There are a lot of things I didn't do that I should have done while I was in Nebraska. One thing I did, though, was spent time with my parents and with some of my friends. I only had one full day with my mom, and we spent that day doing things we don't normally do – like getting pedicures and shopping at the mall.
I didn't get nearly enough time with my mom, but I had a lot of time with my dad. In fact, weeks ago, we planned a camping road trip to get me from Nebraska to Bowling Green, Kentucky. (I'm here for five weeks doing a clinical internship as part of my Master's work in speech-language pathology.)
This was the plan: we would take my dad's truck and his new camper, and we would luxuriously spread out the approximately 16 hours of driving over a period of four days, arriving in Bowling Green on Saturday night or on Sunday morning, with plenty of time to get me settled before Monday morning (today).
As I've written before, though, planning is best thought of as a hobby than anything else. It isn't to be taken too seriously. Just about two hours out on our adventure, not far from Hamburg, Iowa, the engine of my dad's truck suddenly and quite seriously overheated. We got the truck and camper to the auto repair shop in Hamburg (the business name is "Risky Business"). Not long after that, it was clear that the truck wasn't gonna go anywhere unless it was pulled by a tow truck.
I have a tendency – or, at least, I used to have a tendency – to freak out in situations like that. Maybe it was the element of surprise (as my dad said, the truck was the one thing he wasn't worried about), maybe it was the stabilizing presence of my father, or maybe it was just the result of enough years of experience with things not going as planned, but I felt pretty calm at the same time that I genuinely had no idea how I was going to get to Kentucky.
We had the camper set up in Hamburg, but we decided that wouldn't be a very exciting camping location, and staying there wasn't going to get us any closer to Kentucky, so we had somebody tow the truck and take us back to my parents' house. It was sort of like starting over on a video game but with a pretty severe penalty (specifically, we now had no vehicle to get us to Kentucky and no obvious way to go camping).
I offered to try to buy a last-minute plane ticket, but my father, who had worked hard all week in preparation for his vacation, persevered with his dream. He promptly rented a van, and we loaded up all the supplies we could think of for car/tent camping.
I might write later about the actual camping, but the places we went to and the sights that we saw were really secondary to the experience for me. The truly unique part of the trip was having all of that time with my father. I felt that a camping trip of a father and his 33-year-old daughter was something unusual.
I'm writing about this on my blog because one of the things I feel I have gained during my time overseas is a deeper appreciation for and connection to my family, especially my parents. We talk about almost everything in my family, and while at times this can feel like an invasion of privacy, ultimately I am thankful for the closeness and openness we have with each other.
I'm also amazed by my father's dedication to the three women in his life. I realized after we got to Bowling Green that he has always been there when my sister and I have gone off to school (and in case you're wondering, between the two of us, we have now moved to a total of five different schools in five different states).
My dad was pretty exhausted by the time we got here on Saturday, so he stuck around on Saturday and Sunday nights and of course continue to help me by driving me around town to get groceries and other supplies. He was still here when I left this morning for my first day of "boot camp," and when I came back to my room late this afternoon, it felt suddenly very quiet and very empty.
It was at four o'clock this afternoon that it finally hit me: I'm in Bowling Green, Kentucky for the next five weeks. It's a place I've never been to before, and I'm here to learn something entirely new and difficult. I don't have a car and am dependent on people I just met for transportation. My husband is on another continent, and I don't know exactly when or where I'll see him next.
It's one of those experiences I'm sure you've had before, where a big, "future" event (at least, for a long, long time, you thought of it as "future") crashes suddenly and jarringly into the present. This happened on my wedding day (in a good way) and on the day I left for Morocco (in a, well, somewhat anxiety-provoking way).
So here I am--by myself for an extended period of time for the first time in my adult life. Wish me luck.
19 June 2012
18 June 2012
On convenience
Posted from the cornfields...
I have been thinking of multiple alternative monikers for the United States during my week here, and one of those is "land of convenience." I was thinking of this as I ate my dinner this evening: a sweet potato (a.k.a. yam) with cheddar cheese. It didn't even take me five minutes to prepare this dinner.
First of all, the sweet potato was easy and convenient to obtain. I got it at a large grocery store in Omaha, but even the two little grocery stores here in David City sell them. I suppose it's possible that yams are sold in Morocco, but I've never seen them, and I'm guessing they would only be sold in Rabat and Casa, both several hours away from Ifrane. The cheddar cheese nearest to Ifrane is at the Label Vie in Meknes (an hour away), and it is so rarely purchased that one must check it over for mold before buying any. Some people in rural America may have to drive to the nearest city to get "specialty" groceries like chickpea flour, tempeh, or chard, but generally, in the U.S. these days, one can find just about any grocery item one wants.
And virtually every community in the U.S. has grocery stores and "super" stores (like Super Wal-Mart) that provide "one stop shopping," something that is definitely not the norm in Morocco. To buy everything you need in one shopping trip seems almost impossible in Morocco, but to do it, you would need to go to several different vendors at the marché, to Label Vie, to Marjane, to the bakery, etc.
Another aspect of the convenience of my meal was that I barely had to wash the sweet potato because it was so clean. In Morocco, when we buy foods that were grown in the ground, they look like they were grown in the ground! Those of us who buy and eat fresh food spend a surprisingly large amount of time just cleaning it, something that isn't necessary in the U.S.
I haven't had a microwave oven since moving to Morocco, so if I somehow found a sweet potato there and wanted to eat it, I'd have to plan at least an hour ahead so I could bake it. Here, I cooked my sweet potato in three minutes.
I have been thinking of multiple alternative monikers for the United States during my week here, and one of those is "land of convenience." I was thinking of this as I ate my dinner this evening: a sweet potato (a.k.a. yam) with cheddar cheese. It didn't even take me five minutes to prepare this dinner.
First of all, the sweet potato was easy and convenient to obtain. I got it at a large grocery store in Omaha, but even the two little grocery stores here in David City sell them. I suppose it's possible that yams are sold in Morocco, but I've never seen them, and I'm guessing they would only be sold in Rabat and Casa, both several hours away from Ifrane. The cheddar cheese nearest to Ifrane is at the Label Vie in Meknes (an hour away), and it is so rarely purchased that one must check it over for mold before buying any. Some people in rural America may have to drive to the nearest city to get "specialty" groceries like chickpea flour, tempeh, or chard, but generally, in the U.S. these days, one can find just about any grocery item one wants.
And virtually every community in the U.S. has grocery stores and "super" stores (like Super Wal-Mart) that provide "one stop shopping," something that is definitely not the norm in Morocco. To buy everything you need in one shopping trip seems almost impossible in Morocco, but to do it, you would need to go to several different vendors at the marché, to Label Vie, to Marjane, to the bakery, etc.
Another aspect of the convenience of my meal was that I barely had to wash the sweet potato because it was so clean. In Morocco, when we buy foods that were grown in the ground, they look like they were grown in the ground! Those of us who buy and eat fresh food spend a surprisingly large amount of time just cleaning it, something that isn't necessary in the U.S.
I haven't had a microwave oven since moving to Morocco, so if I somehow found a sweet potato there and wanted to eat it, I'd have to plan at least an hour ahead so I could bake it. Here, I cooked my sweet potato in three minutes.
17 June 2012
On making couscous with Hafida
Posted from the cornfields...
Last Thursday, the day before I left Ifrane, Hafida showed me how to make couscous. I was initially stressed by the thought of adding "cook a big meal" to my to-do list for the day before leaving the country, but it turned out that, by the time we were ready to start cooking, my bags were packed and I had very little to do anyway.
Those of you who have cooked with this semolina product before may be wondering, "What's there to show you? You just add some boiling water to the couscous and let it soak up the water and then do whatever you want to do with it." That's what I thought before moving to Morocco. I quickly learned that I had been doing it wrong all along.
When Moroccans talk about "making couscous," they are talking about a complete dish that consists of seasoned, stewed vegetables (traditionally onions, turnips, carrots, pumpkin, zucchini, and cabbage, plus chickpeas) and (usually) meat served atop couscous that has been thrice steamed above the stew using a couscoussier. This method makes the couscous light and fluffy as well as flavorful, since it absorbs additional flavor from the stew.
