Larache Spring English Language & Salsa Camp

Back in early April, I had the opportunity to participate in the Spring Holiday English Language Immersion Camp in Larache sponsored by the Morocco's Ministry of Youth and Sports.  I was looking forward to leaving the frigid temperatures and nonstop rain and drizzle of the Middle Atlas Mountains and to enjoy a bit of sun and hopefully a bit more warmth in Morocco's northeastern coast.  The camp was also an opportunity to change up the work routine from consulting with artisans on business ideas to working with high school age young people on language learning.

I and three other volunteers made up the team of English teachers, two volunteers were from the Youth Development (YD) sector, another was part of the Environment sector, and I represented the Small Business Development (SBD) sector.  In addition to us, the camp had a good number of local camp counselors who were quite good at getting the kids out of bed and getting them from one activity to another, and there were about 5 or so cooks fixing food for about 60+ kids plus all staff.

Every morning we would teach a lesson for about an hour or so and then after lunch we had the responsibility of running a club on anything we wished. An environment volunteer took groups of kids on scavenger hunts in the nearby forest and also allowed them to go swimming in the nearby beach called La Peligrosa or the dangerous one--the beach is literally called that by the locals who stuck with the name given by the Spanish back when they controlled much of the north.

Another volunteer conducted a number of team-building activities, which according to her was very hard to do given that most of the kids preferred to work independently.  I encountered a similar problem when playing basketball with some of the kids.  They were worse ball hogs than Allen Iverson taking on double teams rather than passing to the open man or sometimes they preferred to bust out some Harlem Globetrotter/And 1 type move to get a reaction from the crowd; however, more often than not, the attempt at some flashy move intended to make the opponent look ridiculous often ended in a turnover and a basket for the opposing team.  It was interesting to hear some of the campers later on commenting on the flashy move someone made and not about the team that had won five consecutive games.

Aside from a bit of basketball, for my club activity I decided to impart to these kids the one skill that I felt most qualified to offer: a little salsa and merengue dancing. So in my broken Arabic, I explained how the beats and sounds may sound a little familiar because much of the Caribbean is a mélange of cultures and traditions from Africa, Spain, and indigenous tribes that is constantly changing, adapting, and evolving. The merengue beat for instance is very similar to the Moroccan pop music called Chabbi(Arabic for Popular). For a little home country taste, check out this link:

Given the similarities in the beat and since many of the young people have grown up shaking their hips to their music, my introduction of merengue was well received. I remember in our Peace Corps training we were warned about how conservative Morocco can be, but we got very little about how liberal different areas of the country really are. At first I thought it would be difficult to put mixed partners together, but again it was no problem and the girls responded much like they do in the States, dumping the guys with two left feet for the ones who could move without stepping on their toes. We started with a little merengue first as a warm-up. They got the hips moving left and right, learned to step without looking like they were marching, and then I taught them a couple of style moves, but nothing too sensual although merengue is essentially a make-out type of music and not in the slow, romantic way.

So you can do a little comparing and contrasting, here's a bit of old-school merengue for ya:

I also got the couples to learn a few turns and we developed a bit of a routine for a club spectacular that would be taking place at the end of the week.

Then came the salsa. We started with the basic steps to the front, side, and stepping back to the left and right. Most got the moves although they looked a little robotic and had a hard time following the rhythm, but we continued to press on. The number of couples became even smaller as only a few could remember the syncopation and routine without stepping on their partner's toes. At the end of the class, I maybe had 4 people dancing out of about 20. I was happy to see, however, a few of my students who found my moves a little too inhibiting break out with their own routine. A group of 5 guys took some of my moves, added some Moroccan flair, and taught themselves a little repertoire in which they were all synchronized. They looked like the backup dancers to your typical salsa band.

Our dance spectacular was a disaster because there was a bit of confusion about who would be in the spectacular and then we had some last minute defections from shy kids; nonetheless, we pressed on and delivered what I think was the first Latin dance large group extravaganza in Morocco's history.  

