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.

Here Come the Sheep

It’s one week before the big annual feast of Eid and the sheep are starting to appear in and around the medina.

Truckloads of big, fat sheep are stopping along the roads into the medina where carousa owners wait to transport the sheep to their new owner’s homes. Those without the money to pay a carousa (or just wishing to save a few dirham to pay for some knife sharpening or some spices) find all kinds of creative ways to move the sheep along. Some pull them by the horns, others hoist them over their shoulders and then there is always the push and pull method.

Yesterday, a man was slowly walking a rather scrawny-looking cow up my street. Mud was caked on the hindquarters of the noble bovine as people young and old reached out to touch the cow as she was lead to her final resting place. I gathered it was some kind of good luck to honor the sacrificial cow in this manner.

I can’t say I share the enthusiasm this time of year brings but I do marvel at the activities and the religious meaning. I also am awed by the solidarity of activities and rituals which are a result of living in a culture where just about everyone shares the same religious beliefs and traditions are strongly upheld.

Every household will sacrifice their sheep or cow or goat at a prescribed time and every neighborhood will set up a place to roast the sheep’s heads on their street. The women will set to work after the sheep (or cow, or goat) has been sacrificed, skinned and the heavy-duty butchering has taken place. Women gut the animal and use absolutely every edible (and not-so-edible for my taste) part of the sheep. The skin will be dried, the fat will be carefully saved for later use and even the bones will be saved for soups at a later date. The liver will be cut into bite-size pieces for the first day and the meat will be allowed to cure for the following days. Small clay pots filled with charcoal and fanned with whatever is handy slowly cook the skewers of liver and protein is the mainstay of each meal for the next three days.

And of course the women will do all the nasty cleanup that is required after sacrificing the sheep and stringing it up from the halqa. But it only seems nasty to squeamish Westerners like me, Here, the blood is seen as purifying and no one turns their head at the moment the knife is drawn across the throat and the sheep struggles with the certain knowledge that life has come to an end. Indeed, many households keep the sacrificial animals on their terrace or in the house so the children can pet it and feed it and honor them before … well, before.

So here it is again. Eid Kbira. The time everyone looks forward to after Ramadan has passed. Once Eid is over, life will take on its expected rhythm with all the unexpected twists and turns until Ramadan is once again due to arrive. The wheel of life turns once again and thanks is given for being able to bear witness to all the marvels it offers.

On the Right Path

Lately I’ve noticed an unexpected and not so subtle change in my attitude. I’m pretty sure I know the reason for this change but I’m not going to give voice to it so I don’t jinx it. But there it is. And it’s resulted in a kind of an awakening.

I find I am a lot more accepting. I think I might even be starting to enjoy my experiences here. Now that’s going to sound pretty weird, I know. For why on earth would I have spent nearly 4 years here NOT enjoying myself? But things have been pretty difficult for me for a variety of reasons and I’ve slugged through my life believing I have to work hard to overcome these difficulties. So facing hard times is not new to me and I’ve always had the notion that life would always be this way. But I have come to realize we do experience periods of Grace and now one of my greatest difficulties here has seemingly vanished into thin air. POOF. It’s over. And quite unexpectedly, but probably just in the knick of time, I am feeling rather happy because I was ‘this close’ to running away for good.

But run away to where? For what they say is true … ‘wherever you go, there you are.”

So what it all really boils down to is changes in me. Sure, an obstacle in my life has been removed and I’m finding life a little easier these days. But when I reflect on my situation and think about all that I’ve experienced, I realize that I have put up a lot of resistance to my situation here. And this newfound acceptance and appreciation for all the situations life throws at you is one of the great results of the time I’ve spent here in Morocco.

A Visit to the Doctor

For the first time in nearly 4 years I had to visit a doctor. I was rather nervous about the whole thing because most doctor's don't speak English and this was a visit of a very personal nature. I waited as long as I dared before making an appointment and yesterday I bit the bullet and had my husband call the doctor. We were told to rush in right away unless we wanted to wait another two weeks. I dashed out of the house in a very sorry state and we drove to the doctor's office straight away.

I waited nearly two hours before being seen. During that time my husband had to leave as he had an appointment that couldn't be missed. I paced back and forth in the waiting room, worrying about the appointment and wondering how I would get back to the house, wash my hair (it was wrapped in a scarf to disguise the terrible bed head) and gather my materials for my 3:00 class. Anxiety mounted with each passing moment. It occurred to me I could have done all that needed to be done before rushing off to the doctor's office and still have had time to see the physician. Oh well. Could have, should have, would have.

Finally, I was called into the inner chambers. I was directed to step onto a scale which I was loathe to do, especially with the extra weight of all my clothes. Thankfully, the number on the scale wasn't nearly as formidable as I thought it would be and I breathed my first sigh of relief.

In horrible and halting French, I tried to tell the doctor my problem. She nodded and proceeded with her examination. By U.S. standards, everything was rather, well, basic I guess you could say. Expedient is another word I would use. I'm not at all sure what the diagnosis was (is 'banana' a medical term????) but I do know I had to spend nearly $100 for the treatment. Yikes! My prescription pad had 6 separate items on it and of course I don't understand what's in any package nor do I know exactly what to do with any of it without the help of a translator. And of course the translation will only tell me what to do -- not why it's being done. Some medicine I am to take before eating, others after eating. There are creams, suppositories (how very French) and there's even some powder to add water to and use every night. Ten days of treatment and I think anything wrong with me (besides the original problem) should be vigorously attacked by all the medication.

But that's not all. The next hurdle is filling out the paperwork to get reimbursed for the fees and prescription charges. Every box of medicine is to be saved along with the instruction sheets within and attached to the form which need both the doctor's and the pharmacists signatures. Geez, and I thought it was tough in the United States. All I can do is blindly follow instructions and put my faith in the expertise of others. No answers to my queries of "why" or "what does it mean?" Just do what you're told to do and don't ask any questions because no one has the vocabulary to tell you. Or rather, I don't have the vocabulary to understand.

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.