Abi Aston in Morocco

Phew

As a team, one of the biggest tasks we’ve tackled since I arrived here has been the development of a comprehensive assessment form for new children.  This has taken HOURS of work.  We now have it in Classical Arabic, French and English.  The ‘therapists’ have just started using it and it seems to work!

The assessment form helps the assessor think holistically about the child’s life and their development.  There are lots of prompts and check boxes so it’s pretty easy for someone who finds it difficult to write.  We’re hoping that by using this assessment, it will become more obvious what the goals of ‘therapy’ could be for each child.

This weekend I played host to one of my Moroccan friends, her mother and an American friend who were visiting from Rabat.  The first job of a host is to provide mint tea and a snack of some kind.  Everyone likes their mint tea slightly differently, in a similar way that Brits are picky about the strength of their tea.  Anyway, it seemed to go down well, which I was pretty happy about.

Happiness after approval of the mint tea!

On Monday I atttended my first aerobics class.  Tres amusant.  I didn’t plan on attending a class; as usual I had no idea what was going on.  There I was, happily jogging on the treadmill before I was urgently beckoned over to the open-space area.

There was five of us following the instructor.  It didn’t appear like anyone knew the routine.  Maybe it was a new class for the new year?  The instructor wasn’t convinced I was watching her and kept coming over to me saying, “watch, watch!”  I was watching!!

I kept skidding on the floor because there was so much condensation.  This disrupted my moves, particularly the one where I had to stand on one leg and wave the other leg in a circle, turn, walk a couple of steps, and repeat with the other leg, whilst waving my arms in a circle.  I liked this move.

I’m not sure when I’ll next be attending this class.  Despite a very long conversation with the instructor, I still don’t understand when it is scheduled or if I have any choice in attending it.

I’ll keep you posted.

A week of contrasts - a Christmas present and my rug in a bucket

After a month of roaming Morocco with my backpack, I have returned to Larache.  It’s good to be back.

Over the past 4 weeks I met lots of inspiring people, helped a new kids’ centre get started, was a tourist for a few days and had a multi-national Christmas and New Year.  I also experienced a range of temperatures requiring use of thermal underwear near the mountains and warmth enough to swim in the sea in the south!

If my first week back at base is indicative of an average week in 2010, it’s going to be interesting… All of the following incidents could be expanded in much more detail!

Highlights…

• I received some Christmas cards and presents from the UK!   And New Year gifts from mothers at the centre here. Woo!!!  Hamdu-llah.

• I think we have persuaded a mother to keep bringing her child (with cerebral palsy) to the centre.  She had been mulling over acceptance of the way her child had been ‘given’ to her (by Allah) and a fatalistic mindset about his potential.

• We visited the local hospital with a particular mother and child as I was certain we shouldn’t be doing treatment with her!  Thankfully, the doctor agreed and the x-rays showed dislocated hips.

• I started at the ladies’ gym ‘Cleopatra’ which is on my street.  Hilarious.  I didn’t seem to have the freedom to choose my own programme, but was directed by a gym instructor (shouting ‘Aston!’), who sat in a plastic garden chair and watched my every move for 90mins.

• At passport control yesterday I got tested for H1N1 by having a laser gun pointed at the middle of my forehead.

Challenges…

• My windows are not rain-proof without shutters…  Argh!

• Everything seemed to go wrong on Friday when we urgently needed to write a letter in Arabic – our centre’s computer stopped working, the phone broke, we spent ages trying to find an internet cafe that was open and had a computer that worked etc…!

• Visa run yesterday.  A bit nerve-wracking.

I like to wash myself at the same time

Initially, I thought this was a good sign because my cold must be clearing.  However, it was disconcerting.  The smell kept moving around our flat.  First it was near the dining room chairs at a height.  Then it was down near the floor.  Then it moved above the frosh (sofa thing).  Then it was in two places – in Marie’s room and by the TV at the SAME time.  It was like a ghost of a smell.

