Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Bits and Pieces

Yesterday on my walk around the area, I had the most interesting time: invited to tea three times, passed a small group of men smoking hash, walked by a group of girls who were delighted to meet me and one who wanted anything, anything from me-- to my t-shirt, even the elastic in my hair--, introduced myself to a few people, yelled at by some boys in a dump truck, invited to tea the following day by a neighbor, invited to the fields, etc. All in all, it was an uplifting walk outside and I felt great afterwards.

I was asked recently whether the people in my community were happy I am here. I don’t know, honestly. Peace Corps is not a NGO. We do not have a large supply of money readily available. The saying goes something like this, “Give a man a fish and he feeds for a day, teach a man to fish and he feeds for a lifetime,” Which sums up 1/3 of Peace Corps mission. We are here to build sustainable projects and hope to pass on some of our knowledge so that others will benefit for future generations. The other 2/3s is cultural exchange. I know that Morocco has done plenty to help share their culture with me. It is in my face everyday, and people here love to explain it to me: “Drink tea, Eat bread, Wash your clothes in the river, Bake, Make tajine, couscous, and be with your family,”

This is a relatively new site, Sarah started it only two years ago. Health education tends to be a bit more difficult because old habits die hard. Even the most basic things that we take for granted are hard to accomplish. We all share the same mug of water during dinner. We all eat from the same communal dish. Families sleep in the same room. Families wash their hands with soap after meals (if at all). Toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap are all an additional cost. We eat a lot of bread, rice, and couscous, which tend to be some of the most filling and cheapest meals. Families do not have a lot of money for hygiene products. Despite these small setbacks, they are only setbacks. They are not permanent. The family received toothbrushes from Sarah. They are usually only used when bathing, which is infrequent. Other things though, like improving diet and proper prenatal care could be some of the easier things to improve. Many suffer from malnutrition and a lack of protein in the diet. Meat is the most expensive. Protein and amino acids are essential to the overall repairment of the body. I hope to get started soon in these topics.

I feel as though that this site would also benefit from Small Business Development and Environmental volunteers. There are enough young women in this area that would support a proper working Neddi and need some direction, and new ideas to get one started. Overgrazing and the diminishing amount of trees is a huge problem. Supposedly, the community is supposed to get two or three large, gas ovens in the near future. These are supposed to be used instead of the small private ones where people burn wood to bake bread. The hillsides are stripped of trees and it is causing an increasingly alarming amount of erosion. Landslides here are common, especially when it rains. Alas, the community needs to come together to make a conscious effort to decide to use these ovens when the time comes, and do away with the older method. This can be incredibly hard as we all know. Having to change our ways from what we grew up doing, what we are accustomed to, will be very difficult. Yet it is desperately needed. Last winter, a small café beside the road was completely abolished by a landslide. Luckily the owner, who usually sleeps in a room off the back, had been staying with family that night. The devastation is shocking.

I ran into the president of the school recently at the family’s house and he asked that we get started on some projects coming September. Sarah had worked on some grant proposals to secure funds for a room onto the women’s Neddi. A Neddi is a women’s association where they typically come together to work on traditional crafts like weaving and looming. I assume some of the projects he is talking about include the room onto the women’s Neddi and possibly finding a place for the Association to rent. Whether these are one and the same, I do not know. Luckily he speaks a little bit of English. These do not sound like health related projects but I am here to help with what the town needs. Incorporation of health projects would be easy if there was an additional room onto the Neddi. We could hold health classes (not only health but maybe yoga and physical education and prenatal classes). We could host other PVCs or members in the community to give lectures and talks relating to small business, environment, children’s sports clubs, theatre, etc.

Lots of work is being done right now in the height of the growing season. Women go to and from the fields all day and temperatures soar in the early afternoon. September would be a good time to start work. Also, with the upcoming elections [12/06/2009] in this small community, one thing at a time.

Most people do not understand Peace Corps purpose, if they have ever heard of Peace Corps at all. Those that do understand are probably some of the friendliest, most hospitable and understanding people I have met thus far. They say, “I know you are not a tourist. I know that you work for free to help our people, and I want to thank you.” It’s times like those that you truly feel welcome, understood, and accepted.

