years old, endeavors constantly to communicate with me in French. My Arabic is still pretty pathetic: please, thank you, come here, no, yes, Peace be with You, I'm fine, my name is, his/her name is, mine, and cool/neat or as my students would probably say, “sick”.
The new constantly is in contrast to the old. There are very few closets (as we perceive them), but there are computers. There's a McDonalds with a playland, but the outside area is decorated like the inside of a Moroccan home. There are dishwashers, but in the bathroom, there is probably a wooden washboard to scrub your clothes that you will hang outside or on a rack to dry. There are twin towers in Casablanca, but directly below them are buildings from the 1930s in terrible disrepair, some of them nothing but rubble. There are modern malls and shops and there are bidonvilles, buildings with tin covered rooves which constitute the slums of Casablanca.
Which speaks of another glaring contrast in Morocco: the rich vs the poor. The Hassan II Mosque is the highest religious building in the world. Its interior will hold 25,000 people with a courtyard that can accommodate another 80,000. It is built over water to reflect a statement in the Koran that God's throne is on water. The ceiling is removable! It cost nearly $750 million dollars! But look across the way, and the poverty of Casablanca is in full view of the opulence of the mosque. Many grumble that the projects being launched in various cities ) to emphasize the country's beauty and move towards modernity could be better spent reducing the poverty and improving access to education.
Finally, a word or two about the role of women. It is amazing to think that in the 1940s and 50s there were still harems in existence right here in Fes. (No, not like the 1001 nights you have read about, but extended families where women were cloistered, not allowed to venture outside without the permission of their husbands or eldest male relatives and then only accompanied.) But things are changing. Bigamy is still permitted, but only under certain conditions. Women now, by law, must be present if their husband wishes to divorce them, and they are guaranteed a home in which to raise their children. They are protected, by law, from being forced into a marriage at an age less than 18 years old. They are being ushered into a new age. But they still have a long way to go. Houda, Hind's sister, indicated that although a woman can now survive a divorce, her chances of starting a new life (as I have done) are slim and none. Women are still fighting centuries of stereotypes. It is still very difficult to be an independent woman in Morocco. Just one more thing before I sign off (whew). I saw my first camel close up! It was in El Jadida where pictures were still being taken of children as the El Aid Fitr marked the end of Ramadan. What I couldn't get over, other than its size, was what beautiful eyes it had! It had lashes so big it almost look dreamy-eyed. What a magic country this is.

Copying from the blackboard

Here are Mostafa's students busily copying notes from the board into their copy books.

Hassan II Mosque Casablanca

This mosque holds 25,000 people and its courtyard holds 80,000 at a cost of over 750 million dollars. Construction is ongoing as it is built on the sea to fulfill the prophecy that the throne of God rests on the sea. The burden of cost was mostly borne by the people of Morocco. It boasts the highest minaret in the world.

School courtyard

This is where you wait if you don't have class. This is where you eat if you don't go to the local cafe for lunch. Today it rained, so the field was filled with mud. The building you see is part of the buildings found in this tiny village. Today it was crowded with mules and carts filled with jugs of natural gas. There is no road to speak of.

Butcher shop in Fes Medina

Do you see the camel's head hanging from the shop? The medina is filled with everything you would want to see and some things that you don't.

La Nuit du Destin: This young girl is in an amaria which is used to carry the bride or groom during a wedding. On the 26th day of Ramadan, little girls and boys are dressed as brides and grooms and carried in these contraptions (for want of a better word). It is a time of great celebration and children are out celebrating with their parents til late into the night.

