I am just days away from moving into my new dar! Today a woman from Peace Corps came and gave me the go-ahead to move in. Before that happens, the water needs to be turned on and the sink needs to be reattached to the wall in the bathroom. I also need to buy a fridge if I intend on eating when I move in. Right now I don't care if I have to live off of crackers and water, I'll do whatever it takes!
The house is exactly what I imagined myself living in. It is very centrally located on the main road and only a few steps away from the taxi stand. It is on the second floor above a bakery. The smell of cookies is not too overpowering - more like one of those cookie-scented candles. And a warm croissant breakfast will only be a trip down the stairs! Inside the house there are two rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. The entire house has beautiful Moroccan tiling on the walls. The bathroom has a Turkish toilet, but I can overlook that because my MulDar (House Owner) installed a shower for me and will soon install a sink. Because of this, I splurged and made a very expensive purchase: an electric water heater. And that of course means HOT SHOWERS! The kitchen is average-sized with plenty of countertop space, but only one electrical outlet, so the MulDar is rerouting another one into the room. Both the bedroom and the salon (living room) have balconies! This is really uncommon and I couldn’t be happier because that means I will have plenty of sunshine lighting up my house. The balcony in the bedroom is smaller with only a guardrail. The bedroom also has a window. The salon has the big balcony with double doors and enough space to place a few chairs, plants, and a grill on. I plan on grilling out a lot. Also, I am going to start gardening and maybe grow some herbs. Standing on the balcony, I can look directly across the street to the Neddi Niswi, the women’s center I work at. I joked around with my Moudir that if there’s ever a time I’m not felling well, I could just wave at them and yell, “I’m too sick today!”
There is a staircase to the roof, which is huge and completely private. I told Megan I am going to buy some hand weights and run laps around the roof pumping my arms above my head while listening to my music…and I’ll add while wearing a swimsuit. That’s how private it is.
So, this week I will slowly move my things into the house and on Sunday I will buy my fridge. I was planning on buying a fridge in town but there are not any smaller ones available and the price is much too high. So, that means I need to go out of town to find a better deal, but because I can only travel on Sunday-Monday I need to wait until Sunday. Do-able. That’s only five days away.
I can’t believe how incredibly lucky I have been finding things to furnish my house with. I need to give a huge thank you to Reema, a former PCV who donated most of her belongings to me. From her, I got an oven/stove, three couches, a table, pillows, and tons of kitchenware. Thank you, Reema! My host mom is giving me some of her old plates and things and the rest I needed I bought last weekend at the souk. The only thing I can think of needing now is a dresser or something to keep my clothes in. And maybe a bookshelf.
So, think of me on Sunday and know that I will be dancing around my OWN house with the biggest smile on my face. Frhana Bzaf!!
30 January 2007
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
On Becoming the World's Strongest Woman
So, I need to fill you in on Becoming the World’s Strongest Woman. Basically, its tough to be a woman in Morocco. I am stuck somewhere between a woman, a tourist, a baby and a man. Because I’m a woman I am hissed at, men yell crude things at me, and sometimes throw rocks. I am told by the women in my community that this happens to all women, but I’m not sure if I entirely believe that. Because I’m a white woman, they think I am the most beautiful person ever created, which can feel great, but mostly just sucks because it makes the men do and say ridiculous things. Or I just look like a freak and people laugh at me with their mouths hanging open. This, I can handle. When some stranger points and laughs at me, I usually just laugh too, because I know I must look ridiculous to them and it probably is funny. Because I am white, people think I am French and yell things at me in French like “Bonjour Madame.” When I go to the store, I am often spoken to in French, which I don’t understand, and even after asking for a price in Arabic, the storeowner may still talk to me in French. It’s frustrating. I don’t speak or understand French! I only know Arabic!
