Walking home from the Dar Chebab (youth center) where I do most of my volunteering here in my town, on one particular night last week, I saw many flashes of lightning. Though it wasn't raining at all for the entirety of my five-minute walk home, the lightning kept flashing. Over the course of a two to three minute period, five seconds never passed in which I didn't see a flash of lightning. At times this one especially jagged mountain was backlit by the lightning, offering an raw, unrefined, giant silhouette of the massive rock. At other times, the lightning flashed in front of this same mountain, illuminating the front of its immensity.
I remembered how, months ago, I had imagined bolts of lightning striking in front of this especially prominent mountain here in town, envisioning it as an impressive and powerful sight. It turned out to be just as magnificent as I had envisioned it.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Workers on Strike!
Earlier this month, the teachers here in my town went on strike, along with the rest of the public school teachers nationwide throughout Morocco. They were agitating in favor of a lower retirement age. A teacher explained to me this week that public school teachers previously were able to retire at age 60. Later the retirement age was raised to 62. The teachers were striking this week to try to exert pressure to change the retirement age back down to 60.
To give a little more context, since I've been living here in my town, the teachers here have gone on strike on multiple occasions before this week. Workers in Morocco have the right under the Moroccan constitution to organize, that is, to unionize, to form unions. Labor unions constitute about 5 percent of the full-time Moroccan workforce; about 500,000 workers are union members in Morocco, in this country of roughly 33 million.
Labor laws here in Morocco have provided grades of minimum wage, paid holidays, and a defined work week. As is the case so often throughout the world, employees in Morocco have a need for the protection of labor laws and the strength which comes through unionizing. Given the inexpensive cost of compensating workers for their labor in Morocco, and the proximity of Morocco to Europe, foreign companies might find it appealing to invest in Morocco. Thus, in this context, Moroccan workers benefit from the freedom to organize, and from the protection of the Moroccan labor laws.
To give a little more context, since I've been living here in my town, the teachers here have gone on strike on multiple occasions before this week. Workers in Morocco have the right under the Moroccan constitution to organize, that is, to unionize, to form unions. Labor unions constitute about 5 percent of the full-time Moroccan workforce; about 500,000 workers are union members in Morocco, in this country of roughly 33 million.
Labor laws here in Morocco have provided grades of minimum wage, paid holidays, and a defined work week. As is the case so often throughout the world, employees in Morocco have a need for the protection of labor laws and the strength which comes through unionizing. Given the inexpensive cost of compensating workers for their labor in Morocco, and the proximity of Morocco to Europe, foreign companies might find it appealing to invest in Morocco. Thus, in this context, Moroccan workers benefit from the freedom to organize, and from the protection of the Moroccan labor laws.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
There's A First Time For Everything...
Earlier this week, I met Stan, the other PCV who lives here in the same town where I live here, at a café for some coffee. As we were sitting there, we shared our musings about our lives here in Morocco. At one point, I told Stan that, in my ten months of living here in this town, while I have seen foreign female tourists sitting at cafés here in our town, I have never, not even once, seen Moroccan women or Moroccan girls sitting in a café here in town.
When we got up to pay for our cups of coffee, we saw two Moroccan teenage girls sitting at a table in the café. There's a first time for everything... Literally one or two seconds later, I looked further towards the front of the café, and saw three Moroccan women sitting at another table. There's a second time...
When we got up to pay for our cups of coffee, we saw two Moroccan teenage girls sitting at a table in the café. There's a first time for everything... Literally one or two seconds later, I looked further towards the front of the café, and saw three Moroccan women sitting at another table. There's a second time...
