Ingredients:
Two tortillas for each person
A handful of grated cheese (half gouda, half parmesan) for each person
A small handful of almonds for each person, finely ground (the almonds, that is, not the person)
Cayenne (or other hot pepper), to taste
Olive oil
Directions:
Heat your skillet and add a little olive oil. For each quesadilla, spread some cheese and almonds on one tortilla. Sprinkle with cayenne and then cover with another tortilla. Cook each quesadilla in a hot skillet for a few minutes on each side, until tortillas are slightly browned and cheese is melted. Serve with some kind of green vegetable – whatever you happened to find at the souk.
25 October 2010
Shopping extravaganza! (and monkeys… and for those who stay till the end, a mystery… )
One of my earliest blog posts was about shopping at Marjane in Fez. Those of you who read that post know that I did not have a lot of fun, so you might understand why I put off my next big trip to Marjane for several weeks. This weekend, however, I couldn't put it off anymore. So Saturday morning, T and I began our weekend shopping extravaganza by hitching a ride to the Marjane in Meknes with our friend LW.
It turned out to be a productive shopping trip. We found, among other things, a battery charger and Parmesan cheese. (It's funny how such laughably miniscule accomplishments can make me so happy.)
That afternoon, we went with the W family to Azrou. The highlight of the trip was the monkeys. Yes, you heard me right – monkeys. Actually, they're called Barbary apes, but I think they are, in reality, macaques. I'm not really sure what that's all about.
21 October 2010
Does your phone do that?
Sure, there are probably hundreds of super cool "apps" that you can download onto your iPhone or Droid or Blackberry or whatever.
But in Morocco, even the cheapest, most basic cell phone (which, of course, is what T and I bought) come with a function for programming in reminders of prayer times.
Does your phone do that?
18 October 2010
Why I wish I could be allowed to learn language like a baby
For my class on language development, the instructor had us watch a video which compared a baby learning his or her native language to an adult trying to learn a foreign language in a foreign country. As an adult trying (admittedly halfheartedly) to learn two foreign languages in a foreign country, I was not impressed by the comparison.
But the more I got to thinking about it, the more I realized that it would be really nice if adults were allowed to learn languages the way children do. So here's what I think I should be allowed to do here in Morocco so I can pick up on more Arabic and French:
1. For at least six months, I should be allowed to do nothing but listen to adults speak. I shouldn't have to cook for myself, transport myself anywhere, or even clean or dress myself. I should just be allowed to sit around and listen to people talk. I should not be expected to respond in any way, other than maybe smiling at them.
2. For the next six months, I should be allowed to make fairly random sounds. I should be allowed – without any self-consciousness whatsoever – to play with my tongue and lips. I should be allowed to walk around making velar fricatives, nasal vowels, glottal stops, etc. I should not be asked to connect any of these sounds with any real-world referents.
3. After about a year of listening to people talk and practicing individual sounds and combinations of sounds, maybe then I'd be ready to start pointing to objects and naming them. (That's pretty much what I do now. Rather than saying in Arabic "Could I please have a kilo of lemons?" I point to the lemons and say "Kilo? Hamd?")
4. Maybe, maybe after that I would be ready for a little bit of formal grammar instruction. But I still shouldn't be expected for at least another year to construct utterances of, say, more than five words each.
I think I might actually be able to learn something if I were allowed to follow these steps.
Seriously, though, I am discovering that I actually can pick up some words just by listening to people talk. (I'm talking about Arabic here. I still absolutely cannot parse French words from each other. French still sounds to me like a bunch of vowels mushed up together. Sorry, HBW.) We went with an American couple to Azrou on Saturday, and the husband, B, speaks pretty fluent Darija and likes talking to Moroccans. So I got to spend a good chunk of the day listening to people speak in Darija. At the end of the day, I realized that I had actually parsed out some individual words. I asked him and his wife what those words meant. I seriously felt like a two-year-old, but I was also proud that I was learning something. Not that knowing the words for "good," "there is," and "yes, it's clear," is particularly helpful, but this was an accomplishment for me.
Maybe there's hope for me yet. Maybe.
But the more I got to thinking about it, the more I realized that it would be really nice if adults were allowed to learn languages the way children do. So here's what I think I should be allowed to do here in Morocco so I can pick up on more Arabic and French:
1. For at least six months, I should be allowed to do nothing but listen to adults speak. I shouldn't have to cook for myself, transport myself anywhere, or even clean or dress myself. I should just be allowed to sit around and listen to people talk. I should not be expected to respond in any way, other than maybe smiling at them.
