Rivers of Gold Bond®

The first torturous night of summer last night. Without electricity (due to some component up on the wires literally exploding) and therefore without use of my fan and insect repellent plug-in, the stage was set-- the air in my bedroom still and heavy, the near-invisible mosquitoes like vampires, thirsty and quivering at the door. I fell asleep easily, but awoke after only an hour or so, my hands and feet swollen and itching madly from the previous night's bites as well as some new additions. In the dull yellow beam of my flashlight on the wall, I could see them, like a nightmare, flitting about over the white surface, trying to stay out of the light. After a short-lived attempt at mass extermination, I knew the roof was the answer-- my slippery grip on sanity for the night. A sleeping bag and mosquito net in tow, my sandals clapped up the stairwell as I went to set up camp above. Ah... sweet relief. I slept until the rooster crows woke me just before sunrise.

The Arrival(s)

The first participants in the Explore Amizmiz project came to town last week, trying out every available activity: homestay, cooking lesson, couscous co-op, trekking to the mountain villages, and visiting the artisans. Very cool! They found our site via the Wikitravel link, and reported a great experience here. It's exciting to see real results come of our efforts. More people are booked for later this month!

Also exciting, as I mentioned previously, is witnessing my counterpart build the beginnings of her own business, gaining independence and confidence, learning all aspects of the trade-- a business that works by utilizing elements and individuals of community, and hopefully in turn, strengthening them in a variety of ways. Next we're planning to figure out an accounting system to keep track of how funds are being distributed throughout the local economy. As I am trying to place heavy emphasis on supporting the artisans, my counterpart and I are visiting them to discuss their role in the project-- what opportunities this presents (financial, marketing), and to hear their concerns and ideas. I'm designing brochures to hopefully have printed and distributed throughout Marrakech, aimed with the intent to draw the interest of visitors specifically to the artisans.

The overall game plan at this point is to continue to develop my counterpart's skills, increase visibility of our site/project, and see what we can do for the artisans based on what their needs are and what resources are applicable. We've also started English classes again! I was reluctant to do so, but agreed after considering how much everyone, myself included, seems to get out of it, and recognizing that it's a very immediate way to have a positive effect here whereas my other work stuff is slowly built. We never did find a new classroom in the neighborhood, but are using a room in the Chamber of Handicraft in town. Quite a distance, but we're only doing weekend mornings, so it's reasonable.

Lots to keep busy with...

refrigerator box/brainstorming board/central command

San Francisco

I flew from Marrakech to London Gatwick, watching the beige shades of Morocco pass beneath, followed by the Strait of Gibraltar, the snowy mountains of Madrid, France, and finally descending over the verdant fields of England. Upon landing I quickly boarded the wrong train at the airport and shot off in the wrong direction, a discovery I made almost an hour into the journey. Never having been to London before and without use of a cellphone, this was a tad distressing, but I was able to make my way toward my correct destination, the neighborhood of S's friends with whom I was staying for the night, via the Tube with little difficulty. After realizing my mistake and getting off the train I found myself in central London, and was able to see some of it on my way to the next station.

Not much sightseeing in London, really, as I was just staying for one evening. Wonderful hospitality from some new friends, however. In the morning I headed to Heathrow (I saw much more of the underground than anything else in London) and was off across the Atlantic, luckily spending most of the trip asleep with the exception of a few Office episodes and games of Tetris on the seatback screen.

At Chicago O'Hare I found my brother and stepdad waiting; we were able to have lunch and a walk around the grounds before my next flight. Great to see them, of course-- like I had just left them the day before. At this point I was fairly giddy and eager to conquer the last leg of my travels to San Francisco...

I touched down at SFO at dusk, walking right past S on my way to the baggage claim. Hey! she said, and I looked up. Ah, right! Didn't expect her to be waiting there. The rest is where it all blurs together. It's so strange to be sitting here, back at my table in Morocco, to think that I've already been and returned, the memories of my visit floating around in disorder, like scenes from some epic dream. We did a lot, as we had a pretty full schedule of places to go, things to do, and people to see. In lieu of writing everything out in detail, I'll list it here:

• Bay to Breakers Race-- 12k across the city, from the bay to the ocean. Naked people, crazy costumes, clouds of pot smoke, nice cool running weather, freezing near the ocean in sweat-soaked clothes

• rainy days at the apartment, S working from home, lots of reading
• Gustav and Lucca, the cats
• running
• trains, buses, and the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) to the East Bay and back
• S's office in Berkeley, meeting coworkers
• purchasing of post-Peace Corps plane tickets to Paris and Copenhagen
• Academy of Sciences/Golden Gate Park

• the spending of much money and purchasing of new threads/shoes/tight running pants
• met with friends from high school, dinner at Thai place
• movie night in Dolores Park (the last minute switch from The Royal Tenenbaums to Starsky & Hutch was not appreciated; we left early)
• delicious beers in the late afternoon
• Alcatraz

• Golden Gate Bridge

• meeting with director of sustainable design program at the Berkeley extension school downtown
• neighborhood walks
• food!: sushi, outdoor mud and stone oven-baked pizza, Korean tacos, "Moroccan" restaurant Aziza, mexican, Noodle Theory, homemade bread, wontons & dumplings, salads, stir-fried veggies from the weekly veggie boxes, tajines, walnut & cranberry oatmeal, mushroom waffle, breakfasts at diners, homemade Indian/naan, farmers market...

