Just Turned It In

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I just finished writing up my gender final. It is in an email as I type being sent to Prof Belghazi. With that, I am done with all obligations to my elective classes, and only the last Arabic class this afternoon and the final tomorrow remain of my academic obligations here in Morocco.

A large number of us plan to go to a salon this afternoon to get some last-minute stress relievers while they're still insanely cheap. We're all getting really nostalgic now that the end of rapidly approaching. Every time we go on a run for ghaif we reminisce about how we won't be able to disappear for ten minutes and get a filling snack for a quarter. I walked with Hilary along fruit street yesterday. For 10dhm we got a kilo of strawberries. For 20dhm we got a kilo of almonds. For 15dhm we got a jar of knock-off Nutella. For 5 dhm we got a half kilo of dates. We had been given money by the group to support a nightlong study session and had every intention of leaving no stomach behind. We were probably quite a site, two blonde girls carrying around a half dozen bags of varying produce and bartering for bananas and whatnot. It was grand fun.

The family has been pretty calm. We ate the equivalent of Moroccan rice-a-roni last night. Things were going well - until I found the meat that had been buried under the mound. Every one smiled when I unearthed it and saw it. I gave them an earful for it and told them that that was the reason that I've still been feeling under the weather. They keep giving me food associated with meat! Janaat is keeping up the crying most nights, and it has affected my sleep. I have only one more night and one of each meal left. I do like my family but I am quite ready to move on. I feel like a horrid person when I say that, as I appear to be the only one in the group who actually wants to leave his/her family.

I have missed outward affection. The entire group has gotten quite close (we share everything from spoons to cups to razors to ghaif; how couldn't we?) and yet all of our families are kind of distant. Physical affection - even hugs - don't exist in this part of the world. Granted, they do do the kissy thing when they greet one another and they are very warm people in general, but still, I don't think I've ever touched my homestay mother. Not once even in a handshake or hug or anything.

We were informed that we'll be leaving our hotel at 4.30am Saturday morning. Those of us who are leaving Morocco that day are considering just not going to bed and staying up all night chatting and snacking the last bit that we can of delicious Moroccan foodstuffs (ghaif, bghrir, pistachio yogurt, etc.).

The End of Gender

I will not pretend to hide my excitement at having just left gender class for the very last time in my entire life. Granted, I still have the take-home final to finish and send off, but I confess to having performed a jig involving a mix of oriental and Moroccan dance following the class.

We had our oral proficiency interviews in Arabic yesterday. Mine involved reading aloud an article on an Arab festival in DC, and I sensed disappointment from Hanane when I said that I had never been. I also talked about what I (did not) learn in culture class and what I (did not) learn in gender class. Everybody's interview went differently. Monica had to do a dictation, Matt gave a grammar lesson on the passive voice, and Anna just talked about her homestay family.

I ate ghaif with cheese (delicious) while watching The Brave Little Toaster at the center last night. I went home and started packing my things. Once home, I did not plug Blanchette in for fear that the house would fall down or summat. Mother came in to ask me if I wanted dinner and specified that they would be eating sheep stomach. I said thanks, but no thanks. Hanane came in later to ask if I wanted some fries. I tried to tell her that fries alone does not a meal count, but she wasn't having any of it. She brought me fries, an egg, and mango juice.

Lunch just now was fun. Mohammed apologized profusely for arriving ten minutes late with the bread. We sat down to a table of potato-egg quiche, salads, and sheep feet with hummus (hummus = chickpeas but it did not look like such). The family urged me to eat the hummus off of the sheep feet and could not understand why I refused to take it. Hanane told me that I was silly for being on régime when I am not the one who just had a baby. Then she forced me to eat a quarter of bread.

Finals Begin

This morning I: did not eat breakfast because Mother took 45min to go buy bread and I was almost late to class; took my culture final; did not just draw Prof Mekouar's portrait and hand it in; turned in my gender final paper; turned in my cellular telephone; paid my bills; sent out Peace Corps recommendation information; shared much music with Hilary; made a group appt for Salon Karim this Wednesday afternoon for haircuts, massages, manis/pedis, etc.; and commenced the countdown that only takes up five fingers on my hand.

This weekend was pretty intense. I have been forbidden to plug in my computer in the house because it, you know, causes leaks and power surges and outages and solar eclipses and all that stuff. I hammamed with Monica and Rebecca, which was refreshing because I hadn't been for two weeks (it's shuma to hammam during that time of month). We went to Hilary's afterwards to partake in Arabic review, culture studying, Nutella, peanut butter, ghaif, and Twining's Earl Grey. We got a lot of work done, honest we did. We had been goofy all evening Friday by partaking in ten ghaif and The Lion King. The girls here say that I have a photographic memory because I can have a perfectly timed recitation of many of the movies that we've watched. I say that it's not photographic memory but just an unhealthy affection for pre-1995 Disney movies.

