On the way back from a trip to the PC office in Rabat I took the train to Marrakesh. If there ever was a place like Las Vegas outside of Las Vegas it would be Marrakesh. This was my first thought. It was so different from the culture in southern Maghreb. I had to write about it. There are people everywhere and at night it is fully lit. Food vendors and performers. There were men dressed as women dancing. Merchants selling charms full of herbs for a good life. Music till all hours of the night. I heard it til 4 from the room of the hotel crammed in an ally. This post cant give it justice! It was a strange feeling the whole place gave me so i did some research. I shall return but just to learn more about this intriguing place.

From Lonely Planet Morocco

“The focal point of Marrakesh is Djemaa el-Fna, a huge square in the medina, and the back drop for one of the worlds greatest spectacles. This magical place is overwhelming at first, but you’ll find yourself returning to it time after time.  Djemaa el-Fna comes into its own at dusk when the curtain goes up on rows of open air food stalls infusing the immediate area with mouthwatering aromas. Jugglers, storytellers, snake charmers, musicians, occasional acrobats, and benign lunatics consume the remaining space, each surrounded by jostling spectators who listen and watch intently or fall about laughing before moving on to the next act. (monkeys, sorcerers, snake charmers, snail soup, etc) ON the outer edges are the juice stalls with their kerosene lanterns ablaze. It should not be surprising to discover that in 2001 Unesco declared the square a World Heritage Site, as a “masterpiece of the oral and intangible heritage of humanity.”

Here is a video of the alley where the Hotel was located.

 I was traveling with a friend and we had a hard time finding the hotel so we called. Peace Corps Rabat recommended it as many volunteers passing through use it and the price is within our range. Here is how the conversation went with Hakim, the owner, when we arrived.

Me-Salam Wa-alaykum (Peace be upon you)

Hakim-Wa aylaykum salam (Peace be upon you)

Me-Is tsnt tashelheet? (Do you know Tashelheet)

Hakim-Uho!,(no) are you Peace Corps Volunteers? (directed to my friend and I)

…a while later

Me- How did you know that we were Peace Corps Volunteers?

Hakim-Because you are foreigners who speak Berber (said emphatically and with a smile)

He then told us that the hotelwas booked, but for a few dirhams he let us sleep on the roof because he is accustomed to volunteers and I believe enjoys being able to help us out! The whole trip was interesting as i continually learn that Morocco’s generosity towards Peace Corps is never ending…..

Extra Videos of Marrakesh

I wrote this a few weeks after it happened. It turned out to be a turning point in my integration. Its raw right now and not doctored to the best of my writing abilities but it makes me smile when I read it. Enjoy!

