Monday, April 14, 2008

swunfugh g ourzazate bzzaf, d yadnin adgar

BLOG ENTRY 2
I just got back from another week in Azrou, my community-based training location. This past week was especially stressful because of the different competencies, tests and interviews that will be conducted during the week of the 13th. The first of these is the Language Proficiency Interview (LPI). I will be sat in a room with a native speaker who is the tester, and he will ask me questions. I will be expected to answer accurately, and then elaborate on these subjects:
Myself, my education, work history, family, age, marital status (why I’m not married yet), purpose for being in Morocco, what I’ve done since I have been here (day by day), what my plans and hopes for the future are, and generally everything about Morocco.
I love the language. It is absolute insanity. The most amazing thing about it for me is the complete lack of vowels. Vowel-less words dominate sentences and many things sound the same. It is incredibly difficult and a lot is expected of me as far as competencies go, but all of that is overshadowed when I see the look on people’s faces when they hear me speaking their native language. People are amazed and ecstatic that an American is trying so hard to speak to them. Recently I was speaking to a group of men sitting at a bar near the Compound and one of them who overheard the conversation pulled me aside, embraced me, and then took my hand and looked right into my eyes and said in perfect English; “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you speaking my language, thank you.” It was a really special moment for me because I had thought those men didn’t trust me and were suspicious of my presence there. One of my biggest sources of motivation to speak the language is to find out more about these incredibly proud, happy, and friendly people.
Though I have only been here for 6 or 7 weeks, I have been out of the States now for the better part of 4 months. I’m finally starting to gain some perspective on what I left. Its not that I’m homesick, but leaving my life back home happened without me thinking about it. I find myself thinking about all kinds of fun things I did in my last year and all the people I did them with. Now I have a life full of brand new stuff; friends, work, country, schedule, etc. I guess I am just realizing how many big changes happened so quickly. None of it is bad, but I kind of wish I had spent more of the last months in the States taking my leaving more seriously. Eh.
Note* I scored Intermdiate-Low on my Language Proficiency interview, which is great because it is above the level I am expected to be at by May, dadg igi adsawlg Tamazight am Imazhgen! (Now I speak like a Berber!)

Friday, April 4, 2008

Ouarzazate, Training, Notes.

Training thus far has been unlike any process I have previously been a part of. Every minute of the day has been planned and regimented, freedom is limited, language sessions are intense, and opportunities for recreation are scarce. Long sessions focusing on security and external threats can begin to develop a sense within you that every minute of life on assignment will be a risk. We sleep in the same complex that we train in, and venture out into the town—which is essentially a desert outpost—only for limited activities like playing soccer with Moroccan kids. The complex itself is a hotel, but it is guarded by a 30-ft wall and 24-hour gendarmes, or guards.
That all being said it really is exhilarating. There is so much ground and material to cover that something new and practical is always being drilled into us. Though there is a lot of repetition, there exists a sense that the more something is said, the more important it is to keep in mind. Living, eating, training and sleeping in the fortress with a 930 curfew isn’t bad, it is actually an ideal learning environment. It provides the ability to focus solely on the most important part of training; Derija (Moroccan Arabic) and Tamazight (a Berber dialect used in the High Atlas). And while free time is limited, to be honest, there isn’t that much to do in town anyways. Daily trips to the souk and the main square to listen to drums, eat weird snacks, practice language, and play frisbee, soccer, and mill around is enough, and getting to bed is a big priority.
Some notes on Morocco.
Morocco is stunningly beautiful. The northern cities are orderly yet still exotic. The plains of the north rise unabashedly into the Middle, High and Anti-Atlas mountains, which soar up to 13,000 feet. Old villages with kasbahs and minarets dot the countryside and only increase in quaintness and beauty as the mountains rise to the snow. Dry brown canyons are carved by waters that allow trees and flowers and grass to grow at the bottom.
Moroccans are generally friendly, but apprehensive. It is pretty difficult for them to understand that you aren’t simply a tourist, that you live and work here. Trying to explain your status in Morocco leads to curiosity and suspicion about your motivations. Are you CIA? You work for the American government, but you aren’t implementing policy, so what exactly do you do? These questions are hard to answer but after awhile, and avoidance of certain topics (hot political issues, Islamic extremism), Moroccans are happy to welcome you here.
Nights are freezing cold now since it is early spring, but mid-day sun can be very hot and always dry. The difference in temperature between sun and shade is huge, as the air doesn’t hold the heat. Clouds rarely appear in the sky, and the sky is a deep, deep blue.
I spent the week of the 15th to the 22nd in a small town called Azrou to begin studying Tamazight. About 100km from Ouarzazate, Azrou is en route to some of the higher peaks of the central High Atlas. It is a lot of the things I like about Morocco, it has quirky village politics, it doesn’t have much going on, and it is totally foreign and seems backwards to me. Nothing makes sense and nothing happens the way you think it will. Its full of devoted Muslims with old, strange customs. I notice there are tons of contradictions in Azrou. Women would never think of touching a male arm who wasn’t their husband but they have no problem breastfeeding in front of foreigners. Uncleanliness is generally untolerated but simple personal sanitation is intentionally ignored. Locals pride themselves on huge meals and full bellies but malnutrition is widespread due to a sugar and bread diet. As a health worker, it really is fascinating.
The last weeks of February were full of field visits and technical education. The nuts and bolts of the Moroccan Ministry of Health, and our place therein, became an educational priority. Meeting with moudirs, jmae leaders, and other players key to Moroccan business began to open my eyes to what I was being prepared for--culture.
Moroccans drive on the right, eat three meals a day, put their pants on one leg at a time, etc. Moroccans are cool, sensible, very intelligent, enjoy oddities, know how to have fun , etc
Everyday life in Morocco is conducted in such a manner that bears no similarity to what I am used to.
Everything I want to say is misplaced, I am always doing things at the wrong time, and I apologize a lot.
Everything is foreign, and you have to re-learn life. Its awesome.