October 18, 2006

October 18, 2006
There is so much to catch up on. I made a list last night, and got so overwhelmed I went to bed instead!
Little things. For example, it has never been said, but when you enter a carpeted area, you remove your shoes or slippers and go barefoot. I assume that this is in order to keep the carpet clean, and the carpets here are exquisite, as I mentioned on the pictures I posted of the medina.
To add to that, we also visited a shop where they make cloth (silk, cotton, wool and mixtures of each) which had four floors of wall to wall reams of cloth. The cloth is woven in the old way with huge looms and shuttles threaded by hand and moved from side to side with foot pedals. Ms Franke and I observed this same process in a museum in Germany two summers ago. There patterns had been “programmed” with metal blocks. In Germany this is all done by machine now, but here it continues to be done by hand without any pattern.
In each shop we entered, I was struck by the contrast of the dingy narrow streets and the expansive interiors of the rooms behind the doors that peppered the walls. Outside, there was absolutely no evidence of the opulence that lay hidden inside. We entered a former museum that had obviously once been a private residence. The central courtyard was open to all four floors. I kept looking up in awe at the intricate woodwork that edged the individual balconies. The floors were marble and the walls decorated with either beautiful tile mosaics or the recessed plaster designs you see even in the modern apartments. Unfortunately we were not allowed to take pictures inside because of the individual artwork, but hopefully I will have the opportunity at a later time.
After our visit to the medina, we were invited to Mostafa's mother's home for Iftar. There no one spoke anything but Arabic (and maybe a little French). After the meal, we sat down to watch the four hours of video of Salah's baptism. It took place when Salah was 9 days old, and according to tradition, this festive event was celebrated with the sacrifice of a ram. They showed the ram being killed and disemboweled, at which point I'm sure I turned green and had to turn away. So they fast forwarded to the second tape. The video, although long, bombarded me with the richness of this culture. For the event, they had hired a “band”. This band is totally percussive, nothing but frame drums and small hand drums and something that looks like bongos. Occasionally there was a wind instrument (the sound is what I associate with snake charmers just to give you an idea), but it was essentially hour upon hour of chant accompanied by percussive instruments. Hind explained that the band is hired for a certain price, and as people slip them additional bills, they stay longer than the prescribed time. They began with long praises to Allah which people listened to with great solemnity, occasionally clapping along. And one woman there offered that cry that's done with moving the tongue and uttering a very high pitched cry. It's hard to describe. This then switched to a faster paced chant that told about the preparation of a sacred food for feasts that consists of flour and almonds and sugar and a few other elements. The chant again incorporates praise to Allah and is considered spiritual music that is supposed to, in some cases, induce a trance state. Hind said that some of the women actually passed out after long periods of the chanting and dancing. The dancing is the same for men and women and consists of arms raised above the head moving in a somewhat circular motion, accompanied by a rhythmic movement of the hips and feet. It really was hypnotic. Contrary to what I would have expected, men and women danced together or alone.
The reason I say it is not what I would have expected is that in light of the traditional nature of this feast (which lasted two days, by the way), I was surprised to see the interaction between men and women. For example, one of the things that I have noticed during my stay is that there are absolutely no women in the cafes wherever we go! Only men. Hind explained that in the more modern section of the city (which we haven't really frequented yet) that a woman can enter a cafe if accompanied by a man, but that most cafes are exclusively male. Over and over, I am stuck by the contrast between the modern and the traditional.
On a more modern note, at 9 pm the other night, Hind took me to Marjane, which is a huge market that reminds me so much of Cora in France. It's not quite a warehouse store like BJs, because it's not a matter of buying in bulk but rather being able to buy everything from technology to dishes to yogurt. It's probably more like a Walmart, actually. But it has a different feel. I will be interested to see what Mostafa says when he sees Walmart.
Some comments about school. Classes vary from day to day. Mostafa's first class Monday didn't start until 2 so we didn't leave until 1 pm. Unless he has a class, he doesn't have to be there, and as I said before, he only has 11 hours of classes. Quite a different system. We left the school about 4:30 pm and got home by 5 pm. Hind has not even had any classes yet. This is because the other teachers (I think based on seniority) have been assigned certain classes and she didn't get her schedule until after those teachers had decided which classes they didn't want. The other day, she came home with her schedule. Because of its broken nature (8-10 am and then 2-4, which is very inconvenient because of commuting and getting Salah to and from preschool), she went today to protest. Upon arrival, she was told of an opportunity at the college level for a teacher of English at a scientific college. She is very excited and busily typing up her Curriculum Vitae.
I have now had two more days at school since my last entry so I've seen a little of how things are taught here. First of all, Mostafa speaks no Arabic with his students, only English. Even with his first year students who have only had a few classes. And I am extremely impressed with how quickly they master the instructions he gives them and grab at words that they couldn't have heard more than a handful of times. Yesterday, I sat in on an Advanced French class that was studying Stendahl's Le Rouge et Le Noir (which I read in college!) The teacher, once again, spoke no Arabic with his students, but conducted the entire analysis of the text in French. First of all, Stendahl is not easy stuff. There were vocabulary words in the chosen text from Chapter 4 that even I would have had to look up, but the students seemed to understand the gist of the selection, and I was especially impressed by the amplitude of their vocabulary. The teacher would ask for more than one or two words to describe the theme, the characterizations, the descriptions. From the violent nature of the father's diatribe they pulled angry, brutal, antagonistic, insulting, along with various other words illustrating their mastery of the richness of the language. Quite a contrast to my student's overuse of the word “sympa”, for example.
In Mostafa's first year class, we tried paired evaluation to review the numbers we had gone over the other day and discovered it was a bit difficult with the size class he has (more than 30!) They began to catch on towards the end, but I realized that to impose my methods on someone else was not the way to go. Mostafa also had me teach the alphabet song. The first class was not only able to grasp the letters but also the tune. The second class ended up sounding like the chanting of the Koran I hear everywhere. And I felt so out of my element. Teaching English can't be that much different than teaching French, can it? But I felt very awkward.
One of the more interesting exchanges was with a group of his former students. They were complaining that their present teacher is using Arabic in the class and as a result, they feel they are going backwards. But their facility was exceptional. Today, while home, I spent time looking over the book that these students used last year, and I was impressed that rather than teaching vocabulary and grammar as we do, they did both by embedding it in text that dealt with issues such as minorities, the role of women, human rights, leisure activities and the environment. The French III text I am using now does this more than any other text I have ever used, and I now see how useful that can be. It also tells me that my research project in French III and the mid-terms that both French III and IV/V do are on the right track. But I see that I can be even more demanding. Of course, this means I will have to have the cooperation of the students, and Mostafa's students are coming from such a different environment than mine. Mine have so much, and have no idea how blessed they are. For example, some of the students at his school WALK two hours to get to school! Can you imagine? For many, the textbook he has, which costs 30 dirham (which is a little over $3.00) is totally beyond their means so they have to share with their neighbors or go without. Yes, they have to buy their textbooks and all their own copy books and pens and pencils. When I showed them pictures of our school, Mostafa asked his students for their reaction. One of the boys spoke up and said, “It is a gift.” When asked which things they wished they could have, what they focused on was a library that was accessible to them. Computers! (There is no access to the internet at the school and computers are extremely limited.) A place where they can learn to cook or sew or work with wood! And oh, to have the luxury of a cafeteria. “You mean the students have such a luxurious place to sit and eat and they can actually buy food prepared for them?” Are you listening, Epping students??? And the students here don't have access to music classes or art.
So I will end my “discours” here as food for thought. Until next time.

