Camps, Weddings, Friends

More excerpts from my life through a Moroccan summer, as continued from my last post.

The Gift of Mobility

Over the past few months, I’ve had the awesome opportunity to help out with 3 different wheelchair distributions in my region. A volunteer named Henry in Taroudannt, the large town just 20 minutes down the road from me, has been working for the past 2 years on a project aimed at providing free wheelchairs to people in need, through an American organization called Free Wheelchair Mission. They ship the (unassembled) wheelchairs to Morocco, and Henry and his counterparts have been responsible for everything from getting them from the shipping docks, to getting them assembled, to working with local community associations to locate those in need of wheelchairs in the region.

After nearly 2 years of working tirelessly on the project, the first distribution finally came to fruition in late June, and I was so proud to be a part of it! At this and the 2 more distributions that followed, PCVs and Red Crescent (Moroccan Red Cross) volunteers helped to facilitate the distribution, fit the wheelchairs to recipients, and assemble any necessary adjustments to the chairs (shoulder straps, footrests, etc.). All three of the distributions were incredibly inspiring – we were able to see people come into the building on crutches, in makeshift wheelchairs, or even being carried by family members, and leave with the independence and mobility provided by practical wheelchairs – all because of the work of one Peace Corps Volunteer and his counterparts. Henry has since completed his service (after 3 full years!), and some of the volunteers in this region hope to continue the project where Henry left off, potentially working with the Moroccan government to create the first ever system of documentation of the persons living with disabilities in Morocco. More to come on this as it develops!

Summer Camp, Moroccan Style

The first of July brought with it the start of summer camp in my site! Though most Dar Chebabs are closed during the summer months, many of them open their doors for a few weeks to host summer day camps, like the one in my site. There are camps going on in every region, hosted by Peace Corps, Dar Chebabs, associations, and the like – to put it simply, camps are where it’s at in the Moroccan summer, especially for us Youth Development volunteers. PCVs travel all around the country during these months, hosting summer camps and helping out with camps in other volunteers’ sites.

I actually didn’t know that there would even be a camp in my site until a few short days until it began; it wasn’t one of the camps organized by Peace Corps, and it seemed to come together all at once after a meeting my Mudir had with a representative from the Ministry of Youth and Sports. Things happen that way a lot in Morocco, but it still surprised me – I kept asking myself incredulously, “Really? A 10-day long camp is going to happen here, in HOW many days??” As I walked from my house to the Dar Talib at 8:30 that first morning, I honestly partially expected to show up, find nobody there, and learn that it had been cancelled, or at least postponed due to the complete lack of planning. I was presently surprised, though, to find a whole gaggle of kids waiting to be let in, and found that the surprise camp was indeed going to happen!

As far as summer camps go in general, I honestly have to say that this one was disorganized at best, and some days bordered on the ridiculous. There are numerous stories I could tell, but I think the best way to illustrate this point would be to show you a comparison of the theoretical camp schedule vs. the actual camp schedule:

Camp schedule, in theory:

8:30-9:00 – Arrive, eat breakfast

9:00-12:00 – Games, sports, and other activities

12:00-1:00 – Lunch

1:00-3:00 – Nap time

3:00-5:30 – Activities, songs, games

5:30-6:00 – Snack time, then go home

Camp schedule, in reality:

8:30-10:00 – Most of the kids and I arrive, wait around for the rest of the counselors / kitchen staff to arrive and get breakfast ready. I thought this would get better after the first few days, but it continued this way for the entire camp. I guess mornings are sleepy…

10:00-10:30 – Kids’ breakfast

10:30-11:00 – Adults’ breakfast – to this day, I still can’t understand why we did it this way. Not only was it totally unnecessary for there to be separate meals, but it was really inefficient for the camp. While the kids were eating, we were waiting around, and then when we were eating, the kids had to wait around aimlessly until we were done, with no activities. It made no sense. I tried eating with the kids to change the mentality a bit, but every time I was told not to and made to eat with the adults.

11:00-1:00 – Games, sports, and other activities

1:00 until 2:00 or 3:00 – Waiting for lunch to be served, and the kids would get so hungry, waiting, that they didn’t want to do any activities for a good while before lunch was served.

