Word-Free Life Lessons

The kids 'LOVE' when I do this. Its already become my trademark...probably because I teach this lesson 86 times a day on average. For some reason the kids love to throw rocks at each other and fight. To quote Ursula, the obese, purple octopus/philosopher, "Never underestimate the importance of body language."

AMESIP

AMESIP is the association with which I am volunteering. It stands for something in French along the lines of Moroccan Association for helping children in precarious situations. Luckily, some folks from IPEC (International Programme on the Elimination of Child Labor www.ilo.org/ipec) were visiting this week doing a study in order to have more ammo for their attempt to get more funding from the UN. Wow, this post has a lot of acronyms. Lol. Jk. Anywho, these folks spoke English well and were able to more clearly explain the organization to me.

These children come from extremely disadvantaged backgrounds and were it not for this organizations’ interventions, they would likely be out on the streets every day working or begging to help support their families. Instead, they get to come to AMESIP and take Arabic, French, Art, PE and Islamic studies classes. They also get to:



Play the harmonica with their noses. This kid gave quite the performance with his dancing, harmonica routine. About 15 other kids and I were laughing ourselves silly for 20 minutes straight.



Sing and dance with me. You can't really tell in the picture, but the one right next to me loves to sing and dance with me. She's quite talented, too.



Give free Arabic lessons to the excited, yet clueless American who repeats everything they say, but learned his lesson about repeating what the teenage boys teach him when one time after doing so, he and the kids were sternly rebuked by an Arabic teacher.

It’s been a great time thus far and in a lot of ways reminds me of my work in Ecuador. I play a lot with the kids and feel we’re learning a lot from each other. I’ll often take a step back and am overcome with gratitude that this organization is in place. I don’t think my heart could take seeing some of these talented, beautiful children wasting their lives away begging or selling cheap plastic toys on the streets.

Marrakech Photos

Well, these took so long to load that I'm not going to bother with correcting their orientation. These are my four wives allotted to me underneath Islamic rules. We are at an old ruin built in the 15th century.



This is Vicky aka Hermione Granger. She truly is quite brainy. She speaks Arabic, French, German and some Spanish. Best of all is her English. I feel like she's a kindred spirit. We share a lot of the same views on life, share favorite books and love languages. We are standing in an amazing palace built by a guy who rose from slavery to become ruler of Morocco. Its quite the amazing story, but I think the power and freedom went to his head cause man this place was ELABORATE!



These are our Rasta friends, Youssef and Mustaffah. By the way, when people have a hard time with my name, I just tell them to call me Mustaffah and think of the handicapped hyena from the Lion King laughing at Whoopie Goldberg saying my name over and over. Youssef has offered his house to us as a stopping point on the way to see the nomadic tribes of the Sahara...yeah! Mustaffah lives in the kite-surfing capital of the world which is also home to a world music festival next month. He's offered his place for us to stay as well.



This man gave us a tour of his carpet making plant. They still do it by hand and we watched some ladies working on them. He talked like his brain was a life lessons book which I of course thoroughly enjoyed. I felt like I learned a lot in the 30 minutes we spent together.



I'm standing in front of a famous mosque whose minaret (tower) served as a model for all the mosques in the area. I'm always in awe of what religious belief can motivate people to do/build. Sometimes, I think we focus too much on the negative things that are attached to religious motives. Anywho, this was the place we sat down to have our rendezvous with Rasta. It looks even more spectacular at night.

The Secret

Believe me. The ‘secret’ works.

The Secret is a book that expounds upon the law of attraction, largely popularized because Oprah added it to her book club. What are women going to do when she retires by the way? They might be like those Obama fanatics who were so riled up by “Hope and Change,” dedicating hours upon hours to campaign rallies until he was elected and then found themselves (right along with Mr. President) wondering, “Well, what do we do now?” I just hope these women continue to read books and take care of themselves properly even though Oprah isn’t there to tell them how to do it. Honestly, though, I would let Oprah babysit my children.

Anywho, the law of attraction basically says that the things we receive in life are a result of our having focused our attention upon them. If I’m consistently focusing on all the things that are going wrong in my life, I will attract more negative things, for example and vice versa. They really take it to the extreme in the book/movie, though. One guy claims that he always gets front-row parking because on his way to wherever he’s going he visualizes a front-row parking spot with his name on it. I think the part he doesn’t tell us is that the events he’s attending are things like, “Save the ‘Emo’ kids” fundraisers, Hunters Anonymous meetings in San Francisco, and how-to talks about creating schools that focus on creating near-death experiences for troubled youth (he would definitely have to fight me for that parking spot on this one).

I don’t know how much of a secret this stuff is. Nevertheless, I’ve been putting out the visualization vibes and have actually imagined a gigantic neon sign over my head, accompanied by obscure techno music, flashing in impeccable Arabic, “Hey, talk to me if you’re way rad.” It’s working. I’ve had many great experiences with the locals. My evening with the Rasta men in Marrakech was unquestionably one of them.

Just yesterday, though, I was casually strolling the streets with my neon sign well-lit and a guy gave me the good ol’ one-fingered salute. I didn’t exactly know how to take it because the bird flies with regularity in my family and the dude had a HUGE smile on his face. Was it an amorous gesture? Does he hate white people with camelbaks, red shorts and homemade knitted hats? Is the secret a complete lie and Oprah’s just trying to make more money she doesn’t need? I don’t know but out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy who was wearing an equally stellar homemade looking thing on his head and thought to myself, “I would like to get to know that guy.” But, I just kept walking, feeling pressed for time as I was going to be late for work.

