Ouch. Belly dancing class this evening. I continue to maintain that American hips can’t move the way those of our Moroccan belly dancing teacher can. It is craziness. I am convinced I am going to give myself arthritis from all this hip-waving. My hip joints actually hurt. I think I need to get one of those jingly belts. Not because it will make my hips feel better or anything, but because I can have more fun while I make my hips hurt. Also, I think we cause a scandal whenever we leave the dance studio with wet hair. Showers in the dance studio = I am clean more often than I would usually be at this point in the week. Generally women don’t go outside the house with wet hair, and when they leave the hammam it’s all wrapped up in two scarves, so you can’t tell it’s wet anyway. So we were scandalous yet again this evening.
Today I had an ISP epiphany. My topic is really just me trying to relate to Moroccans. I mean, I am all about preserving and learning from historical materials, so wouldn’t it make sense for me to see if Moroccans felt the same? At least now I can explain my project better. Because it is me looking for the same thing in a different culture.
I am about to send a cat down into the courtyard / chimney to shut those birds up. So my room actually sits on top of the front door of the house under us. One of my windows looks out into the street in front of their door, and the window on the other side of my room looks down into their central courtyard. Where they keep some caged birds. Sometimes I think they forget to cover the cage at night, because those birdies are cheeping at all hours of the night. There are plenty of spare cats running around. It shouldn’t be a problem to find one to drop one out of my window and into the courtyard to eliminate the Bird Problem, thus allowing me to sleep more soundly.
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Monday, April 12, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
back from the village stay
Back from the village stay, and yes, it was a life-changing experience. I know you probably want to know more than that, but you’ll have to be patient because I have to write two papers for this week, and attempt to document this past week to my liking. A challenge if I ever heard it.
So, we drove out past Boujaad, the nearest town to our village, and met half the parents on the side of the road. Most of us were nervous, but it was an expected nervousness because we’d experienced it before. We stared and giggled as half of the students milled around in the road waiting to meet their host fathers for the week.
Long story short, my host brother Mohammed met me at the next stop in the village proper, and I was then introduced to my two host mothers, Fatna and Fatna. We walked out of the village, past the school, turned left, over a hill and got home.
Note: Because both my host mothers were named Fatna, I will call one of them My Fatna because she was the one who pretty much adopted me, escorted me to the bathroom, mashed up my bread, gave me her bracelet, and cried this morning when I left.
Home
My house can more accurately be described as a complex. Out front are the stables for the donkey and mule, as well as the storeroom, laundry lines, the tiny homemade hammam, giant water jars made out of tires, and the entrance to the sheep pen. You have to stoop to enter through the front door, which has a homemade handle and locks, made out of assorted metal bits.
Once through the door, you’re under a covered section that leads into the main yard of the house, which is not roofed; all the rooms of the house open onto this yard. On your left as you enter is a low stone bench where the plastic water jars sit, along with a dipper. Straight ahead is the door to the largest room of the house. All the rooms of the house are pretty similar: rectangular, with a cabinet and pallet of blankets along the back wall. Some rooms have distinguishing features, like TVs, fireplaces, or looms, but really they can be used for anything because there are no large items of furniture. I guess the looms count as large items of furniture, but they looked like they’d be easy to take apart because they were literally tied to the walls and ceiling.
The room I slept in was the living room and bedroom for several people. It had a TV on a low table by the door, a cabinet along the back wall, and an enormous pile of blankets and carpets. Everybody sits on carpets and blankets instead of furniture. The walls were whitewashed and then the bottom half was painted blue. There was a giant clump of blue flowers painted over the window, and a stalk of grain over by the door. Up near the ceiling the word “Allah” was painted in blue, which I think was to indicate the direction of prayer. Once everybody was done with dinner and somebody wanted to go to bed (usually me) carpets and blankets and were spread on the floor for sleeping. Both Fatnas slept in the same room with me, along with either Atiqa, Usama, or Abd Al-Wahad.
