The Coolest Thing

What’s the coolest thing you have done in Morocco?

Ummmm, how exactly does one answer this question? I have lived in this country for 750 days, give or take a day, learning the language, traveling extensively, living with the locals. My time here has been filled with experiences I could not have imagined when I applied for Peace Corps.

Some background on the question: The volunteers who will be replacing my group arrived in country a few weeks ago. Several of them are training in Azrou. On Saturday, the PCV in Azrou organized a hike for the trainees and the volunteers in the region. Close to the summit of our favorite hike in Azrou, one of the new arrivals asked me, “what’s the coolest thing you have done in Morocco?”

I was quick to say that I could not pick “the coolest thing” because I have done so many “cool things” the last two years. I ended up describing my 50-foot cliff jump into the Mediterranean Sea as the coolest thing I had done in the last 4 months.

Now that I have had a couple of days to sit on the question, I have compiled a list of my “coolest things”:

(in order of occurrence)
• Building a snowman with SiMo, complete with a Bama hat on its’ head
• Shaking the hand of a princess and exchanging small talk with her
• Seeing King Mohammed VI live and in the flesh
• Watching hard-working, illiterate women meet the king and receive a large grant
• Being asked if I “speak kayak” before being allowed to paddle in the Atlantic Ocean
• Showing my host family my election ballot
• Riding a camel through the Merzouga dunes
• Running in 2 organized 5Ks
• Watching women graduate from literacy classes
• And most recent, visiting the chill beach town of Ras La Ma near Saidia. If you want a beach town comparison, think Grayton Beach. Ras La Ma is home to the aforementioned cliffs. Jumping off the 50-footer was terrifying but morphed into exhilaration about halfway down. And surfacing, shaking my head trying to get my bearings was a thrill like none other.

Summer Hikes

Summer is officially over! What did I do when not traveling in the UK and around the Mediterranean? I went hiking around the Azrou area! Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here is a photo montage of the beautiful Middle Atlas landscape (plus a few Lake District hikes just 'cause):


As you can see, summer = brown. Sadly, the lush green of spring has faded away.




The cedar forest


Ah, the sunset


I am watching the sunset and thinking about how the sun is starting to set on my service


Mom, Dad and I at the top of Castlehead in the Lake District


Parents, Twink and I at Latrigg with the town of Keswick and Derwentwater behind us—FYI, I highly recommend a trip to the Lake District of England. Spectacular scenery, LOTS of outdoor adventures, and great pubs. What more could you want?

Site Updates

'Tis been awhile since I have updated y'all on the comings and goings in my site. So, here you go.

1. In terms of importance, this is number one. Well, not really when you consider the other news I have to share but its my favorite. Ali (he's 2 now!) has finally said my name. Back in November, a PCV who writes poetry asked my stage (training group) to finish the follow sentence: Before I Leave. One of the things I mentioned was Ali saying my name. 10 months later, it has finally occurred. A couple of weeks ago, I was impatiently watching the seconds' hand on the clock tick before lftur at the host family's. Ali ran up to me, pulled on my shirt and said "E-ham." While this is not exactly how to pronounce my Arabic name (Ilham) but its close enough. I looked at Naima, Ali's mom, and she confirmed that he was saying "Ilham" the best way a 2-year-old can.
    

2. Its been a long time comin' (I use this phrase merely because its one of my favorite) but trash cans have finally arrived. Yep, that is right. I can now dispose of my trash in a respectable manner 2 blocks from my front door. When I arrived so long ago, there were a couple of plastic buckets nailed to lamp posts but after a few months, they disappeared. For the last 18 months or so, I have been carrying my trash to the nearest dumpster, 30 k away. Not anymore!
    

   A piece of land that was covered in trash, rocks, and feces was bulldozed when the king came. Then a haphazard fence went up and just in the last few months, work was been underway to make it into a small promenade complete with park benches and trashcans. A public land beautification project—something I would not have expected two years ago and something to lessen my cynicism and increase my optimism.
    

3. Another trash-related item: I watched Ali throw away his trash. In a place where trash is just thrown out the window or dropped on the ground, Ali's action is important to me. He finished his yogurt, walked over to the trash can, lifted the lid, and threw away the empty carton. I jumped up and engulfed him in a big hug, startling him and making the others laugh.
    

   Upon settling in, I quickly realized that one of the best things I could do as a Peace Corps volunteer was to be a good influence, especially for Ali and SiMo (he is now 9). This sounds smug and portrays me as a bit of a high horse but honestly, I do not care. Part of my job description is to act as a cross-cultural ambassador. Those boys need better influences than the boys who throw rocks at me, than the men who whistle, honk and shout sexually-explicit phrases at me, than the ones who disdain education. For the record, they do have great male role models in their family. Side Note: The new school year started yesterday. For a week now, it is all SiMo can talk about. His enthusiasm is contagious and makes me excited about the next 2 months.
    

4. A bakery has opened, operated by the women who graduated from the computer classes! They wrote up the business proposal in Microsoft Word, a budget in Excel, and presented it to the commune president who donated the use of a building and storefront until the end of Ramadan. Using skills they learned in class, they have started to bring supplemental income to the community.
   

Little by little, goals are accomplished in this mountain village. It is hard to think about education, marketing options, and the environment when wood is scarce but crucial to surviving the harsh winter and food prices increase due to higher transport costs. But in 4 years (as far back as my information goes), the Internet has arrived, literacy classes have begun, women are forming associations and starting businesses, an inn has opened, INDH (the Moroccan version of UNDP) has built an office, and a large project is underway to bring water to every home. Yes, little by little or as we say here, "shiwya b shiwya."

my last Ramadan

19 days down, 11 to go.

