A new blog

For any semi-regular readers: some friends (back stateside) and I have recently started a new blog. Here are the first two pieces I wrote for it

Philippe Petit and Man on Wire, a spirited review

Self and Time: Am I Who I Was Who I Will Be?

figuig pictures, and Morocco in the news, and a brief look back

first off, here's some pictures from figuig!-- to see them better, click on one and it will let you scroll through them.

Thankfully, the law that encourages rapists to marry their victims has been amended. While the ruling was a definite victory, it was a small one. You can read why in the following NYT article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/01/24/world/africa/after-debate-moroccan-government-amends-rape-law.html?_r=0

Morocco actually ended up on the front page of the paper (front electronic page, that is) for two days in a row. Today an article appeared about a small Berber village that is protesting a silver mine, which has used up and/or polluted most of their water supplies. The Amazigh (the free people) simply walked up tot the top of the hill and turned off the mine's water pump, where they have continued to stage a protest for the last couple of years. Naturally, the mine is owned by the King of Morocco. You can read the piece here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/01/24/world/africa/on-moroccan-hill-villagers-make-stand-against-a-mine.html?hp


In other news, last weekend I went to Rabat. Among other things, I ran a couple of training sessions for fresh-from-the-promised-land peace corps volunteers. One hundred and four Americans arrived maybe two days before I was up in front of a group of them talking about how to start clubs at the youth center. I was the first current Morocco volunteer they'd met, so I got a lot of questions. For the first session, after a couple minutes of failed attempts at getting it started, I just sat down and fielded questions.

They are at the stage where I was about 22 months ago. A number of things have become totally normal to me, but seemed to frighten them. Generally speaking, those things had to do with toilets, showers, and intestinal problems. And some work stuff too.

But what was really incredible is that I basically couldn't put myself back in their place. I couldn't really remember what it was like. I don't know how I was feeling in those first couple of days. So it's a good thing I've been doing this blog.

Change is Good

The Moroccan government is currently considering amending a law. This law essentially states that if a rapist marries the rape victim, then they are no longer a rapist. I'm not sure exactly why this is the case. I gather that there is no law prohibiting rape if the two parties are married. But I don't know whether this rule becomes retroactive. Underage marriage is legal with parental consent. What this means is that many parents (read: probably the fathers), once they realize their daughter have become victim of rape, push for marriage as a way for them to save face.

A number of girls, most recently a 16-year old, have committed suicide following their forced marriage to their rapists. This has drawn media attention and scorn from abroad (Europe, not other Arab countries). So maybe the Justice Department will amend the law.

This is just one example of a legal system that systematically turns its back on the rights and safety of women. I would estimate that the majority of female peace corps volunteers here are physically, sexually harassed at some point during their service. Morocco, along with every other Arab country, is consistently rated as among the worst countries on Earth to be a woman.

All of this is sickening, but what's really crazy is that the current situation is actually a dramatic improvement over years past. I just finished a book by a Moroccan woman who grew up in Fez during World War two. She lived in a harem and much of the story is about her growing understanding, as a child, that she lived in a cage. Women were not allowed to leave the home except on special occasions. One of her prison-mates, who lived with her, had been captured as a slave and sold in Fez in the 1930s. At the time, it was the Moroccan nationalists who were pushing for a more modern role for women. The people who were struggling against the French occupation were, at the same time, encouraging girls to go to school for the first time where they would learn, among other things, French. Very Strange.

Morocco has come far in a short period of time, but it has not come far enough. I wish I were allowed to join the protests in Rabat in front of the Parliament as the new law is considered, but as a pcv, I am forbidden from doing so. As I become more aware of the legal and social injustices in this country, I find myself wishing the peace corps had a role as a political organization. But it doesn't.

Figuig Christmas

We took a couple days away from Berkane and headed for a desert Christmas. If you look at the map below, of places I've checked out in Morocco, Figuig is the most South-Easterly. It is surrounded on three sides by Algeria, maybe 400 km away from Berkane, most of which is an endless, perfectly straight road with nothing but broken rocks stretching out to either side as far as the eye can see. Maybe every 40 kilometers you can spot a nomadic herder. It's way out there. And absolutely worth the trip.

Figuig is an incredibly beautiful place. We stayed with friends who live in an 800-year old, mostly mud-brick neighborhood set in the middle of a date palm oasis. Paths wind between small plots of land, protected by high mud-brick walls, sometimes up to 10-12 feet. There are countless dark tunnels, with wooden crossbeams supporting houses above. I'll collect some photos from others who were there.

