I'm sorry, I know this is annoying, but I think I need to put this blog on hiatus.

There's no way to post without giving away where I work to the greater public, and I think that's inappropriate: to blog publicly about where I work, what goes right and wrong on trips, and talk about my own journey that I feel is starting here. Life in the Oudaya fast became two roads which diverge in a yellow wood, and though I want to travel both, I have to convince myselt to take the one less traveled. I just don't know how, or if I will, or if doors are open that I want to be open. We'll see.

If I can figure out a way to password protect, I will try to let interested parties know. Maybe I will continue to upload photographs or funny benign stories. We'll see.

Training was intense and beautiful. Life is intense and beautiful. I think I'll leave it at that. :)

Packing: off to training!

I've become lazy with the photographs, but trust me, there will be more coming sometime soon.

Training officially starts tomorrow, which means that the four of us will be packing and heading over to Algeciras on a ferry sometime in the afternoon. From there, we have a four-day training trip, where we will be shadowing and learning about how our jobs work, then a short two-day training on the beach in Tarifa, Spain.

Unfortunately, my nerves are acting up, as they always do when starting a new job, no matter how amazing the opportunity, and today I have not whittled away a lot on my "to-do" list.

The washing machine is (finally) working (lhamdullah), though it required running all over the medina for the correct hardware, some plumbing work and even a friend of ours doing some electrical work to get the outlet to work... so, almost a full week after delivery, we have a working 5 kilo washing machine, which is glorious, and just in time for packing!

I have a few things to do before training starts, including deciding on what to do after the end. Everyone else has a trip that next weekend, but I have a week off due to scheduling, and so I may stay with my friends in Malaga or Granada for a few days, just to get to know Spain and Andalusia a little better.

Until then, I'm in the midst of pulling together my classwork for the next two weeks, trying to get graduate school applications ready, and figuring out if and how I can go to a Moroccan wedding on the 10th that we were invited to. It should be a very busy and interesting few weeks, to say the least. I love and hate the stress and excitement of transitions!

Great afternoon, but with a zinger (or stinger?)

Typical Oudaya street with pristine whites and blues

Steps from the Oudaya to the beach

This site, though not professionally made, has a lot of good information about the history of where I live: the Kasbah of the Oudayas, the oldest part of Rabat, which also houses a small palace and the oldest mosque in Rabat. I find it fascinating that many houses were originally built by Spanish Muslims fleeing Spain, as well as the names for the different places: the terrace that is about a minute's walk from our house is called the Plateforme du Semaphore: the signal platform when it was a working fort. The tea terrace is actually Cafe Maure, and the museum in the old palace houses a jewelry exhibition.

The main gate that I have posted on the right side of this blog is an Almohad gate called Bab Oudaia (Oudaya), built in 1195. The main street is called Rue Jamaa and the mosque-- Jamaa Al Atiq-- so close I feel I could almost touch it from my roof, is the oldest in Rabat, built in the 12th century and restored in the 18th. The Andalusian Gardens, near the palace museum and Cafe Maure, were laid out by the French during the colonial period. The palace was built in the 17th century, and the original hammam is still intact though, unfortunately, out of commission.

At the end of rue Jamaa is the Platforme du Semaphore, the old signal platform from the forts' working days. The view is dramatic of Oued Bougareg (the river that separates Rabat from Sale) and the Atlantic Ocean. Though I wish there were benches or tables, it is a fantastic place to view during the day, and rather interesting at night when it turns into Lovers' Lane, couples clutching each other against the wall, whispering to each other in the shadows while enjoying the sea breeze and spectacular view. There are steps that lead down to the beach, where, if I feel like splurging someday, surf lessons and board rental are available.

The platform: fairly calm during the day



Beach view from platform


Inlet view from platform

Road outside the Oudaya; the dark alley is the closest Medina entrance

After a gratifyingly productive morning of taking this module's test for my online class and a conversation over Skype with Mom, I headed out with the goal of learning more about the Oudaya in the way that made the most sense to me: by visiting the museum. Unfortunately for me, the museum talked more of jewelry and artifacts than the history of the palace, but it was still an interesting place worth seeing, particularly the diversity of wedding jewelery from all over Morocco.

