Home again

This is my last entry written before I arrived home. It is November 19th, and I arrived home around 2 am due to delays at JFK. I hope to add some new pictures, and perhaps more script as I process the last six weeks and what I've seen and heard and learned.
November 14, 2006
As I signed into the hotel, I had to ask Hind what day it was. I've lost track of time, except that I am constantly aware of its swift passing. There is so much to write about, but with no adaptor plug, I'm worried that I will run out of power before I get this typed. At any rate, I left you on the last day of school, I think. The following day, Friday, we were to meet two American teachers and take them to some Moroccan schools—one to Salah's preschool, the other to Ali's English class. They apparently called while Mostafa was taking Hind to the university to teach, and since we missed their call, when we arrived at their hotel they were gone. We waited for over an hour for them to return (ostensibly from the bank), but they never did, and we never heard from then, which was especially embarassing because we made further arrangements for the afternoon, since we had missed them in the morning. I found myself apologizing. There was obviously a miscommunication, but part of it was that Moroccan concept of time that doesn't jibe with American punctuality. At any rate, it sort of screwed up Mostafa's morning,but he took me from the hotel to the carpet merchant and I picked up my carpet as well as a few scarves.
During the afternoon, Mostafa took me to see Sidi Harazem, which is another thermal spa. When he said we were going there, I wasn't excited, because we had stopped there during Ramadan, and there had been virtually noone there and nothing but a fountain where people were filling plastic bottles with water. But when we arrived, there were people everywhere! There were decorated horses, food vendors and a souk that sold souvenirs that had been "blessed" to be brought home to relatives. And I was impressed by how clean everything was, especially the water!. There was a festive air with people spread out on blankets with picnics around the fountain. We left around 5 which got us home around 5:30.
That evening we went to another Ali's house (a young Middle School teacher who had once been one of Mostafa's students!) He lives in a lovely apartment with his mother, and we joined him with his sister and her child for a very elaborate tea. We were due to arrive at 6, but because someone stopped by a little before we were due to leave, we didn't get there til around 7:30 pm (Moroccan timetable again). There were at least five different kinds of sweets, Moroccan crepes, honey, olive oil, boiled eggs, and various spices. Ali showed us his BA thesis about the Berber language and similarities in English. And we talked about my perceptions of Morocco. He asked, as have so many, what has impressed me most. (Ironically, I was asked the same question by the participants of the workshop the next day) I told him, the Moroccan people. I know people expect me to name some city or monument or even some event or food, but in a six week exchange program such as this one, you really get to know people more than any place, because that is how you spend your time—working, eating, visiting, sleeping, shopping, etc. together. I told him (and the participants the following day) that the legendary hospitality is almost unbelievable . Hind and I joke about "American space". I've talked about how at Barnes and Noble we are not allowed to hug and touch any other employee while working. This is to protect Barnes and Noble from accusations of harassment and to ensure that noone feels uncomfortable. But here! Men hug and kiss, women walk arm in arm. Personal space is non-existent. And it's wonderful. In Islam, if you have shared a meal with someone, you are brothers. And the practice rings true. I am told over and over, "You must come back! Inshallah (God willing)" And I am already thinking about how I can make that possible.
We picked up Ali the following morning, and I think the presentation went well. Some teachers had some reservations, because as I've mentioned before, our situations are so different. But I honestly feel I had something to offer. I again talked about group activities such as peer evaluation, LOTO, listening activities, the Rassias drill, etc. I will be interested to see if I get any feedback via the internet, as I shared my e-mail address and blog with the participants.
We were slated to go to Ali Chilfi's house for lunch around 12:30, and I can't remember exactly what held us up, but we ended up there around 2 pm (Surprise! Surprise!) The meal was a delicious couscous, which was wonderful, but the highlight of the afternoon for me was meeting Fatima. She was another dynamic woman. I commented on her table setting, and we began talking about the needlework I had seen in Morocco. She handed me a beautiful napkin, and she informed me that she had done the work herself. At that point, she gave me two Berber cushion covers she had made, and I was quite overwhelmed. Her generosity was typical of what I have experienced over and over during the past five weeks, but I felt a real connection with her. I was disappointed we had only gotten to see each other this once, because I thoroughly enjoyed her company.
After lunch, which lasted til about 5, Rachid, who had been with us durng lunch, accompanied us to the medina (via the Jewish Quarter) to introduce us to a friend who then sold me the teapot I had on my list in order to show my students how tea is made here in Morocco. Hind and Mostafa also bought me a tea tray to accompany it. There generosity is really too much. En route, Mostafa was stopped by a number of relatives in the Jewish Quarter where his uncle owns a house next to the synagogue which dates from the 17th century. More than likely, the house dates from the same time period. The woodwork had unfortunately been painted over, and parts of it were in serious disrepair, but you could see what the home must have once been. It had a strong odor which I found out was as a result of the sheep that are currently being kept in the house, but it was very clean. As soon as we entered the home and greetings had been exchanged with various cousins, we were offered something to eat and drink. Because we had just left the Chilfi's home, none of us were hungry, but it would have been rude to refuse their hospitality, so we nibbled and exchanged pleasantries and then took a tour. From the rooftop you could look over the entire Jewish Quarter and I felt I had stepped back into another time period. When we got home, we discussed whether we were going to drive to Rabat via Fes or directly from Marrakech, and once we decided on the latter, I had to repack so that everything would go with us. This had me up til after 11 pm, and we got up at 4:30 the next morning in order to leave around 5:30. Eleven hours later we arrived at his sister's home in. The trip was NOT nonstop. Poor Salah got sick from all the twists and turns at the beginning of the drive; we stopped for breakfast at a cafe/restaurant in what I would have called "the middle of nowhere" and we went through the Todra Gorge, which was an experience and a half for someone as terrified of heights as I am. The gorge is located a little beyond Tinerhir and the climb is literally breathtaking. The road (which is quite narrow) winds around the mountain for about 17 km with no barriers along the edge of the road with drops of I don't know how many feet! My palms were sweaty from gripping the door of the car. But the drive was worth it! The cliffs rise about 300 meters above the water and are spectacular as they vary in different shades of pink in the changing sun. It really is one of those natural wonders that makes you feel very, very small.
