Crossing the River Jordan and onto Jerusalem

Sometimes I regret not having researched my travel plans well, but then other times, I am glad that I don't. The moment I arrived in Jordan I began asking the locals, fellow travelers, PC volunteers, and anyone in the know about crossing over to Israel.  I read a few blogs prior to starting my trip and every single blog spoke of the tediousness associated with crossing into Israel also referred to as the Palestinian Occupied Territory.  It was interesting that when I speaking to Jordanians about crossing, most would refer to the land west of the River Jordan as Palestine (Filistin) and hardly ever as Israel.  When I asked Jordanians for details, they gave me a lot of contradictory information.  The volunteers I was with had heard of the various crossings, but most had not crossed personally so they weren't really sure which way was the best way to go.

Most of the blogs I read spoke of the King Hussein Bridge or Allenby Crossing west of Amman. Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide also had a lot more to say about the King Hussein Bridge than the Sheikh Hussein Bridge or the Wadi Araba crossings. They all said that crossing through the King Hussein Bridge normally is an entire day ordeal. I personally did not want to throw away an entire day crossing into Israel so I thought I'd go where others don't generally go. Plus, Irbid, where I was chilling at the time, was only about 15km from the Sheikh Hussein Bridge, so I figured I'd take that route and hopefully shed some light on the process.

Because it was still L3id Kbir/Al-Adha in Jordan, there were fewer buses running to Irbid so I woke up a little early in the hopes that I could catch an early morning transit. The transit dropped us off at the Moujemma Shamal Bus Station. The volunteer I was with was told that there were taxis that took off from the Moujemma Amman Bus Station to the border crossing so we headed over there only to find out that indeed there were taxis that would go there, but not legitimate/licensed ones and they were asking for 15JD to go there. We were told that it would be around that amount, but the illegal taxis looked more suspect than usual so we asked a policeman.  The policeman told us to head back to Moujemma Shammal and to take a legit taxi from there to the border.  He told us that the price would be from 12-15JD.  So we went back to the station, my PCV friend looked up a friend of his that worked at a cell phone boutique, and his friend pointed us to a taxi that was chilling next to a snack shop.  He inquired for us about going to the border and the taxi driver offered to take me for 12JD.

The taxi cab ride was rather interesting.  For the next 15 minutes or so, the driver went on to talk about all his sexual exploits and his disdain for Israel.  Of course, none of this was said in any sort of descriptive way.  When speaking of Israel, he would make a spitting sound and he said he prayed for the day when Israel would not exist.  When talking about all his sexual encounters, he would simply say how good or bad the sex was with different nationalities from a scale of bad/ugly, good, and to wonderful/beautiful fuck.  He had a lot to say about Russian girls, which struck me as odd, but later on I learned that many Russian girls travel to Jordan to work in strip clubs or to work as escorts.  A fellow couchsurfer also pointed out how it's usually Russian girls who are dancing in the disco video recordings that I would see on the street or at various cafes.  Supposedly there are other neighboring Arab nationalities that work at these clubs, but usually if they do, the girls are "Christian".  During a lull in his sexual expletives, I asked him about his family.  He said that he had 3 boys and one wife.  He said he wanted another wife, but could not afford it.  He did say that he was very happy with his family and his wife and that he no longer smoked marijuana or had sex with other women because he said that doing so would be haram(forbidden)--figures.

At one checkpoint, he handed over my passport to a guard.  The guard wanted to ask me something, but the taxi driver yelled at him that I was American and asked him, "what's the problem?"  The guard smiled and returned my passport and we were on our way.  After driving out for about 12km, the driver made a right turn towards another checkpoint.  The guards asked for my passport.  He handed it over and then they told the driver to pull over to the side of the road.  I thought there was an issue, but there wasn't.  That was simply as far as my taxi driver could go.

As he began unloading my baggage, another taxi pulled up with some tags on the sides that said Jordan Border Crossing.  I gave my taxi driver the 12JD we agreed upon, shook hands, and said our m3a slamas (Go in safety).  I hopped onto the other taxi and we headed towards the next checkpoint.  Once there, I had to take my luggage through a huge scanner.  This thing was massive.  My luggage went through without any problems.  I then picked up my backpack and got back on the Jordan Border Crossing taxi.  We went another kilometer before I was dropped off at the customs office.  I paid the taxi 1.10JD.

At customs, I told an officer that I was coming back to Jordan after a few days.  He said, "Good," that I needed to pay an 8JD exit tax, that my Jordanian visa would be "no good", and that I would have to pay for a new one to get back in.  I didn't ask about the exit stamp, but a tour group on a pilgrimage through the Holy Land that was ahead of me told me that they were going to have their exit stamp on a separate sheet of paper.  They had some cards filled out with their name and other information.  As soon as my passport was stamped, I was ready to cross over.

Due to the tight security, I couldn't just walk over to the border.  I had to exit the customs building and walk back out to the Trust Intl. Transpo kiosk right behind the Duty Free store and purchase a bus fare for 1.30JD.  The distance from the customs building to the border was no more than a couple hundred meters, but it was forbidden to walk to it.  The only way to approach it was taking the Trust Intl. bus and the buses only left at certain times, which for me meant waiting over an hour for the next bus to go out.

Right around 1:30PM, I and a whole bunch of Chinese tourists hopped on the bus.  It took no more than a minute to get to the final gate on the east bank of the River Jordan.  Once there, a guard came through to make sure all taxes were paid and everyone was stamped out.  He then gave the okay to the driver.  We crossed the once mighty River Jordan and then proceeded to the Israeli side.

We were dropped off at the Israeli customs entrance.  It was interesting to see such a stark difference in administration.  On the Jordanian side, I dealt entirely with older mustachioed gentlemen, some in formal military or police uniforms, and everyone appeared to be disgruntled about something.  On the Israeli side, I was greeted by a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, male and female, in polo shirts and khaki cargo pants and with a more relaxed vibe to it.  I walked over to the scanners, handed over my bags, and gave an attractive female guard my passport.  That guard called over another attractive female guard.  I was hoping for a frisking, but unfortunately they just tagged-team on the questioning.  I was asked what was the purpose for my visit to Israel, info on my passport, who my parents and grandparents were, and if I had been to any other Arab country besides Jordan.  After the quick interview, they smiled and said, "Welcome to Israel."

I picked up my bags from the scanners and then walked over to a customs window.  I gave my passport to another female guard who was being supervised by another young men.  She asked me a similar round of questions and then asked if it was okay to stamp my passport.  The same group on the Holy Land tour was also in the customs lines in the process of getting their entry stamps on a separate sheet of paper.  After taking care of the stamps, I was given another nice cordial "Welcome to Israel" and just like that I was through.

Now, the challenge was how to get to Jerusalem from there.  I asked a couple of customs reps if there were any transportation options from this crossing and they said that maybe, just maybe there would be some taxis waiting outside that would go the nearest town called Bayt She'an about 6km away.  They also said to ask the tour buses if I could hitchhike with them.  I thought I'd give it a try so I went out and asked a number of them if they had room for one more.  I asked one driver who said "no" rather frankly.  I asked some people who were awaiting to board another bus and their driver gave me the "I'm not in charge" line.  Another driver said he could get in trouble.  I got tired of the rejections so I decided to get a taxi.

