Thinking Through My Stomach

Recent discoveries:



1.) Not eating for long (up to 20 hour) periods of time won’t necessarily result in torturous stomach pain, inability to work, or death. I think I may have believed the contrary up until last week. American culture is focused on eating at every available opportunity-- woe the person who suffers from a pang of hunger. I definitely had an almost diabetic’s obsession with making sure I had access to something, anything, at all times just in case my stomach was empty and I started to feel tired or hungry.

It was hard to imagine that it could be possible to go through the day without food (or water) and still be able to function. So with Ramadan coming up I prepared myself to suffer considerably and was completely surprised to find I could grow accustomed to it, virtually pain-free. In part I think it helps that I have no other chemical habits to give up (cigarettes, coffee), but there is a lot to say about forming eating habits. When at my most scheduled, I can feel the first signs of hunger exactly at 12 noon, when I allow myself to declare “lunch”. A snack at 3pm becomes almost necessity to get me through the afternoon. However, if I simply tell myself I can’t eat until exactly sunset, well, so be it. There is no big temptation in treating myself to something between meals if I’ve forbid myself from putting anything in my mouth until the appropriate time. The hard rule makes it easier for my body to accept the challenge.

Of course, I’m also glad that Ramadan is only a month for the fact that I am a morning person and don’t think I could put up with eating for the day between sunset to first light for much longer than that time period. Also, if you make the mistake of not drinking enough water during the night, you may suffer more considerably during the day (we need water before food, after all).

A final note, it doesn’t seem like condensing your meals saves much time. Every day I wonder where the time went, I never feel like I’ve accomplished quite enough “before breakfast”.

2.) I can eat my chicken and her eggs too. So, to follow up on my chicken experiment, I’ve found that I would definitely keep chickens for their eggs if I had space to do so in a future living arrangement. However, they sort of took over my small courtyard and with the cooling weather I imagine a nice outdoor sanctuary for me and a few potted plants. Also, the landlord upstairs was starting to complain about the noise (this was mostly due to a visiting rooster, and grumpy Ramadan mornings, but I don’t need to pick that fight).

What did this mean for my hens? It meant finding out if this suburban child had enough farm girl in her to mercilessly eat her “pets”. Apparently, the answer is “yes”. The scrawny, noisy one was up first. We made pastilla, the delicious and famously Moroccan savour-sweet pastry dish. We buried my hen between layers of thin pastry, herbed scrabbled egg, and almonds, topped with cinnamon and sugar.

“Big Momma”, my other girl, is up next. She once extended her life by allowing me to pet her, but now my cold, cold heart races as I flip through cookbooks.




3.) It is, in fact, worth it to take a trip back up to the mountains specifically to pick blackberries (and visit my former host-family). Wild (i.e. free) fruit is sweetest!

4.) Cheese can be a simple, yet tricky culinary challenge. I’ve been learning leaps and bounds as I gear up for a cheese-making workshop I am hosting this coming week. It has been interesting trying to figure out what ingredients are really available in Morocco. I think I can find everything locally now.

It amazes me how much variety you can get simply by changing the timing and temperature of the same basic ingredients. Nope, still no Brie without the mold culture. Bummer.

5.) It has been nearly a year since I’ve arrived and I have been free of any major stomach issue! Even the minor stomach issues have been few and far between. I can only imagine the amazing stomach flora and fauna I must have to put up such a good fight. Keep it going team!

Paradise and Ramadan

The last two weekends I have been fortunate enough to take advantage of Morocco’s beaches. The first I visited with Jon, Emily (who happened to be doing some errands in Rabat) and Nadiya. Skhirat Beach, just south of Rabat was great for swimming, and a bit over-crowded. By contrast, KaHf l’Hammam (or “Paradise Beach”), south of Asilah, was empty when we got there, and had a rougher surf. Asilah itself was cute, decorated with murals from an annual festival that took place just before we arrived.

In Asilah our group consisted of all PCVs, using our Holiday four-day weekend for a break on the beach. Coincidentally, Ramadan also started last weekend, which means a major-shift in schedule for Morocco. Food is harder to come-by in the middle of the day, since Muslims fast during daylight hours. Although I was planning on fasting when I got back to my site, I didn’t want to start while on my mini-vacation. Fortunately the little food-shacks at Paradise Beach were happily catering to tourists and didn’t have an issue with preparing a delicious tajine for us. I guess it is okay to be a tourist now and then.

I came into this country a lunar year ago, during the month of Ramadan. The specific smells and atmosphere of this special month bring back memories of those first weeks. I keep thinking of my first host family, whom I recently visited during my trip to Ain Leuh.

I remember my host mother sitting on her kitchen floor, patting out the milawi (flakey pancakes) or heating up the bgharir (cross between a pancake/crepe) and slathering them with butter and honey. I remember tending to the fish frying on a pan balanced precariously on a gas tank burner, or the warming milk on the stove; the dates that break the fast and the harira that follows; the sticky shbekiya, the grainy zmita. I didn’t attempt to fast while dealing with the whirlwind of other changes, so when l’ftor came around I didn’t exactly have an empty stomach to take in all the calorie-rich foods.

