Here's a treat; have a peek!

I haven't gotten around to writing much, but here are some pictures of recent happenings.

School is out and soccer games are everywhere! Teams line up to play and passion for "football" fills the air around these makeshift fields.

A break in the centuries-old wall that reveals the city within.

What a magnificent structure that has endured more years than the whole of the United States. I love to imagine all the things this wall has seen.

"Don't touch my country" - A political and social message using traditional imagery (the red hand of Fatima)

A gorgeously painted entrance to a school. Above the door is the name of the school is Arabic and Berber, the native language of many Moroccans now required to be taught in Moroccan schools where Berber populations are significant.

A beautiful view of the city as the evening approaches. Boys playing soccer with the mountains in the background.

Some of the fabulous folks I work with about to tear into a quiche I made for the weekly meeting. Success!

My favorite Moroccan dish - Pastilla. This one was made with chicken on the inside, and has a crispy crust smothered with crushed peanuts, cinnamon, and sugar. Oh yummy! And around the Pastilla were arranged homemade Kefta, which are essentially meat kebabs with herbs infused.

And here's a glimpse of my "office." Very Moroccan with the tiled walls and the couch that surrounds the walls.

Eat til you're stuffed...then eat some more!

On Sunday I had a little weekend getaway with Abdellah Lamine (my friend from the last post) and Zakaria, a volunteer who is to be my "buddy" here and help me navigate the local culture, language, and city. We took Lamine's sexy little 1974 Renault 4 (featured below next to a male model we ran across) and headed to Tiyoute, a little town 30 minutes west of Taroudant. Tiyoute is situated in a gorgeous oasis (these are real!) that overlooks the valley between the mountain ranges of the Anti-Atlas and the High Atlas. We ate a hearty breakfast upon arrival to a neat hotel/restaurant (see food in pictures below) at about 11am. Next we walked up to an old palace that had been converted into a hotel, and then we took a stroll through the lush agricultural plots of the oasis before returning to our base at the hotel/restaurant to eat lunch. I was still full from breakfast, but there it was: the famed Djaj Bldi (Morocco's organic chicken) smothered in cooked onions, apricots, and a savory sauce. Of course I couldn't resist, so I did what damage I could to the enormous dish, said 'bismillah' (in the name of God), and collapsed into the couch to let my body rest from so much eating. Lamine whipped out an Oud (instrument similar to the lute) and played traditional Moroccan songs to which Zakaria sang. What a perfectly exotic scene for an American from Arkansas. There I was in a small oasis town, sitting in a hotel lounge room ornately decorated in the traditional Moroccan fashion, and listening to ancient Moroccan music played on an even more ancient instrument. I closed my eyes and drifted into an exotic stupor. After a few hours of sitting around talking, playing music, and relaxing, we started gathering our things, and I figured we were on our way out. But then we moved outside under a tent and were served a "snack" which was hearty enough to be a meal. I was still stuffed, but when duty calls I must respond. I went home that night not thinking I'd eat again for some days. I indeed didn't until lunch the next day. That is living it up, Moroccan style!

The fruit of the Argan tree, whole on the left, crushed on the right, and the seeds in the middle. This work is done by women around Morocco in women's cooperatives.

The machines making Argan oil for culinary and cosmetic purposes.

What a beauty! The car, that is...

Dessert fruit! I actually don't know the name, but this fruit is plentiful in the summer. Moroccans will warn you not to eat too many, though, lest the seeds inside constipate you.

Lamine...a great friend!

Traditional oven used for cooking bread.

Grinding stone used for making argan oil, among other things.

Delicious. 'County Chicken' with onions, apricots, and raisins. Oh how I wish you could have tried the sauce!

A typical dessert: couscous with cinnamon, crushed peanuts, and powder sugar...yum!

The tent where we had breakfast and our 'snack.' The dessert people use these as their shelter, and the word for tent in Moroccan Arabic "khima" has become a part of greetings in the dessert culture (Hey, how's your tent?)

All kinds of goods with my favorite snack, msemen (fried bread).

I might could woo a Moroccan lady to be my wife with this picture. Just have to pretend I play the Oud.

Argan fruit drying on rooftops in Tiyoute.