Outside of the gates, there were a number of cars waiting to get through and a couple of taxi cabs on the curb.  I went up to one who told me that there was no transportation available from Bayt She'an to Jerusalem so he offered to take me to Tiberias for 200 shekels(NIS) (about $60) where transportation would be available for sure.  Tiberias was a good 40 kilometers away going northwest.  I only had about 60NIS, which I had gotten from the last $20 I had on me so paying out 200 something shekels was out of the question.  I walked over to the next taxi, I asked him about Bayt She'an and if there was transportation and he said there was and that he would drop me off at the bus stop.  When I asked him how much, he told me he would go for 60NIS.  I liked that this guy was at least willing to take me to Bayt She'an, but 60NIS seemed outrageous.  After some light negotiating, we finally settled on 50.  With not a lot of other options and with the sun setting, I still felt I was getting hosed, but I had little choice.  I shelled out the 50NIS and we drove off to Bayt She'an.

The winding road to Bayt She'an was quite refreshing as we passed farm upon farm in this stretch of fertile land.  When I told him that the other taxi driver wanted to charge me 200 shekels to go to Tiberias because transportation was not available in Bayt She'an, he made the same spitting gesture that the Jordanian taxi driver had made and said, "Arabi".  He said in a choppy English, "Those Arabs all they want is money; they don't care about people."  The whole time I was thinking, "...and this is from a guy that wanted to charge me about $17 for a 6km ride.  He asked me where I was from and I told him I was from the U.S., but had lived in Venezuela.  As soon as I told him Venezuela, he switched to a rough, but less choppy Spanish.  We spoke in Spanish for the rest of the trip.  He mainly went off about how much he hated Arabs.  The taxi driver took me to an ATM to get some cash and then he dropped me off at a bus stop on the side of a four-lane road that ran north to south close to a McDonald's.

At the bus stop, I asked a few young guys in military garb in English if they knew which bus was going to Jerusalem and they said that the 966 Egged makes the north to south journey everyday.  I went over to the 966 bus stand and put my bag down and finally took a look at my surroundings.  The infrastructure difference from Jordan to Israel was night and day.  The roads, the signposts, the paint on the roads, traffic lights, and the buildings were in order and well maintained.  Just across the river, there was significantly less trash on the street and more trash cans available.  Not to say that Jordan does not have things in order; it's just more chaotic and spaces that are well maintained and free of trash are like little oases in the midst of the disorder.  Like Morocco, the fancy esplanades and promenades that are meticulously maintained for tourist traffic are the exception and not the norm.  

It felt a little unsettling to be hopping on a bus to Jerusalem with about 20 uniformed young men carrying automatic rifles, but after a while I got used to it and found it odd when I didn't see some young person with a gun slinging from their neck.  They were probably wondering why I wasn't carrying one.  As I got on the dark green 966 Egged bus, I told the driver, "Jerusalem," and he said, "40.50NIS".  I handed him a huge bill and he didn't even flinch; he gladly took my money and gave me the exact change.  Even just an instance like this would have caused a heap of drama on most buses on the other side who always seem to be out of change.  I thought the 40.50NIS was a little steep, but perhaps that's exactly why the same ride is cheaper on the other side of the river; perhaps the convenience or the more efficient management hasn't been priced into the ticket.

It was a breath of fresh air to be in Israel and here I was on my way to the city that all three Abrahamic faiths call their own.  Soon I would be walking the streets and on my way to witnessing the grandeur and the mystery of this old city.  All in all, it was an easy and somewhat entertaining crossing.  In the end, all I could say is gracias a Dios, hamdullah, and thanks be to God and/or the cosmic forces of the universe for allowing me to be where I was.

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Please note that if you exit through the Sheikh Hussein Bridge and you wish to come back to Jordan from Israel, you will need to come back through either the Sheikh Hussein or the Wadi Araba crossings.  Likewise, if you cross through the King Hussein Bridge, you will need to return through there as well.  Reason being that Jordanian visas cannot be issued out from the King Hussein Bridge, but the Jordanian authorities are able to at the other two crossings.  Basically, according to Jordanian border policy, you are not leaving the country when you cross into the West Bank (formerly part of the Transjordan territory and currently in geopolitical limbo) and as such they do not ask people to pay an exit tax and do not issue exit stamps.  The con is that the King Hussein Bridge is perhaps the busiest crossing of them all, and from what I've read or heard, it can take an inordinate amount of time to get through.

If you're crossing back through Sheikh Hussein, please note that there are few transportation options available on both sides of the crossing.  Only private taxis run by the Jordan Border Crossing Company are available, which can take you to almost any major destination in Jordan, but for a pretty hefty price.  I paid 19JD to make it back to Irbid.  Knowing I had made the same journey for 13JD, I tried to bargain, but the dispatcher would not budge from the posted prices.  A taxi to Amman was around 35JD.  I don't think it is a matter of not enough demand because it appears that there are plenty of people crossing on a regular basis, but perhaps it's a tolerated monopoly.

So as far as convenience and less stress, I would cross through Sheikh Hussein again, but if I did not want an exit stamp from Jordan and/or to pay the 8JD ($12) tax, then King Hussein is the way to go.

For more info, visit the following links: http://www.visitjordan.com/default.aspx?tabid=105
The exit tax info on the website says 5JD, but it is 8JD now.
http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/facts2.html

Also, visit the Israeli side of the web at: www.goisrael.com

Bon voyage everyone!

In Jordan - A Taste of Life In Jordan's Shamal

I arrived in a town close to Irbid on November 15 and learned that the following day would be the start of Leid l-Kbir, the grand feast celebrated by the sacrificial slaughtering of a sheep.  Because of all the festivities during Leid and with little to no public transit available, it meant that I would have to spend at least a couple of days in the volunteer's village.  I was no inconvenience for me; I was looking forward to the experience.

One of the reasons for traveling through Jordan and Egypt was to get a different taste of the Arab/Muslim World.  I was curious to see what if any similarities there were between the peoples of the Maghreb(West) and the Sarq al-Ousad(Middle East).  In Morocco, there was no question that they identified themselves with the Muslim World in terms of their faith, but when it came to ethnicity/heritage, some Moroccans were extremely proud of their Amazigh roots and saw the Arabization of the educational system as a continuation of Arab imperialism.  I had read in Peter Mansfield's A History of the Middle East that the Arab World was by no means a homogeneous bloc.  Political and cultural differences had existed for centuries.  Islam had unified the various tribes, but many of the cultural traditions that distinguished one tribe from the other continued.  I was hoping to see or experience these small subtleties.  I was also hoping to see how much of an impact Turkish rule had on the region.

Attempting to speak with the locals

I arrived in Jordan hoping that I could put to use a bit of the Moroccan Colloquial Arabic I had learned.  When I arrived, I was happy that I could pick out the numbers, but even the numbers sounded differently.  The /t/ for "Tom" used in tlata (three) or tlatin in Morocco was now replaced by the /Ө/ "th" for "think" and was now thlatha or thlathin.  The Moroccan juj for the number two was now ithnayn. I heard more "g"s in the place of the hard back-of-the-throat "q" sound. Instead of kif dayr for "how are you", I was now being greeted with a kayf f Halk or an even shorter kayfak.  Words like nishan for "straight" or aji for "come here" that have Amazigh/Berber roots were completely absent.