I decided to try to find a hammam, and was directed across the street (out of the Oudaya) to the outskirts of the Medina, but became sidetracked by a row of furniture-sellers who restored antique wood boxes, tables, doors, frames, and dressers, admiring the handiwork and artistry; the melding of new refurbished painting with the old worn wood. I may concede on an old jewelry box after my first paycheck, depending on how finances are going, as it will be useful even here, as I do not have a mirror in my room, and this does on the inside.

Hammam-hunting lost, I wandered the medina streets, mostly residential in this area, then crossed over to the old cemetery overlooking the beach.

Small part of the cemetery.

It was from that cemetery that I found the road that leads from the Oudaya to the beach, and I walked up it, then past the gallery showing female Moroccan abstract artist. I had introduced myself earlier to the kind women who worked there and feel like it would be fun to get to know them, especially the woman from down south who speaks Berber (though not my dialect). I decided today was going to be a true "get to know the neighborhood" day, so I went somewhere else I had been wanting to see: an exhibit by a non-profit to support women pottery cooperatives.

On the walk over, out of nowhere, I was stung by a bee. I've never been stung, so I was terrified that I'd have an allergic reaction, but it seems to be fine. I was pretty panicked for a few minutes though, since I don't have an Epi-pen. Live and learn: bee stings are not fun, but I do not believe I am allergic, (touch wood, lhamdullah).

The Benedryl is making me sleepy though, so I'm afraid that's all for today. Lla y awn.

View of Oued Bougreg and outer Oudaya wall from Cafe Maure

Waiting for the washer

A glimpse of the terrace where you can order tea and watch the boats on the river, Oudaya.

I am essentially confined to the house for the afternoon, as the washer will be delivered between 1 and 3, and the installation man will come at six if I can't figure out how the hoses go myself. I probably won't be able to figure it out, since we don't have a real laundry room with convenient outlets and I will probably have to take apart a sink.

This is okay, I don't mind being confined; I need to study. We walked to the washer store this morning to make all the final preparations and pay for it (2800 dirhams, but between the four of us, a price well worth paying, plus we should be able to sell it afterwards for a reasonable price), so I feel like I have done some exercise for the day.

I already feel like this blog will be more mundane than my previous one, since city life in Rabat is so similar to southern Europe, at least comparatively.

I can already feel my Darija (Moroccan Arabic) getting better, and I feel that if I sit down with a textbook for 3-4 hours, I will be able to construct more complicated sentences. At least present and past tense seem fairly straightforward. Some people in the Oudaya are starting to recognize us as well, and the old man from the Souss region who owns a "little bit of everything" store near our house waved and greeted me as we walked by: a very good sign.

After delivery and before installation this afternoon, I want to check out the Oudaya museum. It costs a little over a dollar for admission, but I'm interested to learn about my new neighborhood. Maybe I'll find out some interesting information to post. If I have time, I may also take my netbook to the little tea area that overlooks the river, dotted with blue fishing boats. I love having a wireless modem that uses cell phone coverage: it's slow, but the mobility certainly has advantages.

It's actually nice taking the class that I am online as well: it gives me something to do, and really makes me feel like I'm moving forward. I fear that once work starts, it may get challenging to make everything work in my schedule, but with the flexibility of distance education, I'm sure that it will work out, even if it is a little stressful. The reading I did last night made me feel like I was in less of an environmental science class and more in public health, which was a relief.

Last night, I met some PCVs that I had actually never met before, who were in Rabat for regular medical exams, and we splurged on pizza and juice. Fun time; I love that there will always be people coming up to Rabat for one reason or another.

Until next time, lla y awn!

Update: The washer made it, and I think I can figure out installation, as long as I go buy a part (that I don't know what the word is in English: hose adapter? Faucet adapter? "The thing that connects the washer hose to the sink?"), so tea and studying plans have been changed to "wandering the medina in search of a hardware store who can understand my pointing frantically to the user manual!" Such is life, I suppose. Another "great" mundane adventure. :) While I'm at it, I may also look for a hook and cement to help hang a sturdy clothesline.

