A Rather Large Banana

I went to the souk this monday in order to purchase some fruits and vegetables; however, I never thought I would encounter the largest banana I have ever seen. I was rather taken aback when I first saw it. In fact, you might say, I was scared of it. The banana could easily be used as a weapon. However, I felt compelled to buy this mammoth sized fruit. You could say that the spirits moved me.

When I got back to my house I ran into a problem. What should I do with the banana. Surely cannot eat it... not yet. First I have to take a picture of it!

OH MAN THIS IS HUGE!

To give you a better idea of the size. I took a picture of the banana in front of my face. It practically covers it. Additionally, for those of you who play bananagrams, I tried to put the banana in the bananagrams case and it did not fit. It is far to big.

After marveling at the size I continued to think about what I should do with this banana. One of the first thoughts that came to mind was BANANAPHONE!!! "Ring ring ring ring, ring ring ring ring, bananaphone." I wonder if Maroc Telecom offers service for them?????

Despite pondering for hours I have still not figured out what to do with this banana. Currently it is sitting next to my oranges in my fruit basket. However, even after hours of thinking it still brings smiles!

Now I am soliciting advice for what to do with this strange fruit. Please let me know what to do..... or whether you think I've gone insane!

Cheers!

The locals...

When I first arrived in my town in November I was immediately given the opportunity to travel around the countryside with a couple locals. They showed me the smaller villages around the area, the huge mountains, and the beautiful forests. One of the parts of the trip that I was most stunned by was a small village built into the side of a limestone hill. It really was a spectacular sight, very foreign, and a place completely secluded from everything. It looked like a real Peace Corps village... you know, the kind you think you'll be placed in and the kind your mother fears when you discover you've been accepted into the Peace Corps.

Not only did we see the village, but we also ran into some inhabitants of the town on our trip through the mountains. The first image is that of the village, the following image shows its inhabitants. We offered them some bread and cheese when we passed them. I'm pretty sure they were very pleased. I snapped the photo without really telling them so it was a candid shot. However, it was my Moroccan counterparts that were pushing me to take the photo. They were just as intrigued as I was. Enjoy!

SNOW!!!

As you all know, I'm in Morocco. As some of you might not know, its snowing ... ever so lightly! Its like little pieces of pillow falling from the sky. God, I miss this stuff. Here's to you, Mike, currently boarding in Vermont through feet of new powder. I too have some snow. While it might be a bit less than you, its still that fluffy, beautiful white crystalized water.

I have decided to do a picture of the day since I now have regular internet access. What better way to start than a picture of snow... if you can see it. Enjoy.

This is taken from one of my windows facing the hospital across the street.

Some Pictures

Below are some pictures of the Eid El Kabir. I have not included any really brutal slaughtering images, but there may or may not be some blood in the pictures... sorry. Enjoy!

First things first. Starting in the wee hours of the morning, my host mom started making mulawi. Its a delicious flaky, oily, bread that goes great with jam.

Next, my host brother prepares the knifes. I suppose you could use the saying "Knives out!" literally here.

Then the donkey is readied. Basically he is just moved far away from the slaughtering so he doesn't disturb the sheep.

BAP! Its done. The sheep is dead in one fell swoop of the large knife in my grandfathers hand. I'm standing behind the poor creature with my host dad who is getting ready to skin it and dismember the entire animal.

Si Mohammed, my host brother, seemed fairly happy that the sheep was ready. This mean MEAT for weeks to come!

Merriem, however, seemed a bit upset. Granted she is still a baby, but she needed some comforting by my host brother.

Here she is contemplating the past events. Why is that fuzzy thing that was moving now on the ground and not moving?

The head roasting on the grill. This is the first thing to get cooked. Once it is severed from the animal they immediately place it on the grill. I guess it is meant to prevent flys and other insects from getting their paws on the brains and such.