                   When the lights go out I hear silence.  I jump as though some one just creep ed up on me from behind and the hairs on my neck stand up. Even when it is known that the lights will go out beforehand I’m startled. My family will ask after, are you afraid? Under familiar circumstances no! Back home, stateside, I have memorized every nook and crany of my house right down to the number of steps it takes to go to the kitchen to find a flash light. Here, in a rural village, in a strange house panic s brewing inside me. The chanting of the Koran from the mosque near bye stops abruptly. My village is accustomed to darkness. Only ten years ago did they get electricity and a paved road. And here  I have lived my entire life with these amenities and I am afraid? Coincidentally it usually happens when I’m in the middle of doing something work related. Where in the heck is my hand crank flashlight that I packed exactly for this moment? Then I hear ”Rihab, Rihab Ador ksud. Mani tllit?” (Rihab, Rihab don’t be afraid. Where are you?) Some how I find my way to the door stepping on all the shoes lined up against the wall, tripping over a plastic stool. I reach the door but I can’t find the handle. I pat the door down as anyone would for what seemed like five minutes and it creaks open. I’m startled again. Right in front of my blue door stands my 16 year old host sister Fadma with a flashlight from her cell phone directed straight into my face like the police do in the states. She says “yla” (lets go). We walk hand in hand down four uneven stairs the middle to wider than the first. Then we squeeze through a door half our sizes that leads to the kitchen. Standing there is my host mother trying to light a wet candle that is the size of a nub. When light finally emerges we walk into the next room. I realized that I had brought a book along and as we sat I finally came to terms that reading was out of the question. My father who was normally sitting very close to the television was sitting next to his wife. On my left was my host brother Brahim and on my right was host sister Mina. My grandfather was sitting up in a bed on crooked in the corner of the room with my grandmother by his side. The room was soon illuminated by a dim light from a lantern my mom played with for a few minutes with a cloth. As faces lit up so did conversation.  It started simple after we talked about how long the lights may be out this time then dove into plans for next months wedding for Fadma. Parents gushing over their child soon to leave. Stories of earlier times and a deep barrel laughter escapes from my laughter. Soon were all erupting with giggles and I still only understood half of why. I think it was something I said earlier. Smiles on our faces. I tried to do what I did at home in times like these yet my jokes were understood through broken pieces of fragmented Tashelheet. My grandmother starts a new story after she gently brings her hands together and claps and whiles a wildly pitched song. Everyone smiles, even my ill grandfather who hears little smiles. Mina joins in her eyes sparkling. I clap. After a while I sit back against the wall and just absorb. In that moment of reflection a thought came up. I was receiving a taste of my village from 10 years past. This is normal. With out all the connections of modern communications. I felt like I was their with my family all those years ago doing exactly what we were doing in this very moment. No TV, no lights. Just tilas. Darkness. Without these wires and such something even more importantly sprang from this experience. What was it? Maybe for the first time my pseudo family was sitting with each other and enjoying each other. Everyone wasn’t lost in their own world where time, lights mattered while forgetting  about their closest relationships, each others lives. Cross cultural exchanges were happening. The pressure was off of me and I felt it. My language was starting to flow. Nothing mattered to me in this moment. I had no pressing matters, my books were put down and my incessant planning dried up. The only important to me was being in the presence of my family as I described the action procedure for darkness stateside. An invisible clock beeped. I heard a call. Without power the muezzin was forced to make the call to prayer from the front of the mosque. One by one members of my family went to pray in the darkness of the next room. After everyone was done my sister brought in dinner. We collected around the small table and ate the tajine with warm bread finished just as the sun set. The flow of laughter came back as the first joke came back. Then stories, jokes and anecdotes came. We finished and began to head out. The dishes were left Fadma and brought me back to my room. She asked me again, “Are you afraid?” I responded no. Before yes, I said, but now no. Fadma didn’t realize on how many levels I was actually addressing. It wasn’t until around four in the morning when the light in my room turned on that I felt fear. I accidentally turned it on when I had made my way to the door the night before. My usually pitch black room was lit  and awoke me from a sound sleep. I got up and turned off the light then hurried back to my warm pad on the floor. It was an usual cold June night. As I lay there trying to fall back asleep I started to ponder…life is so much better when the lights go out! 

Cribs version of my host family.

Adal the covering in my town

I promise a post very soon….These videos are in oder from arrival to site…bottom up.

A introduction interview I taped but there is an ERROR! Fusah is understood in Morocco. Its classical arabic. What I meant to say is that Moroccans have a special version of arabic, Darija. They can understand most other versions of arabic. Fusah is taught in the schools here. Many other arabic speakers in other countries cannot understand Darija but Moroccans can understand other versions of Arabic.

Chanting of the Koran from the mosque near my house.

My host sister Mina in action.

Enjoy!

Covering worn in my town

Look here for infortmation on the Beber languages including Tashelheet the language spoken in my region.