At the cafe and restaurant, I wanted to order a ns ns or half and half (Moroccan cappuccino) and some aatay (tea), but Jordanians would ask me, "What is it that you want half and half of and there is no such thing as aatay, but we do have chay".  For coffee, they either had 3adi (regular/normal) or wasit (medium) and those two options just told the waiter how much sugar to put.  I had to stick to root words and the few words of Fusha that I knew to get around, but even my pronunciation of those standard words was off.  When I asked for sugar (skkar), they would correct me by saying sukkar.

When addressing someone, I had used khouya (my brother) or sidi (my dear sir) to get someone's attention.  In Jordan, I heard more sadiqi (my loyal friend), sheikh (chief), and the Turkish basha (a title for a distinguished govt.official).

When scoping transportation options, telling someone maHtta (Darija word for station), I was told, will get you to the police station not the bus station. For the bus station, I had to use mujemma.  And to find out how much anything was, bshaHal got me blank stares, but gddesh got me the price.  Chnu for "what" was just chu.  Sometimes some people noticed my delayed reaction to their price offer and were kind enough to write the price out for me, but they would write it in Arabic numerals, which I never used in Morocco.  Saying the French tren for train, tobis for bus, or tomobil for car that are commonplace in Darija had to be replaced with the Fusha equivalents except for bus, which was just bus.  I could go on forever on how the dialects differed.  It was interesting because I could halfway understand what people were saying, but only a few could understand what was coming out of my mouth.  Fortunately, volunteers were there to fill in the gap and I am sure the exchange baffled Jordanians.  Here was this Arab-looking guy asking someone who was clearly a foreigner to speak on his behalf.

A volunteer I had met in Amman the night before and I left the city sometime late morning and took a Hijazi bus for less than 2JD to head over to Irbid where I would be meeting two more Peace Corps volunteers. We got off at Irbid's Amman Station and hopped on one of the many passenger vans/small buses that circled the city. We got off at University St, which was home to a long strip of restaurants, cafes, cybercafes, and shops. It looked like if anything happened in Irbid, it probably took place on this strip. We chilled out at a snack shop while the other volunteers arrived. I tried a few of the shop's specialty mojeena, a baked pastry with a variety of different fillings. I got a cheese one, one with meat, and another with spinach.

Mojenna

  

Gender Expectations: Similar and Different

The volunteers filled me in on their experience.  It was nice to a get a female perspective on the topic.  I was curious to find out how conservative Jordan was in comparison to Morocco.  Attire-wise, I did see more burqas and more niqabs than I had seen in Morocco, but I also saw a great number of ladies strutting their stuff with form-fitting western wear, high heels, full-on makeup, and a classy or flashy color-coordinated headscarf.  I told volunteers that I had worked primarily with women during my service and they were surprised that I had that much freedom to interact with the opposite sex.  Then I asked them about their service and all of them told me that they were working as TEFL Teachers or as Special Education Counselors,  but I was surprised to learn that all their classrooms were segregated and that in some cases girls and boys went to different schools.  That certainly was not typical of Morocco; most classrooms were integrated.

What took me most by surprise was our goodbyes.  I was ready to shake the hand of the female volunteer who had made all the initial contacts with other volunteers and had given me a wealth of travel tips, but when I extended my hand, she left me hanging and just waived goodbye.  Apparently, even a friendly shake could be misinterpreted by the locals.  That incidence, though, was indicative of how my experience in Jordan would be.  This moment when we exchanged a friendly conversation with a female was a rare moment; most of my time would likely be spent in the company of men.

Mi casa es su casa Jordanian style

So I arrived in a male volunteer's village later on.  We were invited to several households to have coffee and tea.  In one instance, we were invited to a colossal feast featuring Jordan's famous mansef.

Mouth-watering Mansef

The dish has an unleavened bread base that is then covered with a layer of a saffron-flavored rice-n-roni that is then topped with a seasoned, baked chicken with roasted peanuts and then doused with a tangy, yougurty broth.  I gorged on the food and exhaled a hamdullah(Thanks be to God).  It was a feast to remember.

Applying the tangy broth

I wanted to thank the cooks who had made this fabulous meal, but this was out of the question.  Even in Morocco, I sometimes did not meet the female members of the family until the 3rd or 4th meal(Three Meals Later) so I wasn't taken aback by it.  It was interesting, however, that in the few days I spent in the shamal (north) and visited a couple of homes,one in particular twice, I had no interaction with females.  That in most parts of Morocco would have been rare even for a foreigner.

Me and some FC Barcelona fans

Our male hosts treated us wonderfully.  I felt welcomed and I learned a great deal about the male side of Jordanian culture and etiquette.  They shared their love for football and we exchanged tid bits about our respective life experiences.

Coffee with town elder

They were curious to hear about my two years in Morocco.  They wanted to know if it was a nice place to live, how was the climate and food, how were the people, and if I had enjoyed my time there.  They were also eager to learn about Venezuela and my opinion on the controversial Venezuelan President, Mr. Hugo Chavez, a darling of the Middle East.  We spoke in a mix of English and Arabic.  Fortunately, the volunteer's friends were all sympathetic interlocutors.

I must say that after spending a few days in a village in the shamal when a Jordanian would tell me marhaba (welcome) or ahalan wa sahalan fik (Loosely translated, it means, "May you arrive as part of the family, and tread an easy path (as you enter)*, I felt that they really meant it and they went to lengths to show me that they did.  In terms of hospitality, Moroccans and Jordanians are neck and neck.

To some, chilling out in a village may seem like a waste of time given all the amazing sites and natural wonders in the world, but to me, observing the dynamics of village life, tasting the homemade cuisine, and talking with the locals are immensely satisfying and absolutely fascinating.  I've been fortunate to be the recipient of some of the finest hospitality imaginable both from Jordanians and from volunteers.  Their insight, connections, and assistance in helping me with the rest of my trip was invaluable.  I hope I can one day return to the favor to fellow sojourners.

*Translation source: http://forum.wordreference.com/showthread.php?t=170419
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My journey through the Holy Land continues.  Next, I'll share a bit of my experience walking through the Holy City of Jerusalem.  A guide is a nice handy reference, but I got tons of info from Jordan's own tourism site:

http://www.visitjordan.com/Default.aspx

They also have a lot of great pics and pdf files you can print out.

In Jordan - Reaching Amman and Tasting Nirvana

I arrived in Amman, Jordan, on Saturday, November 14, after taking a red-eye flight from Casablanca on Egypt Air. Without even planning it, I and three other Peace Corps volunteers were on the same flight out of Casablanca. They were starting their Middle East trek from Cairo; I had a quick layover before heading to Amman. Before our flight, we scoured all the money exchange bureaus at the Mohammed V Casablanca Airport and none had Jordanian Dinars or Egyptian Pounds to exchange. Knowing that I was going to come back to Morocco after my Middle Eastern trek, I kept my funds and hoped that the 25 Euros that I had kept stashed from my last trip to Europe would be enough to get through customs and to get to the nearest ATM.