Every small family in the house had their own room: Abd Al-Kabir, Zahra, Usama, and Driss; Mohammed and Atiqa, Nadia and Zuhir (I think), and I really don’t know about Abd Al-Wahad. My Fatna showed me her room, although she kept it locked and didn’t sleep in it while I was there. The only other different rooms were the kitchen and fireplace/storeroom. The kitchen was where the food and utensils were stored, and the food was prepared. The fireplace was in another room entirely where bags of something were also stored.
Most of the women in the house wove carpets. Zahra’s loom was in the kitchen, presumably because that was her domain (she made the bread). Atiqa’s loom was in the room she shared with her husband Mohammed, and the Fatnas worked one giant loom next to the kitchen. If Nadia had a loom I didn’t see it, but then again, I never went into her room.
So, I know you really want to know about the bathroom situation. It’s a non-question really: you just walk around the back of the house and do your business. I added new dimension to this, however, by using toilet paper. Nobody in the village really uses TP, if they really need to remove, er, something, they use rocks. There was a tiny hammam that looked like a teepee in the front yard. I didn’t use it, so I can’t report anything about it. I brushed my teeth in the front yard next to the door. Nobody really brushes their teeth there either. I gave My Fatna some toothpaste when she requested it one night. Her teeth aren’t in good condition, but neither would yours be if you ate mostly bread and drank tea with your sugar. Poor little Usama’s front teeth are already black, and he’s only 6. He’s a menace, so when he gets smacked upside the head he starts bawling because it hurts his teeth.
The oldest of the five brothers (don’t ask me what his name is) lives on the next hill over, probably no more than 100 yards from the big house. He lives with his wife Khadduj, and two daughters Umima and Shaima. He came over to the big house pretty often. Kate stayed with them and said that he was in a bad mood frequently.
So, we drove out past Boujaad, the nearest town to our village, and met half the parents on the side of the road. Most of us were nervous, but it was an expected nervousness because we’d experienced it before. We stared and giggled as half of the students milled around in the road waiting to meet their host fathers for the week.
Long story short, my host brother Mohammed met me at the next stop in the village proper, and I was then introduced to my two host mothers, Fatna and Fatna. We walked out of the village, past the school, turned left, over a hill and got home.
Note: Because both my host mothers were named Fatna, I will call one of them My Fatna because she was the one who pretty much adopted me, escorted me to the bathroom, mashed up my bread, gave me her bracelet, and cried this morning when I left.
Home
My house can more accurately be described as a complex. Out front are the stables for the donkey and mule, as well as the storeroom, laundry lines, the tiny homemade hammam, giant water jars made out of tires, and the entrance to the sheep pen. You have to stoop to enter through the front door, which has a homemade handle and locks, made out of assorted metal bits.
Once through the door, you’re under a covered section that leads into the main yard of the house, which is not roofed; all the rooms of the house open onto this yard. On your left as you enter is a low stone bench where the plastic water jars sit, along with a dipper. Straight ahead is the door to the largest room of the house. All the rooms of the house are pretty similar: rectangular, with a cabinet and pallet of blankets along the back wall. Some rooms have distinguishing features, like TVs, fireplaces, or looms, but really they can be used for anything because there are no large items of furniture. I guess the looms count as large items of furniture, but they looked like they’d be easy to take apart because they were literally tied to the walls and ceiling.
The room I slept in was the living room and bedroom for several people. It had a TV on a low table by the door, a cabinet along the back wall, and an enormous pile of blankets and carpets. Everybody sits on carpets and blankets instead of furniture. The walls were whitewashed and then the bottom half was painted blue. There was a giant clump of blue flowers painted over the window, and a stalk of grain over by the door. Up near the ceiling the word “Allah” was painted in blue, which I think was to indicate the direction of prayer. Once everybody was done with dinner and somebody wanted to go to bed (usually me) carpets and blankets and were spread on the floor for sleeping. Both Fatnas slept in the same room with me, along with either Atiqa, Usama, or Abd Al-Wahad.
Every small family in the house had their own room: Abd Al-Kabir, Zahra, Usama, and Driss; Mohammed and Atiqa, Nadia and Zuhir (I think), and I really don’t know about Abd Al-Wahad. My Fatna showed me her room, although she kept it locked and didn’t sleep in it while I was there. The only other different rooms were the kitchen and fireplace/storeroom. The kitchen was where the food and utensils were stored, and the food was prepared. The fireplace was in another room entirely where bags of something were also stored.
