Riding the Magic Carpet

These past two days have been great. I had lfidor (breaking of the fast) with my landlord’s family (conveniently next door). It was quiet, compared to when I go over to my host family. We ate in silence. Even when people asked for more coffee, tea, or juice it was through hand gestures. For some reason I was slightly uncomfortable with the silence. It was a large gathering, of 9 or so people and still there was little conversation. I wondered if it was because of me, or whether it was usually a quiet meal. The wife of my landlord is hard of hearing, and that may have contributed to the lack of conversation. Either way, I haven’t been to a meal where I haven’t contributed something. It makes me feel better. Usually I will bring something small like olives, a salad, homemade juice, cake or cookies. I am still appalled at the economic differences in households. One family that has adopted me that I really enjoy going to, brings out lavish meals to break fast. Bread, homemade donuts, figs, olives, coffee, lmism (fried flat bread), honey and jelly as starters, followed of course by aharrar (thick soup). I usual depart, with a more than full stomach. The next meal is usually couscous or rice. Most family’s last meal, ate before dawn, is tajine.
Last night my host mom and sister accompanied me to the association president’s house. I had put off this meeting for some time, expecting to run into him before now. Our paths had crossed a few times before, but in informal settings. Of course, I was told by his father that Sarah had learned tashelheit fast and that I knew nothing. I really have yet to develop a response to this. It has been said to me only a handful of times, but the sting is always still there. I know that Sarah had a firm grasp of the language when she left, and I think people forget that she was in the same learning stage as I was when she first came. Other PCVs responses are to remind them of this, especially if they had replaced a volunteer, others ask the offender if they knew English and then the person would be put in a somewhat similar situation. I just nod, smile, and say that yes, Sarah knew Tash very well and she is very smart.
Toky, the president, knows a fair amount of English and it is easier for the both of us for him to speak to me in English. He also prefers it, he wants to practice and regrets not being able to use it more. There have been lots of developments and I learned a lot from out encounter. First off, he has secured a bus for the area. This bus will take students from the surrounding dours into Tizguine where there is a new lycee (middle school, grades 7 and 8). The building itself is not new, and is a home with two rooms that will serve as classrooms and a small kitchen. The bus will pick them up in the mornings and drop them off after school is done. This opens up a potential Environment/Health Club where I could co-facilitate with a teacher and start doing some great activities. The exciting aspect is that these students will be from this area, and can take back these new ideas and lessons and possibly implement them in their own homes and neighborhoods! I am really excited. These kids are closer in age to the ones I had worked with previously before I left for Morocco at the YMCA back in North Carolina. This age is especially fun because they are old enough to develop their own opinions and actively participate. I still plan on doing some health and environmental lessons at the primary school here, especially dealing with hygiene and dental health.
We discussed my project idea too. I want to start a trash disposal system. Originally I had stolen the idea from another volunteer (who probably borrowed it too). They placed large empty oil drums in convenient areas in her site where once half-full, they burn the trash. I have sinced emailed her asking the logistics of her development. For this area, this would be ideal seeing that there is no place to dump or bury the trash (valley drains into river). Whether it was miscommunication or not, Toky wants to employ a community member to collect the trash and dispose and bury it outside the area. We discussed the difficulties of this idea but he seemed enthusiastic about it. Unfortunately, we both seem to be big idea people. Things can get awfully utopic quickly. He and I have both pledged into looking into our respective areas, for me, I will look into sources of funding and he will exhausts his connections. I am excited either way. Trash will be picked up once a week. I proposed we charge each household 5 Dhs a month for this service to cover costs. I need to survey some of my neighbors and host family to see how they feel about this.
Side Note: I’m going to brag about my parents for a few lines. Had it not been for my parents’ determination to raise their kids with a sense of service and community I would not be here today. There are times that I truly feel their influence. Proposing a 5 Dh tax to each of the households would have been a solution that I feel like my dad would have proposed, and I wish he could have seen me working with Toky today. I think he would have been proud of the way we analyzed different aspects of the community. I miss hearing about local politics back home. One of my dad’s main missions is making communities better through services that make their life easier and healthier. Hopefully here, it will instill them a sense of pride and responsibility to keep their community clean and beautiful. Something that both of my parents have pledged their life to doing.
We also discussed some of the maladies persistent in this area. One problem being an eye disease where cysts form on the eyelids and cause blindness and the other a kind of eczema of the skin of the face. (This is what I interpreted). Both need medicine and possibly eye surgery. Toky said that there were 45 cases of the eye disease here in Tizguine. I am hoping to talk to the doctor in Boumalen tomorrow to find out the names of these diseases and look more closely into their origins and if they are preventable.
Oh and my hair has finally adapted, or maybe I have adapted to it? Conditioners are hard to find and expensive, so she just gets a shampoo every couple of days and air dry. Funny, I’ve been fighting for years with torture devices to get a certain look when the all-natural is actually quite acceptable. Thanks to my mom’s curl and thick hair (sorry dad I’ve got nothing for you--wink wink, nudge nudge). And as far as the rest of the hair goes, I have been taking quick cold showers and ignoring the razor. The extra coat will be good for winter I’m sure…

