We finally sent our postcards yesterday so I hope y’all weren’t holding your breath.  Here are a few of Norah’s postcards…

Dear Nurse Mary, I like Morocco.  I am excited about primer grado (first grade).  Love, Norah

Dear Jazmyn, I wish you had come to Morocco, and my tooth fell out.  Love, Norah

Dear Gordon, I love the moussem.  They shot their guns.  There was smoke everywhere.  Love, Norah

The last few days have been very quiet.  We kept expecting the start of Ramadan and then finding out that it was not the next day.  It seems like the start date should be available ahead of time, since it goes by the phases of the moon and we can calculate when the new moon will be visible from any location, but that’s the western me talking.  Here, they wait to hear the siren indicating that fasting begins the next day.  They thought it might be Thursday or Friday, but the first day was actually Saturday.

I fasted yesterday in solidarity with my family.  The day typically starts with a light breakfast before sunrise (the meal is called s’hor), so I figured I could make it to 7:38 p.m. without eating or drinking if I woke up for the early meal (before 4:00 a.m.).  I heard some commotion in the middle of the night and figured that the girls were making food, but when I woke up again it was light out.  This has happened at home – I’ve missed the alarm and not woken Ben up to eat.  I always feel SO bad.  I couldn’t imagine why the girls didn’t wake us up to eat.  Then I found out that NOBODY ate.  They got up early to get everything ready, but by the time they had it on the table they heard the call to prayer and had to put it all away without eating.

I had been obsessing a bit over whether I’d be able to go all day without eating and especially drinking, so when I missed s’hor I really didn’t think I’d be able to do it.  But all of the other adults were fasting so I felt weird eating when they couldn’t.  I just took it one hour at a time, and it wasn’t that bad!  I thought I’d really chow down at dinner but I didn’t.  I think the fact that Moroccans don’t load up their plate and then try to finish it all really helps with portion control.  You just eat what you feel like eating and have fruit for dessert.

So anyway, we’ve spent the last few days around Mohammedia, with a little shopping, a trip to the beach, and a lot of packing.  We’ve given away most of our clothes so we have plenty of room for all the stuff we bought, but I had to figure out how to wrap it so that it would make it home in one piece.  Near our house there are several guys who make the Moroccan sofas (sdeddr) and they use a think pink foam, so we bought some and used it to wrap each piece of pottery.  It worked great!  I guess the proof will be when we get home but everything feels pretty secure.

It seems like we should have less bags than we came with since we brought so much for other people, but I think we’re actually going home with one extra piece.  Getting it loaded onto the top of the car will be a challenge without the stepladder and after a whole day of travel, but we’ll get there.  I think I’ve convinced Ben not to fast tomorrow.  People who are traveling or sick are not required to fast, and I’m worried that with the long flight, the 4-hour time difference, and his diabetes, it could be a recipe for disaster.  Instead of fasting for 16 hours, he would have to fast for 20 hours because it’s 4 hours earlier at home.  Our flight leaves here at 2:00 p.m. and arrives in NYC at 5:15 p.m., then we have to get through customs and get everything loaded, before the 3 1/2-hour drive home.  We’re going to be exhausted.  I don’t need an episode of diabetic shock to round out the day.

This morning we went to the souk to deliver the photos we took.  We found the butchers (Hamid and Aziz) right away, but it was kind of like a scavenger hunt finding the rest.  There are tons of people selling each item (olives, veggies, spices, mint and parsley, etc.), so we had to stand in front of the stalls and try to match up details to find the right one.  The people were really happy though.  We ended up with 4 people that we couldn’t find because there are certain things that aren’t sold during Ramadan, like squash for couscous (apparently people don’t eat couscous during Ramadan) or ready-to-eat things (since nobody’s eating).  We left the extra photos with the Hamid and Aziz so hopefully they’ll find their way to their rightful owners.  It was fun, but everyone was wondering what we were up to.

This afternoon we went back to the regular market area (not the weekly souk) to deliver a few more photos – to the locksmith who spent time answering my questions about his business, the young guy who makes the ouarka – basically like phyllo dough – one piece at a time (very cool), and the guy who polishes and sells old brass, copper, etc.  I sought him out the other day, remembering where he was located from another visit.  While we were negotiating over a couple of pieces (check out the beautiful copper bucket below), I asked if he had been working in that spot a long time…basically wondering if it was the same guy I bought some trays from a long time ago.  He said that he had been there forever, and then said that he remembered me from one time when I came with my brother.  That was in January of 2003.  Isn’t that amazing??

