Drama

It seems to me that drama is a way of life here. And it plays itself out in subtle and not-so-subtle ways.

Take yesterday, for example. The heat was on and tempers flared along with the temperature. The workmen in our house all wittingly or unwittingly participated in the black mood of the artisan working in our entry way. And what is normally at the heart of the drama is money (or the lack of money to be more accurate). The result at the end of the day was an argument with the supplier of zeliig. He didn’t give us the correct amount of tile and was demanding more money to provide us with what we needed. Egos got involved and we refused to pay more. So this meant we couldn’t finish the stairs we’ve spent an entire year trying to do. No more zeliig to finish the final four steps. So the workers laying the tile called it quits. And the worker who was stripping the front door of its toxic lead paint got a piece of something or other in his eye so he had to stop to tend to his wound. And the artisan who set the dominoes tumbling grumbled off the job complaining that we was hungry and wouldn’t pay him (not true … we just wanted him to finish his days work before giving him his daily wage. A lesson we learned the hard way after paying people before the job was done and then never seeing them again.) I am at the end of my pay period and money is tight. So I was in a foul mood when I left to teach because everyone was asking me for money ahead of the agreed upon schedule. So my class suffered because of my short fuse. When I came home after teaching an extra class due to a last minute request from a colleague, it looked like the Moroccan mafia waiting outside me door. Everyone wanted money and the peacemakers had arrived with them to settle the mob down. But money was dispensed and today everyone is friends again.
And that’s an example of the more subtle type of drama.

The more exciting drama is when shouting and yelling occur. And oh boy the volume that can be generated is awesome. This can result in people not speaking for a year or more and the entire town seems to take sides. I myself have participated in this. And yes, the issue was about money. Who owed whom money. And while I now give a slight nod of recognition to my antagonist, his wife still won’t allow her children to say hello to me. But one of her sons likes to greet me when neither of his parents is around. He sneaks a look right and left before kissing me and exchanging a few words. Then he hurries off. It’s a secret love affair along the lines of Romeo and Juliet. Drama. Life is full of it here.

Squeegees

No Moroccan household is complete without squeegees. And I don’t mean the handheld type that I am used to … the kind used to clean windows or the windshield of your car. No, Moroccan squeegees are long-handled and are used to clean the tiles floors. And if you have squeegees, you have to have buckets too. I have three squeegees and an ever-changing number of buckets. I try to keep a bucket or two for household cleaning and one to wash dishes in (no sink yet for dishwashing). I fondly refer to my dishwashing bucket as my dishwasher. “Just put the glasses in the dishwasher, I’ll take care of them later …” But whenever a construction project takes place, one of my buckets is inevitably used to mix cement or plaster. So I am constantly buying new buckets.

I keep a squeegee in each shower and one in my ‘utility’ closet in the downstairs bathroom. I have tried to keep the shower squeegees designated for ‘bathroom use only’ but those darn workmen always grab the nearest one and use it to wash down the wet cement mixed in the heretofore mentioned buckets. It’s a losing battle so I just clean the squeegee after the workmen and put it back where they found it. I’ve tried hiding them but there really isn’t anywhere sacred in this house. And I’m often away at work while any construction project in happening. I do swear under my breath when I have to clean my cleaning tools before I can clean the house because I haven’t found any solution to this ‘what’s yours is mine’ mentality except surrender. I’m not too gracious about this surrender yet. Perhaps with time I will find this grace I used to think I had.

It’s funny. I am so keenly aware of my feelings of ‘ownership’ of things. This is my glass and that is my towel. Don’t touch them! Can’t seem to fully integrate into the ‘share and share alike’ mentality. Perhaps it’s because I am with one with the good stuff to share. And the people wanting to share with me can’t replace anything they break or ‘lose’. My CD player and my camera have been shared to death. Likewise some of my tools. One of my favorite outfits (shared with a friend) was lost at the cleaners. I swear – someday I will attack the woman I see wearing it on the street. See what I mean about no grace? It’s shocking when I think about it but this graspy attitude sticks with me.

