this is my older host brother, hussian, in our living room sketching in the layout
my host brothers, hussian and abdul halem helping sketch
picasso-esque, dont you think 
the final product
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
saving the world one sign at a time
during training they tell you not to expect immediate results, but they werent accustomed to dealing with super volunteer, andrew quincy!!! after talking with my host brother i decided to focus my initial energies on helping the womens cooperative hone their business approach, my village is situated on an established trekking route meaning lots of foreigners pass through the community and the community benefits little from the passing money, my host mother is involved in the weaving workshop but they lacked a proper sign, other than cardboard cutout, so given that they had a metal scrap laying around i decided to help by painting a "catchy" billboard to draw attention to the cooperatives wares, my host brothers decided on the wording in french and arabic "development association of amejgag"
this is my older host brother, hussian, in our living room sketching in the layout
my host brothers, hussian and abdul halem helping sketch
picasso-esque, dont you think
the final product
this is my older host brother, hussian, in our living room sketching in the layout my host brothers, hussian and abdul halem helping sketch picasso-esque, dont you think the final product
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Saturday, June 02, 2007
women the world ‘round are all the same
shopping for panties with my 16 year old sister was a experience in its self. granted I haven’t spent much time in the states shopping for women’s unmentionables, but I assume it’s a fair bit different here, for starters undergarments are bought at the same and only store which sells everything from bubble gum to flip flops and fertilizer to pack animals if you get them on the right day.
surprisingly for being in such a conservative society, I was amazed how unabashed she was about the whole ordeal, stepping to the counter and stating her needs. the store (Hanout) owner heads to the back and pulls a dusty box of miscellaneous clothing. his first offering is something from the geriatric rack at a womens plus sizes store, straight faced she declines and she motions to see more. the next is a nice number, not too parachute like and not too scandalous either, just right. Next comes the obligatory bickering over price. that settled and a little change left in her pocket, her natural female, estrogen-fueled mind kicked in, she asked to see what else the owner had tucked away in the way of a nice house coat, the garb of choice by all rural women in morocco. needless to say there was no dressing room and all sales are final. what he pulled out next not only temporarily blinded me, but turned my stomach. a hot pink moo-moo with the words "super sweet squeeze university" embroidered across the chest in green and purple stitching. oh how my sister squealed with delight, just what she had always wanted. but I personally thought see would have looked better in the neon green pleated moo-moo that said something about highway love=milwaukee truckers or something like that. unfortunately they couldnt meet on a suitable price, gloomily she turned and we headed for home, i tried to cajole her by saying "hey cheer up, at least you got some underwear to show for it."
ps ive been observing some trends in the general color schemes of the women clothing and have noticed lots of maroon and gold, giving me the feeling im constantly walking the fields with the hickory high red tornadoes marching band, its the little things that take you home.
surprisingly for being in such a conservative society, I was amazed how unabashed she was about the whole ordeal, stepping to the counter and stating her needs. the store (Hanout) owner heads to the back and pulls a dusty box of miscellaneous clothing. his first offering is something from the geriatric rack at a womens plus sizes store, straight faced she declines and she motions to see more. the next is a nice number, not too parachute like and not too scandalous either, just right. Next comes the obligatory bickering over price. that settled and a little change left in her pocket, her natural female, estrogen-fueled mind kicked in, she asked to see what else the owner had tucked away in the way of a nice house coat, the garb of choice by all rural women in morocco. needless to say there was no dressing room and all sales are final. what he pulled out next not only temporarily blinded me, but turned my stomach. a hot pink moo-moo with the words "super sweet squeeze university" embroidered across the chest in green and purple stitching. oh how my sister squealed with delight, just what she had always wanted. but I personally thought see would have looked better in the neon green pleated moo-moo that said something about highway love=milwaukee truckers or something like that. unfortunately they couldnt meet on a suitable price, gloomily she turned and we headed for home, i tried to cajole her by saying "hey cheer up, at least you got some underwear to show for it."
ps ive been observing some trends in the general color schemes of the women clothing and have noticed lots of maroon and gold, giving me the feeling im constantly walking the fields with the hickory high red tornadoes marching band, its the little things that take you home.