Most of the women in the house wove carpets. Zahra’s loom was in the kitchen, presumably because that was her domain (she made the bread). Atiqa’s loom was in the room she shared with her husband Mohammed, and the Fatnas worked one giant loom next to the kitchen. If Nadia had a loom I didn’t see it, but then again, I never went into her room.
So, I know you really want to know about the bathroom situation. It’s a non-question really: you just walk around the back of the house and do your business. I added new dimension to this, however, by using toilet paper. Nobody in the village really uses TP, if they really need to remove, er, something, they use rocks. There was a tiny hammam that looked like a teepee in the front yard. I didn’t use it, so I can’t report anything about it. I brushed my teeth in the front yard next to the door. Nobody really brushes their teeth there either. I gave My Fatna some toothpaste when she requested it one night. Her teeth aren’t in good condition, but neither would yours be if you ate mostly bread and drank tea with your sugar. Poor little Usama’s front teeth are already black, and he’s only 6. He’s a menace, so when he gets smacked upside the head he starts bawling because it hurts his teeth.
The oldest of the five brothers (don’t ask me what his name is) lives on the next hill over, probably no more than 100 yards from the big house. He lives with his wife Khadduj, and two daughters Umima and Shaima. He came over to the big house pretty often. Kate stayed with them and said that he was in a bad mood frequently.
Monday, February 8, 2010
to begin with...
So people, this is so you don’t have to email me constantly about my whereabouts in the beautiful Maghreb (Morocco). I will try and post as often as possible, with pictures because I know you are clamoring for them, but internet access, and my willingness to sit around in internet cafes will be limited. That said, welcome to my blog!
I have just finished my first weekend with my host family, who is adorable, by the way. My father is Al-Hajj Mohamed and my mother is Hajja Fatima, the “Hajj” means they’ve done the pilgrimage to Mecca. My sister is Soukaina, she’s a bit younger than me, and my brother is Amine, who is a few years older than me.
Their home is the ground floor of an old building in the Medina (old city) of Rabat. It has a roofed central courtyard and rooms around that: 4 salons, a kitchen, and the toilet. A salon doesn’t have an American equivalent; it’s more like a living room that doubles as a bedroom. There are sofas up against the walls with pillows and a table in the center of the room, with wheels usually. During the day, the family uses it as a living room, and at night the pillows come off and blankets come out. One room is the dedicated living room, with a TV, and that’s where we eat all our meals (yes, with the TV on). At night Soukaina sleeps there. Amine has his own room, but both he and Soukaina use it as a living room; it has the computer. I get my own room, which is nice. It’s the formal sitting room and is usually closed (?). It’s an enormous room and I don’t use all of it.
We have a Turkish toilet. Yes, it is a hole in the floor. Before you cringe in disgust, know this: it’s very hygienic and easy to use. If you can aim. But think about it, how many times have you had to scrub the toilet and really hated it? This is way less to scrub. It’s been better since a roll of toilet paper magically appeared a few days ago. You flush the toilet by pouring sometimes violently depending on the amount of ahem, material.
The shower at home is just a nozzle, added recently I think, in the wall above head level. Moroccans here don’t shower every day, or every other day: they go to the hammam once a week. Soukaina says she goes twice a week in the summer. The hammam is the bathhouse. And I LOVE it. I told Hajja I wanted to build one in the US. The hammam Soukaina and I went to on Saturday is a few blocks from the house in a nondescript building near the main road through the medina. We brought a few buckets, plastic stools, and toiletries. We paid 10 dirhams (8 dirhams = $1) to get in, and 1 dirham to rent a few more buckets. Once inside the hammam proper, you fill up the buckets and stake out your space within the room. Oh yeah, and you’re naked (undies only) with probably a dozen other women. What followed was a confusing and variable series of soaping, scrubbing, shampooing, and rinsing. The best part is the scrubbing. Imagine this: rubber sandpaper. It’s a mitt-type thing, and you just scrub the top layer of your skin until it comes off. Brilliant. To make a long story short, we were in there for about 90 minutes, and I emerged cleaner than I have ever felt. But I was tired for the rest of the day. My family nodded knowingly, saying “Ah, hammam.” The heat takes a lot out of you.
