Thursday, February 22, 2007, 3:30pm GMT: The light bulb in my salon came on. Yes, there will be some time before I stop constantly expecting the lights randomly to go off again (which they did Friday night), like they used to do when we had the generator powering Assoul some evenings (although it's been months since we've even had that luxury!). And, oddly, I almost feel as though I’ve given up a small badge of pride (one of the few stereotypical Peace Corps things I’ve had to deal with in Morocco). But I am not complaining. Yesterday, in celebration, I watched three movies and did a yoga DVD. It’s nice not having to plot my course around the house in the evenings according to where I have planted my gas lamp. Although I still catch myself trying to wear my headlamp to the toilet at night…
Ironically, when I arrived in Rich this morning, the power was out.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Itto
Have I told you about Itto yet? The old Berber woman who sits in front of my house all day? Itto yells out her own name every time she sees me (I think, at one time, she worried that I might forget, even though unlike Ait Hamza, I’ve only encountered two women named Itto in Assoul so far). In a world without telephones, most every visit to my house tends to be a drop-in, so Itto (along with my neighbor Aicha), also serves as my old-fashioned answering machine, telling would-be visitors whether they even need to bother knocking on my door. (My sitemate has one of these too, but his old lady is legitimately crazy, and not always particularly helpful or accurate in her efforts: “Oh, he went out, but maybe you should knock anyway… Knock harder, sometimes he plays loud music… See, I told you, he’s not there. Can I have your shoes?”). In the summer, with my windows open, I can even listen to Itto’s updates to other women as to what the tarumit (foreign girl) might be up to in there. When I go out for my morning walk or run, she always laughs and says she would join me, but her knees hurt.
The funny thing is, in spite of my periodic aggravation at my lack of privacy in Assoul, I have never viewed Itto as an intrusion – only a delight. When she smiles and yells her name at me, I simply smile and yell it back. Too bad the only photo I have of her is the only time I’ve ever seen her without a smile.
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The funny thing is, in spite of my periodic aggravation at my lack of privacy in Assoul, I have never viewed Itto as an intrusion – only a delight. When she smiles and yells her name at me, I simply smile and yell it back. Too bad the only photo I have of her is the only time I’ve ever seen her without a smile.
Please keep reading. I posted two at once today...
Trying to Light a Fire
Suddenly, I’ve been busy. So busy that I miss those days when the neddi is locked up for no good reason (uh, well, that’s often still the case), and all I have to do with myself is go for a run, read a little, and perhaps drop in on a friend for tea.
Two weeks ago, I was back up in Rabat for a Gender and Development (GAD) Committee meeting. Sometime several months ago, it was decided that of course the Harvard lawyer would be an appropriate chairperson (if only they knew!), so suddenly, these little trips up north are less about hours of DVD shopping and fancy (relatively speaking) meals out. Now, I have to work. It is nice feeling genuinely responsible for something – and at a policy level too – again. Our whole mission is to focus on better integration of women’s and men’s needs in development work, and to promote volunteer awareness and projects to that end. The problem is, in a country like Morocco, GAD is such a core element of all of the work that we do that it often goes unrecognized and unreported, and therefore remains underappreciated among our support staff (with a few exceptions, of course).
Just look at what I do. It is all about women’s empowerment and capacity building; about teaching female artisans and their counterpart (and primarily male) association to work together without creating dependency. And yet this, my primary Peace Corps project in Small Business Development, turns every feminist ideal I have on its head. How do I effectively “empower” these groups when, over the course of the past year, my own confidence in their ability to effectively organize themselves has been shattered repeatedly? I know this is really a problem of a rural mindset, which happens to play out on the gender front, but… Here I see women who won’t even show each other respect, show up for a meeting unless a male association member has intervened. Or they turn to me – who can barely even speak the language – to tell them what to do in the most basic decision-making situations (“Should we take a bus or a grand taxi to Errachidia? You’re coming with us, right?”).
We finally held our General Assembly meeting this week to officially begin the cooperative. And even after a year of discussion, the women began arguing about capital, product focus, and officers as though they were hearing it all for the first time! They still don’t know exactly who the cooperative members are (a final list being a requirement at this point!)! With my government supervisor present, I was mortified. He has no way of telling if I’d even tried to organize these women beforehand (I have).
At least Mina, the cooperative president, may eventually rise to the occasion. Last weekend, I accompanied her and Aicha, the neddi’s treasurer, to a GAD conference organized in Errachidia. Unfortunately, even though Peace Corps had been told this was a training conference for rural leaders, the host organization, in fact, had a far more elitist agenda, trying to turn away people at the door who didn’t speak French (when much of rural Morocco actually doesn’t), saying that they required a minimum educational level not only for language, but also for concept comprehension. HUH?!? A colleague and I fought hard to have all participants included, and ultimately, it was the guest speakers – truly practicing what they preached – who stepped in and helped out, offering to present all of their programs in Arabic (mainly Darija, although some materials were already printed in Classical Arabic), and during breakout sessions, being awesome facilitators by going out of their way to include even the least educated in the group.
