Chemicals!!

The rainy season strikes again - everyone is sick, and the locals are telling us that it's either because we aren't wearing gloves when it's raining, or because we're dumping hot water down the drain, thus angering the drain-djiin.

There were only 3 teachers to actually make it to the elementary school yesterday; and all three were mildly ill. In the middle of math class, the elementary principal walks in. She is fantastic. The whole sixth grade choruses 'Goooood moooorning' in a sufficiently adorable way to diffuse whatever irritation she might have from their latest misdemeanors, but she reassures them that she's only here to bring me some Vitamin C.

She pours me a cup of water and hands me a dissolvable bright orange tab, which immediately begins fizzing once dropped in the water. She doesn't realize what a gift this is for the science class. I yell 'CHEMICAL REACTION,' and the whole sixth grade bounds out of their seats to watch the Vitamin disappear in the cup of water, staining it fluorescent orange. We spend the next 10 minutes discussing reactions, chemical solutions, and the importance of vitamins to the body.


I love my job.

Taboo Subject

I had a sick day today. My stomach is suffering from too much Morocco.

There's no way around it; this country is just hard on the digestive system. Chemically, I wonder what the exact issues are, but even the locals report trouble more frequently than I'm accustomed to. Everyone who visits here gets sick, it seems... foreign bellies just aren't ready for the dense, delicious traditional cuisine.

After several months here, I had considered myself immune, but I realize that my diet while living here has been fairly basic. When I cook for myself, I usually eat sandwiches with delicious khubz bread, or some combination of the endless yogurt products. Since last month, I have been determined to prepare real Moroccan cous-cous correctly, and this weekend I tackled my first tagine. I made a tagine with steak pieces and potatos, carrots, zucchini, turnips, and a couple other vegetables I don't know the English names for. It actually turned out quite well, and the seasoning was decent. I made this for my Moroccan friend and her mother, who I hosted at my house yesterday after school for only about 5 hours. We had a lovely time together, and I got some ideas for next time I make tagine.

However, my body maybe doesn't like this frequency of eating traditional Moroccan cooking every day. I stayed home from school, since I wasn't really able to be vertical safely, much less move around to teach.

It entertains me that, though digestive sicknesses of all kinds are not considered delicate conversation topics in my home culture, here people are quite matter-of-fact. A friend and co-teacher who called me asked straight out, "Do you have diarrhea? Are you throwing up?" I guess that's the result when the digestive system presents such a regular interference to daily life.

I'm going back to sandwiches.

Open Doors

On Monday, my best Moroccan friend turned 22, and celebrated her first birthday. Birthdays are not typically celebrated here, and it seems that many locals don't even keep track of their age. At the most, they can often recall the year they were born - it took some basic math just to figure out her age for Monday. She loves American gatherings, and this seemed like one of the best opportunities. However, at the time it was supposed to occur, the country intervened, as usual. It was re-scheduled, but then transportation ran late, and her family's business making leather jackets was involved, and the party finally did happen the next night. Myself and two of my American girlfriends arrived and met a room full of Moroccan women in beautiful caftans, dancing away to fun Arabic music. We had delicious cake, and it was good to see her and her family.

At my own place, we've had guests all week. My roommate's best friend from CA is visiting, and 3aisa's girlfriend is staying with us for a few days while visiting him from America. I've been meeting with several girls who are visiting the city, to help show them around. They are expert travelers, and amazingly insightful and inquisitive girls from America and Australia, so my week has been a time of forging new friendships and playing hostess, which I love, whether it be in my city or my house, or just in this new culture that I have come to love.

Glad to Be Home

I have returned to Fes from my week out of the country. My passport is stamped and so the Moroccan government will allow me to stay for another 3 months. While out of the country, I had a great time being able to talk to people without worrying. However, I was unable to talk with many people because of the language barrier, so returning to Fes was a nice change. My French and Arabic may be poor, but they are miles ahead of my Slovene.

Slovenia was beautiful, with tiny steep hills everywhere, covered in green, and a house or two perched at the top of each hill. It looked like a cartoon illustration from a Dr. Seuss book.

Back in my city, I immediately set out to explore. Well, ok, I took a nap first. I spent the night before in the airport. When I finally did set out to explore, the beautiful blue sky let through enough sunshine to make me think spring was here. Everywhere, people who have been huddled in their houses returned to walk the streets in the Medina. Women donned their fashionable satin djellabahs instead of the bulky fleece winter ones, and the street vendors seemed to double by the hour.

I went to the Medina with the intention of getting a birthday present for a Moroccan friend, who is celebrating her first birthday this year! She is my age, but has never had a birthday party or anything to celebrate this date. In the Medina, I was immediately invited to sit and have tea with one of the elderly shopkeepers, who then walked me to another store to show his new set of paintings, and then wanted to introduce me to his daughter, who is learning English. She works at a preschool across town, so he called his son or nephew to watch his shop and took me across town to meet his daughter. She was not working at the time, so I saw the school, and we returned to the Medina, found her and the rest of his family, and ate tagine together. One of the younger relations and I discussed common messages in the Bible and the Qu'aran, and one of the boys taught me a lesson in Berber drumming. Insha'allah Hannan and I will meet up this weekend to practice our various languages together.

I love this city.

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.