A panoramic view

My site photoshopped. My house is a short distance past the white mosque on the right via the paved road. Areas of my site have different names; I’ll call them neighborhoods. Starting on the left of the photo to the mosque is the area called Taznight, where my host family lives. After the mosque, one enters Mdafa or “high zoea” where I live and which continues until a paved road splits and heads towards the river and continues south into the Sahara. From Mdafa to the southern edge of town is Harash or “low zoea.” More confusing is my attempts to figure out area boundaries across the river, where Labkhata, Rwabah, and Ouled Khlifa are located. The river is called Oued El Hay (the living river) and extends more than 100 km.

Brother and neighbors

My host brother Yosshine.


Hassan (11) and Oumayma (7), the children of my neighbor Meddi, who is a professor in Oujda and is returning next week to begin the school year. Like elsewhere, children here are ornery. And they love to make fun of me; laughing at my strange behavior, attempting to teach me dirty words, and imitating my arabic.

I think there’s a difference between these city kids, Hassan and Oumayma, and those in my village. Besides a father whose a professor and living in a city of half a million, they attend a private school, where teachers don’t use the rote memorization used in public schools, but encourage critical thinking and problem solving. The result is that in general, these children have more self confidence.

I’ve read that educational reform in the Arab world is being led by the United Arab Emirates. Arab scholar Muhammad Boneb from Qatar call this a change from monologue to dialogue learning. “Our Arab culture has been raised on monologue. Hey listen, but don’t talk. Today, we have to give children the opportunity to talk.”

Blair speech in L.A.

UK Prime Minister Tony Blair made the following remarks several weeks ago in the midst of the Lebanon/Israel crisis.

“..We must commit ourselves to a complete renaissance of our strategy to defeat those that threaten us. There is an arc of extremism now stretching across the Middle East and touching, with increasing definition, countries far outside that region. To defeat it will need an alliance of moderation, that paints a different future in which Muslim, Jew and Christian; Arab and Western; wealthy and developing nations can make progress in peace and harmony with each other. My argument to you today is this: we will not win the battle against this global extremism unless we win it at the level of values as much as force, unless we show we are even-handed, fair and just in our application of those values to the world...

Unless we re-appraise our strategy, unless we revitalise the broader global agenda on poverty, climate change, trade, and in respect of the Middle East, bend every sinew of our will to making peace between Israel and Palestine, we will not win. And this is a battle we must win.”

Find the rest at http://www.number10.gov.uk/output/Page9948.asp. I think this is a good speech, maybe a Winston Churchill “Iron Curtain” speech of our time. All we need know is a Truman to deliver.

I’m reading an old biography on Leo Tolstoy by author Isaiah Berlin titled “The Hedgehog and the Fox.” He writes “there is a line among the fragments of the Greek poet Archilochus which says: ‘the fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.’” Berlin divides leaders, thinkers, and others into two categories; the hedgehog, who tries to integrate all of his experiences and thoughts into a single, overarching concept of life and the fox, who as he puts it, have ideas about the world "without seeking to fit them into, or exclude them from, any one unchanging, all-embracing, sometimes self-contradictory and incomplete, at times fanatical, unitary inner vision."

Berlin summarizes that the famous Russian author was a fox that wanted to be a hedgehog in his latter years. I think Tony Blair is a fox too. He’s showed himself to be steadfast and ethical, not insular or sanctimonious. Now, if Blair is the fox of modern times, who is the hedgehog?

Back at site

Work at my site is picking up. Next month, en shalla, I’ll start teaching English at the women’s center in the evening. I’m looking forward to this and getting my lesson plans ready. Alphabet, numbers, then reflexive and transitive verbs. Also, I’ve been interviewing people, specifically farmers about their land management practices; what is public/private, how is water allocated, what’s the crop calendar, are chemicals used (no), etc. This is done in effort to establish the communities needs and strengths. Learning the language and culture makes this an incremental process.

The project that is my white whale, by which I mean I’ll be chasing it down for probably the next two years in hope’s of completing it before I leave is wastewater management. The main association that I’ll be working with this on has a large grant from the Ministry of the Environment and they want me to help them find a way to take their wastewater, clean it biologically (not chemically), and release it into the river. Peace Corps Morocco has done projects like this elsewhere, so the information and examples are available and I have an idea what the end product is, its just getting there. Like the language and cultural, this is incremental process.

My research in my natural reserve, SIBE Lalla Shafia, and on my ecological resource book is on standby. I need transportation (4x4- kat kat) into the SIBE from the forest department and flora/fauna books from them and PC to properly identify species in my site. I have photos with the names of most species thanks to the help of my uncle, the herb doctor, but need to double check. Often I feel like what I could accomplish in a day back home takes a week here.

