Crazy Americans

I'm used to sticking out. All my life I've been an oddity - a blond-haired resident of Afghanistan and Pakistan does not exactly go unnoticed. And then in the States - well, I'm pretty weird there too. But being an adult with my children's interests in mind is a whole new thing for me. The issue now is schooling. Here it is common to put your child in school at the age of two from 8:30 to 12:30, then back from 2:30 to 5:30 with the bus bringing children home by 6:30 PM. This is true even if the mother stays home or the family cannot really afford private school. Once I was in a home where the two-year-old was woken up from her nap and sent off screaming to the afternoon session of school. The mother and retired grandparents all lived and stayed in the home, but still she had to go.

At three, children are taught cursive, at age four, they are taught addition and subtraction, and at age five - they are considered too old for art and music which must be replaced by "serious" subjects like writing the same number a hundred times.

Children of middle and upperclass families have a nanny soon after birth who is basically left to raise the children until school (sometimes even when the parents are home after work). Because of a very stratified society, it is common for the children to rule the nanny. Just the other day, I saw a 5-year-old throw three handfuls of rocks at the woman that cares for her. When parents are home, they rarely read to or interact with their children outside of normal family conversation.

Into this setting we waltz with our crazy ideas and ask at the school if Kendra (4) can go only three mornings a week to school, and they look at us as if we have just walked off a UFO. They cannot imagine why on earth we want to do this. I explain I believe a young child can learn what she needs at home by being read to, exploring and playing - and they stare at me with glazed expressions. The idea is ridiculous, unheard of, and downright irresponsible. I try to say that if children are introduced to concepts when they are ready, they will learn quickly rather than being force-fed too young. Again, blank stares. I tell them I want to spend time with my child and that these years are precious - and they look at me funny. Finally, I say I'm a teacher. Ah! That seems to be O.K. with some. Last year we went through all of this as well since we wanted Katrina in half-day kindergarten. The problem apparently is that if our children do not go every day, all day, they will miss out on "important curriculum" that apparently is crucial to being a little person - like writing in cursive.

So we have found one school that will let us do this strange three-mornings-a-week thing for Kendra with the goal of introducing her to French which I could not do at home. Of course, when I take her out during school hours, I'll get quizzed about why she is not in school - and I'll try once again to explain myself, and they'll probably walk away thinking . . . "Crazy Americans!"

The Wedding

So what does one do at a seven-hour Moroccan wedding? We were told to arrive at 9:00 PM, so we arrived at 10:00. No one was there. Not a soul. We drove around and ended up back at the home by 10:30 when people began to arrive. First we were fed a chicken tajin with olives then a mutton and prune tajin followed by fruit. Delicious! Next we went up to the roof and waited while the band played and people danced. The roof was a fairly small area decorated with a few rugs, Christmas lights, a banner and the focal point - a throne for the couple.

At 1:20 AM, Fatima Ezzahara and Farid arrived amidst much shouting, honking and music. Lovely in a white caftan, she stepped into the bride carrier, was hoisted up by four men and then paraded and danced around with great fanfare so everyone could see and admire her. Then she was finally placed on the throne next to the groom who had managed to sneak in - how is it they always get to do that?

After a bit of dancing and some pictures, Gerald and the girls were given special permission to go - the earliest to leave at 2:00 AM! The other children stayed all night. One ten-year-old boy fell asleep later and was ridiculed greatly as a result! Several tried to leave at about 4:00 AM, and were promptly told to get back in their seats where they stayed until the wedding was over.

After the first entrance, the bride went downstairs and changed to the next wedding outfit, entered grandly again (though not in the carrier), smiled for pictures, watched the dancing, then left to change into her next outfit. By the end of the night, she had come in five different dresses (all were rented), the last of which was a western-style wedding dress. You may notice the groom didn't have five outfits. I think he had two. No one really noticed him, poor guy. Once again, the groom got off easy.

The grandest was the Fez wedding outfit (last pic). I felt so sorry for FZ when she entered looking like she had been stuck in a box with no hope for escape. Apparently she did not want to wear it, but her mother-in-law insisted. Thanks, Lois, for not making me wear this at our wedding! Hoisted up on a carrier as was the groom in another carrier, they were danced around again. This time the music was much wilder and almost frenzied. Around and around they went, up and down, back and forth to the pulsing rhythm of the drums, women doing their special wedding yelp and the religious ones doing a chant. It was a truly amazing sight and easily the climax of the wedding.