Dinner - Moroccan Fashion

This past Thursday night my workmate Molly and I were invited to dinner by a colleague of ours, Abdellah Lamine. Abdellah picked us up in one of the cutest little old cars I've ever seen. And cute isn't a word I use lightly (nor frequently, as it has not yet gained acceptance in many masculine circles), but this car is simultaneously a chick and grandmother magnet (hey, grandmothers are chicks, too!) I will make sure to get a picture of it tomorrow when I am to take a little trip with Abdellah to a nearby village.

Moroccan hospitality is greater than any I've ever experienced, and it is seemingly pervasive in the country. I was busy with project work until 10pm on Thursday night, so we did not arrive to Abdellah's house until about 10:30pm. In my experience, Moroccan's don't have a fixed time to eat dinner, but rather, they wait until all members are present and dine together. Sometimes this is not until very late, and I have even frequented households where most of the family will make dinner and then go to bed until other members arrive (which can be midnight or later), at which point everyone wakes up and shares a meal together.

Abdellah's wife Naima was charming and joyfully nice. She had prepared a marvelous dinner fit for the proletariat (why shouldn't commoners deserve excellence like royalty?) The side dishes were a salad of rice, tuna, mayonnaise, and corn; a salad of tomatoe, onion, cilantro, and dressing; french fries; lettuce with vinagre and sugar (delicious); and soda, which no Moroccan meal is complete without (the consumption of sugar per capita here must be the world's highest! They even add sugar to fresh orange juice because it is "not sweet enough.") The main course was a beautiful display of two whole chickens smothered in a savory sauce with olives and liver. Of course we dug into this with our hands, as is traditional in Morocco, and were encouraged to eat (kul kul! Ma kliti walo!) until we were stuffed. It's sometimes hard to convince a Moroccan host that you really are full and you're not just being "polite" or bashful, but I used some good ole Moroccan humor and told them halfway through the meal that I had filled both my legs up so that when I was full I could tell them I had filled myself up to my neck. This worked well enough so that our hosts told us "Bsha ou raha" (meaning "with health and relaxation," the expected comment after someone finishes a meal) and proceeded to take away the main course and bring dessert. As my cousin so brilliantly said when she was a toddler: though I was uncomfortably full, my dessert shelf was empty. So I dug into a piece of yummy cake that Naima had also made. See the picture below!

A view of the living room in Abdellah and Naima's house. This is a traditional living room setup, from the arrangement of the furniture to the decoration and art. Moroccan living rooms put the focus on people, as the furniture lines the walls and faces the center. Guests are hosted here and conversations last late into the night.

Abdellah on the right and Molly on the left. The fantastic meal Naima prepared for us.

A typical Moroccan tea setup and the beautiful cake Naima made.

And my humble bedroom. Simple, but containing more than I need. It's the first bed I've slept on with a frame in quite some time. Hamdolilah! (I even made the bed a bit so my momma wouldn't be horrified = )

Found me a Cutie!

But unfortunately no pictures...What a Disapointment! I know, but I forgot my camera, as usual. Luckily, however, most people in the world have upgraded to smartphone technology (I haven't yet), so my Moroccan friends made sure to get photos and videos of me with the spunky lady I met on Tuesday night.

So here's the story. Some of my co-workers were invited to a wedding on Tuesday, and they graciously passed on the invitation to me. I jumped on this opportunity, as Moroccan weddings are some of the most exciting, colorful, vibrant, and fun/dance/song-filled events I've ever experienced. They start about 9pm and end at 8am the following day. The night is passed with plenty of food, music, dancing, performances by traditional Moroccan wedding entertainers, and lots of gossip about anyone who crosses the critical gaze of curious onlookers. Foreigners especially draw visual attention (naturally, as they are rare at Moroccan weddings), and this attention amplifies if the foreigners brave their way to the dance floor. For those of you who know me, you know I can't resist grooving to a good rhythm, so Moroccan weddings present me with an irresistible temptation. My co-workers noticed my body's aching to move, and they immediately called over a lady they knew so that I'd have a dance partner. Intersexual dancing isn't especially common in Morocco, and in some places it is in fact inappropriate. My Moroccan co-workers thought it was a great idea, though, and I was reassured when I saw that my dance partner was a lovely older lady who probably didn't have to worry about her reputation being damaged by dancing with a Gawri (foreigner) and whose husband I didn't have to worry about coming to whoop me. This woman was obviously a character with a fiery soul, and she danced around the wedding without much care for others' reactions. Many people passing by greeted her, which meant she was a well known woman, and most likely respected.

