Girl. Roman.

I decided to switch the language that I will be tutored in from Arabic to Tashelhit because almost everyone around here speaks Tash. Although most people in town also know Arabic, they simply don't speak it among themselves. I have enough Moroccan Arabic to communicate with the people who do not operate in Tash (i.e. those who are not originally from here) like the directors of the youth centers and the schools, and the Minister of Youth and Sport in Tiznit.

Now that I have begun, I have decided I have to pick up the pace. Unlike before, I now know when people are talking about me, I just have no idea what they are saying. One of two words tips me off: "tafrukht" and "taromit."

"Tafrukht" means girl. Unlike in the States, the definition of a girl is someone who is unmarried, and that of a woman, someone who is. A 40 year-old unmarried female is a girl and a 16 year-old married female is a woman. When my host family or some of the women in town are talking about me, it is generally as "tafrukht." My ears perk up when I hear it, but I am still unable to decifer what they are saying about me. Frequently when there are children around I think it is "get away from the girl" or "the girl is going to hit you." Sidenote: one cultural difference I do not think I will ever get used to is that it is apparently perfectly acceptable, if not encouraged to physically discipline someone else's child. Despite threats from their parents, I haven't hit them, yet.

When people who don't know me as well talk about me, they refer to me as what is clearly my only other defining characteristic: "taromit." It's a Berberization of the Arabic word literally meaning Roman. In practice, however, its meaning is varied. It can mean modern, Christian, European, or generally foreign. The Arabic word in Morocco for foreigner is "Nasrani," which means Christian (literally, from Nazareth) but has been adopted to refer to everyone foreign. Taromit serves a similar purpose, but can also be used to describe vegetable oil as compared to olive oil, or homemade butter versus packaged butter, or family raised chickens versus farm raised. It's opposite is "bladi" (of the country) so we have romi butter and bladi butter, romi oil and bladi oil, romi chicken and bladi chicken. And apparently it is not hard to tell that I am not bladi.

I went to a party to celebrate the homecoming of a woman's husband from the Hajj in Saudi. There were probably 60-70 women there at one point or another (these occasions are sex segregated). I sat next to a woman (a girl, in Moroccan terms) who was continually referring to me, although most of the time I have no idea what about. I just heard my repeated call of "taromit." At one point I could guess that she was saying something along the lines of "Poor foreign girl, doesn't know how to eat" as she was ripping chicken off the bone and placing it in front of me, because by her standards, I was not eating enough, which must mean either that I don't know how to eat with my hands, or I am shy, when really it was because half a chicken was quite enough, thank you.

So I'm off to go work on my language, in the hopes of developing a biting Tashelhit wit to counter, or at least include myself in, the discussions of the roman girl.

Pictures

Me and Zhour, my first host mother, at swearing-in in Fes.Women singing and dancing at a party my host mother had.

My Eid caftan.

Santa Claus cookies I made for Christmas. I promise they look prettier in America.

Sunset on the mountains.

One Month Down.

Only 23 more to go.

After the Eid holiday I ate sheep twice a day for only about 6 days straight. Christmas Day I ate sheep head, just the way mama does it. It left something to be desired, as did the tongue and balls, but true to the Smith/Kerrigan family maxim, nothing was left untasted. For Christmas I did indeed bake oodles of sugar cookies, which have nothing in comparisn to the perfect cookies my host mother bakes, but helped spread Christmas cheer nonetheless. I filled ziploc bags with green and red icing and took them to the Dar Chebab to decorate with the kids. I played some christmas music and rather ineffectively explained the art of the paper snowflake. All in all, I would say it satisfied my desire for a real Christmas.

I New Yeared (Mick Huckabee's distate for candidates who use summer as a verb has inspired me to turn all of my vacations into verbs) in a surfing town called Taghazout, just outside of Agadir. I swam in the ocean on December 31st, but was not as brave as some of my friends who did so at midnight. Although there is an official holiday on the 31st and 1st in Morocco, there are no goings-on relating to the New Year.

Now I'm back in site, trying out a new schedule at the Dar Chebab, and beginning tutoring in Tashelhit. So with any luck I'll be speaking three languages rather poorly when I'm through here. In addition to the English teaching I'm hoping that we will have a music performance sometime soon, and perhaps an expanded girls soccer team.

Promise some more pictures soon.