I share my house with groups of friends who want a safe harbor. But I am the one left to clean up afterwards and I am the one with the job to pay for the place and the electricity no one can seem to remember to turn off when they leave the room. I try to remind myself to be grateful that I have a job but it’s kind of challenging when everyone else is staying up all hours of the night and then traipsing off to Essaouira for a music festival while I must go to bed early because I have a class in the morning and must remain in Fes to keep my job … and pay for the things that Moroccan hospitality demands that you share.

But I’ve gone off on a tangent. Where was I? Oh yeah, squeegees.

I’m fairly proficient with a squeegee now. I’ve mastered the technique of wrapping a towel around the rubber part to damp mop a floor. I can turn it over to the clean side with a flip of the handle and wrap it around the rubber once again with a flick of the wrist. I can squeeze the water out of the towel so that it’s almost dry and mop the house from top to bottom in a short amount of time --- that is if I don’t get distracted by the dust somewhere. So much dust collects on a daily basis. When I mop the floor the dust collects in big clumps that look like cat hairballs. Ugh!

It’s raining now and of course the halqa is leaking so the water is collecting on the ground floor. Time to get my squeegee out and push the puddles into the drain. Hey wait a minute … why isn’t someone sharing this work with me?!!????

Comings and Goings (and stayings?)

People come and go in Fes; particularly foreigners. Of course there are the expected comings and goings of tourists. And then there are those foreigners who have invested in a house or apartment in Fes and they periodically show up to check on the progress (or often, the lack of progress) on the restoration of their houses. And finally there are those expats living here who are from nearby countries. A trip home to France or England is just a two-hour flight so they ‘pop’ home several times a year to visit friends and family or renew their visas. For me, it’s a little more difficult to arrange a trip home because it’s so far away (which makes it a costly trip) and I really don’t have a home to return to. I divested myself of all my possessions in the U.S., including my condo, my car and all my belongings. It looks like I am here to stay.

But with summer looming ahead, I am loathing the thought of spending the stultifying month of August in Fes. Add the fact that Ramadan and fasting begins in the latter part of this month and it’s just one more compelling reason to find a way to get out of town and head north for some relief from the heat. But where to go? Finances dictate that it be a free place to stay. I tried camping my first summer here and it’s not something I want to repeat. I’m just not made for life in a tent and cold water showers from a hose or communal shower --- at least not for an extended period of time (like more than two days). We have contemplated going to England to visit Hassan’s sister but that involves getting Hassan a visa and so far, no movement has been made to get this underway. So, I’m still pondering my options. The least attractive is staying in Fes and frequenting the water holes daily. The most attractive is a miraculous invitation to stay with someone (who?) in a climate-friendly place. Time will tell.

Busy, busy, busy

It’s been a while since I’ve taken the time to write because I’ve been so very busy. The house has been full of guests. Some university students from America occupied the ground floor for a week whilst a friend and her two young sons occupied my bedroom upstairs. Fes was booked full with tourists and my friend was here from England to check up on the restorations of her house. I offered her our bedroom for a few days because they had no other place to stay. Counting Hassan and me there were ten guests in the house! What a crowd.

School continues at its predictable pace. We are now midway through the term and this is when the teaching begins to feel like a bit of a grind. But I know from experience this feeling will pass as the end of the term draws near. After this semester ends, we have a very short break of five days and then the two week summer intensive courses begin. I will teach two classes, six days a week, for five hours a day. What makes it difficult is the heat. There is one more intensive semester in July and then a month-long summer break. I wish I could travel to the U.S. in August but I don’t think finances will make it possible this year. Hassan and I are thinking of going to visit his sister in England, but it all depends on getting him a visa and, of course, the cost. I loathe the idea of August in Fes and simply don’t know what I will do if I have to stay here. It’s unbearably hot and I get cranky just thinking about it. But let’s see what the future brings.

