Christmas Kbir - A cultural melange

In preparation for Christmas, I will be killing a sheep. This week, Muslim’s all over the world celebrate L’Aid Kbir or The Big Feast or The Feast of the Sheep. Now, of course, all of us good Catholics will remember immediately that Abraham was ask by God to sacrifice his son for the remission of his sins. Having tested Abraham’s devotion and found him a true disciple, God gave him a sheep to sacrifice at the very moment he was prepared to kill his son. This story is in both the Bible and the Quran and is the basis for this Friday’s activities. Islam runs on a lunar calendar and therefore the religious holidays change each year. This, last month in the Islamic calendar, is “du l-Hijja” and, in addition to this annual sacrifice, is when people make the pilgrimage to Mecca. Our news broadcasts are littered with pictures of the sacred space jam-packed full of worshipers. It’s quite a sight.

As I understand it, the events of the next few days will go as follows:

First, we will fast for a couple days in preparation. This simply means not eating between sunrise and sunset. Everyone buys new cloths. Houses and bodies are cleansed and purified. The Hammam (public bath houses) will be jammed all week and almost every piece of furniture and blanket in the house will be hauled onto the roof for sun purification. My family has already bought their sheep and it is resting peacefully in the countryside, awaiting dooms day. On Friday it will be brought to the house (or many Thursday nights) and kept on the roof. Friday is when things get fuzzy. They (being the family) will doing the actual killing. As my family is wealthy, they have hired the butcher to come rip it apart. Other families do all the dirty work themselves. According to local custom, there is an order in which the animal parts are eaten. The first day is lungs, heart, and several other internal organs. Day two will be feet and head (yes, all of it – eyes, brain, et all) and then moving on to more basic cuts as the days progress. They are concerned about this reconciling with my vegetarianism…

In addition to all of this holiday cheer, I have been incessantly listening to my three Christmas CDs and am feeling very jolly. My wonderful community is exceedingly concerned with giving me a proper Christmas and has planned quite a feast (in addition to the sheep.) While the meal will be entirely untraditional, the volunteer from Berrchid (a thirty minute taxi ride from here) has been invited to come overstuff himself with me on the 24th in proper Christmas tradition. A local friend has even offered me a bottle of red wine for the occasion (remember, any alcohol is forbidden in Islam thus making this gift a real treat.) I am going to attempt a semblance of Christmas bakery but it will no doubt turn out looking Moroccan. It will taste great all the same.

Bzzaf news

Here it is December and I have failed to write in over 2 months. My only excuse is that I have been desperately learning Arabic, overcoming my bafflement, and starting a new job. The short of the long is that I have been (in no particular order) between Fes, Sefrou, Ben Ahmed, and Mrirt all the while having language and technical training. The reality of it is that I have spent the last 2 months hanging out with some extraordinarily interesting PC trainees, volunteers and Moroccans just generally having a good time. You see, this is the beauty of being a PCV: if you pass a whole day without doing anything that would be defined as “productive” in the American sense of the word, but you managed to mail a letter or get an important point across in Arabic, you have had a successful day. Other “productive” projects include drinking tea (if with another Moroccan or if had with cross cultural conversation), attending sessions regarding Moroccan politics, education and religion, and learning the ins and outs of bike maintenance (included with this activity is a well stocked, customized tool kit). If, for any reason, I should need medicinal, linguistic, or general support, there is an outstanding team of people with cell phones in pocket just waiting for my call. The support, thus far, has been unsurpassable.

A large part of these first three months is building relationships with the staff and the fellow volunteers in my stage. There are only three times during my service that we will all be together. One of them was the last three months. We meet again in 6 months and then again on our way out. Most of us came to the Peace Corps with an appetite for solitude and distance from everything and anyone American. We were all surprised to find how enjoyable these last three months were, in close proximity to upwards of 30 other Americans. We are like-minded in our expatriation but our specialties range from politics and business to the arts and women’s development. Our discussions are diverse and very well informed. When we are not in class, on the road or in the community, we keep ourselves warm with heated conversations and tea. Several of us have started a long distance book club that will reconvene for discussion in six months. Our first book is War and Peace.