My family has failed many times in the past week to observe my vegetarianism. I did eat a scrap of meat at one meal, just to try and appease them, and then I was sick afterwards. They yelled at me this morning for not eating with the family. I can't eat what I know I will throw up! I am so furious that our homestay was extended to Thursday, for if it hadn't, I could be so comfortable in a hotel. I would be eating Brahim's EXCELLENCE every lunch and going out to restaurants for dinners and cafés for breakfast. I would be eating well and not awkwardly. Damn it.

Changes in Plan

Fadoua just came in to tell us that our homestays have been extended until next Thursday. I personally don't like this because it leaves EVERYTHING to happen on Thursday. I will probably sleep all the way through my last day in Morocco because I will have been going nonstop from 8am 'til 9pm+ the previous day. Blargh!

In addition to that, Fadoua brought in the mail for the first time in two weeks. I have three cards from Melissa, my favorite, a postcard from Kate, a postcard from Sir William, and a letter from Grandma Larson. Thank you all! I love hearing from you!

I have arranged a phone interview for Tuesday 5 May to do an internship at a speech pathology clinic in Boston this summer. I really hope to goodness that I get it despite not being a speech pathology undergraduate.

We will soon be going to Fadoua's house to eat couscous all together and celebrate yet another birthday. I was nominated to go out and fetch the cake this morning, and as it was a warm day, and everyone was in a good mood, I certainly got a lot of attention.

A few people have gotten stomach bugs of sorts and are missing out on all sorts of get-togethers. This evening we were all thinking of going to a French restaurant to kick off our last weekend together. We have so much going on that I can hardly think straight at times.

As Willy Wonka once said, "So much time and so little to do! Wait, strike that; reverse it."

More Pastilla!

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Lunch was pastilla at the center today. Unfortunately, it was the exact same pastilla as was served during orientation week when I was going through my first bout of food poisoning. I loved the vegetarian option though.

In one week we are finishing up the Arabic final, and that will be it for schooling in Morocco. I am so sad.

Electrical Problems

Hanane came into my room last night, pointed at my plug, and said that the power keeps going out and that the sink keeps dripping because I plug in my computer. I did not really know how to react to such information. Rebecca had been telling us over the past week how her family was telling her the same thing. Thing is, when the power did go out in my house, and when the sink did drip, my computer was not plugged in, nor was anything else. Sooo.... yea. It was really awkward for a few minutes while Hanane stood there staring at me.

Yesterday was Susanna's birthday, and Saturday will be Kim's birthday. The group always buys a cake for the birthday individual, and I swear, I have eaten more cake this semester than I have in any other three-month period in my life.

Monica has been having back problems lately. Her bed is the lumpiest thing I have ever seen. Rebecca walked on her back to relieve some of the pressure points and worked out some knots, but poor Monica seems in pain most of the time.

Our culture class yesterday was the last normal one of the semester. We had a guest speaker, the "foremost speaker and expert on Maghribi film." The man spoke more in French than he did in English, but it was his first ever presentation given in English before, so he did well. People turned in their papers, and Mekouar told us that the final on Monday would be mostly identifying quotes and "not a trick." Thing is, we read almost thirty short stories, watched four films, and read three lengthy novels for this class. I feel that justifying the chosen quotes as "not tricks" really doesn't do much good to us at all. I have no idea how I will prepare for this.

Arabic class yesterday consisted of talking about news, Algerian history, important people, and a question-and-answer game. The first point was awarded to the question "how many world wars have their been?” Other questions included “who was the fourth caliphate? Who won the Nobel Peace Prize last year? What color do people in mourning wear in China (which Anna, the resident Chinese girl, got wrong)?" We were informed that our final will only go through chapter five, which we have not yet started, but next week we're going into it, I guess.

BU has made national news not because we won the national hockey championship but because a second-year medical school student killed a woman he solicited on the classifieds website Craigslist in addition to robbing a prostitute, all while having a fiancée on the side. Yay for great media representation.

Pastilla

Yesterday was fun. The entirety of Rabat was without Internet for a few hours. Arabic class was really sad because our teacher, Hanane, asked us what we would want to do during our last two weeks of class. We gave a few half-hearted responses, as we had been very taken aback by the abrupt realization that the semester is essentially done with. Seven classes of Arabic remain and three each of the elective classes.

