daydreamin' with a cup of chamomile tea

Oh, crazy Moroccan winter and the joys of living at 6000 ft. Sunshine and warmth (you know, relatively) were plentiful the last two weeks. I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel and got a little too comfortable and complacent with the early signs of spring. Well, the gods of winter decided to throw me a little curveball. My little town that sits on the top of a mountain has experienced intermittent snow showers and heavy winds since Friday night and this nasty weather is expected to continue through the rest of the week.

February was, by far, the busiest month of my Peace Corps career--working to get the computer literacy classes started, attending trainings, and repairing my relationship with the weaving cooperative. After sort-of sitting on my hands the second half of 2008, all my work projects seem to be coming together at just the right time. I am happy, motivated, and enthused about the next couple of months.

As I grow older, I am having more and more of those "oh-my-god-I-swore-I-would-never-do-this" moments. Some are in the abstract--like realizing that I am slowly but surely turning into my parents. That I am okay with. However, two events at souk today have me shaking my head in a little bit of disbelief:

1) The sellers at souk were in a bargaining mode. After my very first souk experience, I promised myself that I would never bargain for food. It was a lot of work for only a couple of dirhams difference. While some volunteers say that it is the merit of the issue, I know when someone is taking advantage of the fact that I am a foreigner. If it bothers me, I will do something but this does not usually happen at souk. Today however, I bargained just for the hell of it. I have more vegetables than I will ever eat but the red peppers looked beautiful and they are usually scarce around my town. The seller said 8 dirhams. I said 5. He said 7. I said 6 or I was going away. He quickly accepted and after handing him the equivalent of 75 cents, I walked away with a kilo of red peppers.

2) I bargained some more, this time for olive oil. Accepting my new liter of scrupulous Berber olive oil, I made a mental note that my current liter was bought less than less 2 weeks ago. With the exception of one dinner, I have not been entertaining. Its been just me; I went through a entire liter of olive oil in less than 2 weeks. My diet has been overtaken by the Mediterranean diet. But that diet is supposed to be good for you, right?

Today's adventures have ended and at this moment, I sip my cup of chamomile tea, trying to figure out a way to use my kilo of red peppers, and daydreamin' about my upcoming trip to the Sahara.

Cous Cous Fridays

During today's World Wise Schools conference, one of the students asked what my favorite Moroccan food is. I answered cous cous. It is so yummy.

So here is a little food culture lesson for ya'll.

Most Fridays are what I call “Cous Cous Friday.” I would love to eat cous cous every Friday but unfortunately, not many people in my town are consistent in their Friday lunch plans. One family is though: Abdou's in Azrou. Abdou owns my favorite rug shop and his mom's cous cous is one of the best. If I am in Azrou on Friday or just have a craving for cous cous, I head to Abdou’s for Friday lunch.

Friday is the Muslim holy day. The tradition of eating cous cous for Friday lunch is similar to the tradition of Christians (or maybe just Southerners) of eating a big Sunday lunch. I like this; it reminds me of home.

Even though it is culturally insensitive, I should mention that many volunteers (me included) compare women’s cous cous—no two are alike. Some women can make a good tagine but their cous cous misses the spot. In the last 18 months, I have only had 3 bad servings. That's not a bad percentage. When I am invited to return for cous cous at these 3 places, I try to reschedule for tea instead. So far, its worked.

The women in my host family make really good cous cous. Even though its time-consuming and labor-intensive, I have promised to learn. My expectations are not too high. I just want to learn the basics so I can share the magic of cous cous with my family in Florida. Time will tell.

Cous cous pictures (these will help):


Contents: cous cous with chickpeas, chicken, pumpkin, hot peppers, potatoes, zucchini, carrots



The group one Friday last year (Abdou is on the far left; his mom ate too but she is one taking the photo)


Close up...Dig In!

Comforted by Gibran

Oh, the greatness of Kahlil Gibran. It was not until last year that I read my first words of Kahlil Gibran, the famous Lebanese-American poet from the early 20th century, but I am atoning for my sins. Shortly upon arrival in Morocco my sitemate Chris handed me a copy of The Prophet with the endorsement "if I was allowed to bring one thing to a deserted island, it would be this book." While The Prophet will never kick To Kill A Mockingbird from the number one spot, the book has a good place in my top-three list (in case you are wondering, the other book is Man's Search for Meaning).

The news nowadays is filled with devastation--whether it be the economic crisis, the Middle East conflicts, African humanitarian crises, or even my fellow villagers worrying about the rest of winter and the town's dangerously low wood supplies. I am just so tired of all this depressing news.

A couple of weeks ago, I was the recipient of The Treasured Writing of Kahlil Gibran. This book contains everything Gibran wrote--or actually, was published--except for The Prophet. I have copied "The Poet's Voice" below. As I read about bailouts and death and snow, I can think of no better words about people and faith than these:

A Poet's Voice

Part One
The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.

My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.

Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark.

I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.

Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.

Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.

Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains.

Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.

Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.

Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples of the soul, and they join hands to build edifices for earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in my deep self saying, "As love enlivens a man's heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way to knowledge." Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun.

Part Two

I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their misery. But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call "patriotic spirit" to murder, and invaded my neighbour's country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country.

I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my childhood; but if the people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness. My inner voice would say, "The house that does not comfort the need is worthy of naught by destruction."

I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth with all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God.

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing their clan's anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers.

Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, others would say, "He is weak, affected by sentiment."

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being preaches love and good-will. But the people ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it, and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying, "Ridicule is more bitter than killing."

Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and grow forever.

Part Three

Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth.

You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding the meaning of hidden Truth. You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a brother. You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice.

You may deprive me of whatever I possess, for my greed instigated the amassing of wealth and you are entitled to my lot if it will satisfy you.

You may do unto me whatever you wish, but you shall not be able to touch my Truth.

You may shed my blood and burn my body, but you cannot kill or hurt my spirit.

You may tie my hands with chains and my feet with shackles, and put me in the dark prison, but who shall not enslave my thinking, for it is free, like the breeze in the spacious sky.

You are my brother and I love you. I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling in your temple, and praying in your mosque. You and I and all are children of one religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to receive all.

I love you for your Truth, derived from your knowledge; that Truth which I cannot see because of my ignorance. But I respect it as a divine thing, for it is the deed of the spirit. Your Truth shall meet my Truth in the coming world and blend together like the fragrance of flowers and becoming one whole and eternal Truth, perpetuating and living in the eternity of Love and Beauty.

I love you because you are weak before the strong oppressor, and poor before the greedy rich. For these reasons I shed tears and comfort you; and from behind my tears I see you embraced in the arms of Justice, smiling and forgiving your persecutors. You are my brother and I love you.

Part Four

You are my brother, but why are you quarreling with me? Why do you invade my country and try to subjugate me for the sake of pleasing those who are seeking glory and authority?

Why do you leave your wife and children and follow Death to the distant land for the sake of those who buy glory with your blood, and high honour with your mother's tears?

Is it an honour for a man to kill his brother man? If you deem it an honor, let it be an act of worship, and erect a temple to Cain who slew his brother Abel.

Is self-preservation the first law of Nature? Why, then, does Greed urge you to self-sacrifice in order only to achieve his aim in hurting your brothers? Beware, my brother, of the leader who says, "Love of existence obliges us to deprive the people of their rights!" I say unto you but this: protecting others' rights is the noblest and most beautiful human act; if my existence requires that I kill others, then death is more honourable to me, and if I cannot find someone to kill me for the protection of my honour, I will not hesitate to take my life by my own hands for the sake of Eternity before Eternity comes.

Selfishness, my brother, is the cause of blind superiority, and superiority creates clanship, and clanship creates authority which leads to discord and subjugation.

The soul believes in the power of knowledge and justice over dark ignorance; it denies the authority that supplies the swords to defend and strengthen ignorance and oppression - that authority which destroyed Babylon and shook the foundation of Jerusalem and left Rome in ruins. It is that which made people call criminals great men; made writers respect their names; made historians relate the stories of their inhumanity in manner of praise.

The only authority I obey is the knowledge of guarding and acquiescing in the Natural Law of Justice.

What justice does authority display when it kills the killer? When it imprisons the robber? When it descends on a neighborhood country and slays its people? What does justice think of the authority under which a killer punishes the one who kills, and a thief sentences the one who steals?

You are my brother, and I love you; and Love is justice with its full intensity and dignity. If justice did not support my love for you, regardless of your tribe and community, I would be a deceiver concealing the ugliness of selfishness behind the outer garment of pure love.

Conclusion

My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life. He who does not befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance within himself will perish desperately. Life emerges from within, and derives not from environs.

I came to say a word and I shall say it now but if death prevents its uttering, it will be said by Tomorrow, for Tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of Eternity.

I came to live here in the glory of Love and the light of Beauty, which are the reflections of God. I am here living, and and the people are unable to exile me from the domain of life for they know I will live in death. If they pluck my eyes I will hearken to the murmurs of Love and the songs of Beauty.

If they close my ears I will enjoy the touch of the breeze mixed with the incense of Love and the fragrance of Beauty.

If they place me in vacuum, I will live together with my soul, the child of Love and Beauty.

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed by Tomorrow to the people.

What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts.

Kahlil Gibran

A Beautiful Rainbow

Who knew that rainbows appeared even after snow storms?! This Florida girls sure didn't.





Edit: I also want to include the picture below. I am posting it here just to make ya'll jealous. I may be snowed in 75% of the time but at least I have scenery like this out my back door.

Another Month In the Books

January started with me celebrating—or more accurately, mourning—aging another year in warm, sunny Panama City. The month ends with me sitting at my kitchen table watching snow fall. In previous posts, I have complained about the snow and the brutally cold weather but honestly, at this moment, I feel good. My mental state is the best it's been since the election.