There are five of us who have taken particularly well to each other: Ami, Adam, Pedja, Clark and myself. Inchala (God willing), we will be meeting up for a little Christmas celebration on the beach. I moved “home” on Tuesday and am certainly feeling the distance from the people I have taken comfort in. Fortunately, though, I was well forewarned of the shocking disparity between training and the beginning of service. I have equipped myself with books (War and Peace ought to last awhile), yoga, and writing to ease the transition. So far, so good. The people here are incredibly welcoming and I look forward to working my way into a comfortable life here.

In other news, I was elected “Volunteer Advisory Committee” representative for my stage. I will act as the liaison between the Peace Corps staff and the twenty-seven volunteers I swore in with. I will have the opportunity to travel several times a year for meetings, among other unforeseen possibilities, and work intimately with my programming staff and country director.

We finished language and technical training on Saturday, Sunday was our day off, and Monday was the big day: swearing in. We woke up early and put on our one clean, business casual outfit that has been sitting in the bottle of our suitcase for 3 months, and hopped on buses that took us to the most upscale hotel in town. It is the quintessential, colonial Morocco setting, complete with waterfalls and Moroccan style cabanas. Many of our host families were able to join us. Also among the crowd were several high level Moroccan officials, the US ambassador to Morocco, and, of course, all in country PC staff. Our language training has been split between three different languages; each of which was represented by a speech given by the volunteer who has shown most progress in their respective language. All other announcements and speeches were translated multilingually. It was a phenomenal experience to be a part of something so intensely cross-cultural. Finally, we gallantly raised our right hands and pledged our commitment to ourselves, the Peace Corps and, most importantly, to the people of Morocco. This lovely affair was followed by a delicious meal and charming conversation. Much of the food disappeared into host family handbags and only Americans conceded the concept of a line for pictures with the ambassador. A good time was had by all and now it is time to get to work!

It hardly feels like the holidays here but I listen to Christmas music and think of you all often.

Mrs H., Dad and Clara, You may never know how comforting it is to receive your letters. Shukran Bzzaff!

Mrs. H - Do give the whole family a hug on my behalf.

Well here is Sefrou I am busier than a bee in honey season so I will give a brief update. This past week has been full of language and good food (they feed me like a queen) and a trip to the public bath house. This has to be the highlight of my week. My host family does not have a bathroom per say so we packed up our buckets, towels and soap and stripped down in the Hamam. I scrubbed from head to toe by my host sister and I came out radiant as a sunbeam. We head back to Fes to meet up with the rest of the volunteers and debrief about our experiences. In between my own language endevours, the other volunteers and I are working on programs at the youth house where we spend our evenings. I am developing a poetry class that should be presented within the month. I guess I have to do some real grown up things - hoot!!

Fes encore - enshala

Today was an incredible day. A group of us stumbled our way to the “mdina” with small widgets of Arabic and a keen sense for adventure. Alas, we ended up with a guide despite our commitment to avoid such a cost. We weaved in and out of quiet to clamorous and ended on the roof of a building looking down on a tannery. While it is a sight I have seen before, I felt much more cognizant than 2 short years ago. I suppose drinking local tap water somehow makes me feel more “branche.” A friend was charmed by a snake, I bought a hijab and we all just short of died of thirst. It is Ramadan and drinking or eating in public is a major faux pas since any good Muslim is fasting.

We eat 4 meals a day. At night we get a baggy of “breakfast” so anyone fasting can eat at 5am at the call to prayer (before sunrise) or eat when they wake up for those who are not. Lunch is prepared for those who are not fasting (myself included.) At around 6:45 there is the 4th of 5 calls to prayer. At this time there is a meal called the “break fast.” We join to eat a special meal to celebrate breaking the day’s fasting. There is a soup of sorts (lentil, carrot, or chick pea thus far) special bread, pastries, dates and, of course, tea. Finally, after the final call to prayer at 10, there is the official dinner. I have made a habit of skipping this since 3 meals serves me well and I am usually sleeping by 10. As you can see, the call to prayer is a sort of public school bell system, at least throughout Ramadan.