I went home to find Mohammed all dolled up, as if the fête was going to continue for a third day. This was not the case, however. He just dressed up for once. Y'all need to understand that 95% of Moroccans either stay in their pajamas all day or that they put on their day clothes on top of their pajamas as they go about their usual business. We ate dinner of the ever-fabulous pastilla (in case you don't know, it's a pastry dish stuffed with pigeon or chicken, egg, cinnamon, saffron, ginger and is a delicacy reserved only for big celebrations), sheep, fruit, Coke, and Miranda (carbonated lemonade).

The forecast claims that it will be sunny and in the mid-sixties for the remainder of our time. As there are only eleven days remaining, that means only eleven days until I am gone from this country. It makes me ill at ease to think of this because of the likelihood that I will never return to Morocco. It would be different if I had just visited it for a week, like the tourists do. But I have lived here. I've gotten to know and understand it. I can get along speaking to anyone but a Berber. I know the right way to walk, to talk, to introduce myself, to cross the street, to eat (whether utensils present or not), to go to the bathroom, to shop, to barter, to do laundry by hand, and so many other things. I have called this place home for three months now. I bet y'all didn't count on hearing this from me, but I don't want to leave.

Fête de bébé

So the party kept going, apparently. I came home Saturday evening to find a six-foot tall speaker booming into my 500 sq ft apartment and a band going at it at full volume to an audience of upwards of seventy people all dressed in fabulous kaftans. Every color of the rainbow in normal, pastel, and darker shades were in attendance along with all sorts of embellishments. I was seated in a chair, and within ten minutes the tables were being set up for the meal.

The large decorative sieve-like bowl was put on the table and water was poured so that people could wash their hands. Bread was brought out on silver trays. The first course was a dish of three chickens cooked with olives, onions, and preserved lemons, which I picked at lightly. The second course almost made me pass out. Half a rack of mutton sat on the table in front of me. I did not so much as even touch my bread to go at it. A rather large lady seated next to me kept encouraging me to eat, but I just couldn't. I stand firm that I shall never eat anything that I have ever fed. I may never even again eat lamb or mutton after this experience. Following was the dessert course of a massive plate of fruit. The lady next to me ate a pear, an apple, a banana, an orange, and ten strawberries.

The party was over almost as quickly as it had been that afternoon. People were filing out as soon as the fruit was laid out. Mother would not let me clean up at all. Instead, the two hired caterers and Mother and her two good friends worked endlessly until almost 1am to get the dishes washed and put back in boxes and tables cleared and linens laundered.

The party also continued Sunday night. I had bumped into Mohammed in the street while out with the girls, and he hadn't mentioned a thing to me, so that made it rather awkward when I walked home around 9.30pm to find the place packed with people in a somber atmosphere. This was the religious aspect of the celebration. A quartet of men in white robes were singing Quranic verse. Those listening did not listen in silence, as there was a constant undertone of chatting the whole evening long. The men sang until about 12 midnight, and dinner was served around 12.45am and cleared up around 1.30am. Mother was, of course, up and about at 7am this morning preparing breakfast and herself to return to work after almost three weeks off.

Leftovers have dominated the meals not specifically for the fête, and so yesterday when a mountain of meat was laid in front of me (i.e. mostly mutton) I did not touch a thing. I did, however, eat ten (or was it twelve) ghaif and bubble pancakes for breakfast yesterday morning all smothered with melted butter-honey sauce. I also had hard-boiled eggs and harira, and as we ate pretty late, around 10.30am, I did not understand how they could be ready to eat all of this food at 1pm. I just snacked on dates that I had bought earlier.

Otherwise, I spent my weekend writing papers, getting readings done, and reviewing Arabic. I went out with the ladies to walk around Rabat. We saw the Tour Hassan II, the landmark to the King's father. We saw the mausoleum of Mohammed V, which was PACKED with tourists. I hate that I am now treated again as I was at the beginning of the semester. This influx of tourists has caused even the vendors whom I visit regularly to stop speaking to me in Arabic.

Abrupt Endings and Disappointment

Casablanca was rather unfun for the hype that was built all around it. We took our very same bus and driver from the excursion to get there, so there was at least a nice air of nostalgia around the whole thing. We even spent half an hour pulling three-point turns and asking pedestrians for directions - just like the excursion!

We went to a Jewish museum and spent two and a half hours following a man who yelled, whistled, or snapped his fingers to ensure that people were paying attention to him. He spoke fusHa, darija, French, English, and Hebrew, so I found him interesting at first but soon lost all of it. We saw jewlery and Barbie dolls dressed in traditional Moroccan Jewish ceremonial costumes. It should have been a lot more interesting than it was.

After that we went to a women's center for lunch. Honestly, in my opinion, once you've seen one women's center, you've seen them all. We had a grand time trying to finish the mound of couscous between the thirteen of us but failed miserably. Those of us who are good at the ball-making game showed off, and those of us who are vegetarians got a nasty surprise halfway into it when Susanna chomped down on a piece of chicken bone (the entire dish, we had been told, was vegetarian). The head of center came to talk to us for fifteen minutes, showed us around a little bit, and then we left.