Here Mostafa is walking with our guide. This is one of the wider streets in the medina. The only form of transport possible in the medina is either donkey or mule. What is amazing is the palatial residences that exist behind these dark streets: floors of marble, balcony after balcony of exquisite woodwork, fountains, intricate designs on plaster, you just can't imagine. Later in the day, this same street will be so filled with people that you will have a hard time getting through.

This young girl works 8 hours a day making the carpets Morocco is so famous for (and they are indeed exquisite. I was so tempted) in a room that is only about 8 feet square. A fairly large carpet will take several months but the results are extraordinary, and she works without a pattern. The carpets are made from wool and the dyes are all natural. What impressed me the most is that the work is so fine that the rugs are actually reversible.

In the medina of Fes

These are the tanneries in the medina in Fes. Here the leather Fes is famous for is cured and dyed. The smell is so bad, especially in summer, that they give you fresh mint to hold to your nose while touring the tanneries.

Post to blog 2
Continued from blog 1
It is now near midnight, and we've just eaten our second dinner. Yeah, I'm talking about food again, but that's the focus around here, even when you are not eating. After Hind got Salah off to school, she and I took the Petit Taxi down to the medina. At the entrance, we were offered a guided tour, and had we had more time, it might have been a good idea, because it is truly a labyrinth! The gate is a beautiful arch of blue mosaic that leads into a spider web of pathways, so narrow that when a donkey is driven through (and there were many of them!) you have to duck into one of the thousands of shops and then you are subject to prods of “Madame, madame...” I am so obviously American, not only because I wore blue jeans and a t-shirt, but with my blond hair and blue eyes, I stick out like a sore thumb. On more than one occasion, Hind and I were separated, but then she'd grab my hand and pull me along. I can hardly believe how well we get along. I feel as if I have known her forever. We talk all the time! (I know that's not so hard to believe) may nous nous entendons tellement bien! I bought nothing, just drank in the sounds and smells and sights. The sounds were of people crying out their wares, copper, silver and brass being pounded, street musicians (very different stringed instruments/almost like a banjo but longer with a crooked fret), and calls to prayer (there are mosques in the medina). The smells were intense. In the area where spices were sold, the smells were pleasant, but the tanners were another story. Aargh! Very sharp! And the sights: silver teapots and trays, djellabas of every conceivable color and decorated in either beads or embroidery, copper trays, pottery, food, electronics, plastic containers, shoes, rugs, postcards, you name it; it's there! Mostafa only had two hours of class, so he picked us up close to 2. At that point, I downed a luna bar and some water to keep myself going. How do they go for 18 hours?????????? I thought I was doing well going from 8 until 2! Mostafa drove us up to look over the city, then we picked up some groceries, exchanged a piece of porcelain for Hind (I could get a set of 12 beautiful Provence decorated blue and white porcelain plates for $13.00!) and then they showed me the apartment they are having built. It's going to be beautiful, overlooking the city in a lovely neighborhood, and it's costing them about $45,000. I think it's more like a condo in that they will own it outright once it is completed. We returned to the house, after picking Salah up from preschool where at age 3 he is already learning French. Mostafa took Salah with him to see his mother, I listened to some music and then joined Hind in the kitchen. I actually made some nem which are Vietnamese rolls made with phyllo dough stuffed with ground chicken, herbs, rice noodles, and garlic and fried. We broke the fast at 6, then had a somewhat awkward exchange about Salah who clearly rules the roost and plays his father against his mother. I really need to stay out of it, I know, but I talked to them (especially Hind) about setting boundaries and being consistent and making joint decisions about what behaviors are acceptable and which are not. At any rate, Mostafa and Salah fell asleep watching TV while Hind cleaned up from the Iftar and then started cooking the second meal (fish, shrimp salad, olives, more nem, yogurt, fresh fruit), hanging out the wash, and then went over the introduction to her thesis on African British female writers of the 18th century...all written in research language. Whoa! We awakened Mostafa at about 11:30, ate and now I'm off to bed, very very tired! I miss everyone, but this is truly the experience of a lifetime.

October 14, 2006