We have ordered the tiles (zelig) to finish the stairs up to the terrace. Just the tiles cost nearly a month’s wages so it’s been a long period of saving to finance this project. With any luck, the tiles will be cut to size and ready for installation within a week. I already have the cedar wood treads for the stairs and what remains to be paid for is the installation, the cement and the sand. But the big costs have been covered so I am anxious to finish the stairway. Access to the terrace is very important in the hot weather for sometimes sleeping on the terrace is preferable to sleeping inside at night. Even with the mosquitoes and bats flitting about! Early morning hours are delightful on the rooftops and Hassan is full of plans to set up a barbeque for cooking and even the installation of a shower (cold water only).
We can arrange a tent for shade during the sunny part of the day and this will expand our living space.

I have been delighted to meet a fellow Californian who is married to the Moroccan man living on the street next to ours. We share a common wall with this family and Hassan grew up with the myriad of boys (there are 8 of them I think) who make up this lovely family. Amanda and her husband met and married in Brazil and have now come to Fes to meet her husband’s family and have a Moroccan wedding fest. She is from Southern California and is managing editor of a magazine in the states. Amanda is articulate and one of the most balanced people I have ever met. I enjoy her company so much and I think I’ve been very helpful to her as she tries to acclimate to Moroccan life. We laugh and laugh at the absurdities and inevitable mishaps that are a result of the cultural differences. I am hoping they elect to stay in Fes because it’s really great for both Hassan and I to have this couple to share experiences with.

Today I am hoping the man we hired to build a door on the downstairs bathroom will show his face. Right now there is just a curtain from the salon to the bathroom and it’s not all that private for the person sleeping in the salon. It’s been over two weeks since we hired him (really, just how long does it take to build a door?) and yesterday he promised to arrive and install the door but he was a no-show. Not unusual, just mildly irritating when you are anxious to complete a project. Anyway, we’ve been trying to track him down to come finish the job. The last “woodman” we hired didn’t complete his job (again, not unusual) and I’m hoping for more success with this guy. Lot’s of doors need to be installed (they were taken off to strip down to the cedar wood) and more need to be built (for those that were left out in the rain and warped beyond recognition). Shutters to the salons upstairs need to have the furry wood sanded smooth (the fur coat is a result of the product used to strip off the years of lead paint) and some of the transom windows with colored glass need to be rebuilt and missing glass needs to be cut and nailed into place.

There are so many projects. Some beamed ceilings need to have the plaster and cement scraped off and tinted with a unifying color. All the cedar wood needs a new application of linseed oil. Metal grillwork needs a thorough cleaning and painting. Walls need to be plastered. Sinks need to be purchased and installed. Windows need to be built, etc, etc. etc. The list seems endless.

So, life is full of projects and work to finance the projects. Socializing and family life need time and attention too. Most mornings I wake up and need a few hours to just stare off into space and gather my energy for the day’s ‘to-do’ list. And things don’t get ticked off the list like I’m used to. Things progress in fits and starts. But I’m getting used to the pace and don’t get frustrated like I used to.

Unwittingly, a terrace garden began to take shape today. Hassan picked me up from school and as we were walking home I spied two young boys hoisting some terracotta planters onto the sidewalk. After a little negotiation, we bought all three large, cylindrical shaped planters for about $8. They are very old as some elderly woman gave them to the boys to sell for her. The boys carried them to our house and situated them on the terrace. Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. The boys had returned with two more, large planters. These we bought for about $6. Now all I need are some plants to put in them and the rooftop garden will have begun! I laughed to myself as Hassan and I were just talking about his plans to create a nice space on the terrace for summer. And the containers for the plants miraculously appeared. It all felt a bit magical to me.