Friday, October 7, 2011
Variety is in the Liveliest of Spices
Recently my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Ben visited me here in my town, and we decided to make dinner together. While in the center of my town, we were in a hanoot, which is essentially the Moroccan equivalent of a corner grocery store, where we briefly discussed what we were going to have for dinner that night. He suggested making corn chowder. Never having had it here in Morocco, I quickly supported that idea. We set about buying the various ingredients which I didn't already have in my apartment: corn, potatoes, onions, penne pasta, and a relatively unique spice named "ras-l-hanoot," in Darija, or Moroccan Arabic. Literally this phrase means "the head of the grocery store" in Darija. It's fairly unique because it's actually a blend of various spices, thus containing multiple spices. It's also fairly intriguing because one often can have difficulty knowing what it contains, since its actual composition varies so much depending on who is making it. It's also notable because, at least according to at least one Moroccan, it can contain as many as eighty different substances in it. It often contains pepper (sometimes multiple kinds of pepper), cumin, nutmeg and ginger. It often ends up giving a dish somewhat of a curry-like flavor. Indeed, when Ben and I ate the corn chowder containing the ras-l-hanoot, the chowder seemed to have a flavor reminiscent of curry. It made what most likely would already have been a tasty meal even more delectable!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Role Reversal
This past weekend, I met Stan, the other PCV who lives in my town, at a café which I hadn't visited in months. I had suggested that we meet there because I had had some delicious banana juice there on previous visits. I had accidentally stumbled into discovering that that banana juice was good without sugar. On a previous visit, the waiter there had asked me, rather atypically for Moroccan waiters taking an order for juice, if I wanted it with or without sugar; it hadn't even previously occurred to me that there would even be sugar in it. Without the sugar, it tasted much more like a milkshake, with the predominant quality being creaminess rather than sweetness. Unfortunately, when we asked the waiter this past weekend if he had banana juice, he said that they no longer make it at that café. Stan and I decided to have some coffee there at that café.
As he and I were sitting at that café, we shared our musings about our lives here in Morocco. At one point, I thought that I am doing the same things here in Morocco that I would do if I was in the U.S. I noted to Stan that if I were in the U.S., I would be going to cafés, where I would be drinking coffee, and at times, reading. Then, as I was looking out at the mountains and hills in front of us, I added that if I was in the U.S., I would also be hiking and enjoying beautiful views in nature, much as I have done here in Morocco. It made me think of phrases here in Morocco, "bhal bhal" and "kif kif," which one uses when one wants to say that two things are the same thing. One also sometimes communicates that sentiment by outstretching only one's index fingers next to each other. I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are the same. However, my realizations at the café made me think that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are more alike than I have been thinking.
After Stan and I parted ways soon after leaving the café, I walked into the center of town. On the way, I crossed paths with one of the students who is a regular at the Dar Chebab ("youth center") where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV. We hadn't seen each other since the beginning of the summer, since we both had been traveling over the summer. Given that he and I had not only interacted a lot over the course of the previous academic year, but also that he and I appreciate each other, he greeted me by not only shaking my hand, but also by kissing me alternately on both cheeks, twice on each cheek, for a total of four kisses. Though really, the word "kiss" is technically a misnomer--actually we just touched cheeks, as many people do. Sometimes people make the kissing sound even though their lips are not touching the other person's cheeks. We updated each other on our travels. He asked me if the Dar Chebab had re-opened yet after being closed for the summer. I informed him that it had re-opened the previous week, so when we parted ways, we told each other that we would see each other soon at the Dar Chebab.
As I continued on my way into the center of town, a man greeted me as I approached him. I returned the greeting, and we stopped to speak with each other. I learned that he is a teacher of Arabic and French, and that he just moved to my town to teach in it. I asked him how long he has lived in my town. He replied that he has lived in my town for five days! I found that the usual roles, in my interactions with Moroccan teachers in my town, had been reversed--rather than the Moroccan teacher welcoming me to the town, instead I was welcoming him to the town!