the official PeaceCorps volunteer (PCV)
on may 23rd of 2007, andrew quincy spees became an official member of the PeaceCorps. the ceremony was held in fes at a very nice western hotel, a two hour bus ride from azrou, our training site. we were joined by our fellow upcoming health trainees in a lovely, albeit hasty ceremony. we were graced by the american step deputy to the vice ambassador (or something) who was supposed to make the induction more prestigious i guess. after a short spiel from the country director, we heard speeches from fellow trainees who had scored highest in a fluency test in their new, respected languages. we then signed away our lives to protect the queen mother and fight for peace (i wasnt exactly listening during that part). after the ceremony we had a lunch buffet with our host families, im not sure that our families were accustomed to the idea of all-you-can-eat, as i noticed some of the guests shoveling peanuts and condiments into purses. after lunch and another tough round of goodbyes we were corraled back onto the bus for azrou, all in a span of three hours, now thats american efficiency. i have noticed since becoming a PCV that colors are more vibrant and the birds are singing sweeter, oh the joys of saving the world!!
the next day we shipped out to our respected final sites as PCV. i however took a small side trip to rabat for an mri on my back, which has been increasingly painful in the recent months. luckily for better or worse nothing was found to be abnormal yet im still uncomfortable sitting for long stretches on hard surfaces, which unfortunately is an everyday thing here.
another small aside: after our 3 month language training, we were tested the determine our proficiency. the scale ranges are novice, intermidiate, high, to superior. yours truly, ever the studiuos pupil, required them to establish another level to the scale. i think we decided on "infant handicapped" oh well im good at other things like darts!!!
what i do
during my training phase my group of 5 collaborated with the local school on an Earth Day program. the older students (12-17 years) walked to the river to collect water samples to be analyzed in a lab somewhere. the middle aged kids helped plant trees around the school, while the youngest children drew posters titled "what the environment means to me." to our surprise the students curriculum included a substantial amount of env. ed., but as everywhere, there is a certain degree of separation between talk and walk. though there were some difficulties with language it was an overall success.
me and the boys after successful planting an olive tree
collecting water to be analyzed for contaminates
i think this girls face says it all (oh my gawd, waste water treatment testing is like the lamest ever, duh!!!)
in our final week, we approached the local men's club (association) about addressing the problem of waste. seeing how the community lacks the funds and infrastructure (landfill) to dispose of waste we thought that waste reduction and education was the most feasible way to address the problem. serendipitously the association was concerned about the problem also, and has a pending proposal for fulltime garbage collection, so they were excited to collaborate. we decided that posting posters including the school children's artwork in front of the stores raising awareness to the "reduce, reuse, recycle" concept would be an easy approach. we were also able to provide a small amount of money to purchase receptacles (55 gallon oil drums), which the association would research, buy, and fabricate into trash cans to act as consolidation points. a member of the association volunteered to weekly gather the trash and burn it. working in morocco and the "developing" world offers different challenges to that of the states like keeping your family feed and clothed, but the idea of interconnectedness to environment can trump socioeconomic situations. getting people to realize that minimal effort can result in improved standard of living is the real challenge.
me and the boys after successful planting an olive tree 
collecting water to be analyzed for contaminates
i think this girls face says it all (oh my gawd, waste water treatment testing is like the lamest ever, duh!!!) in our final week, we approached the local men's club (association) about addressing the problem of waste. seeing how the community lacks the funds and infrastructure (landfill) to dispose of waste we thought that waste reduction and education was the most feasible way to address the problem. serendipitously the association was concerned about the problem also, and has a pending proposal for fulltime garbage collection, so they were excited to collaborate. we decided that posting posters including the school children's artwork in front of the stores raising awareness to the "reduce, reuse, recycle" concept would be an easy approach. we were also able to provide a small amount of money to purchase receptacles (55 gallon oil drums), which the association would research, buy, and fabricate into trash cans to act as consolidation points. a member of the association volunteered to weekly gather the trash and burn it. working in morocco and the "developing" world offers different challenges to that of the states like keeping your family feed and clothed, but the idea of interconnectedness to environment can trump socioeconomic situations. getting people to realize that minimal effort can result in improved standard of living is the real challenge.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
mission: possible (get it?!)
