Whistling In The Dark

Recently one night when I was in bed, trying to fall asleep in the Sahara, my post during my Peace Corps service here in Morocco, I was reminded of a certain superstition which supposedly some Moroccans have.  As I was resting there in bed in the dark, I barely heard a television playing somewhere.  On the TV was a commercial which sometimes plays here which includes whistling.  For some reason, even though I'd heard this commercial numerous times before, only as I heard it then in the dark did it remind me of the superstition here that if you whistle in your house, you're going to let a djinn, that is, a genie, into your home.  However, just as in the US, here in Morocco certainly not everyone subscribes to superstitions.  I was so reminded during a recent visit to the home of a family I know in town.

Perhaps a few days after I heard that commercial when I was trying to fall asleep, I was at the home of this particular family in town, visiting them for dinner.  As usual when one visits the home of a Moroccan family here in Morocco, the TV was playing.  As I sat there with the family, that same commercial which features whistling started playing on their TV.  I mentioned the superstition that if you whistle in your house, you'll let in a djinn. Some of the family members nearly seemed to chuckle, apparently unconcerned.  As an added expression of their lack of concern, one of them noted that the pressure cooker on the stove was starting to whistle!

Turn Off The TV

As I've mentioned, this week I've been spending time with brand new PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) who have just started living close to me down here in the Sahara. One of them, a man, lives here in the same town as me; the other, a woman, lives a half dozen kilometers south of us.

Yesterday we were walking through her village, getting to know members of her community and visiting apartments which she could potentially rent. She informed my site mate, who is the other PCV living in the same town as me, and I, that we had been invited to someone's house in her community for lunch. We arrived at his home at noon, which is early compared to when Moroccans usually eat lunch, typically around 2:00 p.m. First we were treated to tea and cookies, followed by a meal of couscous, vegetables and beef, both of which as the television was playing different movies made in the US. In retrospect, I concluded that the TV had been rather distracting; or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that we let it distract us.

In any event, after we left our host's home, we continued walking around her village. She spotted a building which she suspected contained an apartment. We asked some people nearby where we could find the landlord, and got directed to his home. We were welcomed into his home. Soon after we sat down, our hosts served us tea. Then I heard our host say that it was time for lunch. We had actually arrived at his house right at the typical lunch hour, a little after 2:00 p.m. Consequently, we were served individual servings of diced tomato, onions and green peppers. There were also a couple plates of sliced cucumbers on the low, round table around which we were sitting, as well as a couple of plates of lettuce. And of course there was the main communal dish. In it during this particular meal was beef topped with French fries, all sitting in a delectable oily sauce in which we dipped pieces of bread, which we also used to grab fries and pieces of meat for ourselves.

During our stay at this second house, we were talking a lot with our hosts, a father and mother, a couple of their daughters, and a couple of their sons. As PCVs, we were explaining the Peace Corps to them. The father was telling us how he had traveled to a variety of countries in the Arab world. We were asking and telling each other our ages. One of the sons was smiling and laughing a lot, so I joked with him that he could be a teacher of smiling and laughing. After we had been there at their home for a while, feeling so comfortable, and greatly enjoying their company, I suddenly realized that there was no TV in the room. I noted its absence first to my fellow PCVs. Then I told our hosts that because there was no TV in the room, we had been getting to know each other much better than if there had been a TV in the room. I left their home grateful to have met them, having immensely enjoyed the time with them, and appreciative also that they didn't have a TV on where we had been dining with them!

Asking a Woman's Opinion

This afternoon, I went over to my host family's home for lunch. As usual, when I arrived, the TV was on. In most Moroccan homes, if the TV is not on when one arrives, then shortly after one arrives for a visit, it is switched on. For a while, I was talking with some of the members of my host family. One of them was showing me some photos which she and her extended family members and friends had taken in Rabat, Casablanca and Ouarzazate on her cell phones (yes, she has more than one cell phone). After a while, my host family brought out some tea and sweets which we enjoyed together. Some time later, we ate lunch, which was a tajine, or stew, with bread, and drank the peach nectar which I had brought to their house with me.