As he and I were sitting at that café, we shared our musings about our lives here in Morocco. At one point, I thought that I am doing the same things here in Morocco that I would do if I was in the U.S. I noted to Stan that if I were in the U.S., I would be going to cafés, where I would be drinking coffee, and at times, reading. Then, as I was looking out at the mountains and hills in front of us, I added that if I was in the U.S., I would also be hiking and enjoying beautiful views in nature, much as I have done here in Morocco. It made me think of phrases here in Morocco, "bhal bhal" and "kif kif," which one uses when one wants to say that two things are the same thing. One also sometimes communicates that sentiment by outstretching only one's index fingers next to each other. I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are the same. However, my realizations at the café made me think that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are more alike than I have been thinking.
After Stan and I parted ways soon after leaving the café, I walked into the center of town. On the way, I crossed paths with one of the students who is a regular at the Dar Chebab ("youth center") where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV. We hadn't seen each other since the beginning of the summer, since we both had been traveling over the summer. Given that he and I had not only interacted a lot over the course of the previous academic year, but also that he and I appreciate each other, he greeted me by not only shaking my hand, but also by kissing me alternately on both cheeks, twice on each cheek, for a total of four kisses. Though really, the word "kiss" is technically a misnomer--actually we just touched cheeks, as many people do. Sometimes people make the kissing sound even though their lips are not touching the other person's cheeks. We updated each other on our travels. He asked me if the Dar Chebab had re-opened yet after being closed for the summer. I informed him that it had re-opened the previous week, so when we parted ways, we told each other that we would see each other soon at the Dar Chebab.
As I continued on my way into the center of town, a man greeted me as I approached him. I returned the greeting, and we stopped to speak with each other. I learned that he is a teacher of Arabic and French, and that he just moved to my town to teach in it. I asked him how long he has lived in my town. He replied that he has lived in my town for five days! I found that the usual roles, in my interactions with Moroccan teachers in my town, had been reversed--rather than the Moroccan teacher welcoming me to the town, instead I was welcoming him to the town!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Women Drivers
Walking through my town this past weekend, I came upon a car, which looked like it was a subcompact, being used for driver education. On previous occasions, I had seen people being instructed in how to drive in that area, a minor paved street surrounded by dirt on both sides, which has relatively little traffic. A parking space is drawn in the dirt, in which student drivers practice parking. They also navigate their way around obstacles placed in the street there.
On this particular occasion this past weekend, I was very pleased to see a woman in the driver's seat. I'd previously seen women driving motorcycles in Marrakech, and also I'd just known that women drive here in Morocco. But every time I see that not only are women's human rights respected here in Morocco, but also that women actually exercise these rights, I feel encouraged and strengthened on behalf of Moroccan women.
Especially in light of how women living in other Islamic countries are allowed varying degrees of freedom. In particular, Saudi women have been agitating for the right to drive for years now. In this regard, of learning about the rights of women in various Islamic countries, I found it especially edifying to read "Nine Parts of Desire: The Hidden World of Islamic Women" by Geraldine Brooks. In this book, Brooks reviews how at times women's freedoms have been curtailed in the name of Islam, in the process sometimes distorting what Islam says. For example, the Koran (more accurately spelled as "the Qu'ran") does not mention honor killings, which occur when a woman's male relatives kill her for being intimate with a man before getting married and thus, in their perception, bringing disrepute on their family. At other times, in her book, Brooks discusses how women's freedoms and rights have been curtailed according to what the Qu'ran says. For example, the Qu'ran says that if a woman will not obey her husband, he shall scourge her, which has been interpreted as support for men to beat their wives.
In addition to finding the book informative about Islamic women's rights, I also found the book educational about Islam and its founder. One of his wives accused him of having self-serving prophecies, including of having a revelation that it was acceptable to have more wives than the-then current practice allowed at that time.
On this particular occasion this past weekend, I was very pleased to see a woman in the driver's seat. I'd previously seen women driving motorcycles in Marrakech, and also I'd just known that women drive here in Morocco. But every time I see that not only are women's human rights respected here in Morocco, but also that women actually exercise these rights, I feel encouraged and strengthened on behalf of Moroccan women.
