1st church service in morocco
So I went to my first church service in Morocco the other weekend! I went up to Oujda to celebrate my birthday with some other volunteers, and me and two Catholics went on a search for a church service. We found the church fairly easily (only two or three wrong turnsÉ) but then, how to get in?? We saw some folks in African style clothing who seemed to know where they were going, but lost them. The front door was lockedÉ and someone had thoughtfully piled the garbage from the square right by the door. The mosque was spotless. One way to know when you are in a Muslim countryÉ so we walked around back, trying all the doorsÉ at the very back door, we knockedÉ and the door was opened to us. By a Moroccan gentleman. And thus we found the Saturday evening mass of the chuch of Oujda. Attended by 5 West Africans and two French expatriates. And three Peace Corps Volunteers. Apparently this is usually better attended, but during the summer people leave for the cooler coast and the priest was sick, soÉ it was just us. Singing the mass in French, led in a very sub-Saharan style of call and response. It was beautiful! Very different, but beautiful. I miss that style of singing, how it’s all of a piece with dancing, the call and response, the earnestness. We introduced ourselves eventually, in French, English and Arabic, and were welcomed back. Oh, and I took the body. The bread. I hope that’s OK, seeing as I am still not Catholic. J
Monday, August 18, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
more universal things
"Universal" Things
**this list will grow, too
--Paper, rock, Scissors (used to make decisions the world round)
--Jacks. Only you play with little rocks here instead of jacks and a bouncy ball
--Boys throw rocks at things.
--House flies.
--Barn flies.
--Biting flies.
--Women fix up their hair to go out. Here that means putting on a slightly nicer veil/scarf. For me it means making sure I don’t look like a fool.
--Sugar. In huge volumes.
--Mothers worry.
--Drum circles.
--Dancing. In some places it happens in gender segregated rooms though.
--Grandmothers/older women tell young women to put on more clothes/different clothes.
--People like cold water.
--Homemade popsicles.
Installment 2
--People pick their noses
--Black cats are considered unlucky… poor things
--Little boys pee on things
--Teenage girls are moody
--It’s still amazing what you can build with rocks, water, and dirt. Cement helps, too.
--If you are in a broken down car with more than 5 men looking at it scratching their heads, you’ll be there a while.
--2-year-olds are terrible. Especially when spoiled. They are also adorable and occasionally amazingly sweet.
**this list will grow, too
--Paper, rock, Scissors (used to make decisions the world round)
--Jacks. Only you play with little rocks here instead of jacks and a bouncy ball
--Boys throw rocks at things.
--House flies.
--Barn flies.
--Biting flies.
--Women fix up their hair to go out. Here that means putting on a slightly nicer veil/scarf. For me it means making sure I don’t look like a fool.
--Sugar. In huge volumes.
--Mothers worry.
--Drum circles.
--Dancing. In some places it happens in gender segregated rooms though.
--Grandmothers/older women tell young women to put on more clothes/different clothes.
--People like cold water.
--Homemade popsicles.
Installment 2
--People pick their noses
--Black cats are considered unlucky… poor things
--Little boys pee on things
--Teenage girls are moody
--It’s still amazing what you can build with rocks, water, and dirt. Cement helps, too.
--If you are in a broken down car with more than 5 men looking at it scratching their heads, you’ll be there a while.
--2-year-olds are terrible. Especially when spoiled. They are also adorable and occasionally amazingly sweet.
3 August 2008
3 August 2008
So this is about social mores. And how they are very interesting… for example:
Some things remain the same, like reaching in front of someone at the dinner table. It’s rude, but not inexcusably so in most cases.
On the other hand, if someone started digging into the meal with their hands in most well-bred company in the United States, or Europe for that matter, they would be seen as very strange, possibly retarded or at least in possession of poor manners. Here, though, that is what you are expected to do, and it has become VERY strange for me to see people eating certain dishes with silverware at tourist joints. Why would you use silverware? All you need is bread with some soap and water afterwards… which they provide, by the way. One of the kids or someone feeling nice carries around a little kettle with it’s own name and a basin for people wash their hands and mouths out after a meal. Yes, that’s right, mouths. They spit in the basin. For some reason I find this physically more disgusting than the numerous flies… I have a thing with spit.
