Personal Journals of Kris and Amy, Volunteers in Morocco
Personal Journals of Kris and Amy, Volunteers in Morocco
Personal Journals of Kris and Amy, Volunteers in Morocco
September 13, 2000
I've been sitting at this computer for the past 8 hours or so, and I decided there was no time like the present for returning to my journal writing. Hopefully, the mass e-mails I sent out over the summer tided everyone over, since my last journal was written in June! (Not you Jerelyn, I know you've been looking for them.) ;) Why have I been sitting at the computer all day, and why hasn't Kris kicked my butt off? Well, he's gone for one thing - off at Farid's making shoes like a good little elf. But before he disappeared, he showed me how to create web pages, so I've been trying to work this blasted machine all day to get my new pages the way I want them to look. I'm making the new pages for our latest feature in the "Feasts and Fests" section of the site - the Imilchil Wedding Festival. I'm rather proud, if I do say so myself, so you should check it out. I'm also working on a new feature called Expressing Gratitude that is all mine - a little touchy feely for Kris, but he's allowing me to goop up his site with it anyway. I'll start it in October - a daily picture of the stuff I like in Morocco. So. Enough of the computer talk. What's up with us.
It's finally not August anymore! Humdulilah!!! I know it goes against the laws of the universe, but I swear that August lasted for about 6 months this year. It just occurred to me today that if all you knew about our lives came from this web site, you'd probably think that we led the most exciting of lives, every moment filled to the brim with excitement and adventure. I don't want to burst anyone's bubble, but the truth is that 80% of the time the most exciting thing I do in a day is go out to the hanut for a coke. August was, I think, the hardest month we've spent yet in Morocco. We spent 30 days fighting to overcome the sheer mind numbing boredom and dullness of our everyday existence. With the dar chebab closed and summer plans nixed, Oz in August was something akin to a penal sentence. (Annie Wohlfeld, do not apologize to the computer screen. It is not your fault.) But, boy, did I cruise through those craft projects! Anyway, now I'll stop whining and tell you what actually did happen this summer.
We did say goodbye to one of our best friends in Morocco, which was very difficult to do. Annie headed back to the states after fighting her way through catastrophe after catastrophe at her site. Honestly, I can't see that she had much of a choice, her only other option being to start completely from scratch midway through her service. After all that she went through in her first year, I can't imagine anyone wanting to do that. So she's back in the US, traveling like a madwoman, and generally having a great time. T'bark allah aleeha.
We did take an amazing hike up and over the High Atlas mountains. Since Kris did such a great job of chronicling that adventure in the captions of picture set 23, I'll skip the details here. Suffice it to say that we hiked upwards of 50 miles in 4 days, including climbing one pass that was just under 10,000 ft. We climbed a vertical mile up that sucker in about 3 miles, making it the hardest climb both up and down that I've ever done. Yes, it about killed me, and yes, I was asking myself the whole way up "Now why was it that I want to do this for 6 months on the AT?", but it was an amazing trip overall. We saw some of the most beautiful places I've ever seen - remote mountain villages, towering kasbahs, slot canyons 10 feet wide and hundreds of feet straight up. It really was incredible.
We did say good by to our roommate, Dena, at the beginning of August, when she moved into her own place across town. Since then we've been working to get our house spiffed up. It's nice to have some private space again, and I know she feels the same way. We've been busy making and buying the little things that make a house homey - lamps, pictures for the walls, knick-knacks - you know the stuff. I really like how it's coming along. Very cozy, if I do say so myself.
We did spend an inordinate amount of time at Farid's during August. Kris is fast becoming a real shoe artisan, and I'm working on my professional wall staring skills. haha Actually, I did a lot of stitching myself in those endless afternoons, but on handwork, not shoes. I'd like to learn to do raffia, but I think I'll wait until Farid's business slows down a bit so he has more time to devote to a new apprentice. Who knows, maybe I'll become a raffia artisan and make my living selling shoes. Or not, given my lack of creative ability.
