Keeping Christmas Tradition

My family, probably like most lovely families of the western world, has many traditions that I associate with the Christmas season. This is the first Christmas I have spent away from my family, and, sadly, there is no Christmas to be noted in this area.

One of my favorite and most notable traditions in my family household is the reading of the Tall Book of Christmas on Christmas Eve. The Tall Book of Christmas is indeed about three times taller than it is wide, and is an anthology of short stories, poems, and songs about Christmas. It's definitely intended for children under the age of 8. However, every Christmas eve my family gathers around the tree by the fireplace and takes turns reading our favorite stories from the book, converging to the final story, Twas the Night Before Christmas. At this point, my dad takes the book and my mom, Rachel, and I all try to recite as much as we can from memory. I think we've improved over the last decade or two.

Without my family here, I decided to bring my traditions with me, and do what all westerners do and force my traditions upon others.

I teach three different groups of students, and in our math classes, we talked about how snowflakes are formed, and looked at some photos, and discussed the different rotational and reflective symmetries. Then they made paper snowflakes (with the correct angle of rotational symmetry, 60 degrees) while I read them (or recited) The Night Before Christmas. Only one class called me out and made me give the words to someone else to monitor my progress, but I got myself through the first half to the description of Santa, and then mixed up where his nose, cheeks, and mouth were supposed to be described. I like to call it artistic license. I made a Picasso of Livingston's original poem. That's good, right?

Christmas was well celebrated, among friends, both Moroccan and American, both Christian and Muslim, both students and peers. To all my loved ones at home: I miss you, and have thought of you much these weeks. May your season be blessed, and your time with your loved ones be dear. I wish you all the greatest of joy, be it with those next door or those who are far away.

Mountain Village

At the end of the school term, the half day marks the last day of the grading cycle, rewarding our six weeks with an extra afternoon of weekend. This always becomes an extra half-day AT LEAST of grading, but it's fun to have the break in the schedule.

After grading for several hours on Friday, my fellow teachers and I departed for the wedding of one of the Moroccan employees to another Moroccan teacher. Najet and Morad had been engaged for some time, and they invited all their family, friends, and coworkers to the wedding ceremony. The Moroccan wedding ceremony involves everyone sitting on froshes around one or more central areas where snacks are served. A live band plays traditional music, and everyone dances for several hours. The bride and groom emerge together, get their photos taken with their guests on the elaborate wedding throne, and leave. Another hour of dancing follows. The bride and groom process through the room again, in different but equally elaborate and royal attire. Their friends crowd around them to take pictures, they leave, and the Arabic dancing resumes.

The fifth dress was accompanied by a headdress the size of five people, and the bride and groom each sat in small hexagonal platforms, and were lifted by their friends. The sixth dress was a white gown, in a semi-American style, and was accompanied by a beautiful cake. The bride and groom fed one another cake, and they were so sweet together.

After the wedding, Ethan and I left for the Mountain village of Taghassiline, where his friend Rachid and his family live. We stopped to buy a carpet and walked around the town a bit, and I left to make couc-cous with Rachid's sister Souad and his cousin Khadija, and his mother. While out to buy the cous-cous supplies, we discovered the store closed! "It's not a problem," said Rachid, and walked around the corner to rap on a door. "I know the guy." He knocked several times, to no avail, and started calling "Mohamed! Open up!" When this was met with no reply, he lofted a rock in the upper open window! "I guess he's not home," he concluded after a minute.

We found another place to buy our cous-cous supplies, and Souad explained the process as all the women helped to mix and pour and stir. All preparations were done on a blanket over the dirt floor, since their house has no furniture, but the cat was happy as this meant the cookpot was set on the floor. The cat immediately huddled beside it. We put the cous-cous on to steam for the first step and retreated back to the warm room. The warm room was devoid of furnishings besides dozens of blankets and a television. The blankets stacked on the floor to make the sitting area during the day, and spread out to make the family bed for the women at night. After the cous-cous dinner and an evening huddled together beside the fire, I slept here, between Souad and Khadija.

It was nice to be so welcomed into their lifestyle.

Morning Call to Prayer

The mosque close to my apartment has the most intricate, beautiful call to prayer just before dawn. This video doesn't do it justice; it layers several levels of harmony. The view looks down on the street from my window.

Layers

It got cold shwia. Not very cold, just a little, the kind that if you stay outside all day you start losing feeling in your fingers, or getting little chills, without really realizing that the temperature's dropped. The only thing is, the buildings here are cement, with no heat or insulation country-wide. Inside is actually a couple degrees COLDER than outside. I took my students outside yesterday for nature study because it was warmer there. (And we painted a cool tree, so that wasn't the ONLY reason.) In one class, we played a game that required the students to have ordinal numbers, so I declared that the number 1 person on each team would be the person wearing the most layers. The number 1 students were all wearing 4 layers. To school, in the middle of class, so this is not including winter coats and scarves for the most part. Mostly the students (and teachers) wear our winter coats through 2nd or 3rd period, then it warms up enough to drop down to 3 or 4 layers. Still, I can't believe this is winter! I may go to the mountains over Christmas just so I can see snow and be convinced.

Smithsonian

If anyone gets the Smithsonian magazine, look up an article in the September 2009 issue by Susan Orlean, called "Where Donkeys Deliver." It's all about the donkeys in my city, and it's very well-written. I don't know why I hadn't particularly taken note of the donkeys everywhere here, but they are used in the Medina (which is a foot-traffic-only city) for every kind of transportation that can't be done by people. The worst insult in the Arabic language is to call somebody a donkey. Anyway, the article is worth reading.