so a little on what ill be doing or more likely what we think ill be doing for the next two years. ill be working in collaboration with the eaux et forets (water and forest dept) on the Biodiversity Conservation Using Transhumance Project. transhumance is basically nomadic peoples that until recently have migrated with the seasons up and down the slopes of the atlas mtns. though many are settled now it is still somewhat practiced in the rural villages like mine. i will be focusing on fuel wood usage, vegetation and grazing surveys, erosion control, flora and fauna photo documentation, native tree propagtion, and environmental education.
the current health volunteer in the area has an approved grant to build 50 latrines in the area and i begin by helping her with that. literally jumping in head first into the mess.
the fuel wood issue is interesting to me as i have heard that the women leave before dawn every morning to look for fuelwood. it seems to me as though an affordable alternative would be welcomed as it would alleviate some of the domestic burdens. but income generating activities are scarce in this subsistence culture. most families are beginning to use inexpensive butane gas for cooking needs, but continue to use wood for heating. unfortunately the long winters(5-6 months) and high elevation mean that heating sources are extremely strained. ive heard that a family burns a metric ton of fuelwood a month!! at this rate the already scarce forests stand little chance without replanting and/or alternative sources. ive researched the use of waste motor oil as an alternative, giving a beneficial outlet for a waste product. if anyone has ideas im open.
i think my biggest challenge will come in getting nomads to sit down to a meeting, literally.
the plan is to finish pst(pre service training) and leave for my site. i will live with the ait lachen family for 2 months before moving into my own house in the community. then after that the only thing left to do is save the world!!! all in a days work as a pc volunteer.
the current health volunteer in the area has an approved grant to build 50 latrines in the area and i begin by helping her with that. literally jumping in head first into the mess.
the fuel wood issue is interesting to me as i have heard that the women leave before dawn every morning to look for fuelwood. it seems to me as though an affordable alternative would be welcomed as it would alleviate some of the domestic burdens. but income generating activities are scarce in this subsistence culture. most families are beginning to use inexpensive butane gas for cooking needs, but continue to use wood for heating. unfortunately the long winters(5-6 months) and high elevation mean that heating sources are extremely strained. ive heard that a family burns a metric ton of fuelwood a month!! at this rate the already scarce forests stand little chance without replanting and/or alternative sources. ive researched the use of waste motor oil as an alternative, giving a beneficial outlet for a waste product. if anyone has ideas im open.
i think my biggest challenge will come in getting nomads to sit down to a meeting, literally.
the plan is to finish pst(pre service training) and leave for my site. i will live with the ait lachen family for 2 months before moving into my own house in the community. then after that the only thing left to do is save the world!!! all in a days work as a pc volunteer.
kelaa m'gouna area
here are pictures from my first visit to my site, which i cant name because pc wont let me. but it is a couple hours north of kelaa m'gouna, and east of ouarzazate. i was initially hesitant about being in the arid south and on the back side of the high atlas mtns, but my site is amazing. you must climb in a packed van(transit) for three hours into the dry mountains before emerging unto a wide rolling valley. my site is built into the side of a hill, surrounding a lush green river valley. behind the village(dwwar) is a limestone gorge that provides for amazing scenery and birding, but also is troublesome in that during heavy rains the outflow from the narrow canyon causes havoc on the villagers crops. the village is strictly berber(amazigh) but is on a major trekking route for foreigners(arumi). i have two other pc volunteers in the valley about a hours walk away. 
the system of agriculture is ingenious, every possible arable stretch of land is used and irrigated through ages old aqueducts and ditchs. plots are small and make for a patchwork of different family-owned gardens, much different than the monocultured fields im accustomed to in the states. the gardens are separated by berms lined with trees or rose bushes, giving it a storytale feeling as you duck under low branches and jump side to side over creeks. 
here is the view of the gorge that crosssects the valley. the walls are 150 ft in sections. 
as you emerge on the far side of the gorge you begin to enter the side of the atlas that receives more rain and the vegetation is much more abundant. the area is apparently void of large mammals but is teaming with birdlife. i was amazed to see yellow wagtails, the bird i studied in alaska, and is known to migrate from north america to africa. maybe the individuals i observed so long ago are the same im seeing here, weird huh!! 