We went to an art exhibit after that, if you can call it an art exhibit. There were five pieces all made from pipery and then a short video alternating between cartoons and Disney movie clippings and it was very strange. We left after being handed fistfuls of literature and went to a an overpriced café with the worst service I've yet had. Every single order was messed up in some way and the lady tried to tell me that my crêpe cost 28dhm. I grabbed a menu and indicated that it cost 25dhm, and she just shrugged. The traffic in Casablanca was very bad, so the fifty-minute drive home turned into a two-and-a-half hour drive.

BABY PARTY WAS THIS MORNING! Starting at 6am guests started arriving and Mother finished frying the last of the haliwa. Caterers set up several tables with pretty cloths and plates and bowls and whatnot. At 10.30am the band (trumpet, snare drum, bass drum, tambourine) started playing, and they went for almost an hour before we stopped them to eat. The meal was FABULOUS! We had hard-boiled eggs, harira (special Moroccan soup), cheese, ghaifa, the bubbly pancakes, melted honey-butter sauce, milk, coffee, tea, and haliwa! I sat at the same table as Hanane, the woman of the hour. She was stunning in a white kaftan and her hair straightened and cascading down her back almost to her waist. Mohammed ran around making sure that everything was going well but nobody was working as hard as Mother was. I do not know if she sat down even once. When people had finished eating, the band played again, and this time everybody danced along. My friends Anna and Amanda were allowed to come, and they were totally enraptured with the whole deal. America, or more specifically, white Americans, are SO BORING! We have this aversion to going all out when we celebrate something, and we absolutely loathe moving in any way. There is no such thing as a person who doesn't know how to dance in Morocco. Even the babies who were present at this party were dancing. Hanane presented Baby shortly before we all went downstairs to watch the sheep be killed. Unlike the cow, this animal was killed only minutes after everyone got downstairs. There was no build up to it. The band didn't even stop playing. I couldn't hear the man state "In the name of God *slit* I name you ____." The throat was slit, everyone clapped, and within ten minutes not a single guest remained. It was so bizarre. I had to ask Mohammed what was going on. He said that he was all over with. I asked what Baby had been named, and he told me Janaat. When you pronounce that, make sure you use the French j sound and not the English one. If you don't know what that it, it's the sound at the end of "rouge" or in the middle of "pleasure." But yea, the party was over, so I went to belly dance class and now sit in Café Arab with Hilary getting my paper done.

Not Kosher

Yesterday evening after Arabic, Hilary, Kim, and I took a cab (10min and 30dhm!) to Mega Mall. It had central heating, and thus right away I was enamoured. The dreary weather of the past few days had chilled me to the bones, and I was very comfortable to meander about the name brands racks that were much more terrifying than normal when transcribed into prices in dirham. I was gravely disappointed with the selection available. We went in and out of almost every store (mind you, this place is 8-shaped and three stories tall; 'tis no small feat) and only Kim bought a dress ad Hilary a simple black sweater. We stopped at a western candy shop and bought peach rings and gummy worms but poor Kim cannot eat them until Passover is over.

I got home to see trays of haliwa being placed into buckets for storage until the fête this Saturday. We had actual spaghetti for dinner. I had my own plate while the family shared from a plate that included meat and veggies. I started eating my spaghetti, expecting it to be very bland, but only to discover that it was rich in flavor indeed. Three bites in I realized that this was because the pasta had been cooked with the meat and veggies. I had to stop eating and explain to the family that this did not count as my not eating meat. They assured me that I would be fine and that I was silly to think such a way. Well, I sure was not feeling well this morning, so, yea, it was not silly of me to protest.

Gender class this morning discussed the World Bank and NGO's and how the two seem imcompatible. Women did not come up a single time.

In Arabic class, we had an open discussion about women and beauty. I had been led to think that we would talk about how women beautify themselves in Morocco (hammam, henna, kohl, etc.) and even possibly western influences (makeup, plastic surgery, weight loss) but none of this was covered. It was Means of Expression 101, and we were asked the following: what is beauty? what is the relationship between art and beauty? why is beauty almost always associated with women? can men be beautiful? where do you see beauty? It was sadly uninspiring and uninsightful.