I am envious of some aspects of Moroccan culture. Houses are built side by side. My neighbor comes over every day just to hang out, sometimes to eat dinner, sometimes to drink tea, mostly just to chat. I see most of the family on a daily basis. They live right down the road and I often accompany one of the sisters to get fresh buttermilk from the cow. Everyone here walks everywhere and if you need a ride into town, (Boumalen is an hour and a half away) you make arrangements with Abdraheem, the taxi driver, right across the way (he usually leaves at 5am). The neighborhood kids come over and if its meal time, it’s never a problem. I would love to have my parents and my sisters close to me by the time I am ready to settle down. I can only imagine. It is an instant support network. Despite possible skirmishes and arguments, there isn’t enough to be said to have family surrounding you. When I heard that my sister was moving back next door to my parents’ house I was a little jealous. My parents are amazing people and so much fun to be around. It seems like my family has this predisposition to branch out and test ourselves by going to school several states away. Yet here, I have never appreciated my family more and missed them so much. Appreciated how much they mean to me. How few and far between opportunities like these come, and because of my upbringing and strong influences from my parents and sisters, I can be in Africa and trying to make a difference. I am missing out on their lives but I know they understand. It only saddens me that I can’t share this experience with them now. Hopefully, they will come and visit me. I am told from other PCVs that no one really understands (or can imagine) until they come to visit. It is hard to describe the outdoor bathroom, the sheep in the pen, the hot afternoons and chilly evenings, how bright the moon is at night.

That’s all for now.

We started on my garden three days ago. I woke up and decided that I was going to do that morning, it would give me something to do that would be productive and fulfilling. I started out clearing the trash from the area. The outside of the house is not aesthetically pleasing in the least bit. There are piles of debris, trash, rocks, and it’s ugly. I feel like if I am going to be living here for the next two years I want to have a garden out front. Nothing ridiculous, just some vegetables and herbs.

It started with clearing out the trash and one of my host sisters came with me to help. Then the next door neighbor (landlord’s daughter) came over and started helping. She was great. We cleared out the area of rocks and then lined the space (approximately 10ft x 5ft) with large rocks. She grabbed two huge bags of manure from their sheep?cow? and we unloaded it. The garden was sufficient and looked so much better than before. We watered the area down and made plans to get “kasbor” (parsley/cilantro) in the afternoon. I got a shit-ton of kasbor seeds for 5 Ds. I didn’t need that much but I accepted my bag of seeds and went back to the house. The landlord (my neighbor) told me that we would be putting up a privacy wall and cementing the roof soon “nchallah” (God willing). The roof leaked in one of the rooms, debilating it’s use for the past two years. Whenever it rained Sarah would put buckets underneath, she said it was a pretty major leak. I insisted that they fix the roof before I moved in. Her bedroom and living room were one and the same. She used the leaky room to hang her wash out. I also wanted another window put in. Unfortunately the house is more like an apartment and just an extension of the landlord’s house. So where I wanted to put a window in the kitchen, one of the walls was the back of their bathroom, the other looks into their living room. I settled on a window above the door. It should provide a lot more airflow and light. He also fixed the light in the hallway, which should improve some of the darkness. I don’t know if I want to paint yet. Paint is expensive and I would have to buy all the materials also. It might be worth painting the living room though. Depends on how my funds are looking. I think I could borrow paintbrushes and the like though. I just have to ask around.

Next day, after the garden was planned out, I came back over to start planting. There were some young guys stringing together a bamboo-type plant to make my privacy wall and the others were working right outside the house. The garden was gone. They had leveled out the area and had moved the garden beside the road. They were cementing the area right alongside the front door, like a small patio. Laho, the landlord, explained that this area I could sit and do my laundry. They were lining the garden with cement blocks. It was bigger and looked better than the first one! I wasn’t upset at all. The garden just gave me something to do the day before and now, whether because I should initiative or not, they were putting in a much nicer garden.