Today was yet another National Holiday today, the second Independence Day we’ve had in a couple of weeks.  Consequently, I wasn’t at work which was a good thing as I was recovering from a cold and a tummy upset (my first one).  So, I got to cleaning our flat instead.  Cleaning the floors consists of sweeping up a zillion dust particles followed by mopping with a cloth and squeegee… a lengthy process.   I was pretty comfy in this attire – it wasn’t worn with the intention of being photographed.

The longer I cleaned, the worse the smell became.  It became very suspicious.  We wondered if I’d unearthed some stagnant air as I’d moved our furniture around…

After cleaning, we needed to go out for something and I was looking forward to some fresh air.  As we turned the corner outside our apartment block we discovered the source of the smell.  It did not originate from within our abode after all, but from a few doors down.  Some very whiffy visitors have arrived in town.

The big festival of Eid is in a week’s time and a small sheep shop has opened today at the end of our street!  Now there is a shop where there was no shop before.  They seem to just sell rams (they all have nice curly horns).  I have enjoyed seeing sheep all over the place this week actually – I saw one riding a special motorbike (with a cart on the back) the other day.  Pretty cool.

So, we may have to adapt to this new smell in our home.  I still don’t understand why it kept moving around earlier.  Maybe there’s a ‘ghost of Eid past’ in our house.  We’ll be away over Eid weekend so hopefully it will have left by the time we return.

Today, I decided to brave the local market to buy some meat.  So far, I have chickened out of buying meat  because I fear being misunderstood and paying extortionate amounts for something I haven’t asked for.  I was feeling more confident today for some reason.

Anyway, I strolled into the chaotic market with my Tesco’s hessein bag and tried to appear as relaxed as the locals.  There are very narrow aisles between the tables (not even 2m apart) and pieces of tarpaulin hang above the market to keep it cool.  It was particularly awkward to walk through today for a few reasons – parts of the tarpaulin were hanging very low so I often had to bend over and feel my way through to the other side, lots of people kept stopping to buy things (really!) or were walking very slowly, and at least twice a motorbike was being ridden through in the opposite direction.   Very precarious.

We needed lamb for something we’re making tomorrow.  I had all the other ingredients so I headed over to the meat section.  And as so often happens in my life, could I remember the word I needed in Derija?  No.  Could I remember it in French?  No.  Did anyone speak English?  No.  So, I started trying to act out what I was after at one of the market stands.  I was saying ‘no’ when I said ‘boeuff’, ‘no’ when I said ‘poulet’ and ‘yes’ when I imitated a sheep.  I made lots of ‘baa’ noises and even did a ‘curly hair’ sign on my head.  Some children nearby were laughing with glee and the poor market seller found it very confusing, but amusing.  I giggled hysterically/nervously as you can imagine.

After this experience, I have concluded that sheep probably don’t ‘baa’ in Morocco.  They must make some other noise.  I’ve already found out that dogs don’t ‘woof,’ here, they ‘worr.’  I should have known that sheep wouldn’t ‘baa.’

I must learn animal noises.  Why didn’t I think of that before?

I came home with some meat.  I still don’t know what it is.  We’ll find out tomorrow if it’s lamb or not.

Our first lamb tagine. But someone else bought the lamb for us!

Staying in a Moroccan family’s home for a few days last week was a great opportunity to brush up on the ‘ol Derija and be part of normal family life.  Moroccans are very sociable and so there was a constant flow of friends and family visiting.  You can’t have visitors without a spot of super-sweet mint tea (which I can now make by myself, oh yes) and a snackeroo of some kind – often one of the many types of bread that taste delish.

Father and Son

I spent a lot of time listening to conversations, stuttering my way through simple phrases, and hanging out with the family’s two year old son who was a lot of fun and made lots of noise.

He didn’t seem too unnerved by the fact that when he chatted to me I just looked at him blankly.  He was a bit of a genius… speaking Derija, French, some Korean and able to name the countries of about 40 flags pictured on his football.  Insane.  His Dad is quite involved in bringing him up and it was great to watch them playing together.

Playing on the roof

He also gets to play with other children from the apartment block up on the roof alongside drying washing and satellite dishes.

One of the ‘highlights’  (I think) of the week was accompanying my host and her son to the local hamam. Once a week, Moroccan’s visit a hamam for a thorough wash and scrub down.  Some people don’t have showers in their homes so it is their chance to clean off a week’s worth of sweat and grime. 