At some point, we were watching a TV show about a group of Moroccan women who went to Marrakech for a weekend getaway. It seemed like a reality TV show. The footage was switching back and forth between their Moroccan husbands at home cooking and caring for the kids, and the Moroccan women enjoying their time in Marrakech, which included a meal in a Chinese restaurant as well as some time poolside.

I was struck by one thing which I've noticed before on TV here in Morocco which has always somewhat puzzled me. During the segment of the show at the pool, women in bikinis were shown. Yet I was watching this show not only in Morocco, but in the home of a fairly conservative family, in a conservative rural town, where the vast majority of women cover almost all of their bodies, except their faces, hands, and below their ankles. I've been repeatedly surprised by how conservative families here in Morocco watch TV programs showing scantily clad women, or women at least wearing clothing with low necklines, and baring most of, if not all of, their arms and legs. I suppose that I can discern that these viewers might be making a distinction between what they choose to wear themselves and what they choose to watch other women wearing on TV. Still, I am a bit surprised to see conservative women and men here watching TV shows starring women who are so uncovered.

In any event, when the TV show was over, I asked one of my host sisters (who, incidentally, in the last few months, has been to Casablanca and Rabat) what she thought of how these Moroccan women went to Marrakech for the weekend and left their husbands to cook in the kitchen and care for their kids. My host sister wouldn't answer.

After she wouldn't answer my question, I felt that I was led, by her failure to respond, to think a couple of things. First, it occurred to me that she wasn't used to someone asking her for her opinion, at least not on the topic which I was addressing. Which makes sense, given the cultural norm here in conservative rural Morocco, of how women are generally expected to stay at home, cook and care for their kids. Second, it occurred to me that perhaps she didn't feel like she could say what she really thought in response to my question... whatever it was that she thought. However, I still thought that it was important to ask her for her opinion...

Getting News Reports as a PCV

When I'm in a Moroccan's home, the TV is usually on. When I go over to my site mate Stan's host family's home, the TV is always on. Sometimes we'll be watching a telecast of a musical performance in Arabic, or perhaps the Moroccan news, which is broadcast in either Arabic or in French.

Sometimes, though, when all of the members of the family happen to be out of the room, Stan will put on the BBC World News channel. Thus in the last week or so, we've gotten to watch news in English, which we've enjoyed. Recently on the BBC news channel, we watched coverage of Hurricane Irene making landfall in the USA.

I read news stories in English on the Internet when I'm in the cyber. As far as newspapers go, even when I'm traveling, most of the newspapers available are in Arabic, and the rest are in French. While I have gotten some news from French language newspapers, I've rarely done so, since I only do so when traveling to and through large cities.

When the Dar Chebab (youth center), where I do most of my volunteering, is open, the moudir (director) often watches news broadcasts on his computer, which include video footage, which I sometimes watch with him. However, those broadcasts, being on Al Jazeera, don't convey much information to me, since they are in Arabic, so I understand virtually nothing of what is being said in them.

Until Stan and I recently watched the BBC news, I hadn't thought of how I rarely watch video news coverage in English in the cyber. It's interesting how sometimes I don't realize that a particular thing has been missing from my life until I re-encounter it. It makes me start to think about what we habitually do in our lives, which it turns out we don't miss once it's gone, and which therefore perhaps we don't actually need...

Moroccan Hospitality to the Rescue

Recently I headed out in the late morning, as I usually do, to buy some bread to make a sandwich for myself for lunch, and to go to a cyber. However, given that Ramadan had just ended in the last couple of days, all of the shops were closed.

Though there were a few people milling about, there were far fewer people out and about than usual. Given that I had very little food at home, and definitely no bread, I figured that I was probably going to be missing lunch. I tried to shrug it off, and, thinking that I could at least try to do something, I started off toward an apartment building I know to try to find out if there were any available apartments in it on behalf of Stan, the new PCV living in my town.

Soon after I turned onto the road toward that apartment building, I saw a fellow who lives here in town who is always friendly and welcoming to me. He invited me to come to his home for lunch. I was glad to accept, not only because I was hungry and didn't have much to eat at home, but also because he had invited me to his home months earlier, at times which weren't convenient for me.