By the way, I will NEVER say I live in the middle of nowhere again, because now I've seen where the middle of nowhere really is! Before reaching the gorge, we traveled for miles without seeing any habitation at all, and the land resembled something I'd seen in a photograph of the moon. We came upon a herd of camels being driven by their owner, and I don't think we saw another person for at least another 20 kilometers before or after we ran into him!
Although we were originally scheduled to arrive at Mostafa's half sister, Touda's, home for lunch, we never got there until 4:30 in the afternoon, but food was served almost immediately after we arrived leading me to believe they had waited until we got there. Before we had even exited the car, Touda came running to greet us and covered us with kisses. Multiple kisses are de rigueur here. It was obviously an emotional reunion, because apparently this was the first time they had seen each other in nearly four years. There was a lot of hand kissing, too, as is the custom in the south. Mostafa's nephew (who was 8 years older than he) served us tea in the "salon". As in all the salons I had seen in Morocco, the walls were surrounded with cushions, but this time there was no couch. Rugs were spread across the floor, and people sat on the floor. Before we started the next round of food, we took a tour of the main part of the house and were introduced to the animals: dairy cows, mules, sheep and chickens. This is a working farm, but work it truly is, because there was no indoor plumbing and no taps for water. It is drawn from a well and placed in buckets and metal jugs for various uses. For example, in the room that served as the privy, there were two metal jugs of water to wash down the refuse of the "Turkish Toilet". But in the courtyard, the water was in large buckets for washing dishes, and in the salon, the water was brought in a jug for consumption or for the preparing of tea over a gas burner. Before any food was consumed, one of the middle school aged children brought around a metal container for hand washing and a towel. It was brought around at the end of the meal as well, and some of the men gargled with the warm water and spit it into the bowl. People came and went as food was served, and because the floor is concrete (or earthen) it quickly became cold, so we were supplied with blankets. As it got darker and darker, I felt we were at a giant slumber party. The conversations took place in Berber and Arabic. Because Hind doesn't speak Berber, she had a new understanding of what I have been experiencing the past five weeks as laughter and jokes and family stories were shared in another language. I was obviously the object of much curiosity, because some of the children kept coming in to watch us and stare at me. Touda had to constantly be told that I was from the U.S., because her comprehension of the outside world went not much further than France, where one of her sons is now living. She is nearly 76 and had as much energy as the children. She was up and down a dozen times during the meal and ran a constant conversation. I hadn't a clue what she was saying, but we quickly joked over the fact that we could only say Salem Alekum (spelling?) and Alekum Salem to one another. Mostafa taught her how to say "Welcome!" which she repeated and then grabbed my hand and hugged me. There was a lot of touching, but it came very naturally.
A description of Touda's homestead could lead to a book , I am sure, because it includes 6 of her sons (of 11 children) and their wives and children. When I asked Mostafa how many people lived in the home, he said he wasn't sure, but he thought there were at least 24! His uncle's home, located next door, could hold as many as 70 when the family gathered for some celebration or another. It was true communal living, with the wives taking turns at various tasks, and the children running back and forth from room to room and outside. Mostafa indicated that everyone knew their own children, but it wasn't always clear who belonged to whom. Nearly everything they eat is harvested and made right there. We took a tour in the morning (after bunking down on the floor on tiny mattresses in the salon), and were shown the almond trees, olive trees, corn, paprika, figs, grapes etc. The milk we drank came from the cows, and the bread was made in a stone oven on the premises. All morning long, through the afternoon, we could hear some of the wives stripping the corn and then pounding it into corn meal. It is obviously a very hard life, but everyone seemed to benefit from the healthy lifestyle. We had not one breakfast, but two, because most of the household had been up at five cooking, cleaning, and milking the cows. The second breakfast consisted of almonds from their trees and rice mixed with melted sour butter. It was very good. Touda then announced that the women, specifically Hind and I, were to dress up Berber style. I don't think I've played dress up since I was little, but that was exactly what this was. We were escorted to Touda's bedroom where she pulled out caftans and lace cloth and the beaded headdresses typical of the region. Touda even took out her kohl for her eyes. And then we all posed to have our pictures taken. It was a lot of fun, although for some reason, it upset Salah immensely. He screamed when Mostafa went to take our picture and for the next 24 hours, he kept telling us how "bad" it was. And suddenly it was time for lunch! I felt like all I did for two days was eat! This time we went next door to the uncle's home and had a tajine with prunes,olive and beef. As always it was delicious. Mostafa clearly wanted to stay another day, but I discovered that although I didn't mind camping out for one night, I was ready for running water, specifically a hot shower, and a real bed, so we set out for Ouarzazate about 4 pm. We arrived around 5:30 and checked into the IBIS hotel there. We unwound from about 6-8 (I took a really long shower!) and then drove around town, ending up back at the hotel for a late dinner in the hotel restaurant. There really wasn't much to see in the town, as it is mostly a jumping off point for other places in Morocco. Its biggest claim to fame is that many movies have been made here: Lawence of Arabia, the Gladiator, and Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ.
Tuesday morning we got up and had breakfast in the hotel by the pool. I laughed because I ended up having three cups of coffee. After drinking the strong coffee of Morocco, this tasted more like watered down dishwater to me (as well as to Hind and Mostafa). We went to the Kasbah, which is the only real site to see in town, and had a wonderful guide walk us through a small portion. The most interesting fact I learned (which was new to Hind, too) is that the postures for prayer are based on the letters in the word Allah which are shaped like a hand with the thumb and forefinger forming a circle. This we learned when we were in the "favorite wife's" bedroom, and I made a comment on the word Allah written on various walls. The smudging was not due to restoration, as I had assumed but had come from hands being put on the word as a form of prayer and blessing. As old as the Kasbah is, it's use of natural light and aeration struck me as very modern in concept. We finished the tour around noon and then started the drive to Marrakesh.