A year later and here I am again, a whole other person, yet not. This year I am going to try to fast for part, if not all of Ramadan. This was a common question asked amongst PCVs leading up to it, “Are you going to fast this Ramadan?” Everyone has reasons for or against fasting, and I do agree it must be a personal decision. I’m not Muslim, but I am open to another insight into the culture I’m currently living in. I feel more prepared this year to handle the physical strain I might endure. Of course, I won’t go so far as to put myself in any real danger health-wise, and am prepared to drink water if the day proves too long and hot.

I am on my third day of fasting, and have been doing all right so far, despite a head cold I’ve been working through. I am embraced by the warm smiles that appear when I answer, “Yes, I am fasting.” L’ftor is shared with friends and neighbors. Although I could probably take on the calorie-rich foods in stride this year, I’m trying hard to drink more harira, and have a healthy meal later in the evening. That is the one major issue I’m encountering right now. When exactly should I eat that second meal? I love to wake up early, and don’t take a lot of joy in the late hours of the night. Waking up at 3:30 the first night to take a meal before the fasting began for the day (a little after 4am) didn’t make it easy to get back to sleep. I ended up not really sleeping at all until the next night when I stayed up until 1am to get in the second meal with enough time (and exhaustion) to sleep through to morning. Even without an alarm it is difficult for me to stay asleep past 7am. I think my days will just have to be a bit long. Amazingly though, they seem much shorter.

Summer Camp

This last week was spent back in my old training grounds, Ain Leuh. I spent my first three months in Morocco there, nestled in the mountains. Once again Ramadan is approaching and it felt almost as if I never left when the taxi pulled up and I took the long, steep staircase up to the PCV’s house.

My second stay in Ain Leuh had its ups and downs. I came to help out with an Environment Camp. My main role was in helping with a mural to be painted on one of the long walls just below the park (which was also to be cleaned as part of the camp). Originally I had planned to do some other art-recycling projects with the kids, but this didn’t work out (and considering the activities I had been thinking of were for a younger audience than our 16-18 year old campers, I’m glad I didn’t). The mural itself was pretty successful. We had two other PCV artists, Jon and Emily, as well as several other volunteers making sure of its success.

We wanted the campers whose town we were in to have a big role in seeing the mural go up. One young artist drew up an environment-themed picture that we translated onto the long wall. We had some good hands in there making sure the mural was painted carefully, but my favorite helpers were the younger kids that came up looking for a way to get in on the action. I think the youngest were even more careful with the paint than the oldest.

Collectively I think the PCVs felt disappointed in the way the camp was run. It was clear that not all the money was being used the way it should have been. Also, there was a lack of adult supervision and group activities beyond the morning work (mural painting and park-cleaning). This lead to too much free time and too many opportunities to get into trouble. It was made clear to us just before the camp started that we were not to overstep our bounds in taking control of the camp. In the end, we decided to not become further involved than the project we had already started with the mural.

It is frustrating feeling helpless in this situation. What more could we have done? Things like corruption are not easy to tackle, but it is hard to sit by and watch. A lot of people seem to accept it as just the way things are.

By comparison the Spring English Camp I was involved in worked so much better.

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The flip side of my camp experience was the time I got to bond with the PCVs who came out to help with the camp. It was the longest I have stayed over at a PCVs house, and we all got along very well. It was fun to share good food and conversation, games…and most importantly, berry picking.


By serendipitous timing, we arrived for camp just as the wild blackberries were ripening along the roads. For this berry-starved PCV this was nearly miraculous! The berries ripened fast enough that we could go out daily and collect more berries. In the morning before camp I would grab my berry-picking stick and any other eager volunteers and went out to gather. The hunt is exciting. I’ve never lived in a place with blackberries or their cousins so I haven’t had the experience of fighting prickly thorns and precarious ditches to nab the juiciest berries.

With them we made pancake/French toast syrup, Blackberry custard pie, and jam to take home. It is exciting to eat in season, like an unexpected gift. The season is so brief though, and limited to the cooler, wetter mountains, that it was hard to go back to my berry-free site.

Next year I’ll be ready.

On Giving

Giving is an issue that runs through my head on a daily basis. With the current economy-situation it can be difficult to be generous a times. Or maybe that isn’t true—haven’t I heard that those who are closest to poverty give the largest percentage of what they have to help others? Debt is more the burden I bear (student loans that is) that weighs on my heart of giving. There is the constant tug of being responsible to my debt vs. needing to help others who are in harder situations.

Then again, I afford myself indulgences. I travel around this country for more than just work. I’ll even eat out on occasion. Of course I should have enough to share with those sitting on the street with their hands cupped for offerings.

Why is my first response defensiveness and embarrassment when approached by those asking for a hand-out? I think in part it is America’s system of giving to particular charities, which in turn deal with the target groups. We are most often a step removed from that outstretched hand, from the verbal pleading. Or, if we do encounter someone on the streets there is an element of distrust. Why hadn’t they been helped by charity X, Y Z that I donate to? Are they looking for drug/alcohol money? Are they crazy?