The language lessons are amazing. Volunteering for 2 years is worth its time in language (among many other wonderful things) and I praise Allah every day for speaking French. If I were to stay in Fes (which I will surely not) I could comfortably go 2 years without Arabic, for French is enough. I bargained down a hijab 50 dirhams, in French, and helped a friend from being scammed, L-Hamdullah for French. So, besides some slight stomachal adjustments, things are still wonderful. Cell phone is soon to arrive.

New photos @ web.mac.com/nicolettaanderson

Rabat

Well I hardly know where to start but I will say that I am finally here along with the other 66 of me. So far being a PC volunteer has only demanded that I live without a hairdryer, eat great food 3 times a day and have Moroccan mint tea and cookies twice daily. O yeah, don't forget the fresh squeezed OJ. It is tough but someone has to do it. Don't worry folks, they are only keeping us comfortable and healthy so they can give us extensive sessions on how to deal with the imminent diarrhea and/or dysentary as well as how to ward off harrasment and the feeling of living in a fish bowl. The training is extensive and incredibly thorough. They really do know how to do this right. Honestly I cannot even begin to describe what has been happening the last few days. I have met the US ambassador to Morocco (Tom Wiley), done yoga while listening to the call to prayer, walked through the medina and wanted to dive into the sights and smells of this incredibly beautiful country. I am lucky to be working and learning alongside such intelligent, articulate and compassionate individuals. And, the icing on my cake, once I get to my site, the Peace Corps pays for me to hire a language tutor for up to 20 hours a week in whatever language I wish (or 2 or 3). I am planning on doing some major work on my french and, of course, my arabic. I leave for Fez tomorrow and I will meet my host family in a little over a week. Hope all is well back aux Etats Unis.

Je ne veux pas faire une nuit blanche

In approximately 12 hours I will be an island in a sea of strangers on my first day as a Peace Corps Volunteer Trainee. I find this oddly comforting. Tomorrow I will be standing next to 60 some odd people who have spent the last month thinking far to long about packing, just like me, and who have racked their brains trying to imagine their future, just like me. I will meet them and we will all give our history, passions and aspirations in 5 sentences or less and I will race to keep them all straight. But somewhere in the waves of vapid conversation and perfunctory summations lie the seeds of profound relationships and consequential futures. So while emotions wiz haphazardly through my chest - excitment for what lies ahead mixed with fears of the same and an overall sadness to leave all those I love so dearly - there is comfort in knowing that it is finally time to go. My life has been artfully shoved into 2 bags, I have mastered 3 arabic phrases and I have no idea where I will be in a week. I'm moving to Morocco!

Keeping Track

I will be writing my blogs on this website but I will be posting all of my pictures to:

web.mac.com/nicolettaanderson.

So feel free to visit.

Numb Butts

Presently I am sitting on the 8th hour of a train ride, crossing the Canadian/Us boarder. Thus far all of my toilets have seats and the water is drinkable, amenities that I am cherishing as long as they last. The last two weeks have been lovely ones. Our Anderson/Halloran family reunion was a raving success with all parties properly fed, pleasantly drank and loquaciously chatted. Mornings opened early with coffee and a run on the beach, afternoons passed as waves on the sand and evenings went down with Manhattans and cheese. Last night, awaiting an early train, Oma and I spent a dinner in New York where we were fortunate enough to be joined by my cousins Mark and Agatha and good friends Tamora and Emile. I’m off to the land of the funny French speakers.

Feeling Clowdy

This seems an appropriate fit as my last days in Chicago pass all too quickly and the massive ball of change begins to roll ahead.

"I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

"Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

"The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."

-William Wordsworth