We did sweat and sweat and sweat our way through August. I know one thing for sure - when I get back to America, I will never choose to move to a desert climate. I've had quite enough of that, thank you very much. It's finally cooling down here in Oz. The edge is off the heat, and the tendency to want to throw oneself off the roof just for the breeze has passed. It's actually cool at night these days. I've been sleeping on the roof a lot - inside is like a big, concrete oven - and I actually needed a blanket last night atop my sheet. Humdullah. The mosquitoes are dying down as well. Humdullah again.
We didn't do much in the way of work. I keep telling myself that just by being here and going out every day and talking to people and hanging out with Farid that we're doing our jobs. We're at least fulfilling one of the goals of our PC service anyway - cultural exchange. And by keeping up with this site we're fulfilling another - bringing information about Morocco home to America. Still working on the "skills transfer" part of things.
We'll start back to work at the dar chebab in the next couple of weeks, and that should make the time go by a little quicker. Already, though, it seems like the moment I turned the calendar to September, time started picking up the pace a little. At the beginning of this month we went up to Rabat to get our annual check-ups and to see the new volunteers swear in to service. The physicals went well, and the new folks were inducted without a hitch. It was nice to spend a few days in Rabat as well. I've really come to appreciate the city - nice weather, good shopping, anonymity. The day after we returned from Rabat, we turned right back around and headed for Imilchil for the weekend, a small village in the High Atlas where an annual wedding festival is held. I wrote all about it today in the Feasts and Fests section of the site, so again I'll beg out of the details. Now we're back in Oz and gearing up for work to start again. I can't believe it's already the middle of the month! I just hope this pace continues and carries us right on through to the end of our service in June.
When there's more to report, I'll be back. Love to all.
September 13, 2000
I've been sitting at this computer for the past 8 hours or so, and I decided there was no time like the present for returning to my journal writing. Hopefully, the mass e-mails I sent out over the summer tided everyone over, since my last journal was written in June! (Not you Jerelyn, I know you've been looking for them.) ;) Why have I been sitting at the computer all day, and why hasn't Kris kicked my butt off? Well, he's gone for one thing - off at Farid's making shoes like a good little elf. But before he disappeared, he showed me how to create web pages, so I've been trying to work this blasted machine all day to get my new pages the way I want them to look. I'm making the new pages for our latest feature in the "Feasts and Fests" section of the site - the Imilchil Wedding Festival. I'm rather proud, if I do say so myself, so you should check it out. I'm also working on a new feature called Expressing Gratitude that is all mine - a little touchy feely for Kris, but he's allowing me to goop up his site with it anyway. I'll start it in October - a daily picture of the stuff I like in Morocco. So. Enough of the computer talk. What's up with us.
It's finally not August anymore! Humdulilah!!! I know it goes against the laws of the universe, but I swear that August lasted for about 6 months this year. It just occurred to me today that if all you knew about our lives came from this web site, you'd probably think that we led the most exciting of lives, every moment filled to the brim with excitement and adventure. I don't want to burst anyone's bubble, but the truth is that 80% of the time the most exciting thing I do in a day is go out to the hanut for a coke. August was, I think, the hardest month we've spent yet in Morocco. We spent 30 days fighting to overcome the sheer mind numbing boredom and dullness of our everyday existence. With the dar chebab closed and summer plans nixed, Oz in August was something akin to a penal sentence. (Annie Wohlfeld, do not apologize to the computer screen. It is not your fault.) But, boy, did I cruise through those craft projects! Anyway, now I'll stop whining and tell you what actually did happen this summer.
We did say goodbye to one of our best friends in Morocco, which was very difficult to do. Annie headed back to the states after fighting her way through catastrophe after catastrophe at her site. Honestly, I can't see that she had much of a choice, her only other option being to start completely from scratch midway through her service. After all that she went through in her first year, I can't imagine anyone wanting to do that. So she's back in the US, traveling like a madwoman, and generally having a great time. T'bark allah aleeha.