Yesterday morning I caught up on the day before, so I didn't realize until now that nothing was transcribed of my day Friday the 13th. In the morning, Mostafa took me to the post office (I had written a number of post cards to school and family) and to the notary (so much of the government reminds me of the French system...evidence of Morocco's colonization) and then to see the king's palace (bigger than the Louvre) where I took some pictures. We passed the Jewish Quarter and then stopped at an overlook near the luxury hotel we'd seen from the other side of the city the day before. Once again I took pictures and there were some bushes filled with butterflies which caught my eye.We were returning to the apartment when we saw Hind en route to take Salah his lunch at the school, so we drove her there. The result was that I got a chance to see the preschool that he attends. The classes were very small (only 5-6 children in Salah's class, fewer in the “creche” and a few more in the class of four year olds). In the four year old class, they were learning French: months of the year, days of the week, how to write their names, etc. They were also learning how to cut and paste. As a result, when we returned to the apartment, Salah cut paper for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I stopped and had a salad and then, due to the heat, I retired to read a bit. The rest of the day went like that, and I discovered that the lack of activity made me feel more tired than I had felt in a long time. (It's also the heat...man, I certainly brought the wrong clothes!) By the time dinner came around, the day had passed
and I had relatively little to show for it! After dinner I decided that I would not stay up for the second meal since I would be getting up at the regular time for school.
I could hear Hind and Mostafa in the process of preparing dinner and outside my window, the activity that doesn't seem to end at night during Ramadan: people calling out to one another, music, the Quran being chanted, etc. I put in earplugs which reduced the noise, and around 3 am took them out as a calm settled. Then at about 5 am, the call to prayer began. Because of the number of mosques in the city, the noise is overwhelming for this country mouse who is lulled to sleep with the sound of crickets in summer or who is blanketed in silence during the winter.I didn't dare put the earplugs back in because I was afraid I wouldn't hear the alarm, so I just meditated and luckily fell back to sleep for another hour and a half.
At 7:30 we left for Mostafa's school which is nearly 45 minutes away. We stopped to pick up 3 other teachers who commute from Fes and arrived there some time after 8 am. Mostafa's first class wasn't until 9:30 am and only lasted 45 minutes. It was a second year class, and although the students were extremely shy at first, after showing them the pictures of the school, they began to ask a few questions. I was impressed by their mastery of the language for second year students (would that mine were that good). And they were so polite. “Sir!” “Please” “Thank you” “May peace be with you”. I noticed that many of the teachers and students I was introduced to touched their heart after shaking hands. It seems this is a sign of respect and the wish for well being. I found it charming. I also noted that many of the students knocked once on the door before entering the classroom. And there was a scramble for who was to sit with whom (the desks were two person desks arranged to face the front of the classroom). After class, Mostafa had a break, so the headmaster let us come to his home so I could grab a snack (I'd brought a piece of bread and cheese and the headmaster's wife provided me with flan which I didn't need but which I devoured with relish!) The second class was a group of first year students who were extremely enthusiastic! They went over the alphabet, reviewed the days of the week and the months of the year. I was once again impressed by their motivation to succeed. I don't think I've ever seen that many hands raised. They WANTED to be called upon. Imagine that! And watching the dynamics between some of the girls and boys (one “couple” in particular) I was reminded once again that teenagers are teenagers everywhere you go! Mostafa seemed to have a very good rapport with the students and the respect of his peers. I begin to see why he was selected. He will have much to offer us and much he will be able to bring back to his school.
The school itself was the center of the community we entered. It covered quite a wide area surrounded by olive trees with a lovely view of the mountains in the distance. The school, like all schools I have seen so far, is surrounded by a wall. The entrance gate is locked when students are not present and there are two men who are in charge of “security” and “administrative” issues such as running attendance to the director. From what I could see, most of the teachers are male. Classes were finished at noon, and we headed home. I was supposed to go into town with Hind this afternoon, but she became tied up and she came home quite disappointed with her school schedule. So now it is 5 pm all of a sudden and I must decide what to post to the blog. Ramadan is on the countdown to the end, it seems, and from what I can gather, no one is disappointed.

