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.
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.
posted by Mme Garnett | 2:14 PM
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