• Moroccan shop in S's neighborhood... speaking Darija with the owners!
• Tallest Man on Earth concert
• delicious dinner with (former sitemate) Ami's parents
• gallery walk, throngs of hipsters
• time spent with S's friends (A, A, C, E, A & M, Y)
• walk up to Twin Peaks, amazing view of the city

I found San Francisco/Oakland/Berkeley comfortable places to be, with a very progressive feel to them. The people-- at least the ones I met-- were exceedingly polite. I think the best adjective for S's neighborhood in Oakland is "cute"-- a quaint main street lined with coffee shops, bakeries, and little stores of all types. The residential streets are quiet, with each yard overflowing with flowers, long grasses and succulents. Her apartment, tucked away cozily down a driveway behind a bigger house, was my favorite place.

It was easy to be there-- too short of a visit for culture shock to set in, perhaps, and, being in vacation mode, free of any real-life pressures or obligations. A lot of people asked me what I liked most about the visit (aside from seeing S, of course), and I'd have to say it was the anonymity-- being able to walk down the street without the usual gawking and attention. To not carry that bit of tension that, despite having lived here for almost two years now, naturally still creeps in. Very refreshing.

It wasn't easy to come back to the land of dust and donkeys. I was able to see a little more of London on the return trip, the lights and buildings of downtown glowing on an evening walk along the Thames and a peek inside the Tate Modern, though admittedly I didn't have much enthusiasm for it and the jet lag was wearing on me. Upon returning to Marrakech I found that summer had arrived in Morocco, and what an appropriate way to reunite with the country by immediately arguing with a taxi driver over the fare followed by mosh-pitting my way onto a sweltering, thief-ridden bus with luggage in tow. 

But, just five and a half months left, and of course the days just fly by, like always. I'm anticipating a bit of a drag when summer is at its peak, with the bugs and the nights too short to cool the air, but this year I know what to expect and will hopefully cope more aptly than last summer's misery-fest. The kids are finishing up school and spending days at the river. I can feel the pace of life slowing and the streets emptying. The fields have all been reaped, and bushels of wheat lie under heavy stones to dry in the sun. The heat is working its way into everything.  

What else, what else? People are finding the Explore Amizmiz site and contacting my counterpart to book visits, which is exciting. My counterpart, Latifa, is really growing to be independent in her work, coming out from under the wings of her mentors and employers to do business on her own terms. It's great to see, and she's quite exhilarated with new confidence. Also, I'm trying to strengthen my relationship with the local potters, increase their awareness of their involvement in the project and how it can benefit them, and hopefully reassessing and addressing their needs.

It's nice to be moving through these days, spending time with friends here, working, doing my thing and trying to be present for it-- but tough when I know of my new home and another life, waiting out on the west coast.

It's Happening...

Tomorrow I'm off to Marrakech and will fly out the next morning to London. I'll be staying there briefly with a couple of S's friends who have generously offered to put me up for the night and point me in the right direction the following day, as I head across the pond to Chicago. The plan is to meet up with some family during my layover at O'Hare, then it's on to San Francisco!

We've got a lot on our plate during my two week visit-- a concert, a race, a school to check out, good food, a billion people to meet and places to see. Gonna be good. Most of all, of course, I'm looking forward to spending time with S and exploring my post-Peace Corps home. I guess it's only fair that, after her three trips to Morocco, I should make the journey over.

Even here as I take a break from packing and write this, the reality of leaving hasn't "hit". Wonder when that'll happen. I haven't been out of the country in over twenty months; it's strange to imagine that in just a couple days I'll be in such a drastically different environment. I've never been to SF before (or London, for that matter), so it's new in that regard, as well. Hopefully I won't awkwardly blurt out any Arabic phrases. Peace be upon you! God bless your parents!!

Marché Maroc Marrakech

Marché Maroc Marrakech, one in a series of country-wide, PCV-organized and implemented craft fairs, was held at the Ensemble Artisanal April 14-18. The intent of the fair was to provide an opportunity for artisans working with PCVs across the country to attend a workshop on identifying sales opportunities, customer service, exhibit presentation, and matching products to the market, then put the information immediately into practice with a three day exhibition at a premier tourist stop in a major city.

I had signed on to the project as one of two members of the Artisan Committee, which involved communication with PCVs and their respective artisans to determine and confirm participants, providing travel and hotel logistics, translation of materials, keeping track of artisans, herding them to and from different locations, and being available for any artisan inquiries prior to or during the event.