2. For the next six months, I should be allowed to make fairly random sounds. I should be allowed – without any self-consciousness whatsoever – to play with my tongue and lips. I should be allowed to walk around making velar fricatives, nasal vowels, glottal stops, etc. I should not be asked to connect any of these sounds with any real-world referents.
3. After about a year of listening to people talk and practicing individual sounds and combinations of sounds, maybe then I'd be ready to start pointing to objects and naming them. (That's pretty much what I do now. Rather than saying in Arabic "Could I please have a kilo of lemons?" I point to the lemons and say "Kilo? Hamd?")
4. Maybe, maybe after that I would be ready for a little bit of formal grammar instruction. But I still shouldn't be expected for at least another year to construct utterances of, say, more than five words each.
I think I might actually be able to learn something if I were allowed to follow these steps.
Seriously, though, I am discovering that I actually can pick up some words just by listening to people talk. (I'm talking about Arabic here. I still absolutely cannot parse French words from each other. French still sounds to me like a bunch of vowels mushed up together. Sorry, HBW.) We went with an American couple to Azrou on Saturday, and the husband, B, speaks pretty fluent Darija and likes talking to Moroccans. So I got to spend a good chunk of the day listening to people speak in Darija. At the end of the day, I realized that I had actually parsed out some individual words. I asked him and his wife what those words meant. I seriously felt like a two-year-old, but I was also proud that I was learning something. Not that knowing the words for "good," "there is," and "yes, it's clear," is particularly helpful, but this was an accomplishment for me.
Maybe there's hope for me yet. Maybe.
17 October 2010
Hike near Immouzer (which I did not go on)
I can't get T to post a blog entry about the hike he went on without me a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't want to deprive you of photos from the hike, so here they are without commentary. Make up your own narrative to go along.
On socializing and making friends
One of the stressors of moving to a new place is, of course, not having friends in that place and needing to make new friends, something that has always been difficult for me. When I meet a potential friend, it takes me a long time to put the label of "friend" on that person. I don't usually have very many friends at a time. For most of my life, I had only one or two close friends at a time.
I have also always had a tendency to be drawn to the "outcasts" or to those who don't entirely fit in (sorry, my dear friends). I have met a lot of interesting people this way. When I was in high school, I got to know exchange students from Czech Republic, Japan, and Germany, while many of my classmates didn't bother to take the time to get to know those people. in Morocco, though, who are the outcasts? Who are the people who don't fit it? The other expatriates, of course. T and I are starting to hang out with some great people – most of them Americans. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this, but we are finding it a bit difficult to get to know Moroccans, and we both agree that part of having an enriching experience in another culture involves getting to know members of that culture.
So what's standing in the way of my making Moroccan friends? Well, as I mentioned above, there is my tendency to be drawn to the misfits. There is my introversion (yes, I am an introvert). But there are also some interesting Moroccan cultural factors. T and I have noticed a great deal of separation between Moroccan and expatriate faculty members at the University. We talked to an American faculty member who has been here for 10 years about this. He didn't seem to think that establishing friendships with Moroccans was going to be very likely for us. The reasons seem complicated, but I think they are partly related to the strong emphasis put on family in Moroccan culture; a lot of Moroccans are busy spending time with their families, and I think they assume everyone else is doing the same. Religion also plays a role. Islam is a religion that pervades every aspect of the lives of its devout followers. Whether I'm comfortable with it or not, I understand that religious differences create some divisions between people here. And actually, if I think about it, I realize that things aren't any different in the U.S. People tend to spend time with those who share their beliefs. Think about your own political affiliations, for example; if you are a Republican, are most of your friends also Republicans? If you are a Democrat, how many Republican friends do you have?
For now, I'm not going to worry too much about the nationality of my friends. I'm going to remain open to the possibility of making Moroccan friends. But I'm also going to be patient.
I have also always had a tendency to be drawn to the "outcasts" or to those who don't entirely fit in (sorry, my dear friends). I have met a lot of interesting people this way. When I was in high school, I got to know exchange students from Czech Republic, Japan, and Germany, while many of my classmates didn't bother to take the time to get to know those people. in Morocco, though, who are the outcasts? Who are the people who don't fit it? The other expatriates, of course. T and I are starting to hang out with some great people – most of them Americans. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this, but we are finding it a bit difficult to get to know Moroccans, and we both agree that part of having an enriching experience in another culture involves getting to know members of that culture.
So what's standing in the way of my making Moroccan friends? Well, as I mentioned above, there is my tendency to be drawn to the misfits. There is my introversion (yes, I am an introvert). But there are also some interesting Moroccan cultural factors. T and I have noticed a great deal of separation between Moroccan and expatriate faculty members at the University. We talked to an American faculty member who has been here for 10 years about this. He didn't seem to think that establishing friendships with Moroccans was going to be very likely for us. The reasons seem complicated, but I think they are partly related to the strong emphasis put on family in Moroccan culture; a lot of Moroccans are busy spending time with their families, and I think they assume everyone else is doing the same. Religion also plays a role. Islam is a religion that pervades every aspect of the lives of its devout followers. Whether I'm comfortable with it or not, I understand that religious differences create some divisions between people here. And actually, if I think about it, I realize that things aren't any different in the U.S. People tend to spend time with those who share their beliefs. Think about your own political affiliations, for example; if you are a Republican, are most of your friends also Republicans? If you are a Democrat, how many Republican friends do you have?
 |
| One of the main things we do with our new potential friends is go out to eat, even though our choices are fairly limited here in Ifrane. This tagine with French fries on top, which T was surprised to discover he had ordered, is one of the tasty offerings in the Ifrane restaurants. (I've been waiting for weeks to have an opportunity to post this picture.) |
14 October 2010
The gap between "says" and "is"
In this blog post (and, I suspect, in future blog posts) I will be making observations about Moroccan culture. I make these observations from my own limited point of view, and from my own limited experience in Morocco. If any Moroccans or anyone more familiar with Moroccan culture than I am reads this blog, I hope they do not take offense. If I have made any observations or claims in error, please, please correct me.
Three weeks ago, on the first day of yoga class (about halfway through class), loud dance music begin playing in the room next door. We completed our yoga practice listening to intermittent, booming night club music. It seemed to become especially loud during savasana, of course. After class, the instructor apologized and said, "The student activities office assured me that this would be a quiet place for yoga class."
I had to smile. My instructor had just found herself in the gap between "says" and "is."
The gap between "says" and "is" (a term dubbed by one of T's colleagues) has been– by far – the most difficult aspect of Moroccan culture for me to adapt to. Generally, in American culture, when we ask someone a question, we expect an answer that corresponds as strictly as possible with reality. In Moroccan culture (and I base this claim on what I have observed, what I have been told, and what I have read), you aren't nearly as likely to get an answer that corresponds with what most Americans would call "the truth." You are more likely to get the answer that the person thinks you want to hear, the answer that he or she thinks would make you happy, or the answer that he or she wishes were true.
I was warned about the gap before I came here. But I think my American upbringing kept me from completely understanding how wide, and how strange to me as an outsider, it really would be.
I'll give you some small examples of my experience with the gap between "says" and "is." When T and I were learning about the University, we read about a multi-kilometer forest path going around the University. T's dean even mentioned to him during our first week here what a pleasant walk it is. When I went looking for the path, I found that it did not exist. I thought I saw signs that it had once been present, but the path was completely overgrown. I quickly (meaning within about five minutes) had to give up. When we asked a few people about the path, they said that it has not been maintained for quite a while. It is essentially nonexistent.
Here's another example. There are a shuttle for faculty and a bus for students that drive back and forth between the University and strategic parts of the town. The grounds and maintenance office continues to claim that faculty (or other people) who wish to use the student bus must buy tickets. I have spoken with many people who have worked here for a few years, and none of them have ever bought tickets. Nevertheless, if you visit the University's website, you will see that it says tickets must be purchased for use of the bus.
What I realized, then, is that when people say "There's a nice forest path going around campus," what they really mean is "We used to have a nice forest path, and wouldn't it be nice if we still did?" When they say "You need to purchase tickets to use the bus," what they really mean is "We wish we could figure out a way to charge money for use of the bus."
The examples I have provided are just two rather small (and somewhat lame) examples. I experience this gap on a daily basis, so much so that I have gotten into the habit of assuming any answers I get to my questions to be inaccurate unless I get the same answer from a minimum of three different people.
I don't mean to suggest in any way that Moroccans are liars. I'm not an anthropologist, and I'm certainly not an expert on Moroccan culture, but I think this tendency to tell people what they want to hear comes from an essentially good place, from a place of generosity. When an American might be likely to "tell it like it is," it seems as if a Moroccan is going to be more likely to "tell you like it should be." Doesn't that take more imagination? Isn't it really more generous than the cold, hard truth?