Thursday, May 03, 2007
the art of breaking up a donkey fight
on a recent visit to my site, I was taught an important skill, the delicate art of donkey conflict mediation. my family and i were sitting down to a leisurely meal, when were heard the horrible cry of our family donkey in pain. just as suddenly a neighor kid burst in, yelling that the neighbor's donkey was on the loose and looking for trouble. we ran outside to see our donkey in the fight of his/her life!! now, the uninitiated might ask how does one go about breaking up a donkey fight, well dear reader i shall tell you.
Step 1: run around frantically deciding what to do next
Step 2: select a good sized rock. this takes some skill to pick the right stone; preferably golfball sized and ergonomically comfortable to your given hand
Step 3: form a circle around the battling animals; careful of flailing hooves and snarling teeth
Step 4: pelt the assailtant with your rock; careful not to hit other people pummeling the animals with their rocks
Step 5: grab the tethers of the donkeys and begin to pull the animals apart. this step is reserved for more experienced practicioners ie fathers
Step 6: walk the aggressor home and yell at his/her owner for allowing their donkey to get loose.
as a pcv i understand my role as an agent of change, so ive recognized that these disputes are a possible area where i can administer my skills of mediation/pacificion. if all goes well i could be known far and wide as the "notorious ass whisperer"
Monday, April 23, 2007
confessions of a milk cartel bodyguard
for as long as i can remember (early march) ive been involved with the ben guiri milk cartel. its just something i've was born into for better or worse.i'll take you along on a typical "delivery run" to town. my father, ali, rises @ 4 am to collect the "product" (milk) from our neighbors and loads ~80 liters into our streetrod.
we begin our 5 mile journey into azrou at breakneck speeds comparable to that of a blind, lame, and overburdened donkey. upon arrival 40 minutes later we first visit the cafes on the main drag to drop-off the "stuff." ali's jovial demeanor quickly shifts to that of a hard nosed businessman, he tells me to "stay with the car" as he comes around to open my door because the handle and latch have fallen off. ali returns with a jug of coffee and no blood on his hands, everything went smoothly. we motor up the hill with little concern for life, the horses under hood ablazin', only to arrive at the petrol station to give the "ponies" a drink. as we fill up the brakes fail and the car begins to roll away, but "the godfather" is quick to throw a log under the rear wheel, no sweat. 30 cents of gas and were off. next stop is to the neighborhoods for a little shakedown!! driving through the neighborhood, ali gives the horn a wheezy/dusty honk, and adeptly guides the car onto the curb to compensate for the lacking braking system. 
as we open the rear hatch, the "users" begin to line up under my watchful gaze. "hey NO cutting" i yell "there's enough for everyone." after all the nickel and dimers are satiated we hop back in the "ride," cut the tires from the curb and are off. always the frugal boss, ali cruises with the car off the entire 3 miles down the hill, oblivious to the honking cars and trotting donkeys passing us regularly. we cut through the downtown to cruise the strip and let our presence be known, "i own this town" ali yells as we turn towards home. as we near ait amer ou ali, ali, ever the environmentalist, cuts the engine some 400 yards from the house and we creep into the drive. another day, another dollar. fugitaboutit!!
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
imilchil
this past week the env. sector broke into small groups and headed out to visit "real" PC volunteers in the field. zach, sarah sue, and i went to imilchil (8 hours south of azrou) to stay with rebecca gehring. imlilchil is situated near two lakes alledgedly formed by two lovers separated by family differences (think romeo and juliet). because of this story, imcilchil is famous for its marriage festival where the women ask the men to wed, and yup you guessed it i was turning them down left and right. for the first time we were in a strictly berber village where we could use our language. and boy was it bad, but on the bright side im an expert body gesturer. getting into the field and seeing a realistic PC setting was very refreshing, ive been getting bogged down in the 8 hour training days thus far, but seeing what life will be like for the next 2 years was great.
sarah sue, zac, rebecca, jesse (another volunteer from the area), me @ the tislite (the bride) lake. amazingly beautiful, the water was carribean blue/green, in stark contrast to the harsh, arid landscape surrounding it.
an old stone hut that overlooks the lake.
sarah sue and zach prance their way to the summit. at this point i was crawling.