Tonight we were invited to “breakfast” (breaking the fast) with the lady who made my shirts, who is the sister of the wife of one of Ben’s friends whose four kids we brought sneakers for.  Apparently that entitles us to breakfast and a good price on my shirts.  She somehow got all of them done and they look and fit great!  We had a great time and it was nice getting to know yet another Moroccan family.  Everyone I’ve met has been so welcoming and hospitable.

Except for the pickpocket which I forgot to mention.  When we went to the souk, I was walking ahead of Ben and I heard him talking to someone, so I turned around and saw a guy grinning and hugging Ben’s leg.  I had no idea what was going on…I thought they knew each other.  We’re always being approached by long-lost friends and acquaintances…just today I heard someone saying, “Adlani?” which was Ben’s father’s name, and it was one of Ben’s old friends.  Another old friend came across the street from his hardware store and he spoke English but said American locks were too expensive, which is true.  Anyway…Ben tore his ACL playing soccer so he’s wearing a knee brace, and that was the leg the guy in the souk was hugging.  Then I saw Ben freak out, grab the guy’s face, yell at him, and push him away.  I thought he was mad that the guy was touching his bad knee.  I turns out that the guy “accidentally” bumped into Ben, then was joking around about whether he hurt Ben and maybe they should get the police involved, when Ben felt his hand in his pocket.  He had about $300 in there so it would have been a big payday for the “sheffar” (thief).  Luckily he got nothing and Ben has had a good story to tell about 200 times today.

Time to pack up the last of our stuff and get ready for a long trip tomorrow!

I have some more photos but Ben took my SD card reader so they will have to wait.  Here are a few…

This is the brass/copper guy who recognized me:

This is the copper pot he’s polishing in the photo above.  I paid $35 for it.

Some of our purchases wrapped in the pink stuff:

This locksmith was so nice, and was really happy and surprised when I brought a copy of his photo:

This kid amazed me…he was making individual sheets of ouarka (phyllo dough).  He would take a handful of the gooey dough, wipe it directly onto the hot surface with a gas burner underneath, and then lift off the sheet, put it on the pile, and brush a little oil onto it.  He said that the pan was hot but he had gotten used to it.  I took a video of the process which I will post after I get home.

Baby chicks for sale on the sidewalk:

One thing I always do when we’re in Morocco is have henna designs applied to my hands and feet.  I wait until just before we go back home, so the design lasts beyond the vacation.  The henna I’ve had in the past leaves a brownish/orange design on the skin.  It is subtle, and beautiful.

Today was the day for us to get our henna tattoos.  When I sat down with the henna artist, she asked in Arabic if I wanted the regular henna or the black one.  I had never even heard of black henna, but my sisters-in-law and nieces said it was “ouwadda,” which has always been a good thing although I’m not sure of the exact translation.  She asked if I was allergic to it and Ben translated that if I was allergic I could get “pimples.”  It’s tough to know whether you’re allergic to something when you don’t know what it is.  I thought it was a different kind of henna.  I asked a couple of questions but the language barrier was an issue and the artist said she would do a mix of regular and black henna.  After almost 3 weeks here I am chill to the point that I just went along with it.

I wish I’d Googled black henna but I didn’t do it until after she was done.  Black henna has PPD added to it – a chemical that is present in a lot of hair dyes.  It can cause serious allergic reactions and lifelong sensitivities.  The reaction is typically delayed so if I do have a reaction it probably won’t happen until I’m headed home, which will at least allow me to get to a dermatologist quickly.  After reading a lot about black henna on the internet, it makes me really mad that people are using this chemical even though it can cause serious damage.  I think the motivation is financial…people want the darker, longer-lasting temporary tattoos, and the artists can charge more for them.

Chances are I won’t have a reaction, but I definitely wouldn’t have had the black henna if I had known.  Plus I don’t like it as much since it looks kind of like someone drew on me with a black Sharpie.  Oh well…makayn mooshkeel, unless it becomes a mooshkeel (problem) within 2 to 7 days.  Keep your fingers crossed for me.  I’m very thankful that I didn’t cave in to Norah’s insistence that she wanted black henna too.  Both of the girls got the natural henna.

What are you going to miss most about Morocco?