What you are looking at now is my grandfather taking all of the innards out of the sheep. They kind of smell. After this he will blow through the butt to make sure all the excess poop has been discharged. Don't worry. I don't have a picture of that.

Here is the view from the cafe I frequent: the snow covered peaks of Bou Iblane. Beautiful.

Internet

At long last I have internet in my house. It comes in the form of a small USB stick which basically means I can get it anywhere that has service. Wild, eh?

Anyway, this means I will be more vigilant about my posts and will also be able to put up more pictures. I have to go teach now, but hopefully tonight I'll have some more material for all those following. Plus, I really just wanted to test my connexion now.

Hope all is well!

Kitlas

The Meat???

As many of you know, the Eid el Kabir was this past Saturday. All of the talk leading up to this feast has focused around Lhem (the meat). Everybody talks about how much meat you will eat, how much meat you will see. So much meat. Everywhere meat meat. It basically sounds like a vegetarians hell. I am not a vegetarian and consequently was rather excited about the meat. Moroccans do not eat a lot of meat in the first place so this is a treat. However, as it has been three days since the Eid I have realized that Lhem has a rather loose relationship to what we in America refer to as meat.

The Eid begins with the slaughtering of the sheep. We need to get the meat from somewhere! And on this holiday everyone gets to see, first hand, where the deliciousness originates. However, one is not immediately confronted with meat. In fact, the first couple hours are filled with blood more than anything else. Blood. It was in the meat.... but not anymore. It sprays from the neck of the sheep like an overused windshield fluid dispenser. Strong at times... then it stops. Then an occasional burst about 10 minutes after the neck has been cut. After the blood drains, the animal must be skinned and dismantled. At this point you can see lhem, but you can also see the stomach, the heart, the head, and any other body part you would like to imagine.

The dismantling takes a while. Its usually done by the oldest male in the household. In my case it was my badass grandpa with a huge knife. When the majority of the animal was taken apart and all of the entrails were in different buckets for storage, the fire is started. Yes!!! Time for the meat! Now, everybody is talking again about lhem. Lhem. Lhem. It rolls off the tongue like a nice steak! However as I am watching my family prepare the kebabs, I am positive we will not be eating meat for lunch. We have, over our modest fire, kabobs of heart, liver, and pancreas wrapped in a white fatty part of the sheep that was taken from somewhere around the stomach. As I am still the guest of the house I was offered the first, best, and most quote meaty end quote kebab. (Note: I still have not figured out where the actual quotations marks are on a french keyboard. Any help would be grand). I chowed down. And it was delicious. It tasted like meat, but the texture was a bit off. I think the meat taste was due to the fatty substance that engulfed the small pieces of liver and heart.

Since then, we have eaten the head. Its basically fat and skin with a little meat in the cheeks... oh yes and the eye. Also not meat. We have eaten the testicles. Also not meat but kind of chewy. So where is all this meat that everyone keeps talking about. I have recently found out the meat is in a large bowl in the refrigerator. Every lunch we each get 2 small kebabs of meat. Delicious. Marinated in onions and parsley. However, it never ends at the kebabs. Something else always follows; some other part of the animal that mosty certainly cannot be disregarded. Perhaps tonight we will eat the feet. (Not joking, I saw them in the kitchen today.)

Anyway, the point is this: in Morocco the word for meat, Lhem, has a much broader meaning than one would find in the states. Quite simply it refers to any part of the animal. I would say any edible part, but it seems that everything is edible. So, if you ever find yourself traveling around Morocco and are offered meat, you might find yourself in a surprising situation.

On a bit of a lighter note it is December first. It rained here yesterday, but I noticed as I was walking around this morning that the mountains surrounding my town have snow. Below is a picture of the mountain range. I found this on the internet but it is exactly what it looks like right now. The mountain in the background is Bou Iblane. The foreground is the large plain between my town and the mountains. Hope everyone is having a good December!