The drive was spectacular. There is no other word for it. But, three quarters of the way through the pass through the Atlas Mountains I experienced a meltdown. I never realized how terrified I was of heights (specifically of falling) until on one of the turns, Mostafa stopped to have us take in the view and I burst into tears. I felt suitably embarrassed, but my whole body was extremely tense, my right hand was sore from gripping the door handle, and it took me until near midnight to fall asleep in Marrakesh, even though I was tired, just because I was so tightly wound. I guess we don't know what we fear until we're confronted with it. At least I have the pictures so that I can enjoy the view now that the drive is over. Mostafa was great, really, and I only hope I didn't put a damper on the drive. ,The visit to the Djemaa el Fna square that night was a little less exciting than it might have been, because I couldn't really focus, and the crowds made me somewhat nervous. There were clown acts, many musicians and some women selling knitted goods. There were fortune tellers and women decorating tourists with henna. But I was actually anxious to get back to the hotel, where I got into bed and concentrated on breathing.
Today is Wednesday, the fifteenth, and in fifteen minutes, I'm supposed to meet the family for a last night in Marrakech. We spent the morning having breakfast on the terrace of a restaurant overlooking Djemaa el Fna; we walked through part of the medina (which is nothing when compared to Fes) and then took a caleche ride through town, stopping at the Majorelle Garden. The garden was wonderful, punctuated with its signature blue color on the buildings and walkways, but we stayed a very short time since we were paying the caleche driver by the hour. We had lunch at a pizzeria and then came back to the hotel to rest. I managed to get the hotel to find me an adapter for the computer, and I've been catching up on the journal and recharging the computer. I'll try and update my last memories of Marrakech tonight when we get back. Until then.
Wednesday night, the 15th
We just returned from the square, and I had so much fun! First of all, after parking the car, Hind noticed a shop that sold CDs so I purchased some music for Jacob and some drum music for my sister. Then, on entering the square, I had a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for just 3 dirhams (which is about 35 cents!) and you know how much I love freshly squeezed orange juice! Then Hind purchased a bolt of blue cloth for me, handmade on a loom, much as we saw them do in Fes. She did the negotiating while Mostafa and I waited outside, because in general, as soon as they see me, the price doubles. Then I had henna put on my right hand and on my left ankle. Hind was very upset when they quoted an exorbitant price (according to Moroccan standards), so she got them down to something much lower (50 dirhams). As we walked away, someone bumped into me and smudged the design, so we went back and they redid part of it. What will people think when I come home with henna on my hand and leg??? But the best part and the most fun was Hind and I had our fortunes told. I went first, because this was something that Mostafa said I should have done while in Marrakesh. The woman said that there was a man that loved me very much (Hind looks at me and smiles knowingly, "Michael".) That I have family that loves me very much. She said that I have a tendency to worry, but then things settle down. She then said I would be soon involved in a big project (moving?) And that I would have another daughter. At this point, I started laughing and said, "No! I'm much too old!" At which point, she said we had misunderstood, that she meant my daughter would have a child. I laughed and said that this was acceptable! Hind had never had her fortune told, so we first ran off to get some change, and then she went back to the same woman. Her fortune differed in that she was told her mother prayed for her every day and worried about her. She was also told that she was not to worry about children, that it would all work out all right. She mentioned that she had just been given a new job (pretty uncanny, because she does have a new job) and that it would work out well. She referred to a project in process (their new apartment? the thesis?) And finally she said that she had a husband that cared for her, and that she needed to reciprocate. Hind laughed and smiled and gave the fortune teller a hug. She was giggling like a teenager, and I told her that I would miss her very much, which is so very true! Mostafa I think was suffering pretty badly from carrying Salah around and was ready to go back to the hotel, which was fine by me, since I'd done more than I had hoped for in the period of time we had in Marrakech. I am embarrassed to say I had us stop at McDonalds on the way back to the hotel, only because it was quick and I could bring it back and eat it in my room before going to bed. Tomorrow morning the plan is to get up early and leave by around 8 o'clock, stopping at Mostafa's uncle's for lunch. We will then drive on to Rabat where he will drop me off at the hotel and return home. It will be another day of driving for him. I think he's grateful that there will be a weekend to recuperate after I leave, although nothing has been said to that effect. I haven't yet packed my new purchases, but I'd best do so soon so I can get some sleep. I'm really looking forward to seeing Michael, but I'm not looking forward to the sixteen hours of travel on Friday. I feel like I've done enough of that in the past couple of days! And yet I am so grateful for all the time and effort Mostafa and Hind have taken to make this experience an unforgettable one. I hope that in March, Mostafa will feel the same way.
November 16, 2006
It's the last day! We left Marrakech around 8:30, stopped at the square for herbs for Fatima Chilfi's tea (she's from Marrakech, and the herbs are apparently different than what she can get in Fes), and then for breakfast patisseries and bread. I was hungry, so I ate in the car, but we then stopped at an Oasis Cafe (roadside chain) to fuel the tank as well as our stomachs. We headed north to Mostafa's uncle's farm. It took us a while to find the entrance and then the road was little more than gravel carved through fields of red clay. When we arrived, the entire extended family was waiting for us, and we couldn't even drive the car into the yard, because we had to get out and greet everyone! We had arrived around 12:30 and we didn't leave until nearly 4 pm. In addition to tea and brochettes and a tajine, the brought out boiled mutton with herbs for dipping and fresh fruit. They kept telling me to eat (which I was, of course), but I swear if I ate as much as everyone seems to want me to, they'd have to roll me off the plane. They still may have to! We had a tour of the farm, of which Mostafa's cousin is rightfully proud. There are olive trees and almond trees, as on Touda's farm, but there were also beehives and pomegranate trees, orange trees and various vegetables. There were pigeons, chickens, and turkeys. There were rabbits, goats and cows as well as a mare and her one-year old colt. Another lovely spread that obviously required much work, but as at Touda's farm, everyone seemed healthy and happy, and oh so glad to see Mostafa, Hind and Salah. Uncle Mohamed gave me rose water before I left, and as usual, Mostafa and Hind left with fruits from the farm. God forbid you should leave empty handed! A more generous people I have never known. Back in the car, I told Hind that in all the places I've lived and in all the countries I've lived in, this one really got under my skin. We arrived in Rabat around 8:30, said good-bye in the lobby, and I made my way to room 510 of the hotel, where Jenny has already been (and gone...one last night on the town, I guess). I've organized myself for tomorrow, but I still can't believe that six weeks have already passed. Mostafa and Hind left after dropping me off, because they had another three hours of driving ahead, and Hind has class tomorrow. I am going to miss them tremendously. As Mostafa said in the car, we've become family. We were well matched, and I can't imagine my life without them. Thank you, Macece and the Fulbright Foundation for making this exchange possible. You won't regret it.