The fair itself went smoothly. The artisans, forty in all, were mellow and patient throughout the duration, and all volunteers worked well with each other and the personnel of the Artisana. As I personally did not have artisans participating, (the potters here do not market their wares directly to tourists; they sell raw, undecorated items in bulk to middlemen for resale elsewhere) once the artisans were set up, familiar with things, and the tourists started rolling in, there wasn't a lot to do. I took on random errands to keep busy, at one point running through the back alley markets in search of a carpenter, at another, finding myself in a basement cyber cafe bargaining over the cost of color prints. All of us took turns on flier duty, awkwardly imposing ourselves in the paths of approaching tourists to hawk our cause, empathizing at last with the Moroccan merchants we've learned to snake past so aptly.

Hopefully the artisans were able to gain some new skills, establish new contacts, and learn from each other. I think each cooperative sold a decent amount. Each artisan was interviewed for feedback during the fair, and though I have yet to see a report of what was said, most of whom I spoke with and overheard seemed to regard the experience as positive. The next fair is in Rabat early next month. I won't be attending that one however, due to my being in ............................ America. That's right.

Bonus points if you spot the typo in the banner from the first pic.

Enrique Nights

 

We walk the loop around the neighborhood, the three of us, down the main street where people gather in fours and fives beneath the awnings of lighted storefronts and linger in barbershop doorways, sandals shuffling in the grit, their conversation muffled by the chainsaw buzz of motorbikes and a wake of pale exhaust.

One, in a black blazer and well-shined shoes that gleam under the streetlamps, recounts his day's university lesson-- early Celtic civilization-- speaking deliberately, almost angrily, as though doing so turns his words into proof. The other, reserved and musing, makes owl calls through cupped hands and offers bits of incidental poetry: Only the cricket can play his instrument.

Turning up a side street and into the alleyways between unfinished houses-- oppressive, hollow gray towers-- we rattle the iron window cages with our fingers as we pass like a playing card on bicycle spokes, mocking their efforts to protect; there is no one to keep out and nothing to hold in.

Who knows what all we talk about. We eat peanuts from paper cones, they bicker about everything, walking on either side of me, and brief quiet cricket interludes are quickly filled with misheard Latin pop lyrics that haunt me for days.

In the open expanse of a playing field at the end of the row, a breeze and the shadows of skulking dogs slip through the long grass. The air is warm and sweet with fragile traces of orange blossom. The lights of town hover above the basin beneath where the buildings rest invisible; mountains loom on the periphery with a presence darker than the obsidian curtain of sky.

We circle back around where the lights paint the street with the feeling of home and pressure cookers hiss from open windows, shaking hands and saying our "good evenings" at the corner near my door patterned over with the swaying shadows of fig leaves.

Meanwhile, in Morocco

I've been working on a committee organizing the Marché Maroc Marrakech, a series of workshops and subsequent craft fair scheduled for mid-April, at which artisans working with PCVs from across the country can come to receive training and immediately put into practice what they've learned. Should be good. Honestly, it's refreshing to take part in a project that involves more immediate, less abstract work. Ok, so it mostly involves lots of e-mailing and Excel spreadsheets so far, but still...

Other stuff-- a couple recent treks out in the warm, sunny weather, one with Tea Master Abdel Ali to a dry riverbed in a big green valley, another with the neighborhood guys to the mountains to cook a tajine and spend the afternoon out and about.

Mr. Aziz aka Scorpion, proudly presenting our lunch in the works

The Explore Amizmiz project hasn't exactly taken off, though we're working on ways to lure some people in. There are people who are HERE-- visiting tourists-- who would probably be willing to participate if they had any idea that this thing existed. I have done much scouring of the internet, finding travel sites on which to shamelessly advertise, but really we need something more local. Perhaps my landlord would let me spray paint a billboard across the side of my house... a good high-traffic location, really. The woman at the helm of the project works with these tourists on a daily basis, so she's working on spreading the word amongst them. Also, as the majority of Moroccan tourists are French, thanks to Google translator and a neighborhood helper, I will hopefully have a French version of the website up. (...baguette??)

In the meantime, there are several other avenues for projects. Primarily, I've delved back into the world of soil (as you may recall, one of the potters' main issues is bad clay), looking for ways in which to either improve their existing land or find new areas. I learned a lot more after some enthusiastic and perhaps hasty groundwork, but found myself circled around to the same initial conundrum: Would they even be receptive to this at all? 

Thought it seems the simple way to an answer would be to just ask, doing so doesn't necessarily give you a reliable response. Most people are quite open toward the idea in itself, though when it comes to taking that idea and considering how it would affect their actual real-life work, there is a disconnect. I think it's my responsibility to present that concept, whatever it may be, in a tangible way that relates to the reality of their work and lives. But I feel like there's so much I still don't understand-- that they do things a certain way for a reason, and even though it may be destructive long-term, it's tough to present them with a solution more convincing than their quick fix when there are basic needs to be met (making pottery = money = food and rent). I have a hard time knowing what is realistic, and though this could be considered a good thing, I struggle with it.

 Abderrahim and Sufian in quiet repose with freshly picked wild mint bushels

Quite a few things for life post-Peace Corps are taking shape in their beginning stages, some of them revolving around having stumbled across a field of work and study that has had my interest piqued for some time now, only I didn't know until recently that it actually existed. Very exciting... more on that another time!

Countdown to San Francisco: 43 days, yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh