Another woman

I don't know why it took me so long to buy a washing machine. I was always moving something else to the top of the list of "Things to Spend Money On". But now that I finally have one, it's just as my Moroccan friend Souad said: "It's like having another woman in the house!"

I used to either send the laundry out to other women and do it myself. I used a series of buckets situated under the very low spigot on the terrace. Let me tell you, it was hard work. And the towels were soooo heavy to wring out and a little stiff from some soap that inevitably remained behind. My wrists would complain for days for it really does take two to properly wring out a towel. But my little 6 kilo capacity washing machine spins most of the water out, reducing my drying time considerably and mesmerizing me with the "essourage" cycle as the timer displays the final 3 minutes of each wash. So the work of several women is now the work of my machine and yours truly. I am so happy to have the assistance.

These days, I rather enjoy hanging out on the terrace when the sun is shining and conditions are ideal for drying. Our plumber was very practical when he set up the fixtures, affixing the hose for the gray water to the terrace wall and fastening it just above a bucket rather than above the floor drain. This way, I can use the gray water to rinse the terrace floor, or the plastic on the halqa windows. What my new laundry area lacks in form is certainly made up for by it's absolute functionality.

One of the things that held me back from purchasing a washing machine was not the cost of the machine itself, but the need to create a space for it and the need to install the plumbing that goes along with it. But after 3 months in the U.S. this summer with full and ready access to a washing machine and a dryer, I threw caution to the wind when I returned to Fes and impulsively bought the machine. I had hoped to have enough money to build a shelter around it but that project soon got superceded by more pressing expenses.

Big problem for we were entering into the rainy season.

So, I was hanging out on the terrace one day, a mound of clothes, curtains, cushion covers and linens being washed for me when I began to tackle a heap of dusty, tangled tents that had been occupying a corner of the terrace for too long. As I wrestled with one tent, I began to envision arranging a tent around the washing machine.

Eventually, after lots of trial and error, I managed to create a little fort above and around my new best friend, the washing machine. I cut the tent apart and used bamboo, a rusty metal bar, cuttings from the tent and miscelleaneous pieces of plywood to enclose the corner of the terrace into a makeshift laundry room. Now, everytime I look at it I feel like a kid who build a neat fort or treehouse from an assortment of left over materials. But it's working. The washing machine stays nice and dry in the rain storms and the structure has held steady during strong winds.

Is it any wonder I am so delighted to have 'another woman' in the house to help with just one of the myriad of tasks I undertake? I think I'll go up to the terrace right now. The sun is shining periodically and it's about time to join forces again and make things happen around here!

Writer's Block

Thanks to all my readers who have written and encouraged me to start blogging again. Months and months have gone by without actually following-through on my intention to post on the blog. I would tell myself, you must write about this or that and then the thought would just hang there, never actually becoming a written piece. I figure I must have been in the throes of the dreaded writers block these past 8 months.

Small wonder the block took hold, though. I actually was doing quite a bit of writing early in the year as editor of Cafe Clock's blog. Perhaps all the words I had to put together were spent there. But after a year of writing articles (which I thoroughly enjoyed as it entailed meeting incredibly interesting people and researching topics I only knew a little bit about) I decided it was time to reduce the 5 jobs I was doing to 3. I was really tired and leaving Morocco for the entire summer. And I found I was censoring my words before I wrote them ... I had lost the ability to let the words move through me onto the screen.

But everything comes and goes and I feel the block is moving on. This summer I met with a publisher who read some of my blog postings and encouraged me to write a book. I even began to outline the various chapters and found I had two books to write rather than one. Then a backslide into writer's block occurred.

But just a few days into the practices and activities in the book, The Artists's Way I find myself with pen in hand and fingers poised over the keyboard. The computer is fixed of all the problems that kept me from accessing the internet and the unexplained crashes that had me throwing up my hands in frustration have been addressed. All systems are 'go'.

So, as Lyle Lovett sang: "Here I Am". ... back in Morocco and ready to write once again.

The Man with the Gravelly Voice

Fes is full of unusual characters. There is the woman who sits on my street every morning, eating her oranges, artichokes or pumpkin seeds and asking everyone to pray for her as they pass by and offer her a greeting. There's a squat, benevolent black woman who sits outside Cafe Clock every day with any number of stray cats on her lap who never fails to greet me and ask how I am faring. And of course there is the once beautiful femme fatale who paints her cheeks bright red and occasionally bursts into colorful tirades which never fail to draw an audience.

There are an equal number of men who add their own special hue to the scene. Among them was a man who had an unusual, gravelly voice that everyone loved to imitate. He would always surprise me when he spoke to me in English whenever our paths crossed.