Now I sit in the conference room "listening" to a lecture being given on some Islamic newspaper. It is the absolute worst ever lecture that I have ever sat in on. Some of you may recall my middle school bands concerts featuring hours of speeches by Mr. Nash. I assure you that this gentleman in front of me is much worse, for he so loves his own voice that I don't think he's even aware that those of us not staring at computer screens have our eyes closed. He will very likely go over his time limit, which will make us either late or miss our belly dance class this evening. I will be furious if I miss it. There is a class Saturday but I do not think Mohammed would forgive me for missing the fête de bébé. I already must miss the beginning to attend a lecture at the Fulbright conference. Also, I have to finish and edit my culture paper this weekend. I have to do gender readings and summaries because we were only told today that we actually have a final.

Tomorrow is something special. The entire group is going on a mandatory trip to Casablanca to go to an art exhibit, a Jewish museum, have a special ethnic lunch (though I don't know how much more ethnic experience my stomach can handle), and some general sight seeing in Casa. Initially this was to take place next Friday (far superior for both papers would be out of the way) but it was changed. So now, I lose a day of working time, I lose the chance to go to my most-wanted Fulbright convention lectures, and I lose my Internet for a day so y'all won't get an update until Monday. So sorry.

Belly Dance and Matzah

Arabic class yesterday was rather strange as we only had enough time to go over all of the homework from the previous night. During our mid-class break I went and bought a mille feuille from a bakery we've discovered hiding behind the madrassa. A six-inch mille feuille almost three inches tall cost 2dhm. If you go to any of the cafés in the city proper the mille feuilles are almost a third that size and at least three times the price. Pshaw!

All the girls in the group save three, thus nine, went to a belly dance class yesterday. It was absolutely incredible! It's very frustrating that we only now discovered it because it would have been a really wonderful thing to have done all semester long. However, most of us signed up for lessons for the remainder of our time here. I feel sore today for the first time in months. I love it!

The usual suspects and I went to Kim's house where she made matzah brei. Matzah brei is delicious and pretty much French toast but with matzah. Kim made it for us with caramelized onions and dates to snack on while we watched Pride and Prejudice. Rebecca and I had bought a kilo of dates, and our friend Matt had brought peppery cheese and mozzarella, so we had quite a sumptuous feast between the five of us.

I got my first ever bug bite in Morocco last night at Kim's house on my elbow. This morning I woke with one on my calf, implying that the critter was in my room. This is not okay. I brought bug spray with me but as my house has practically no ventilation, I do not know how much the family would appreciate my spraying the stuff around. The haliwa production is still going strong. I have to step around trays to get to my room.

The Elderhostel Program has started up again along with the tourist wave. There is currently a group of twenty-eight here at the center, and they often show up at houses for meals and/or tea. My family normally has them but it's too hectic to have any with the baby and whatnot. Most everyone else ususally comes home from lunch with stories from a particularly interesting Elderhostel guest. All my programmates say that it is refreshing to have someone speaking English who is not from our group to talk to, even if for just a short while. I've taken to going to friend's houses in the afternoons for tea and snack just so that I, too, can partake in this exchange.

Bah Humbug!

Gender class just now discussed women and their portrayal in the media here in Morocco. We all had a cow about how the stereotypes seem to be consistent cross-culturally with women being shown in commercials concerning beauty and cleaning products. Hmm, I wonder why. The professor still hasn't told us when he wants us to turn in our papers or what page length they ought to be. Prof Mekouar from culture class at least got that part across, even if he does want us to go way out of our way to print out our papers. I hate cybercafés here. They're much more complicated than they need to be.

I took a really nice walk last night on the outer edge of the wall of the medina. Rabat actually looked urban to me. There were sidewalks and cars and neon signs and the occasional square of green as an effort towards city beautification. It was around 7.30pm, thus nighttime, and I walked by myself - a lone white women without her head covered, and not once did anyone say anything to me! It's not the city in general that's sketch, it's just the medina! Had I made that walk at any time of day anywhere in the medina I would have gotten much unwanted attention, like I did today when I walked with Amanda and we were called "spice girls." Spice girls is a pretty common calling. Others include Barbie, California, beautiful eyes, beautiful lips, beautiful American, enchanting, blonde, and you get the idea. Sometimes the callings are full out requests for dating, dinner, or a café rendezvous. It's gotten to the point that I am so used to ignoring anyone talking to me in the streets that even the girls from my own program have a hard time getting my attention in the street.

Mother made what she calls "spaghetti" last night but was in fact shell noodles with red sauce. The sauce here is always strangely sweet, and I really look forward to eating and drinking things not swimming in sweetness. The ladies and I are making plans for a macaroni and cheese dinner this weekend at Kim's house. Now that we have found the cheese capital of the medina, we intend on using it as much as possible in our two and a half remaining weeks. A half kilo of Gruyère is roughly $9, so it's not cheap but it's delicious enough that we don't get stingy.