Moroccan society, compared to society in the United States, is still very traditional, so virtually all Moroccan families have couscous as the large midday meal on Fridays. Couscous is prepared in a very particular way, too, and I was lucky that Hafida was willing (although not entirely happy) to 1) make a vegetarian version and 2) leave out the tomatoes so a friend of mine with a tomato allergy could join us for the meal.
We didn't talk a lot as we cooked, but I still enjoyed the time with Hafida, and I enjoyed learning from her. I thought about how she must have begun cooking couscous with her mother when she was a very little girl, and that if she had a daughter (she has only one child, a son), she would teach her daughter in the same way. I thought about my relationship with my own mother, and about the things I wish I had taken the opportunity to learn from her when I was a young girl. Living in Morocco has helped me to become more aware of both the reasons why I appreciate the flexible norms of my own culture and of the things that can be lost as a result of that flexibility.
Just as we were finished preparing the couscous, our friends Lynn and Karen stopped by. We convinced Hafida to stay and eat the meal with us. She helped me serve the couscous Moroccan style, on one large platter from which everyone could eat. It was a great way to spend my final afternoon in Ifrane.
Soon after I got to Nebraska, I tried to prepare couscous for my parents. I tried not to make too many changes, but I left out the pumpkin and chickpeas and tried using vegetarian "chicken." Mom and Dad said it was fine, but I thought it wasn't remotely as good as the couscous I had made with Hafida. I think this is due only in part to my lack of experience preparing the dish. What contributed to the deliciousness of the couscous I made with Hafida was the newness of the experience as well as the companionship. My theory is that couscous cooked alone is not as tasty as couscous cooked with a family member or friend.
But at least I got to eat my couscous with family.
 |
| Hafida and me |
Those of you who have cooked with this semolina product before may be wondering, "What's there to show you? You just add some boiling water to the couscous and let it soak up the water and then do whatever you want to do with it." That's what I thought before moving to Morocco. I quickly learned that I had been doing it wrong all along.
When Moroccans talk about "making couscous," they are talking about a complete dish that consists of seasoned, stewed vegetables (traditionally onions, turnips, carrots, pumpkin, zucchini, and cabbage, plus chickpeas) and (usually) meat served atop couscous that has been thrice steamed above the stew using a couscoussier. This method makes the couscous light and fluffy as well as flavorful, since it absorbs additional flavor from the stew.
Moroccan society, compared to society in the United States, is still very traditional, so virtually all Moroccan families have couscous as the large midday meal on Fridays. Couscous is prepared in a very particular way, too, and I was lucky that Hafida was willing (although not entirely happy) to 1) make a vegetarian version and 2) leave out the tomatoes so a friend of mine with a tomato allergy could join us for the meal.
We didn't talk a lot as we cooked, but I still enjoyed the time with Hafida, and I enjoyed learning from her. I thought about how she must have begun cooking couscous with her mother when she was a very little girl, and that if she had a daughter (she has only one child, a son), she would teach her daughter in the same way. I thought about my relationship with my own mother, and about the things I wish I had taken the opportunity to learn from her when I was a young girl. Living in Morocco has helped me to become more aware of both the reasons why I appreciate the flexible norms of my own culture and of the things that can be lost as a result of that flexibility.
Just as we were finished preparing the couscous, our friends Lynn and Karen stopped by. We convinced Hafida to stay and eat the meal with us. She helped me serve the couscous Moroccan style, on one large platter from which everyone could eat. It was a great way to spend my final afternoon in Ifrane.
 |
| T was there, too; he took the photo. |
But at least I got to eat my couscous with family.
 |
| Mom, Dad, and Pierre, ready to try my couscous (served in the tagine I brought with me from Morocco) |
04 June 2012
Al Hoceima
This coming Friday will mark the beginning of what will be the longest separation T and I will have experienced during our 10 years of marriage thus far. And in celebration of those 10 years as well as in preparation for my upcoming departure from Morocco, we recently spent four days near the city of Al Hoceima, on the Mediterranean coast.
I made the following video as a keepsake of our weekend. You are welcome to watch it; just keep in mind that it is a little, you know, sappy or whatever.
I made the following video as a keepsake of our weekend. You are welcome to watch it; just keep in mind that it is a little, you know, sappy or whatever.
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