Time flew by in Larache.  We were busy, but we still had plenty of time to explore and for fun.  Here are a number of things I'll always remember about Larache:

Larache and Ras El Ma: The camp site right on Ras El Ma' was a great location.  The eucalyptus trees that surrounded the camp sheltered it from the strong ocean winds, but still allowed a nice, cool breeze to pass through.  We had beaches of all kinds, one for the risk takers and one for the laid back floaters.  The oceanfront beach properly named La Peligrosa (The Dangerous One) held nothing back living up to its name as each waved revved back and upwards until finally crashing down in thunderous fashion.

The Loukus River and its inlet to the Atlantic were also quite scenic.  Everything was very green all around, there were lots of birds, and many colorful fishing boats.  The only downside to the beautiful scenery was all the trash strewn all over the riverbanks.  At one point I took my shoes off to feel the sand, but a second later I put them right back on when I saw several broken bottles and jagged edges sticking up in the sand.

Lixus: Just a bit upstream, there is a pretty well-known Roman ruin of a former sea port called Lixus, which the campers visited towards the end of camp.  The site is not as big as Volubilis, another Roman ruin near Meknes, but it does leave you with a good impression that at one point Lixus was a pretty important port back in the day.  It´s always interesting to walk through the ruins just to see how things were laid-out and to imagine how people lived.  It´s also a good reminder of how cities, civilizations, and people come and go leaving just faint traces of a their former grandeur. 

Morocco´s city on a hill: Larache itself sitting atop a rising plateau stands out as a beacon.  At night you can see its lighthouse beaming a green light, green being the color of Islam, thereby emitting Islam into the dark horizon as the Rough Guide put it.  The city itself was rather clean and the port city medina was fairly easy to maneuver.  

Multilingual and Multicultural: One could see signs in both Spanish and Arabic everywhere.  Many lodging options were called pensiones, restaurants advertised their bocadillos, paellas, and other typical Spanish dishes, and the kids roaming the streets would yell "Hola, ¿cómo estás?" instead of the "Bonjour, ça va?" commonly heard in most of Morocco.  I walked into a pharmacy to pick up some things and noticed that the pharmacist had her degree from a Spanish university posted proudly for all to see near the entrance and the entire transaction was conducted in Spanish.

Palm Sunday in Morocco: Lastly, being curious volunteers we decided to check out the Spanish cathedral in the center of town.  I had read in the Rough Guide that it was peculiar in how it looked very much like a mosque with its zellij (tiled mosaics) and bell tower, which resembled your typical minaret, and indeed it was a bit strange to see architecture and decor typical of a mosque along with effigies of Christ, the Virgin Mary, the Cross, wooden pews, confession chambers, and a grand altar.  We were met by one of priests who welcomed us and asked us to stay and to be part of the Palm Sunday ceremonies.  It had been a long time since I had participated in any religious rituals and I felt a bit weird taking part in this one, but for the sake of another cultural experience we stuck around and held palm leaves as the priests and an entourage of believers conducted a brief procession throughout the chambers of the cathedral symbolizing Jesus's arrival into Jerusalem.  We got some stares from some of the nuns who saw how lost we appeared to be, but others were kind enough to tell us what we needed to do and where we needed to go.  The head priest gave a sermon, they held mass, and then afterwards the priest that welcomed us gave us a brief tour of the cathedral, shared a bit of history, and introduced us to some Spanish volunteers who were there on a goodwill mission.  We asked him if Moroccans ever jumped ship and converted and he said that the church was there for all Catholics and that they did not engage in any proselytizing.  He said that ever since the turnover of territory to Moroccan authorities that the church had experienced a steady decline in attendance as much of the Spanish population migrated back to the peninsula.  He thanked us for taking the time to visit and told us that we were always welcomed.