I have only been living in my town for a little over a month, so many of the people think I am a tourist and wonder what on earth I am doing here and when I will be leaving. I am the first non-Moroccan to live in this town. In time, they should get used to me. And, because my language skills are very basic, I am treated somewhat like an infant. Don’t let the American walk alone today! I saw the American today and her hair was wet in the sun, so that must explain why she got sick! But, the one benefit (I think) of being a white foreign woman here is that I do have more freedom than the woman of this town. So, that makes me a little more like a man. I can leave my house, number one. I can wear whatever I want (but no tank tops, shorts, or any low-cut tops) and talk to whomever I want. And I do not have to wear a veil.
Okay, so back to the regime I’ve started. A lot of the women volunteers I have met have become very jaded and I refuse to let that happen to me. Instead, I will focus on Becoming the World’s Strongest Woman. This is the new mantra I repeat in my head whenever something irritating happens or I feel like I have no control. I think to myself, “This will make me stronger.” And then it doesn’t feel so bad, it feels good, like I am improving myself. So, that is the mental aspect of the regime. The physical aspect is to get into shape so I can feel more confident. If I can walk every day, eat good food, and stay well-rested, I think this will help. And the good news is that I am not harassed all the time. Normally, I can laugh about it and just walk away. Sometimes a few days or even a week go by without harassment and I feel great, but sometimes there will be many instances crammed together in a short amount of time and that’s when I feel frustrated. And that’s when the mantra comes in handy. Please don’t feel bad for me or think poorly of my town. Harassment is a fact of life here for women and it is not specific to my town or people. It exists for cultural reasons that I am only beginning to understand, so please be patient as I figure these things out. I just want you all to know that I have a very positive attitude about this and the other volunteers are very supportive of each other regarding this aspect of service, so please don't worry!
I have only been living in my town for a little over a month, so many of the people think I am a tourist and wonder what on earth I am doing here and when I will be leaving. I am the first non-Moroccan to live in this town. In time, they should get used to me. And, because my language skills are very basic, I am treated somewhat like an infant. Don’t let the American walk alone today! I saw the American today and her hair was wet in the sun, so that must explain why she got sick! But, the one benefit (I think) of being a white foreign woman here is that I do have more freedom than the woman of this town. So, that makes me a little more like a man. I can leave my house, number one. I can wear whatever I want (but no tank tops, shorts, or any low-cut tops) and talk to whomever I want. And I do not have to wear a veil.
Okay, so back to the regime I’ve started. A lot of the women volunteers I have met have become very jaded and I refuse to let that happen to me. Instead, I will focus on Becoming the World’s Strongest Woman. This is the new mantra I repeat in my head whenever something irritating happens or I feel like I have no control. I think to myself, “This will make me stronger.” And then it doesn’t feel so bad, it feels good, like I am improving myself. So, that is the mental aspect of the regime. The physical aspect is to get into shape so I can feel more confident. If I can walk every day, eat good food, and stay well-rested, I think this will help. And the good news is that I am not harassed all the time. Normally, I can laugh about it and just walk away. Sometimes a few days or even a week go by without harassment and I feel great, but sometimes there will be many instances crammed together in a short amount of time and that’s when I feel frustrated. And that’s when the mantra comes in handy. Please don’t feel bad for me or think poorly of my town. Harassment is a fact of life here for women and it is not specific to my town or people. It exists for cultural reasons that I am only beginning to understand, so please be patient as I figure these things out. I just want you all to know that I have a very positive attitude about this and the other volunteers are very supportive of each other regarding this aspect of service, so please don't worry!
Engagements, Weddings, and the Haj
During and after the holiday L-Eid, many families also celebrate engagements, weddings, and the returning of the Hajja. I hit it big because I got to attend one of each of these events. Backtracking a few weeks before L-Eid, there was a huge party at the farm because there were four family members going to Haj. Haj is what Muslims call Mecca and to make the pilgrimage to Haj is the most meaningful event that could happen in the life of a Muslim. It’s like a Christian visiting Jeruselem, but not really. Although I think it would be a big deal in the States, I don’t think it could equate what I saw and experienced here. Before the people left, a huge party was thrown in their honor and it seemed hundreds of people were in attendance. An honored guest trained in leading prayers was there, but unfortunately I was unable to see him because he was in the men’s room and I being a woman was not allowed to take a peak.