Especially in light of how women living in other Islamic countries are allowed varying degrees of freedom. In particular, Saudi women have been agitating for the right to drive for years now. In this regard, of learning about the rights of women in various Islamic countries, I found it especially edifying to read "Nine Parts of Desire: The Hidden World of Islamic Women" by Geraldine Brooks. In this book, Brooks reviews how at times women's freedoms have been curtailed in the name of Islam, in the process sometimes distorting what Islam says. For example, the Koran (more accurately spelled as "the Qu'ran") does not mention honor killings, which occur when a woman's male relatives kill her for being intimate with a man before getting married and thus, in their perception, bringing disrepute on their family. At other times, in her book, Brooks discusses how women's freedoms and rights have been curtailed according to what the Qu'ran says. For example, the Qu'ran says that if a woman will not obey her husband, he shall scourge her, which has been interpreted as support for men to beat their wives.
In addition to finding the book informative about Islamic women's rights, I also found the book educational about Islam and its founder. One of his wives accused him of having self-serving prophecies, including of having a revelation that it was acceptable to have more wives than the-then current practice allowed at that time.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Losing Fluency in English
After I bought the cookies which I mentioned in my last blog post, Stan, who is my site mate, who is the other PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in town, and I walked to a café here in town, where we sat down to have some coffee. Seeing as it was nearly 8 p.m., and knowing how sensitive I am to the effects of caffeine, I resolved to make sure to order a beverage which would be unlikely to keep me awake. Thus, I told myself to make sure that I was saying the right thing to the waiter. After the waiter asked for my order, I thought to myself, "OK, 'qahwa mhersa' means 'coffee with a little milk,' so that's what I want to make sure that I order." I then quite confusedly asked him for a qahwa mhersa. When it arrived, I looked at it, and how it appeared darker than I expected it to be, and kind of just shrugged in my mind.
Later that night, lying in bed, eyes wide awake, I began to think about how I was so alert, and not at all sleepy. Usually before 10 p.m., my eyelids begin to get a little heavy. Then I realized that I had not ordered milk with a little coffee (which many Moroccans order), but rather the opposite, coffee with a little milk. I couldn't believe it. I thought of how I had translated the Arabic words into English in my head. I didn't fail to correctly translate them. I correctly translated them in my head; I just didn't process the English words well.
I have to imagine that, as a PCV specifically here in Morocco, where many Moroccans know English to varying degrees, I am less prone to this phenomenon of stumbling with English than PCVs are in other countries where natives speak less English than they do here in Morocco, or even no English at all. Then again, I don't know. I've heard stories of PCVs in countries where the PCVs never speak English with the natives. After being in such countries for months, those PCVs burst into a room of other PCVs, and immediately start randomly and quickly spouting English, borne of a lack of opportunities to speak English for months.
Maybe it's just that whenever one lives in a foreign country where one is speaking less English than one was accustomed to speaking back in the U.S., one will experience displacement of English abilities, no matter in what country one currently resides. I have to imagine that that is why another PCV here in Morocco asked me and other PCVs earlier this year, "Does 'E-Y-E' spell a word?"
Later that night, lying in bed, eyes wide awake, I began to think about how I was so alert, and not at all sleepy. Usually before 10 p.m., my eyelids begin to get a little heavy. Then I realized that I had not ordered milk with a little coffee (which many Moroccans order), but rather the opposite, coffee with a little milk. I couldn't believe it. I thought of how I had translated the Arabic words into English in my head. I didn't fail to correctly translate them. I correctly translated them in my head; I just didn't process the English words well.
I have to imagine that, as a PCV specifically here in Morocco, where many Moroccans know English to varying degrees, I am less prone to this phenomenon of stumbling with English than PCVs are in other countries where natives speak less English than they do here in Morocco, or even no English at all. Then again, I don't know. I've heard stories of PCVs in countries where the PCVs never speak English with the natives. After being in such countries for months, those PCVs burst into a room of other PCVs, and immediately start randomly and quickly spouting English, borne of a lack of opportunities to speak English for months.