Perhaps so. But I have a feeling that this aspect of Moroccan culture has been responsible for driving away more than one non-Arab foreign faculty member. I hope to adjust well enough that it doesn't drive me away.
Three weeks ago, on the first day of yoga class (about halfway through class), loud dance music begin playing in the room next door. We completed our yoga practice listening to intermittent, booming night club music. It seemed to become especially loud during savasana, of course. After class, the instructor apologized and said, "The student activities office assured me that this would be a quiet place for yoga class."
I had to smile. My instructor had just found herself in the gap between "says" and "is."
The gap between "says" and "is" (a term dubbed by one of T's colleagues) has been– by far – the most difficult aspect of Moroccan culture for me to adapt to. Generally, in American culture, when we ask someone a question, we expect an answer that corresponds as strictly as possible with reality. In Moroccan culture (and I base this claim on what I have observed, what I have been told, and what I have read), you aren't nearly as likely to get an answer that corresponds with what most Americans would call "the truth." You are more likely to get the answer that the person thinks you want to hear, the answer that he or she thinks would make you happy, or the answer that he or she wishes were true.
I was warned about the gap before I came here. But I think my American upbringing kept me from completely understanding how wide, and how strange to me as an outsider, it really would be.
I'll give you some small examples of my experience with the gap between "says" and "is." When T and I were learning about the University, we read about a multi-kilometer forest path going around the University. T's dean even mentioned to him during our first week here what a pleasant walk it is. When I went looking for the path, I found that it did not exist. I thought I saw signs that it had once been present, but the path was completely overgrown. I quickly (meaning within about five minutes) had to give up. When we asked a few people about the path, they said that it has not been maintained for quite a while. It is essentially nonexistent.
Here's another example. There are a shuttle for faculty and a bus for students that drive back and forth between the University and strategic parts of the town. The grounds and maintenance office continues to claim that faculty (or other people) who wish to use the student bus must buy tickets. I have spoken with many people who have worked here for a few years, and none of them have ever bought tickets. Nevertheless, if you visit the University's website, you will see that it says tickets must be purchased for use of the bus.
What I realized, then, is that when people say "There's a nice forest path going around campus," what they really mean is "We used to have a nice forest path, and wouldn't it be nice if we still did?" When they say "You need to purchase tickets to use the bus," what they really mean is "We wish we could figure out a way to charge money for use of the bus."
The examples I have provided are just two rather small (and somewhat lame) examples. I experience this gap on a daily basis, so much so that I have gotten into the habit of assuming any answers I get to my questions to be inaccurate unless I get the same answer from a minimum of three different people.
I don't mean to suggest in any way that Moroccans are liars. I'm not an anthropologist, and I'm certainly not an expert on Moroccan culture, but I think this tendency to tell people what they want to hear comes from an essentially good place, from a place of generosity. When an American might be likely to "tell it like it is," it seems as if a Moroccan is going to be more likely to "tell you like it should be." Doesn't that take more imagination? Isn't it really more generous than the cold, hard truth?
Perhaps so. But I have a feeling that this aspect of Moroccan culture has been responsible for driving away more than one non-Arab foreign faculty member. I hope to adjust well enough that it doesn't drive me away.
10 October 2010
What it means to pay shipping to Morocco
I am writing this blog entry using what very well might be the world's most expensive copy of the software program Dragon NaturallySpeaking.
The story started several weeks ago when I realized that, for reasons I don't want to get into here, it was going to be difficult for me to do all the computer work that my online classes require. T discovered a voice to text computer program called Dragon NaturallySpeaking, but because it comes with a headset and microphone, it has to be ordered online and mailed to you – it can't be purchased and downloaded from the Internet. T ordered the program for me, and we paid a ridiculously high shipping cost. And then we waited.
To make a long and fairly uninteresting story short, what we learned is that when we pay shipping to Morocco (at least through DHL), we are paying to ship the package to Morocco, not to our address in Morocco. After the package got to Rabat, we were told we were going to have to pay even more money to get it to us in Ifrane. After weeks of exchanges between T and representatives of DHL, we finally got our package as far as Fez. Yesterday, we went to Fez for the sole purpose of picking up my software program, which, for some reason, DHL could not possibly get to Ifrane. We also ended up paying a lot of money – whether you measure it in dollars or dirhams– just to get it from DHL.
I'm trying not to be angry about all the time and money it has cost us to get this computer program to our apartment. I'm trying not to be upset that we were charged at least double what we should have been for shipping. I'm trying to treat this as a learning experience. Maybe I'll let you know later how successful my attempts have been.