Before the Hajjaj (the plural of people who have gone to Haj. The singular for a man being Haj and a woman Haja) returned, we were at the farm waiting. It was very late and a weeknight and so I was nervous about getting enough sleep so I could teach the next day. Around 9:30 pm somebody got a phone call and said the Hajjaj were on their way to the farm, so everybody quickly got dressed into their fanciest clothes and went outside to wait on the stairs. When the cars rolled into the farm, everyone started singing this song that they sing at weddings and started clapping. As soon as the car doors opened, everyone went running to the cars and hugged and kissed the returning family members. The Hajjaj were wearing white from head to toe.There was a woman throwing perfumed oil on everyone’s clothes and heads and another woman with special incense, throwing the smoke onto your clothes. Other women held platters of fake plastic flowers and dates above their heads. Everyone was crying and it was very emotional and unlike any religious experience I have ever witnessed.
While the Hajjaj were in Haj, there was an engagement party in the family. One young man of the family was to be engaged to a young woman who lived in town. The whole family put on their fanciest clothes and the women loaded platters of gifts above their head and sang the traditional wedding song while walking to the cars. The platters included gifts for the bride: clothes, shoes, bath items, cookies, candy, lots of stuff I can’t remember, and the special platter with the dates and two chalices of milk. With all the gifts, we loaded into the cars and one woman rode in the bed of a pick-up truck with all the platters. We drove into town honking our horns to the bride’s house (which turned out being only a block away from my family’s house in town) and unloaded the platters, started singing the song again, and walked into the house. We were anointed with the special oils again and were seated in this really small room, where we laid the gifts out and waited for the bride to come. Only the women sat in this room. The men were somewhere else with the groom. While we waited, we listened to music and danced a little. We mostly sat, drank tea and ate cookies. When the engaged couple entered, we sang the song again and then we all took turns getting our picture taken with the bride and groom. This went on for a very long time. Most people didn’t have a camera there, so I ended up taking a lot of pictures for the people who wanted to stand with the couple but had nobody to photograph them. I’m not sure why I took all those pictures. After the picture taking, we ate dinner and the bride and groom left and I’m not sure where they ate. Then after dinner they returned and we watched the groom and bride feed each other a date and a sip of milk. This is really symbolic and I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure why this is done. Then, they exchanged rings and the groom gave the bride many gifts like a necklace, bracelet, watch and earrings. After this exchange was over, the couple threw candy at us women and I have to admit, I only got half a stick of gum because the women were pushing each other around trying to get their hands on that candy, so I just kind of backed away, trying not to get knocked over. There were some men peaking in threw a window, so the groom threw some candy out the window for the men. Then, with our fists full of goodies, we loaded back up into the cars and drove back to the farm. Only, I think I went home to the house in town. I had to teach in the morning and it was something like one in the morning, so I was tired.
The day the Hajjaj returned, the bride’s family had a wedding at their house. This time, we only brought one gift for the bride: a suitcase. One woman carried it above her head and presented it to the bride by placing it in front of her feet. There were many people inside this tent off the side of the bride’s house and music playing from a cd player. We showed up, took more pictures, and danced a little. Then, we left. It was a weird night, but I do know the purpose of that wedding was to bring the bride home with us to the farm. The bride disappeared with the suitcase and came back with it filled and also five other suitcases, said goodbye to her family, and got into a car with her new husband to move to her new home at the farm.
The next day I spent almost all day at the farm. There was a huge lunch in honor of the Hajjaj and the wedding. It was a catered event and probably one hundred women were present in the women’s room. I don’t know where the men’s room was, but it’s safe to assume there were just as many men if not more present. Throughout the whole day, the bride sat in her bedroom and waited for women to come inside to greet her. I walked inside, and while greeting one of her attendants, accidentally kissed her on the mouth because we both moved our heads at the same time while trying to kiss cheeks, so that was kind of embarrassing, but I’m guessing it’s not the first time that has ever happened in the history of Morocco. I greeted the bride and she gave me an assorted handful of goodies: an almond, a half a stick of gum, a date, a taffy, and a piece of straw. I didn’t know what to do with the straw, so I threw it on the ground later on when nobody was looking.