Before we even danced, my co-workers proposed that I marry her, which happens to me quite frequently in Morocco (they love to create awkward situations). I agreed vigorously and said I liked her, which caused my lady friend to giggle and cover her face. She then took me by the hand, which she didn't let go of the whole time we were together, and took me to the heart of the dancing festivities. She mentioned to one of the onlookers, who was my age and quite beautiful, that I was her husband, and the young woman told me, "you have a very beautiful wife" and laughed. Then, to my surprise but utter enjoyment, my new wife took my hand and pointed to the butt of a young woman dancing just in front of us. After showing me the young woman's hiney, my lady friend looked at me and stuck out her tongue like "who cares?! Let's be inappropriate." With that she won over my heart and we continued to dance and have fun.

Here's a video of a little jig we did as an introduction to our relationship.

Moroccan Rhythms and Ancient Traditions

Morocco is an extraordinarily diverse place whose traditions, rooted in conservative Islam, simultaneously include limited intersexual contact and seductive dancing at weddings and public events. It is not uncommon to see a mother wearing a hijab that covers even her eyes walking arm-in-arm with her daughter who has on a short skirt and a spaghetti strap top. Morocco is both conservatively traditional and open to liberal foreign influence. One may think that Morocco has been liberalized by centuries of exposure to Europe as Africa's "Gateway to Europe," but some of Morocco's seemingly liberal traditions, like seductive dancing, are rooted in ancient history of the Moroccan people. Today Morocco is a confusing mix of "modern" and "historic," as one can walk through a market with donkey-drawn carts pulling veggies and fruits and then be nearly run over by a a motorcycle whose driver is a young woman in skinny jeans and D&G sunglasses.

Tonight I went a large square where many groups of women congregate on Saturday nights to chat about...well, I don't know...what women chat about is a mystery to all men. It's quite a lovely scene since only men sit at the coffee shops around town, and these men sit facing the roads, watching those passing by and talking about...well, I don't know what they're talking about either. Tonight in the square there was a group of older men playing traditional Moroccan music. There was a woman who accompanied the group as a dancer, and I was reminded why I love Morocco as a land of diversity, contrasts, tradition, and flavor. This woman was dressed in a traditional robe that covered her whole body, and she also wore a colorful scarf that covered her hair. She had tied a string with bells around her waist, and she was shaking them about with rhythmic gyrations that were captivating and so typically Moroccan. People in the crowd got up and danced as well and seemed to lose themselves to the music. Music is such a part of Moroccan culture that these scenes of people gathering around a musical group and dancing without shame is as natural as drinking tea during breaks from anything. There I was in a crowd composed largely of women, most of whom were covered except their faces, and on the stage was a woman moving like Shakira. I love it!

 

Another Moroccan tradition I find gloriously romantic is the custom of traveling story-tellers, actors, salesmen and women, and others who attract large groups in the main squares of cities throughout Morocco. Taroudant is a great example of this, and any given day you can find large circles of onlookers (almost always men) giving their attention to a performer hoping to dazzle the crowd and get donations. I've seen groups perform music, play with snakes and hawks, preach with a Koran at hand, and act out skits. Performers look down on tourists taking pictures of them, so I will not be showing visuals of what I see, but I'd like to describe the most interesting skit I've seen yet. Yesterday I walked into the main square and noticed the biggest circle I'd seen yet. I check it out, and there was a group of men playing instruments and one who was verbally animated. There was also a person who I perceived to be a Moroccan belly dancer, but she was covered up to her eyes. I quickly realized it was a man and he was playing some sort of dancer in the skit. This got many laughs from the crowd, who found this situation quite interesting. I in turn found this fascinating because Moroccan culture does not tolerate femininity of any sort from men. Homosexuality is unspeakable, and the shame culture that exists prevents men from even mocking femininity to joke with friends. Yet, here in the main square is a man dressed as a woman and shaking his rear end as a talented woman dancer. And the crowd loved it. Go figure! Morocco the land of beautiful contrasts = )