Sometime between 2:00 and 3:00 – Lunch served, again one round for the kids and another round for the adults afterwards

After lunch until anytime between 4:30-5:30 – Nap time. Though the kids were made to go lay down in the large dorm room with beds, it seemed like the nap time was there mostly for the adults’ benefit. The kids rarely slept, and nap time would end whenever most of the counselors were awake. As for me, I used this time to read, journal, or talk to whoever happened to be awake.

5:30-7:00 – Singing songs or other activities, snack time, then going home for the night

Wow! I swear I’m not exaggerating – this is more or less how it happened every day, and it seemed like everyone thought it to be a relatively normal state of affairs. It all seemed so blatantly absurd to me; things in Morocco tend to be behind schedule, last minute, and disorganized, but this had really taken the cake. I struggled a bit with feeling responsible for the disorganization of the camp, as though I should be able to kick everyone into high gear and get the schedule rolling as planned. What I had to come to terms with, though, was that I wasn’t really in control of the bulk of the organization problems happening at the camp – the door being opened in the morning, meal times, etc. I tried to spice things up every once in awhile by playing games with the kids during the many waiting periods, and tried to lead by example by always showing up on time and eating quickly, regardless of the tardiness and slow pace of everyone else running the camp.

Despite its silly schedule and other problems, I think everyone involved thoroughly enjoyed their time at camp. For the most part, the kids appeared unphased by the disorganization, and seemed to simply love spending time with their friends, eating good meals, and soaking up that giddy togetherness feel that seeps its way into all summer camps, regardless of how organized they may (or may not) be. I personally loved the opportunity to spend more time with the kids and get to know some of my counterparts better before the summer break really sets in. There were always random people from the community stopping by to help for a day or so, and a solid group of about 10 or so of us adults were always there (People from my Dar Chebab, the Mudir of the Dar Chebab in the next town over, his wife, the women of the kitchen staff, etc). We all got to know each other really well, and there was a definite family-type feel among us towards the end of the camp that I miss now that it has ended.

A Moonlight Wedding

On the first Saturday of the camp, I was invited by Khadija, one of the older girls to come to a wedding at her house, that night! She lives out in one of the small communities surrounding my town, so it would mean walking there with her after camp, attending the wedding until all hours of the night, staying the night at her family’s house, and coming back bright and early for camp the next morning. Plus, it was the day before two PCV friends of mine, Charlotte and Eugene, were planning to arrive in my site to help out with the camp, and I wanted to be well-rested for their arrival. So, I thought about it for awhile, and of course accepted her invitation, despite all the reasons why it might not have looked like such a good idea. J Call me crazy, but I hadn’t yet been to a Moroccan wedding, and there was no way I was going to turn down the opportunity! Besides, as the Germans say, “you can sleep when you’re dead” – and that’s especially true when you’re on an adventure in Morocco and invited to a local family wedding!

So, after the camp had ended for the night, I walked with Khadija and her two younger siblings down the road leading out from my town, out into the small community where they live. When we arrived, someone explained to me that this was the last day of the wedding, and that it was going to be a smaller family gathering. Weddings in Morocco take place over several days, and I haven’t quite figured out yet what happens on each day. Although it wasn’t the ‘main day’ of the wedding and might have been a small gathering by Moroccan standards, it looked to me like a huge party! A tent was set up over the roof of one of the buildings, and the roof had been made into a beautiful party space. There were colorful Moroccan floor mats and pillows around the entire room, small tables for enjoying tea and snacks, and a single lightbulb hung up in the middle, providing a soft summer night’s glow. Khadija and I took seats in one corner of the room, and in the other, a group of young women were singing and playing a variety of homemade drums, and tambourines in a vibrant syncopated rhythm. We sat up there for a while, enjoying the music and talking to the other women sitting around us, until dinner was brought out – whole roasted chickens in a delicious broth, followed by a sweet and nutty Moroccan pasta dish. We gathered in groups around the small, circular tables placed around the room, sitting on the floor and eating communally, in the traditional Moroccan way.