I returned to town to teach an English class, and came back to the farm for the wedding at the groom’s house. I got dressed into the fanciest outfit yet and walked into the wedding tent. Two hundred women, at least turned their eyes to look at the funny-looking blonde girl wearing Moroccan clothes. I sat with the women of my family and watched a group of women drumming, singing, and dancing. Almost immediately, the women started asking me to dance. This always happens to me at any event! They are really curious and excited to see me dance. This time I was a little shy because of the size of the group and said no. They persisted. An older woman asked me, “What is your father’s name?” I said my dad’s name in America is Brian. She tried to pronounce it, but couldn’t so she exclaimed, “Brahim!” and I said, “Yeah, Brahim.” Then, I watched her whisper something to a woman drumming and sure enough, after the song finished, this woman YELLED to the room “Jamila bnt d Brahim! Aji! Shtah!” Which means, “Jenny daughter of Brian come dance!” I was really embarrassed and all the women were looking at me and smiling and nodding their heads. I said no, I can’t dance and they insisted I must because that is the traditional way to ask somebody to dance and it would be rude to say no. So, I stood up, and pulled a few girls along with me and we danced. It was fun, and I tried to forget that all the eyes on the room were watching me. This is something I guess I will have to get used to.
After lots of dancing and clapping, we ate dinner around 11 pm and as soon as dinner was over, everyone went home. I spent the night at the farm and in the morning I returned to town to work. Then this past weekend, I met up with some volunteers in Agadir, enjoyed the beautiful beach weather and spent the night at another volunteer’s house in a town not too far from mine.
Before the Hajjaj (the plural of people who have gone to Haj. The singular for a man being Haj and a woman Haja) returned, we were at the farm waiting. It was very late and a weeknight and so I was nervous about getting enough sleep so I could teach the next day. Around 9:30 pm somebody got a phone call and said the Hajjaj were on their way to the farm, so everybody quickly got dressed into their fanciest clothes and went outside to wait on the stairs. When the cars rolled into the farm, everyone started singing this song that they sing at weddings and started clapping. As soon as the car doors opened, everyone went running to the cars and hugged and kissed the returning family members. The Hajjaj were wearing white from head to toe.There was a woman throwing perfumed oil on everyone’s clothes and heads and another woman with special incense, throwing the smoke onto your clothes. Other women held platters of fake plastic flowers and dates above their heads. Everyone was crying and it was very emotional and unlike any religious experience I have ever witnessed.
While the Hajjaj were in Haj, there was an engagement party in the family. One young man of the family was to be engaged to a young woman who lived in town. The whole family put on their fanciest clothes and the women loaded platters of gifts above their head and sang the traditional wedding song while walking to the cars. The platters included gifts for the bride: clothes, shoes, bath items, cookies, candy, lots of stuff I can’t remember, and the special platter with the dates and two chalices of milk. With all the gifts, we loaded into the cars and one woman rode in the bed of a pick-up truck with all the platters. We drove into town honking our horns to the bride’s house (which turned out being only a block away from my family’s house in town) and unloaded the platters, started singing the song again, and walked into the house. We were anointed with the special oils again and were seated in this really small room, where we laid the gifts out and waited for the bride to come. Only the women sat in this room. The men were somewhere else with the groom. While we waited, we listened to music and danced a little. We mostly sat, drank tea and ate cookies. When the engaged couple entered, we sang the song again and then we all took turns getting our picture taken with the bride and groom. This went on for a very long time. Most people didn’t have a camera there, so I ended up taking a lot of pictures for the people who wanted to stand with the couple but had nobody to photograph them. I’m not sure why I took all those pictures. After the picture taking, we ate dinner and the bride and groom left and I’m not sure where they ate. Then after dinner they returned and we watched the groom and bride feed each other a date and a sip of milk. This is really symbolic and I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure why this is done. Then, they exchanged rings and the groom gave the bride many gifts like a necklace, bracelet, watch and earrings. After this exchange was over, the couple threw candy at us women and I have to admit, I only got half a stick of gum because the women were pushing each other around trying to get their hands on that candy, so I just kind of backed away, trying not to get knocked over. There were some men peaking in threw a window, so the groom threw some candy out the window for the men. Then, with our fists full of goodies, we loaded back up into the cars and drove back to the farm. Only, I think I went home to the house in town. I had to teach in the morning and it was something like one in the morning, so I was tired.