And then there’s the whole picking your nose thing. Taboo at home, right? People will "take the mickey out of you" (to use a great British phrase, probably improperly, sorry ya’ll British folk). But the thing of it is, most people do it themselves… that’s why it’s such a satisfying game for kids to count how many people they see picking their noses in other cars on long car trips. One pastor I knew decided that all of this falsehood was ridiculous and freely acknowledged his nose-picking habit… he even had a saying "Pick it, flick it, don’t lick it, and remember to live like Jesus!" Memorable right? I bet his kids were absolutely mortified!! Anyway, here, it’s more or less accepted. Some men even grow out their left pinky fingernails for that specific purpose (it’s taken me three months to figure that one out… I’m still not sure I believe it but that’s what I’m told). And tonight, I witnessed the most open picking of the nose ever: a father picking his 2-year-old son’s nose for him!! I was fascinated. He was so obviously doing this carefully and lovingly and gently but determined to get his son’s nose picked clean…! Who would have thought? Sometimes I think we should adopt the open nose-picking policy… maybe with an accompanying social mores about always washing your hands or having a specific finger that you disinfect frequently?? I mean, I think everyone does, whether with a tissue in hand or not (still counts). Just as long as no one tries to pick my nose… I don’t think I could handle that.
So this is about social mores. And how they are very interesting… for example:
Some things remain the same, like reaching in front of someone at the dinner table. It’s rude, but not inexcusably so in most cases.
On the other hand, if someone started digging into the meal with their hands in most well-bred company in the United States, or Europe for that matter, they would be seen as very strange, possibly retarded or at least in possession of poor manners. Here, though, that is what you are expected to do, and it has become VERY strange for me to see people eating certain dishes with silverware at tourist joints. Why would you use silverware? All you need is bread with some soap and water afterwards… which they provide, by the way. One of the kids or someone feeling nice carries around a little kettle with it’s own name and a basin for people wash their hands and mouths out after a meal. Yes, that’s right, mouths. They spit in the basin. For some reason I find this physically more disgusting than the numerous flies… I have a thing with spit.
And then there’s the whole picking your nose thing. Taboo at home, right? People will "take the mickey out of you" (to use a great British phrase, probably improperly, sorry ya’ll British folk). But the thing of it is, most people do it themselves… that’s why it’s such a satisfying game for kids to count how many people they see picking their noses in other cars on long car trips. One pastor I knew decided that all of this falsehood was ridiculous and freely acknowledged his nose-picking habit… he even had a saying "Pick it, flick it, don’t lick it, and remember to live like Jesus!" Memorable right? I bet his kids were absolutely mortified!! Anyway, here, it’s more or less accepted. Some men even grow out their left pinky fingernails for that specific purpose (it’s taken me three months to figure that one out… I’m still not sure I believe it but that’s what I’m told). And tonight, I witnessed the most open picking of the nose ever: a father picking his 2-year-old son’s nose for him!! I was fascinated. He was so obviously doing this carefully and lovingly and gently but determined to get his son’s nose picked clean…! Who would have thought? Sometimes I think we should adopt the open nose-picking policy… maybe with an accompanying social mores about always washing your hands or having a specific finger that you disinfect frequently?? I mean, I think everyone does, whether with a tissue in hand or not (still counts). Just as long as no one tries to pick my nose… I don’t think I could handle that.
of birthdays
. Around 31 July 2008
Birthdays abroad are funny. Odd, I mean. Good, fun, different (you never know just what will happen). One of the first things I did in Tanzania was turn 21. It was pretty funny to me (ha-ha funny) actually. One of my favorite memories, actually. The program directors, who barely knew me, gave me a beautiful wooden bowl with a carved elephant on it (I still have it, back home). The other students all pitched in and got me two cakes and a whole bottle of Hakuna Matata. Tanzanian liquor, that’s what that is… The cakes were dry and not particularly flavorful, but we had fun and then when there was plenty left over I wandered around the cafeteria giving away the rest. We went back to the dorm and got ready for our first day of school. Yup, all I had on my 21st was one shot of not particularly burning Hakuna Matata and then I went to bed. J Fitting, right?