Since I got back on Monday, there’s been no water at my outside tap or at one of the communal one’s 200 yards away. Therefore, I’ve had to schlep my water jugs 2 km to the closest spring at my site. It’s not a great inconvenience, it just means I use less water and bathe in the river. For some of my neighbors at a higher elevation that don’t have running water because of a lack of water pressure, this is the norm. Children or donkeys carry water jugs to communal taps, the springs, or the river. I’d be more concerned about this water issue if I wasn’t surrounded by it.

August is almost over, but the wedding celebrations that epitomize the month are still widespread. Last week, I went to a wedding that started at 10 PM. Dinner was at 11 PM and I left by midnight, but the wedding continued until 6 AM. Last night, I attended the first evening of an 8 day wedding. The father of the groom is the zoeat of my community, which means that he is the tribal leader of the area and a descendant of the prophet Mohammed. His position was once political, economic, and social, but now only remains the previous. My relationship with him should be unique, he’s unofficially the most important man in the community. A full explanation deserves its own post later. Of note, he has invited the whole commune (6 towns) to the weddings- about 5,000 people. Last night, I sat amongst 500 plus men in 5 tents listening to music and watching them dance. The women were inside a nearby house. I don’t know there number. Gender separation is interesting. For example, at the swimming pool on Sundays, 200 men will be wading in a 25 meter pool, while the women will be in an enclosed room where there is a 5 meter pool.

So, Moroccan weddings are marathon events. Lots of dancing, music is played very loud, and participants often sit in the berber squat for hours. In the cities, they drive around, blaring their horns with passengers hanging out the windows. And this joyriding can continue all night, making sleep difficult.

“Many things end with acceptance not understanding.”

A quixotic journey

This last weekend Josh, Graham, my friend Matt from Khenifra and myself went to Cap des Trois Fourches, located on the tip of a peninsula 30 kilometers past the Spanish province of Mellila. It was one of my best experiences in Morocco so far. It was a quixotic journey.

We headed north last Saturday. The road to the coastal city of Nador was uneventful, which is perhaps an indicator of sorts of our cultural assimilation. In the city streets or on the highway here, taxi drivers speed with reckless abandon, making wild passes and dangerous turns that would normally make one crawl up their seat, but is now yawned upon. They are professionals. In fact, we often complain about the opposite, when our carrier drives two slow or when he fails to make a pass.

From Nador, we traveled 30 km on a windy road that hugs the coast and cuts through numerous small fishing towns, where small blue row boats carry men past the coves out into sea. Upon reaching our destination, a military lighthouse that resembled a monastery, we handed over our passports, identified ourselves and chatted up a half dozen soldiers. The lighthouse exists there to thwart contraband from coming and leaving Morocco.

We found our camping spot in a cove near the lighthouse. Anxious to swim, we jumped in the clear, cool green water with schools of fish swimming amongst the numerous reefs. Without goggles and swimming like a bear (they perform the backstroke in water, right), I didn’t see the jellyfish or kindilou lbahr (candle of the sea). I was stung once on the shoulder and still have the scar (hope its permanent). After that, we got out of the water, saw that the tide had brought in many jellies, and decided to snorkel elsewhere.

After lunch, we hiked to the other side of the lighthouse, where locals were swimming at a small beach. Of greater interest, we saw several boys jumping off a cliff probably 35 feet high. As is typical with males in a group, once together you start thinking with one brain. We all climbed up the cliff and jumped off. It wasn’t until right after I made the leap that I began to think, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Too late for that; we yelled “Yallah” (Oh my god!) and enjoyed the free fall. Like the whole trip, this deserves seconds.

We swam and laid around the rest of the afternoon, taking turns snorkeling with our new purchase, a spear-gun. It’s amazing that just when I think I’m gaining a grasp on the world, that its strangeness and size are diminishing, an underwater ecosystem reveals itself. I say that with some naivety because I’m from centerville, but also with an appreciation for a place where humanity’s thick, crude hands have left less of a mark.

“Nature’s beauty still outshines the treasures of human invention.”

With respect for nature, we still hunted like Captain Ahab. The fish were too small and quick, with suitable fish being too deep- we need fins and a weight belt to dive down quickly for them. Graham and Josh, however, did manage to catch a couple. After I fired one time, the spear slipped off the string and I had to dive 20 feet to retrieve it where I also found a conch, but we tossed this back after the first night because of its foul smell. Catching little the first day, we were left with food rations of rice, bananas, some bread, and hot sauce. I’d like to say we could have starved, but we had a lot of rice. However, the octupi caught the following day did diversify our spread and sweetened the trip.

