I'm gonna kill that cock....

Last week I made what some might consider a good life decision and what most might consider a horribly stupid one. I decided that I shall arise every morning at six in order to enjoy some much needed sport. I have found a couple local friends with whom I run, stretch, and do push ups. It really feels great! In retrospect, its something I should have been doing for a long time. Waking up at 6 is not hard. Its not like I'm going to bed late. What am I going to do: play crossword puzzles until the wee hours of the morning? Maybe... and I'll be the first to admit that this has happened, but the point is I can easily go to bed around 10 everynight and not miss anything.

However, my health and well-being are not the point of this article. I mentioned earlier that it was easy to wake-up at 6. This is true. However, all great things are accompanied by gloom. Sometimes the gloom is really bad, other times its merely mild gloom. My gloom for this situation is an utterly obnoxious cock that crows at 6 in ther morning. Now, you might say "hey, you're already up! Whats the big deal?". Well, my fine gentleman (and women of course), the big deal is that I have to listen to this thing go off like an alarm clock on ether (just watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas)... It gets under your skin, flows through your blood, and annoys the hell out of you. It is one of the worst noises in the world and possible a practice they should try in prisons. Lock a prisoner up with a cock... see how long it taks before the prisoner goes insane or the halls run red with chicken blood!

Normally I would sleep right through this and not be bothered by the terrifying high pitched crow that emanates from under my house. That was beauty. That was my eden. My palace of protection. I was like the Buddha: having not ventured out of palace, I knew not of death, disease, and crime. My naive self did not even consider the fact that something this unholy could take place at that godforsaken hour! I should have realized that unholy and godforsaken are partners in crime. But I was blinded by the green, fertile garden of naivete. I should have known about this, I studied religion for God's sake (this made me chuckle...). But alas! I am now trapped in its grasp and cannot be released. I now know about this event and am destined to endure the screeching cry until judgement day.

Unless of course this problem was "taken care of"... I have had a craving for chicken lately... and it seems like the Greek Mafia might be in need of some business (oh yea, I got connections) All I'm saying is that "everyone needs a little KFC"

Safi. LLay auwn. (Enough, god help you... used instead of goodbye)

A Success Story

I must let you know why my posts have been so infrequent. I have a wireless internet modem which is awesome. I can take my computer practically anywhere and get internet access. I'm not sure there is anything like this in the states. However, as you might be able to guess its not perfect. I have good internet connection and can get to any site I want except google. It seems that my modem or computer or internet does not like google and its affiliate sites (one of them being blogspot). Thus even if I have internet and I can get to other websites I can't get to google, blogspot, picasso web albums, etc... I have no idea how to fix this, but sometimes, lets say once in a blue moon, I can connect to these sites. It always brings a smile to my face.

I have for you today what Peace Corps Morocco would call a success story. Now you will understand how "success" is measured here in PC morocco. About three weeks ago I was taking a beautiful hike with my site mate lynn and my friend from college Will. We were meandering along a gorgeous path that skirts the edge of the plateau on which my town is situated. After a good thirty minutes of hiking we ran into a older looking building with a mule standing in front of a large open door. We ventured to see exactly what this building was and it turned out to be an olive press. Not just any olive press, but a traditional mule powered olive press. Even in Morocco these are becoming rarer as they are being replaced by their 20th century electric counterparts. No doubt this was an awesome find.

We ventured into the olive press and found four men working. At this point we introduced ourselves, they sat us down, opened a wooden door in the floor, and scooped out some freshly pressed olive oil. I guess this would be called the most virgin olive oil you could have! We proceeded to enjoy this delightful green liquid with some fresh bread that the kind workers provided. Soon after we were engulfed in a clusterfunk of trilingual conversation. My friend Will speaks french fluently. Consequently, the olive press workers were speaking to us in Moroccan Arabic, french, and the little english they knew. It was really quite a scene.

We made such an impression on the workers that the manager of the mill invited us back to his house for tea and more conversation. We graciously accepted the offer and joined his family and friends for some sweet moroccan tea with Sheba (mint is out of season know so everybody is using sheba - absinthe - and no, it does not make you see little green men). At the house we met a few of his wife's friends. As I am teaching english at the dar chebab, I very stealthily suggested that they come to one of my english classes. I did not think anything would come of this suggestion, but its always good to ask.

The following Tuesday two of the women came to my english class. Not only that, but they have become some of my better students. At class last week we were talking about food. One of the women asked me what my favorite Morcoccan dish was. Of course I responded couscous. I didn't think anything of this, but two days later I found that I had an invitation to join the women's family for couscous lunch on Friday (every friday family's have couscous). I immediately accepted the invitation as it was definitely going to be better than the eggs that I would normally make for lunch.

I went over to the house, ate couscous, and had a great time with the family. They have a son in North Carolina (if you ever find yourself in Raleigh and meet a moroccan ask them if they are from Hermoumou... you probably have an 85% chance of being right). While the parents don't know english they have visited many parts of America and know a bit about the culture. We talked for a couple hours while I ate my weight in couscous. (Couscous expands in your stomach... so don't eat until you are full because you will only become more full. A friendly word of advice!).

I left the house with a free bottle of fresh olive oil, some eggs that a chicken literally just popped out, leftover couscous, and an invitation to join them every friday for lunch.

This is a Peace Corps success story. A chance encounter turned into a fruitful relationship where cultures are shared, ideas are exchanged, and relationships are built. I know it might not seem like much, but it was absolutely the highlight of my week. Below I've included a few food pictures to whet your appetite!

A vegetable stand. This was taken in another town, but they all look kind of the same. Its where I buy my greens.

From my training site. Our friend has just made us a traditional Moroccan dish: Chicken topped with french fries. I swear that I have eaten more french fries here than I ever ate in the states. But somehow the grand ol' US of A gets the reputation for consuming those oily devils.

And finally.... Couscous or Scscou or Ta3am. It goes by a number of different names. However it always looks the same. You can eat it with a spoon or for the more adventurous you can try the hand method.