Reporting Live from the Surface of the Sun

At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if someone found me delirious, entangled in sweat-soaked mosquito netting, mumbling incomprehensibly, spinning the blades of my long-since burnt-out box fan with my fingers, lying on the floor of my bedroom surrounded by the bodies of a thousand dead insects.

It's not just that it's hot here-- I am fairly acclimated to blazing summers, having lived in places equally sweltering during this time of year-- it's that the heat is so persistent, so inescapable, that is getting the best of me. There is nowhere to hide from it, and the near-constant exposure, I have noticed, can make one a little bit nuts.

During the afternoon hours the neighborhood simply shuts down. Shop owners lock up and the streets empty; people wait out the day indoors as the sun scorches the air. Indoors one still sweats perpetually and continues to bake, though at least out of direct exposure. In the evenings things come back to life. People pour out into the streets and the neighborhood uncharacteristically becomes a frenzy of activity. Weddings are especially common during the summer months-- outdoor affairs with music, elaborate, colorful clothing, and dancing, open to everyone. They get started after midnight and last until daybreak. I often hear the music and clapping floating through the streets as I lie in bed.


Unfortunately at this point the nights are not long enough to cool down the air. Luckily the fan, despite just pushing around hot air, is enough to allow me to fall asleep. At least it was. First came the nuclear mosquitoes which left long-lasting purple welts. I would awake to myself scratching bites, new and old, throughout the nights. Luckily I was able to fend them off with a little plug-in device that emits some chemical, possibly also giving me a brain tumor. I'm ok with that for now.

After several weeks of insect-free nights my body resumed a non pox-infected appearance and I enjoyed nights of real sleep. The most recent joy, however, is an army of little....I dunno, bugs...that swarm in, attracted to the light and later attack my body in a barrage of tiny bites and crawling around on me. Luckily these don't leave itchy bumps, but they are relentless enough to completely prevent sleep. Slathering myself down with insect repellant (and isn't that something you want to do before getting into bed?) has no effect on them.

The dilemma is-- can't shut the windows due to the heat, but open windows equals bug invasion. I am going to cut one of my mosquito nets into window screening today and see how that works; hopefully it will do the trick because I think my sanity depends on it.

A week ago I was staying at a hotel in Rabat on the top floor in a small room at the end of a hallway. No air conditioning of course, and the room was sweltering. Somehow I did fall asleep early in the evening, but awoke later in sauna-like conditions-- thick, heavy air and pouring with sweat. The windows had not stayed open; despite my rigging them with a coat hanger, the heavy wooden shutters slammed closed again and again. I got up feeling disoriented and went into the bathroom to down cupped handfuls of water from the faucet. I looked up into the mirror and saw that my face, chest and shoulders were red-splotched and I was feeling chills-- not good. I felt panicky and strange, envisioning myself trapped in this little room as heat exhaustion overtook me. I splashed water on myself, then tore the bedsheet from the mattress and soaked it in the sink. I laid in bed on top of the cold, wet sheet and tried to sleep. It was a long, torturous night. The following day I took a stifling five and a half hour train ride home, which I would rank as one of the most miserable experiences of my life.


I don't mean to complain, really, but due to the oppressive heat things have become stagnant. No work, no classes, almost impossible to stay outside. Irritability and impatience arise easily and quickly, and the repetitiveness and similarity of each passing day coupled with a lack of restful sleep can put you in an odd state of mind. I've yet to find my Zen stride. I don't think I've ever thought this before in my life, but I am ready for summer to end.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Toubkal

Jbel Toubkal, at 4,167 meters (13,671 ft), is the highest mountain in Morocco and all of North Africa. It's located about an hour southeast of my town as the crow flies, in Toubkal National Park.

I hiked with five others-- two fellow PCVs and three guys visiting from the States. The way it works is on Day One, you hike from Imlil, the nearest town, through the mountain valleys to the "refuge", a lodge situated at the base of Toubkal, and spend the night. On Day Two, you wake up early, hike to the summit, descend, and then head all the way back to Imlil. In theory it sounds like a bit much, and the idea of actually carrying out such a plan was more that a little daunting on the punishing, five hour uphill trek to the refuge. The tops of the mountains looked pretty far away, at least to my Illinois eyes.

As we arrived at the refuge late in the afternoon, the weather changed dramatically. A fog descended the surrounding peaks into the valley, and we opted for fleeces and stocking caps instead of the t-shirts and shorts we'd been wearing all day. A hailstorm unleashed itself, and within an hour the summery green expanses were whitened and frigid.