My third and final Ramadan began during my vacation to the Mediterranean so these 19 days have had me on the move. Between vacation and COS conference, I returned to site a week into Ramadan. Traveling during fasting is no fun. Fights break out. For those not fasting, it is inappropriate to drink water, much less eat. The best place to be is in site—although without travel, the time seems to go slower.

My favorite part of Ramadan: the food. Many of the dishes are only cooked during Ramadan—mostly because they are expensive—and the third time around, I have learned to cherish the savory treats.

Just what exactly is the Ramadan food? Here is a montage of pictures I took while breaking the fast with my host family.



The table with hard-boiled eggs, shebekia, zmita, dates, regular bread, and tea

Shebekia: dough mainly consisting of sugar, fried and soaked in honey

Zmita: mixture of sugar, dates, sesame seeds and a few other things I do not know



The main breads

In the foreground is melawi (a bready-type thick pancake) drizzled with melted butter and honey. By far, my favorite Ramadan food.

In the background is what volunteers have termed fat bread. It is melawi with a mixture of sheep fat (so literally, fat bread), onions, and cilantro in the middle.

Not pictured: harira, a minestrone-like soup with chickpeas. Super yummy.

While at lftur (means ‘breakfast’) last week, my host brother talked about President Obama’s short message to Muslims on the eve of Ramadan. I asked if he knew that Obama hosted a Lftur at the White House. Everyone at the table’s eyes got big and started asking questions. Did he fast? Did his wife (for the record, she has many fans here) fast? Who went? What foods did they eat? My answers: I do not know; I think Michelle did not go; lots of people in government, Muslims, non-Muslims, etc; I don’t know foods were served, respectively. When I mentioned the Lftur to a PCV last weekend, the first thing out of her mouth, “Did President Obama eat fat bread?!” Obviously, you can tell what we care about most. We want to know if our young, energetic president ate fried bread stuffed with animal fat. If it was on the menu, I am sure he passed on the opportunity. Not that I blame him. I only eat Xalti Helima’s.

If the shoe fits, buy it in every color?

Two years in Morocco can significantly affect on one’s view of materialism. As I spend the next few months (maybe years) trying to describe my experience here, the lessons learned, the insights gained, etc., I can say with ease that one of the best and maybe earliest lesson learned is an in-depth understanding of the difference between needs and wants. Of course, my parents were great teachers during my childhood and still are. “Daddy, I need a reliable car that looks nice.” “No, Liz, what you need is a car that gets you from Point A to B (in my case, a 1987 Chevy Nova—may it rest in peace). What you want is another car.” This is an example with an easy distinction but living here—where one learns the value of basic needs that so many of us take for granted—has taught me about the sometimes fuzzy line between needs and wants. Example: I want running water on a constant basis. Furthermore, I want the tap to flow with hot water (ha!). All I need, though, is running water. (I have not been able to see running water as a want yet—as opposed to the basic need for clean water. I’m not sure I want to get to that point.)

Soon, when I am back in America—land of abundance and aisles full of cereal—comes the real test on how Morocco has changed my view of materialism. Just last weekend while Skyping with Mom and Dad (Mom-Sorry to leave you out on the last post! Love you!), talk turned to cell phones and what will be the proper plan for me. Dad made the comment jokingly (I think) that maybe I should look at getting a Blackberry or an Iphone. It seems many young people are getting them nowadays. I asked why I would need such a thing and Dad said, that maybe, I will want to stay connected all the time. No thank you. But I digress…

I must now do mundane housekeeping things including going through my house and deciding what items stay here and what gets shipped home. For most things, I am happy to leave them here for others to enjoy. But other things are trickier. Which books are shipped home? Do I have clothes with lots more wear left? (yes but am I tired of looking at them and will they ever be worn again?) How much more shopping do I have? (By the way, if anyone wants Moroccan goodies, get your orders in soon.) What is considered the acceptable amount of olive oil, argan oil, jellaba jewelry, rugs, etc. to ship home? At the moment, though, my biggest debate is about a pair of shoes.



Nothing too special but simplicity is one of their qualities. Why should I put into words what the eloquent Garrison Keillor already has? But these boots are special to me. One of the best things—if not the best—I brought back from the States during my visit last Christmas. Without these boots, who knows, I may not still be in Morocco. I have serious doubts I could have survived winter without them. Winter was so long, so cold, and too snowy (6 meters total!). Before the boots’ arrival in Morocco, it was hard to leave my house—one day I literally could not because the door was frozen shut.

The logical, soon-to-be RPCV in me says “Boots with leather uppers and rubber bottoms are widely available in America at a price less than what it would cost you to ship these bad boys home.” The other voice says “these boots are one-of-a-kind for how they helped you get through winter; they are caked in Moroccan dirt—dirt that has taught you so much; and will be a physical reminder for how you survived the harsh winter and persevered when you thought you could not.”

Lacing up those boots and walking around town, feeling the snow crunch under my feet, was magical. The town was in distress as helicopters dropped emergency supplies in a nearby village—necessary because the roads were impassable—and people worried about the alarmingly low wood supply but in my head I was calm, happy, and feeling invincible. My basic needs were being met. I was not hungry, I was warm (as warm as one can be under meters of snow with no heat), and I had people eager to host me for tea. Memories like these are why I want to keep them. Logic will win this battle, I know, and the boots will be passed to another volunteer in the hopes that the boots will be magical to them too. But the materialistic hoarder in me tells me that the “I wants” need to win one, just one.