We did take an amazing hike up and over the High Atlas mountains. Since Kris did such a great job of chronicling that adventure in the captions of picture set 23, I'll skip the details here. Suffice it to say that we hiked upwards of 50 miles in 4 days, including climbing one pass that was just under 10,000 ft. We climbed a vertical mile up that sucker in about 3 miles, making it the hardest climb both up and down that I've ever done. Yes, it about killed me, and yes, I was asking myself the whole way up "Now why was it that I want to do this for 6 months on the AT?", but it was an amazing trip overall. We saw some of the most beautiful places I've ever seen - remote mountain villages, towering kasbahs, slot canyons 10 feet wide and hundreds of feet straight up. It really was incredible.
We did say good by to our roommate, Dena, at the beginning of August, when she moved into her own place across town. Since then we've been working to get our house spiffed up. It's nice to have some private space again, and I know she feels the same way. We've been busy making and buying the little things that make a house homey - lamps, pictures for the walls, knick-knacks - you know the stuff. I really like how it's coming along. Very cozy, if I do say so myself.
We did spend an inordinate amount of time at Farid's during August. Kris is fast becoming a real shoe artisan, and I'm working on my professional wall staring skills. haha Actually, I did a lot of stitching myself in those endless afternoons, but on handwork, not shoes. I'd like to learn to do raffia, but I think I'll wait until Farid's business slows down a bit so he has more time to devote to a new apprentice. Who knows, maybe I'll become a raffia artisan and make my living selling shoes. Or not, given my lack of creative ability.
We did sweat and sweat and sweat our way through August. I know one thing for sure - when I get back to America, I will never choose to move to a desert climate. I've had quite enough of that, thank you very much. It's finally cooling down here in Oz. The edge is off the heat, and the tendency to want to throw oneself off the roof just for the breeze has passed. It's actually cool at night these days. I've been sleeping on the roof a lot - inside is like a big, concrete oven - and I actually needed a blanket last night atop my sheet. Humdullah. The mosquitoes are dying down as well. Humdullah again.
We didn't do much in the way of work. I keep telling myself that just by being here and going out every day and talking to people and hanging out with Farid that we're doing our jobs. We're at least fulfilling one of the goals of our PC service anyway - cultural exchange. And by keeping up with this site we're fulfilling another - bringing information about Morocco home to America. Still working on the "skills transfer" part of things.
We'll start back to work at the dar chebab in the next couple of weeks, and that should make the time go by a little quicker. Already, though, it seems like the moment I turned the calendar to September, time started picking up the pace a little. At the beginning of this month we went up to Rabat to get our annual check-ups and to see the new volunteers swear in to service. The physicals went well, and the new folks were inducted without a hitch. It was nice to spend a few days in Rabat as well. I've really come to appreciate the city - nice weather, good shopping, anonymity. The day after we returned from Rabat, we turned right back around and headed for Imilchil for the weekend, a small village in the High Atlas where an annual wedding festival is held. I wrote all about it today in the Feasts and Fests section of the site, so again I'll beg out of the details. Now we're back in Oz and gearing up for work to start again. I can't believe it's already the middle of the month! I just hope this pace continues and carries us right on through to the end of our service in June.
When there's more to report, I'll be back. Love to all.
September 13, 2000
I've been sitting at this computer for the past 8 hours or so, and I decided there was no time like the present for returning to my journal writing. Hopefully, the mass e-mails I sent out over the summer tided everyone over, since my last journal was written in June! (Not you Jerelyn, I know you've been looking for them.) ;) Why have I been sitting at the computer all day, and why hasn't Kris kicked my butt off? Well, he's gone for one thing - off at Farid's making shoes like a good little elf. But before he disappeared, he showed me how to create web pages, so I've been trying to work this blasted machine all day to get my new pages the way I want them to look. I'm making the new pages for our latest feature in the "Feasts and Fests" section of the site - the Imilchil Wedding Festival. I'm rather proud, if I do say so myself, so you should check it out. I'm also working on a new feature called Expressing Gratitude that is all mine - a little touchy feely for Kris, but he's allowing me to goop up his site with it anyway. I'll start it in October - a daily picture of the stuff I like in Morocco. So. Enough of the computer talk. What's up with us.
It's finally not August anymore! Humdulilah!!! I know it goes against the laws of the universe, but I swear that August lasted for about 6 months this year. It just occurred to me today that if all you knew about our lives came from this web site, you'd probably think that we led the most exciting of lives, every moment filled to the brim with excitement and adventure. I don't want to burst anyone's bubble, but the truth is that 80% of the time the most exciting thing I do in a day is go out to the hanut for a coke. August was, I think, the hardest month we've spent yet in Morocco. We spent 30 days fighting to overcome the sheer mind numbing boredom and dullness of our everyday existence. With the dar chebab closed and summer plans nixed, Oz in August was something akin to a penal sentence. (Annie Wohlfeld, do not apologize to the computer screen. It is not your fault.) But, boy, did I cruise through those craft projects! Anyway, now I'll stop whining and tell you what actually did happen this summer.
We did say goodbye to one of our best friends in Morocco, which was very difficult to do. Annie headed back to the states after fighting her way through catastrophe after catastrophe at her site. Honestly, I can't see that she had much of a choice, her only other option being to start completely from scratch midway through her service. After all that she went through in her first year, I can't imagine anyone wanting to do that. So she's back in the US, traveling like a madwoman, and generally having a great time. T'bark allah aleeha.
We did take an amazing hike up and over the High Atlas mountains. Since Kris did such a great job of chronicling that adventure in the captions of picture set 23, I'll skip the details here. Suffice it to say that we hiked upwards of 50 miles in 4 days, including climbing one pass that was just under 10,000 ft. We climbed a vertical mile up that sucker in about 3 miles, making it the hardest climb both up and down that I've ever done. Yes, it about killed me, and yes, I was asking myself the whole way up "Now why was it that I want to do this for 6 months on the AT?", but it was an amazing trip overall. We saw some of the most beautiful places I've ever seen - remote mountain villages, towering kasbahs, slot canyons 10 feet wide and hundreds of feet straight up. It really was incredible.
We did say good by to our roommate, Dena, at the beginning of August, when she moved into her own place across town. Since then we've been working to get our house spiffed up. It's nice to have some private space again, and I know she feels the same way. We've been busy making and buying the little things that make a house homey - lamps, pictures for the walls, knick-knacks - you know the stuff. I really like how it's coming along. Very cozy, if I do say so myself.
We did spend an inordinate amount of time at Farid's during August. Kris is fast becoming a real shoe artisan, and I'm working on my professional wall staring skills. haha Actually, I did a lot of stitching myself in those endless afternoons, but on handwork, not shoes. I'd like to learn to do raffia, but I think I'll wait until Farid's business slows down a bit so he has more time to devote to a new apprentice. Who knows, maybe I'll become a raffia artisan and make my living selling shoes. Or not, given my lack of creative ability.
We did sweat and sweat and sweat our way through August. I know one thing for sure - when I get back to America, I will never choose to move to a desert climate. I've had quite enough of that, thank you very much. It's finally cooling down here in Oz. The edge is off the heat, and the tendency to want to throw oneself off the roof just for the breeze has passed. It's actually cool at night these days. I've been sleeping on the roof a lot - inside is like a big, concrete oven - and I actually needed a blanket last night atop my sheet. Humdullah. The mosquitoes are dying down as well. Humdullah again.
We didn't do much in the way of work. I keep telling myself that just by being here and going out every day and talking to people and hanging out with Farid that we're doing our jobs. We're at least fulfilling one of the goals of our PC service anyway - cultural exchange. And by keeping up with this site we're fulfilling another - bringing information about Morocco home to America. Still working on the "skills transfer" part of things.
