Agadir: The Beach Resort I Barely Saw

Last week, all of the volunteers who arrived in Morocco last September converged upon the beach resort of Agadir for IST (that would be In-Service Training for all you normal folks who don’t speak in acronyms all the time like we do). For me, it was a first real opportunity to travel west, and on the way there I stayed in both the film capital of Morocco (Ouarzazate), and, finally (both going and coming), I saw Marrakech.

I did, however, get an unusual perspective on these cities, as I was traveling with Mina, a teacher at Assoul’s nedi and member of our cooperative-to-be. Although somewhat better-traveled than most of the women with whom I work, this was a new experience for Mina as well, culminating in utter confusion as to what was going on after we got into the elevator of our swanky Agadir hotel for the first time. Anyway, while I suspect she struggled to understand everything that was going on – some of the big picture Moroccan government policy discussions, for example, as well as the fact that all of our sessions were translated into Arabic, which is her second (and only) language after Tamazight – I was really excited that she had this opportunity to come and learn about the work of other artisans and volunteers, which I hope she will share with the women in Assoul. I also convinced her to participate briefly in my project presentation to the volunteers, “counterparts,” and government officials in attendance by showing some of the women’s products. Not many counterparts or artisans did this, and I thought it was a great confidence-building exercise for her. (Even finding women with the confidence to travel at all remains a challenge in my site).

Here is me presenting my fabulously rushed PowerPoint presentation about Assoul:



I’d even taken my computer to the nedi a few days before I left for Agadir (where Bzi told me it was the first computer the women had seen – a reminder to me to be careful of advertising my wealthy western possessions and lifestyle too carelessly), in order to get feedback from some of the women on what I planned to say about their work. Sometimes I struggle with them, but I really want them both to feel involved and to understand that I have been paying attention and trying to begin responding to some of their needs.

Anyway, training sessions kept us busy all day, and I would hardly label it one of my more relaxing weeks in Morocco, although by the end of the week most of us had managed to use our lunch breaks a little more creatively in order to enjoy a little poolside time at least. And of course I managed one or two seaside strolls. On the whole, however, the strip was quite touristy and developed (hello McDonald’s and Pizza Hut, although I do admit to dining at the latter one time, although only because a friend and I got lost looking for a Mexican restaurant we’d heard about). Granted, a welcome change of pace from Assoul, but still perhaps not somewhere I would have gone on my own.

Here’s a view from my hotel room:



I also had to take another oral language test. Whatever. Berber I am not. I didn’t even ask what my score was, but was happy that I at least understood all the questions the tester asked me (unlike what happens when I talk to people in Assoul!).

On my way back I stopped through Marrakech again with some friends (and this time no Berber ladies – finding the city a little easier to handle in that respect). Sadly, far too tired to take advantage of the city’s nightlife, although I went with some other volunteers to price yarn at a carpet store in the souk, and there was substantial strolling through the famous Jemaa el Fna (known for its array of snake charmers, storytellers, musicians, spiced tea, etc.). Also, for reasons I won’t get into here, I felt in need of a little shopping therapy – something in which I almost never indulge in Morocco unless DVDs are involved – and bought these awesome slippers:



Had to talk the guy down from 600 dirhams to 150. But I still hate bargaining (apart from just being poor, the bargaining is a big reason I don’t shop much here – I’d rather pay more and be non-confrontational). And God knows when I’ll ever wear these (certainly not through the donkey dung in Assoul!), but they sure are pretty!