Maybe it's just that whenever one lives in a foreign country where one is speaking less English than one was accustomed to speaking back in the U.S., one will experience displacement of English abilities, no matter in what country one currently resides. I have to imagine that that is why another PCV here in Morocco asked me and other PCVs earlier this year, "Does 'E-Y-E' spell a word?"
Monday, October 3, 2011
A Case of Mistaken Currency
I have been greatly blessed to have received many care packages from loved ones since I started living here in my town ten months ago. People who know me know that I have a sweet tooth. Loved ones have sent me chocolate chip cookies and brownies that they have baked, as well as Paul Newman Oreos and Trader Joe's Oreos they have bought for me and sent to me.
I've also traveled a lot in the last ten months, so the sweets I've received in care packages have lasted even longer, since I wasn't eating them when I wasn't at home. While traveling, I've eaten a lot of desserts from patisseries (French for "bakeries") as well as from "supermarchés" (smaller supermarkets).
Consequently, over the last ten months, I've had only brief periods where I didn't have a stash of sweets at home. Recently I finally exhausted the last few Trader Joe's Oreos which my sister-in-law graciously bought for me when I was back in the states this summer. Still I had, and still have, a box of Christmas candy which a former co-worker sent to me! Yet I feel that at this point, I should save that until December, so I can eat it at a more appropriate time of year.
Thus it recently came to be that I didn't have any sweets at home which I was going to eat. It was in this context that a couple of days ago, I stopped by this bakery here in my town. I told the man behind the counter that I wanted to spend twenty. He replied that that sum would get me hardly any cookies. I figured that he was charging me much more than he would charge Moroccans, so I told him that I would rather not get any cookies, and I left his shop disgruntled.
A little later, I asked myself if perhaps he was not trying to overcharge me, but if perhaps instead I had misunderstood him. It occurred to me that maybe he and I were thinking in different units of currency.
In Morocco, the standard unit of currency is the dirham. However, Moroccans also state prices in riyals. Here's how it works: stick with me. One dirham equals 100 centimes. One riyal is 5 centimes. So one dirham equals 20 riyals. So if he thought I only wanted to spend 20 riyals, that would mean he thought I only wanted to spend one dirham, which only would have been enough to buy about one cookie.
PCVs in Morocco often find themselves confused, especially in their first few months in Morocco, when prices are quoted to them in riyals, and, I contend, with good reason. The amount in riyals does not appear on any unit of Moroccan currency. Thus PCVs often find themselves having to convert from riyals to dirhams in their heads as they stand at a shop trying to buy something.
Usually it's obvious when a shopkeeper quotes a price to me in riyals. It's usually in the hundreds rather than 5, 10 or thereabouts. I'm tipped off by the huge difference between the figure he has given me and the amount I expected it to cost in dirhams. I then set about doing the math in my head to convert from riyals to dirhams.
However, standing in the bakery, it just didn't occur to me that he was thinking in dirhams. If I had indicated with my hands the volume of cookies I wanted to buy, then he would have quoted me a price. Since he didn't quote me a price, I had no figure to compare with what I had been expecting to pay.
It was only later that it occurred to me that perhaps he had been thinking in riyals. Yesterday, I decided to go back to test my theory. This time I happened to enter the shop with Stan, the other PCV who also lives in my town. When we entered the shop, the baker offered us a free sample cookie each, somewhat akin to a Madeleine cookie in the U.S. As soon as we had finished those sample cookies, he offered each of us a second sample cookie, each of which had ground nuts sprinkled on top. I bought a bag of cookies which cost twenty dirhams, which contained perhaps twenty cookies. I left the shop happy that I had gone back to give interacting with him a second try, happy to be giving business to a local vendor.