Most of us girls here are on régime (diet) of some sort. Some do it to lose the bread baby, some do it to regain control of their body functions, and some of us do it to avoid the monotony of at-home meals. All of our families react to it strangely and seem confused even though it's very simple to understand that we want to take only two pieces of bread per meal instead of five.

Right now we are discussing all of the things that we steal from the dining halls. Brahim just offered us some of the lunch for the SIT kids. It's spiced carrots (cinnamon and ginger), peas, pseudo-tabouleh, and fuul (crazy shelled beans). I need to go home and try to eat the greasy dish that will await me. Since I have gone vegetarian, my family prepares and serves my food separately from their own and I have had every single possible variant of potatoes imaginable. I have had plain potatoes, potatoes with carrots, peas, tomatoes, cumin, tumeric, cinnamon, onions, preserved lemons, peppers, fuul, cream, and even dates. I swear if any of y'all even think of preparing potatoes when I get home, I will slay you.

Here in Morocco exists a response to someone saying "no," that sounds an awful lot like "aw humbug." Just last night Mohammed was having a dispute with Mother and they both said it a lot. It's quite funny to hear a conversation going on, none of which you understand, and then have a line from A Christmas Carol jump out at you. I tried to explain to the family why I had started laughing but I don't think I got the point across.

Vegetarianism

Having recently spent more time making offerings to the porcelain gods than a week-long frat party, I have come to seriously doubt my body's ability to regain the ability to handle certain foods. It is with this that I establish my conversion to vegetarianism. The mere smell of meat nowadays sends waves of nausea through my entire body. I want to inform everybody of this so that there are no awkward surprises in the future. It is possible that my body will adjust once back in the US (i.e. with food regulations in practice) and that I can resume my normal diet. Until then, I resign all animal products except eggs, seafood and dairy.

Mohammed keeps wanting to use my camera to photograph Baby whenever they change her outfit. They have their own camera with a full memory card. Mohammed knows how to delete pictures, how to go to a lab to get some developed, and how to go out and find another memory card. Still, he wants mine because it's better than his. I hate to tell him "too bad" time and again, so instead, I have "forgotten" my camera indefinitely at my friend's house. The fête de bébé will be this Saturday, which is annoying because I had had plans to attend the Fulbright convention here in Rabat and do any last shopping with the girlies.

This weekend was quite nice. I got a fair bit of writing done concerning my two term papers for class. I did my Arabic homework over the span of two hours because it was an insane amount. Other than that, I was with the ladies, Monica, Rebecca, and Hilary. We took Hilary on her first trip ever to the beach here and did lots of meandering about the medina. This past week started the tourist season (they're EVERYWHERE now and I miss being the only white person in the streets). We all realized Friday evening that none of us had documented much of Rabat, so we took the opportunity afforded by the swarm of tourists to pretend to be tourists ourselves and photograph and ogle things that we normally wouldn't. We bought milk, eggs, Gruyère, flour, butter, bananas, strawberries, Nutella, onions, and peppers. We went to Hilary's house and made crêpes and scrambled eggs and it was absolutely the most delicious thing ever. Let me tell you that it is no easy thing cooking in Morocco. For one, there is no such thing as a level surface anywhere - not the counter tops, not the pans, pots, or trays, not even the stove. It was trying indeed to get things fully and evenly cooked. We did crêpes and eggs on Saturday and then repeated the egg experience on Sunday. Again, I love the cheapness of food here. It's hard to spend more than 100dhm on a single meal that you're preparing yourself. Fifteen eggs cost 13dhm and three peppers and an onion cost 3dhm. After we had prepared everything, we watched many movies, to include Prince Caspian, The Aristocats, and Peter Pan (recent, live-action one). We found Twinning's tea and were very happy to sit and sip all evening long.

In culture class just now we discussed Moroccan music genres. I myself presented Andalusian music and got a genuine "good job" and "thank you" from Prof Mekouar, so that kind of made my day. This week's topic is music, then film for next week, and then it's finals week. Our paper is due next Monday with the final the next Monday so that Wednesday we can discuss all of that stuff. Oh no, not Wednesday, for on that day a conference is being held in Mekouar's honor (*makes regurgitating noise*), so instead we'll have class nonstop on the very last day, Thursday 1 May. It'll be worse than high school, for it will be 8.30am-4.30pm sans cesse.

La retourne

HANANE IS BACK!! She is beautiful and glowing and healthy and I have no idea why she had to stick around the hospital for such a long while. Baby is beautiful and will remain unnamed until the special fête de bébé, which I would imagine will be happening this weekend now that everybody's home.

I kept having stomach aches, so I got "doctor's orders" that any and all meats were to be avoided for the rest of my stay here in Morocco. Thus I am now fully vegetarian and my belly is so much happier. Mother acts like it's a real scandal but she will have to deal.