Then, having been called last-minute for a meeting in Rabat later in the week, I stopped in Khenifra to break up my trip up north. The last part of that bus ride was a nightmare – not nearly as bad as some of the mountain passes I’ve been on elsewhere in this country, but nauseating all the same. And everywhere that I’ve traveled in Morocco, the puking is common enough that most folks know to carry or ask for a “mika” (plastic bag – usually black for this purpose) when they’re riding in a bus, taxi, or transit and feel the upchuck coming. Taxis are somewhat better (and you can ask them to stop at least, but even then I’ve still had a woman draped across my lap with her face in a mika), but pretty much every bus or transit trip, you’re aware of all sorts of activity of this sort, which Moroccans, for the most part, tend to handle fairly nonchalantly. Truly, these may be my people after all. I’ve even hopped off my transit in Rich early morning to find a girl hunched over and gagging, only to promptly look up, smile, and say hi to me as though she was perfectly fine again. However, sometimes, the system fails. I did end one transit ride with vomit on my backpack, thanks to the woman beside me. And during this trip to Khenifra, at a point when I was already beginning to feel a bit ill myself, I suddenly heard an unusually loud retching sound coming from directly behind me. Turns out the woman in fact had a mika, but somehow missed it and puked all over the floor. Then, one of her traveling companions got to cleaning the floor the way Moroccans always do, by pouring water all over it. So there was a nice little river of vomit down the aisle. And then, as a flourish, the puking woman took a swig of water and spit it out in the middle of this mess. It is a wonder that I made it the rest of the way to Khenifra without tossing my cookies as well! (Did I mention this all happened on one a nicer, air-conditioned national bus line, and not one of the crusty, crappy “souk buses” that I normally have to take to get between cities?)

Anyway, in Khenifra, a friend introduced me to a women’s association doing really amazing work, with a battered women’s shelter, AIDS education programs, etc. I have to say that that’s the kind of thing that makes me a little sad that I’m not working in a city, or at least a larger town. Where I am, it is a lot harder to stay connected to resources like that.

Trials in the Desert

I went up on my roof the other night and realized, sadly, that once Assoul gets real electricity, my current view of the night sky and all the stars I don’t usually see at home probably won’t be so crisp and clear anymore. It’s a tradeoff though, and I am ready for a few more conveniences around here… (Frankly, I am used to the electricity situation, and only consider that a minor frustration, but for personal and work reasons, I am becoming increasingly agitated about the lack of power for the large but currently useless mobile phone power just outside of our village, rendering my cell phone entirely worthless when I’m at home!!!).


With regard to my “desert trials,” I first have to say that I totally jinxed myself with my last posting, whining about being stuck with friends for a couple of hours one morning on a washed out road. The very day I posted that, on my way home I dealt with an exponentially worse version of the same thing – one much bigger river, one flash flood, and a longer and far less comfortable wait with no English speaking friends anywhere nearby! I came very close to having to spend the night in a transit on a road in the middle of nowhere (which did end up happening to a couple of Berber women I got to chatting with during the long wait), but thankfully made a last minute escape and got home, only a little muddier, more tired, and generally worse for the wear than when I usually get home from my travels! I’ll spare you any further details here, but if you want the full adventure.

Anyway, I was returning from a trip that has actually proven to be one of the more interesting projects I’ve been involved with here so far. A couple of months ago, I got an e-mail from my colleague Moshay, who is a youth development volunteer posted in a small (but not nearly as small as Assoul!), deathly hot desert town a few hours south of me. Even though I generally don’t feel inspired to do excessive amounts of work with children, in this instance, Moshay rightfully anticipated that I was happy for any excuse to officially tap into my interests in comparative law and women’s empowerment. So during the last month, I made two trips down to Moshay’s town to help him put together a mock trial event, which the students would perform in both Arabic and English. I have to say that Moshay did most of the serious legwork, including arranging for some of the girls in his class to meet with a local judge!

During my previous visit, the class warmed up by asking me questions in English (and making me sing for them!) Then, I spoke to some of the students about their assigned roles as lawyers and witnesses – teaching them new vocabulary and giving them tips about how to be clever in their presentation of evidence. And of course I was thrilled when a few of the girls came up to me after class to ask how they could become lawyers too!