I think that I confirmed my hypothesis which I had developed after having left the shop the previous day, that it seemed that he had been thinking in riyals rather than in dirhams. During PST (Pre-Service Training) during my first couple of months in Morocco, Peace Corps staff directed us PCVs to develop hypotheses about why certain things happen here in Morocco. I received reinforcement of the wisdom of this approach from my trips to the bakery. It's important not just to develop the hypotheses, but also to gather the data which confirm or disprove the hypotheses. Otherwise you might be missing out. On more than just some delicious cookies. Also on the chance to learn more, and understand more, about another culture, and the people who live in it.
I've also traveled a lot in the last ten months, so the sweets I've received in care packages have lasted even longer, since I wasn't eating them when I wasn't at home. While traveling, I've eaten a lot of desserts from patisseries (French for "bakeries") as well as from "supermarchés" (smaller supermarkets).
Consequently, over the last ten months, I've had only brief periods where I didn't have a stash of sweets at home. Recently I finally exhausted the last few Trader Joe's Oreos which my sister-in-law graciously bought for me when I was back in the states this summer. Still I had, and still have, a box of Christmas candy which a former co-worker sent to me! Yet I feel that at this point, I should save that until December, so I can eat it at a more appropriate time of year.
Thus it recently came to be that I didn't have any sweets at home which I was going to eat. It was in this context that a couple of days ago, I stopped by this bakery here in my town. I told the man behind the counter that I wanted to spend twenty. He replied that that sum would get me hardly any cookies. I figured that he was charging me much more than he would charge Moroccans, so I told him that I would rather not get any cookies, and I left his shop disgruntled.
A little later, I asked myself if perhaps he was not trying to overcharge me, but if perhaps instead I had misunderstood him. It occurred to me that maybe he and I were thinking in different units of currency.
In Morocco, the standard unit of currency is the dirham. However, Moroccans also state prices in riyals. Here's how it works: stick with me. One dirham equals 100 centimes. One riyal is 5 centimes. So one dirham equals 20 riyals. So if he thought I only wanted to spend 20 riyals, that would mean he thought I only wanted to spend one dirham, which only would have been enough to buy about one cookie.
PCVs in Morocco often find themselves confused, especially in their first few months in Morocco, when prices are quoted to them in riyals, and, I contend, with good reason. The amount in riyals does not appear on any unit of Moroccan currency. Thus PCVs often find themselves having to convert from riyals to dirhams in their heads as they stand at a shop trying to buy something.
Usually it's obvious when a shopkeeper quotes a price to me in riyals. It's usually in the hundreds rather than 5, 10 or thereabouts. I'm tipped off by the huge difference between the figure he has given me and the amount I expected it to cost in dirhams. I then set about doing the math in my head to convert from riyals to dirhams.
However, standing in the bakery, it just didn't occur to me that he was thinking in dirhams. If I had indicated with my hands the volume of cookies I wanted to buy, then he would have quoted me a price. Since he didn't quote me a price, I had no figure to compare with what I had been expecting to pay.
It was only later that it occurred to me that perhaps he had been thinking in riyals. Yesterday, I decided to go back to test my theory. This time I happened to enter the shop with Stan, the other PCV who also lives in my town. When we entered the shop, the baker offered us a free sample cookie each, somewhat akin to a Madeleine cookie in the U.S. As soon as we had finished those sample cookies, he offered each of us a second sample cookie, each of which had ground nuts sprinkled on top. I bought a bag of cookies which cost twenty dirhams, which contained perhaps twenty cookies. I left the shop happy that I had gone back to give interacting with him a second try, happy to be giving business to a local vendor.