we arrive at the lonely summit and are enjoying our lunch in solitude, when we hear singing coming from down the ridge. here comes mustafa, the cell phone tower guard, inviting us for tea. we join him in the tower for shared lunch and a couple hours of talking before heading back down. during our conversation mustafa was telling us about his family when he suddenly jumped to talking about my facial hair. somewhere along the sarah became confused and proceeded to ask how long his wife's beard was, oh the joys of poor language. moroccans are amazingly patient and generous, always willing to drink super sweet tea with strangers.
in the evenings i would go help jesse, a small business vol. also in imilchil, and her co-op set up sewing machines and looms they had received from a grant. notice the rugs.
the nomads trying on the co-ops wares, check out the guy on the left what an idiot.
resting on the hike down from the summit
hey mama
sarah sue, zac, rebecca, jesse (another volunteer from the area), me @ the tislite (the bride) lake. amazingly beautiful, the water was carribean blue/green, in stark contrast to the harsh, arid landscape surrounding it. 
an old stone hut that overlooks the lake. 
sarah sue and zach prance their way to the summit. at this point i was crawling. 
we arrive at the lonely summit and are enjoying our lunch in solitude, when we hear singing coming from down the ridge. here comes mustafa, the cell phone tower guard, inviting us for tea. we join him in the tower for shared lunch and a couple hours of talking before heading back down. during our conversation mustafa was telling us about his family when he suddenly jumped to talking about my facial hair. somewhere along the sarah became confused and proceeded to ask how long his wife's beard was, oh the joys of poor language. moroccans are amazingly patient and generous, always willing to drink super sweet tea with strangers. 
in the evenings i would go help jesse, a small business vol. also in imilchil, and her co-op set up sewing machines and looms they had received from a grant. notice the rugs. 
the nomads trying on the co-ops wares, check out the guy on the left what an idiot.
resting on the hike down from the summit
hey mama
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
uncle jims letter
this is a letter my uncle wrote to me about his experience in the peace corps in sierra leone in the 70's. it is the best explanation of the inexplicable; the peace corps experience
Date: 04-11-2007
Andrew,
Your Mom suggested I write you a few lines. I guess your Mom thought I might have some special insight to offer. I’m not so sure I do. Fact of the matter is, although I had a similar experience to what you are having right now, my experiences were a long time ago. Beyond that I’m sure your situation now is quite a bit different than mine was then. I’ll try to sort out how your experience may be different than mine and how it may be alike, with some guessing on my part. (Some of what I’m about to relate may not sit well with your mother, but here goes).
First off, given your away from home experiences I think it likely that home sickness and culture shock won’t be as problematic for you as they were for me and as they may be for some of your PC Volunteer compatriots. Beyond that I’m sure that what ever happens you know that you have two parents (not to mention other relatives) who love you very much. You have a home to go back to.
There is no shame in not going the distance, but if you can make it
through the first year it gets much easier. I remember that the first year was very difficult, for a while what got me through was going to sleep and dreaming of home. Take it minute by minute, a day at a time, but take the long view. I would recommend not going back home at mid-tour, it may be too difficult to go back.
It wasn’t the bugs or the snakes or the political trouble that made
it tough, it was not knowing whether I was doing a good job or not.
Based on what I know of you and where you come from, you will if you only do your best. After you get through training, if what you are doing as a primary job doesn’t allow you to see that you are accomplishing something, take on a secondary project that does, possibly something that you enjoy more.
What comes next is hard to explain. If you can make it through your
experience will form a hard knot inside of you, something which will probably color the rest of your life. Maybe its pride, a better sense of perspective, or just that part of you that got you over there in the first place, I’m not sure what, but it will make the good times that much better and will help get you through the tough time for the same reasons.
I think they probably teach you this, but don’t expect that progress
will be measured in meters. Be happy with millimeters. Also, don’t
get bummed if it seems that your efforts are not appreciated, that may come later, if it comes at all. Just do your best.
Please, please, please be careful. Some volunteers never make it home again. (e.g., If they give you a motor bike, wear the friggin helmet, if you travel keep one eye over your shoulder).
Not to be melodramatic, but looking back, they were the best of times and the worst of times. Don’t expect to come back home and that anyone will understand, not your parents, not your best friends. Only people that have been where you’ve been, seen what you’ve seen.
Ten, twenty or thirty years from now however, you may be walking down the street and hear a song (probably Crosby, Stills and Nash) or smell something, all of a sudden you’ll be back there, you’ll see their faces. Is it a good thing? Sometimes. Is it a bad thing? Sometimes. But from here on out it will be part of you. If that’s not something that scares you, you can do this, it’s worth it.