The day the Hajjaj returned, the bride’s family had a wedding at their house. This time, we only brought one gift for the bride: a suitcase. One woman carried it above her head and presented it to the bride by placing it in front of her feet. There were many people inside this tent off the side of the bride’s house and music playing from a cd player. We showed up, took more pictures, and danced a little. Then, we left. It was a weird night, but I do know the purpose of that wedding was to bring the bride home with us to the farm. The bride disappeared with the suitcase and came back with it filled and also five other suitcases, said goodbye to her family, and got into a car with her new husband to move to her new home at the farm.
The next day I spent almost all day at the farm. There was a huge lunch in honor of the Hajjaj and the wedding. It was a catered event and probably one hundred women were present in the women’s room. I don’t know where the men’s room was, but it’s safe to assume there were just as many men if not more present. Throughout the whole day, the bride sat in her bedroom and waited for women to come inside to greet her. I walked inside, and while greeting one of her attendants, accidentally kissed her on the mouth because we both moved our heads at the same time while trying to kiss cheeks, so that was kind of embarrassing, but I’m guessing it’s not the first time that has ever happened in the history of Morocco. I greeted the bride and she gave me an assorted handful of goodies: an almond, a half a stick of gum, a date, a taffy, and a piece of straw. I didn’t know what to do with the straw, so I threw it on the ground later on when nobody was looking.
I returned to town to teach an English class, and came back to the farm for the wedding at the groom’s house. I got dressed into the fanciest outfit yet and walked into the wedding tent. Two hundred women, at least turned their eyes to look at the funny-looking blonde girl wearing Moroccan clothes. I sat with the women of my family and watched a group of women drumming, singing, and dancing. Almost immediately, the women started asking me to dance. This always happens to me at any event! They are really curious and excited to see me dance. This time I was a little shy because of the size of the group and said no. They persisted. An older woman asked me, “What is your father’s name?” I said my dad’s name in America is Brian. She tried to pronounce it, but couldn’t so she exclaimed, “Brahim!” and I said, “Yeah, Brahim.” Then, I watched her whisper something to a woman drumming and sure enough, after the song finished, this woman YELLED to the room “Jamila bnt d Brahim! Aji! Shtah!” Which means, “Jenny daughter of Brian come dance!” I was really embarrassed and all the women were looking at me and smiling and nodding their heads. I said no, I can’t dance and they insisted I must because that is the traditional way to ask somebody to dance and it would be rude to say no. So, I stood up, and pulled a few girls along with me and we danced. It was fun, and I tried to forget that all the eyes on the room were watching me. This is something I guess I will have to get used to.
After lots of dancing and clapping, we ate dinner around 11 pm and as soon as dinner was over, everyone went home. I spent the night at the farm and in the morning I returned to town to work. Then this past weekend, I met up with some volunteers in Agadir, enjoyed the beautiful beach weather and spent the night at another volunteer’s house in a town not too far from mine.
L-Eid Kbir
L-Eid Kbir was the craziest holiday I have ever experienced. Let me first give you a little background on this holiday. In Morocco, “L-Eid Kbir” means the “Big Feast.” All the Islamic world celebrates this day by sacrificing a sheep. The sheep is sacrificed for all the sins made during the last year. Every family must have its own sheep and those who can’t afford one can buy a lamb or sometimes an animal is donated to the poor families. On the morning of L-Eid the men rise early, dress in their best clothes and go pray at the mosque. Then they come home, eat breakfast, and wait until the King has killed his sheep. When the King’s sheep is dead, the head of the family kills the sheep. Then the sheep is eaten in a way determined by local tradition.