Halfway

Today is the halfway point of Ramadan. The past few days I have really enjoyed my site. I wonder when I am going to stop calling it my site and start calling it my home. I think that may be one of the setbacks from both a PCV’s viewpoint and those of the community. It’s almost as if two years is not enough. It feels temporary. I am looking up at my homemade calendar. As of right now, it shows as far as October 2010. June 2010 is our halfway point, when we have our midservice training and medical exams. I am moved in completely and besides a few other comforts I would like to add, I am settled in. I have started putting together my powerpoint presentation that we are presenting to the Ministry of Health in a month. I started looking through some of the piles of information that I have acquired. Lots of it has come from Sarah Moorman, my infamous role model and predecessor, and from Peace Corps vast collection. Some of these facts I came across, collected from USAID:

Adult Literacy Rate
52.3
%
2004
World Bank/WDI Database-2007

Adult Literacy Rate, Female
38
%
2002
World Bank/WDI-2006


Adult Literacy Rate, Male
63
%
2002
World Bank/WDI-2006

Healthy Life Expectancy: Female

60.9
2002
WHO World Health Report-2004
Healthy Life Expectancy: Male
59.5
2002
WHO World Health Report-2004


Some of these numbers have since improved, but not by much. The core of our project framework is prevention through education and improved water and sanitation, our target audience being women and children.

My core project will be a trash disposal system in my community, and hopefully, will be duplicated in the surrounding dours. If the one here is successful, we will assess and analyze the pros and cons and apply them throughout the area.

The gorge area’s predicament regarding trash disposal is that there is no safe place to dispose of it. Most of the communities are situated within the valley of the mountain ranges. Without knowledge of the hazards regarding waste disposal, people throw their trash into the river, into dried up streambeds and on the ground. The beauty of these communities is that relatively, they produce little trash. Lack of money and access to materials means that most of the trash that is not recycled by household means that the majority left is plastic bags, metal tins, plastic bottles and wrappers left by various goods. Food wastes are fed to livestock, paper goods are usually burnt in ovens that cook bread and plastic bottles and glass containers are used again and again for milk products, juice, and water until they are finally discarded.

One PCV pointed out that there was the same amount of trash and problem as there is in the States. I concur. He even went as far to say that it was not a huge problem and that other ailments should be looked into first. This bothered me. It was this very thinking that got many first world countries into the situations they are in today. A gross commercialized society with overflowing landfills. I want to counter this problem head on now, before it becomes a major problem. It’s not until we see the direct result of hazardous waste leaching into the soil and water before we do something about it? This may already be a problem and we are unaware of it. Already we have been exposed to the problems of EACs through plastic bottles and the hazardous effect they have on pregnant women and their children. It may not be seen now, but in 20 years when women are having spontaneous abortions and children are born with birth defects, when plants and animals are starting to show more and more mutations or we eradicate species entirely. Already I am alarmed by the lack of fish in the river here. There are numerous amphibious species, but I rarely see fish despite the fact that the river is here constantly, despite the summer dry season.

