The House Knows All

All hell is about to break loose in the house.

Even though I was determined NOT to invest any more money in the house and dedicated to trying to sell it as soon as I returned from the states this summer, it seems DESTINY has something else in store.

A week ago a huge plumbing problem reared its ugly head and necessitated breaking through walls and installing new pipes. And now that repairs to the wall must be made, I figured the house was telling me I am not through with her yet and must give her what she wants.

So, tomorrow, tile work and plaster and painting will commence. The walls in the upstairs bathroom are going to be tiled and the same goes for the water closet on the in-between floor. A new sink has been purchased for the water closet and repairs are going to be made to all the necessary places on the ground floor. And, of course, the kitchen walls have to be re-plastered and painted where the new pipes were installed.

Every room in the house will be covered in dust and debris. This I am sure of. And of course, this is happening right after I cleaned everything this morning. Silly me. But at least I get to enjoy a clean house for one day. Then, when everything is finished, a thorough seasonal cleaning will commence and the house will be better than ever.

A sturdy plastic cover has been custom-made to cover the halqa in preparation for the winter rains. The drainage problem on the terrace has hopefully been addressed.

Next step: gather some money together (just how to do this is yet unknown) and apply for a permit to make this a guest house. That’s the only way to recoup the money I have been spending to repair and improve my voraciously hungry and greedy little house.

Are you paying attention house? I’m listening to you and giving you what you seem to want. You seem to be fighting me when I try to break loose so I surrender. Believe me, I truly am trying to find the proper attitude to assume about the whole thing. But I waver between feeling trapped and calm acceptance. I know you are watching my every move and reading my mind -- I only wish I could read you as clearly as you seem to read me.

Tell me, once you are fully restored and delighting tourists from all over the world, are you planning for me to resume my journey to Istanbul that you interrupted when I arrived here almost 4 years ago? Will you send me a buyer looking for a turnkey operation so I can take advantage of the depressed real estate market back in California? Or is there something else you are contemplating that will totally surprise and astound me?

Tell me soon, little Dar on the Derb … What door will you open for me? For I am chomping at the bit for some significant change in my life.

Godzilla Bride

I could see and smell the Juicy Fruit gum as she sat across from me in my house and talked about her trials and tribulations since arriving in Fes. I had been instructed to extol the virtues of Morocco and one Moroccan in particular as she was here to get married.

She met her intended on Facebook and they fell in love, even though he spoke no English and she no Darija. Even though he is at least 35 years her junior and they relied exclusively on the translation feature on their computers to communicate.

Left alone with her I learned she sells beds in the states but her real love is Zumba, the latest aerobic/salsa dance craze. She herself is an instructor and she told me she liked the definition of the muscles on her new love as photos were exchanged across the ocean and the continental U.S. She envisions teaching him to be a Zumba instructor in the States and she was here to arrange his visa. For a while the conversation was “Zumba-this” and “Zumba-that”.

Her entry into Morocco had not been without challenges as she was plucked in the middle of a lively Moroccan household and promptly got sick from drinking tap water. The lack of privacy and the excess of food didn’t sit well with her either. She seemed a bit unyielding to me but no one can be expected to show their best side after 30 hours of travel and such an immediate and strong dose of culture shock.

So I gave her the benefit of the doubt and tried to tell her to take her time. I wanted to impress upon her that she couldn’t possibly know how deep the differences are between our cultures nor find the clarity to assimilate them without the benefit of time and a healthy amount of patience. I cited a few examples from my own experience here. I asked her not to repeat my warning as I had been asked only to say positive things and this might not be received in the manner intended. She said she understood and was soon gathered up to return to her fiancé’s home.

The next day a phone call came. It was said I had told her Moroccans are ‘stealers’ and altogether bad.

What the hell!?

When pressed, she admitted I had said no such thing but that I had asked her not to repeat my words and this, she reported, didn’t sit well with her.

So much for trying to help.

And so, Miss Zumba, I think it best that you turn around and go back where you came from. I can’t begin to imagine what will transpire if you spend an entire month here. And while I am biting my tongue and refraining from issuing strong warnings to the Moroccan family that is increasingly bewildered by your behavior, I won't say another word as I have learned my lesson about dispensing advice to people I don't know. I only hope the next foreign bride-to-be that arrives full of hope and romantic notions doesn't come knocking at my door.

Back to Abnormal

After 17 days in Fes, I am finally able to take a breath and begin to consider my options. Believe me, the re-entry hasn’t been easy for a variety of reasons.

There’s the heat. It’s been a lot hotter than where I’ve been these past three months and the last few days have been really hot and muggy. But right now I’m waiting for it to rain and there have even been rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightening but no payoff with a downpour. Which is just as well because my little drain on the terrace can’t accommodate a massive amount of water in a short period of time. The water rushes under the gap at the terrace door and cascades down the steps. But I’ll address that sometime in the next few weeks. Meanwhile, profuse sweating is the order of the day (every day) and I’m taking a lot more showers than usual.

