Day Trip @ Todra Gorge... (Soumia)
Sunday, October 17, 2004
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Saturday, October 02, 2004
A Typical Day...
4am- I start each day and wake to the "Call to Prayer". Every morning I hear the sounds of "Allah u Akbarh..." which lasts about 10 mins. As I'm sure you know, Muslims pray to Mecca 5 times a day, and throughout the day you will hear the Mosque bellowing out passages of the Coran, which alerts each Muslim that it's time to stop what they are doing and thank Allah for their existence. Unfortunately for me, the 1st call begins at 4am, and it just so happens that my place of residence is 2 blocks from the loudspeakers which rest upon the belltower of the local Mosque.
6am- After falling back to sleep, my alarm sounds alerting me that it's time to get up off my ass and start working some of this Corporation Chunk off. I tie on my Nikes like a slow motion commercial and take to the dirt roads, but instead of running along the SF Bay, I spend my time manuevering through the donkey shit, glass, women in bedsheets, all while being chased by rabid dogs. Suprisingly, I'm not the first one up and out of the barn. I run upon women and old men harvesting their land for crops. We share stares, each wondering what the hell would motivate the other to get up at 6am to be in those sun-drenched fields.
7am- Returning from my jog, I open the rusty steel door to the welcoming sounds of my seven brothers and sisters wondering where I've been for the last hour. Although we don't we speak the same language, we communicate extremely well. My favorite little sister is Sanna. She's about 10 years old, and reminds me of my two neices back home. We've developed a special handshake, which reminds of the little ones back home. After I change into my clothes for school, I head back outside to discover that the breakfast rug has been rolled out and 3 of my 7 brothers/sisters are waiting patiently for me to join them. I take off my flip-flops before stepping onto the rug, sit down (crossing my legs next to the 2 foot high table) and begin my meal with a "Bismilla" (God Bless this Meal). Then it's all about drinking tea, butter-milk, well-water, breaking loaves of bread, and eating the fresh eggs from the henhouse.
750am- After sharing a few laughs and a many confusing moments, I ask to leave the table with a... "SBet Baraka Hum'Du'Allah". (I'm Full, Praise God). Heading off to school, I enter the streets of Tinehir where the dust struggles to find oxygen through the exhaust filled air. So, now instead of weaving in and out of donkeys, I find myself avoiding motorcycles and bikes which seem to spring up out of the cracks of this mudbrick-medina.
8am- Our classroom is situated on the lower-level of a two story Moroccan home. I'm greeted by the housewife (Fatima) and head towards the faint sounds of English being spoken by my fellow PCVs. Welcoming my class with a few Hum'Du'Allahs, we spent the first 10 mins devowering any and all English that we can before we journey into past to learn this 700 year old language of Arabic Script, and spend the rest of the day learning to makes sounds as foreign as the tatooed faces of the women we meet on the streets..
6pm- Saturated our minds are with Arabic, realizing this, our teacher finally releases us from our fly-infested quarters, and then it's off the the internet for me. The internet is like an international bus station full of Spanish, French, and x-Patriots connecting with their base. And although I'm probably supposed to go straight home after class, instead I spend the next two and a half hours catching up with friends, reading the USnews, and working on this website of mine. I try not to pass too much judgement on myself, as I happily excape the life of "Arabia" and listen the sounds of Outkast on my iPod.
9pm-11pm Paying the eqivalent of 3 US Dollars for the past few hours of domestic exstacy, and smelling of cigarette smoke laced with body odor, I once again take to the streets of Mohammed V towards my host family's farm-house. Dinner is served at about 10pm, so I've still got a few minutes to settle in and prepare myself for the burraude of questions/phrases/and foreign sounds of my non-English speaking host family of nine. The negative feelings of being in this new environment quickly dissapate the instant I see the welcoming smiles of my newly adopted little brothers and sisters. (Sanna (10), Hisham (12), Fahd (14), Smia (17), Niama (19), Abdullahtif (21), Mohammed (25)) After eating dinner around 10pm, we spend the rest of the night sharing laughs, wrestling, and learning about the cultural/language of eachother. After a few more God Phrases, I head off to my very own private quarters, while the rest of my brothers/sisters cram into one room where they will spend the rest of their night sleeping to the sounds of livestock which are situated just outside the window from them.