Today I went over to help in my garden. We started just pulling out the big rocks. It was hard work, I was sweating (go figure) and the kamikaze gnats were flying straight into my eyes, up my nose, and into my mouth. The lucky ones got spit out. The really lucky ones got digested. I started rooting out some of the smaller rocks. I figured I had the time and I wanted to do this right. Whether it was my initiative or not, they too, started pulling out the smaller rocks. It took up the majority of the morning. I didn’t want a break, it felt good to have my back hurt, sweat in my eyes and dirt under my fingernails. After we pulled out the majority of the rocks, we unloaded two wheelbarrows worth of manure and mixed that in with the earth and made 5 spaces for different vegetables to be planted. Since we had the kasbor already we went ahead and planted those and watered the area. This afternoon I hope to find some tomatoes plants, maybe carrots and others. At this point I will take whatever I can get. This garden is going to be my sanctuary, my medicine. Growing up my mom always had a garden and we always had plants in the house. Thank goodness she passed down that love to me. I love the smell of earth and getting dirty. Already I am thinking about how I can plant a grapevine along the doorway so it can grow up and around. I also thought about how I can get some hanging plants outside the house. Unfortunately I don’t think I am going to be able to have plants inside, too dark, but I will make the outside like a Moroccan jungle (first of its kind). Tomorrow I am headed into my souk town, and there’s a man there that sells plants. I’ll get some from him, they are relatively inexpensive. I also have to get a hose and some other things from the hardware store in order to hang those plants… Productive. Then, on Thursday I plan on going to the sbitar and talking to the nurse there, figuring out some kind of schedule. Things are good…

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Stories: Red does not look good on me...

Oh Henna

Going to the hammam (bathhouse) is the one of the best things to do in Morocco. It is absolutely amazing. There are usually four rooms. The first one is where you change and keep all of your stuff you aren’t directly using in the bathhouse. The next room you walk into is the coolest, the second is warmer and the last one is usually quite hot. It’s like a sauna with running water. You pick out a spot and grab a couple of buckets and go at it. The combination of the steam, hot water and sweating sheds off the first couple layers of skin with a good scrub. Trust me, after a week of not showering, you want to scrub as much off as possible. Lots of other ladies and little kids are around, everyone’s naked. It’s custom to keep on your bottoms but some choose not to. To each their own.

One day, my CBT group decided to go. All of us, together for our first hammam experience. Sounded like a party. Naked party! We grab our stuff and decide to do like the Moroccans and grab some henna and their special soap. It looks like brown goop and you mix it together with the henna and its supposed to be great for your skin and your hair. Our LCF told us that the henna soap was awesome for your hair. It really made it shine. We all added it to our hair. It was a henna party. It smelled earthy and organic. We left it in there for probably twenty minutes or so before we washed it out. We scrubbed and scrubbed until our skin was red.

It wasn’t until the next day when my host mom made a comment about my hair that I looked in the small, hand-size mirror I had brought with me. My hair was red. Like a dark, burgundy red. Like I was 40 and trying to hide grays, or high school teenager who read a lot of sci-fi. My CBT friends said that they liked it, or at least that it wasn’t “that bad”. None of the other girls had any significant difference if any at all. Their hair was darker than mine. I learn quickly. Luckily it washed out in about a month. And by washed out, I mean after about 5-6 times of actually washing my hair. You know, hygiene, its fun.

Side note: There is something that is eating me up like I am their last meal. I don’t want to count how many bites I have but they are everywhere, places that are kept covered for the majority of my time (legs, arms, etc.) Big bites. Invisible mosquitoes. Or bedbugs. I really hope they aren’t bedbugs. I keep on trying to figure it out. Until then, I will be someone’s dinner.

Stories: Hand Plunger

Stopped Up Toilet --James TD Bond

This story is retold by me in James’ words. James lived in a house full of girls. He had five host sisters, ranging in age from 5 to 18 years old. They had one bathroom in the house. James had his own room and everyone else slept in the living room. This is very common. Most PCVs temporarily displace parents or the kids from the room they usually sleep in. For the amount of money host families are paid, this is usually a minor infraction.

Most of us in our CBT site had been experiencing lots of indigestion and health problems. James and I topped the list with my ghiarrdia and his constipation and subsequently diaherria.