After dinner, the drums and singing started up again with more vigor, and a full-on dance party ensued. Only women were allowed up on the roof, so everyone let loose and danced freely, moving their hips to the Moroccan rhythms in ways I tried (to much giggling from the other girls) to imitate. We danced for what must have been hours, until I looked around the room and realized that a lot of people had left. Was it over? I had heard from countless volunteers that Moroccan weddings were notorious for being late-night affairs, going on until 4, 5, 6 in the morning – yet here we were, only 10 or so of us girls at only 9pm. It was strange, but we kept right on dancing and chatting. A few hours later, around 11pm, I looked around the room and was surprised to see a crowd building; people were coming back! Or rather, a new crowd of people was arriving. It occurred to me that there were two “rounds” to the party – the early one and the late one, and we were about to start the second round. We all sat around the edges of the room, on our floor mats and pillows, listening to the girls play drums and drinking tea.

Eventually, Khadija grabbed my hand a led me downstairs, across the hall to another courtyard, where the real party seemed to have started. Under the starlight, a group of men were playing drums and tambourines, while women held hands in a circle around them, singing and doing a sort of side-step dance, moving slowly around the circle. I recognized the songs and dance as traditional to the Amazigh (Berber) cultures of Morocco, and was so glad to be there, experiencing such an ancient and beautiful cultural tradition. I wasn’t able to stand by and observe for long, though, because my hand was grabbed and I was pulled into the circle and made part of the circle of dancers. The dance wasn’t complicated – side stepping slowly around the circle, moving your shoulders up and down to the beat, and the occasional hand motions in an up and down pattern – but it was a beautiful thing to be a part of. At the start of each song, one woman would begin the Amazigh melody in high-pitched warble of sorts, and then the drums would start and other women would begin singing along. What was surprising about all of this for me was the close proximity of men and women, dancing and singing together in the circle. We danced away in the moonlight, welcoming 2, 3 and 4 o’clock in the morning before we finally decided to call it a night. I spent the night with Khadija and her family, enjoyed a lovely breakfast, and walked back along the road to camp with Khadija and her two siblings the next morning. It was an exhausting yet altogether thrilling night, to say the least.

In Good Company

Along with care packages and skype dates, there’s nothing a PCV loves more than visits from other PCVS – and the day after the wedding at Khadija’s, I had the awesome pleasure of welcoming Charlotte and Euguene, two of my closest friends in country, into my home. They arrived late at night after long bus rides, and that first night we had a blast making homemade pizza in my Moroccan oven, catching up, and staying up late enjoying each others’ company. Up until that point, and to a certain extent even now, I had been having a hard time feeling at home in my new Moroccan house; sure, I had all of my things moved in and was relatively settled, but something about it didn’t feel ‘homey.’ Having Charlotte and Eugene over made all the difference – the joy of hosting, the smell of a meal enjoyed together, and the laughter of friends filled my house with that special something that made it finally feel like a home.

Charlotte and Eugene stayed with me for about a week, helping out with the second portion of the camp. It was awesome to show them around town, introduce them to the kids of my Dar Chebab, and enjoy the time together. Plus, it just so happened that that same week, there was a CARNIVAL, set up right there at the edge of my little town, in the middle of the Souss Valley. I still can hardly believe it – a carnival! The three of us of course went, and ended up on what was perhaps the most terrifying Ferris Wheel ride of our lives! The bucket had next to no bars to prevent you from tumbling out the side, the gears squeaked loud even for a carnie ride, and it went unexpectedly fast – and the combination led to all three of us yelling loudly for fear of our lives as the wheel began to spin round. Several Moroccans below were watching us and laughing, probably thinking that we were scared because we had never been on a Ferris Wheel before! After we came down alive, we walked around, had some delicious food, and enjoyed the general atmosphere of the place. It was bizarre yet soothing to be there – I could almost imagine that I was in a Michigan summer, spending an evening at the Gibraltar Fair.

On the last day of camp, we all went to the beach – in a mode of transportation both scary and hilarious by American standards, yet entirely normal by Moroccan standards. Everyone was loaded up into the backs of 2 pickup trucks with canvass covered tops – all 20 of them, plus the counselors and kitchen staff! What a bizarre sight!