We'll start back to work at the dar chebab in the next couple of weeks, and that should make the time go by a little quicker. Already, though, it seems like the moment I turned the calendar to September, time started picking up the pace a little. At the beginning of this month we went up to Rabat to get our annual check-ups and to see the new volunteers swear in to service. The physicals went well, and the new folks were inducted without a hitch. It was nice to spend a few days in Rabat as well. I've really come to appreciate the city - nice weather, good shopping, anonymity. The day after we returned from Rabat, we turned right back around and headed for Imilchil for the weekend, a small village in the High Atlas where an annual wedding festival is held. I wrote all about it today in the Feasts and Fests section of the site, so again I'll beg out of the details. Now we're back in Oz and gearing up for work to start again. I can't believe it's already the middle of the month! I just hope this pace continues and carries us right on through to the end of our service in June.
When there's more to report, I'll be back. Love to all.
May 10, 2001
Had today happened two years ago, I think I would have wished it hadn't. I am prone to anger at the first sign of mechanical failure. It's a bit adolescent- irritation at machines; they can only do what we tell them, and when we don't take care of them, they take that as a cue to begin the slow process of deterioration that eventually lands them in the scrap heap or Salvation Army. But today wasn't two years ago, and I didn't get irrationally pissed at a machine that was doing whatever the Haja had told it to start doing a few years back.
In two years my capacity for the ridiculous, the clown car driving through the wall of the church as the preacher reaches his climax and the congregation their epiphany, has increased exponentially. I go to have lunch at a student's house; his English is incredible, he understands the nuances of the language, slang, the whole nine yards. We sit on the couch and he turns on the television to none other than TBN (the Christian network with the pink-haired lady). "I love this stuff," he exclaims. "I've ordered a Bible in Arabic, French, Spanish and English, but none of them have arrived. You don't have one do you?" Amy and Emmett (a friend of ours) and I just look at each other with wide eyes and cram more couscous into our faces as the baritone voice of the white-haired guy dips low and rises, soulfully, in time with the electric guitar and the bossanova bounced out from the preprogrammed Casio keyboard. "Please, oh, please" he holds "sweet Jesus deliver us from here - come on, people..." I call the handyman to fix the water heater and three men come out to the house, stand on the kitchen counter, take the thing apart, bang on it, put it back together and like witch doctors with wrenches (or without, rather, they love my Leatherman) they declare the damn thing fixed. I say "you haven't even turned it on yet," and they say, "But we fixed it." So we bathe in cold water. When I climbed into the white box with wheels and a rattling muffler today, I thought nothing of it.
The Haja is incredible. She presents reproductive health lessons to young girls in the surrounding villages. She helps them make sense of puberty and all the changes that their bodies go through that everyone else has deemed unfit to talk about. The schools won't touch it, no one wants a male doctor talking to their daughter about it, and most women don't have the education, the finesse or the forum to talk about it in. Today we left Ouarzazate for a combination social visit and reproductive health lesson.
The Haja, Amy, Kalthoum and I climbed into the Fiat and we headed out down the road toward the UNFM center in Tifiltout. It's one of their satellite branches that produces a lot of handicrafts; rugs, embroidery and such. On the way the Haja laughed about the time that she showed up late for the Pasha's meeting. "It was the first time I'd been able to get them out there in ten years, and I finally had the Pasha, the Caid and a bunch of delegates out there. I was supposed to be there at three for tea and cookies, but halfway out there my exhaust pipe fell off. I tried to get a taxi, but none came; I tried to find a mechanic and couldn't... Well what do you do? I had all these people waiting for me. I finally left the car by the side of the road and started walking. Someone finally picked me up and I showed up an hour late. Now when I go out to these places, people can hear my coming and they say, 'Here comes the Haja'."
We pulled off the dirt road toward Tifiltout, a large mud kasbah about 10 km outside of Ouarzazate. A smattering of low, red mud houses looked lifeless- closed windows and no one on the street. A solitary orange cat crossed the road and ducked into the cemetery on our left. The rough dirt roads weren't kind to the Fiat but we wheedled our way toward the UNFM center. We descended a small hill toward the elementary school, next to which was the center. Hearing the car, two kids peaked their heads up over the cemetery wall and watched us pass and park.