November 9, 2006

Blog November 9
Last night, after my presentation to the high school teachers in the morning (very well received...with reservations, of course), we first attempted to go to Moulay Yacoub.This is a thermal spa that is known for its curative properties. There are doctors on staff, but they offer such services as massages and facials as well. The former king of Saudia Arabia, for example, came here often to take advantage of the waters, as he suffered from arthritis. At any rate, we arrived after 6 pm just as the sun was setting. Although the spa was closing, the drive alone was worth the trip. You cannot imagine the beauty of miles and miles of mountains turning first pink and then various shades of blue with the setting sun. It literally took my breath away. I kept exclaiming, “Oh! Wow!!” in awestruck tones. But what an understatement. Mostafa promised to take me back the next day to take pictures during the day (which he did, and which I did), but I don't think I'll ever forget the magic of watching that landscape settle down to sleep. It was exquisite!
I'd been kidding Mostafa for several days about the spa treatment he kept promising that I never got, so I think he felt I needed something to replace it after arriving at the waters at closing. Hind looked absolutely beat, so I assured him I didn't need to be entertained. However, Hind assured me that a trip to a hammam would not be exhausting for her; quite the contrary, it would be relaxing. So after picking up supplies (buckets, stools, these special washcloths, shampoo, mats) we set off for a hammam in the Nouvelle Ville that Hind has been going to for seven years.
At the entrance, we paid 8 dirhams (less than $1) for as our entrance price, another 2 dirhams (about 25 cents) for the black soap that is made from the residue of olive oil, and directly thereafter we entered the changing room. People were in various stages of undress, and Hind assured me that it was expected that we would strip down to underwear only before entering the bath. So...I did. When in Rome, right? From there we carried our supplies into the steam room. There were about 15 women in the room, most of them nude busily scrubbing one another. Hind explained that I needed to wet myself down with the hot water being brought to us by several women who obviously worked the bath, and that I then needed to lather myself all over with the black soap. After doing so, we were to wait for 5 to 10 minutes while it soaked in and then rinse it off. At this point, Hind asked if I wanted one of the women to wash me. I don't think I have been washed by anyone since I was five, but she assured me that this was what the women did, so I agreed. One of the women had me sit on the mat and began scrubbing me with the washcloth Hind had provided me with. It has a very rough surface that is meant to remove the dead skin from your body, and I'm here to tell you that I was convinced at one point that she was removing more than the dead skin. Scrub is too mild a word, but as I watched the wads of skin being removed, I realized that I hadn't been truly clean in a very long time. The top layers that came off were a light brown, and all I could think of was the layers of dust and dirt that must have been penetrating my pores over the past five weeks. If I'm grossing anyone out, I'm sorry but you need to know that the Moroccan hammam needs to be experienced if you wish to truly participate in Moroccan life. Not only does every neighborhood have a mosque, it also has a hammam. This ritual cleansing is an essential part of the Moroccan culture. I read later that Mohammed felt that the deep cleansing was a stimulant of fertility as well as an issue of health. At any rate, after being thoroughly scrubbed, Hind and I rinsed off and moved to a cooler washroom. There we washed once again but with regular soap, and it was here that we shampooed our hair. By the end of this experience, I was totally wiped out. The scrubbing was nothing short of a very vigorous massage, and the hot water and steam acted like a soporific. As thanks for scrubbing us, Hind tipped one of the women 50 dirhams (about $6). When we at last left the hammam, Mostafa informed us we had been there for about an hour and a half. Hind, indeed, looked refreshed, and I felt cleaner than I have in years. I told them both that my only regret is that there is just a week left and it is therefore unlikely I will be able to duplicate the experience. We shall see. I am glad, however, that Hind informed me AFTER the bath that I'd been an object of curiosity. I am SOOOO obviously American.
We talked about the job these women had. Hind explained that she was brought up to only have her back scrubbed, because her mother said the work was demeaning. (Now she tells me!) But the women clearly feel comfortable in their skin. One worker was covered in a black body mask (like a mud plaster) and the other women were teasing her, saying that her children would scream and call her a monster. There was plenty of laughter and comradery, and one of the workers at the end even let out one of the cries of joy you hear at weddings and baptisms, that peculiar ulu sound that's made with the tongue. Mostafa explained that most of them are uneducated, and this is a service they provide. As I've said before, it's another world.
So today, when I got up, I still felt clean. It was my last day at the school, and it felt rather bittersweet. For a start, between missing one day to sickness, several days to holidays, one day to preparation of the presentation for teachers and Mostafa's light schedule, I really don't feel like I spent all that much time at school! And yet some of the students I've felt really connected to. One in particular presented me with a pen on the second day I attended class, wrote Jacob a wonderful letter and wrapped up a small book for him, and today he handed me a letter to take back to my students. I was really touched. And it was clear that this student works really hard at his English. There was another girl that frequently engaged me in conversations in French. Two other girls the first week would say good-bye by way of “les bises”. Much like my students in Epping, these students showed themselves to be personable, respectful and a lot of fun. A discussion with Mostafa's new class of baccalaureat students today about women in Islam resulted in not only an interesting exchange but a lot of laughter. Yes, I was sad to say good-bye. Everyone has been so welcoming. But there is a part of me that is anxious to get back to my own students. I miss them. I miss teaching! (I must remind myself later that I said that!)
Tomorrow two teachers are due to arrive from a conference on literacy from Boston, MA and they have asked to see some schools here in Fes. Salah's preschool has opened its doors once again, but so far there are no local high schools that want us to join them without an official letter from the delegation. This evening we met Ali, another English teacher friend of Mostafa's, for coffee, and there is a possibility we can take the teachers there.
This same friend took us to a shop to see carpets. For several weeks, I have been toying with the idea of bringing home a carpet from Morocco. They are so unique. At any rate, Ali comes from a family that has had its own carpet factory, he apparently does business with the owner of this shop, and so I struck a deal on a carpet that is 2.4 meters square. It's a little smaller than I had originally been thinking, but it will actually fit into my suitcase, and the price was one third less than the prices I had been quoted in the medina (where apparently the guide would have received somewhere between 35 and 50% commission on whatever I bought!) Ali turned out to be a lot of fun. He made fun of the American accent when speaking French (which had all of us laughing), and then demonstrated his mastery of German, Spanish and Portuguese as well as a few expressions in Japanese. This in addition to English, Moroccan Arabic, classical Arabic and French! I continue to be impressed by the Moroccans' mastery of multiple languages. Extraordinary.
We got home around 9:30 pm, so in true Moroccan fashion, we had dinner between 10 and 10:30 at night. I am going to have quite a hard time adjusting to my former schedule of waking up at 5, arriving at school at 7, working til at least 3 pm (but more often 5), going home and eating dinner between 6 and 7, and crashing into bed at 9 or 9:30 pm. I went to sleep listening to the contrasting sounds of life in the city, Moroccan style. You hear car alarms and motorbikes and shopkeepers closing shop and men talking in the streets like you would in any other city. But in the morning, you also hear roosters and cats and dogs and street vendors and the call at 5 am to prayer from the mosque.Saturday I give a presentation to the middle school teachers. Afterwards, we are scheduled to celebrate Ali Shilfy's promotion to surveillant over lunch. We are then invited to another teacher's home for coffee in the medina. And then Sunday morning, we leave for the south. So I need to start packing. It is incredible to me that five weeks have passed already! Comme le temps passe vite! Ahead lies Marrekech. I don't know whether I will have access to the internet while we travel south, so this MAY be my last entry until I get home. Until then.