-Kitlas

The Fact of the Matter

As we near the end of Pre Service Training, it is obviously the natural time to look back and reflect upon this experience. So according to the rules and regulations of proper reflection I have had the past couple of days to look back on my time in PST. Upon reminiscing I have discovered an interesting paradigm that has been created in my Community Based Training group. Because we have a small group, all three of us are very good friends now. This friendship is even stronger as we are all very different people. We have varying interests, act very differently, and thus attract different types of people. This last characteristic is exactly where the paradigm that I want to discuss has developed. Naturally, different groups of the local population have attached themselves to us, the volunteers, during our time in Morocco. Essentially, we have attracted three distinct groups of community members. Jason, nicknamed Jamal (beautiful) by the locals, can almost always be seen surrounded by a huge crowd of teenage girls when appropriate. I suppose this is not surprising as his nickname says it all. Donniell, on the other hand, can always be spotted surrounded by a group of twenty-year old guys speaking perfect english. This again is quite obvious as she is the only blonde in our town and the most intellectual of us... she has her Masters for Gods sake! So what group is left to surround me? Lets think. Its not the teenage girls or the boys. That leaves the prepubescent boys. Yep, thats right. I am usually surrounded by a large group of 5 - 12 year old boys.

Sometimes reflection time can be difficult. When one realizes a paradigm such as this they ten to ask: “What is the meaning?” Thus I have spent countless, sleepless hours pondering over what this says about me. Does it indicate anything about my personality? Why small boys? Why not girls? Why not the intellectuals? In an effort not to be self-deprecating I have tried to make the best of these circumstances. I mean, who really wants to be surrounded by a group of pubescent teenage girls in a locale where deodorant is not common and there is no conception of personal space? Maybe once in a while, but not everyday. That could get tiring; however, somehow Jason has persevered. And a group of twenty year old dudes who speak english perfectly. This could be fun, but I want to speak darija now. I was just in college. I lived in a frat. I was surrounded by enough english speaking dudes there. I want a change. What could be better than prepubescent boys?

The paradigm displayed itself in full force last weekend. Jason, Donniel, and I ventured to a local soccer game on Saturday. As girls do not venture out of the house often, you might be asking how Jason is always surrounded by groups of them. When he teaches english at the dar chebab his class is composed of 98% giggling, teenage girls. However, outside of this environment there are not groups of girls. Donniell is usually the only female out and about: at soccer games and at cafes. However, even at the soccer game, which was void of any female, save Donniel, Jason was being attacked by girls. During the game Jason was receiving love letters from various females around town while simultaneously trying to decide if he should accept an invitation to dinner. This invitation was given to him by a girl that had just professed her love for him. Though life slugger! Donniell was watching the soccer game with the boys, speaking english, and continually answering questions about grammar, vocabulary, and syntax. And there I stood, surrounded by a pack of 25, twelve year olds spit-firing darija at me. Laughing, playing, making huge hand gestures, and having fun. When we left the game the pack followed us. It literally looked like an army. In fact it was kind of scary. I would have wet myself if I didn’t know that I had complete control over those little rascals. Can someone say Peter the Great, eh?

So, back to the question. What does this say about my personality? Hadi asaada d lhqeeqa! (This is the hour of truth!) I guess as a youth developer attracting kids is not a bad quality to have. Additionally, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m still a bit of a kid. I like playing, running around, making loud noises, and creating havoc. These are all things I knew about myself before I came to Morocco. I guess those qualities have become more clear in this country. In the end, I’m very happy. This quality should make it easy to attract kids to the dar chebab in my new town. Not having to worry about that is awesome. However, I came to Morocco to grow up a bit. Being surrounded constantly by a pack of 12 year-olds does not facilitate that very well. I suppose some things never change!

Wxxa. Now a few photos...

A cute little Moroccan!

Donniell's family and Jason. All the girls are obsessed with him.

Our host families... that is my host family plus a smattering from Jason and Donniell's.

My younger brother Youssef and I.