I climb out of the car and lift the seat for Kalthoum and Amy to get out. The Haja leaves her door open, comes around to my open door and climbs back in the car after we've all gotten out. She pulls her door shut and locks it, then does the same to mine. We walked down to the UNFM center; all the while, I don't even think I've cracked so much as a smile, nor really so much as thought about all the forces that have brought me here to this moment in time. Standing in the blazing noonday sun of Morocco in front of a ragtag building with rebar sprouting like iron bamboo shoots from the unfinished cement building in front of me.
From those lifeless looking houses spill the people who are beginning to gather (we are, after all, white folks in a small Moroccan village, except the Haja and Kalthoum); kids bob their heads from around the moms' skirts to watch us enter an alleyway and reach the door of the center. It's closed. The sun's high overhead; we're standing on our shadows, stepping on ourselves to get back to the car as the Haja blesses the women who are sleeping rather than opening the center. She really blesses them, like "bless their little hearts, the poor, tired dears..." She didn't tell them she was coming and hasn't been out to this particular center in months. It's a quarter of two and everyone who's not watching us is home sleeping- the hot, mid-afternoon sun having driven everyone indoors until at least three.
As we reach the car I size up the hill we've got to climb to return to the paved road. It looks jagged and unforgiving, the shiny, worn heads of huge rocks sticking up out of the heavily eroded dirt. I envision countless big Mercedes vans slowly rocking down the road, loosening dirt to fuel the fire of the next sandstorm. The Haja whips the car around and up the hill we bound. Clunk, krrgghgrrkghkkkkrhgh. How do you write the sound of a muffler falling completely off a car and being dragged twenty feet until the driver deems a stop necessary? I still don't think I was laughing yet. Not even angry. "Tfoo," she says and gets out of the car. She jaunts around the back and takes hold of the scalding muffler just as I'm climbing out to see what I can do with it. We are stalled between a house and the low mud wall of a cemetery. The two kids come walking out of the cemetery; one brandishes a piece of wire, which he neither offers nor refuses to give us. He cracks his mouth, tilts his head and stares at the Haja. The Haja is waving her burnt hand and exclaiming how hot the muffler is. It's not so bad; the muffler's still attached by one rubber ring and since it's already been twisted around that ring for more efficient dragging, I suggest and proceed to tie the damn thing to the bumper. After I inquire, the kid hands over the wire and I tie it on. For safe keeping, the Haja wraps a plastic bag around the whole operation and we climb back in. We climb the hill and return to the paved road; whenever we pass over a slight bump, a sound rattles the undercarriage of the car, vibrates up through the seats; it's the metal on rough pavement sound of what I assume to be the tailpipe dragging on the road, sparks leaping out behind us.
I wake from a daydream of streetlights and streets lit just right, rain-soaked alleyways, of water that is black in which I am floating, in which I am entirely submerged except my lips through which my breath comes very slowly. I see myself from above, the stark contrast of my white body against the black water. From high above I see the roof of a small white car riding down a road, a black smear carved lazily through the red, jagged hills outside of Ouarzazate. I see the profile of one of the most respected and respectable women in town, beyond her the green fields, and beyond them the sandy bed of an empty river. The car sounds like kids imitating cars and can be heard for miles. As we pass the first village, a woman yells "Ees tga tomobile?", and laughs, to which the Haja replies, "Of course it is, it just needs more charcoal for the engine..." and laughs.
I am in a room of thirty girls and for the last four hours, we've been working together to make two of the most difficult Morccan dishes, pastilla and briowatts. The briowatts are coming out of the fryer and are being covered in fake honey, the recipe for which will astound you-
Fake Honey
Ingredients:
2 kilos of granulated sugar
2 liters of Coke
Instructions:
Combine all ingredients in a pressure cooker, shake well and let stand for thirty minutes. Open pressure cooker slowly and let stand until it reaches desired consistency.