"You have beautiful eyes" he used to growl at me.

During the time I've been in Fes, I have often seen him with his girlfriend. She is blind and seemed to be steadfast supporter of his. Often, I would see them walking arm in arm up Talaa Kbir. More often than not, he seemed contrite when they were together. But recently, I saw her shaking him by the shoulders, her gaze directed towards some distant place, as he succumbed to her public admonishments while the ever curious crowd watched on.

The other day I learned that this man died. I wasn't at all surprised as his face had become increasingly gaunt and had begun to look like it was carved from charred wood. I imagine that whatever it was that he took or drank or ate to help him get through the day had finally done him in. And then I recalled a scene I had witnessed about a week ago that now seemed particularly poignant. This man was outside my house at the public fountain. A friend was helping to shave him at the fountain. Together, they sat there for quite some time while his bristly face was scraped clean. Here and there, his face was slightly bloody from the closeness of the shave. But once again I was taken by the way he submitted to the ministrations of someone who cared about him. Little did I realize it would be the last time I laid eyes on him.

I wonder what is to become of his blind girlfriend and his companion who shaved him with such conscientious care. I wonder who will miss him and mourn his passing and my heart aches as I remember the vulnerable look on his clean shaven face.

The Winds of Change

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything for my blog … I’ve thought about it many times but I guess I just wasn’t in the mood. And that’s strange because I’ve been observing more and more of everyday life recently and descriptions and thoughts fill my head as I take it all in.

There is so much going on and yet so much seems the same. But take Egypt. Everyone was full of talk about it and how it would never happen in Morocco. But just today a Moroccan told me he thought there was “a 20% chance” of something similar taking place in the Maghreb. Great. Just after I received an email from the States saying word of unrest in Morocco was filtering through and I reassured everyone that all is peaceful here.

And as for as I can tell it is peaceful here. I’ve never felt any strong undercurrent of discontent here and life is pretty good.

“Well how would something like Egypt happen in Morocco” I asked the man who thought 20% of Moroccans were ready to revolt. “You have a king. You don’t have a problem with him …”

“No, no. Not the king. The government. All the corruption..” he replied. “And remember, there’s an 80% chance nothing will happen” he added.

I was somewhat reassured but sensed something was afoot. For just that morning I had been told a story about a young man being stopped by the traffic control police and given a 300 dirham citation for not having a working light over his license plate. The policeman insisted that the fine was non-negotiable and refused to take any money to overlook the infraction. That was novel.

But then again I had just read how the government has dedicated additional monies in 2011 to subsidize some basic necessities. Already, the article stated, oil, flour, sugar and other commodities are heavily subsidized by the government. The officials reporting the news stated they wanted to make sure those living in poverty did not go hungry. And new jobs – to the tune of 5,000 for those with doctoral degrees -- will soon become available. That’s good news, too.

All I can say is with the winds of change blowing through North Africa, there seems to be a wonderful opportunity for great things to happen in this part of the world. And Morocco -- in my experience -- is the very best place to observe what happens next.

It's Been a Long Time ...

... since I posted anything on my blog. Don't know why. Maybe I've been doing too much other writing and didn't have anything left to say. I've been writing for Cafe Clock's blog and editing translated copy for a new online newsletter called "What's On in Fes". But here I am. Ready to spew a few paragraphs about life, my state of mind and any random observations that happen to occur while I'm recollecting.

I have had a few moments of fame. There is a new, online television program called 100% Fes (www.centpourcentfes.com) and it's all about the best of Fes, including profiles on local personalities. Well, I am one such personality and they did a segment on my belly dance classes. There is also a brief interview about my life in Fes. This video, along with another entited "Three Steps in Three Minutes" is posted on YouTube. So far, they've garnered a collective 200 views. No great shakes but it's fun to see a small portion of my weekly routine captured on camera and have a place to send my friends and family as a way of connecting and communicating what's going on in my life.

Cafe Clock has been closed for a week now in order to expand their kitchen. I have to hand it to the owner, Mike Richardson. He just continues to create and thrive and metamorphasize. I've missed having a ready place to eat, drink, relax and commune but they will open again around the end of this week. But I won't be here ...

... the annual ALL ALC CONFERENCE takes place this weekend in Agadir. The journey there will begin at 6:15 am this Friday. A mini van will pick up the teachers who reside in the medina. We'll meet up with all the other teachers from Fes at the airport. Then on to Casblanca and a connecting flight to Agadir. We will be in Agadir for 3 full days attending conferences (the educational book publishers provide several workshops a day and they are usually pretty good) and there will be activities and dinners throughout the long weekend. The weather should be a lot warmer than here in Fes. The hotel we are staying in is right by the ocean so the air will be brisk and clean for walking along the oceanside promendade. I am looking forward to the change of scenery and a break from the routine of teaching.