I blogged earlier about my arrival to the Holy Land and the great experience I had with Egypt Air. I was fortunate to get a window seat, which allowed me to take in the scenery during the descent and ascent into and from Cairo. I'm 30 years old and I still feel like the 10 year old boy who was completely awestruck by his first flight out of Venezuela and how different things looked at 40,000 feet.

Like the experience I wrote about earlier about the mountains and plateaus making me feel insignificant or being humbled by the sheer breadth and size of nature's wonders, I feel the same when staring out from my tiny window in the sky. Ironically for me, every flight is a grounding experience. It just makes me realize how inconsequential my problems are in the scope of such vast amounts of space and over the course of time. What I begin to understand is that many of these landscapes are indifferent. Men and women have come and gone and yet they are still here changing and adapting to the elements. On my way in to Jordan, I saw various shades of sand, the blue of the Nile and the Red Sea, the Sinai Peninsula's mountainous wilderness, many dunes, plateaus, rocky hills dotted with olive trees, and a few lush valleys and oases.

The flight from Cairo to Amman was about 40 minutes. Counting our ascent and descent, we probably had about 20 minutes of coasting, and in that brief lull the flight crew scrambled to give everyone their complementary drink. It was a nice surprise to be able to walk directly onto the terminal rather than taking a shuttle or walking to it like you often do when travelling outside of Europe or the U.S. The causeway takes you straight to customs where an Arab Bank money exchange branch is at the center of the hall ready to exchange almost any currency to Jordanian Dinars. I found it interesting that a money exchange branch would be situated in the middle of the customs hall, but I guess a lot of countries do not carry Jordanian Dinars, Morocco being one of them. I exchanged my 25 Euros and got 22 Jordanian Dinars(JD). I knew coming in that the Jordanian Dinar was an expensive currency, but all the blogs I read said that most things are nowhere near U.S. or European prices. So it's little startling at first to get less money for your dollar or euro, but once you get out, you realize that a JD can be stretched out pretty far.

It was 10JD to get the visa. Some of the blogs I had browsed through before coming said that the visitor's visa was for two weeks so I was surprised to hear that the visas were now good for an entire month, which makes a lot of sense. You could traverse the country in two weeks. It's not very big and transportation to the main touristy sites is readily available, but for those who wish to take their time to meet people, taste the cuisine, and ponder the meaning of life in nature as I do, two weeks goes by in a flash.

Once I passed through customs, I went down to pick up my luggage. At the luggage carousels, I found some stands with maps and guides in various languages to the main sites in Jordan. It was a great find since all I had to go by on this trip was a Lonely Planet guide titled Middle East on a Shoestring Budget published in 1997. I was planning to travel on a shoestring budget, but after sleeping in one of the hotels this guide recommended, I decided to upgrade myself from shoestring to respectably clean. I stayed at one hotel called Jerusalem Hotel in Aqaba, and it literally was the nastiest place I've ever stayed at with roaches crawling around and the grimiest bed sheets I had ever seen, but the guide was spot on with the price. It was the cheapest of all the "budget" options. After one night in that hole, I moved next door and paid 5JD more for a bigger room, hot water, and peace of mind.

The Amman Queen Alia International Airport is about the size of your regional airport in the U.S. Once you get past customs, you walk out into the arrivals waiting hall, which has a number of snack shops, car rental stands, banks and ATMs, and a couple of cell phone boutiques. If you plan to spend some time in Jordan, I strongly encourage purchasing a SIM card from one of the boutiques. They run anywhere from 4-6JD from Orange, Zain, Umniah, and others, and the purchase generally includes 1 to 2JD of credit, which is more than enough to make initial arrangements with friends and hotels. Also, right outside the airport there's a bus shuttle company called Airport Express that travels back and forth from the airport to Amman. They have a stand at the airport and an attendant is outside asking any confused-looking tourist if they're going to Amman. It cost me 3JD and it dropped me off at the North Station also known as either Abdali Station or in Levantine Arabic as Moujemma Shamal. As the bus begins to park, taxi drivers converge near the bus's drop as they prepare to pounce on the fresh-off the plane tourists. I told one gentleman my destination and he offered to take me for 12JD. I told the guy in all honesty that I did not have 12JD and immediately he lowered the price to 7JD. I told him to lower it some more so he lowered it to 5JD and said in English, "Final price."

The guy took me through a touristy route, which allowed me to see the Roman fortress and auditorium. A ride through Amman is much like your typical roller coaster ride. The taxi drivers go just as fast as they wind up and down the many hills and valleys of the city. My first impression of Amman was not a memorable one. I thought the city lacked color, but then later I heard that it's by city mandate that the buildings use the local white and beige stone for the exterior. I don't know how legit that statement is, but it certainly seems like most people are adhering to it. The only contrast to the vanilla cream buildings are a few skyscrapers in the new city.

Upon arriving at the hotel, I asked the hotel receptionist about how much it costs to get from the North Station to the hotel to which he said, "Oh about 1.5JD to 2JD." I was hosed, but fortunately it was only for 3 or so dinares. Oh well, it was a lesson learned. From there on, I didn't hop on a taxi unless they had their meter running.

I checked into the Farah Hotel, which I had made a reservation on www.HostelWorld.com. I paid 5JD for a shared accommodation for one night. The rooms were clean, the bed was soft and sturdy, and the bathrooms were well-tended too. The lobby was also nice with plush couches, a TV and DVD player, a couple of large dining tables, and a couple of shelves full of board games, books, and bootleg movies.

When I checked in, I saw a guy chilling out on one of the couches. After I dropped my stuff in my room, I asked him about his travel plans. He told me smilingly that he lived in Jordan. Immediately I asked him if he was a Peace Corps Volunteer and he said yes. I told him that I had just finished service a couple of days ago.  He then asked me if I was Jonathan and I said yes, and then I followed asking him if he was Torin and he said yes. We had exchanged a few emails prior to arriving. He had said that he was likely going to be busy touring with some friends. It so happened that he was at Farah waiting for his friends to arrive from Palestine. I was exhausted from the red-eye flight, but I had a lot of questions about travel options and sites and then we spoke for a while about his Peace Corps experience and he gave me his lowdown on Jordan. I also shared a bit of my Peace Corps Morocco experience and gave him my lowdown on travel, food, and culture. I was fortunate to have found him and to have had this exchange on the first day of my trip.

We decided to meet up later on in the evening. I ran into him at a small fast food joint and joined him for a shawarma. The shawarma was not that great, but it was dirt cheap at 1.50JD for the plate. I was more impressed by the size of the meat spikes rotating in the fire. These spikes were probably about a meter and a half long and about half a meter wide. Some of the guys tending to it had to climb a small step ladder to shave off the meat at the top.  Some used a long knife to cut the meat and others used what looked like industrial size hair clippers. 

After the shawarma, we walked over to Habiba, a confectionery shop preparing Jordan's famous kenafa. This delicious sweet treat should rank pretty high in terms of the world's greatest inventions. The scrumptious treat has a mozzarella cheese base, a thin crunchy cake layer or stringy top that is doused in a honey or sugar-based syrup, and topped off with pistachios, cinnamon, and nutmeg on top. Every bite was like reaching taste-bud nirvana.