On the way back, we stopped at a friends house in Berkane. After showering and while the others were doing the same, I went down to the corner store to get some powder milk, hot sauce, and soy sauce; the necessities. . As I walking back, I met a man on the street that spoke some English. He said: “Hey my friend, how are you?” Good. “Why don’t you go back to Europe.” I was taken back a little because I was unprepared andthis is uncommon. After I passed him I thought I should have rebutted, “but I’m not European, I’m from America.” Now is probably not the best time for that though.

The worlds a mixed bag, not as simple as good versus evil, but its often the paradox of humanity that just when ugliness occurs, something nice, sometimes beautiful happens to lift you up and restore your faith.

Later, as we were saying goodbye to Matt at the train station in Oujda, we started ‘spinning the yarn’ (I hear some people are nostalgic for that phrase) with a porter that Graham and I have befriended. He’s a friendly, elderly gentleman that has worked at the station for over 20 years. As the train pulled in and our conversation curbed, he turned to us and said “I like Americans. You are nice and all of you speak arabic.” We believe he’s only spoke with the 5 PCV’s that have been through Oujda.

“To avoid cynicism, one must learn to recognize human error and accept it as a constant variable.”

Taza girls

Two neighbors of a PCV near Taza.

"I’ve often thought there ought to be a manual to hand to kids, telling them what kind of planet they’re on. Why they don’t fall off it, how much time they’ve probably got here, how to avoid poison ivy, and so on. I tried to write one once. It was called ‘Welcome to Earth’. But I got stuck on explaining why we don’t fall off the planet. Gravity is just a word. It doesn’t explain anything. If I could get past gravity, I’d tell them how we reproduce, how long we’ve been here, apparently, and a little bit about evolution. And one thing I would really like to tell them about is cultural relativity. I didn’t learn until I was in college about other cultures, and I should have learned that in first grade. A first grader should understand that his or her culture isn t a rational invention and that there are thousands of other cultures and they all work pretty well; that all cultures function on faith rather than truth; that there are lots of alternatives to our own society. Cultural relativity is defensible and attractive. It’s also a source of hope. It means we don’t have to continue this way if we don’t like it." -Kurt Vonnegut

A fisherman's life

Photo from near Essaouira taken by Lindsey Ludwig.

“I am within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” -F. Scott Fitzgerald

Josh hearts dragons

Josh getting ready to go spearfishing. We walked probably 5 km to find this somewhat isolated place away from the thousands on the beaches of Saida. Well worth it.

Here's Jacques Cousteau elated before spearfishing. About a minute after this photo, he lost his speargun and water had begun to enter his goggles. Points for effort. The french we know along the coast use spearguns, not a tent pole.

A lackluster holiday

Sunday was Throne Day in Morocco, the national holiday celebrating the 7th anniversary of the King's enthronement. I was in Jerada getting some work done with Graham. Red and green moroccan flags representing national pride ran up and down the streets, but there were no major events except one large gathering at the cultural center. I asked a local friend how the celebration was; he replied that it was subdued this year because of the recent events in Lebanon and Israel. And he was right, the recent conflict has been heavy on many peoples minds here.

Al Jazeera coverage of the continuing conflict has replaced World Cup finales played early this month in every cafe I visit. At the risk of being misunderstood or reprimanded, I won’t talk about the conflict, but will discuss one aspect of the news coverage here that has been interesting. Al Jazeera operating out of Qatar is the largest TV news station out of the middle east and the main operator. They are disliked by governments in their region and around the world for their uncensored coverage; they show much of the death and despair of war. Unaccustomed to graphic programming of injury and death of current conflict on both sides to women, children, and men, I can only say its a harrowing scene.

To close this matter, I’d like to say that although the Moroccan populace might not agree with many decisions made by the American government, they have made the distinction between this entity and individuals like myself. On the whole, I’ve been treated very well here and now feel at home. So kudos to that; prejudice doesn’t require any work, but tolerance is a strength of character that does not come easy.

On a lighter note, I now believe that my site is becoming a water theme park. Down by the river and amongst the swimming pool in a town of maybe 1000 people, two dozen temporary bamboo cafes are in full bloom, selling basically the same stuff, but independent all the same. It’s the middle of the main tourist season now, with people streaming down from Oujda and Jerada. On Sunday’s, as many as 400 visitors will come. They come with their families to swim (the women that do so are fully clothed) and converse in the cafes. Of notice, in the last week someone has constructed a made for Africa safari featuring a life-size giraffe, elephant, rhino, and horse amongst the waterfalls that flow into the river. We’re only missing Ronald McDonald, although I did see him in Fez at their McD’s two months ago when I had the McArab sandwich.