Spot the Satellite Dish

For the women, it involves at least a couple of cycles of sloshing hot water over themselves, coating themselves in special soap made from olives and then exfoliating (sometimes helping each other with exfoliating their backs).  All this whilst being starkers in a room full of ladies.  I think it will take some getting used to.

Storks and a View

I have now completed Salem 1, the first half of my language study!!!  Derija (Moroccan Arabic dialect) continues to challenge me but in theory (Ha!) I can now introduce my family, buy fruit/veg at the market, talk about my job… and most importantly remember a few of the MANY greetings.  It goes a long way here if you can greet people well!

There are 28 letters in the alphabet – the written form has a lot of squiggles and dots which look beautiful and I really enjoy writing it.  Trying to verbalise what I’ve written is a greater challenge.   There’s a lot of gargling and throat vibrating and I think my mouth looks similar to a frog’s as I try to produce the new (and unnatural) sounds.

Dodging cars

I continue to make serious faux-pas on a regular basis, but occasionally people understand me which is refreshing.  We had a good giggle the other day when we were sat at a family meal and I proudly tried to practice my Derija.  I asked the daughter if she had grandparents and she just kept looking puzzled and tried to clarify my question numerous times.  After a long few seconds (it felt like minutes), it turned out I was asking her if she was gay.  I don’t even know the vocab to ask that question so my grammar and pronounciation must have been way off!  The whole family were in stitches

The Chellah

I have a 45 minute walk to school every morning which takes me down the long Mohammed VI (the current king) road and past an old fort which I’ll tell you about another time.  I then have a great view of the valley leading up to the sea.  Couldn’t be better.

I’m not putting up many ‘people’ photos as generally people aren’t keen on being snapped at.  And even less keen on being shown on t’internet!

We have been to the beach!!!  Wahooooooooo!!  We have made friends with an amazing Moroccan family who have adopted us as their own and on Saturday we accompanied them to the local beach in Rabat.  It was packed with Moroccans of all ages, multiple football matches playing across each other, blaring music from loudspeakers, boys playing drums and guys selling a range of pastries, sweets and ice-cream.  The sea was beautiful, clean and there were some nicely formed small waves which I body-surfed on.  We spent hours jumping around in the sea, singing and doing handstands!  Here are a few piccies for you…

The Main Man

Looking up at the walls of the medina from the beach at the end of the day

Finally, I’m here!!  I arrived last Saturday after a fairly uneventful journey.  There was an incident with the luggage belt, getting lost in arrivals, a near collision in the car park, and avoiding a man trying to cycle across the motorway whilst precariously balancing a water container.  But, it was actually a very easy journey and I was collected from the airport by a very friendly Northern Irish couple who are working with the same charity as me.

YUMmy Moroccan lentil soup

It has been a week of exploring and orientating myself with Rabat, getting to know my new housemate and starting language lessons.  I have had a week of Moroccan Arabic lessons and I felt like my head was exploding by day two.  Thankfully on day three, I gained a classmate which has been great although she has been here for two years and is picking up the language a wee bit faster than me.  Eeek.   Amusingly, my teacher is using the immersion technique (we’re not allowed to speak English in the lesson), so if I misunderstand the meaning of a word and then try to use it in a different sentence, it leads to a lot of giggling.  I am currently surrounded by 20 mini posters that summarise what I was taught this week and therefore need to know by Monday.  I have been doing at least three hours homework every night and I was shattered by last night.  So far, my attempts to use the language in real life haven’t been entirely successful, but I’m hoping that by the end of next week, I’ll be more coherent!

My housemate for these first few weeks is an American nurse called Kristen who is doing an internship at the local hospital.  We have had a fun week together cooking, singing, dancing, and chatting for hours about our observations and experiences of life, love and Morocco.  It is surprising how often we don’t understand each other because our English vocabulary and accents are so different.  We reached a key moment on Friday when they only way I could explain what I was talking about was by using a word that we both knew in Moroccan Arabic!!  Classic.

There’s so much to say but I’d better sign off now