After Habiba's kenafa, we moved on to a cafe right on the main strip of King Hussein St. called Eco-Tourism Cafe. It was a scruffy looking place. About the only thing “eco” about it were the plants that the owner had throughout the cafe. There I got my first taste of Jordanian coffee. It was a contrast to Morocco's fancy coffee presses that squeeze out the coffee from the coffee grounds. In Jordan, you get the coffee and the grounds. Moroccan coffee also seems lighter in comparison to the almost syrupy makeup of Jordanian coffee, but as far as sugar is concerned, they're neck and neck. The coffee's bitterness is offset quite well by the generous amounts of sugar in each cup.

It was a nice first night in Amman. The following day I was to head out to Irbid with Torin to meet a couple of other volunteers. Upon arrival I had heard that L3id Kabir would most certainly fall on Tuesday, November 16. When I was drawing up my initial plans, I was hoping to avoid another sheep slaughtering, but it looked like I would be witness to yet another. I felt bad for the sheep, but at the same time I was thinking that I wouldn't object to some slow-cooked or grilled sheep meat. I was looking forward to meeting up with more volunteers and was even more excited about the opportunity to experience village life with one of them.

It had only been two days since I had checked/stamped out of Peace Corps. You would think that I would be running towards the comforts of Western amenities, but here I was wanting to experience village life in Jordan, and here I was in the hands of volunteers that were making it possible for me to do so. I felt blessed and fortunate to be part of this select group of people who have invested so much time and energy to get to know the people around them and their surroundings and who are so willing to share the little bit they know with me.

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Some Travel Details

Farah Hotel

Amman Al-Hussein Cinema St.

Behind Arab Bank

Downtown

+962-6-465-1443

Email: farahhotel@hotmail.com

www.farahhotel.com.jo 

One of the best state-run tourism websites that I've seen to date:

http://www.visitjordan.com/

Hinajen Elementary Belated Back to School Project

Hinajen kids with their new jerseys

Early in service I visited a small primary school about 5 kilometers from Sefrou.  The teachers and I had a little pow-wow, and they spoke to me about some of the challenges they faced in teaching the kids.  They mentioned one problem that is all too common in many rural schools: the lack of plumbing or restroom facilities.  For many boys, it's no big deal to irrigate the nearest tree, but for girls it's a whole 'nother issue.  The really young ones don't mind squatting out in the bush, but once they reach 4-5th grade, they as well as their parents feel that doing so is no longer appropriate.  They also said that they lacked school supplies and sports equipment.  I wrote down their information and said I would look into funding opportunities for building restroom facilities or basic latrines, but also told them that the community would need to contribute at least 20-30 percent of the grant amount.  I also told them that they would need to identify an association that I could send the funds to.  After that visit, I heard very little from the teachers.

I still remembered the kids and I relayed some of the information to my friends and family.  I told them to wait until the teachers identified an association, but unfortunately they never did.  The teachers were in agreement in terms of what they wanted, but not in how they wanted to carry out the projects.  I still remembered the kids and I still wanted to do something for them even if it was just helping out with school supplies.

Over the next year or so, I kept an eye for things that the school could use.  Luckily, Peace Corps Morocco got a donation of sport jerseys from the U.S. that our Youth Development(YD) Volunteers began to distribute at various language and summer camps.  I emailed the YD Program Manager about my little Hinajen Elementary School project, gave him the approximate number of students, and shortly thereafter, he sent a box full of jerseys.  Then, as my sitemate was in the process of getting rid of all his worldly possessions before returning to the U.S., he offered to give me an unused soccer ball and a basketball that was in pretty decent shape.  A few months later, Peace Corps sent out a notice to volunteers that they had received a donation of reams of printer grade color paper.  I petitioned for a few boxes and during one of my program manager visits, they dropped off about 10 reams and several rolls of butcher paper.  Then finally, last summer a group of young kids from a gap-year program called Where There Be Dragons led by couple of Morocco RPCVs stopped by Sefrou to take part of a number of cultural exchange activities.  Towards the end of their visit, they learned about the Islamic tradition of zakat or almsgiving.  They decided to take a portion of their travel funds and to donate it to a worthy cause.  The volunteers contacted me about their donation and I told them that I would be able to find something to put their money to good use.  In total, the group collected about 1,200DH or roughly $160.  It was a nice chunk of change.

I spoke to one of the teachers about the donation and he immediately drew up a list of items.  We then set up a tentative date for some sort of back-to-school event.  We bought a whole bunch of rulers, markers, scissors, notebooks, pencils, pens, etc.  We then applied some of the funds towards a purchase of about 40 school uniforms.  Together with the school supplies, uniforms, and the in-kind donations from Peace Corps and my sitemate, we had a good trunk full of stuff.  I was really excited about the event and told a few volunteers in the region about it.  I was hoping to have games and a big couscous lunch for the kids.

I left it up to my school contact to arrange the transportation and was hoping that the school district would pitch in for at least that.  A number of weeks went by and I heard very little.  Then, later on, I learned that the school director said that he would need to be present at the event because they feared that I and the volunteers were perhaps going to give out some Bibles and other Christian paraphernalia along with the gifts. When I visited the school last year, there was no mention of this, but this time the schools were on alert given a recent event that received wide media attention that exposed a group of Americans who were running an orphanage in Ain Leuh and were allegedly proselytizing the kids, which is strictly prohibited under Moroccan law.  I chuckled when I heard this.

So I had to call off the event and instead scheduled a drop-off for late October.  I hired a small pickup truck.  My school contact followed me and the driver behind in his sputtering lawn-mower-propeller moped, and when we arrived at the school, we immediately began unloading all the goodies.  I made a pit stop at a small shop and bought some sweets for the kids.  We took a few shots with the school supplies and then I left.  Later on, the teacher used his digital camera to take shots of the kids with the jerseys playing a little soccer.

It was disappointing that I couldn't put on the back-to-school event; even so, I was happy that the kids got a bunch of stuff that will hopefully make their school year a little bit more enjoyable and make their recess a lot more fun.

Rural areas of Morocco are still very much in need of assistance.  If you're interested in donating, I encourage you to browse through a list of community-based projects posted on the Peace Corps Partnership Program page or look into projects being funded through the High Atlas Foundation.  Once again, thank you for reading and thank you for donating.

You Can Dream. Stories of Moroccan Women Who Do.

A fellow RPCV produced an amazing video of six remarkable Moroccan women who have overcome all sorts of odds to succeed and to share their knowledge with other women. One of the women profiled is my counterpart, Amina Yabis, President of the the Cherry Buttons Cooperative. Her story and that of all the other women are truly inspiring. They exemplify grassroots development at its very core. Please share with friends and family and spread the word that women's empowerment, as Amartya Sen would likely say, is one of the many if not the most effective tool for alleviating poverty for women and their children, reducing infant mortality, reducing the number of births, improving the health of women and their children, and creating more accountable and representative governments around the world.


You Can Dream. Stories of Moroccan Women Who Do from cortney healy on Vimeo.