Adlani: Swimming pools and camels.

Aliya: My family, and being treated like a princess and being served all of my meals without having to do anything or any chores.

Norah: The beautiful horses, the tiles on the walls and fountains, the henna, my family.

Lori: My wonderful sisters- and brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews, and extended family, the relaxation, the beautiful places to explore, the FOOD.

Ben: My family, the food, being close to my wife and my kids, the crazy traffic with donkeys, cars with 8 people in them, and Porsche Cayennes and Land Rovers on the same street.

What do you miss about home?

Adlani:  My friends Luke and Colin and Shane.

Aliya: Annie (our dog), Lisa (our cat), our house, my bedroom, my friends Hannah, Chloe, Victoria and all my other friends and our  neighbors.

Norah: Annie, Lisa, Nikki, Leah, Nancy, and Peter (our next-door neighbors), all my friends, and green beans.

Lori: Our friends, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, beer, wine, Starbucks, pizza, having a car and being able to drive or cross the street without staring death in the face, high speed internet.

Ben: High speed internet.  That’s it.

What is the worst thing about Morocco?

Adlani: Nobody takes care of the cats and they have to eat out of the garbage.

Aliya: The trash everywhere.

Norah: People smoke cigarettes, and it’s dangerous because people drive on the beach and camels run away.

Lori: The pollution, the lack of respect for the laws, the poverty.

Ben: The driving, the garbage and pollution, the fighting.

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I love coming to Morocco because of our amazing family here, because of the slower pace of life, and because there are so many old and interesting places to see.  I am happy to expose the kids to their culture, so it’s not completely lost in our fast-paced American lifestyle.  In Morocco I’m able to relax and slow my brain down…I feel less anxious (except when fights break out near me), I get upset/mad less often, and I don’t worry as much.  I’m not rushing here and there all the time.  I sleep a little more, I eat better food and less of it, I drink a lot of Fanta.  My sisters-in-law take great care of us and I only have to be responsible for the stuff that we brought with us and not a whole house full of clutter.  I am working part-time while I’m here, so although I’ve worked every single day, I’ve also found time to do fun things every day and get back into the habit of posting on this blog.  Now I have to figure out how to take this home.

There are definitely things I don’t like about Morocco.  Number 1 would have to be the pollution.  Certain areas of the country have become quite industrial, without the pollution control requirements that we have in the U.S.  Trash removal has been privatized, and whoever is responsible for emptying the dumpsters is doing a terrible job.  The plastic shopping bags and plastic water bottles are EVERYWHERE…even when you drive out in the country you see fields full of bags.  It’s incredibly sad.

The poverty is always apparent.  There are shanty towns next to upscale apartment buildings, lots of people begging for a few dirhams (especially effective when there’s a visible injury or disability), unemployment is high (9-10%) and urban underemployment even higher (approx. 30% of young urban males are underemployed).  Homelessness is a problem, and stray cats and dogs roam the streets.  You have to watch your bag/wallet at all times.  People are desperate. 

Driving is very dangerous…crossing the street even more-so.  I drove home from the beach tonight and didn’t kill anyone, but it was a little scary especially since I don’t drive a standard very often.  The use of rotaries instead of traffic lights add to the craziness, and cars definitely have the right-of-way over pedestrians.  The scooters are like hundreds of NYC bicycle messengers whizzing through traffic, sometimes driving the wrong way on the side of the road.

Health care and emergency services are not reliable and not readily available to many Moroccan people.  We don’t know how lucky we are to be able to call 911 and have police, fire, or EMS personnel at our doorstep within minutes.  We have access to medical facilities so far beyond what is available in Morocco.  Uncle Abdullah had a toothache today and just came back from the dentist with one less tooth.  I’m sure my dentist would have tried other options – I’ve had plenty of toothaches and never had a tooth pulled.

But the great experiences we’ve had in Morocco far outweigh the ugly, and we’ll come back again.  We’ll miss our family very much, and hope to see them in the U.S. soon. 

Here are some photos from our trip to the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca:

That’s Aliya with Norah on her back in front of the doors.

I can’t even take a guess at how big this chandelier is.  15′ tall?

This zellig pattern is amazing.

This door is made up of tiny lites of glass.  I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the cleaning.

This looked extremely dangerous but there’s not a lot for the kids in Morocco to do and they spend a lot of time running around in the streets.