The story started several weeks ago when I realized that, for reasons I don't want to get into here, it was going to be difficult for me to do all the computer work that my online classes require. T discovered a voice to text computer program called Dragon NaturallySpeaking, but because it comes with a headset and microphone, it has to be ordered online and mailed to you – it can't be purchased and downloaded from the Internet. T ordered the program for me, and we paid a ridiculously high shipping cost. And then we waited.
To make a long and fairly uninteresting story short, what we learned is that when we pay shipping to Morocco (at least through DHL), we are paying to ship the package to Morocco, not to our address in Morocco. After the package got to Rabat, we were told we were going to have to pay even more money to get it to us in Ifrane. After weeks of exchanges between T and representatives of DHL, we finally got our package as far as Fez. Yesterday, we went to Fez for the sole purpose of picking up my software program, which, for some reason, DHL could not possibly get to Ifrane. We also ended up paying a lot of money – whether you measure it in dollars or dirhams– just to get it from DHL.
I'm trying not to be angry about all the time and money it has cost us to get this computer program to our apartment. I'm trying not to be upset that we were charged at least double what we should have been for shipping. I'm trying to treat this as a learning experience. Maybe I'll let you know later how successful my attempts have been.
08 October 2010
What we talk about when we talk about love
No, this blog entry isn't about Raymond Carver's subdued short story. It's about the idea of "loving" a country. When we told people we were moving to Morocco, some said, "So-and-so went there last year and just fell in love with the country." Others said things like, "Oh, you'll love it there."
I have no idea what people mean when they say they "love" a country. I've never loved a country. I don't love the U.S. There are things I like about my home country, and probably things I'll come to appreciate more now that I'm not there, and there are also many things I greatly dislike about it. But I know people who "love" the U.S., and quite a few people who "love" Morocco. We have met an American couple working at the University who were in Morocco with the Peace Corps a couple of years ago and "fell in love" with Morocco. They've wanted nothing else since then but to figure out how to get back here. We know another American couple who want to own a second home in Morocco, and a third couple who knew the first day they got here that they loved it. What do they mean when they say they love Morocco? I'm really not sure.
As of right now, my feelings about Morocco on an average day, at their most positive, are probably best described as ambivalent. Especially after Ramadan, I kept waiting for feelings to develop. I kept waiting to fall in love (or not to). Anyone who has been reading my blog knows that I have carefully highlighted the positive elements of my experience here; nevertheless, I remain ambivalent. I'm not saying I think I should feel anything other than what I feel.
I'm just saying.
I have no idea what people mean when they say they "love" a country. I've never loved a country. I don't love the U.S. There are things I like about my home country, and probably things I'll come to appreciate more now that I'm not there, and there are also many things I greatly dislike about it. But I know people who "love" the U.S., and quite a few people who "love" Morocco. We have met an American couple working at the University who were in Morocco with the Peace Corps a couple of years ago and "fell in love" with Morocco. They've wanted nothing else since then but to figure out how to get back here. We know another American couple who want to own a second home in Morocco, and a third couple who knew the first day they got here that they loved it. What do they mean when they say they love Morocco? I'm really not sure.
As of right now, my feelings about Morocco on an average day, at their most positive, are probably best described as ambivalent. Especially after Ramadan, I kept waiting for feelings to develop. I kept waiting to fall in love (or not to). Anyone who has been reading my blog knows that I have carefully highlighted the positive elements of my experience here; nevertheless, I remain ambivalent. I'm not saying I think I should feel anything other than what I feel.
I'm just saying.
03 October 2010
Absinthe update
If I had done even a minimal amount of research before making some guesses in my previous blog post about shiba, an herb sometimes added to Moroccan mint tea, I would have discovered that yes, it is absinthe, also known as artemesia or wormwood. But the word "absinthe" is used to refer both to the alcohol (which is illegal in many countries) and the herb, shiba/artemesia/wormwood that is an ingredient in the alcohol. Shiba has some medicinal effects, which is why Amina advised me only to add a small amount to my pot of tea, but it doesn't appear to be dangerous in any way when added to tea like that--and it makes the tea taste extra yummy.
Speaking of medicinals, I came down with a cold yesterday. I think I have been sick more often than not since we got here (part of culture shock, right?). I'm missing out on a hike today, but T assures me he will take pictures, and I just might be able to convince him to be a guest blogger so you can all join in the hiking fun.