As part of an increasing workload, one of my first projects has been to survey the local, undeveloped SIBE (natural park). After I finish later, I’ll present a management proposal to the parks department. This SIBE is not a high priority for the department, but it is a project they asked to be completed. I’ve only been there once in their 4x4 (kat kat) and have walked it a little. Mostly helfa grass, some pistach trees (like pistachio), lizards, scorpions, and some birds. Of interest, I’ve heard from locals that there are also vipers and wild boars. I question the vipers (they and cobras exist in the south), but not the boars. Farmers have told me they trap boars because they’ll destroy crops. This peeked my interest; what do you do with the boar after you’ve killed it? Eating pork is forbidden in Islam and it would be a major faux pas for me to have a barbecue in the front yard, but its been a nice joke over the last 2 weeks when some have asked when I’m going to have a house warming party. Of interest, the word in classic arabic for pig is Khanzear, which is also the same word for cancer. I’ve been told that you can get pork in the Spanish province of Melilla, 2.5 hours away.

I’m not cooking pork chops in my kitchen, but I am beginning to use my propane stove and oven. In one of my last experiences with propane several years ago, my roommate Frank singed all of his arm hair, eyebrows, and head hair. En shalla, things will be better here. So far, I’ve made mashed potatoes, rice and beans, tacos, and tuna surprise (I wouldn’t call it a casserole). I suspect I’ll be eating a lot of rice and beans. PC gave us a thick cookbook and in addition to calisthenics and running, I think cooking will be a great stress reducer.

A continuing stress is the money situation. The moroccan currency is the dirham (dhm), but they can also refer to the price of an item in franks (formerly French), ryals (Saudia Arabia), and duros (I haven’t figured this one out yet). And sometimes we get it in Euros. Most of the times its in franks, like a coke is 400 franks, 4 dhms, or .45 dollars. Or that’s 80 ryals. Here’s a story from a month ago to illuminate the point. Josh, Graham, and I needed a taxi from Saida to an isolated beach 24 km away. We argued at one taxi stand, but couldn’t get him lower than 200 dhms. We left and later found another driver willing to take us for 35 dhms. We asked him several times, “in dirham.” He agreed and as we passed the taxi stand where we got the higher quote, we regretfully said those cursed words, “who’s the sucker now.” It was a beautiful, scenic drive. We chatted up the driver and as we pulled to a stop, I gave the driver his money and we began to exit. “Yes, where’s the rest.” I told him the price we had heard. “No, it’s 35 alif,” which is 3500 franks or 350 dhms. People rarely refer to the currency they’re calculating by, but we never heard him say alif (thousand). We argued for the next hour and a half as the sun set. He called us crazy, we told him he was crazy, he said you must think I’m crazy, and in the end we gave him 250 dhms and left, flailing are arms in the air and cussing as if it was a bad call in a Chiefs-Broncos game. We’re still sour at that guy, but its a growing pain that we’ve learned from.

Using 4 different currencies is in my opinion a holdover from colonialism and a byproduct of Morocco’s diversity. Many of the people I meet at souk that can’t make the calculation from franks to dirhams were probably born before France left and its now just ingrained. I can’t get too mad for I do the samething; when I buy something I make the conversion to dollars. Another problem is that illiteracy rate is 39%, which is an improvement since King Muhammad VI came to the throne and introduced reading programs across the country. Related to diversity, Morocco is a place where the middle east meets the west, where capitalism meets traditional values, and where 5 languages are spoken. I commend Morocco for being able to bridge this divide for the most part. It’s a challenging situation and I’ll leave it for another day. I do wonder how much the language divide hinders development.

Even after our exploits at Saida, the three of us have decided to return there for a week on Thursday. At a large Artisan Fair, we will be manning an environmental booth explaining among other things, the cultivation of helfa grass, which is abundant in the northeast and is used for making craft products. We should be camping somewhere on the beach. Josh has just bought a snorkel set and has constructed a bamboo spear. He thinks he’s going to spear fish like the frenchies. It will be fun and I’ll try to spin the yarn next week. Take care.

P.S. To my lovely grandmothers, I have received your numerous letters. Thanks for the b-day cards too. The question is, have you received my letters? I’ve sent ‘em. Keep writing.