A volunteer in Midelt, a city about 2 hours away, hosted a day camp at her dar chebab this week. I spent Tuesday through Thursday helping out. In addition leading a successful session on resume writing and interviewing skills, I introduced the some Moroccan children to the crab crawl and bear walk relay races. The kids had a great time—big kudos to Linley. This week, I felt like I was doing actual productive work. It was a good feeling.

Because Midelt is much bigger town than mine, I packed my running shoes and made a commitment to myself to get in at least one morning run. And I did! In fact, I ran TWICE. Those exercise endorphins put a little bounce in my step. It's been missing as of late.

Thanks to the miracle of some kick-ass boots (read this article about their awesomeness http://outside.away.com/outside/magazine/1295/12f_gari) I have escaped the confines of my house and headed out into the woods. The peace of the trees, the crunch of the dirt and snow, and the scenery has been wonderful. While this place is not without its issues, the surrounding landscape is beautiful. I'm lucky to live here.

Pictures for you to enjoy!

The Environment Horror Show

Listening to NPR broadcast recently—I love my new wireless internet—about the pollution in Kabul brought me to the realization that I have not written about environmental issues in Morocco.

The NPR reporter mentioned that Afghans burn plastic bottles and tires to make fire for warmth. It reminded me of Twinkle's visit. We were drinking tea and watched a woman stuff a large plastic sack into an forno. Twinkle had this look of slight horror on her face. Sadly though, this is the norm.

In a recent New Yorker interview, Gavin Newsome, the mayor of San Francisco, mentioned that he had recently been in the Middle East. "The surrounding landscape was beautiful but when you looked in one direction, you saw a trash field," he said. That is a pretty apt description of my site. I am surrounded by beautiful green mountains and a cedar forest and yet plastic bags and wrappers litter the ground. Locals always get this bewilderment look when I tell them that Americans have to pay a fine for littering. They know that I have my idiosyncratic ways—I don't like plastic bags and carry my trash 30 km to the nearest dumpster, among other things.

A walk in the woods is such a peaceful thing until one hears an ax chopin' away. Illegal logging is prevalent and it is so sad to think that in 50 years, the cedar forest is going to look so different. It may not even be here for Ali's children. Even sadder, the government ministry in charge of the environment has turned a blind eye to all the deforestation.

I spent last week in Rabat. I am the first to admit that it is nice to be able to sit in a bar and not made to feel shameful. But the niceties only go so far. Cities are full of smog, mainly caused by 20 year-old cars that run on leaded fuel. I have to make sure that I don't walk to close to these cars' exhaust pipes. The smell is enough to induce a migraine. Spend enough time downtown and your snot starts to turn to dark colors. It's just not fun.

I will say this, though. Moroccans have the reduce and reuse part of the equation down. Most homes have one electrical outlet per room. Lights are turned on only in the waning hours of the day and the electrical grid cannot handle more than a couple of items plugged in at one time. My electricity frequently goes off at night (way more than it used too and way more than I would like) and will short circuit if three things (laptop, coffee pot, and phone) are plugged in at one time. My oven is just a bunch of scrap metal remolded to the shape of a box. The annual sheep shearing produces pillow stuffing and wool for weaving. Coke in glass bottles is still the most available form of the beverage—it's cheaper as long as you return the bottle to be rebottled.

The more time I spend here, the more environmental conscious I become. Blame it on what I see and who I spend my time with. I recently read The Big Sort—highly recommended. Its thesis: America is becoming more and more partisan because people are choosing to live among people who share their political and religious views. Americans have trouble getting along because they surround themselves with like-minded people and tend to shut out people with differing views—a classic groupthink example. I admit it; I'm guilty. During Christmas vacation in Republican-dominated Panama City, I was disrespectful to a Sarah Palin supporter. I dismissed their opinion before even listening to their side. This was the first time I heard, to my face, someone supporting her. I live among like-minded people (other volunteers) and let's just say, Palin does not have any supporters in the Moyen Atlas mountains of Morocco. This is a long tangent to say to that like-minded grouping can be bad but it can also produce some good.

In my small province, there are 8 environment volunteers including my sitemate. Our gatherings produce thoughtful conversation and contribute to my informal environmental education. As a result, my environment IQ is slowly but steadily climbing; I'm more aware of my actions in relation to the environment; and I feel more prepared to be a part of possible solutions to the problems Morocco, and America too, face. This is a good thing.

PS. The fact that this was written the same day that President Obama (oh, how good it is to write that) signed an order allowing states to raise car emissions standards is coincidence. But on that subject, as Moroccans say, shiwya b shiwya.

Morocco's Popularity

http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/01/11/travel/11foodie.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

In today's NY Times: Marrakech is the number one foodie destination of 2009. I must say, though, the food in people's homes is much better than restaurant food. That said, the best restaurant meal I have eaten here was in Chefchaucen with Mom, Dad, and Katherine.