En route to Moulay Yacoub

Miles and miles of mountains. This is such a beautiful country.

Barrage Allal Fassi

This is a dam about 15 km from Mostafa's school in Ras Tabouda. Beautiful, n'est-ce pas?

November 6, 2006

November 6, 2006
It's a holiday, the anniversary of the Green March that resulted in Morocco peacefully acquiring territory from the Algerian border. It's been an extremely busy weekend, but since I have been given the responsibility of presenting to middle and high school teachers on two mornings next week, I have been rather preoccupied. I had made a list of possible things to present, but the regional inspector pointed out the constraints of time (middle school teachers only have classes twice per week and have a required curriculum that needs to be covered affecting their personal evaluation) my original list of games and activities I am used to presenting at NHAWLT would not be perceived as useful. And as I make up lists of possible ideas and run them past Hind and Mostafa, I am constantly reminded of the differences in our two systems, the large class sizes that are the reality for teachers here and the amount of resources available to us that are not available to Moroccan language teachers. And in truth, I think Moroccans are much further along in the teaching of language than we are. First of all, their students have bought into the concept of language learning as valuable. Second of all, as I stated earlier, teachers use the target language almost exclusively from day one, which I admit I do NOT do (and I don't think I am alone). My perception of the mastery of the third year students shows how successful the system is. So what can I offer them?
Last night, I talked to them about the concept of oral homework. Janis Hennessey proposed this at a workshop a number of years ago, and when I tried it, I found it to be very successful. The homework we traditionally assign usually involves reading or writing. It usually entails working on one's own whereas we say over and over again that our goal is the ability to communicate orally. At any rate, after much discussion, they seemed to think this was something that teachers would find interesting and unique (thanks, Janis), but the discussion as to how homework is assessed explained to me why I don't see Mostafa recording student's work anywhere. It is only considered a component of the participation grade. It isn't collected or evaluated at all. Interesting?!?
I've also talked about various grouping techniques, peer evaluation, Rassias drills, whole class oral activities (where the teacher is more of a facilitator and observer rather than the imparter of knowledge), and the use of music to practice various vocabulary and grammar concepts. If they get here in time, I will probably share EHS' rubrics for oral and written assessment (which I have in a folder in Jessica's room along with a number of other activities I intended to share!) At any rate, I have a lot of work to do in order to prepare these presentations, so I have some catching up to do par rapport my weekend activities.
Friday we had no school, so Mostafa and I went to the Dar Batha Museum here in Fes. The courtyard was stunning, and the exhibits lovely, but by American or European standards, this was a rather small version of a museum. One of the highlights of the visit for me, however, was observing two men making items out of seven different kinds of wood. The pieces were miniscule and laid in extremely intricate designs. I purchased a letter opener for my brother because as a carpenter I knew he would appreciate the artistry and the enormous amount of work involved. As in the medina, the craftsmanship of local artisans is stunning. And the museum emphasized the long term traditions of quality and beauty in the production of everyday items. We had a cup of tea in the medina afterwards (my best cup of tea yet!) and then walked through the town gardens. Mostafa explained that during his childhood, these gardens were well kept and surrounded by water. The water is now gone, for reasons unknown to him, and he spoke of the need to renovate this once more. Imagine, he said, state meetings were once held in the park. Now some of the benches are chipped, areas that were once clearly ponds or streams are filled with rubbish and overgrowth. Still, it made for a pleasant walk, and there were many students (on lunch break) and workers taking advantage of the greenery and the shade. The afternoon, we didn't do much, but I was still very tired that night.
Saturday, we had school and Ali's promotion was made public. Mostafa's students were understandably upset (they've become accustomed to his style of teaching and demeanor), and there was a very loud discussion in the car en route back to Fes. (I plugged in my headset and attempted to concentrate on the music.) After lunch, Mostafa and I went to meet the inspector in Sefrou at a cafe. Mostafa had said, “only one hour, I am sure”, but after a cup of coffee we were invited back to Zaid's home to meet his wife Malika and daughter Nora (he also has two grown sons) for cake and something to drink. The family was extremely welcoming (I keep saying that about Moroccans, because it is so true!) and insisted that when I come back to visit Morocco, I should come and visit them. I feel the invitation was made in all honesty. I will be sad to leave this country, in many ways, because I feel I have made some real friendships, especially with Hind and Mostafa.
By the time we got home, it was 7, we had a quick snack and then Hind took me to the hairdressers to have my hair done. I have “des meches” done twice a year, and I was overdue. Because services are so much less expensive here, we decided this might be a good experience. And it was. I like the results, I was surprised that the coiffeur was open that late (we left a little after 9 pm), and I paid less than one half for the same service in the States, even with a tip. People's labor is really undervalued here.
Sunday, we actually got a relatively early start (we left the city around 11 am). Heading for Meknes, we stopped at the Huilerie Belaid where olives are processed into olive oil. They bought about 5 litres worth, after being given a taste. The flavor was absolutely incredible. I'm not a big fan of olives, in general, but this was extraordinary! Most people have olive oil with their bread here for breakfast, and it is apparently extremely healthy, especially given the quality of the oil. The owner showed us around, explaining the process, for which I was very grateful, and I got some good pictures. He squeezed open a ripe olive and I rubbed some of the white liquid onto the back of my hand. It did not have a greasy feel, but the effect was one of oil, nonetheless. He showed us where the olives are ground into a paste that becomes black with oxidation. The paste is then placed in layers on something that looks like a disc made of rope. The discs are stacked and then pressed until the oil is extracted. The pure oil is sold as food grade oil, and the residue is made into a paste used for an exfoliating soap or in other beauty products.
We arrived in Meknes a little after 12:30 and took a tour of the medina. I saw raw salt in huge blocks (I had never seen raw salt before, and I thought it was some kind of quartz or rock for building!) and we walked the street where ironwork is done. We ended up in front of the Dar Jamai museum, which was also fairly small, but the rooms were very unique. We especially enjoyed the salon on the second floor. It is so amazing that this set up has changed very little in over a thousand years. There were lounges arranged around the four corners of the room, with a beautiful rug in the center. The artistry of the cushion covers and the mosaic floors are what I have seen everywhere, even in private homes that are not as elaborate as the palaces that are now museums. We then ate lunch at a small restaurant in the Ville Nouvelle.
And now, I want to share an event that deeply touched me. We ordered our individual meals: I had a chicken tajine with olives, lemon and onions. Mostafa ordered a tajine with beef. Hind ordered a salad nicoise, and a half chicken, and then fries for Salah. When Hind's meal came, it was enormous; she had been expecting a single portion of chicken which is why she had ordered the salad (which was also quite large). It came with rice and vegetables and pasta and fries. At that point, a man came by and asked the waiter for a handout. Because the man was obviously hungry, Mostafa took his meal, gave it to the waiter and told him to serve the man at the table next to us, which he did. He turned to me and said that there is a saying that God provides us with more than enough and we are meant to share. It was done naturally and without fanfare. All I could think of was the story of the good Samaritan. I was talking to Hind about this this morning, and she seemed surprised that this would not happen in the U.S. as rich as we are. I explained that first of all, there are laws prohibiting the sharing of food in a public place; that leftover food in a restaurant must be thrown out if the customer does not take it home. Secondly, charitable acts are done in a more organized and anonymous way through organizations such as the Scouts or various churches. In Morocco, the concept of sharing with those less fortunate is so ingrained that it would be inconceivable to not help someone in this way when we had been so blessed with more than we could possibly eat. The kicker. All five of us ate for 140 dirhams which is about 16 dollars. It made me ashamed to think that we (Americans) do not often see the people who need our help. And that we so often refuse to make that connection.
After lunch, we returned to the medina and after passing the basin, surrounded by lovely walkways where people strolled and relaxed on benches, we took a tour first of the stables where over 1,200 horses were kept. There was such a sense of age, and the area was immense. There was a guide with an English couple that we saw several times during the day, and I overheard him telling them that the area had also been used as an arsenal for arms at one time, but there were no signs or guides, so we basically walked through, and I took a number of pictures, because the series of arches were quite picturesque. We then toured the mausoleum, where I was allowed, even as a non-Muslim, to enter right up to the entrance of the actual mosque interior. Mostafa showed me where the imam stands (so that all know in which direction Mecca lies) and it is from this corner that the service is led. The “gardien” pointed out that the carving on the wall was from the Koran, which said the same thing over and over, God and King.
Our final stop was the underground prisons which lay across from the mausoleum. The steps down were very steep, and there was almost no light except from holes in the earth high above the prison floor. Hind and I were suitably spooked, and Mostafa grabbed Hind's neck and made her scream which delighted Salah. It was a good way to end the day, as it began to get darker and darker.
We got home around 6:30. Salah was fast asleep, and we put him to bed, had some coffee, and then Mostafa went to visit his mother. Hind and I watched a little of Gad ElMaleh's La Vie Normale. The DVD was scratched, so we couldn't watch it all, but this Moroccan comedian, who speaks in French, has been one of the cultural pleasures Hind has shared with me, and laughter is such a universal gift. I would really like to take a copy of his DVD L'Autre C'est Moi, but the only copies I would find, I am sure, are pirated ones.
One final note. I've talked about the Moroccan drivers before, but have I mentioned the safety belt situation? Passengers in the front seat and the driver must be belted, but children, like anyone, for that matter, if in the back seat, need not be belted at all. I see people bouncing all over the back seats, and people are usually packed pretty tightly. The school buses in Ras Tabouda have students crammed to the point that I'm sure they look like clowns at the circus when they get out. They rush to the buses at the end of the day in the hopes of getting an actual seat with breathing room next to the window. As I said before, it's a different world. Today, Hind is expecting Mostafa's family for dinner, so she's working very hard in the kitchen. She hasn't asked for my help, but I think I'll go give her a hand. Until next time.