The refuge was much fancier than I had expected; it was a bona fide "lodge", complete with a Great Room, fireplace, hot showers, many bunk bed-filled chambers, and a staffed kitchen, running on solar power. There are no roads leading to it. I would love to know how they built it in such a remote area. I picture donkeys loaded down with porcelain toilets and light fixtures, which is probably not far from the truth.

We had some dinner and relaxed amid tables of people from all over the place, as many different languages chattered around us. Despite the exhaustion, I had a difficult time sleeping that night, partially due to an unpleasant-smelling pillow.

We awoke at 4 a.m. and ate a light breakfast by flashlight as everyone else slept. After waiting until the sun showed the tiniest hint of rising, turning the sky from black to deep purple, we headed out into the chilly morning air. Not knowing the route up to the summit and without any knowledgeable guide present, our group hit a few false starts and dead ends before spotting the glow of several headlamps bobbing along single-file in the distance. We followed them, and the rising sun slowly turned the snow-streaked mountainsides orange.

It was probably a three hour hike to the top, climbing steeply over rocky areas and icy slopes, slick from the previous night's storm. A bit treacherous, as we were not equipped with and special "gear", but nothing I was ever too worried about. At one point you hit a ridge over which everything on the other side is visible-- incredibly beautiful.

The last leg is a hike up the snowy ridge to the summit, marked by a strange metal teepee. I made it up first and indulged in a celebratory can of tuna, took some photos and sat to take in the view.

:)

Small Business Development-ing

Alright, let's get to work.

*rolls up sleeves, adjusts pants*

The Regrega Potters

Approximately fifty-six potters work in my neighborhood and the surrounding douars (small villages) on the mountainside, working individually or with the help of one or two others in special areas in or near their homes. They collect soil from areas outside the neighborhood, preparing it by sifting, water addition, and kneading. The clay is "thrown" using kick wheels (think pottery wheel, but without electricity to make it spin) placed underground-- the potter sits at ground level-- using his hands as well as homemade tools. Kilns built of mud and stone are fired once a week, burning wood, sawdust, miscellaneous trash, plastic, and rubber tires in order to sustain the heat needed to bake the clay.

(sidenote: the potters are extremely camera shy, at least with me, so some of these are eh, "stock" photos)

The potters work best in warm months, as clay is difficult to handle and mold in cold weather. Warm sunlight is also necessary to dry the clay to an appropriate pre-fired state.

They create simple, minimally decorated tajines of varying sizes as well as water jugs. Each potter produces 100-300 products per week, depending on skill level and quality of raw materials and tools. Once a week a truck from Marrakech comes to buy the week's work in bulk to be sold in the city and elsewhere. Prices ranges from 2-10 Dirhams per item, depending on quality and size.

Issues

Though skillful at their craft, the potters struggle to eke out a living. Due to a limited marked, the artisans are at the mercy of the middlemen (those who come each week to buy), as they have no other outlets for sale and are obligated to accept whatever prices are offered. Their foremost concerns are for the well-being of their families, which results in an understandable reluctance to change and alter business practices that aren't working for them, risking losing the small profit they currently make.

A scarcity of available land threatens the potters' work, as they currently have to take soil from protected areas or from the property of others, both of which are problematic. The soil is apparently of a low grade, and poor quality soil produces poor quality products of a low value.

Efficient, less-polluting kilns are needed. With the number of potters working in the area all firing their kilns on the same day each week, the neighborhood is thick with smoke, much to the disapproval of residents. Much of the harsh materials burned on these occasions is absorbed by the clay which is detectable when the products are put to everyday use. Food cooked in the tajines may taste of burnt rubber, as might water held in the clay jugs.

Better business practices would be helpful, as the potters do not collaborate, do cost analyses, research alternative markets, or explore the "modifiable elements"-- what else can be done with what is currently available in terms of product design and variation. A local association of handicraft exists, and though the potters are encompassed by its breadth, they do not participate or make use of its framework (perhaps for good reason; there is a lot I have yet to understand).

Project Ideas

• Facilitate Grant Research and Writing for Improvement of Kilns: approach the Ministry of Environment and/or other agencies for funding in order to improve/update/replace the current kilns. My job would not be to do this explicitly, but to show my counterpart how to go about doing it himself for the sake of skill transfer and sustainability.

• Find Land/Locations for the Acquisition of Raw Materials: facilitate requests to the Department of Forestry for permission to use land in the area.