There was work. Practically the minute I set down my suitcases I had to pick up the school books and start teaching. But that’s all over now and I had a terrific group of students. The two weeks passed, exams were given today and the grades have been handed in. I now have nearly 3 weeks of unstructured time to look forward to.

There was my house which was in complete disarray and in desperate need of a thorough cleaning. This I’ve managed to accomplish but still have a mountain of bed linens and towels to launder. Nothing seems to have been washed in my absence but I did haul 4 sets of bed linens and 4 towels across the U.S, through Europe and down into Africa so I’m okay for the moment as far as clean beds and towels are concerned.

Ramadan completed its last week when I first arrived and the celebration after it ended were followed by 3 consecutive days off from work. That was welcomed! It was a bit tough to get into the swing of things when I first arrived, but soon the month-long fasting came to an end and things are pretty much back to normal. Except my husband got very ill that last week of Ramadan. He hasn’t had the vocabulary to let me know exactly what the doctors said was wrong with him (“So many things, Saida”) but he spent days on end in bed and lost a lot of weight. He’s better now (thank God) and quit smoking as a result of the illness. He was cared for by his family during the worst of his illness and seems to be taking a lot better care of himself now.

So life here is slowly returning to normal --- which feels rather abnormal to me after an entire summer in the U.S. But soon what’s abnormal will feel normal again as the summer quickly becomes a distant memory and life in Fes takes gets back the its own arhythmic beat.

One Week Later

I've been in Fes for a little over a week now and Ramadan has just ended. Today is the second day of the holiday that follows. People are no longer fasting and are dressing in their finery to visit friends and relatives in their homes. Everyone is making nice with everyone else, the shops are closed and there is a lot of congratulating going on. And well deserved congratulations I might add. From the little I saw of Ramadan this year, I could tell it took a lot of stamina to adhere to the fasting during the hot summer days. I am told it reached 125 degrees on the first day of Ramadan this year. And next year will be even more difficult. Many people are visibility thinner than the time I last saw them and are aglow with the triumph of adhering to their fast in a challenging situation and are basking in their successful practice of one of the five pilars of Islam.

How different this world is from the one I just came from. Not just the traditional month of fasting but from the very air itself. And by that I mean the mood, the energy level and the quality of the atmosphere in which people live. How interesting to witness a people pursuing a common goal and how they support one another spiritually and physically. In my own country, we are all such individuals with an endless variety of ways in which we approach life. Here, it's all for one and one for all when it comes to religious practices and family traditions. I like aspects of both views and that sometimes leaves me wondering where I fit into things.

One of the first things that I noticed when I returned to the medina was the smells. In the heat of summer things are more pungent than usual and the chickens and butcheries are redolent with a powerful organic odor. I also noticed how dusty everything was from the months of months of heat and the lack of greenery and moisture to help clean the air. And then night turns into day and day turns into night during a summer Ramadan as breakfast doesn't begin until 7pm at night and life picks up the pace from sundown to sunup.

The presence of everyday life is so apparent here and so unlike the overly manicured gardens and housefronts I walked past in Pacific Heights in San Francisco. I feel like Goldilocks as I absorb the contrasts; "this one's too overpowering and this one's too sterile." Again I wonder what I want and where the middle ground can be found. Does it even exist?

Yet here I am, taking it all in and training myself not to judge anything. Just observe and note the differences. It's really difficult to hold back the voices that want to proclaim this one superior to that one. I have to remind myself again and again that my own peace of mind comes from keeping judgements at bay and staying open to experiences.

The Return to Fes

Well, I am back in town and it feels like I've passed through a portal into another dimension. The life I experienced in the U.S. this summer was so incredibly different from what awaited me here in Morocco. I must say it's a bit of a shock to the system.

After a 2 hour drive from the beaches of Delaware where I spent the last week in America I traveled to the hustle and bustle of Washington D.C.'s airport. Once there, I had 3 hours to wait for my plane's departure. About 6 hours later I arrived in Frankfurt, feet and ankles so swollen I could hardly fit into my sandals. I found a lounge chair (the best thing about Frankfurt's terminal) and raised my fat feet up to relieve the swelling. I had a long, 10 hour layover in which to catnap, walk around, hydrate myself and eat. The flight from Frankfurt to Casablanca was a little over 4 hours. My feet swelled up to their previous elephantine size and I hobbled through customs to find Hassan waiting for me outside baggage claim. It was very good to see his smiling face. We stayed in Casablanca for the night and arrived in Fes around 6:00 the next day. I put my luggage down and hurried off to the school to get my assignment for the next day. Books in hand, I returned to the house and wept a little bit for all the work ahead of me to right the house again and to mourn a little bit the carefree summer that was now completely and utterly over. But that's the life of the working class. And these days, I count myself lucky to be working at all!

I have been warmly received by my co-workers, neighbors and friends now that I am back in town. This is the last week of Ramadan and schedules are topsy turvy. But this, too, will end soon and life will resume it's regular pace before long. Meanwhile, I am cleaning a little when I have the energy and motivation and preparing my lessons for the intensive course which is now in full swing. Slowly but surely the expats who left the heat are returning to Fes and everyday is a new opportunity to reacquaint myself with the people who have become such a large part of my life here.

This life is like a dream sometimes. One minute you are watching dolphins cavorting in the ocean while you sit in a rocking chair and enjoy the cool ocean breeze. The next minute you are hurtling through the air towards a different destination, enduring the torture of sitting in a small space for hours on end with bad food and recycled air. And then, before you know it, that, too is over and you are sitting in communion with a Muslim community patiently waiting for the call to prayer signifying the end of the long day's fasting. The swifts in the sky above are feeding on the insects and the sky is darkening and the busy area around Bab Boujloud falls strangely silent as everyone momentarily concentrates on eating and drinking.

Thus Far

I’ve now been in the U.S. for two months with one more left. It’s been a great summer thus far and a much needed rest from the hurly burly life in Fes. I’ve slept more, eaten more, traveled more, and shopped more during these past two months than I have in the past two years. Ahhhh, it’s been a delight.

I am staying in the equivalent of a riad in Fes. The house has everything (including a baby grand piano which I torture from time to time) and I want for nothing (well, perhaps more sunshine would be welcome in this foggy city by the bay). I’ve been chauffeured from California to Montana and back, seeing the natural beauty of this great country of mine … Crater Lake, the Sawtooth Mountains, Shasta Mountain, vast plains of wheat, verdant valleys and pristine ski resorts. It takes my breath away. I have been the recipient of generous hospitality staying in quirky, woodsy, country, newly renovated and comfortably lived-in homes. I’ve soaked in the mineral hot tubs of Calistoga, partied with the hoi polloi of Missoula, dined with artists, watched dance performances and shared time with family. I’ve even worked a day here and there so I could add to my little stash of vacation money.

Tonight I am going to the theater to see “Wicked” with two friends. Tomorrow I’m heading to the Russian River to stay with a long-time friend for a few days. And there is still the possibility of a drive to Portland (a small money-making business venture). After all that, one week remains to see all the people I’ve yet to see and then the grand finale … a week at a beach front property back east and the chance to see my brother who I haven’t seen for 4 years. Then the arduous journey back to Fes where it will be back to work almost as soon as I arrive {sigh}.

Summertime. This year my summer has been reminiscent of childhood summers where time seems to stretch endlessly before you in June, is punctuated by the rituals of the 4th of July, and then races to an end the minute August arrives. My family always planned two weeks ‘at the shore’ at the end of August and this year I am doing much the same.

The notion of unplanned time and the feeling of unnamed adventures always surrounded summer’s arrival as a kid. And this year I have been able to capture that same feeling as I have summered here in the good old U.S. of A.

Here and There

Without even noticing, I have reached the halfway point of my vacation in California. So far, the time has been spent rejuvenating and catching up with family and friends.

The contrast between here and Fes strikes me everyday. Life in Fes is full of colorful chaos and striking contrasts between interior and exterior life. Here in San Francisco, daily life is full of order and calm. In Fes I am ‘strange’, in San Francisco I am one of many and it’s easy to be anonymous. Fes is hot and dry, my city is walled-in, and I do all my own household chores. Life in my temporary dwelling here finds me chilled to the bone with daily fog yet filled with ease as the weekly housekeeping staff changes the linens on my bed, washes and irons anything I leave on the laundry room floor, cleans the bathroom (my favorite luxury) and empties the garbage which has been sorted into ‘recyclables, compost and non-recyclables’.

In Fes I work several jobs everyday. In San Francisco I have found some fill-in work that I do once in a while and at my discretion. In Fes I eat the same foods day in and day out. In San Francisco I have been enjoying foods long lost to my taste buds … salami and gruyere cheese, giant prawns, ahi tuna, smoked salmon, guacamole and fresh salsa with salty corn chips, and bacon, pork ribs and the occasional marguerita. Yummy, forbidden foods which are eaten with gratitude and relish. But here I must guard against myself and not succumb to eating processed foods or anything that isn’t organic (have you watched Food, Inc.? … if so you will appreciate what I am talking about).

Here in this lovely home in Pacific Heights I have a baby grand piano to torture and a television to watch horrifying reality shows such as ‘Jersey Housewives’ and the highly entertaining“America’s Got Talent’. Much to my surprise, I saw a belly dance duo I have shared the stage with win their way to a competition in Las Vegas. But I don’t own a TV in Fes … and I must say it is a decision that is validated every time I turn on the tube here.

I walk outside the door and stroll up one hill and down another into the Presidio where George Lucas has created a wonderful campus overlooking the Palace of Fine Arts and the San Francisco Bay. Back in Fes, the lovely gardens are all behind great walls and invitations are needed to enter the peaceful surrounds. Beautiful vistas await in Fes, too, but more often than not I must drive quite a distance to obtain the same spaciousness and often have to squint my eyes to overlook the plastic bags caught in the Agave bushes or the nooks and crannies of the terrain.

Life here vs. life there is a study in contrasts. And while I’m not saying one is better than the other I am enjoying the ability to move between the two and appreciate all the experiences on offer.