“So one morning I woke up with these major stomach cramps, like I HAD to use the bathroom and I needed to do it before the rest of the family woke up and starting going. So I slip in there and start going. I cleaned out my body. There was A LOT of poop. I start pouring water down the bit and it’s not draining. It’s just sitting there and filling up. I can hear the family starting to wake up. I panic cause they know it had to have been me. So I reach down there and start breaking up the poop. With my hand. And it’s not going down. It’s still not going down! So I wash off my hand with the soap in there and go out and find the dad. I tell him I have a problem and lead him back to the bathroom. He fills up an empty Coke bottle and starts going at it. Like a plunger. There is poo water going everywhere, and he is sloshing it around—all over his shoes, all over the sides of the walls, it’s crazy. And then, all of a sudden, the water starts going down. By this time the rest of the family is awake. I of course, wash my hands again and leave the soap on my one hand and stand outside for a good ten minutes, with my hand in the sun, drying the soap up.”

(not verbatim but close enough)

Stories: Upstairs Vagina

Upstairs Vagina

Also during CBT, I had a way of explaining what I was trying to say by using lots of actions, elaborate gestures and facial expressions. Trying to explain to my host mom and the roommate one night that I wanted to go upstairs and go to sleep I found out some naughty words. I was acting out the difference of upstairs and downstairs. Had a wall been there I would have fooled them completely and they would have looked for the invisible set of stairs. Seeing at there was not, I was just stomping around, lowering myself bit by bit and then doing the opposite, saying “Upstairs-upstairs-upstairs, Downstairs-downstairs-downstairs,” back and forth, much to their delight. My host mom was ROFL, she was laughing so hard she was practically crying. Both the roommate and my mom were watching me, just laughing. I had no idea, so I asked her what was going on?! What was wrong? And she explained to me that “Upsheesh,” sounding very similar to “upstairs” means vagina in Tam. So I had been stomping around her kitchen, yelling out “Vagina-vagina-vagina” to her and her roommate. They loved it, and it was my first of many bad words.

Stories: Salaam!

Salaam!

During CBT in Ouiouazaight in the Azilal Province, Joseph and I were walking home from school together one evening. It had been a long day and we wanted to stop and grab something to drink at one of the local hanuts. Joseph and I lived farther away from the other kids in our CBT, past the souq area and slaughterhouse. This area was frequented by huffers, potheads, and the local crazies. On our way home we always kept an eye out for the local crazies because they would instantly target us and try to come over and talk to us or demand money. He saw us enter the hanut and followed us in. We had dubbed him “Zabadaga” because when he would approach us he would salute us and then yell out, “Zabadaga!” and thrust his hand out for a D (dirham). Zabadaga went straight up to me and started asking for money. There were maybe another five people in this small closet sized area, overflowing with goods. Joseph and I both had on bookbags too, which adds a new dimension to movement. I had been consistent with refusing to give beggars money. I was going to live there for two months, give beggars some money one time and then they come to expect it. This time was an exception. The man was in my face and I could smell the fig wine on his breath, see his rotting teeth, the yellows of his eyes. I just wanted him out of my face. I reached in my pocket and produced a coin, placing it into his dirty outstretched hand. His reaction was the catalyst to the chaos. He immediately started kissing my hand and then pulled my head down to kiss me on my forehead. Mass confusion. Other men at the hanut instantly started to pull the man away from me. It wasn’t sexual in any way, just elaborate and fast and I didn’t really know what was going on. Well this freaked out Joseph. He just wanted to get out. In his effort to leave he turned quickly, running into the man behind him and swinging his bookbag into the wall of stuff. Knocked off balance he falls back into the wall yelling, “Salaaaaamm!” arms outstretched, trying to hold back the falling goodies. It was hilarious. He tells me later ,that he had panicked and couldn’t think of any other word in Tam except for Salaam and that was what came out of his mouth. Salaam means peace, so appropriate I guess, but just watching Joseph’s face was amazing. Joseph has also told a group of people “LLaysHel” as he was leaving, which is a phrase used for beggars meaning “may God be easy on you” instead of the usual “slama” (bye).