Fortunately, I had hired my friend (and former teacher) Malika to come translate for me (plus, I knew that Malika would very much enjoy the event for its content). Malika ended up being a great help also for both of the women from Assoul. Aicha, even though she didn’t complete high school, is quite smart: literate, multi-lingual, and perfectly capable of following even some of the more abstract topics being discussed at the conference, as she has attended similar events in the past. She is, however, quite reserved, and I worry that her treatment by the host organization may have been a blow to her confidence (I was hoping she’d return to Assoul and teach about some of this stuff). Mina, on the other hand, is completely illiterate, and not even particularly functional in Darija, much less French or Classical Arabic. Nevertheless, when these Rabat academics specifically sought her opinion during workshop sessions, and fellow association leaders offered to switch small group discussion to Tamazight for a bit (which all but one participant in our workshop group spoke anyhow!) in order to make her more comfortable, I could see her start to blossom a little. Maybe she really is ready to lead this cooperative, I thought, as she began speaking up more during our meetings back in Assoul this week. (Too bad it was often to complain about money and product focus…!)
In any event, this week I am finding myself simultaneously encouraged by the behavior of some and disappointed by others. The conference, as envisioned by the host association, was fabulous. For a bunch of Harvard students. Good thing the rural leaders were ready to look out for each other…
Rabha (Imilchil’s cooperative president, whom I seem to run into nearly everywhere I go), me, Aicha, and Mina, at the fanciest hotel in Errachidia.
* * *
A final note, thanking my former sitemate Zach for leaving me the cheesiest jigsaw puzzle ever. Of course, I couldn’t resist doing it anyhow (and it was harder than I expected!). Only problem was that I had a Curious George Goes to the Hospital moment. See if you can spot it:
Two weeks ago, I was back up in Rabat for a Gender and Development (GAD) Committee meeting. Sometime several months ago, it was decided that of course the Harvard lawyer would be an appropriate chairperson (if only they knew!), so suddenly, these little trips up north are less about hours of DVD shopping and fancy (relatively speaking) meals out. Now, I have to work. It is nice feeling genuinely responsible for something – and at a policy level too – again. Our whole mission is to focus on better integration of women’s and men’s needs in development work, and to promote volunteer awareness and projects to that end. The problem is, in a country like Morocco, GAD is such a core element of all of the work that we do that it often goes unrecognized and unreported, and therefore remains underappreciated among our support staff (with a few exceptions, of course).
Just look at what I do. It is all about women’s empowerment and capacity building; about teaching female artisans and their counterpart (and primarily male) association to work together without creating dependency. And yet this, my primary Peace Corps project in Small Business Development, turns every feminist ideal I have on its head. How do I effectively “empower” these groups when, over the course of the past year, my own confidence in their ability to effectively organize themselves has been shattered repeatedly? I know this is really a problem of a rural mindset, which happens to play out on the gender front, but… Here I see women who won’t even show each other respect, show up for a meeting unless a male association member has intervened. Or they turn to me – who can barely even speak the language – to tell them what to do in the most basic decision-making situations (“Should we take a bus or a grand taxi to Errachidia? You’re coming with us, right?”).
We finally held our General Assembly meeting this week to officially begin the cooperative. And even after a year of discussion, the women began arguing about capital, product focus, and officers as though they were hearing it all for the first time! They still don’t know exactly who the cooperative members are (a final list being a requirement at this point!)! With my government supervisor present, I was mortified. He has no way of telling if I’d even tried to organize these women beforehand (I have).
At least Mina, the cooperative president, may eventually rise to the occasion. Last weekend, I accompanied her and Aicha, the neddi’s treasurer, to a GAD conference organized in Errachidia. Unfortunately, even though Peace Corps had been told this was a training conference for rural leaders, the host organization, in fact, had a far more elitist agenda, trying to turn away people at the door who didn’t speak French (when much of rural Morocco actually doesn’t), saying that they required a minimum educational level not only for language, but also for concept comprehension. HUH?!? A colleague and I fought hard to have all participants included, and ultimately, it was the guest speakers – truly practicing what they preached – who stepped in and helped out, offering to present all of their programs in Arabic (mainly Darija, although some materials were already printed in Classical Arabic), and during breakout sessions, being awesome facilitators by going out of their way to include even the least educated in the group.
Fortunately, I had hired my friend (and former teacher) Malika to come translate for me (plus, I knew that Malika would very much enjoy the event for its content). Malika ended up being a great help also for both of the women from Assoul. Aicha, even though she didn’t complete high school, is quite smart: literate, multi-lingual, and perfectly capable of following even some of the more abstract topics being discussed at the conference, as she has attended similar events in the past. She is, however, quite reserved, and I worry that her treatment by the host organization may have been a blow to her confidence (I was hoping she’d return to Assoul and teach about some of this stuff). Mina, on the other hand, is completely illiterate, and not even particularly functional in Darija, much less French or Classical Arabic. Nevertheless, when these Rabat academics specifically sought her opinion during workshop sessions, and fellow association leaders offered to switch small group discussion to Tamazight for a bit (which all but one participant in our workshop group spoke anyhow!) in order to make her more comfortable, I could see her start to blossom a little. Maybe she really is ready to lead this cooperative, I thought, as she began speaking up more during our meetings back in Assoul this week. (Too bad it was often to complain about money and product focus…!)
In any event, this week I am finding myself simultaneously encouraged by the behavior of some and disappointed by others. The conference, as envisioned by the host association, was fabulous. For a bunch of Harvard students. Good thing the rural leaders were ready to look out for each other…
Rabha (Imilchil’s cooperative president, whom I seem to run into nearly everywhere I go), me, Aicha, and Mina, at the fanciest hotel in Errachidia.* * *
A final note, thanking my former sitemate Zach for leaving me the cheesiest jigsaw puzzle ever. Of course, I couldn’t resist doing it anyhow (and it was harder than I expected!). Only problem was that I had a Curious George Goes to the Hospital moment. See if you can spot it:
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