Making Couscous

Every Friday in Morocco families gather to celebrate their most revered day of the week. Often extended family comes to munch on a delicious serving of couscous usually topped with chicken, beef, or lamb and veggies doused with a tasty broth.

In one of my Dances with Wolves moments, I decided to find out the source of this scrumptious meal. I wondered, "Does couscous grow on trees? Does it rain from heaven like mana?"  I needed to know. Thankfully, one of our fellow volunteers knew the path to the origins of couscous. I and several other never-miss-a-couscous Friday convert took the pilgrimage to Khoukhate, a small village near Zaida that had begun teaching the steps to reaching a culinary nirvana of couscous making.

Khoukhate is a small valley of green with nothing but an arid wilderness to one side and towering desert plateaus to the other. When climbing onto the plateaus surrounding the village, it appears as if the ground level plane suddenly collapsed and the spring that gives this village its life carved out a beautiful and bountiful oasis. So bountiful, according to the locals, that the village for the most part is self-sustaining producing its own fruits, vegetables, and staple cereals like corn and wheat. Both the men and women labor in the fields, but when it comes to preparing the labor-intensive, time-consuming, but utterly gratifying couscous, the women take over.

There are many pre-packaged couscous varieties at the market that can be put immediately onto a couscoussiére, steamed, and served within a couple of hours. Couscous being such a central part of Moroccan tradition, I felt I needed to learn how to make it from scratch. Back in my home-stay, my host family gave me a five-minute step-by-step guide to make couscous, but I was not able to practice partly because I would have been the only guy with a roomful of older ladies toiling away on the flour. Not that I mind hanging out with older ladies, but at that particular point I was just getting to know my family and trying to understand the nuances of Moroccan culture and gender roles; so instead, I went out in typical Moroccan fashion with my younger host brother to a café to pass the time people watching until it was time to eat.

Whenever we would get back, I would pig out on the couscous as usual sometimes forgoing the meat that everyone sought out for more couscous. Sometimes I felt that I was in a couscous eating contest, but I wasn’t doing it to win any prize; it was pure self-motivation. To make things worse, when the family saw me slowing down, they aided and abetted my gluttony by adding more broth to my couscous so that it could go down easier and then offering the customary bssHa(To your health) as I stuffed my face.

Needless to say, I’m a fan. Back in the states, I purchased the 5-minute pre-steamed variety to spur things up a bit as a substitute for rice. I enjoyed it then; however now that I’ve had the real thing cooked Moroccan style, I’m hooked. Not wanting to revert back to the 5-minute boxed couscous, I went out to Khokuhate to learn the craft of couscous making alongside other couscous fans.

A group of fellow PCVs got together at the Association Ennahda for our couscous making class. The women's association with the help of a PCV is looking to draw tourists and study abroad groups interested in learning about Moroccan culture and experiencing it first-hand.

The association hosts the cooking classes, sells a whole wheat herb-infused couscous, zmita, and different types of jams. To learn more about the association, please click on the associations link above.

The association's president, who was going to lead the class, had already gathered the pots, pans, sifter, meats, veggies, spices, and Khoukhate's own milled whole wheat flour.

She poured the flour onto the ceramic couscous serving dish. Then slowly began sprinkling a bit of warm semi-salty water throughout swirling the flour with her other hand as it began to clump up.

Once there were enough clumps, she got sifter to separate the clumps from the flour. The clumps were then dumped onto several water reed baskets, which we all began pressing and rolling in

classic Karate Kid 'wax on, wax off' style adding a bit of flour from time to time so the granules would not stick together.

Then when the clumps were pretty much

gone, we dumped our baskets onto a sifter so that the sifter could filter out the right size couscous granules.

We repeated the process until we felt we had enough for a couscous feast.

Then, all the rolled and sifted couscous was put into a couscoussiére, kind of a two-tier type pot where chicken and veggies are boiled in the bottom pot while the couscous rests on the top tier pot, which is designed to allow the steam to seep in through its perforated base making it possible for the couscous granules to get nice a steam bath.

After 30 or so minutes, there was a gap between the couscous and all around the edge of the pot, which meant that it was time to fluff it out. The couscous was dumped onto the ceramic serving dish. After a thorough hand wash, I dug in and began to fluff the couscous.

The purpose of the fluff, of course, is to loosen the couscous so it doesn't become one big massive pasta ball and to move it around so all the couscous granules can get a better steam bath. This process was repeated three times.

Once the couscous was done, the chicken and veggies were cooked through, and the broth was ready, a little saffron was added to the couscous and then placed on the large ceramic couscous serving dish(I'm sure it has a name, but I can't recall it at the moment). The chicken came next, then the veggies, and finally a bit of broth was poured all around.

We quickly said our grace, which in Morocco is a simple Bismillah (In the name of God), and then dug in. A few of us tried to pick up the traditional way of eating couscous, which involves grabbing a bit and moving it and rotating it around to create a small couscous ball that you then pop into your mouth or use to start a couscous fight.

As usual I stuffed myself, but was outdone by fellow PCV Steven who claimed the title of last man standing. All in all it was a great learning experience. My hope is to replicate it in the States Inshallah (God willing) so y'all can partake of what I plan to make a tradition of mine: couscous stuffing Fridays.

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.