It's really cold here. People are back into their full winter gear. The sun keeps not being out during the weekend, putting a serious damper into efforts to go out into the city and see things. I just went out with the ladies to a (very long) hanuut run to get snacks. We go back and forth among the same half dozen places for things like yogurt, cookies, ghaifa (Moroccan pancake) with honey, apricots, dates, cheese, cokes, Hawai (carbonated pineapple juice), and bread, of course.

The funeral is finally over and done with. The house was filled with people and couscous for three days solid and the party never stopped before 1am. I have not slept too well because of the guests, the babies, the 3am phone calls, and the breaking of glass.

BT dubs, pistachio yogurt is one of the most delicious foodstuffs ever gifted to mankind.

Mail and Packages

So, I just got another letter and another package in the mail, and I have to say that I am the envy of the group for these manifestations of affection. I thank all of y'all who have sent things my way. It really is appreciated.

Yesterday evening my stomach wasn't feeling well (again) and Mother suggested that I go to the doctor. I was only too happy to have an excuse to get away from the somber funeral atmosphere (they last three days here) and go to bed early. I knocked out the moment my head hit the pillow and slept through the night - even Mother coming in to leave my breakfast tray on my little table. I was informed that Hanane's wound from the C-section is taking a long time to heal and a hint was given that it's infected and thus her prolonged stay at the hospital.

I have Arabic homework this weekend in the form of reading a children's book aloud to my family. I started last night with Mohammed, and it was evident that he was bored by my slow pace. He has taken to the habit of coming into my room every evening to tick off the days of the calendar for me and signing his name on each of them. April so far looks much more interesting than either March, February, or January.

Last night there was a concert of Andalusian music at the CCCL. I absolutely loved it. I had never heard anything like it. It is so hard to describe now but I got a video of one song. If the Internet ever gets around to working well for more than ten minutes I will upload it for y'all to view. It was meant to be only for BU students, but as only five of us showed up, several of the SIT kids came to watch as well. They leave either Sunday or Monday for their multiweek researching travels throughout Morocco to write their big papers.

Read Lamb by Christopher Moore. It's the Gospel according to Biff, Jesus' childhood friend, and it's one of the few books that has made me actually laugh out loud. It's full of linguistic puns. Monica and I, the linguist majors and both with French/Arabic minors, have been having a blast finding jokes involving learning of the Arabic language. Here is my favorite. It's funny because 'alif is the name of the first letter of the Arabic alphabet, like our /a/ but longer in length.

Arabic class approacheth. The syllabus says that there is a quiz but there was no mention of it in class. Let's hope that my review from last night pays off, إن شاءالله.

Funeral

My elderly neighbor died Monday from lung disease from all of his smoking. Instead of making sense and having the ceremony in the house where the man lived, it took place in my house instead. Women made couscous nonstop for six hours using giant washing bins up on the terrace. Guests arrived all day long. At 9pm four men started taking turns singing altogether and then reciting Quranic verse solo. This lasted until 12.30am when dinner was served. This lasted until 1.30am when people started trickling out. Cleaning took place until 2.15am when people just started to collapse. A small girl was spending the night and started being obnoxious around 5am. At 6.45am Mother walked into my room to leave a tray with my breakfast on it because she was about to leave for the hospital. I got up then and brushed my teeth and was asked by one of the remaining guests if she could use my toothbrush, and I felt no shame in firmly stating 'no.' Also, Hanane still is not back.

The center has a busy schedule for us for the rest of the month. Only eighteen days remain of the homestay for our group, but one of the SIT programs is ending their homestay today to leave on their three-week research trip through the country to write their big term paper. I watched Casablanca at the center last night in order to be prepared for the lecture we'll have on it in Arabic today. It was incredible how little of it I remembered, or understood, from childhood despite having spent weeks on end sitting in Mom's study doing cross-stitch and watching it time and again. We have a number of films to watch, concerts to attend, lectures to write up reports on, and conferences to consider going to. My poor planner has never known such gluttony.

Yesterday we had a birthday party for Amanda G (7 Apr) and Rebecca (6 Apr). We had these snazzy haliwa of chopped pecans covered in chocolate, jam-filled cookies, mint tea, Coke, and the world's best cake ever. We bought the only balloons that we could find (Disney princess themed) and used floss to tie them up around the terrace. The girls were totally surprised, and we were all very relieved to have been able to keep a secret for any amount of time in Morocco.

Haliwa bizaaf!

The active and passive participles in Arabic are like a really crazy puzzle. The dual form that verbs and nouns take is really exciting and changes based on case. This is what I've been learning for a week. We're going to have a lecture on the movie Casablanca tomorrow in Arabic. It's the third in our six-part weekly Arabic lectures, and they've been quite fun so far.