Update two: And... I've given up until the man who is supposed to install it comes. After all, that's his job. Nobody had the adapter I wanted and they all told me to get a new faucet, so I bought that and a wrench but don't want to mess with plumbing in an old house on my own. So now, I have the wrench and new faucet (robini, from French "robinet") waiting with the washing machine. I did, at least, remove the expander bolts that come in the machine to help with transport.

Eid!

A small section of the view from our roof

Happy Eid!

I can't believe that tonight is only my third night here in the house. It's truly beginning to come together.

Yesterday, Sunday, I woke up early and went to church. The taxi driver spoke Berber, and it was a short ride from outside the Oudaya. I made it in, and though it wasn't home, I liked the diversity of the service and the people there from literally all over the world. I had lunch out with a few of them and it was a good time, meeting other ex-pats and learning about what they were doing here in Rabat, but I do not want to be too coddled: I want Moroccan friends here too.

The rest of the day I spent trying to get a wireless modem set up. It works, but with a few issues that I probably won't get resolved until the end of the week at least. But, for the time being, at least I have internet.

After church and internet-shopping, I finally found Zitouna street: the road in the medina full of fresh produce. I think, now, I could find it again. I'm constantly shocked by how many people here do speak Berber, though it's usually Tassousite/Tashelheit instead of my Tamazight. Tomatoes are expensive right now ($0.80/lb), whereas onions are always cheap ($0.20/lb), apples and pears are about $0.60-70, pomegranates range from $0.35-70, depending on the seller, and peppers and potatoes are about $0.25-30. I managed to carry a variety of vegetables and fruits home, and my other roomate who is home (two are traveling) and I made a hybrid Moroccan/American spaghetti for dinner. It was good, but I need my Italian seasoning!

I woke up later than late this...afternoon... with a headache like none other. After brunch, it subsided, and I finally managed to crank out some of my schoolwork. I thought about going out and taking pictures of the area, but by the time I made it out of the house it was already dark, so the only photographs I have are from the house.

We wandered through the winding blue and white streets to the lower gate, and walked to the small fair that is on our side of the river, just beyond the Oudaya walls. It was fun to be among all the bustle and bright lights of the fair, and we could see the outline of the mosque that is a stone's throw away from our house, high on the hill.

Tomorrow, I have to study more, and, if things are open, still find some system for storing my clothes. All in all, not a very interesting day, but a good one, nonetheless.

Familiar territory

A little past midnight, September 18, 2009

It’s my first night in the Oudaya.

As is typical during Ramadan, the medina, usually still and somewhat sketchy this time of night was vibrant and alive into the wee hours, as two of my new housemates and I wandered around, buying more things for the house, our fantastic palace in the middle of the sea blue and bright white of the Oudaya.

Never, in my wildest dreams, would I imagine that I would live somewhere, albeit for only nine short months, where you pass cannons and fading stone balustrades, walking through once heavily protected archways of an ancient fort in order to go home. I never dared to hope to live within a two minute walk of two art galleries, a museum, a delightful garden, and a balcony with the view of two beaches with kite-surfers and hand-holding couples, the river that separates the city of Rabat from the city of Sale, the Hassania, an old cemetery, a fun park, the medina, houses and people and life. I lusted after living like this while living in my rural community during the Peace Corps, wishing I were within walking distance of the Hammam, of a living, breathing medina, of shopkeepers, on public transportation, and a place that forces me to walk and be a pedestrian, always.

But such is life in the Oudaya, and such will be my life while working for an international education non-profit and taking an online certificate program for Public Health. If only everyone in the world were so lucky, so blessed.

As I sat on the Royal Air Maroc flight from JFK to Casa on Tuesday night, I wondered if it was the right decision to come back. It’s a different experience, the life I wanted while in Peace Corps, but I wondered: did I only remember the shiny, rich parts of Morocco while at home for those long three months? Was it a harder life than I remembered, a dirtier life, something that is full of hassle and obstacles, something that I really did not want to get back to? I had such a vibrant summer: getting closer to family—a priority that my time in the family-centered culture here inspired—traveling to interesting places, getting inspired to do graduate school, and feeling comfortable in my hometown for the first time ever. What was the point of prolonging the inevitable finding a house or apartment, a job, paying insurance, buying a car…

But as the drink cart came by, I saw Ouelmes and Ain Saiss on the cart: just two brands of water, sparkling and still. And it took me a full minute to realize that the reason they felt familiar was that they were Moroccan, something I saw every day, as familiar of brand as Target, McDonalds, or Coca Cola in the U.S. They were my past and future. In fact, the only culture shock that I’ve experienced in these last few days, despite living in an Arab rather than Amazigh (Berber) area is that I keep wanting to put on my seatbelt in taxis, forgetting that it’s impractical and usually impossible.