I think that I confirmed my hypothesis which I had developed after having left the shop the previous day, that it seemed that he had been thinking in riyals rather than in dirhams. During PST (Pre-Service Training) during my first couple of months in Morocco, Peace Corps staff directed us PCVs to develop hypotheses about why certain things happen here in Morocco. I received reinforcement of the wisdom of this approach from my trips to the bakery. It's important not just to develop the hypotheses, but also to gather the data which confirm or disprove the hypotheses. Otherwise you might be missing out. On more than just some delicious cookies. Also on the chance to learn more, and understand more, about another culture, and the people who live in it.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
There's No Time Like The Present
Often when I'm at the Dar Chebab ("youth center" in Darija, or Moroccan Arabic) here in town, I find myself waiting for more kids to show up. Kids aren't required to come to the Dar Chebab; they just come if they want to come. While I mention certain activities or classes to them, they don't always come for such activities or classes, even if they say that they're interested in attending. Keep in mind that in Morocco, people very often indirectly respond to an invitation to an event which does not interest them. Rather than directly decline an invitation, very often people will either say that they will attend an event, or they avoid accepting the invitation.
With the Dar Chebab re-opening this week after being closed because it was the latter half of the summer, I began to feel a sense of urgency. Time has been passing, and as more time slips behind me, of course that means that there is less time left here in Morocco for me.
So, yesterday, when one boy, a regular at the Dar Chebab, arrived in the Dar Chebab, I brought him into a classroom and began an improvised geography lesson with him. I drew the globe, started filling it in with the continents, and asking him to name them. He could name them in Darija, but not always in English. Then I started reviewing the names of oceans with him.
Another boy, also a regular at the Dar Chebab, arrived soon thereafter. Within the continents I had already drawn, I was filling in the boundaries of countries, and dotting the map with various capitals. It seemed that they were more likely to know locations closer to Morocco, which of course makes sense. They knew all of the countries in "El Maghrib," the group of countries in North Africa. Thus they knew that Algeria borders Morocco to the east, and that immediately east of Algeria is Tunisia, that east of Tunisia is Libya, and that east of Libya is Egypt. They also knew that Mauritania is located immediately south of Morocco, and that Senegal is immediately south of Mauritania. One of them knew that the capital of Senegal was Dakar. They didn't know that the country of Andorra lies between France and Spain.
I always love teaching, even when it is impromptu. In fact, I think that I might love it even more then, because I am doing it when I didn't expect to be doing it, so then it's like a surprise benefit to be helping others. Thus I definitely enjoyed the geography lesson I just taught. However, also having had so little work recently, for that reason it also felt great to have just taught. I was glad to have had even just the two of them there to teach.
With the Dar Chebab re-opening this week after being closed because it was the latter half of the summer, I began to feel a sense of urgency. Time has been passing, and as more time slips behind me, of course that means that there is less time left here in Morocco for me.
So, yesterday, when one boy, a regular at the Dar Chebab, arrived in the Dar Chebab, I brought him into a classroom and began an improvised geography lesson with him. I drew the globe, started filling it in with the continents, and asking him to name them. He could name them in Darija, but not always in English. Then I started reviewing the names of oceans with him.
Another boy, also a regular at the Dar Chebab, arrived soon thereafter. Within the continents I had already drawn, I was filling in the boundaries of countries, and dotting the map with various capitals. It seemed that they were more likely to know locations closer to Morocco, which of course makes sense. They knew all of the countries in "El Maghrib," the group of countries in North Africa. Thus they knew that Algeria borders Morocco to the east, and that immediately east of Algeria is Tunisia, that east of Tunisia is Libya, and that east of Libya is Egypt. They also knew that Mauritania is located immediately south of Morocco, and that Senegal is immediately south of Mauritania. One of them knew that the capital of Senegal was Dakar. They didn't know that the country of Andorra lies between France and Spain.
I always love teaching, even when it is impromptu. In fact, I think that I might love it even more then, because I am doing it when I didn't expect to be doing it, so then it's like a surprise benefit to be helping others. Thus I definitely enjoyed the geography lesson I just taught. However, also having had so little work recently, for that reason it also felt great to have just taught. I was glad to have had even just the two of them there to teach.
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