Who do you think tapped me on the shoulder about 2 minutes later and asked me in perfect English, “How’s it going, man?” Yep. You’re right. It was Tarik. He’s 24 and is majoring in German studies. Imagine that connection, eh? He’s also fluent in Spanish, Arabic and French. He invited me to his house within about 1 minute of knowing him. He lives in a really poor area and his house is extremely minimalistic, so I was quite surprised when he showed me his library. He had books in all the above-mentioned languages and loaned me Catch-22, Words to Live By (C.S. Lewis), and a modest German novel. He took off his cap to reveal a huge Sideshow Bob-esque afro, introduced me to buttermilk (wow, that’s SOUR!) and we talked. Topics ranged from social problems to sports to religion to politics. I’m sure we’ll be hanging out again soon…but keep it on the DL…it’s a secret.

Marrakech Mayhem

Having only been in Morocco for 2 days, laden with jet lag I would've probably been advised not to travel four and a half hours south to Marrakech this weekend. But, I did and was thankful for it.

Of course, we were late meeting each other and had to run to catch our train. Sweaty, but glad we didn't have to wait two hours for the next one, we sat down in what felt like the Hogwarts Express. The train had cabins that sat about 8 people with doors that made it seem like our own private place. We were talking about the tanneries where people stomp pigeon poop into leather to make it extremely soft when Vicky, from England, said, "Of course they do, pigeon poop has magical properties!" Given the situation and the fact that there was another Brit on board I thought we were headed directly to magic school. Turns out, Vicky is quite rad and was extremely helpful with her Arabic skills.

Marrakech is certainly a lively place. The big plaza was extremely entertaining. We watched snake charmers, monkey trainers, storytellers, musicians of all types, henna tattoo artists, dentists (on the street!), fortune tellers, dancers and we even watched a boxing match. Anyone could put on the gloves and box each other...the catch was that the crowd had to pay enough money for them to fight. I was left wishing I'd have paid more attention when my older cousin Trent was beating my body into bloody submission as a youngster. Alas, I only watched. But, man it was a sensory overload to be there on that plaza. Aside from all of the entertainment, food vendors were out in full force with spicy aromatically pleasing wares to offer.

Marrakech is known for its hustlers. People posing as tour guides offer to take you places and then expect money for doing it. They can be rather pushy and annoying. So, it was with great relief when someone grabbed my shoulder and said, (in perfect English) "Hey I'm not a tour guide. I only want to talk Rasta." I turned around to be greeted by a dread-locked, nearly toothless friendly face and in my best Bob Marley accent replied, "That's right. We must win it with Rasta. If we don't win it with Rasta, we will continue to suffer until we learn these things...with Rasta there will be no more war!" Youssef and his friend, Mustaffah were obviously excited by this and we ended up going to the base of a large, beautiful mosque, sat in a circle and listened to Youssef tell us of Rasta, Islam and Arabic folklore. It was such a beautiful time and proved to me that good, truth-seeking people are found everywhere. (pictures to follow...for some reason they're not loading)

The New Cheese

Its interesting what travel can do to a man. Undoubtedly there's an overwhelming sense of novelty that comes with the territory of being involved in service work in a foreign country whose language I do not speak (aside from basic greetings that ALWAYS draw a smile and sometimes hugs and kisses from complete strangers). Certainly there's a sense of longing for the good ol' days when kids respected their elders, politicians didn't philander, gas was cheap (even though I walk everywhere), and I had a job where I could bank on having thought-provoking conversation with my students. But, there's definitely an excitement derived from the above-mentioned novelty and for the nebulous nature of not knowing what awaits me nor knowing how to communicate about it.

Although I am living on a different continent, trying to speak a different language, surrounding myself with people I don't know, some things never change. For example, I caught a teenage girl picking her nose the other day and that's still funny. My host mother started breast feeding right in front of me the other day and that's still a little awkward. I smile and wink at a lot of people and they smile and wink back. Body language is a powerful tool anywhere.

I've yet to adjust to certain elements of the new cheese, however. I'm shocked (and a little angry) when I'm startled awake by the 4:30 A.M. call to prayer from the mosque that's right next to my house. I find it one of the most beautiful sounds when I'm relaxing with my new family, drinking tea late at night, but somehow at 4:30 in the morning its not as pretty...yet. I still feel a bit different after my bucket bath than I do when I take a steamy American shower. The conservationist, "if its yellow let it mellow, brown flush it down" side of me deeply appreciates said baths, but I still need to convince the hedonistic Dane that they're ok, too.

Overall, I'm convinced that I'm in for a richly rewarding few months here in Morocco. Inshallah. (God Willing)

Who Moved My Cheese?

What creams my twinkie? What floats my boat? By what is my crank turned? What causes my pretzel to twist? What motivates my kitty cat to get all dressed up in his pajamas? My responses to these questions would determine what my "Cheese" is according to Dr. J.(not to be confused with the B-ball phenom with a killer afro)



In a book sharing the title of this blog post Spencer Johnson writes of four characters living in a maze who unexpectedly face change when their "Cheese" vanishes. The maze and cheese provide simple metaphors for navigating the sometimes nebulous world of novelty that arrives at life's crossroads.

I have recently approached a point where I've decided to move my own cheese. I've been gnawing on a delicious Pepper Jack brick for the past 8 months, experiencing the softness and occasionally surprising spice of Sunrise Academy, residential treatment center and boarding school for girls. Teaching these lovely students has been an experience that words cannot adequately describe. We've laughed a lot, played a lot, shared many life lessons together and I've felt my capacity to care expand. I've never had a job that has infused me with this much passion and enthusiasm.

But, its time for new "Cheese". Briouats are Moroccan pastries that are pumped full of a variety of fillings and then fried. I've heard of a simple and supposedly incredibly tasty version that calls for cream cheese. They sound delicious. I wonder how they compare with my Pepper Jack brick.