Spring Break

The long, cold, wet winter is over and spring has sprung in glorious fashion. With a week off from school, I decided to travel to the Moyen Atlas and visit a part of Morocco I had yet to see.

We started our journey with an 8 hour drive to the big cascade (waterfall) in Morocco; Cascades D’Ouzoud. The drive took us through the most wonderful countryside that was filled with wildflowers; red poppies, calendula, some undefined purple flowers and sprigs of white. The surrounding mountains were still snow-capped and the valleys were incredibly green. I saw one of the most beautiful meadows filled with wildflowers that I have ever seen in my life! And with a daily shower of rain, there were rainbows to see everyday!

Cascades D’Ouzoud is basically a campground with hiking trails which lead down to a meandering riverbed of muddy waters. The heavy rains are responsible for the muddiness; I’m told most of the year the waters are crystal clear. And there are monkeys that live in the surrounding forest and they are quite humorous to watch. They have a blond fur and are incredibly playful. They come very close to you and leap into the trees with great dexterity. It was fun to watch them.

After the waterfalls, we carried on through Tizi N’Tichka to Ait Benhaddou. An oasis with great palmeries and a place called the Thousand Casbahs. You had to cross a riverbed on donkeys to get to the casbahs and thereafter you could wander around the city and climb to the top to view a Jewish cemetery. We spent the night at a nice place next to the river. The room was grander than anything else we encountered in our budget range and included dinner and breakfast. Both of which were pretty dreadful. But, you can’t have everything!

The next day we went to the Dades Valley and the Gorges via Ouarzazate, which is known as ‘Hollywood in the desert’. It is here that many films have been produced including Sheltering Sky, Gladiator, Mummy I & II and The Last Temptation of Christ. We saw two beautiful canyons. One with the weirdest rock formations and the other with sheer cliffs filled with serious rock climbers. We pressed on to Erfoud in the Sahara desert.

Erfoud was a nice relaxing town. We spent the night in a step up from a fleabag hotel and visited with some friends of Hassan’s. His brother met up with us in Rissani and helped with the long drive home. Upon leaving Erfoud, we were stopped by the police who said we were going 56km in a 40km zone. After a long harangue they divested us of 100 dirham. We drove back through town to see this 40km sign. After traveling the length of the town and seeing no evidence of a sign, we went back to the police and insisted they return our money. They did so with great reluctance but with fear in their hearts that I would go to the gendarmerie and report them. One more stop along the way to a farm where yet more acquaintances lived and we picked up another passenger for the ride to Fes. We arrived safe and sound, having travelled nearly 7,000 km in 4 days.

International Women's Day

A really lovely gathering took place the other day at a cafe in Batha. There was a nice mix of expats and locals and the most fabulous garden setting.

An all-women musical group called Jililiat played to the delight of all. There was henna and a luncheon for those with the foresight to book ahead. Because the music was so enticing, women from the surrounding houses climbed up to their terraces and joined in. I particularly liked the hair tossing! Long tresses were flung back and forth as they rocked to the rhythms of Jililiat. Ululations echoed around the courtyard and a good time was had by all. Everyone was in the mood to celebrate the feminine spirit.

Searching for Evelyn

It’s taken me some time to find my footing here is Fes. When I first arrived, I played the role of student. I was studying Arabic and I must admit I was a terrible student. That was difficult for me because I love learning and I am usually successful at my studies. And I had just graduated from my ESL course at the top of my class! But this time, I was the worst student in the class. So my knee jerk reaction was to dropout of my course. Within a few weeks of dropping out, I became a teacher. Now I was on firmer ground. I’ve taught before and even though it was my first experience teaching English as a second language, I was much more comfortable.

Next, I became a wife for the first time in my life. Once again, I was in unfamiliar territory. It was strange, exciting and unsettling. Time and time again, when seemingly insurmountable difficulties arose, I tried to ‘dropout’ but was met with strong resistance each time. So I stuck it out and it has not been without great struggles and hard-learned lessons. But the lessons have been important. I found myself behaving in a way I thought I was supposed to behave rather than being who I truly am. Of course the results were unsatisfactory. But more and more I am reconnecting with who I am and the adjustment is making my life more enjoyable.