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berber_languages 

This is it. This is it. I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer offically. This is what I kept saying to myself because its hard to believe. Everyone who knows me know that I wanted to be apart of Peace Corps for a long time and now the day was here. What I wasn’t prepared for was the day after swearing in. This day was painful. I was separated from new friends and began my trek to site. I also said bye to my first host family who really helped me adjust to Morocco. I cried with tears that i didn’t expect to come and on the ride to the bus station wondering if I would ever see some of the amazing people I who helped nuture my integration into a completly different culture. The trip to sight was full of these thoughts and my future and what my life would be like here in two years. My body needed to catch up where my mind was because I began to feel not so healthy. I would descibe it as weak and after a good rest the journey continued. I arrived to site on a friday feeling okay and scared. Worries came over me as I thought of every possible thing that could go wrong. A greeting changed everything. A woman kissed my hand, I hers, then my forehead, then my shoulder, then we brought our own hands to our mouths. This was my welcome. In the next few days finding my place in town was alot easier than expected. People greeted me and told me many  Marhaba bikums’ Welcome. I oooed and awwwed the picturesque view provided by the lower Atlas Mountains while walking hand and hand withmy young, not so interested in the scenery, host brother Mohamed to school. Town was deserted but on the way back I was feeling good until I heard my name. I gingerly walked head down to this person to find it was my nurse who wanted to know when I arrived and told me to report on Monday morning at 930 sharp or so I thought. I didn’t know to believe him cause he looked like he was on the wrong side of the day with the 5 o’clock shadow and all. Sunday I sat at the female wall of walu or nothing sitting with the adal drapped women. The Berber women in my village wear the waist length sheet with hand stiched designs. They also wear long skirts and shoes with bright colored pom poms. The women talk every night at the wall and I now have joined them with little understood. My first day I was late and because I didn’t quite understand my nurse. I got there and he told me I was late and laughed with me about it. We hade a few patients come in and I greeted them and followed the lead of the nurse. We discussed all the health issues and where they were in the 52 douars in my site. Walking home that day I got the same feeling again. The one that is like wow I’m here serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer and I can’t believe it. I tried hard as I might to hide my happiness but Mohamed saw the smirk on my face and smiled back on the way home and I felt that he understood if only for that small period in time we shared non-verbal communication of pure and utter happiness.

For Pictures Click Here

“The entire universe is contained in the tea pot. Or to be more precise, the sinia (round tray) represents the earth, the teapot represents the sky and the glasses represent the rain; the sky is united to the earth by rain.” Abdallah Zrika

Everything in Morocco has its place. I too share a place here and continue to learn what life is like. The Moroccan universe is heavily based around interpersonal relationships. For many this concept is very hard to grasp. All of the following are apart of this universe: men walking holding hands in the streets, women sitting against a wall after a long day for a chat, couscous every Friday, a communal dish, long greetings with out goodbyes. The more I experience the more I’m intrigued. I learned that there is no such thing as stopping by to say hi a few weeks ago. Fatima immediately sat me in the kitchen with her and we talked for such a long time and after we shared mint tea and more conversation. Sitting there I was thinking that this style of life is very easy to get used to. Time has no concept and being with friends and family is much more important than being alone. At first this was the hardest part for me to get used to. At home there is barely any time to rest and visit with friends and being alone is viewed as relaxing. In general, those times to see people and family seem to be increasingly put off till later or till the holidays. Morocco is the complete opposite. My universe here is being united. After a much anticipated wait my future home was selected for me by the Ministry of Health in conjunction with Peace Corps. Can you imagine the wait? There were a few days before of poor sleeping and complete fear. Most of my fear is just because of the newness of it all. I began to feel like those shows on tv that make you wait till after the break to find out they’ve lost the million dollars. My site is located in Tiznit province south of Agadir. The night I found out was another tossing and turning bout that ended me waking early to prepare for the long trip to my site for a visit. The rough road led me to Agadir and my first touch of the beach here and to the realization that McDonald’s really is everywhere in the world. Tiznit was a little over an hour and a world away. This region is known for being conservative. When I reached my site my nerves were starting getting the best of me. The realization that this was my new home began to scare me more than I wanted to admit in that moment. My host family welcomed me with tea and many questions however something hit me in that moment like a ton of bricks. I didn’t understand what was being said to me. Turns out that the Tashelheet I’ve been learning is quite different in Tiznit. It sounds like a song and after a few days I was accustomed to hearing the difference. My site visit personal objective was to get people to recognize me in town. I was visible and met many people over the course of the 4 day visit. The most interesting part was that I began to visualize myself in this village with the welcoming people here. Walking hand and hand with my 8 year old host brother Mohamed was my favorite part. His unconditional openness to me was as beautiful as his youthful innocence. His eyes and his smile immediately brighten my mood. My little host sister Mina is also a source of joy. She has the face of an older girl and the personality of a woman. My host father is a taxi driver and respected in my town. He works with an association working with on the big muskil or problem in all of Morocco- Water. He is eager to have me around and the town shares his receptiveness. Overall I have to say that my town is very me. My counterpart is the local nurse and new exactly who I was and welcomed me. Meeting the local officials was very interesting. The Moudir or principal was also excited to meet me. A former PCV also did projects with the school. Feeling wholeness and a sense of fear mixed with excitement is where I’m at right now. In a few weeks my service begins and I will become united with my village. My cup runith over.