• Formation of Committees within the Local Association: facilitate the organization and encouragement of groups within the association responsible for business-related issues (cost analysis, market research, raw materials).

These are admittedly pretty lofty and complex projects for someone in my spot, and I don't specifically know how to move forward with them. Simple, small steps is what I'm thinking, staying open to everything. It's all extremely subject to change. In the scope of the remaining 18 months I have left, I hope to make some progress. Peace Corps operates on the goal of a six-year, three-volunteer cycle per site, so though a volunteer might not have established something tangible, some big visible acheivement, the point is to have laid a foundation of empowerment and motivation in those with whom we work.

I'm certainly not always convinced of the Peace Corps Morocco program. There are plenty of flaws, areas for improvement, and questionable effectiveness as far as Goal Number One (aka the "job") goes. However, I'd much rather work to improve it than turn into the dreaded and unfortunately all-too-common jaded and disgruntled Second Year volunteer. And as far as Goals Two and Three (cultural exchange) go, I couldn't be more excited. I think it's beneficial for everyone involved and I am quite proud and lucky to be a part of something like this in the world.

On final note, I can't believe it's halfway through June already. Seems like only yesterday I was shivering under blankets within the icy chambers of my host family's house; now I am sleeping on my roof under a mosquito net...

someone is going to hell...

...and I think it's the guy in charge of proofreading this:

hi

I've been a bit neglectful of updates during the past few weeks, as May has been a month of hosting gracious guests from across the ocean here in my quiet mountain town. It's been so good to have them, and I'm immensely grateful for their company and efforts to have made it out here.

The lush green wheat fields of spring (see blog title photo) have since turned to gold and been harvested; the cool breeze has stilled and the dry, dusty heat of summer has begun its slow, suffocating descent. I fall sleep with my windows open while I still can. Supposedly it's going to get pretty brutal (see future July and August entries for complaints on the heat), but at present it is comfortably warm, sunny and beautiful. The mountain snow is melting.


Teaching has been going well, as the "kids" continue to humble me with their intelligence, curiosity and self-motivation. My half-prepared grammar lessons and verb lists luckily fall by the wayside as class perpetuates itself on their questions alone, and thankfully we often veer off onto tangents of philosophy, science, existentialism, and other topics on which I am perhaps ill-suited to lead discussion, but am usually delighted to explore. The art of being a good teacher is something I've come to appreciate as a delicate thing requiring a great deal of attentiveness and wisdom, both of which I can only hope to be gaining ever so slowly as I stumble through class each night. I always feel as though I am primarily a student, despite standing in front, armed with chalk and English fluency. I have a long way to go, but I'm doing pretty well-- I think.


On a Peace Corps work-related note, things are beginning to unfold as to how I may contribute to the small business world here. Due to some recent investigatory measures and the pressure of a fast-approaching presentation I have to give on the topic, I am gaining some considerable understanding of the artisan sector here, specifically the potters. I've got some ideas brewing as to how I may actively begin to benefit GOAL NUMBER ONE!!!, the specifics of which I'll hold off on mentioning just yet. It could all just be a bust, but it's exciting, regardless.


ps-- to my loving family: if you truly care for me you will not send me any more jars of delicious extra crunchy peanut butter

Scorpion Fishing

Step 1:

Pick one of these yellow flowers, leaving plenty of stem length. If you live near me, you should have no trouble finding one, as millions of them populate the landscape.


Step 2:
Find a scorpion den. They look like this. If you live near me, you should have no trouble finding one, as millions of them populate the landscape.


Step 3:
Insert the flower into the den until you feel it stop. Now gently pull. If you feel a slight resistance, it is likely you have "hooked" the scorpion, and he has pinched onto the flower with his pincers, as demonstrated and obscured by a twig in the out-of-focus photo below:


Step 4:
Pull back very gently so as not to break the stem, much as you would reel in a fish gently so as not to break the line. If all goes well you will have removed a freaking scorpion. Cool.


Step 5:
Quickly cover the entrance to the scorpion's den with a rock, as he will surely be eager to return, thus spoiling your enjoyment.

Step 6:
If you are male (and it is quite likely that you are), squat in the dirt with your friends and poke at the scorpion with a stick or your fingers. Watch how uses his tail to inject venom into anything you put in front of him.


Step 7:
Return to Step 1 and repeat.

This method is courtesy of my good friend Aziz, a scorpion-catching master. There was much squatting in the dirt the day he showed me this little trick. Please remember to keep your scorpion tormenting to a minimum.