For more stories on Women in the Muslim World, please visit: http://womensvoicesnow.org/

Arriving in the Holy Land

pilI arrived in Jordan around 10AM local time on Sunday, November 14, exhausted from a red-eye flight from Casablanca-Cairo-Amman.  It's been a while since I flew into the future.  Last time I did that was exactly 27 months ago when I swallowed the red pill and began my Peace Corps journey through the land of the far west.  Having experienced the mix of cultures and traditions and seen first hand the practice of Islam of the Maghreb, I was curious to see another part of the Arab and Islamic World and to carry out a little pilgrimage of my own; so I embarked on a journey through the Holy Land.  As I wrote in an earlier blog [In Matters of Faith: Minding My Own], I feel that it is extremely important to contextualize the Holy Scriptures.  I don't consider myself to be a religious person and it may sound strange to my friends to hear that I am going on a pilgrimage, but truth is that despite not being a pious individual, I find it amazing how the tales and stories, oral traditions, and culture of this region of the world have resonated throughout the world and to some extent are still changing the beliefs and conduct of isolated pockets of the world that are just beginning to hear about the Abrahamic faiths.

I find it interesting walking through this rocky Mediterranean landscape that people in the tropics could still relate.  The environments are so different.  As I flew into Cairo, all I saw was a vast open expanse of sand and arid hills up until one reaches the Nile, but even the mighty Nile looks puny in the midst of the wilderness.  From Cairo to Amman, we flew over the Sinai Peninsula and there I saw the wilderness that the Children of Israel supposedly wandered around for 40 years for punishment for disobeying the God of Moses.  Well, after flying over it, I would say, "Dang, God, did you have to go that far? I mean, really?"  As we flew into Jordan, it was more of the same except perhaps a little more colorful with some red sand hills in the distance.  Upon arrival, I thought I would be greeted with a cool winter breeze, but instead I got a big waft of summer.  It was such a change from the low-50s temperatures I was already dealing with in Morocco. 

Supposedly according to the locals, the temperatures have been unusually high for the month.  We'll see if it cools down at all while I am here.  However, even it cools and rains come, it would revive the hills and turn them green, but just for a brief moment.  Irrigation is helping to create more arable plots, but there's only enough water for isolated oases.  It's tough to say why the stories stuck, but I believe one way of getting a better understanding is to do as the locals do or as we say "walk a mile in someone else's shoes".  That I will do and will soon share those insights.   

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Some Travel Details

I flew on Egypt Air.  The flight took off at 12AM from Airport Mohammed V near Casablanca.  The airline served us a meal at 2AM Morocco time and then an hour and half later gave us a muffin and a choice of beverage.  The meals were delicious, one of the airline hostesses was extremely HOT, and the seats were decent.  The flight took off a little late due to some baggage mishandling problems, but they were forthright about the issue.  Due to the delay, I arrived in Cairo with only 30 minutes prior to the departure of my connecting flight to Amman.  Thankfully, the airline did an amazing job of fast-tracking all individuals going to Jordan through their connecting flights lobby and they also got my luggage transferred in time.  I recommend the airline.

For my return trip to Casablanca, I am going to try out UAE-based discount airline Air Arabia.  Their rates are the lowest I've seen for travel through the Middle East.  For instance, flights from Casablanca to Alexandria will run about $140 one way.  Egypt Air flights are marketed through major online travel websites like Orbitz, Expedia, et al;  Air Arabia flights are not.  I have heard some stories of subpar service from Air Arabia from other volunteers.  We'll see if their stories are isolated instances or the general rule.  For the price though, it's tough to complain when most everyone else is charging 30-50% more for the same route.  Who knows? Perhaps the service will be so good or so bad that it may merit a blog entry.  Stay tuned.

Amoebas No More, Inshallah

In one of my last blogs, I spoke about how insignificant I felt walking in the midst of towering mountains and plateaus that have been carved and molded over millennia by the chaotic cosmic forces of the universe.  Well, there happens to be something else that has also been around for millennia that has also made me feel completely insignificant and powerless, yet their size is microscopic at best, but the havoc they can wreck can render the healthiest and the most fit completely useless.  Yet, I don't think they have ever made it into a snazzy National Geographic documentary perhaps because they don't shoot out any venom, have sharp teeth, or strike at lightning speed; nonetheless, they should be given a show of their own and be recognized as a force to be reckoned with.  I speak of none other than the tiny, yet almighty amoeba.

On two separate instances, amoebas have invaded my stomach.  You would think that with all the gastric acid sloshing around that these little critters would never have a chance to survive, but somehow they do.  According to the authoritative Wikipedia, the name amoeba comes from the Greek work amoibe, which means change.  Before the word amoibe came about, Wikipedia says, "Early naturalist referred to Amoeba as Protus animalcule after the Greek God Protus who could change his shape."  And indeed, they do.  They expand, shrink, and form protective sheaths around themselves.  These critters are the shadiest of characters lurking in what appears to be refreshingly clean spring water, coasting on the surface of what looks like well-cooked and certainly appetizing street food, or hiding within what seems like healthy looking fruits and veggies.  It's impossible to tell when they arrived or from whence they came because they often forgo duplication until the environment is just right for them.  Oh but when they do, be ready for the gastrointestinal fight of the ages.  

Within the volunteer community, conversations about our bowel movements are as common as speaking about the weather.  We have come to regard a solid stool as something of a novelty and reminds us of better days.  Those fond memories help us weather the days when it feels as if all your internal organs are being liquefied and being expelled with the force of a cataclysmic volcanic eruption that is then followed by tremors, murmurs, and subsequent explosions that leave one feeling completely helpless and subject to the will of your stomach.

During these recurrent blasts of liquid fire, your stomach becomes a prima-donna of sorts rejecting anything that it deems unworthy of its peculiar taste, and sometimes it rejects any food or beverage outright.  Fortunately for these moments, our Peace Corps med kits are stocked with sodium and electrolyte packets that when mixed with water are the equivalent of chugging a full glass of ocean water. Yum, yum!  Naturally, without any food or calories to burn, your body goes into hibernation mode.  The common saying ‘I feel empty inside’ voiced by many seeking some sort of spiritual transcendence or satisfaction in their lives takes on a literal meaning.

After a day of violent convulsions and eruptions, your stomach now purged of the foreign invaders begins to tolerate some simple starches.  From there, we begin our BRAT diet regime, which includes bananas, rice, apples, and toast.  It's a rather bland menu, but flavor is the last thing on your mind.  With every bite you take, you utter a prayer in the hopes that your inflamed, hypersensitive, and enzyme-depleted stomach will accept the tiniest of morsels.

Little by little, your stomach returns to normalcy, but unless you’ve undergone treatment to eradicate the versatile amoeba, the Hindenburg style bloating, napalm spewing anus, and magma churning stomach are bound to return.  The PC Med Team is well versed on amoebas, giardia, food poisoning, and other symptoms of gastrointestinal warfare.  Over the course of my service, I’ve been on an intensive three-day as well as a seven-day treatment of Tinidazole and/or Intetrix.  Upon taking the drugs, you may think that all will be fine and well from henceforth, but that path to recovery is a long and troublesome road.  In some cases, the drugs can be just as debilitating as the amoebas.  The medicine kills all bacteria even the good guys leaving your stomach devoid of the normal flora needed to break down food.  

In the absence of your normal bacteria, sometimes yeast can multiply uninhibited giving you more gas and other strange symptoms.  In such cases, you scrap the BRAT diet and introduce a more complex diet of cooked veggies, proteins, yogurt, and some friendly probiotic treatments like Ultra Levure. 