So, I was happy to finally accept one of his invitations, and I turned around and started walking with him to his home. Right after we crossed one of the main streets here in town, he walked up to a group of men, some of whom were sitting on the curb, others in a car next to the curb, who were there talking. Given that typically in Morocco, if as a guy you're walking with another guy, and he starts talking with people, he shakes the hand of every guy there, and you do the same, even if you don't know them, even if he doesn't introduce you, and even if you think you're never going to see them again. So, once he had started shaking their hands, I did the same. After his very brief conversation with them, we continued on to his home.

We completed the short walk to his home very quickly, and proceeded up to the top floor, the third floor of the building. He immediately brought out some tea (which, here in Morocco, typically contains a lot of sugar) and removed the knit towel which was resting over the large plate holding a variety of cookies in front of us. When I finished my glass of tea, he asked me if I wanted more, which I did. More than once he told me to eat more cookies. He again offered me more tea, but I declined more tea at that point. Moroccans always encourage their house guests to eat and drink!

After we had had some tea and cookies, we continued watching TV. At one point, we were watching either a TV show or a movie which featured an actress who, I'm pretty sure, was Jennifer Lopez. They hadn't dubbed over the original English dialogue; rather, it had Arabic subtitles. So, I understood when I heard J. Lo's character tell her fellow character, "Change your shirt; you smell like dog," whereas my host laughed and repeated to me in Darija what she had just said, because he had just read it. I responded to him, in Darija, "Yeah, she didn't like that." When the two characters started slow dancing with their arms draped over each other in a bar in the next scene, my host changed the channel, about which I felt little regret.

Then I was more excited to get to see a little of a special on National Geographic Abu Dhabi which was set in Yosemite National Park. Although I understood very little of what was being said in that program, which was in Arabic, of course I could tell that they were observing small frogs in the water there in the park. And, toward the end of the program, I enjoyed seeing some footage showing some wide vistas in the park, which I especially appreciated having visited there and hiked there over a dozen times.

After my host and I had been watching TV for a while, he brought a large teapot and a type of water basin into the room. As typically done right before a meal in someone's home in Morocco, I placed my hands over the basin and he poured slightly warm water over my hands. When I told him "safi," meaning that he had poured enough water over my hands, he then handed me a towel to dry my hands.

He then brought in a tajine of chicken and olives, sitting in the juice of the chicken, and covered with French fries. He had also just brought in some bread (large, round, flat bread), from which we broke off small pieces, and which we used to dip in the juices of the tajine, and also used to grab olives, pieces of chicken, and French fries. We also used just our fingers to pick fries off the top of the chicken, which, incidentally, was a whole chicken, as is usual in a chicken tajine. (Each of us ate with the right hand; in Morocco, it is understood that the left hand is reserved for hygienic uses). Towards the end of the meal, he encouraged me to keep eating, but I didn't want to make myself uncomfortably full, so I told him I had had enough.

Also, I saw a plate of fruit which was waiting for us, so I left some room for that dessert. We enjoyed some melon and grapes for dessert.

Soon after we had finished dessert, he brought the teapot of warm water and the basin back into the room, and I again washed my hands. Soon thereafter, I then happily left his home, thanking him repeatedly, grateful for his generosity and hospitality which had saved me from being hungry for the afternoon.

On The Way Back

On the way back from Spring Camp to my town down here in southern Morocco, I took the train from northern Morocco to Marrakech. On the train, I once again enjoyed seeing lines of what looked like prickly pear cacti, arranged much as fences would be in the U.S.

I also noted satellite dishes on top of modest dwellings with concrete block walls and corrugated tin roofs. Usually when I am in Moroccan homes, which are typically those of poor people, there is a TV. But seeing from the outside so many satellite dishes on top of these simple dwellings, I was reminded of how frequently one finds televisions in Moroccan homes, despite poverty.

I also definitely enjoyed seeing some camels while riding the train. This time I saw only a few of them. Last month, east of the High Atlas mountains, I also saw camels, but more of them than I saw this month.

Once I arrived in Marrakech, I stopped at a cafe to quench my thirst. As I entered the cafe, it felt a bit surreal to note that a flat screen TV was playing a music video, "Learning To Fly," by Tom Petty, in its original English. I had grown a bit more accustomed to this perk by the time the next song, "Satellite," by the Dave Matthews Band, had started playing on the TV.