For Pictures Click Here

Click here to View Photos

As apart of training we have to visit a volunteer in the field and shadow them. I was a little excited at actually being with volunteers in the field to really apply everything new to their experiences. The logistical part took longer than expected but being on Moroccan time has lots of advantages as it helps you to appreciate every moment of life good or bad. My volunteer was in her second year and really busy as she is finishes her term. Her site language is the same as mine so I immediately thought if it was supposed to be test for me. Her site is a splash on mountain and she lives on the top. To call her site a hike is understating it. Even a seasoned hiker would have hardships. I found the site and her projects to be super zween (cool). The two other trainees and I were able to meet her counterpart at the local centre salude. After incinerating some medical waste in an incinerator designed by a former Peace Corps volunteer we head back up town to plan the next day. The next day was health lessons in the schools on dental care. Dental issues are a major concern in Morocco. Many people just aren’t aware of the importance of dental health or have the resources. I learned in my training that dental health is related to heart health. My field trip volunteer made it a point to have her lessons be sustainable my giving ways other than a tooth and toothpaste to improve dental hygiene. There is a tree here miswak which is a walnut tree and people use the bark on their gums and teeth. I read up on it and it is very good for oral hygiene. It was made into toothpaste here by Colgate and is sold in major cities. My volunteer uses a piece of the branch and salt in her demonstrations. After the lessons we went to inspect the 27 pits for a bathroom project. The last two were in the mosque and we were invited to have tea with the Imam before Friday prayers. It as all of our first times inside of a mosque and it was beautiful. More importantly to see the impact and respect the volunteer gained from successful integration. Her project asked that the community raise half the costs and she found a grant to match. The community members also had to dig their own holes. One man dug his pit with one arm and it was the size of a well. He was clearly vested in his pit. It was also inspiring to see the increased levels of sanitation that the volunteer brought to her site especially a new site.

Her last project was training of traditional birth attendants that her community expressed a need for. This is a very busy and dedicated volunteer. The next day I headed back to our seminar site and took my first souk(market) bus. It was giving me memories of Latin America. At seminar we began Maternal Child Health. I was looking forward to this session since I found out I was coming to Morocco. Morocco has the highest infant mortality rate in the entire Northern Africa region. The Maternal mortality rate is very high as well. Peace Corps Morocco originally had a program solely dedicated to this but has now incorporated it into the overall heath program. This will be a major part in all or our projects as the ministry of health would like to see vast improvements in years to come. Tomorrow I will be heading to my community based training site for more Tashelheet training. Also this week the site interviews start and I cannot wait to express myself yet my fear has been in thinking of the outcome and how I will have to process the outcome on April 25. The mid training point is nearing and my mid language test is coming up. I feel that Tashelheet is starting to stick with me and en sha allah my language will continue to improve. One thing is for sure May looms closer and closer and my spirits are high.