Write back when you get a chance.
Love,
Uncle Jim
P.S. Feel free to pass this on to anyone over there who you think might need it.
Date: 04-11-2007
Andrew,
Your Mom suggested I write you a few lines. I guess your Mom thought I might have some special insight to offer. I’m not so sure I do. Fact of the matter is, although I had a similar experience to what you are having right now, my experiences were a long time ago. Beyond that I’m sure your situation now is quite a bit different than mine was then. I’ll try to sort out how your experience may be different than mine and how it may be alike, with some guessing on my part. (Some of what I’m about to relate may not sit well with your mother, but here goes).
First off, given your away from home experiences I think it likely that home sickness and culture shock won’t be as problematic for you as they were for me and as they may be for some of your PC Volunteer compatriots. Beyond that I’m sure that what ever happens you know that you have two parents (not to mention other relatives) who love you very much. You have a home to go back to.
There is no shame in not going the distance, but if you can make it
through the first year it gets much easier. I remember that the first year was very difficult, for a while what got me through was going to sleep and dreaming of home. Take it minute by minute, a day at a time, but take the long view. I would recommend not going back home at mid-tour, it may be too difficult to go back.
It wasn’t the bugs or the snakes or the political trouble that made
it tough, it was not knowing whether I was doing a good job or not.
Based on what I know of you and where you come from, you will if you only do your best. After you get through training, if what you are doing as a primary job doesn’t allow you to see that you are accomplishing something, take on a secondary project that does, possibly something that you enjoy more.
What comes next is hard to explain. If you can make it through your
experience will form a hard knot inside of you, something which will probably color the rest of your life. Maybe its pride, a better sense of perspective, or just that part of you that got you over there in the first place, I’m not sure what, but it will make the good times that much better and will help get you through the tough time for the same reasons.
I think they probably teach you this, but don’t expect that progress
will be measured in meters. Be happy with millimeters. Also, don’t
get bummed if it seems that your efforts are not appreciated, that may come later, if it comes at all. Just do your best.
Please, please, please be careful. Some volunteers never make it home again. (e.g., If they give you a motor bike, wear the friggin helmet, if you travel keep one eye over your shoulder).
Not to be melodramatic, but looking back, they were the best of times and the worst of times. Don’t expect to come back home and that anyone will understand, not your parents, not your best friends. Only people that have been where you’ve been, seen what you’ve seen.
Ten, twenty or thirty years from now however, you may be walking down the street and hear a song (probably Crosby, Stills and Nash) or smell something, all of a sudden you’ll be back there, you’ll see their faces. Is it a good thing? Sometimes. Is it a bad thing? Sometimes. But from here on out it will be part of you. If that’s not something that scares you, you can do this, it’s worth it.
Write back when you get a chance.
Love,
Uncle Jim
P.S. Feel free to pass this on to anyone over there who you think might need it.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
the ben guiri household
this is my pre service training (pst) host family (the ben guiri) from ait amer ou ali. my father ali, 70ish, is a fruit farmer, but dabbles in any and everything. unfortunately i dont have pictures of him, but imagine a moroccan mel brooks. what he lacks in stature he more than makes up for in personality. my mother fatima, 70ish, is the matriarch and is forever doing something important, ie baking bread, milking cows, serving meals, etc. they have 7 children, but only 4 live in the house with us. milouda, 37ish, is the quiet, forever patient helper. said, 35ish, is the family funny man, always quick to sing me "happy new years to you." aziza, 25, is the boisterous youngest daughter, and my link to understanding whats going on through her knowledge of spanish. ibrahim, 21, the youngest is often on the road selling fruit trees for his father in the weekly markets (s-suq) in the surrounding area.
aziza, milouda, fatima, said and yours truly
this is the courtyard of the ben guiri, quite plush by moroccan standards. we have a large home with 8 bedrooms, two sitting rooms, two bathrooms and our own well.
the formal sitting room. im not allowed in because i break things
the typical breakfast; fresh baked bread, olive oil, olives, butter, and coffee with milk and tons of sugar
aziza, milouda, fatima, said and yours truly
this is the courtyard of the ben guiri, quite plush by moroccan standards. we have a large home with 8 bedrooms, two sitting rooms, two bathrooms and our own well.