Christmas was celebrated in the right way, with eggnog, carols, cookies, good food, and good friends. Visiting a community so much smaller and more relaxed than my own makes me supremely jealous of other volunteers. I hope to go back there as soon as possible.

I'll need to step on it, as there's less than 5 months to go.

Apple

Every once in a very long while, for a couple of hours, I almost forget that I am in this weird place. Many things are weird about Morocco. Everybody stares at me. I see sexual harassment in the street at least once a day. It's 65 degrees in the middle of December. But the strangest thing, for me at least, is Islam.

And not just Islam, but the fact that 99.9999% of the people around me actually believe in the literal reading of the Quran. The stories are not parables; they are not lessons. They are iron-hard scientific facts and prescriptive rules. No interpretation necessary or allowed.

I don't mean to hate on Islam, (although I hate, hate, hate the sexual harassment and suffocating patriarchy which is, in a very real way, tied up with religion). I'm sure that I would feel out of place in any homogenous religious society.

Anyway, yesterday I was invited over to eat lunch with a local teacher who works very hard and who helped me a number of times last year. K and I went over there and we'd been speaking English for a couple of hours and I was starting to feel comfortable. Danger sign.

We were eating some pomegranates and talking about the word in various languages. In German, it's apfelgranate or granateapfel or something like that. Anyway, it has apfel in it (apple), and this reminded me of something I had learned.

Me: You know, many people think that, in the Adam and Eve story, it wasn't an apple-- it was a pomegranate.
the teacher: What?
Me: Well, there were no apples in the region where the story comes from, but there were pomegranates, and I think the words in the ancient language are the same, or very similar.
the teacher: what do you mean where the story comes from?
Me: What, I think it was in Syria or Iraq or something
K: Yeah, Syria, I think.
the teacher: No-- we don't know where it was- of course, they were in Heaven or some place like that, not here on Earth.
Me: Oh. okay...

Whoops. I managed to forget for a minute where I was.

Guests

On Thanksgiving, the entire PCV community congregated in Rabat for Turkey and flu shots. In some ways, it was a stereotypical Thanksgiving- some people in the extended family opted not to come, some made great food, some started drinking in the late morning, and some brought their decades-younger, locally-sourced wives/fiancees. It was great. It's always great to go to Rabat, which is starting to seem like a real city. As we travel West on the train, things start to get fancy. And when we travel East of Fes, it's like going back in time.

After the big celebration, we had a mini-thanksgiving at our apartment with 8 guests. The food was outrageous- lamb stew, roast chicken, cranberry sauce, cornbread stuffing, green beans, nutella cheesecake, pumpkin pie, cinnamon ice cream. We drank mulled wine and played classic Thansgiving games like pick-up-sticks.

While it has warmed back up since then, it was 43 degrees that day and raining. Since we had the oven and burners going, and 10 people's body heat inside our bathtub of a house, condensation was streaming down the walls. The next day we had puddles of water on the ground and everything in the house was damp. I'm hoping this doesn't mean we'll get another mold infestation like last year.

It's great to have people come visit. Everybody gets sucked into the problems and issues they have with their own towns, and seeing it through other volunteers' eyes can be refreshing and uplifting.

Thanksgiving Round 2

eyum alshukr - Day of Thanks

I am thankful for family, and their unflagging support over the duration of this insane thing I'm doing.

I am thankful for visitors--old friends, uncle & aunt, dad & mom & grandmom, and other volunteers who make it to my town.

I am thankful for Krista, without her, I don't think I could have lasted this long.

I am thankful for having 6 months left-- it's enough.

I am thankful for America -- friends, bourbon, trash bins, traffic laws, green spaces, English speakers, diversity, religious tolerance, dish washers, washing machines, central heating, warm water, foreign food, sports, and higher education.

I am thankful for Morocco -- my work counterparts, my peace corps brethren, my local friends, cumin, coffee, my stove, cooking gas, the illegal food market, the contraband clothes souk, oscar pizza, my bike, the roof over my head, the abundance of sweaters, the peace corps library, my students, how I feel like what I'm doing is appreciated, hot tea, socks, long underwear, my phone plan, my internet connection, electricity, my fridge (and freezer!), the generosity of strangers, my food stipend, and Krista's cooking.