An overlay to all these experiences is being an expat. I’ve never lived in a foreign country before. Here I am a ‘gowree-ah’ (a stranger/Westerner). Sometimes Moroccan’s find me interesting and exotic; sometimes they think I can provide a golden opportunity for their own advancement, and sometimes they respond to me with derision, envy and resentment. It runs the gamut.

My fellow expats are an interesting lot. At first, I did little to cultivate relationships with other expats. Perhaps it was because of my marriage. I was trying to fit in with Moroccans but after many unsuccessful attempts to adapt to the lifestyle of my husband, I have abandoned my attempts to reinvent myself. I didn’t really cotton to the heavily communal lifestyle. I couldn’t relate to the traditional roles of the women. And I no longer had the stamina to pull all-nighters with my husband at wedding fests or gnouah and milhoon music gatherings. So after months and months of trying to deny my ‘other-ness’, I have decided to embrace it instead. The result has been reconnecting with my strengths and experience as well as the flowering and deepening of friendships with my fellow ex-pats … all of whom have interesting and wacky aspects to them that I really admire and enjoy.

Another change in how I am perceived has to do with my economic situation. I have always held a firm place in the middle-class. And living in Marin County, California -- one of the wealthier and more privileged places in America where prices climbed into the stratosphere during my 30 years there --I found myself slipping into the lower middle-class. But here in Fes I am perceived as being rather wealthy. Little do they know! But perception and reality are often at odds and in the Medina particularly, a lot of the locals think I hold a strong economic position. Aywah! The result is I have to constantly be wary of prices I am quoted … for everything from a kilo of strawberries to the price of cement and labor. Additionally, I have to be judicious with my offers of help because fulfilling all the requests I get would leave me penniless and with no time to make a living of my own. And finally, I try to stay aware of the unique perspective I have; economically-speaking, I am a ‘have-not’ in the U.S. – I have no real estate holdings, no car, a miniscule ‘portfolio’ and no income. While here in Morocco I have more than most. I have experienced both perspectives and I am working on recognizing my own envies with the goal of eliminating them altogether. How much more satisfying and energizing it has been to feel joy for another’s good fortunes and blessings rather than being plagued by envy.


I am back to dancing. Something I love and something I had abandoned when I arrived here because it is thought to have a limited place in a woman’s life. Here, a woman dances at wedding fests and at women-only gatherings. A ‘respectable’ woman doesn’t dance in public. But I am not a respectable Moroccan woman. I am a respectable American who loves to dance and takes great joy in this form of expression. So I am now the weekly teacher of belly dance at Café Clock. I also give private lessons. Yesterday, I held a special workshop for 9 young women from the American University in Paris. It’s extra income for me and it feeds my spirit.

Additionally, I host overnight guests in my house. The ground floor is quite comfortable now and I no longer feel like I am camping out all the time. When some tourists are referred to me by mutual acquaintances and the conditions are right (i.e., no workmen in the house and there are plenty of clean linens available) I open my house to these travelers. I’ve had people from Spain, Italy, New Zealand, England and Germany stay with me. I like sharing my space with people who appreciate my style. And I like it when they leave, too.

So now I am a teacher, a wife, a dancer, a quasi-business owner, and a strange character in society. I guess you could say I have fully embraced my “gowhree-ah-ness”. And with the exception of being a wife, I have been played all of these roles before. The main difference is my audience has changed. Now I am playing a lead role in an off, off-Broadway production. And like any good actress, I draw upon my previous experiences to bring authenticity to my character. And that’s something I have always known but seemed to have forgotten these past two years. Be authentic. Be true to yourself. Even in the midst of significant change, never forget who you really are.