Mbruk L'Eid

I survived my first Eid L'Kbir. This is a good thing. Since one of the families living on my compound is fighting with the other ones, I also only had to watch 4 sheep get slaughtered, rather than 5. I am currently finishing up reading The Omnivores Dilemma, so it was a very appropriate time for me to witness the killing of animals that I will eat. Just a couple hours after the event, we ate liver kebabs. Later on, some assorted other innards, not really sure what, exactly. I think I identified stomach. Unfortunately, I informed my family that the rule in my house growing up was that you were not allowed to say you didn't like something before trying it, thereby signing myself up for eating sheep head.

Apart from the sheep part, it was really not too diffferent from an American family holiday. We all ate breakfast together in the morning. Then the men got together to take care of the animals, comparable to a father carving the turkey, perhaps; the mothers brought the water up to the roof and brought the edible parts down to the kitchen. Family and friends stopped by to wish everyone a happy Eid. Everyone was dressed up at some point in the day, depending on whether or not they were dealing with sheep. I sported a delightful, mermaid-esque number, an Eid gift from my host mother.

Here are a few pictures from yesterday, sparing you the bloody part.

Me with my host brother and cousin.

Other relatives with one of the 4.

Kids playing on the roof. They are not nearly as cute when you get to know them.

Banjos (or banjoes?) are big in Tashelhit music, but I was a little surprised to see one adorned with eagles, stars and stripes.

Our first meal being cooked.

Family Life

For my first two months in-site, I will be living with a host family. My immediate family consists of my host parents and a 2 year old host brother. However the family certainly does not stop there. My house is right next door to a sort of compund of houses of various relatives. My host mother's parents live in one house below with 1 more daughter and two more sons. Additionally there are 3 married sons who each have their own attached house. In addition to my 2 year old there are 3 other children under the age of three and one who is about 7. When more than one of them gets together, chaos ensues. It is quite a scene to behold.

My host family is very nice. They speak mostly Arabic in the home, which is unusual around here, but wonderful for me. Everyone is very eager that I start speaking Tashelheet, the Berber dialect spoken in the region, so I will definitely have to start that soon, but would like to continue working on the Moroccan Arabic for the time being. The Arabic will help me when I leave town and when talking to officials, most of whom do not come from the region. Most importantly, the mudir (director) of my Dar Chebab is from Casablanca and operates entirely in Arabic. But for community integration, Tashelheet is definitely the way to go.

In total, there are 5 family units on the compound. For better or worse, this means that we will be slaughtering 5 sheep for the Eid L'Kbir, the holiday that takes place two months after Ramadan. I will probably have a lot more to say about that in about a week.

If anyone has the best sugar cookie recipe ever, please let me know. I am planning on making oodles of christmas cookies.

The view

That is the view from my host family's kitchen. I am convinced they have the most beautiful view in Morocco. So come visit.

I am now back in my site, getting settled, and promise some updating soon.

Woot Woot

Training went from being just another study abroad experience into real life after we all got our site assignments. I just got back to Fes after two weeks at my site and visiting another volunteer. But for the first time, coming back to Fes doesn’t feel like coming home; it is more like I am just biding my time before getting settled.

Although I only had four days there, so far, I love my town. I left Vermont, but I get two more years in the mountains. They don’t look anything like the Greens or the Adirondacks, but they are breathtaking. The view from the kitchen of my homestay family is glorious. GLORIOUS. Apparently in January there is snow up in the mountains, but it only rains in my town.

I will be returning to my site from Fes after swearing-in on November 26th. Although I am not looking forward to the actual traveling part, I am thrilled to be going back to my town. In order to get there from Fes I have to take a 7 hour train, which can last up to 9 hours depending on whether or not the track has actually been laid yet, to Marrakech. Because as volunteers we are not allowed to travel at night, I stay the night in Marrakech and then continue the next morning on a 4 hour bus South to the Agadir region. From there I take a series of two grand taxis totaling about 3.5 hours of travel, in addition to any combination of ½ to many hours of waiting, to my site. It is exhausting, but beautiful, especially on the second day traveling through the anti-Atlas.

I will be taking over for a current volunteer who will be leaving right before I arrive and will be able to take over her language classes, youth and women’s club, and even a girls’ soccer team she is involved with! Needless to say, I am pumped to relive the glory days of Maret Soccer. No big deal. I played Varsity.

I would love to post a few more photos, but I am afraid the image uploading technology is not performing to the best of its ability today. Ttyl.