I did not feel the rush of excitement as I heaved and hauled my 150 lbs of luggage around the airport to the train, or had to lug them up a staircase in Rabat (lHamdullah, people helped). The men at our “typical” Rabat hotel remembered my face if not my name, and did the same act they usually do with Peace Corps Volunteers: putting me in the wrong room with another American, assuming we were friends and knew each other.

That afternoon, one of my house mates and co-workers—another former volunteer—and I walked to the Oudaya. For me, it was my first time to go. Somehow, while living it up every time I visited the capital during my service, I made it to almost every other point of interest in town, but not my future home. It was exactly as I had imagined, though I was surprised at the large hill that I will doubtless walk several times a day to get home. Already, it has become more manageable.

These last three days, I have probably walked four or more miles a day, and I feel good, finally with a forced less sedentary lifestyle. We’ve cleaned, bargained, and shopped and what was a Moroccan bachelor pad a few days ago is feeling like a home. Tomorrow, the ponjs I ordered to specification will show up at our doorstep. Eventually, we will have the luxury of a washing machine: much more affordable when there are three roommates to share the bill with.

The house is maybe twice the size of my mud house from Peace Corps, but much nicer than I anticipated for the price. I live downstairs, with a friend; my bedroom is real while hers is created from a salon space. There’s a sitting area, the front door, and a small kitchen we plan to use as a laundry room and storage. We also have a bathroom with a flush toilet and hot shower. There aren’t windows, which is typical, as we share all the other walls with our neighbors. Upstairs, we have a kitchen that bleeds into a living area upstairs, which came mostly furnished, though the L-shaped couch looks like something from a fun-house, and two bedrooms. I think that will end up being where most of the shared space and social space will be. The most striking part of it is the roof, which overlooks about five or six other roofs or courtyards, a mosque, and the river view of Rabat and Sale. I hope, once we all get our first paychecks, that we will get plastic furniture for the roof so that it is easy to dine with the setting sun, call to prayer ringing out over the stunning land and cityscape.

On Thursday, a roommate friend and I went to the Peace Corps office, to say hi to people. It is amazing how truly comfortable everything feels. I don’t feel out of place, or wonder why I am here. Morocco is not an ideal place or even my personal Shangri-la, but I really feel like it has become my second home, with its flaws and its beauty.

The end of Ramadan is drawing near, and I am almost on a Ramadan schedule: staying up late into the night and sleeping in or napping during the heat of the day. Tonight, a roommate and her friend made a l’ftor, so with the call to prayer, we “broke fast” with a slightly modified version of the feast, then ventured out again for shopping in the crowded medina and coffee on a main street in the city.

I love the medina at night when it is still alive. There comes a time when it’s not safe, but in the time between sundown and being at home under lock and key, it is amazing, even if it’s not one of the UNESCO and Lonely Planet-recognized wonder of Fez or Marrakech. No, this is not a tourist medina, for the most part, and the majority of people are shopping to live. Piles of towels, blankets, hair products, clothes, scarves, foods, books, religious articles, shoes, used appliances, cell phone accessories, phone cards, bowls of steaming gingery escargot, kefta sandwiches, or kitchen appliances create little islands in the larger walkways, and it takes maneuvering not to trip and fall while navigating through crowds of men, women, and children of every color, shape, and style: old women, old men using canes, giggling teenage girls in shiny mini-jellabas with matching pants, or tight jeans with a short-sleeved blouse, snippets of Spanish or French as tourists walk through in a wide-eyed stupor. Moroccan teens even occasionally in mini-skirts, or the occasional woman covered from head to toe with just her eyes showing, young men in packs (don’t make eye contact) or families pushing strollers, women with headscarves or loose, long hair tied back, or a short, sharp haircut… The stores run the gambit, and it really is a town, a city in miniature. Other than leaving for work, I could live these nine months never leaving the Oudaya and medina, and life would be the cheaper for it, as the downtown, Centre Ville area is much more expansive as a whole.