Life in the medina is the same but the days are short. Shops close early because of the cold nights and it's difficult to get out of bed in the morning let alone undress for a shower. The days begin late and end early. It is cold and there has been little rain. But today, a rain is falling and in half an hour I must begin preparations for school.

I have a 3 hour Beginning 3 class and soon I must get my head around the lesson for the day. I think of my teaching as a performance of sorts. I am the director of the class' activities and I must entertain as well as inform. I use my enthusiasm and plan a variety of activities; I cajole and act theatrical using different accents. I tell stories about my culture and I ask questions about Moroccan culture. And all the while I try to complete the learning objectives for the week. Sometimes it's great fun. Sometimes it is an exercise in classrooom management. But mostly it's fun and gratifying.

So, it's time to shift into teaching mode. The day is quickly passing.

Ashura

The last ten days have been marked by the arrival of the Islamic new year (Muharram) and the ever-progressing arrival of Ashura, which is the 10th day after Muharram (ahsura means ‘10’).

On the eve of Ashura, bands of children from every neighborhood gather together to play music. They beat drums and tambourines and blow into long horns that make a single, bleating note. Sometimes they sing. If you are lucky enough to live in a neighborhood where some of the older boys lead the children in learning rhythms, you are treated to some great sounds. Of course the kids ‘practice’ all week long and parade up and down the derbs in raucous good humor.

My street has tons of children and their numbers steadily increased as they banded together the other night to symbolically mourn the end of a year and celebrate the beginning of a new year. They probably don’t know that is what they were doing, but the idea of drumming out the old and heralding in the new gave me the wherewithal to deal with their learning curve and a great appreciation for the steady progress they made in producing the traditional rhythms.

I thoroughly enjoyed Ashura this year … perhaps it’s because I took the time to learn what it’s all about.

Still Searching

A friend just sent me an email asking me why don’t I sell my house and come home to California. I’d like to, but the reality of life stops me. It would be difficult to sell right now and although I could conceivably get enough money to purchase a home in Northern California, what would I do for income after that? For truth be told, my skills and years of experience are highly valued here in Fes, but rather worthless back home.

I make a lot more money teaching English here than I would in the States. Believe it or not, the pay is a mere $12-15 per hour for a qualified ESL teacher in the Bay Area. How could I survive on that???? Here is Fes, I teach belly dance to tourists and people love my classes. But back in San Francisco, I am one of thousands and there are dancers there who highlight the fact that I am strictly an amateur at the game. To bill myself as a belly dance teacher in San Francisco would be laughable.

I also have some marketing skills that I’ve been able to put to good use here and even get paid for. But in the competitive, youth-oriented California market I am sadly out of touch with the search engine optimization approach of today’s marketing gurus. Alas, the sad truth is I am out of touch, out of date and just too old to make a living at home anymore. But here in Fes, I find myself wearing five different hats some weeks, collecting fees and earning income from the myriad of skills I’ve gathered throughout my life and I’ve made a comfortable situation for myself in a world where money seems to be increasingly hard to come by.

I do miss home though and some days I fervently wish to transport myself back to the green, open spaces of California and the orderly life I grew up in. Chaos, confusion and conflict often pepper my days here and sometimes I just get tired of the effort that is required to keep going. But I think I am here for a purpose … a purpose I haven’t fully grasped yet … and so I carry on. I dry the tears of frustration off my face, put on a smile, pull back my shoulders and try anew every day.

Next month it will be 4 years since I arrived in Fes. I originally wanted to come here because of a documentary I saw about the Sacred Music Festival. This film talked about Fes as the Spiritual Capital of Morocco and I thought to myself that living in a so-called spiritual city would be great for my personal growth. Indeed it has been. But looking back I realize I had the naïve impression that a spiritual journey would be much lighter than what I’ve experienced thus far. I somehow thought a calm, wise and peaceful energy would envelope me just because I put myself on this path. But this has definitely not been the case. For life in Morocco is real life with capital letters and I find I am constantly derailed by the unexpected, the unfamiliar and the unexplainable.

So here I am, with all the trappings of a successful life but still missing an essential element. It’s called ‘acceptance’. And even though I am much better at this than I used to be, it seems I still have a way to go. They say life presents you with the same lesson until you have fully learned it. I haven’t passed my exam just yet. So perhaps when I truly accept and appreciate all of what life has offered me, I will be able to return home with the wisdom and peace I have been searching for all these years.

And who knows? When I finally do find what I’ve been looking for, maybe I won’t want to leave.