Tapas bar with ocean views: After our visit to the cathedral, we walked up a block and found a bar.  We climbed up the stairs and found that the place had a nice ocean view and was serving not only your staple Moroccan beers, Stork and Flag, but also had Heineken on hand.  We sat down and asked for a round and to our surprise along with the beers came a platter of fried seafood, small salads, and olives.  At one point we got some calamari, then sardines, and then some white fish.  The food was complimentary perhaps following the Spanish tradition of serving tapas along with the drinks.

It was a bit surreal to be in Morocco, an Islamic country, and to partake of Palm Sunday activities, to be speaking Spanish throughout the day, and to cap the day with beer and seafood tapas, but in a way all those things I saw, heard, and did in just a few days in Larache are a good snapshot of what Morocco is all about.  Over centuries, it´s had influences from a number of different countries, colonial powers, and ambitious imperialistic dynasties, and to this day the vestiges of those influences still remain in its cultural makeup, architecture, and its language.  I enjoyed working at the camp and enjoyed chilling in Larache.  I´d stay away from La Peligrosa, but other than that there´s a lot to like about this town.

Learning darija: I speak in gaffes

Now that the official training is done, the real learning now begins. My fellow site mate working at a dar chabab, youth center, introduced me to a great guy who speaks English tremendously well who I've decided will be my Arabic language for the next 12 months, God willing (inshallah). He also happens to run a small sandwich shop that makes some killer sandwiches. His name is Ali, but everyone calls him Mister Ali, and his deli is named Snack Ali. We have lessons on the weekends at a local cafe. Right now, we’re in the process of rehashing my old lessons, correcting pronunciation, and finally putting all the disparate vocabulary and verbs into coherent sentences.

Couscous Fridays with the whole fam

I thought I’d share some of my language gaffes for everyone’s enjoyment. I laugh at myself all the time along with those willing to hear me out. I thought I might be pretty successful as a stand-up comedian in Morocco. My family is always asking me to say the most mundane of things at least two or three times and every time they crack up laughing. I’ve had a difficult time pronouncing some letters and will often confuse similar sounding words. So here’s a list of things I’ve said. I hope you enjoy it:

1. At the end of a meal, one way to stop the incessant calls to keep eating is to say “May God replenish you”, which in transcription would be written something like this: llah y-xlf. In my futile attempt to sound local I ended up running everything together and saying something in the neighborhood of “God is green pepper”, which is pronounced as llah flfla. My tutor worked with me on the Arabic ح , which is sometimes represented by a combination "Kh" or "X" showing me how I needed to almost rev back as if to clear my throat.  I have finally gotten down the God phrase, but for joke’s sake still include flfla so after every meal I tell my family “May God replenish you with green peppers” or llah y-xlf b flfla.
2. I was eating some olive oil with some fresh out of the oven bread for a snack one time and decided to share a bit of scientific fact I had remembered from my days watching the Discovery Health channel, which I also miss minus the gory surgeries. I wanted to tell my family that olive oil is good for the heart so I told them, "zit zitun mzyan l  l-klb," as I pointed to my heart. When I said this, my host father and host mother gave a me strange, bewildered face, and my host brothers laughed.  He then proceeded to bark followed by the transliterated word klb and the qlb while pointing to his heart. He did this a couple of times so that I could understand the difference in pronunciation.  The Arabic ق otherwise represented by the Q in English is a /k/ sound that is produced much farther back in the throat.  Thank goodness for context.  As you may know, dogs in most Islamic countries are considered to be impure animals not generally kept as pets.  As you can imagine, I am extra careful now telling people they have a good heart.
3. Over the course of the last several weeks, I've been confusing the following words: mosque, Friday, university, and association. In transliteration, they are, written in the same order, the following: jamﻉ, jmﻉa, jamﻉa, and jamﻉiya. As you can see, they're all in the same neighborhood so it's easy to forget which one you need to use at any particular point in time.  In fact, in setting up meetings, I’ve ended up telling people, “The meeting will be on the mosque at 10AM on the university, and please ask your Friday to be there.” Then I wonder why people don’t show.
   

This is all I have for now. I’m sure I’ll have some more in the near future. When I come across others, I’ll remember to share it with yall.