Leading up to the holiday, I had a little miscommunication with my Moudir about when I was supposed to work. He told me that nobody would be coming before the week of L-Eid or during so I could take a holiday break. The next day I didn’t show up and the other Moudir called me to ask where I was and that I had thirty students waiting for me in my classroom. I ran to the Dar Chebab, quickly pulled a lesson out of my ass, and taught my class. Turns out, I was supposed to work that week. Two days before L-Eid the students stopped showing up and I also noticed he taxi stand in our town had never been busier. People were hitchhiking, hopping into pick-up trucks, orange trucks, the back of mopeds, pretty much anything to get them to where they needed to go.
Saturday December 29 (the day before L-Eid) I went with my family to the farm and waited for the big day to arrive. Sunday was probably one of the strangest, but memorable days of my life. I witnessed a sheep slaughter, ate lung kebabs, and just saw a lot of blood and animal parts being tossed around. I was at the farm where close to thirty people live. Since the family is so large and because they are one of the wealthier families around these parts, we slaughtered three sheep. I did not witness the first slaughter because I was eating breakfast with the women, but I did see a young boy walk by carrying a decapitated head dripping with blood, so that quickly ended breakfast for me. Because of the weird gender roles here that I'm still trying to figure out, the women were not allowed to participate in the slaughter, but that did not stop me from watching from the rooftop. Most families in Morocco allow everyone in the family to participate in the slaughter, but things are different at the farm where the women work very hard all day long cleaning and preparing meals for the men.
Back to the slaughter: after the sheep's throat was slit, I watched it struggle for what seemed a very long time. It was a slow death and there was a lot of blood. The sheep didn't really die until its head was fully decapitated. Then, the men took the dead body and hung it from its hooves with a rope. What they did next still puzzles me, and maybe some of you hunters out there can shed some light on the reason why this was done, but the men took a hose that is used for filling air in tires and crammed in the sheep's butt and blew the body up like a balloon. Next, they skinned it, so maybe the air was used to get the skin loose? Anyway, after it was skinned, they hacked it up into a lot of pieces and after a while I stopped watching.
For the rest of the day I sat with the women outside and watched them prepare the meat. The first thing they did was make the lung kebabs. These were not my favorite, but I ate one. After the kebabs, it was really fascinating to watch my host aunt prepare the heads to eat. She threw them on a fire to burn off the hair and then she took this giant axe and hacked off the horns. Then she fried them a bit more in the fire and told me she would put them in the refrigerator to wait until they cooked them. For the rest of the day I worried about those heads and what would become of them but at dinner we had a regular tajine (kind of like a meaty stew) without head.
That night was pretty boring. I taught some of the kids how to play Uno and so we played until we noticed the movie Titanic was on tv. Let me tell you something about Moroccans: they have a very strange obsession with Celine Dion. I hear her music everywhere! At the cyber, at the store, and always on tv. So, it seemed quite fitting that at exactly midnight, as I was silently celebrating the new year, the movie ended and the song My Heart Will Go On played. Everyone in the room got very serious and starting singing along, trying to get the words right, and I found this all really funny, so I started pretending I was serious about this song too, and pretended to sing into a microphone with my eyes closed, but nobody laughed. After the song ended, I went to bed. Kind of an anticlimatic new year.
At breakfast the next morning, I was a little nervous when I saw that we were eating tajine. Tajine is not usually served at breakfast. My instincts were correct when I saw what was inside the tajine. Some unrecognizable sheep parts mixed together with what I could recognize as the sheep's private parts. I was offered some sheep testicles and politely declined, so some other woman snatched them up and devoured them. I was brave enough to dip my bread into the meat juice, but even then I felt a little ill. One of my fellow volunteers here said to me the other day on the phone, "You'd think eating all that sheep stomach would digest nicely in my own stomach, but for some reason the two stomachs just don't seem to be getting along in there." I agree with him completely.
I have pictures posted of this day.