When I get back to the states, I’m totally auditioning for the Bio Activia commercials.  My dialogue with that of another volunteer would go something like this:

            Jonathan: [Casually with an empathetic smile] Hi, Mary, have you been spewing fire from every orifice again?

            Mary: [Sighing] Oh, thank goodness that’s over, but I’ve been bedridden for the last few days ever since taking my anti-parasite medicine and my stomach can’t digest worth a crap. [Ha ha]

            Jonathan: Been there.  Have you ever tried Activia?

            Mary: Activia?

            Jonathan: Yes, that’s what I said.

            Mary: Why no? What is it?

            Jonathan: It’s a magical yogurty concoction that contains Bifidus Regularis.

            Mary: What the heck is Bifidus Regularis?

            Jonathan: It’s friendly bacteria that can help in the digestive process after your typical Mt. Saint Helen’s-esque eruptions or whiplash-like convulsions.

            Mary: Why Jonathan, I’m just gonna have to try it!

            Jonathan: You won’t regret it, but if you still have excessive gas, constipation, diarrhea, and other abnormal symptoms on a frequent basis, check with your doctor because the parasites must have really done a number on you and you may be in need of a complete revamp of your diet that may or may not include Activia to avoid the onset of other chronic gastrointestinal disturbances.

            Mary:  Wow, Jonathan. I knew I could count on you to provide me a prolonged explanation that is only slightly comforting.

            Jonathan:  Hey, that’s what I’m here for.

I’m going to pitch it to Danone when I get back.  I’m sure it will have to go through legal and their med unit before it’s approved.  I’ll keep you posted.

The road to recovery is one that needs to be reassessed on a continuous basis.  The PC Med Team has already confirmed that I will have health vouchers so that I can conduct all the necessary tests and trials to ensure that traces of parasites are absent from my fragile and sensitive system, which may entail a government-funded colonoscopy.  Bring it on!

Amoeba Action Figure

As you may know, I am all about full disclosure.  I knew quite well that coming to Peace Corps, inherently, carries a number of risks.  If I'm not mistaken, the number one cause of death amongst volunteers is transportation accidents, which to some extent is out of your hands.  Anti-parasite meds usually take care of amoebas, but the after effects of the damage and the side effects of the meds can last for a brief moment or could develop into something more long-term.  But unlike transportation accidents, you can reduce your chances of an epic bout with amoebas to nil.  When I first arrived in Morocco, I criticized Moroccan cuisine for their propensity to cook their veggies to a mush.  I cried, “Oh where, oh where have all the raw veggies and salads gone?” Now I understand why.  They know all about amoebas and wisely pressure-cook their veggies until they resemble a dilapidated, torn, and strewed figure of their once wholesome selves.  Now, I say, “Bring on the mush.”  I scoffed when other volunteers living in urban sites like mine would boil their water saying, “Why do you waste precious buta gas on treated water?”  Now, after learning that even in my own town of Sefrou treatment capacity is compromised after heavy rains, which happens quite often during the winter months, I boil my water religiously.  As far as street food is concerned, I said a sorrowful goodbye.  Our PC Med Team did share a lot of information at Pre-service Training, but I think my youthful naiveté of invincibility clouded my thinking, and as such, I learned a very important lesson: that even the most fit is no match for the itty-bitty, teeny-weensy yet all powerful amoebas.  

Not surprisingly, even poets acknowledged the magnificence of these little creatures.  Here’s a witty tribute by Arthur Guiterman:

"Ode To The Amoeba"

Recall from Time's abysmal chasm

That piece of primal protoplasm

The First Amoeba, strangely splendid,

From whom we're all of us descended.

That First Amoeba, weirdly clever,

Exists today and shall forever,

Because he reproduced by fission;

He split himself, and each division

And subdivision deemed it fitting

To keep on splitting, splitting, splitting;

So, whatsoe'er their billions be,

All, all amoebas still are he.

Zoologists discern his features

In every sort of breathing creatures,

Since all of every living species,

No matter how their breed increases

Or how their ranks have been recruited,

From him alone were evoluted.

King Solomon, the Queen of Sheba

And Hoover sprang from that amoeba;

Columbus, Shakespeare, Darwin, Shelley

Derived from that same bit of jelly.

So famed is he and well-connected,

His statue ought to be erected,

For you and I and William Beebe

Are undeniably amoebae!

(http://www.blueridgejournal.com/poems/ag-amoeba.htm)

Camp GLOW Morocco 2010 Debrief

Camp GLOW Morocco is one of the few projects in Peace Corps Morocco that is still ongoing.  I was fortunate to be involved in the project, and I learned a great deal from it.  Based on the feedback from the PCVs that were at the camp and hearing from Amina, there were certainly some highlights and areas that could be improved.  The camp organizers overcame a huge financial obstacle to put the camp together borrowing from friends and family until the funds from the embassy, our primary funder, finally arrived.  Also, with the main organizer away on travel up until a week prior to the event, a lot of key decisions were put off until she arrived, but fortunately Ms. Yabis's perseverance made the idea of the camp a reality for many young women.

I sat down with Amina to discuss fund-raising options for future camps.  She will likely pursue funding from the embassy once again, but I'm hoping that she will also pursue opportunities with the Global Fund for Women, African Women's Development Fund, MEPI Small Grant Assistance, and USAID's Projet SANAD.  She has personal experience with Projet SANAD and has been briefed on others.

Ms. Yabis and I filled out the Projet SANAD grant last year.  We did not win financial assistance, but she received an invitation to participate in their capacity building workshops.  Unfortunately, those workshops all took place via webcast making it nearly impossible for a lot of semi-urban or rural associations that have unreliable internet or not enough bandwidth or who are not the most tech literate to participate.  I'm sure the webcasts were great and I'm sure a lot of people benefited from them, but whoever thought of the idea did not have rural people and their technical challenges in mind.

We knew going in that it would be tough to win given that Amina's association organizes only one large-scale event per year compared to other associations who have year-round programs.  We still gave it a shot.  I thought that simply going through the process and drafting the Camp GLOW goals and successes in Standard Arabic was a huge step.  She said that this was the first grant she completed on her own and applied to directly.  All others have been filled out by PCVs and with assistance from artisana delegation folks.  I'm hoping that she will apply again this year and draft a more sound budget with a series of camps and other training sessions that will hopefully get some consideration.

The association needs to apply for other funding outside of embassy funds so that the facilitators and other association personnel can get paid for some of the work they do.  All of the last four camps have been volunteer-organized and executed.  While it's great that these host country nationals have given of their time free-of-charge, expecting people to volunteer year-in and year-out is simply not sustainable.  There needs to be a core group of individuals who can organize and plan.  In the past, volunteers have filled this role, but given Peace Corps's two-year rotations and constant change in leadership and priorities, it's not certain that the Peace Corps will be there in the future and it really shouldn't be expected to be there indefinitely.  Sources like Global Fund for Women and I believe African Women's Development Fund permit the recipient to allocate a portion of the grant towards labor unlike a lot of other sources that forbid it.  Amina has never budgeted for labor so it'll be something new for her, but I think it will be something she and the current facilitators will gladly welcome.  Fortunately, the Global Fund for Women provides their grant applications in Arabic and French.  A couple of weeks ago when we met, she said she would look over the forms.  I'm hoping she does and applies.  Even if she doesn't win, she and her association will learn a great deal from the process.

