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.