Greetings from (my brief moment in) civilization! I returned from the Berber village of Imilchil on Thursday. Located farther south in the Atlas Mountains, Imilchil is fours hour transit from the nearest town of note – a stunning drive (particularly by sunrise, as I enjoyed during my return trip) on a crowded van through arid valleys. Although it is an extremely small town, with no electricity (there used to be a generator, but it broke some time ago) and running water only for two hours each morning (lots of fun filling bottles!), it actually has more traces of civilization than my homestay site in Ait Hamza – including several small hotels and a souk (market) on Fridays and Saturdays. This is because Imilchil is a bit of a tourist draw, due both to its mountain location and its annual marriage festival.
Legend has it that long ago, a young man and a young woman from two warring Berber tribes fell in love, but their families would not let them be together (a little Shakespeare, anyone?). Because they could not be married, each wept so hard that two separate lakes were formed from their tears – Lake Isli and Lake Tislit, the latter of which I visited during my stay. Each year in commemoration, near the end of summer, there is a large festival where, traditionally, various tribes come together for women and men to choose their spouses. More recently, of course, this festival has become more of a tourist attraction, with engagements being established, but also enjoying a range of cultural events, including a craft fair.
The primary local craft is weaving in the traditional tribal pattern of Ait Haddidou – simple colored stripes in black, white, and a deep red. The women of the village have recently formed a weaving cooperative with the help of a local Peace Corps volunteer, although they continue to work only out of their homes at this stage of their organization. I met with a couple of women in the cooperative while I was there, and viewed a range of products from traditional winter capes for men and women, to more experimental efforts at designing purses.
While in Imilchil, we were invited to lfdur – the 6pm breaking of the Ramadan fast – at a couple of homes. This is always an elaborate spread, taken as soon as the dusk call to prayer is heard, consisting primarily of dates, various sweets, breads, soup, and either tea or coffee. It’s a dangerous thing for those of us who work hard to stifle our sweet tooths, as it includes local specialties such as a fried honey pastry called shebbakiya – one of those things that is simultaneously disgusting and addictive. I can feel my teeth rotting!
We also hosted a group of teachers for lfdur one evening (cooking by candlelight and unpredictable gas ovens is quite a skill in itself, I am learning!). The teachers here are assigned by the government, not surprisingly according to seniority, so that many of the youngest – however cosmopolitan their backgrounds – end up in rural areas. Interestingly, none of the teachers we met spoke any Tamazight, yet that was the only language of many of the students they taught! It made me think of the bilingual education debate at home, although here the situation is faced not by immigrants, but by local children. Also, because the country uses a standardized curriculum, these children who have lived their whole lives in a remote mountain village with no electricity are often reading books with foreign references to things like beaches or the Internet! All the same, I was amazed by the level of education of some of the young people I met, and it made me wonder at the disconnect it must create – particularly in villages, unlike Imilchil, where there is no exposure to foreigners and tourists.
My own language skills continue to be a mess! Two weeks in Azrou – where the fasting for Ramadan had become my excuse to nap at any given opportunity – had rendered me a bit lazy on the studying front. When I got to Imilchil, of course the dialect, and some of the vocabulary, varies a bit both from the dialect spoken by my trainer and from the one my host family in Ait Hamza speaks. The upshot is that now I know that no matter how much progress I make in the next month, I’ll still have to relearn everything when I get to my final site! I pick up bits and pieces of what’s said to me, but still feel like I have no capacity to respond (not to mention my pronunciation is still all over the place!). I know it will come – I am amazed to hear other volunteers who have only been here a year – but for now I think that remains a source of anxiety for myself and for many of my other fellow trainees!
Generally, all is well, and I am preparing myself for the likelihood of a rather rural placement, given my recent assignments, but I’ll find out about that in about two weeks! While the amenities may be lacking, I think there is a bit more security in a rural site, although the attention is simply different (from people yelling out your name – everyone here calls me Najia, the name given to me by my host family – to little girls wanting kisses or tearing hairpins out of my hair, to little boys who alternatively test their Western language skills on you or simply throw rocks…). I’m also getting more used to navigating the Turkish toilets and infrequent bathing, although at least there seems to be a hamman (public bath) most everywhere! Things have been a fun so far, but I really am feeling ready to get settled somewhere (hopefully a little warmer than Imilchil!) not too long from now…
No comments:
Post a Comment