With all the kids loaded (safely?) into the backs of the trucks (we opted to sit in the front seat of the truck, which was available, Hamdulilah), we headed out for the beach. We went to this awesome spot north of the main tourist center of Agadir, close to a town called Taghazout, which is known for its surfing. It was an out-of-the-way place, with next to 0 tourists and lots of Moroccans camping their awesome way: setting up between a few trees, setting down floor mats and hanging sheets and blankets all around to create outdoor rooms. We spent the day by the water, though Charlotte and I didn’t swim due to uncertainties about what was appropriate – you can’t exactly wear an American bathing suit in front of people from your community, and we weren’t too keen on the idea of swimming in our clothes. It was still a ton of fun, though, and we even had a delicious tagine lunch, prepared right there on the beach! In addition to setting up the cool outdoor rooms, Moroccans typically bring everything needed to cook a real meal with them to the beach – including a botagaz (like a propane tank) stove! 

A Multilingual Wedding 

The day after the camp ended, I was invited at the last minute to yet another wedding! I went with a second-year volunteer near me, named Mir, and it was the family of some friends from her community who were getting married out in Agadir. The wedding was vastly different from the first I’d attended in a number of ways: it followed a more Arabic tradition, whereas the first seemed more from an Amazigh tradition; there was significantly more money spent on this wedding, on things like a fancy tent, tables, food place settings, DJ, and more; and there was a lot more gender segregation and lot less dancing.

Mir and I both got dressed up in fancy Moroccan caftans lent to us by friends of the family, and mingled with all of the women in the tent until the food was served. All of the women were assembled in the fancy tent outside, while the men had their own room in a nearby part of the house. The two groups remained separated for the duration of the celebrations; in fact, I only remember talking with maybe 1 or 2 men the entire time, in passing on the way to the house. And while the first wedding I attended had an early round and a late round, both for men and women together, this wedding only had a “late round” for men, and most of the women left before midnight.

 After a meal of whole roast chickens (yum), a circle of singing, drumming, and a bit of dancing ensued in the women’s tent, lasting through lots of deserts and mint tea. The night finished with Mir and I both getting henna from a wonderful woman from Mir’s town, and getting invited to stay the night at another woman’s house, since it would be quieter there.

Though she was incredibly warm and kind, our conversations with the woman who invited us into her home were among the most confusing I’ve had in all my time in Morocco, and for one reason: they took place in FOUR different languages at once!

1) Moroccan Arabic – the language I was trained in, and most people speak in Morocco

2) Shilha (Amazigh, or Berber) – the language Mir was trained in, since she’s in a more rural site, and the language a lot of people in Morocco still speak

3) French – the second or third language of most Moroccans, and the language many Moroccans try to speak to us in, since we’re foreigners and must know French, right?

4) English – our host had learned English in the past, and wanted to practice with us

If it seems at all like it might be easier to understand this mixture as opposed to pure Arabic due to the presence of some English, think again – the jumble of languages, often shifting multiple times within a single sentence, made it nearly impossible to even tell which language she was using at each moment, let alone decipher what she was trying to say as a whole. Mir and I had been translating for each other between Arabic and Shilha for the entire night beforehand, but the added two languages were simply too much. She was trying so hard to be understood and had so much enthusiasm, so we both gave it our best through our exhaustion, but we ended up having to settle for a lot of smiles and nods, in the end. If you’re ever looking for a serious workout for your brain, try having a multi-lingual person speak to you in all of their languages at once – you won’t be bored, that’s for sure!

After the whirlwind of two weeks of summer camps, weddings, and visits from friends, I had some time to chill out, reflect, and perhaps most importantly, mentally prepare myself for Ramadan. Nearly everyone participates in fasting from sunrise to sunset, and it can be a hard time for volunteers because of the lack of work and all-around out of whack schedule of operation for everything from hanuts to taxis. I have chosen to participate in fasting as well, out of respect for my community and to experience such an essential part of Moroccan culture. It has been an interesting experience, to say the least - look for more on that soon!