Friday the 13th

The pictures are of the kings palace in Fes (its bigger than the Louvre) and of me at Volubilis. Today I went to a preschool where they teach French to two year olds. In the four year olds class they were learning months of the year, shapes, colors, and more. I was so impressed. Tomorrow is my first day at Mostafas school, and I am excited. Please forgive the typos and grammar errors as I am still fighting the keyboard.

Sunday, October 8, 2006
Well, I'm here. We arrived a little after 7 am (there are only four hours difference between home and here). Customs took a while (do I look suspicious?) and then we headed to the hotel in Rabat. I kept falling asleep instead of viewing the countryside (I didn't sleep on the plane at all). But what I saw was fields of sheep (with an attending shepherd), very few cows, horse and donkey drawn carts as well as very modern cars, tons of billboards advertising everything from Coke to mobile phones in both Arabic and French, and white flat roofed buildings. It was overcast when we landed, but it's been breezy and warm. We (the five teachers participating in the Fulbright exchange) ate a late breakfast in the hotel (bread, olives, tomatoes, cheese, and coffee) then took a short walk. We were stopped by a group of four school girls doing a project for their lycee on religious differences, and it made for a very interesting conversation. We took their picture, they filmed us and we exchanged information. We bought bottled water in the old part of town and Dawn (who grew up in Morocco) was hassled by a young boy who eventually put a “curse” on her, because she wouldn't give him a dirham. We've all been given dirhams, but in 200 bills (about $20) which probably looked like an immense sum to this young boy. It's now 2:10. At 3 pm, we will be given a tour of the city, and what we do for dinner has yet to be addressed. We all agree that there has been a lot of gaps in our information, but we will learn as we go. The other four women are delightful, and I wish we had had the opportunity to communicate beforehand, because they have been creative in their preparations for this exchange. One woman has enlisted her students to make up packets of realia with accompanying lists in English explaining them. Another has a list of students willing to act as pen pals. I'm sure our respective experiences will be unique. I am the only one who has been matched with a man! And I am in Fes which is the religious hub of Morocco, which should prove different during this time of Ramadan. While we were out, we heard a call for prayers. But the populace is an interesting mix of traditional and western. The girls we met, for example were dressed quite differently. One had traveled extensively in the States, was dressed in jeans and two others were in traditional dress with the headscarves and flowing robes.
At 3 pm we set out with Mustapha and a history professor to see the Tower of Hassan, the Mausoleum of Mohammed V and Les Ousayas. The minaret towers over a stone park of columns that was once a training ground (both military and religious for the troops slated to attack Spain (andalousia). The Mausoleum is patterned after the Invalides which houses Napoleon's tomb in Paris. However, it is very ornate and in it sits a man singing the Koran surrounded by a boundary of Moroccan flags. Les Ousayas were once the domicile of officers and petty officers in training, and are now government housing and small shops. We got back to the hotel around 5:30, unwound til about 6:30 and then went around the corner for a dinner (85 DIRHAMS) of tajine and an omelet and crème caramel. Everything was delicious. Now at 8:30 pm, I'm exhausted and ready for bed, already dreading 8 hours of lecture. But if it's anything like today's it should be informative and interesting.

October 10, 2006
I didn't get to bed until near 1 am yesterday, and we're on a brief break now (they provided us with lunch!), so I'm taking advantage of the time to catch up on yesterday's events. The orientation didn't begin until 11 am, so Mary Ellen and I got up early for breakfast (the call to prayer woke me a little before 5 am) and then took a walk into town. I bought an adapter for my computer (and I still didn't get the right one so I've been borrowing Mary Ellen's), and then we bought water and post cards. It was a lovely sunny day, and I wanted to break one of my 200 dirham bills (about 20 dollars) and soak up the atmosphere. The avenues are broad, the buildings solid and various shades of white and a reddish clay color. Our Moroccan partners met us in the lobby of the hotel and together we drove to the MACECE building. Our first lecture was on the language in Morocco, and what I feared would be dry and boring turned out to be an interesting analysis of the diverse languages that characterize this amalgam of cultures. Moroccan Arabic is what is spoken on the streets and the homes, but at school, standard Arabic is taught. Everyone has French as a secondary language, and there are strands of Berber dialects that are in the process of being standardized and legitimized as languages with a script and grammar of their own. And then there is a Middle Moroccan Arabic that seems to synthesize all of the above. A lively discussion ensued, and then we were on to the lecture on educational reform. Much of what our speaker talked about sounded exactly like initiatives that are being launched in the States: portfolios, the establishment of competencies, making sure that the classroom is learner centered as opposed to teacher centered, the organizing of content into modules, life skills, etc.After that was one hour of Moroccan Economics. At this point, it was about 1:30 and I hadn't had anything to eat since 8am. For those of you who know me, that's not good. You should see my notes. The writing gets smaller and smaller and some of it is unintelligible. I asked if I could sneak out for a Clif bar, but I don't think Saadia understood (and she'd planned a break for 2:30). So I made it through his talk about the various resources of Morocco, its problems and why so many youth endeavor to leave the country or drop out of school. At 2:30, we were served a chicken salad in the basement, and were then given a lecture on Moroccan Literature (in French...many of the lectures are in French, which is really wonderful...everyone here is at least tri-lingual) which I found very pedantic and difficult to follow (with very few usable titles) and finally a fascinating presentation by USAID on what we are doing to improve education here in Morocco. The program is aimed at keeping kids in school (there's a 43 % illiteracy rate with only 64 percent of girls/77 percent of boys making it through middle school!) We're doing a lot of teacher training, and we are working with Non Government Organizations to establish dormitories specifically for girls, because rural areas have no means of transporting young girls to school, so they tend to drop out after primary school. Forty percent of the costs of education are the burden of the families! We don't know how lucky we are!
OK, end of lecture. It' was now 5:30 pm. At 6:05, there was the announcement of the end of fasting and the beginning of feasting. The table was filled with dates and various sugary treats (because after nearly 16 hours of fasting, people's sugar level is low). We were then served a very rich soup made with meat and chickpeas, vegetables, coriander. It was delicious! At this point, I'm relatively full and the tajine was brought out (smoked meat in a delightful sauce with the most wonderful flavored onions you could ever hope to eat) This was accompanied with large rolls and more meat filled pastries and something that looked like spring rolls. Now, I think we're done. They cleared our plates and began setting out new ones for....quail! Which was absolutely scrumptious! Now I'm filled to the brim. And exhausted. How do my students sit at their desks day after day. I can't do it! We decided to all walk along the main boulevard, but somehow Mostafa and I got separated from the rest of the group looking at books (sounds like me, doesn't it?) So we decided to visit his sister and her husband outside of Rabat. They spoke fluent French and I showed them pictures of school and of my home. It was somewhat awkward as occasionally they would lapse into Arabic, and I was quite tired. We returned to the hotel around midnight, and I was up until 1 getting ready for the next day and talking to Mary Ellen.
Today was another round of lectures. We learned about Moroccan Politics Very interesting. Four basic issues: the king, terrorism and drug use, political Islam and globalization. This was followed by Aspects of Islam in Morocco (my favorite quote: “L'univers est le corps de Dieu. Dieu est l'esprit de l'univers.”) Then we were introduced to Contemporary Moroccan History. OK, guys, it is now 1 pm and I'm getting a little light headed again. My notes are nearly illegible. Then we had a fascinating presentation on the new Moroccan family code aimed at Women's Rights. Then we broke (at 2 pm) for another salad. The final two lectures were suggestions from previous Moroccan Fulbright recipients and then security issues presented by the Regional Security Officer of the US Embassy. At this point we had nearly an hour and a half until Iftar, so a few of us went for a walk. We then endeavored to organize some weekend excursions (way too cumbersome to organize 10 people over six weeks) and then it was Iftar again. This time at least I knew what to expect, so I ate much less food. The final dish was a huge leg of lamb in a communal plate that people pulled from with their fingers. It was in an incredible sauce with pineapple, oranges and figs stuffed with almonds. Oh, and the opening drink was a milk made from almonds. Absolutely delicious! I am going to weigh 300 pounds when I get home! Saadia talked a great deal about the waste she sees when she goes to America, and I couldn't agree more. She also talked about the huge portions of food people eat in the U.S. I can't help but wonder what impressions Mostafa will take away from his stay with us. It will be his first trip to the United States, and it is SO very different. I only hope that he is greeted with the grace and enthusiasm and warmth that I have been approached with. It's after 11 pm. (it's 7 in New England) and I leave for Fes tomorrow. Although there is only four hours difference right now, we will be five hours difference once Daylight Savings Time ends. Good night.
October 11, 2006
I am now in Fes. Yesterday morning, after grabbing a quick bite of breakfast, we gathered (only three Americans and three Moroccans...Mary Ellen and Charifa left last night and Gretchen and Rachidi left this morning for Tangiers on the train) to go to a bookstore. Dangerous for teachers! I bought a cookbook on how to make Moroccan Tajines and Couscous and a book of fables. The rest of my purchases consisted of bookmarks and prints to bring back as gifts for my students (The Prix Bavard) and friends. At about 11 am, Mostafa and I left to return to his home. We took the circuitous route and made a stop in Volubilis, which is one of the oldest sites in Morocco, most of it dating from the 2nd and 3rd centuries, during the Roman occupations. Most of the restorations were done by two French archeologists during the early part of the 20th century and during the 60s. Mostafa hired an extremely knowledgeable guide whose French was very good (although he complained that it was rusty...I didn't notice...everyone's grasp of three or four languages here is so impressive). The views were quite spectacular and I especially enjoyed the mosaic designs on the “dining room” floors. We arrived in Fes around 5, and Hind and I hit it off immediately. I hope that she still is as enthusiastic after six weeks! Their son, Salah, is a bundle of energy and perhaps a bit spoiled but absolutely delightful (I think I will be a good grandmother someday). He loved his Spiderman shirt and action figure (he took them to preschool today), and we played a rousing game with his buffalo. He ripped (literally) through his flap book, and I think he enjoyed Good Dog, Carl and Tuesday as well. He finally got to sleep around 9:30, at which point Hind began work on the second meal of the night! The first part had been the traditional soup and dates and mini sandwiches and toasted cheese. She now made a roast chicken that she stuffed with fresh parsley and coriander, garlic and herbs together with rice noodles. She steamed it over waters with onions and more garlic and the finished by roasting it. It was absolutely delicious! While i it was cooking (and Mostafa was visiting his mother) Hind and I talked and talked. Her English is astounding, especially given the fact that she has never trained in an English speaking country. Mostafa came back around 11 (I think), but we didn't eat until near midnight, and we didn't get to bed until after 1 am. This is definitely a different experience. This morning, I never heard the call to prayer (apparently we are further away from the mosque) nor did I hear Mostafa leave. I woke around 8 and ate bread, peanut butter, yogurt and a great cup of coffee and steamed milk. You would be proud of me. I haven't had a diet coke since my arrival, and with this wonderful coffee, I've had no headaches either. It is a lovely day out, and as I write this, I hear a street vendor calling for old shoes! All I could think of was Aladdin and the street vendor calling new lamps for old. I shall write again later.

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michael posted my journal as a comment so u might be able to read it that way

im here

i am so frustrated. I have written several pages of text and I cant seem to manage to post it can anyone help me with cut and paste from a word document to blogger?