And the dancing - oh my, the dancing. How do they do it? My body is all connected - top half to bottom half. I'm convinced some Moroccans are not connected. Their lower half can move completely independently of the top half - dancing in such a way that would send me straight to the chiropractor. Other dancing was Egyptian-style with mostly hand movements and easy steps. And yes, of course, I had to try the dancing too - the Egyptian kind, that is! Often the women all held hands and one person danced in the middle. The men mostly danced separately in their little corner. Arabic-origin Moroccan music is quite tolerable with a good beat and the classic lilting Arabic sound. But after seven hours of what seemed like the same song, it got a little old.

Morocco comes across as so tame and almost western. You certainly do not feel as if you are in a developing country and sometimes you can even convince yourself that our customs might not be that different from theirs at all. Then you go to a wedding - the heart and soul of the social life and the root of a family - and you realize you're not in Kansas anymore.

Moroccan weddings usually do not have a religious aspect to them. Apparently, you can get the Imam (pastor) to bless the marriage at the end, but because they ask such high prices and make so many demands, most weddings are done without it. I tried to imagine Gerald and I starting our life off together without the blessings and beautiful passages about relationships and love found in the Book. They do not have those words and those examples. Marriages here often end up loveless and functional with couples finding their fulfillment in other ways. How I pray for something different for this beautiful couple. They did pick each other as is done more and more, so that right there is a good start.

Slowly the stars disappeared and the sky grew warm with the morning light. Just after the sun rose at 5:30, the bride and groom left and the wedding was over. Not once did I feel tired or ready to go home. As a matter of fact, I came home totally hyper. But then I crashed and a few days later completely lost my voice due to lack of sleep! Oh well, it was very much worth it!

(As always, double click on pics to enlarge, back arrow to return here)

I did it!

I made it all the way through a Moroccan wedding! 10:30 PM - 5:30 AM! I think I need some applause! Poetry! International recognition! Gerald and the girls were allowed to leave as early as 2:00 AM right after the bride arrived. More on that later - we will be out of town for a bit and I don't think I'll be on this thing for at least a week.

Julie

Henna Night

The girls and I were invited to the henna night for our friend and baby sitter yesterday. This is the first night of Fatima Ezzahara and Farid's wedding when the bride's hands and feet are painted with henna - temporary painless tattoos - especially for the wedding. The girls didn't quite know what to do when their beloved friend had transformed into a resplendent princess, but they were certainly impressed!

After a little while, all the guests went over the the groom's house where FZ's dowry was waiting on a mule cart. In front of the mule was a ram in a cart with a lovely bow of parsley on his head - all ready to be butchered and eaten the next day. Well, he probably wasn't ready, but everyone else was! With great joy, dancing, singing, hair-flailing, drums, horns and high-pitched yelling (I can't quite describe this unique Moroccan sound!), we all brought the gifts to FZ's home. With our good Mennonite genes, the girls and I made our attempts at at least rhythmic walking!

Back at the home, we were served mint tea and goodies after which the dancing started up again. Some of the dancing is fairly laid-back, but some is basically belly dancing without the skin showing. Soon the girls were begging to go to bed, so we left a little bit before they served supper (9:00 PM). We'll see everyone again tonight when we go to the wedding which will start around 10:00 PM and go until 5:00 AM. On the way home, Katrina said, "Mommy - I thought this was the short party" to which I replied - "It was!"

Dangers & Annoyances

I decided to add this most attractive picture of me in the Cave of Hercules because it best portrays our reactions to some of Morocco's "Dangers & Annoyances" as the guide book labels them. As wonderful as Morocco is, traveling around can lead to some things that are - um - frustrating. And to be honest, I feel I need to report them so you don't think we just merrily sail from city to city.

1. Driving - many pedestrians seem oblivious to the fact that cars actually drive on roads - fast - so they often step out into the street without looking. Add this to the occasional mule cart, crawling lumber truck, crazy Mercedes driver who thinks he owns the road, hyperactive cop, the many bicycles and people waking and all those who never had driver's ed classes - and, well - you aren't really ever tempted to fall asleep.