I hung around the house after the hammam and then went out later with Soukaina and Amine and their friends, who we dropped off at a taxi, then strolled about for an hour. I practiced my few words of Arabic. Oh, I forgot to mention, we speak French at home. Well, we speak French when we need to communicate, and then they speak Arabic the rest of the time. Darija is the name of the Arabic dialect spoken here.
We got back around 10pm and then had dinner. Nights are late here, and dinner is past my usual bedtime. “Tea” falls at my dinnertime. Meals involve a lot of bread and the family telling me to “Guli, guli!” which means “Eat, eat!”.
More on classes later, because today has been our first real day of classes.
Pictures later too. Be patient.
I have just finished my first weekend with my host family, who is adorable, by the way. My father is Al-Hajj Mohamed and my mother is Hajja Fatima, the “Hajj” means they’ve done the pilgrimage to Mecca. My sister is Soukaina, she’s a bit younger than me, and my brother is Amine, who is a few years older than me.
Their home is the ground floor of an old building in the Medina (old city) of Rabat. It has a roofed central courtyard and rooms around that: 4 salons, a kitchen, and the toilet. A salon doesn’t have an American equivalent; it’s more like a living room that doubles as a bedroom. There are sofas up against the walls with pillows and a table in the center of the room, with wheels usually. During the day, the family uses it as a living room, and at night the pillows come off and blankets come out. One room is the dedicated living room, with a TV, and that’s where we eat all our meals (yes, with the TV on). At night Soukaina sleeps there. Amine has his own room, but both he and Soukaina use it as a living room; it has the computer. I get my own room, which is nice. It’s the formal sitting room and is usually closed (?). It’s an enormous room and I don’t use all of it.
We have a Turkish toilet. Yes, it is a hole in the floor. Before you cringe in disgust, know this: it’s very hygienic and easy to use. If you can aim. But think about it, how many times have you had to scrub the toilet and really hated it? This is way less to scrub. It’s been better since a roll of toilet paper magically appeared a few days ago. You flush the toilet by pouring sometimes violently depending on the amount of ahem, material.
The shower at home is just a nozzle, added recently I think, in the wall above head level. Moroccans here don’t shower every day, or every other day: they go to the hammam once a week. Soukaina says she goes twice a week in the summer. The hammam is the bathhouse. And I LOVE it. I told Hajja I wanted to build one in the US. The hammam Soukaina and I went to on Saturday is a few blocks from the house in a nondescript building near the main road through the medina. We brought a few buckets, plastic stools, and toiletries. We paid 10 dirhams (8 dirhams = $1) to get in, and 1 dirham to rent a few more buckets. Once inside the hammam proper, you fill up the buckets and stake out your space within the room. Oh yeah, and you’re naked (undies only) with probably a dozen other women. What followed was a confusing and variable series of soaping, scrubbing, shampooing, and rinsing. The best part is the scrubbing. Imagine this: rubber sandpaper. It’s a mitt-type thing, and you just scrub the top layer of your skin until it comes off. Brilliant. To make a long story short, we were in there for about 90 minutes, and I emerged cleaner than I have ever felt. But I was tired for the rest of the day. My family nodded knowingly, saying “Ah, hammam.” The heat takes a lot out of you.
I hung around the house after the hammam and then went out later with Soukaina and Amine and their friends, who we dropped off at a taxi, then strolled about for an hour. I practiced my few words of Arabic. Oh, I forgot to mention, we speak French at home. Well, we speak French when we need to communicate, and then they speak Arabic the rest of the time. Darija is the name of the Arabic dialect spoken here.
We got back around 10pm and then had dinner. Nights are late here, and dinner is past my usual bedtime. “Tea” falls at my dinnertime. Meals involve a lot of bread and the family telling me to “Guli, guli!” which means “Eat, eat!”.
More on classes later, because today has been our first real day of classes.
Pictures later too. Be patient.
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