Believe it or not, it worked. So the briowatts (ground almond-stuffed filo dough fried and ladled with 'honey') are coming out and the pastilla shortly after and the Haja launches into a long spiel about reproductive health, the whole of which I pretend not to understand. The girls giggle and look straight at me to see if I get it. The room we're in has bare walls of medium gray cement and we're sitting on benches listening to the Haja fervently talk about taking care of our bodies, what's natural, what's not natural. I'm astounded by her bluntness. Someone brings up premarital pregnancy and she so wisely replies- "If you have a problem before marriage, getting married isn't going to solve it." I space out again.
I stand at the dark end of an alley whose myriad puddles waver with a light breeze, warping the images of the orange streetlights that they reflect. There is no one but me in the alley. I hear the tires of an unseen car splashing in the shallow puddles of the street onto which the alley opens. It sounds like a gift being unwrapped and it finally appears, bright, glistening yellow. It rides on and the sound dies, paper falls to the floor.
I am in Morocco. I am in a room full of thirty-odd girls who are learning about the bodies they inhabit for the first time, and in a stroke of genius they are also learning two complicated recipes that they really want to know how to cook. I am the only man in the room, and probably the only man that could be in the room. I am in a privileged position, but feel non-existent; the proverbial fly on the wall. The girls occasionally look my way but prefer not to; looking my way makes me real and making me real makes the subject taboo. I add to the illusion of inexistence by frequent daydreaming and mapping the span of floor between my shoes.
We arrived at ten to two and it's now almost seven. The first full round of briowatts comes out of the kitchen followed by the pastilla. A different Kalthoum comes from another room bearing two trays of coffee and milk. The Haja finishes her talk about natural deodorants, a subject I found fascinating and only a little embarrassing if embarrassing at all- who likes to stink? "Take this rock," she says "and boil it on medium heat until that stuff comes out- what's the name of that stuff in Arabic- that stuff like at the beach-" I think she wanted the word 'foam' and wondered what language she normally speaks if not Arabic- "heat it until that stuff, you know what I'm talking about, comes out and then smash it in the mortar and pestle. Grind it into a fine powder and then add a little musk for smell, and then you won't have that annoying odor and people won't say when you leave the room, 'man, she needs to go to the hammam.'"
We ate and drank and people laughed at Amy and I like they always do, and then shortly before eight, we said our goodbyes and walked to the car. From the bottom of the hill that we were climbing, I could see the tailpipe hanging from the manifold and nearly, but not quite touching the ground. I wondered who'd be climbing up under the car as the Haja said, "Si Driss, what are we going to do?" "Well," I guessed, "we probably ought to get the exhaust pipe off the ground. We don't really need a muffler to get us to Ouarzazate." So I found a long piece of bailing wire laying around on the ground (it's on the ground all over the country and I can't figure out why) and climbed under the car. I wired the length of pipe to the undercarriage of the car, (a solid undercarriage that didn't afford access to most of the pars of the car, which I remarked as very strange), we climbed in and bumbled off toward Ouarzazate.
Ouarzazate is full of streetlights and looks big from across the dusty riverbed that divides it from its sister city, Tabount. I think about how small it really is, how appearances deceive because Ouarzazate is long, but much more so than wide, when it finally hits me. Kalthoum has been struck with a migraine and is curled over in the backseat- all I can see is the top of her headscarf which falls almost to the middle of her back; she completely covers her hair and pins the scarf under her chin like all the pictures of Islamic women Americans see at home- Aicha and Amy are giggling about the car and the Haja is in full-fledged laughter about it as it slowly chugs its way up the hill- the Haja has been to Mecca and walked around the moonrock, and men in town call her Haja and kiss her hand when they meet her, and she's cracking jokes about her dying Fiat. What hits me is me. We plan and plan, and for years I've been planning this life, this part of my life, it is mine after all, and I've got it planned for years still, and years of thought have brought me here, and years of hard work have brought me here and the culmination, the sum total of all that work, all those A's, my marriage, and my two years in Morocco is this- the privilege of riding shotgun with the Haja in a broken down Fiat as we cut through the gas station to avoid a stop sign, fumes gurgling out behind us.