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If you'd like to hear and learn the Arabic alphabet, you can do so by visiting these two links:

http://mylanguages.org/multimedia/arabic_audio_alphabet.php

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANIoxAxruys

Wide-eyed in the Land of the Far West

Arid hills of the Middle Atlas

Greetings from the land of the far west, Morocco. According to history--and I am paraphrasing what was said to me, which was probably paraphrased from some historian and to that I´m adding a few colorful details--Arab explorers sometime around the 7th and 8th century AD weary from the unrelenting Saharan sun and exhausted from crossing the arid rocky terrain of the Middle Atlas upon seeing that they were met with an ocean said to themselves, “That's it, the end of the world.  This is as far west as we can go.” One of the Arab explorers followed, "Yall can go back, but there's no way in the Islamic version of hell that I'm crossing the Sahara again." So he and others stayed.  After having a very nice tajine cooked most undoubtedly by a local Amazigh guide, and of course having a bit of tea, they, without asking the local guide for the name of the place, decided to call their newly discovered territory Al-Maghrib, the land of the far west or land where the sun sets.

As you have noticed from my blog title, I have adopted a Moroccan name. Yousef, whose English equivalent would be Joseph or in Spanish José.  I was donned the name by my host dad and mom from my training site. They thought that Jonathan was a little too difficult to pronounce and thought that a more appropriate name for me would be Yousef. Other Moroccans have complimented me on the name saying it is a good name so I decided to stick with it.

Peace Corps Director David Lillie

So here I am already three months in and done with our Community-Based Training(CBT). I swore in not too long ago at a really fancy hotel ballroom with amazing panoramic views of Fez. The event was quite memorable. It had the feel of a commencement ceremony. Two trainees from our language groups presented speeches in their respective Moroccan languages kind of like the speeches given by our salutatorian and valedictorian. They were selected by our Language and Culture Facilitators (LCF) or what you could consider to be the faculty.

US Ambassador to Morocco Thomas Riley and Nancy Riley

In addition to the faculty, the administrators were also present. Our Country Director, David Lillie, was the master of ceremonies, and the keynote address was given by the ambassador who also conferred upon us the title of Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV).  Many of our host family members made it to the event, applauded our achievement, and at the banquet incessantly and emphatically demanded that we sit, eat, and drink much like they had done for the last couple of months. It was a nice cap to the 11-week training period.

Training

The pace of the training was somewhat exhausting, but I actually wish there was more of it especially language. We had a Moroccan Arabic textbook that was made by Peace Corps Morocco staff and volunteers, which I thought was really good in terms of its methodology and its substance.  The LCF's knew that at the end of the training we would be to some extent on our own getting to our sites, doing a bit of shopping, searching for lodging, and getting acquainted with our counterparts and ministry delegates, so they wasted no time on theory and taught us whatever was necessary to survive those first few months.

The language training is an intensive curriculum that packs in the equivalent of two to three semesters of language courses into 11-weeks.  We covered the imperative, past, present, and future tense forms of verbs, how to use articles properly, possession, common adjectives, a huge laundry list of vocabulary, and a load of stock phrases used by many Moroccans.  

I remember past tense took an entire semester at my old high school. Note however that I said covered and not learned. Some were able to retain more than others, but I think we are all going through the process of defragmentation at this moment. We got so much information in such a short period of time and miraculously much of it is stored somewhere in the brain, but it’s like you need to reorganize your brain or review the information so that you can begin to put all pieces together.

At times, it felt like I was cramming for a final exam everyday. I placed my Moroccan Arabic textbook under my pillow as I had done prior for previous college exams, but this time around the process of learning by osmosis did not yield the same results. Perhaps Arabic script does not diffuse or is not absorbed as quickly or maybe my brain does not have the adequate receptors to properly retrieve the information.  Some volunteers broke out flashcards, played Arabic charades, and others closed their eyes and meditated on some of the common phrases like Buddhist monks. I saw a lot people slap their heads and faces, pull their hair, and forcibly squint their eyes in utter frustration. I did and am still doing a combination of all those things. It would be interesting to find out if any of the latter physical methods work better than others.