6am- After falling back to sleep, my alarm sounds alerting me that it's time to get up off my ass and start working some of this Corporation Chunk off. I tie on my Nikes like a slow motion commercial and take to the dirt roads, but instead of running along the SF Bay, I spend my time manuevering through the donkey shit, glass, women in bedsheets, all while being chased by rabid dogs. Suprisingly, I'm not the first one up and out of the barn. I run upon women and old men harvesting their land for crops. We share stares, each wondering what the hell would motivate the other to get up at 6am to be in those sun-drenched fields.
7am- Returning from my jog, I open the rusty steel door to the welcoming sounds of my seven brothers and sisters wondering where I've been for the last hour. Although we don't we speak the same language, we communicate extremely well. My favorite little sister is Sanna. She's about 10 years old, and reminds me of my two neices back home. We've developed a special handshake, which reminds of the little ones back home. After I change into my clothes for school, I head back outside to discover that the breakfast rug has been rolled out and 3 of my 7 brothers/sisters are waiting patiently for me to join them. I take off my flip-flops before stepping onto the rug, sit down (crossing my legs next to the 2 foot high table) and begin my meal with a "Bismilla" (God Bless this Meal). Then it's all about drinking tea, butter-milk, well-water, breaking loaves of bread, and eating the fresh eggs from the henhouse.
750am- After sharing a few laughs and a many confusing moments, I ask to leave the table with a... "SBet Baraka Hum'Du'Allah". (I'm Full, Praise God). Heading off to school, I enter the streets of Tinehir where the dust struggles to find oxygen through the exhaust filled air. So, now instead of weaving in and out of donkeys, I find myself avoiding motorcycles and bikes which seem to spring up out of the cracks of this mudbrick-medina.
8am- Our classroom is situated on the lower-level of a two story Moroccan home. I'm greeted by the housewife (Fatima) and head towards the faint sounds of English being spoken by my fellow PCVs. Welcoming my class with a few Hum'Du'Allahs, we spent the first 10 mins devowering any and all English that we can before we journey into past to learn this 700 year old language of Arabic Script, and spend the rest of the day learning to makes sounds as foreign as the tatooed faces of the women we meet on the streets..
6pm- Saturated our minds are with Arabic, realizing this, our teacher finally releases us from our fly-infested quarters, and then it's off the the internet for me. The internet is like an international bus station full of Spanish, French, and x-Patriots connecting with their base. And although I'm probably supposed to go straight home after class, instead I spend the next two and a half hours catching up with friends, reading the USnews, and working on this website of mine. I try not to pass too much judgement on myself, as I happily excape the life of "Arabia" and listen the sounds of Outkast on my iPod.
9pm-11pm Paying the eqivalent of 3 US Dollars for the past few hours of domestic exstacy, and smelling of cigarette smoke laced with body odor, I once again take to the streets of Mohammed V towards my host family's farm-house. Dinner is served at about 10pm, so I've still got a few minutes to settle in and prepare myself for the burraude of questions/phrases/and foreign sounds of my non-English speaking host family of nine. The negative feelings of being in this new environment quickly dissapate the instant I see the welcoming smiles of my newly adopted little brothers and sisters. (Sanna (10), Hisham (12), Fahd (14), Smia (17), Niama (19), Abdullahtif (21), Mohammed (25)) After eating dinner around 10pm, we spend the rest of the night sharing laughs, wrestling, and learning about the cultural/language of eachother. After a few more God Phrases, I head off to my very own private quarters, while the rest of my brothers/sisters cram into one room where they will spend the rest of their night sleeping to the sounds of livestock which are situated just outside the window from them.
Friday, October 01, 2004
Miss October: Lee Wilbur (Mostism)
Name at birth Lee Wilbur
Age 27
The Peace Corps volunteer who has been blessed with the title of "Miss October 2004" is none other than our very own Lee Wilbur. Some might also know him by one of his Peace Corps names such as Motism and/or The Sherpa. For the purposes of his profile, we will refer to him as "Motism", which actually means in Arabic- Adhering to Faith, To God . Motism comes to us from Montana, however he wouldn't have been honored with the name of SHERPA if Montana was his only place of residence. Let's take a quick moment to point out where he has lived; Billings-Montana, Raymore-Missouri, Crete-Nebraska, WinstonSalem-North Carolina, Brattleboro-Vermont, BergischGladach-Germany, Goettingen-Germany, Freiburg-Germany, LeHavre-France, Mokpo-South Korea, Seoul-South Korea, ElGreyat-Jordan, Joffa-Jordan, and currently Tinehir-Morocco. And if you're ever looking for a guide, you will be happy to know that he also speaks up to 6 languages (Germany, English, French, Arabic, Dutch, Korean). Before joining the Peace Corps, Motism took some time out of his schedule to fit in a Master's Degree in Intercultural Relations, as well as work on an Indian Reservation developing sustainable businesses for the locals.