Click here to View Photos 

Imazigen is what the Berbers are called. Learning about Morocco and more of my self has become my daily routine. For weeks now I have felt that Morocco is my home. For whatever reason there is no new feeling about my life here. I feel free just like the Berbers. I have my Moroccan host family of 13 who are very aware of my learning state. CBT or community based training is my favorite part of this journey. I stay with my family and learn Tashelheet everyday at the Mdrasa. At first when I arrived and entered what would be my new school I was sitting in a room on a ponge- Moroccan style sofa, listening to the smiling faces pointing while simultaneously discussing who would be the new member of their family. It was as though the whole town had waited forever for the 6 of us trainees to arrive so we could become apart of their lives. To be honest I was quite honored to be apart of such an event. I was finally chosen by my host sister Mariam who proved to be my clutch as my language progresses slowly. My host family is amazing. How many times can I say that? This particular CBT site is new and I worried of making a bad impression yet my family was as curious about me as I was them. We covered so much ground with so little language. While sitting in our narrow kitchen drinking tea and speaking with an elder from the family while dipping agrum in fresh olive oil I felt so happy, happier than I had felt in months. My host siblings take their jobs seriously. They are so adorable walking me to and from school and quizzing me on newly learned words that I continue to pronounce incorrectly but seem to get progressively better at. We all gather in the family room to watch the daily news and Al Jazeera. We talk of our daily activities and shares smiles and laughs. As the week progressed the feeling of having my mouth open and nothing coming out began to bother me less and less because en shallah I will get better. My host sister is a natural born leader and is very well known in my douar (neighborhood). Mariam is the type of person who does things out of the kindness of her heart rather than out of duty. Her sweetness is much bigger than I can write. That very week L3id l-mulud, The Prophets Birthday came upon us. I had no expectation but was told that small celebrations would take place. The day was used to get to know my family. I spent the morning sitting in the kitchen watching bread being made. The love that went into it was humbling to watch. After bread I went to the fields with my host mom. I assumed there were gathering herbs and mint for tea yet was quite surprised to learn otherwise. I remember asking to carry the big basket and she helped it up on my back and roped it in place. If she wasn’t there I would never been able to figure it out. We had a moment walking back to the house. I said Tgmmi (house) as I could see it in the distance. She said and took her hand grabbed my free hand and placed it over my heart and said tgmminu (my house). I can’t describe how that made me feel. Even though we had so much to say and had little understanding between us it was as though we understood each other perfectly in that very moment. The other interesting tidbit was that everyone in town was told that Rihab carried the basket. Yes, I carried the basket and it was news. My host mom introduced me to the farm so that I could feed them. If I actually put a list of all the animals we have it would go on and on. I learned that the majority of the herbs was actually alfafa. After that I went to help my other host sister Khadija cook bread in an outdoor oven. It was great to carry all the dry brush to start the oven and with that very dough that rose this morning we made 10 loafs. I have to say that the morning was really exhausting yet things progressed. We had a tajine and I smiled entering the room as piles of shoes stood stagnant at the door. I hadn’t brought my camera but the image stands in my mind. We all began to get ready and I still had no idea for what and then it hit me.

Mariam started to but arrange my scarf on my head and put an extra wool shall of hers around my shoulders and we were off to where- I had no idea. While walking down the hill to the ground I followed my host mom carefully. She looked back every so often to see me. Soon we were joined by many other women walking as well. When we arrived to our destination I realized a celebration was underway. All the women in my community were dressed in their best jellaba’s and I wasn’t able to count the amount of shoes at the door. After kissing everyone in eve more lasting greetings I took a seat close to my host mom. All the other trainees arrived with their moms and we could just tell that we were the sources of great conversation. After a bit a barrel drum was rolled into the room and smaller drums were passed out. Someone began to sing and a song began. The beauty in the songs was felt inside the power of the room. The rhythms of music I had never experienced were felt inside and exuded through my body. We participated in the dancing and clapping and strangely I felt no eyes on me. It was as though I was truly feeling the music and entered into a trance. My first CBT proved to be a liberating experience and I became known as Rihab who carried the basket and danced at the wedding.