I was very happy that I got to attend Mass at a church that evening in Marrakech. It was all in French.

I was pleased to run into other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in Marrakech. As I was arriving at a hotel there, by chance I happened to rendezvous with other PCVs.

I went with one of my pals, Dipesh, to a big square there in Marrakech, where we had some fresh-squeezed orange juice, for only 4 dirhams (which is equivalent to about 50 U.S. cents) per glass. Then he and I went to a nearby rooftop cafe, where we had a great view of the square. We caught up on how we both have been doing, facing difficulties, adjusting to life in Morocco, coping with family and friends back home being so far away, and dealing with challenges in our work as PCVs.

He told me how my training site mates, Liz, Tory, Katy and Margo, with whom I trained for over two months when I first arrived in Morocco, were staying in a nearby hotel. I enjoyed showing up at that hotel and surprising them. I was especially entertained when one of my training site mates, Tory, upon seeing me, was so surprised to see me, that I felt that he seemed to be reacting as if someone had snapped his or her fingers, causing me to instantaneously appear in front of him. We caught up on each others' experiences at Spring Camp of the previous week, since we did not all serve at the same Spring Camp.

As usual, I took a bus south from Marrakech back through the High Atlas mountains. I was pleased to again see waterfalls flowing in those mountains on my return trip back down south.

When I arrived back in my town, I was rather fatigued from traveling, as well as hungry. Stopping by the hanoot (Darija for "grocery store" or "corner store") which I most frequently patronize, one of the proprietors handed me a glass of tea. He also gave me some peanuts to eat. He continued to attend to his shop as I refreshed myself. When he came back to the counter, seeing that I had stopped eating, he again encouraged me to eat. In his behavior that day, he provided a good example of typical Moroccan hospitality and generosity. Being as tired, thirsty, and hungry as I was, I was happy to receive his warm gestures. Experiencing such generosity, having established a connection with him, I was reminded why I am here, and felt further integrated into the community here. It helps that people have been as welcoming as they are. I appreciate their warmth, generosity and friendliness. And, it feels great when I relate it to you, as it reminds me that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer, which I have wanted to be for many years. I'm glad that I'm a PCV.

Eid Kbir

Today Muslims around the world have been celebrating the annual sacrificial feast of Islam.  Moroccans call it "The Great Feast," which is "Eid Kbir."  It is meant to memorialize how God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son.  Jewish and Christian believers think that Abraham was about to sacrifice his son Isaac.  Muslims believe that God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his other son, Ishmael.  Therefore, Eid Kbir is celebrated from the point-of-view that Abraham was ordered to sacrifice his son Ishmael.  (All three faiths believe that after God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son, Abraham was about to do so.  Under all three faiths, God then told Abraham not to sacrifice him, because God had only told Abraham to sacrifice his son to test Abraham's devotion to God. Instead of sacrificing his son, Abraham sacrificed an animal.)

Every family is to have its own sheep on Eid Kbir.  Those who cannot afford a sheep buy a less expensive animal, such as a goat.  In Morocco, families are not to kill their sheep until the King has slain his sheep.  Today I watched the King kill two sheep on TV. After the King has killed his sheep, then the head of each household kills the sheep for that family, then the sheep is cooked bit by bit.  Earlier today, I ate various sheep parts, including sheep liver.

It is customary to purify oneself for Eid Kbir.  One is expected to make oneself as clean as possible.  Accordingly, this morning my host brother, his visiting nephew and I visited the local hammam, which is essentially a Moroccan bath house.  Each of us brought a kis (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic for "exfoliating glove") and we scrubbed ourselves, removing much dirt from our bodies.  We scrubbed each others' backs, too.  Men and boys also get haircuts in preparation for Eid Kbir.

Community members also pray more than usual during Eid Kbir.  Also, it is customary, as always, to give alms to impoverished persons.  People also give some of the cooked sheep parts to poor people as well.  Since it is also customary to visit family and friends during Eid Kbir, I accompanied my host brother and his visiting nephew when they visited some of their relatives here in town this morning.

I certainly feel that I am learning about the culture of Morocco by experiencing Eid Kbir.