the formal sitting room. im not allowed in because i break things
the typical breakfast; fresh baked bread, olive oil, olives, butter, and coffee with milk and tons of sugar
ait amer ou ali
ait amer ou ali, is the site of my group's community based training (cbt), about 7 km from azrou. my group consisted of six members and a language teacher. one member returned to the states due to a stomach illness. we spend the majority of our days in class studying language. the evenings are spent with our individual host families eating dinner and practicing speaking. 
the two women on the left im not sure who they are but emily, me, hadija, jhonny, zahara, kira, lexie 
my cbt group, mohammed, emily, jennifer, kira and hadija, the cook. sitting down for lunch, usually fresh salad, bread, and tagine (in the clay platter). meals are eaten with your hands by tearing off bread and scooping from the communal central dish.
the average day interviewing locals and hacking my way through the language unintelligibly in a southern accent
baraka: a blessing from God… or get the hell out of the shower
Upon arrival to morocco we learned that baraka, refers to an act of god in the form of a blessing, i.e. the king evading an attempted assassination. So this week when I asked to bathe in the hamman, a woodfired sauna/steamroom, I was told that the neighbor had their hamman heated and I was to go use theirs. Now you need to know that the normal hamman experience lasts hours, so I entered the hamman under the impression that this would be a relaxing experience. I sat there soaking in the soothing heat reflecting on the days events for 15 minutes, when my host mother, Fatima, knocked on the door. Now my tamazigt (the language) isn’t perfect, but what I understood was “Andrew is the heat ok or do you what me to continue to stoke the fire until your desired heating preference is attained.” “Yeah” I responded “Thank you, Fatima, the heat is perfect, you may rest my dear.” A few minutes later she came aknocking again. “Andrew… blah blah blah… baraka” my brain interpreted this as “Andrew you are real gift from heaven” “oh thank you Fatima, I do what I can” I thought. I drifted off to my own thoughts when again, I was rudely interpreted by someone knocking upon the door, this time it was my host sister, Aziza. Aziza speaks some Spanish, thus allowing us to communicate with the fluency of toddlers. She again reminded me that I was indeed “baraka” a gift of God and that there were “otra chicas entra la hamman” (other women entering the hamman) wow I thought being a “baraka” really has its benefits here. “Hold on one second I don’t have my pants on” I yelled out. After dressing myself suitably for the company of ladies I waited patiently. Finally Aziza returned and insisted I open the door as I did she grabbed me and told me to get the hell out of the hamman. As I quickly dressed and was hurried out of the changing room I noticed a row of scowling women lined up just outside the hamman in the cold night air. The next day in class we learned that “baraka” not only means gift from God but also hurry up as in get the hell out of the hamman we’re freezing; white man. Timing, it’s all about timing.
p.s. the next day while interviewing several of the townspeople, I was identified as the “guy from the hammam.”
p.s. the next day while interviewing several of the townspeople, I was identified as the “guy from the hammam.”
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
morocco
here begins my twenty-seven month service with the peacecorps in the kingdom of Morocco. i will be a environmental volunteer in a location yet to be decided. to catch everyone up to the present, the group of 60 volunteers met in philly for a couple days in early march. then flew to casablanca (see map) and immediately drove to rabat, the capital. there we began language (darija the local dialect of arabic) and cultural sensitivity training. a couple days later the group split in half, with the environmental sector heading to the mountain town of azrou (between marrakech and fes) to begin focused orientation. in azrou i learned i would be learning a different language called tamazigt, an amazigt (the pc version of berber) tongue. after a week we broke into smaller groups (6) for community based training (CBT) where we will live in homestays in the surrounding area of azrou.
the palace mosque from the hotel in rabat located beside king mohammed VI palace
view of the old medina in rabat
rows and rows of tombstones outside the old city ramparts in rabat
the european style town of azrou, training site for the environmental sector
huge atlas cedar, remanants of the old grown forests in the middle atlas mountains above azrou
the traditional sitting room in the auberge (hotel) notice the tiled walls and cushioned backless sofas
souk (market) in azrou, fresh vegetables in abundance
the toughest crew peacecorps ever saw!!
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