Restraints in this region are time, money, resources, and geographical location. If we were to bury the trash, we would have to find an appropriate area, not affected by the water table where we could safely dispose of the trash and cover it with soil. The rains come down from the mountains, into the valleys and replenish the fields and river. Anything in its path is washed down. Finding an area that is convenient to the community is another obstacle. When it is easier to throw the trash in a nearby alley as opposed to walking to the edge of the community is a huge obstacle. Toying with the idea of a trash pick up and depositing to the closest landfill was shot down by my Peace Corps program managers. The closest landfill is in Boumalen Dades. Trash would have to be collected and then taken by either truck or transit vans to the outskirts of Boumalen to be dumped and that costs enough in and of itself. The next solution would be to burn trash. Of course, the majority of the trash is harmful when burned, if it will burn. I am going to look into possible scrap metal options. The idea would be to have oil drums strategically placed in areas in my community where citizens could deposit their trash. There would need to be a dramatic behavior change also. People would need to start using the receptacles as opposed to their old ways of dropping off trash off the cliff beside the river, or the empty riverbed that comes down from the mountains. This project would be a huge undertaking but by employing the right people, with the right mindset, it just might happen.

On a Sentimental Note

I just wanted to share this with you:

Tonight we had dinner, tanjine of course. Before we started eating, she pulls out a pitcher of this white liquid, it looks like whole milk. I ask for just a little, this is an unheard of amount in Tamazight because no matter what, they will pour a whole glassful for you. So “bismillah” and we start eating dinner and I take a swig of white liquid. It’s buttermilk. I have a hard time hiding faces in the first place, but buttermilk has a distinct flavor. My mom gave me a funny look and I tell her it tastes great and take another sip. But within that second sip, I had a flashback to my Aunt Polly. I thought that it was such a crazy coincidence that at that exact moment I made a connection from my current situation to memories of her.

The fact that these people have opened up their home to me, invited me in, treated me with the greatest amount of hospitality I have ever been shown. Later, after the meal, the host grandmother explains to me that she sees my host mom and me as sisters, “kif-kif,” and that I am always welcome in their home. Shortly afterwards, my host mom starts tearing up talking about next week when I leave. Over a glass of buttermilk, I am brought back to memories of my Aunt Polly and her relationship with my family, especially with my mom.

When my parents moved to Gastonia, NC, my mom was befriended by this sweet old lady named Pauline Taylor. My mom went to the same grocery store all the time and this dear old woman used to bag my mom’s groceries. They quickly got to be friends. My mom was brand new to the area, pregnant with me, and this lady showed her unlimited amounts of hospitality and goodwill and became a familiar face in a new and unfamiliar place. I remember going over to Aunt Polly’s house and drinking milk and eating just-made blueberry pineapple muffins. They were incredible. We used to play with her figurines in the living room and entertain ourselves while my mom and Aunt Polly would sit in the kitchen and talk. I remember raking her yard in the fall and playing hide and go seek in the back yard. Later on, Aunt Polly had to move into a rest home. My mom would go and visit her at least once a week. My mom valued their friendship a lot. And I know Aunt Polly loved mom. Even our vehicle choices later on, mom would consider if our Aunt Polly would be able to get in and out of the door easily. Aunt Polly was incredibly active and healthy as she got older and older. The other residents at the rest home would always ask who my mom was and frequently confused her as her daughter or relative. She was always introduced as her special friend. Mom made it her priority to make sure that Aunt Polly was comfortable. She would go shopping for her for Christmas and her birthday. My mom knew her likes and dislikes. She would hem the pants of the outfit so it would fit just right. My mom was the best daughter that woman ever had.

When Aunt Polly died a few years ago it felt like a grandmother had passed away. Her health had been declining some and she was 92 years old. No matter how I tried to prepare myself, it still hurt when my mom called to tell me that she was gone. I believe out of all of Aunt Polly’s family and friends, my mom was the closest to her. I feel like my mom was the most devastated when this woman was no longer apart of her life. The relationship my mom had with this sweet, sweet old lady was significant and unique. Their relationship was one-of-a-kind. I was in school at the time and was unable to make it to the funeral. And over this glass of buttermilk, in rural Morocco, where I am learning this old, dying language, I was reminded of this sweet, sweet old lady who had befriended my mom over 24 years ago. I stifled some tears that came, because trying to explain this to my host family would be rocket science. I looked around at the women sitting next to me, headscarves and brown eyes and weathered faces and felt a gratitude I can’t explain. I don’t believe in fate, or destiny, but I do like to find comfort in the coincidences, comfort in the full circle. Hospitality, friendship, family relationships and the generosity of humankind is unmistakable and despite our culture and language difficulties, we laugh about the same things. And for the first time since I have been away, I find myself shedding a few tears writing this. That’s comforting too. Love you mom.