When judging for Miss October, our selection staff (having strict guidelines) observed this particular Peace Corps volunteer and noticed his inate ability to add color to any story by using his own personal experiences. If you ever encounter him, you might find him saying such things as... "Do you mind if I tell you alittle story...". Then proceed to give a 20-30 minute presentation (off the cuff) about the cultural diversity, all while sighting accurate historical/political accounts of that particular time in history. This not only educates his fellow classmates, but prolongs the training classes for at least another hour or so. In addition to this, you might also find him bellowing out God Phrases faster than a Roman-Catholic Bishop pleading their case in front of the Supreme Court. Because of this, and many other factors not stated, we are happy to bestow the honor of "Miss October" to one... Mr. Motism. On behalf of our staff here, I'd like to thank you for your contibutions. We look forward to your many vibrate experiences in the near future.
Age 27
The Peace Corps volunteer who has been blessed with the title of "Miss October 2004" is none other than our very own Lee Wilbur. Some might also know him by one of his Peace Corps names such as Motism and/or The Sherpa. For the purposes of his profile, we will refer to him as "Motism", which actually means in Arabic- Adhering to Faith, To God . Motism comes to us from Montana, however he wouldn't have been honored with the name of SHERPA if Montana was his only place of residence. Let's take a quick moment to point out where he has lived; Billings-Montana, Raymore-Missouri, Crete-Nebraska, WinstonSalem-North Carolina, Brattleboro-Vermont, BergischGladach-Germany, Goettingen-Germany, Freiburg-Germany, LeHavre-France, Mokpo-South Korea, Seoul-South Korea, ElGreyat-Jordan, Joffa-Jordan, and currently Tinehir-Morocco. And if you're ever looking for a guide, you will be happy to know that he also speaks up to 6 languages (Germany, English, French, Arabic, Dutch, Korean). Before joining the Peace Corps, Motism took some time out of his schedule to fit in a Master's Degree in Intercultural Relations, as well as work on an Indian Reservation developing sustainable businesses for the locals.
When judging for Miss October, our selection staff (having strict guidelines) observed this particular Peace Corps volunteer and noticed his inate ability to add color to any story by using his own personal experiences. If you ever encounter him, you might find him saying such things as... "Do you mind if I tell you alittle story...". Then proceed to give a 20-30 minute presentation (off the cuff) about the cultural diversity, all while sighting accurate historical/political accounts of that particular time in history. This not only educates his fellow classmates, but prolongs the training classes for at least another hour or so. In addition to this, you might also find him bellowing out God Phrases faster than a Roman-Catholic Bishop pleading their case in front of the Supreme Court. Because of this, and many other factors not stated, we are happy to bestow the honor of "Miss October" to one... Mr. Motism. On behalf of our staff here, I'd like to thank you for your contibutions. We look forward to your many vibrate experiences in the near future.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
The celebration of the feast...
Within the ten person home of my host family, we typically sit on leather custions round the low table. The men are led to the salon, whilst the women prepare the presentation of the meal. The women parade into the salon hoisting with them an elaborate silver serving set, warm towels, and kettles of cold water, so that the men of the house could rinse their hands before eating. The food is eaten with fingers only: the first three fingers of the right hand may be used - or, rather the thumb and the first two fingers. After the meal, the silver is presented and passed again, this time accompanied by soap. You cannot tear into a plump lamb carefully wrapped in boiling tomato pulp, and share it with your neighbours, unless they are scrupulously washed. Underneath the almost transparent, flaky layers of pastry are delicious surprises in the form of tasty morsels of chicken, vegetables, couscous, and meat of all kinds. The meals are as complex as the six or so hours it takes to prepare them. In fact, the dinner is already being staged as I write, and it's once again time to experience the hallmark of Moroccan cuisine.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
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