Leading up to the holiday, I had a little miscommunication with my Moudir about when I was supposed to work. He told me that nobody would be coming before the week of L-Eid or during so I could take a holiday break. The next day I didn’t show up and the other Moudir called me to ask where I was and that I had thirty students waiting for me in my classroom. I ran to the Dar Chebab, quickly pulled a lesson out of my ass, and taught my class. Turns out, I was supposed to work that week. Two days before L-Eid the students stopped showing up and I also noticed he taxi stand in our town had never been busier. People were hitchhiking, hopping into pick-up trucks, orange trucks, the back of mopeds, pretty much anything to get them to where they needed to go.
Saturday December 29 (the day before L-Eid) I went with my family to the farm and waited for the big day to arrive. Sunday was probably one of the strangest, but memorable days of my life. I witnessed a sheep slaughter, ate lung kebabs, and just saw a lot of blood and animal parts being tossed around. I was at the farm where close to thirty people live. Since the family is so large and because they are one of the wealthier families around these parts, we slaughtered three sheep. I did not witness the first slaughter because I was eating breakfast with the women, but I did see a young boy walk by carrying a decapitated head dripping with blood, so that quickly ended breakfast for me. Because of the weird gender roles here that I'm still trying to figure out, the women were not allowed to participate in the slaughter, but that did not stop me from watching from the rooftop. Most families in Morocco allow everyone in the family to participate in the slaughter, but things are different at the farm where the women work very hard all day long cleaning and preparing meals for the men.
Back to the slaughter: after the sheep's throat was slit, I watched it struggle for what seemed a very long time. It was a slow death and there was a lot of blood. The sheep didn't really die until its head was fully decapitated. Then, the men took the dead body and hung it from its hooves with a rope. What they did next still puzzles me, and maybe some of you hunters out there can shed some light on the reason why this was done, but the men took a hose that is used for filling air in tires and crammed in the sheep's butt and blew the body up like a balloon. Next, they skinned it, so maybe the air was used to get the skin loose? Anyway, after it was skinned, they hacked it up into a lot of pieces and after a while I stopped watching.
For the rest of the day I sat with the women outside and watched them prepare the meat. The first thing they did was make the lung kebabs. These were not my favorite, but I ate one. After the kebabs, it was really fascinating to watch my host aunt prepare the heads to eat. She threw them on a fire to burn off the hair and then she took this giant axe and hacked off the horns. Then she fried them a bit more in the fire and told me she would put them in the refrigerator to wait until they cooked them. For the rest of the day I worried about those heads and what would become of them but at dinner we had a regular tajine (kind of like a meaty stew) without head.
That night was pretty boring. I taught some of the kids how to play Uno and so we played until we noticed the movie Titanic was on tv. Let me tell you something about Moroccans: they have a very strange obsession with Celine Dion. I hear her music everywhere! At the cyber, at the store, and always on tv. So, it seemed quite fitting that at exactly midnight, as I was silently celebrating the new year, the movie ended and the song My Heart Will Go On played. Everyone in the room got very serious and starting singing along, trying to get the words right, and I found this all really funny, so I started pretending I was serious about this song too, and pretended to sing into a microphone with my eyes closed, but nobody laughed. After the song ended, I went to bed. Kind of an anticlimatic new year.
At breakfast the next morning, I was a little nervous when I saw that we were eating tajine. Tajine is not usually served at breakfast. My instincts were correct when I saw what was inside the tajine. Some unrecognizable sheep parts mixed together with what I could recognize as the sheep's private parts. I was offered some sheep testicles and politely declined, so some other woman snatched them up and devoured them. I was brave enough to dip my bread into the meat juice, but even then I felt a little ill. One of my fellow volunteers here said to me the other day on the phone, "You'd think eating all that sheep stomach would digest nicely in my own stomach, but for some reason the two stomachs just don't seem to be getting along in there." I agree with him completely.
I have pictures posted of this day.
Hello! I'm Back!
Sorry I have been AWOL lately, but the last few weeks have been filled with holiday gatherings at the family farm, teaching and not teaching at the Dar Chebab, and lastly being sick and lazy for a while.
Things that you need to be updated on:
L-Eid Kbir
The Wedding
Becoming the World’s Strongest Woman
Things that you need to be updated on:
L-Eid Kbir
The Wedding
Becoming the World’s Strongest Woman
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