I once saw this documentary on how the brain works on Discovery Channel, which I greatly miss, about how information is stored but how it takes different triggers like a smell, sound, touch, or some visual association to restore it from the depths of one’s mental archives. Our LCFs did a pretty good job of trying to create situations that would help us associate words with actions through various mock plays, dialogues, drawings, or simply going to the store and trying out all our new vocabulary with the mul hanut, convenience store owner. When I am scrambling for a word, I usually flashback to those situations and in some cases can come up with a word or two that can explain my latest predicament.

In addition to the language lessons, we were given an overview of Peace Corps’ approach to community development and how it pertains to our particular focus. Peace Corps Morocco has at this moment various sectors: environment, health, youth development, and small business. According to the director and if I remember correctly there are either 200 or 300 volunteers in Morocco making it one of the biggest programs worldwide. Morocco also has one of the longest running programs since Peace Corps’ inception, and the small business unit is the newest addition to the PC Morocco portfolio. Per the Moroccan government’s invite specifically the Ministry of Tourism and Artisana, the unit was created with the directive to foster the growth of those two sectors with a special interest in handicraft and textile production. Our program managers provided us with a brief overview of the sector, which according to them contributes to nearly 20% of their GDP. Quite an astounding figure I thought. So as we muddled through our language lessons, we were also given a lot of information to prepare us for our role as small business development volunteers.

All in all, training was a blast. There were plenty of awkward moments of complete silence with host families and many others filled with laughter like when I introduced Sumo wrestling to my host kid brother. My host mother cooked some amazing meals like a delicious oven-cooked chicken with a parsley and lemon glaze and a bunch of other seasonings and with a ton of olives. For someone who enjoys olives, Morocco is about as close as you can get to olive heaven. The chicken was served in a large platter with the whole chicken in the center and a moat of chicken broth and green olives all around it. Absolutely delicious!

Not so delicious was the steamed sheep’s head we had for leid sghir, the dinner to break the Ramadan fast. The sheep’s brain was served on the side. My mother gave me the honorary first try at the brain. I can’t say that it tasted anything like chicken. It was more like a bland, white spongy mush. With a little cumin and salt I was able to take a few more bites. One of my host sisters played with the sheep’s ears as though they were conversing with one another. After the games, everyone sunk their bread bits into the head and began to take it apart. My host father took a jaw and began gnawing at it. I was also given one of the jaws, which I gathered was a precious portion as it contained some of the best meat, and just followed my host dad’s gnawing example.

During training there was still time for fun. I was able to take a couple of hikes, one near Azrou, my seminar site, and another in Ain Leuh, my community-based site. The view from the summit of the Azrou mountain ridge was absolutely breathtaking.

You could see miles and miles of rolling hills, clusters of cedar trees, narrow plots of green, recently plowed plots waiting for the winter rains, grazing pastures, and a concentrated bunch of apartment buildings sprawling out from the slope of the mountain and extending throughout the valley.

You try to capture everything within the expansive view, but you find yourself so inept in doing so that after a while you give up and just begin to marvel. Aside from the hikes, volunteers organized movie nights, dance-offs, a talent show, and various exercise groups did everything from yoga to intense aerobics. There was a little bit of everything for everyone. I led a number of yoga classes, which were quite spiritual I might add. A group of us would go to the roof of the auberge (youth hostel) and go through an hour long class as the sun would rise over the mountains. It was an awesome way to start the day.

The swearing-in ceremony was kind of a bittersweet moment. You’re excited to have reached this moment with your fellow PCVs, but sad to see them go. Also, the (LCFs) that we clung to no longer would be there to clear up those incidences when we meant no offense when we accidentally called a man a woman and vice-versa. I met some great individuals and we shared some great moments. Now the fun really begins in my new city, my new home in @#$%^& (Sorry, Peace Corps policy does not allow me to disclose).

Thanks for reading.