The first trial, in English, was a criminal case, where two men working in a bank had been accused of stealing money. In the second, Arabic trial, we tried to introduce concepts of the Moudawana – Morocco’s recently revised family laws – with the story of a young wife filing for divorce from a husband who had failed to support her financially. The students were allowed a lot of creativity to flesh out their stories, produce evidence, and ultimately decide the fates of the parties, and I thought they did an excellent job! In both cases, the panel of judges (because Morocco is a civil law system, rather than holding jury trials, the judges play a larger role in investigation and deciding the case) decided for the defendant, letting the accused thieves off the hook (the boys playing the defendants brought a lot of emotion to this moment!), and ordering the estranged couple to make further attempts at reconciliation (which is still encouraged here, in spite of the recent changes that at last allow the wife even to file for divorce!). After the event, the students played soccer in the rain, drank tea, and asked us to take lots of photos…

For me, this was a wonderful opportunity to feel productive in my Gender and Development work, as well as a nice justification for studying up on some local laws and the Moroccan legal system (which, in truth, I’d already begun to do just for my own intellectual enrichment…)! I certainly never lose sight of the fact that, as much as I hope to contribute while I am here, that has its limits, so I had better learn as much as I can as well!

Stranded!?

These days, one would think the apocalypse is hitting Assoul. Yes, the crazy spring winds and dust storms have finally slowed down a bit. There’s still a layer of dust covering most things inside of my house, but now I have nothing but my own laziness to blame for that. But, were it not for such extreme changes in temperature and humidity on any given day, I’d swear I was experiencing a North Carolina summer here! For the last two weeks, in the morning, I am dying from the hot, dry sun. But then, if I don’t go ahead and use my solar shower, hang my laundry out to dry, and make any phone calls I need to make at the local téléboutique (which is conveniently useless as soon as there is a cloud in the sky), I am SOL. Heavy clouds roll in over the mountains, becoming trapped in the valley, and crazy thunderstorms and winter-like temperatures ensue. One night last week, this went on from midnight to 6am, which got to be a little creepy after a while in my big, empty, echo-y house. I know this sounds like an incredibly boring thing to mention here on the blog, but it doesn’t take much to make news in drought-ridden Assoul. And, sadly, a "little" precipitation in Assoul usually does mean that all hell has broken loose elsewhere. The last few weeks have seen significant flooding, property loss, and even some deaths just over the mountains, in Saharan towns.

Besides, even though the roads in and out of Assoul are gradually being paved over, things still become treacherous after a little rain. This is what happened when some friends and I tried to escape from the bled last weekend.





We spent an hour waiting this one out in the wee hours of the morning, before a couple of frustrated transit drivers finally decided to brave it…

… and as soon as I let friends in civilization know that we were finally on our way, we came upon this one.


If it weren’t for an incredibly foolish (and lucky) overloaded station wagon that finally decided to brave this one a couple of hours later, we might still be waiting there!

By the way, that blue transit on the left belongs to Hakim, brother to my host mother, and super nice guy. All the transits out in our area have been having a harder time these days. As soon as the roads from Rich to Assoul and Imilchil were paved, the grand taxis tried to take over. Grand taxis are Mercedes sedans that travel between cities in Morocco carrying six passengers at a time (but I’ve seen more for short trips - even with the driver sitting in someone’s lap!). You can sit at a taxi stand for hours waiting for that sixth person - these guys aren’t about to leave with fewer than that unless other passengers have paid for the empty seat (and the taxi pimps seem particularly eager to try to convince a certain American woman you know and love to do this…). That said, I often prefer taxis to buses, but never over my friendly neighborhood transit drivers! And the end result is that, while the transit schedules were not always convenient, they were at least predictable, but now it is now always certain if/when/how one might be able to get in and out of town. Let’s hope that all gets settled soon!



By the way, isn’t this the cutest thing ever?

For once, it was everyone else in my friend’s house who were dressing up like brides. Even the babies!