During Homestay...

It started at 4:30am in the morning. My taxidriver wanted to leave 30 minutes earlier than usual. Why? I don’t know, but that taxi was full halfway down the mountain so I guess the man doesn’t need a reason. It started when she first got into the taxi. “Sbah lexir,” and “Saalam walakum,” What was that smell? Oh man, it had all of these delicious flavors of smokey, spicey goodness… is that.. beef jerkey? I felt like I had just ziplocked my head into a Jack Daniel’s Peppered Beef Jerkey bag. I wanted to take her home as human potpourri. That would be inappropriate but goddamn she was making me hungry. My next thought that if we got stranded on a section of road and had to eat someone I would point out her first, she would taste the best, probably a little rubbery. She looked well into her 60s. The taxi was soon full of smells, an interesting mixture of beef jerkey, sleep, body odor and farm animal. The window in front of me was barely cracked, I think it was just because it no longer rolled up all the way. I welcomed that small bit of fresh air, my eyes were starting to tear up.

I was glad I was feeling better. My dumbass had self-medicated two nights before because the power had gone out in the midst of a small hurricane. I wanted to go to bed early, without the TV on, I figured we would turn in early and I desperately needed a full nights rest. I hadn’t been sleeping well and knew that my day into town was usually a long one and I needed to make the best of it. Tylenol PM is powerful. I took the recommended two pills and felt nothing for the first 5 hours. I wasn’t sleepy at all! It was well past 10 o’clock and I was turning over restlessly, plagued by random thought and worries that my mother graciously passed down to me. I finally drifted off to sleep. Around 7:30 I could hear the family waking up, the usually screaming, the sounds of tea being put on, the slurps and slops of bread being kneaded. I had a pounding headache and desperately needed to pee. I got up and explained to the eldest daughter that I wasn’t feeling well and that I did not want breakfast. Luckily there was a poo trail to the bitlama in case I couldn’t find my way there. Thank God. This was the second time that someone had pooed outside the outhouse. I couldn’t understand it. There were no points for being close. Either you sink it like a champ or you go home. Well, no one has explained the rules around here! I didn’t want to bother with the poo just yet and thought that if I ignored it it would go away…

The rest of the morning I was in and out of my room. My head was pounding and I felt exhausted. My back was beginning to tense up because of the amount of time I was sleeping on my stomach. I explained to my family that my head was killing me, and they suggested I take a shower later on. What a great idea! A family at my last site was convinced that too much sleep, drinking water and keeping your head uncovered was the source of all sicknesses.

Bath time is sacred. I relish. Ask anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that I love to primp. I don’t know when it started. I was somehow convinced that everytime I showered I needed to wash my hair, shave, thorough cleaning of all body parts (toes, ears, etc.), and then the usual lotioning up and accessories (tweezing, nail clippings, etc.). I don’t skip a beat and I take my time. I enjoy this time. The past two weeks grandma and I have been at odds over this shower time. It has just started happening that she wants to shower right at the same time as I do. The last time I cut things really short and did just the basics because she was waiting. This last time I had scissors in hand, about to make the cut and restore my hair to some kind of decency and I hear, “Hanan! Rig ad-ssird, (mumble mumble Tash tash words, etc.)” and I’m like fuuuuuuooookkkk. Guess the shearing will happening after I move into my own place. Oh well, something to look forward to.

At this point we are careening down the mountainside and the clouds are fantastic. I can’t wait to start my own schedule, waking up early and going on a run before the rest of this sleepy town has awakened and enjoying a cup of coffee out on my patio as people head off to the fields or to visit neighbors.