Maybe I’ve just been too sheltered by my own accord. Now I feel myself sticking out like a sore thumb—foreigner = money. I’m sure I attract more attention, but those who were on the streets were there before I left my house, palms up.

I’m embarrassed to be followed when I am walking with a friend. Even more embarrassed when the Moroccan opens her coin purse, instead of me, to quiet the pleas. Am I not here to help those in my community? Peace Corps has an emphasis on providing skills and knowledge to be passed along to improve peoples lives, not on providing mere handouts that may not last until the next one. Teach a man to fish and all that.

Maybe it is just my struggle with spontaneity. I am much less likely to say “yes” to an invitation to lunch today than tomorrow. Your chances are even better if we set a time next week. Give me time to consider the consequences and I am much happier for it. Come up and tug on my shirt while I’m in the middle of vegetable shopping and I’m too taken aback to want to say yes, even if I have my coin purse handy. I’m not good at impulse shopping.

Moroccans know the system. Giving is a pillar of Islam. You are expected to give when you have something. This is not just reserved for the needy. If you peel an orange it is rude to not hand juicy sections to those in your presence, especially children. Moreover, the system of charity we have in the US is not seen to the same extent here. From my observation, people in my town are likely to give directly to those in need rather than to an organization.

So what do I do? I can’t say “yes” every time I’m approached. A trip outside my house during peak times can seem almost like a frenzy. I don’t want to feel like the rich foreigner or the fool--the easy target. My discomfort at having to make a snap decision keeps my coin purse shut all too often. When do I say “okay”? How do I judge who is most worthy? How can I be humble enough for generosity?

Fourth

After some indecisiveness I ended up staying in my site on the 4th of July. Enough with traveling for a while, I think. Give me another week or so and I'll be back on the road.

This isn't to imply a holiday weekend devoid of excitement. I broke out my tiny BBQ pit/tajine-coal pot and grilled cheeseburgers and made french freedom fries! Jon and Emily came up as a convenient over-night stop to traveling down the southern-coast. I also had three of the korean volunteers over and Nadiya. Perhaps we American's were outnumbered, but it couldn't have been a better mix. And nothing makes you feel more patriotic than having to explain exactly who you gained independence from. That, and watching fireworks videos on YouTube.

Sunday I drew most of the day, which was rewarding. I'll be posting some of my recent work on DeviantArt.

l'arobiya

Instead of giving you my reasons for not blogging in quite some time, I’ll just pick up where my life is at the moment.

On Friday after work I met up with one of the girls who comes to the nedi in the artisana where I work. Tuesday she had invited me out to the larobiya, or countryside, to stay with her family out there for a bit. I haven’t really gotten to explore the vast rolling hills and farmlands that sprawl from any direction outside of town. This seemed like a perfect opportunity and I got over my initial apprehension and prediction of discomfort and said “Waxxa” (Okay).

We caught a taxi, with her mom, two kids and grandmother. Ten minutes later the stuffit (bus crammed full of people) dropped us off in front of a dirt road. We took this a short way to a small collection of homes and a one-room school. We had our mint tea out in front of the house in the cooling evening air and watched the sheep, chickens, dogs, donkeys, and cows come and go, mingling with us.

Yes, plumbing and electricity are nice, but all in all it was a pleasant start to the weekend. Although the food was unsurprisingly Moroccan, the carrots and squash and milk were amazingly even fresher and tastier than what I buy outside my house (I didn’t think it was possible). Plus, I got to ride a donkey.

I may be back for seconds sometime soon.

Dief (visitors)

How about a few highlights from my April trip around Northern Morocco with my first American visitors, Fred and Candy. We had a great time. My neighbors, who hosted a few meals for them, and I can’t stop talking about how much we miss them!

Here are a small amount of our wonderful adventures and discoveries:

-Putting on the hat as translator and negotiator was surprisingly fun (most of the time).

-Getting lost in the Meknes medina, and finding a “pit stop” in the unlit, unfinished room of a kind Moroccan woman.

-Making Texas chili and cornbread for my neighbors, served in a tajin of course.

-Bargaining for the best price on two beautiful Moroccan rugs at the big Tuesday Souk in my town.

-Listening to Nadiya’s brother play at a nightclub on the beach in Tangier.

-Learning my choice of phrases in English has become more Moroccan—“As you like it” became a running joke.

-Teaching Fred “may God grant you health also” in response to “may God grant you health” in Arabic.

-Startling my guests with my eagerness to dig my hands into the couscous and pop a nicely formed ball of the stuff in my mouth, Moroccan-style.

-Losing 50 dirhams to the slot machines at the casino in Tangier (Candy that is, not me).

-Driving through the beautiful Rif Mountains and staying in a hotel in ChefChaouen with a spectacular view of them.

-Eating snails on the street in Fes…with a safety pin.

-Sitting in a café overlooking Spain from across the straight while sipping mint tea.