Hanane still is not home. Mother and her friends have been making haliwa (sweets) bizaaf (lots) nonstop for days and have now started to fry and bake them accordingly, as if the smell of raw sweet dough wasn't bad enough, now the smell of the various cooking methods is traceable from the street. Mother has been giving me sweets as part of my breakfast. Oddly enough, despite the monotony, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day here. It is always bread, butter, apricot jam, and coffee. The only differences are whether milk and sugar are present and the occasional haliwa.

I have my two papers to write up in the next two weeks. For culture, I've decided to write about linguistic identity here in Morocco and for gender I will write about women and child bearing/motherhood. I got my registration done for fall semester at BU (Arabic V, adv oral expression in French, the linguistic concept of 'focus', intro to phonology, and historical linguistics).

We students are trying to plan to do something for Easter but I'm not sure how it will work out. None of us really have kitchen access, and only the sketch church has services in English, so we may just have to go without.

Lots of Reading

Well, I had been told that Hanane was returning from the hospital when I last wrote. As of this morning, she still isn't home. The doctor keeps saying "tomorrow." I just don't believe the hype anymore. She's been there a full week now. I hope she comes home soon. Mother and her friends were making cookies all weekend, and I almost went insane from the constant presence of the smell of butter, sugar, almonds, and cinnamon.

I registered for classes, did several hundred pages in reading to get ahead in this month's assignments to make room for writing papers. I hung out with the ladies and we went to Rabat's swankiest salon where I spent all of 75dhm to get my nails and eyebrows done. I love how cheap things are here. An hour-long massage is 70dhm, so maybe after my last final I shall go back to get some of the tension rolled out of my back.

The weather has finally decided to stay beautiful. The nights are quite chilly, so I have no problem falling asleep as I snuggle in all my layers. I got my laundry all done, so my armoire is full of clean clothes. Blanchette's battery is pretty much dead because of Morocco but it's been easier to go without her. I finished the Twilight series, read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and am now working on Through the Looking Glass. There's a group of a half dozen of us girls who were all reading Twilight at the same time, and now it's impossible to escape it. We find parallels in every movie, story, book, etc., so we're always making jokes about it.

Culture class was actually fun this morning. We have started our unit on folklore and discussed a bunch of Berber tales this morning. All of the stories involve beautiful girls, evil/jealous stepmothers, ogres/ghouls, and an eagle. There are some parallels between these and western tales but most are just their own thing.

The CCCL had some renovations done over the weekend. I had thought it was beautiful before, but having a few repairs done here and a few walls repainted there, it really has brightened the place up even more. We have a full schedule of mandatory lectures to attend and movies to watch from here until the very end of the semester. Even if there isn't a lecture, movie, concert, or demonstration on any particular day, there will be a birthday. Of our group of fourteen, five people have a birthday in this month.

Long Weekend

Hanane returned from the hospital today but I have not been home yet to see her. The center will be closed for renovation for tomorrow and the weekend but I have enough homework to make me need to stay at home and be good anyways. There will be friends and family visiting every day for the rest of my stay in the house, so that should prove interesting. I helped the family move a bed into Hanane and baby's new room. They were being silly and unsafe and I showed them how to do things. The fête de bébé will almost certainly be this weekend. I have already gone vegetarian, and I am sure that my second viewing of an animal slaughter will only affirm my conversion.

We are rushing in Arabic. We just rushed through the single most difficult lesson in the textbook in a single day (in normal BU Arabic class they spend up to two weeks on it). This is grand. What else is grand? Why, the weather. It was sunny and 70 all day today. I hope that the weather forecast is honest for once.

I'm finishing up the Twilight series and starting Through the Looking Glass. I have picked up this odd past time of planning out themed dinner parties, some of which are quite elaborate. I've created six so far and am currently working on a Wonderland one. I hope one day to have the means to throw any one of these parties. Maybe my next one should be really-modest-college-kitchen themed.

Twilight

Twilight, in case you don't know, is a series by Stephenie Meyers about a teenage girl and her romance with a vampire. It's the trashy romance novel of my generation, and I adore it. I have spent too many hours lately finishing it up. I even went so far as to go buy the movie on the street yesterday.

Also yesterday I had a craving for sweet. I splurged and bought real Nutella and a KitKat bar. Both were delicious. Shortly after eating those, Mother walked into my room with a small chocolate cake and a glass of cold milk. For breakfast this morning was no bread but instead a bunch of sweets. To say the least, my sweet tooth has been sated.

I leave in fifteen minutes with Mohammed to visit Hanane at the hospital and see the baby girl. Yay!