Speaking of medicinals, I came down with a cold yesterday. I think I have been sick more often than not since we got here (part of culture shock, right?). I'm missing out on a hike today, but T assures me he will take pictures, and I just might be able to convince him to be a guest blogger so you can all join in the hiking fun.
02 October 2010
The souk
Several posts ago, I said I would post some pictures of the Ifrane souk. But I think I had better back up and also explain what a souk is. Souks are markets, and every Moroccan town has a souk location. Big cities have several souks; smaller towns, like Ifrane and nearby Azrou, have one souk location and have designated souk days.
The Ifrane souk is on Saturdays and Sundays. The souk takes place in a large area a bit outside of town. If you've ever been to an outdoor craft fair or some such thing in the U.S., you might be able to imagine the souk's basic layout. There are dozens and dozens of vendors selling everything from fruits and vegetables to soaps to clothes to electronics. It is outdoors, but some of the area has a permanent covering over it, and much of the rest is covered with canopies to provide shade and, in the winter, some protection from snow and rain. The food vendors are in the middle, with those selling non-food wares on the periphery. (Much of the non-food items are used, and a lot of them look like things that most Americans would send to the landfill. In fact, I suspect many of the items for sale came from dumps. I was also told that some of the clothes sold at the souk are leftovers shipped here from countries like the U.S.)
Souk etiquette is pretty simple. Most produce vendors will hand you a plastic bag (mikka) and you fill it with whatever fruit or vegetable you want. Produce is sold by the kilogram (kilo), although you can usually get a nuss-kilo (half a kilo). Spices are sold by the dirham. You tell the vendor how many dirhams worth of a spice you want, and he (always a "he") expertly wraps it in paper and then puts it in a mikka for you.
Most shoppers have their favorite vendors who they return to again and again. Two of the three times I have been to the Ifrane souk, I was lucky enough to go with American women who speak Arabic, so they have helped me immensely with navigating through the huge piles of tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant, artichokes, apples....Today I also had the help of LW's maid, Amina (yes, "maid" is the word that's used, regardless of how much it makes you cringe), who was grabbing items and bagging them for me. (Amina is also, as far as I know, the only woman in Ifrane who makes tortillas, which can be purchased for two dirhams a piece. She makes them one at a time, by hand!) LW and Amina also bought me a little of an herb they called shiba, which my research tells me means "absinthe," so I hope what they really bought me is something the book Eat Smart in Morocco calls sheh. Little bits of the herb are added to Moroccan mint tea, and I put some in my tea this afternoon with no apparent effects. Hmm.
Moving on...
The sense of abundance at a souk is incredible. The Whole Foods marketing team should take note. And food here is cheap (by my rich Western standards). Today, for around $15 U.S., T and I bought kilos and kilos of tomatoes, grapes, green beans, sweet potatoes, lemons, melon, and fresh mint. Today I also got several free dates from LW's favorite date vendor. And I came home with a nuss-kilo of his best dates, even though I'm not sure what I'll do with that many of them.
The next time you're buying groceries at Wal-Mart, think of me walking around in the fresh air, munching on free dates, picking out fresh fruits and vegetables and paying pocket change for them. Not so bad, is it?
Most shoppers have their favorite vendors who they return to again and again. Two of the three times I have been to the Ifrane souk, I was lucky enough to go with American women who speak Arabic, so they have helped me immensely with navigating through the huge piles of tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant, artichokes, apples....Today I also had the help of LW's maid, Amina (yes, "maid" is the word that's used, regardless of how much it makes you cringe), who was grabbing items and bagging them for me. (Amina is also, as far as I know, the only woman in Ifrane who makes tortillas, which can be purchased for two dirhams a piece. She makes them one at a time, by hand!) LW and Amina also bought me a little of an herb they called shiba, which my research tells me means "absinthe," so I hope what they really bought me is something the book Eat Smart in Morocco calls sheh. Little bits of the herb are added to Moroccan mint tea, and I put some in my tea this afternoon with no apparent effects. Hmm.
Moving on...
The sense of abundance at a souk is incredible. The Whole Foods marketing team should take note. And food here is cheap (by my rich Western standards). Today, for around $15 U.S., T and I bought kilos and kilos of tomatoes, grapes, green beans, sweet potatoes, lemons, melon, and fresh mint. Today I also got several free dates from LW's favorite date vendor. And I came home with a nuss-kilo of his best dates, even though I'm not sure what I'll do with that many of them.
The next time you're buying groceries at Wal-Mart, think of me walking around in the fresh air, munching on free dates, picking out fresh fruits and vegetables and paying pocket change for them. Not so bad, is it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)