Anyway, this birthday passed with very little fanfare: I couldn’t find any eggs so I didn’t even get a cake, instead I bought a bunch of candy and cookies and soda for my family and we celebrated the day after my birthday. The morning of I helped slaughter a sheep. Which is something only men can do… I tried to ask why but was only told it is Haram (absolutely forbidden by the Qu’ran). I bet there’s a reason behind it, maybe something about life-givers not taking life, but I’ll have to figure that out later. Anyway, it was somehow a little frustrating, sad, not as clean as I wanted it to be. For starters they just cut the neck while it’s awake and then leave it to die, fully conscious. Don’t even break the poor thing’s neck… anyway, it was pretty cool to watch it cleaned out, and then to take the amazingly soft meat upstairs and watch it be cooked and then eat it later. It was good, too. Except that I am just about through with dwaz. I want a whole week off of Moroccan food. Well, local Moroccan food, anyway. Or rather, my host family’s cooking. Not bad, but there’s a flavor theme that I’m a bit tired of.
Highlights of the day were definitely when two PCVs (Sarah and Nate from the Eastern Middle Atlas ENV, if you know them) called me to sing me Happy Birthday… and tell me that Nate brought me floss threaders from the United States!!!!!! Hooray no cavities in my front teeth!!!!!!!! But so many others texted me their wishes, and some even called (thanks Jon) to make their wishes, so it was great. And Mom, your box actually came ahead of time. J And then Mom called from Madeline Island to talk, and I got to talk to my cousin’s son, who is sharp as a razor at barely 3 years of age. All in all, a Happy Birthday, but it was funny. What with the sheep slaughtering and everything. :)
Birthdays abroad are funny. Odd, I mean. Good, fun, different (you never know just what will happen). One of the first things I did in Tanzania was turn 21. It was pretty funny to me (ha-ha funny) actually. One of my favorite memories, actually. The program directors, who barely knew me, gave me a beautiful wooden bowl with a carved elephant on it (I still have it, back home). The other students all pitched in and got me two cakes and a whole bottle of Hakuna Matata. Tanzanian liquor, that’s what that is… The cakes were dry and not particularly flavorful, but we had fun and then when there was plenty left over I wandered around the cafeteria giving away the rest. We went back to the dorm and got ready for our first day of school. Yup, all I had on my 21st was one shot of not particularly burning Hakuna Matata and then I went to bed. J Fitting, right?
Anyway, this birthday passed with very little fanfare: I couldn’t find any eggs so I didn’t even get a cake, instead I bought a bunch of candy and cookies and soda for my family and we celebrated the day after my birthday. The morning of I helped slaughter a sheep. Which is something only men can do… I tried to ask why but was only told it is Haram (absolutely forbidden by the Qu’ran). I bet there’s a reason behind it, maybe something about life-givers not taking life, but I’ll have to figure that out later. Anyway, it was somehow a little frustrating, sad, not as clean as I wanted it to be. For starters they just cut the neck while it’s awake and then leave it to die, fully conscious. Don’t even break the poor thing’s neck… anyway, it was pretty cool to watch it cleaned out, and then to take the amazingly soft meat upstairs and watch it be cooked and then eat it later. It was good, too. Except that I am just about through with dwaz. I want a whole week off of Moroccan food. Well, local Moroccan food, anyway. Or rather, my host family’s cooking. Not bad, but there’s a flavor theme that I’m a bit tired of.
Highlights of the day were definitely when two PCVs (Sarah and Nate from the Eastern Middle Atlas ENV, if you know them) called me to sing me Happy Birthday… and tell me that Nate brought me floss threaders from the United States!!!!!! Hooray no cavities in my front teeth!!!!!!!! But so many others texted me their wishes, and some even called (thanks Jon) to make their wishes, so it was great. And Mom, your box actually came ahead of time. J And then Mom called from Madeline Island to talk, and I got to talk to my cousin’s son, who is sharp as a razor at barely 3 years of age. All in all, a Happy Birthday, but it was funny. What with the sheep slaughtering and everything. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)