2. Navigating - this was primarily my job by default. The problem is, many streets in Morocco are unnamed and almost all are unlabeled. Signs may start you in the right direction, but like a hopeful mirage, they fade away when you get nearer the destination you long for. This, my friends, is not the Midwest. There when you make a wrong turn, you can always find your way back. Gerald's famous line is, "Well, this road should loop around . . . " but it doesn't - it merely leads you on yet another rabbit chase until our north, south, east and west Kansas brains are so messed up, we can only hope we are still in the right city (and once we weren't).

3. Directions - So the next logical step is to ask for directions. If the man doesn't know, he makes something up - usually in the form of a general wave encouraging you to continue along the same road that got you into the mess in the first place. It would be shameful to say he doesn't know. If he does know, he'll rattle something off in French, Spanish or Arabic while we stare at him with glazed eyes. "Wakha" (OK) we chant, and off we go attempting to understand then follow the directions.

4. Tips - Apparently everyone in Morocco deserves a tip. Parked your car? Tip the attendant. Someone showed you the way? Tip the kid. Took a picture? Tip the subject. Chances are, it won't be enough and you'll have to haggle a bit defining the exact worth of the service given. After a while, you find yourself simply throwing money out the window as you drive past hopeful tip-receivers.

5. Language - Hotels, directions, questions, restaurants, everything - in another language, which we can only hope to have learned by our 90th birthdays - sometimes leaves us exhausted at the end of the day.

6. Bargaining - most of our purchases were bargain-worthy. Price tags? Ha! So off you go, back and forth, back and forth until both parties are satisfied - or, usually, until the store keeper is satisfied and we wonder. Once I bargained the price up, but thankfully the shopkeeper was kind enough to tell me I was going up, not down.

Gerald is the both the pro and the sucker in this department. He accidentally bought several things with his excellent techniques. As the storekeepers called out the "best price" of his items, Gerald threw out a price insultingly low as he walked on by. But the most intelligent storekeepers engaged Gerald (who secretly likes bargaining) in a bargain war and ended up coming almost all the way down to Gerald's price which meant he had to buy the items. So two leather purses, a marble dove and a tortoise shell mini-guitar later . . . Gerald walked away. He was quite proud of himself for the rock-bottom prices he got, but as Troy so helpfully reminded him - Gerald didn't want any of those things in the first place - so was he really that successful? After a few incidents like this, we finally forbade Gerald to even walk by, look at or smile at anyone selling anything.

7. Drugs - the north of Morocco is known for its drugs. As Gerald was being led through the streets of one town towards our hotel, three people asked him if he wanted a smoke. When he came later with us, no one asked. I bet we were too intimidating.

8. "Buy this!" "Eat here!" - If you don't know exactly what you want in a Moroccan tourist town, watch out. Little boys selling peanuts come into the cafe in which you are painfully extracting your fish from its bones, restaurant owners call out to you and act deeply offended when you pass by, beggars ask for money, fake tour guides ask to show you the way . . .

9. "Necessities" - We silly foreigners seem to think that bathrooms generally need electricity, water, soap, toilet paper and something to dry your hands with. We generally find bathrooms with the first two, but chances are very, very slim to find all the remaining three. The girls actually get unhealthily excited when we find all five things. Notice I did not mention cleanliness as a requirement.

And so now, you have a more balanced picture of Morocco. These problems are generally not issues in our daily lives, but they definitely make travel more exciting!

So, when are you coming to visit???

Tetouan & Chefchaouen

With both green rolling hills and dramatic mountain cliffs, the Rif Mountains of Northern Morocco provided the backdrop to every city we visited. The barrier of mountains historically ensured the inhabitants to be quite isolated and fierce defenders of their land; most recently against the Spanish.

All of Morocco and especially the north received many Jewish refugees from Granada, Spain, in the 15th century escaping from the "Christian" Reconquest of Spain. As a result, many Moroccan towns have a Jewish quarter complete with a Synagogue. Most Jews are gone now due to persecution and the desire to return to Israel after it became a nation. My sister-in-law, Laurie, comes from Jewish Granada as well. Their family escaped to Turkey and many years later ended up in France.

The Spanish and Jewish influence is easy to see all over northern Morocco. Most people in the north also speak Spanish (as well as Arabic & French) and have many Spanish customs to this day.

Picture 1: A little jail keeper watching over her miserable prisoners in an old Spanish prison

Picture 2: Chefchaouen - known for its quaint atmosphere with blue and white streets and homes

Picture 3: Chefchaouen - in the shadow of the Rif

Picture 4: Tetouan - We felt like we were in Spain here!