Museum Fes

This picture was taken in the courtyard of the Dar Bartha museum. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take pictures inside the museum, but you can imagine the beauty based on the setting.

Meknes stables

This structure was originally built to woo the daughter of Louis XIV. The offer was refused since Moulay Ismail already had 500 wives! So it was transformed into stables which apparently housed over 1,200 horses. Outside this building is a beautiful stretch of water that is now surrounded by walkways where people can be seen taking a stroll. The first time I saw the stables; it was nightttime and everything was lit up. It was a striking sight.

Olive oil

The inner part of this olive will turn black as it is crushed and exposed to oxygen. The mass on the right is the result of grinding the olives. This paste is then put into the olive press.

Blog # 5

October 28, 2006
The weather has changed drastically, and I am thrilled, in spite of the cold I seem to have caught. At last I have the right clothes! Mostafa and I were talking about weather, because I had accessed the temperature in Nottingham yesterday. Once translated into Celsius, he assured me that Fes never got that cold. (It was supposed to get to 37 last night.) We then talked about summer temperatures, and we discovered that Fes averaged the equivalent of about 113 in the summer! I would absolutely curl up and die! And Hind assured me that this was NOT the hottest! I can't imagine!
It seems impossible that three weeks have gone by already. Ramadan is at last over, and the nights are quieter. I still find myself remembering things, however. For example, there was a heated discussion the night before Eid between Hind's aunt and Mostafa about why there is more than one holy night, because the moon is viewed differently from Morocco than it is from Saudia Arabia. They concluded that there should be just one holy night, based on Mecca. Also, I no longer hear the horn at 2 a.m. I finally asked Mostafa what this was: it is based on the old tradition of waking people for the last meal before the sunrise and the beginning of the fast. Also, I noted that there doesn't seem to be the same activity in clothing stores. Much like “back to school” in the States, people bought new clothes to usher in Eid.
I have been back to the medina of Fes once again, because before we left for Casablanca, Mostafa wanted to get gifts of food specific to Fes. So he bought rose water, bottled in old Johnny Walker bottles or the like, and nougat of different sizes, shapes and colors. Not just any nougat would do, however. He had to buy from one of the shops that line the Mausoleum, because it had been blessed. The negotiations were interesting to watch. This trip is what resulted in the picture of the fruit seller, the camel's head and the street with the dyers. I still wonder at the sanitation of food (especially meat) left out to the air and hovered over by flies. And I saw stacks of eggs set out in the hot sun waiting to be purchased. Perhaps because things are sold on a day to day basis, rather than the weeks our food can sit in coolers, they can stand the exposure. While still on the subject of food, I have come to really like the sweet mint tea, even though at home I never drink tea or coffee with sugar. When in Rome, right? And the bread is delicious. I found the neighborhood ovens in the medina fascinating. These ovens are not for commercial use. They remain ovens where households can come to have their bread baked for that day. So the bread is always fresh.
Homes. Mostafa and Hind are waiting for the final touches on their new apartment. Houda indicated that she is buying an apartment too(which as I said, must be much like our concept of condos). She says hers will cost her about $35,000. This sum sounds so much more reasonable than the sums we pay in the States, even in consideration of the difference in salaries. Teachers make considerably less here than in the U.S., but a good retirement is guaranteed, and most of the teachers I have met seem to be in a similar financial situation when compared with the teachers I know in the U.S. Houda is a “notaire” for which there is no real equivalent in America. It is much like a lawyer, without any of the burdens of trials. It mainly entails the writing of contracts and similar legal paperwork. She does well, even drives a brand new Volkswagen. But because she is considered a civil servant, she is “placed”; she does not choose where she sets up her practice. She is sent where there is a need. El Jadida is lovely, but she misses the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Casablanca.
I continue to be impressed by the layout and set up of the homes (apartments) I have seen. The room that dominates is the salon. It is usually the largest room, but Hind's mother actually has two. It is surrounded on three sides with a couch-like furnishing covered with cushions. This is where the family gathers for tea, for conversation, for dinner, for discussions. It is where the guest is brought, so its décor is very important. Most of the salons are sumptuously decorated, and if the ceiling displays any of the elaborate plasterwork, it is usually in this room. It is a very comfortable room, and unlike the living rooms one sees in the States, which rarely get used and seem only to be there for display, the salon is the most frequented room of the home. This is where you will find the beautiful rugs Morocco is famous for. And the ceilings here are about double the height of ones in the U.S., giving one the wonderful impression of space.
Each apartment building has a concierge. This person is not only responsible for the security of the building but is available for all kinds of small tasks. The concierge will help you carry your groceries up the flights of stairs (everyone I've met so far lives at least on the third floor; it's about the only form of exercise I've been getting. I'm much less active here.) He is even available to run errands for you. Hind has often called upon hers to buy milk or fruit or mint from the local vendors. Although I have never lived in an apartment, I do not think these sorts of services are available in the U.S. The concierge's accomodations and salary are miniscule, but his income is supplemented by tips given for running errands, and he has the security of a place to live.
I am going to miss Hind and Mostafa a great deal when I return home. We have had some spirited discussions about politics, spirituality, marriage, raising children, you name it. What I keep saying over and over is that the more I see of the world, and Morocco is no different in this respect, the more I am convinced we have more in common than we have differences. Religions, for example, when examined at their core, speak of love of one's neighbor as a brother or sister in the family of God, no matter how that God is perceived. Religions, when stripped of their rituals, speak of tolerance and compassion. People, at their most basic level, are consumed with their love of families, their need to find expression and to be understood, their need to find their place in the world, as well as their need to answer the basic needs of food, clothing and shelter. The emotions are the same: love, anger, hate, disappointment, fear, greed, compassion, etc. One of the things that I think we could take from Morocco is the lack of racial distinction. People are black, white and various shades in between. Eyes are brown, black, hazel and occasionally blue. Their origins are Arabic, Berber and European. And from what I can see, there is no one group valued over the other. Why we can't recognize people, despite differences in circumstances and traditions, as recipients of that most precious gift of life that needs to be protected at all costs, never taken for granted. Good place to stop for the time being, don't you think?