All in all, I'm happy that the camp took place despite the financial hurdles.  Amina heard my feedback as well as that of PCV Marian and Rachel who were present at the camp on enhancing the structure of the camp.  The young women learned a great deal and made lasting friendships.  I do hope that the next wave of volunteers will participate in future camps and that Amina and the Golden Buttons Association will continue to learn from each event.

Once again, thank you to all who donated and for telling everyone and anyone about this great event. 
  

Introducing Mouhsine Khadira, Woodcarver Extraordinaire

One of my woodcarvers at the Sefrou Artisana finally agreed to have some of his work showcased to a wider audience. He is little apprehensive about publicizing his work out of fear that others could copy his ideas. I find that some of his work is so unique that it would be very difficult for someone to be able to do that, but according to Mouhsine, he has seen it happen with frequency.  He said that he'll go to an artisana expo one year and then see some of his models replicated by other woodcarvers the following year.

Mouhsine is one of the most chill individuals I know. I enjoyed hanging out with him, drinking tea with him in his boutique, and just talking about anything that came to mind.  From my travels through Morocco, I would have to say that out of the countless thuya-woodcarving shops I walked in and out of in Essaouira, one of the biggest woodcarving centers, his creativity and attention to detail are unparalleled. I have had the chance to watch him create a piece from conception. His careful planning and solid execution are admirable.

Mouhsine finally allowed me to post some of his materials because he would like one day to travel abroad to other woodcarving or contemporary art expos. Off the top of my head, I don't know of any expos in the U.S. or in Europe that would welcome his work. If you do, please send them my way. Like many artisans in Morocco, much of their amazing work goes unnoticed. We hope this site will get Mouhsine a little attention, which will hopefully lead to more opportunities in the near future.


The site was created with the intent to promote his work and not necessarily to sell (an e-portfolio of sorts); however, if you're interested in purchasing one of his sculptures, you can contact him directly if you speak French or Arabic or visit his boutique at the Ensemble Artisanal Bab El Mkam in Sefrou.  For more info, please click on the Contactez-moi page .

At the moment, he does not have a catalogue available.  Some of the pieces in Mes Sculptures have names.  You could use those names to inquire about a price.  If you'd like to have an item shipped,   DHL and FedEx service is available, but they run about 750DH a kilo or nearly $100 p/kilo.  Poste Maroc, the national postal service, is fairly reliable and will run about a third of what DHL and FedEx would cost you, but will take 2-3 weeks time to deliver anything and there have been instances where the delivery never arrives at its destination.  For a list of their rates, please visit and search under the "Vos Envois des Messagerie" @ http://www.bam.net.ma


http://www.wix.com/khadira/sculptures

Free website - Powered By Wix.com

P.S. I copied and pasted most of the text on the site from an old brochure that the previous Sefrou PCV made for Mouhsine.  My French is such that I can understand what the brochure is saying, but I can't tell you if it's grammatically correct.  For all you native French speakers, if you see something out of place, please let me know.  I and Mouhsine will be extremely grateful and as we say in Morocco for all good deeds done out of the kindness of your heart, llah yrHm l-walidin (May God bless your parents).

Traversing the South: Tinejdad, Tinghir, and the Todra Gorge

It's amazing how even within the same country just 8 or so hours away from my site that the surroundings can be so remarkably different.  In some places you feel as if you were walking on the Red Planet.  The people also dress a little differently and speak a completely different language.  It almost felt like I was starting my Peace Corps tour all over again.


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After the camel ride to the desert and back, I continued my journey by grand taxi from Errachidia going east to Tinejdad, another oasis village with a stunning mud ksar, lots of small vegetable, fruit, and wheat and corn plots, and palm trees all bordering the winter rain stream that snakes through town.  The mud ksar is like a little mud piste fortress castle with corner towers with beautiful overlooks molded in classical Amazigh form.  Like the mud piste castle out in the middle of the desert, this ksar was also a good 20 degrees cooler.

Tinejdad Laizars

Tinejdad is not shy about its Berber/Amazigh history.  As I walked up to and through the ksar, the free-man Amazigh insignia was proudly displayed on the ksar walls.  The Amazigh pride symbols could also be seen in the laizars that the women wore.  These thin sheets of fabric that women wrap around themselves on top of their djellaba or niqab had all sorts Amazigh designs in bright neon threading over usually a black cloth.  As far as language, about 45 or so minutes before I arrived in Tinejdad, I was speaking Darija with folks in Errachidia, but in Tinejdad, you best be ready to bust out some Tashelheit - another Amazigh/Berber dialect.  Darija is spoken, but I got the feeling that it's mainly done to appease the passersby.   Right next to the ksar, I saw some signs for some swanky looking maison d'hôtes and there were plenty of restaurants on the main road.  I think if I was looking for a nice pit stop before heading to the desert, Tinejdad would be at the top of my list.

Tinghir Kasbah

From Tinejdad, the next stop was Tinghir and the magnificent Todra Gorge.  The sight of mud villages on the fringes of the palmeries sprouting from the Todra River against the backdrop of a dry, barren, and rocky mountainside is something that is indelibly imprinted in my mind.

It is so different from anything I had ever seen.
From Tinghir, we took a grand taxi to the Todra Gorge.  We walked around a bit, hiked up the road some, and then headed back.  The Todra Gorge is essentially a narrow passageway carved out of a mountain plateau by the Todra River over a millenia.

Todra Gorge Entrance

It's another one of those natural wonders where the sheer size of it makes one feel like an insignificant blip in the space of time.  I like this feeling.  As I stare at layer upon layer of rock and sediment dating back to who knows when, my preoccupations of daily life seem to wither away and I think to myself how silly it is to be worrying about leaving a legacy or something for people to remember me by.

I was encouraged by the bit of farming at the base of the gorge.  The green stood out in such contrast to everything around it.  I also found an interesting flower that I think depicts the area well.  This spiny, thorny flower is not really inviting; in fact, it's a little harsh and hostile, but nonetheless it's beautiful to look at.

More pictures and stories about the rest of the trip on the next blog.

Trip Essentials:

Lodging
We camped out the night at the Todra River Valley amongst the palm trees in a campsite right on the edge of the river stream.  We stayed at the Camping l'Auberge Atlas (ph: 212-524-89-50-46).  It was 100DH for their basic room.  They also had ponjs out in the terrace for 30DH.

Food
Dinner can be expensive.  Clarify the pricing before ordering especially if you order the tagine special.  We ordered the special thinking that the 60DH covered the entire tagine; when in fact, it was 60DH per person. Ouch!  The place was no hole in the wall.  The food was delicious and had a cool ambiance.  The whole road from Tinghir to the Todra Gorge is replete with hotels and restaurants catering to foreign tourists.  You have a lot of choice so use it to your advantage when bargaining.

Transpo:

Once again, CTM bus service is available leaving out of Errachidia, Marrakech, Ouarzazate, and other locations.  By grand taxi, I think I averaged about 25DH per leg from one town to another.