Don’t get me wrong: there are always problems and obstacles; life is not simple and carefree. When walking through the medina, men occasionally whisper obscenities about us in Arabic, thinking correctly that I don’t understand but not knowing that I can understand the gist of it. While shopping for ovens or washing machines at the superstore here, Marjane, of course nothing we want is in stock, no they can’t order it for us, nor can they sell us the floor model that has a price tag on it and nothing at all to indicate that it is not currently available. This wasn’t an isolated event: the same thing happened with our desired oven and washing machine.

When we were staying in a hotel for the last two nights, since our house wasn’t ready, nothing was open to eat, so we walked miles in the heat, sluggishly, having had just a handful of pretzels or a sip of water when we woke up because nothing is open for Ramadan and even if it was, we wouldn’t be able to eat in public because of our own feelings of discomfort. Every day at around two or three, my head throbs from dehydration and, until today, it usually took several hours until we were in the relative obscurity of our hotel room to down some water for respite.

I don’t mention this to complain, but to show that my eyes are not glazed over with the honeymoon period with my situation right now. Life is not perfect or heavenly here, though it’s pretty close. If, for the price we are paying for rent, I can live somewhere like this and have this beautiful lifestyle, why not stay longer, and take classes online and pursue my degree that way? No, I already dislike the impersonality and coldness of distance education, though it’s better than I anticipated. The pedant in me loves the atmosphere of classes around a seminar table, the debate and game of school, and, especially with the degrees I want to pursue, it will be much better to do it with field placements and face-to-face interactions rather than through a computer screen while sitting in a garden, or on my roof.

And work! Work has its frustrations already as well, and I know it will be a veritable challenge, though one I embrace. As if my idyllic life could not get any better, I will have the opportunity to go to Spain twice a month (though a dirty grimy port town, so sayeth the guidebooks) and most likely add a splash of sangria and tapas to my comparatively temperance-filled life in Morocco.

Until next time, lla y awn, my friends.

September 19, 2009

Life continues to be good, I suppose. This morning, we slept in, after I was up until past three, working on alpha-reading for one of my favorite childhood authors, blogging, and cleaning the house.

After finishing up the downstairs, the results are in: the house is beginning to feel like a home. Right now, my biggest home challenge is an affordable place to store clothes. Right now, most of them are hanging in our second kitchen—which is now a storage space and will soon become a laundry room—though many are still in piles or plastic bags on my second ponj. I am looking for cheap storage: be it a used dresser or simply Tupperware containers I can stack in the corner. I am also looking for a few small tables, a small trash can (a few), and hooks for the door.

After cleaning, the four of us (sans S, avec Az) went to a place that has used furniture, but we were too late and most everything was packed up. We did find an affordable washing machine, and will buy it and have it delivered on Wednesday. I also got sheets that don’t really fit on my ponj, but for nine months, I will make do.

At around four, we picked up our ponjs, and despite the sellers’ attempt to extract more money than agreed on, it was all in all a fruitful trip, and walking at my not-so-leisurely typical pace, I still could not keep up with the teenage boy who walked them the half-mile piled high on the hand cart—the carusa—dodging cars and taking the steeper hills at a fast run.

We stayed in for a few hours: until about two hours after break-fast, since most things are closed until then. A friend and I wandered the medina on a fruitless search for vegetables and plastic furniture. Unfortunately, everything was closed for the night that we needed and it was mainly clothing stores, electronic stores, hardware stores, small cafes, and stores with sundries that were open. We made do with sandwiches, found a few more Berber speakers in the medina, and headed to bed after dinner. I love that on average, I've walked probably 4-5 miles every day since I've been here, just as a way of life. I feel healthier, more productive, greener, and more natural, like this is what humans were meant to do. And I suppose, in a way, we were meant to live this way. It certainly feels ideal.