November 2, 2006

I haven't written in five days, because I have been concentrating on preparing a 2 hour talk for the baccalaureate students who had given me five areas they wished me to speak about. Number 1 was immigration in the United States (specifically for Moroccans). Second was the perception of Arabs in the U.S. Third was the attitudes towards women in the U.S. in comparison with Morocco. Fourth was a comparison of our two educational systems. And finally, there were a series of questions relating to crime, racism and the war in Iraq which I left until last. I spent several days amassing data from the internet (the U.S. Census was a great resource as well as the U.S. Immigration site), the U.S. Civics and History books I'd brought from home as well as my own personal observations as I've recorded them here. I was so nervous the night before that I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and could not get back to sleep. Consequently, I was too tired to do much of anything last night, much less catch up on the last couple of days. When one of the students asked me at the end of the presentation how I felt, I said “tired”. They were surprised that I was nervous until I explained that I was conscious of the fact that for them, I am the face of America. My final question for them was, “Has my presence here changed your perception of the United States?” The answer was very clearly, “yes.” So I consider the presentation a success.
Briefly, as far as immigration goes, I recounted my father's experiences as an immigrant from Norway in the early 1900s. I explained that we are a nation of immigrants where over one third of our population growth is due to the influx of immigrants; that the prediction for 2050 is that 1 person in 3 will be from a minority population with the Hispanic and Asian populations tripling in size. I then spoke briefly of the Fulbright/MACECE programs as a means of immigrating to America and that new government initiatives are encouraging the teaching of Arabic which would provide yet another venue for prospective immigrants from Arab nations.
Before I began talking about the U.S. perception of Arabs I asked the students what their perception was of Americans. They (communicated very eloquently by a teacher of French) were honest with me. We are seen as aggressive, taking what doesn't belong to us, violent, racist, rich, monopolizing the majority of the world's resources. I was honest with them explaining that since September 11th, Arabs are seen as ruthless, violent, fanatical, militant, extremist, and repressive of women. I talked about how these perceptions, on both sides, are inaccurate. That the media in many ways is responsible for promoting these stereotypes and that the only way to fight them is through exchanges such as this one and through education. Students in the U.S. need to know that many prominent American individuals are of Arab descent such as John Sununu, Ralph Nader, Paula Abdul, Debakey, Zewail (scientists), even Christa McAuliffe.
As far as the role of women in our two cultures, I pointed out that my experience was colored by the fact that the women I had met were educated, articulate and consequently very independent. But I also mentioned that from what I have read, there is a great deal of concern that although the new family code protects women's rights, many women do not have knowledge of the new law, that many judges remain conservative in their interpretation and application of the law, and that there is a discrepancy of resources for women vs. men.
This led into my discussion of education. Whereas the literacy rate is 97% for both men and women in the U.S., the overall literacy rate in Morocco is 51% with 67% of that population being male and less than 40% female. I emphasized that education is the door to opportunity for women (and men) everywhere. I was honest in pointing out what I see as flaws in our system: the lack of a national curriculum with national standards applied in every state, that education is funded locally in New Hampshire leading to discrepancies in resources, and that the cost of higher education is prohibitive to the point of being ridiculous. But I highlighted what I see is good: smaller classes allowing for more individualized instruction, a student centered approach to curriculum, the availability of services to those in need, access to technology, and counseling on individual options for the future. Finally, I felt I could not ignore the question of our involvement in Iraq, the high statistics of violent crime and the evidence of continuing racism. I told the students that one of the gifts of democracy is freedom of speech, that I can say that I am not in favor of our current foreign policy. I said that I can not explain our propensity for violence and crime. But at the same time, I feel that any positive changes that have been made over the years, changes that have “stuck” have been effected by non violent means. I spoke of the examples of Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King as models of non-violent protest that effected long term changes.
At that point, I was asked a series of questions for about a half an hour. Many had to do with my perceptions of Morocco and the Moroccan people. Some had questions about religion. Many continued to ask questions about perceptions of the Arab world and of our foreign policy (Israel came up). For me, it was pretty intense, but I felt it was a positive experience for all the students who attended.
And now, where to begin. Today several students asked if I would be willing to find them penpals among my students. All of a sudden, I discovered that the students are avid users of cyber-cafes and most of them have e-mail addresses! I started by asking them to write out their names and ages and e-mail addresses, but this seemed to take forever, and I had a hard time reading their writing. SO Mostafa came up with the suggestion that they send me an e-mail introducing themselves and in that manner, I would have their e-mail addresses typed out. I also discovered that many of the students are what would be considered college age by our standards. I will have to work on that one.
Three of the girls actually gave me “les bises” when they entered the classroom this morning. I was quite touched. During the break between second and third hour, I watched the students from the balcony. It is interesting to me how much more physical people are with one another here. I've actually seen men exchange “les bises”, and young boys walk around arm in arm as often as the girls. Things are expressed with arms and hands flying. It was a fun way to pass ten minutes.