 

Click here to View Photos

Here is the part of my time in Peace Corps where I start to really integrate into the community hence a change.  Sitting in a cyber with the sounds of beautiful melodic music playing in the background that make my mind dance a change was slowly happening within me. It was more like a transformation. I felt it in the fiber of my being. It would happen at the oddest moments. Out on the terrance thinking of life. At the local juice bar where Hassan, Rashid, Ibrahim, and the rest of the family make me practice my Darija over a glass of fresh squeezed oj. Meeting women and giving them unlimited kisses in lasting greetings. Confusing people when I tell them I’m not Moroccan and  in reality am really Mirikanee. Eating Cuscus on Fridays. They beauty of the people inside and out. Sharing a laugh with a fellow trainee Eli.

All of these elements contribute to my new alter ego identity. It was given by one of my language coordinators. She suggested a name that would become the new Ariel. We played this game in Darija class.  It went like this:

Ana Ana, (I am Iam)

 Ana Ariel, (I am Ariel)

Endi Warda (I have this flower)

 Kanhadiah L’ ….Rihab (and I pass it to…..Rihab)

This translations isnt exact but my new name is Rihab or gate of heaven. This new identity comes with a new language. I will now be learning a Berber dialect Tashelheet to work in a village where this is the primary language spoken.

My community based training begins in a few days and will be my first real idea of a rural Moroccan Community. I will be staying with a host family of 10 and attend language during the day as well as undertaking in activities to prepare me for 2 years of service.  

I’ve been waiting for this well it seems like since I stepped off the plane and even though I haven’t received any Tashelheet classes I feel overly excited at the thought of being in the community to put some much needed life into the hours my fellow volunteers and I receive in a stuffy overcrowded room while being talked at for hours on end. The training is beneficial yet we have yet to practice the skills we are learning.

I can’t stop thinking of my family. My fellow trainees and I are in what the Peace Corps calls the “honeymoon” period. This is our first step out.

I think Moroccan Culture is amazing. I went to the Souk with Eli to pick out the fabric for my Jellaba. We then went to the taylor a middle aged male who took my measurments and told me to return in a week. There is something welcoming about being in an open air market with all types of people and events going on all at one time and being in the middle of it.

As you all can see I’m in the middle of life here in Morocco. I wish I could keep writing but I have to go. I will write soon en Sha allah.

Bislama  

 

Mint tea at my Seminar site. Making many bubbles is the goal. In two years I hope to be a professional.

Here are a few pictures taken from a friend. Mumtaz!

Click Picture to go to Album

 

Note: Link Will Bring You to another (photobucket.com) website

“Je crois en l’amour. Ou que menent ses caravanes, car l’amour est ma religion et mafoi.”

“I believe in love and where it can take me, because love is my religion and my faith. “

-Ibn Arabi (1165-1240) Moroccan Philosopher

“Never take anything at face value, everyone has a story to tell.” -Ariel Delaney

I have to express that “I’m in love.” This country has transfixed me to see with green lenses. There was a story that a man was from a village where every one had yellow eyeglasses. This man wanted to travel to distant lands. He traveled to a land where everyone had blue lenses. When he returned to his village they asked him, “How where the people?, What was there culture like?” He responded, “It was green.”

I hope everyone understands that we will always see with our yellow lenses yet we can still see the green ones. Ourzazarte is 8 hours and a world away from Rabat. Here the real Peace Corps begins. I receive my training. At the moment we are all learning Darija which is Moroccan Arabic. Interesting fact: Moroccans can understand all types of Arabic but other Arabic speaking countries cannot understand Darija. I had 6hours of it today. My days are very planned over the next 10 weeks. Language is the most important aspect because we cannot work without it. I washed my clothes by hand today during a break while practicing Darija. After I got out the lesson people would just continue speaking. Even though I was lost, smiling helped to ease things. After all I’ve been here less than a week.

The main goal of Peace Corps and my favorite is to promote Peace and Friendship in the world. Peace Corps wants to define Peace. Peace is not the absence of war but the absence of the conditions leading to war.

Rabat was very packed jam and even though we are living out of our suitcases time is flying. I feel as though we have been here a year.

Darija:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moroccan_Arabic 

This website has many useful phrases and the history and evolution of darija.