Earlier in the week, one of the maintenance people brought a small scorpion into the staff room. I was informed that this was a tiny one and that usually they are much bigger and darker in color. No thanks! I had a hard enough time with the three inch cockroach that fell out of my blouse when I was getting ready to iron it. It ran around on my bed and ended up hiding under my pillow. I shouted such that Hind and Mostafa came running. I felt embarrassed that Mostafa had to be the one to remove it for me. I was better about the flying thing in the car on our excursion last weekend. Because it was in the back seat, I had the responsibility of catching it and letting it out of the car.
Which brings me to last weekend's excursion. On Sunday, operating at a different pace, we didn't set out until nearly 1 in the afternoon for Ifrane in the mountains. We arrived at a lovely lake around 2:30 and while Salah rode around on a horse, we ate our picnic lunch in a wind that blew curtains of sand across the lake. We then headed onto the resort town of Ifrane. Ifrane really has a European feel. The roofs are pitched, because here there is snow in the winter, and people can actually ski. The buildings are a departure from the beige I see everywhere. Instead, they are a light pink with tile on the roofs. The air was fresher and cooler, and the leaves crunched underneath our feet. The water we washed our hands with was ice cold, and apparently, there is a Vittel water source here. I took pictures of small cascades, streams, and a woman washing her clothes on the riverside. I had Mostafa take a picture of me standing in front of the Ifrane lion, something left by the French during the colonial period which has become associated with the city, such that there were groups of people waiting to take their pictures beside the lion as we did.
We then headed to the imperial city of Meknes. By the time we got there, the sun was beginning to set. We parked the car below the medina and walked up to the square to take pictures of the gate to the city. There were caleches (horse-drawn carriages) parked at the square, and Mostafa negotiated a 45 minute tour around the city. Although it swiftly became dark, most of the monuments were illuminated, and it was almost romantic as we viewed the beautiful stables that had once been a castle built in the hopes of wooing the daughter of Louis XIV. The proposal was rejected, because the sultan already had about 500 wives at the time, so it became a stable that housed as many as 1200 horses (to give you an idea of size). We also drove past the dungeon that once held over a 1,000 slaves below ground. Salah sat up front with the driver, and once when we stopped to look at one of the monuments, he decided to take the reins and start off on his own! It was a scary second or two, but I'm sure it was one of the highlights of the evening for Salah. We didn't get home until quite late.
Backtracking to Saturday, after school and a quiet afternoon, we went to the home of Rachid and Malika (spelling). Rachid is one of the administrators at the school, and I have always seen him in western dress. At home, he appeared in a caftan. His wife was also dressed in traditional clothing. The two daughters, ages 10 and 12, were dressed like American teenagers and watching T.V. Malika served us cake and tea and a number of different cookies on beautiful trays and in beautiful glasses. We were there til about 8, and although Arabic was spoken 70% of the time, I was able to follow most of what was being discussed as certain things were elucidated in French. There was an interesting discussion about the difference between raising sons and daughters. Daughters stay at home! It is for their own safety, but in many ways, it keeps them locked out of the world. It is at times like these I am glad I (and my daughter) live where I do. So many freedoms we take for granted. Once again I was impressed by the Moroccan hospitality. It is legendary, and when I spoke to Mostafa about it, he indicated that it is not unheard of to have people show up at all hours unannounced. Even if you had been asleep, you would rise and serve your guest tea or coffee and something to eat and count yourself lucky, because the visit would have indicated you were blessed with friends.
I was also invited with Hind to visit another teacher from Hind's former high school: her name is Salwa, and she is apparently a second wife. She was married, was divorced, and had no intention of remarrying, but eventually agreed to be this man's second wife. She has her own apartment that she shares with one of her two sons. She is full of energy, constantly cracking jokes, clearly independent. The arrangement obviously suits her, although I can't imagine it. Polygamy just came up at lunch today. It began with my observation that many men, at middle age, remarry women much younger than they are. Mostafa asked why the younger women would marry obviously older men, and I proposed that it might be because of the financial security they represent. Mostafa then asked why women agree to be second wives, and we decided that it might be for the same reason. Life is so complicated at times.
Another aside, as we ride to and from school each day, in spite of the fact that it is absolutely breathtaking, I am more and more convinced I would never be able to drive in this country. People pass in no passing zones (they just peek around the trucks and surge forward if they THINK they have enough space to pass...we have actually passed in the space in between two cars going in opposite directions!) People drive through stop signs and red lights. People cross in front of traffic and make U-turns in the middle of the street. Petit Taxis are fearless as they drive through traffic. I'm amazed at the brazen nature of Moroccan drivers. I've seen a couple of accidents, and heard about one horrendous one just the other day, but I am surprised there are not more. And have I mentioned the gardiens. There are men whose sole job is to watch the cars, make sure they are parked carefully and are able to get out of the tight spots they are put. For this service, they are paid a small pittance, usually less than a dollar. So I THINK I'm caught up, but I've been so absorbed with the presentation that I might have forgotten something. I had asked if I could visit Swera's school, but the headmaster said no. Apparently they had a bad experience with another American visitor (bad press? We're not sure), so I won't be going there. So tomorrow is a free day and Monday is a holiday. I think we will be going back to Meknes, but I'm not sure. There is still so much to see, and I am really hoping that the trip south we have planned during the next holiday week (that starts the 13th, I think) will be realized. Until next week, then.