11 days in Tunisia and Morocco with my parents was a wonderful vacation, allowing me to relax, enjoy history, the sights and new cultures, and catch up with news from home. Plus play loads of Scrabble (final score 8-4, Mom winning) and get a good dose of hugs.
We started in Tunisia where we visited Tunis, the Hammamet coastline (loving the whiff of Jasmine in the air, the national flower), Sousse with its old Medina and souks (young Tunisians were playing local music from their Motorola phone sitting atop the tower of the Rabat), El Jem and its Roman Colosseum (321 AD), Monastir and Tunisia's revolutionary Habib Bourguiba's mausoleum, Gabes and its palmeraie, the island of Jerba where a synagogue was built in Nebuchadnezzar's time and where Ulysses stopped in the Odyssey, Matmata and the troglodyte homes, Douz for a camel ride into the Sahara, Tozeur for the waterfalls and Star Wars site (plus on the way we followed part of the path used in the Paris-Dakar rally), Nefta for winding old-town streets and more palms, Roman temples at Sufe Tula, the 4th holiest site in Islam (Kairouan Mosque), and Carthage. My favorite parts were jumping into the Mediterranean with all my clothes on cause the tour hadn't scheduled beach time, eating the original "fig newton," eating olives produced by 2000 year old trees, and guides. The one at the waterfalls taught us "I love you" in Arabic and called us gazelles or gazellinas as we clambered through the rocky landscape. The one at Bourguiba's mausoleum would say "gold leaf. touch. sit take photo. upstairs, take photo. box (the tomb), 7 tons. very heavy. guard, take photo." And the one at Carthage kept saying the Phonecians would sacrifice babies (as he drew his finger across his neck) while the Romans were civilized and sacrificed animals. Pleasant.
In Morocco, we basically saw all the Imperial cities. Starting in Casablanca, though all we saw was the waves of the Atlantic crashing a shore as we got transported from the airport to the tour bus, we made our way first to Rabat, the capital. Along the rode we saw parts of the "tin towns" of Casa, the slums. Almost 2 million living there without water, sewers, and sporadic electricity. Then, in grave contrast we pull up to the King's palace, which he doesn't really use. Why can't they turn that into a university? And why can't the royal family use some of their wealth to build housing for Casa's squatters? Alas... We continued on to the late King's tomb, on a plaza where I was accosted by a woman offering Henna. She literally grabbed my arm are started squeezing out the dye!! We had no money yet (one I forgot to change my CFA into Euro or something internationally accepted and two there hadn't been time for a bank stop yet), and I couldn't pay her despite her quickly finishing my hand. It was incredibly poor, and faded quickly. Toured our first Moroccan Medina and checked into our very ornate hotel. After the capital we went onto Meknes to see the mausoleum of the first Arab sultan here. A town nearby is his holy city, non-Muslims aren't allowed to set foot in it. But five trips to the city for Muslims is equivalent to one trip to Mecca. The Roman ruins at Volubilis were the most impressive we've seen, complete with mosaics in situ. Sad part is, as soon as they were unearthed, they've begun to fade. The whole excavation was well done with reconstructed arches and lettering, and whole city streets intact. Fes ended up being my favorite. We had a great local guide who gave more personal stories at the sites. We toured the souk and the heart of the medina while stopping at local craftsman's stores: the bronze work carved with a tiny hammer and needle to achieve the detail (the craftsman we observed made the doors on the King's palace), the rug makers who charmed us with hospitality and mint tea (we found out the women making the rugs only get $0.50 an hour, but at least it is a job! One weaver even let me tie on 6 knots or so), cactus silk weavers (they spin the silk down the narrow streets and dye everything naturally), and the tannery. Wow. They use 1200 year-old practice to tan the hides. The young men working there have shorted life spans because of the limestone mixture they use to treat the skins--we actually saw a guy climb into the big tumbler to remove hides. It was interesting to see the natural dyes: green from mint, yellow from saffron, red from poppies, blue from indigo or cobalt, and black from mascara. We went out of the city a bit to see the ceramic workshop, where again young men had not-so-great working conditions drying olive pits and skins in the sun for fuel, stoking the fires which produced very black smoke, throwing and painting the pieces, and carving tiles for mosaics. We saw the Switzerland of Morocco, Ifrane, which produces the cedar wood used in traditional Andalusian architecture. Marrakech included a tour of the medina (not as impressive as the one in Fes) and an evening excursion to the plaza Djemma el-Fna, where for the price of my ONE campaign bracelet given to the vendor, Dad and I got free mint tea. Plus we saw snake charmers, dancers and performers while people-watching--it was great that at night the square was full of locals enjoying the entertainment. The Majorelle garden was beautiful. The French artist was fond of cactus and Berber wares. Our last night we were taken out to the suburbs (passing two McDonald's on the way!!) where quite frankly, Morocco embarrassed itself. Here was a show specifically tailored to tourists, and the horsemen weren't very skilled, the dancers off beat and not in line, the belly dancer not even able to belly dance, and most young participants looking completely disinterested. And the food was mass produced. At least the fruit was fresh, a fact we found to be true all over the country. Back in Casablanca I had to say goodbye to the parents again, tear! But enjoyed my day seeing the Art-deco style of the buildings and the world's 3rd largest Mosque with the world's tallest minaret built by the last King of Morocco.
We laughed at Dad trying to use his 30-yr old French (or was that 300 yr old?? Hehe. Habibi!)
Tough to readjust to a not-so-developed country and have only a little bit of home only to start my 15 month countdown to the end...
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Quote
Urban T. Holmes writes: "A life incapable of significant sacrifice is also incapable of courageous action."
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Cebo
42 babies at weighings this morning! Safi came back, and her mother had strung beads around her neck. Fetishes of a kind. Bebe actually ripped them off Safi's neck saying "she has good medical care no need for superstition." But I kinda feel as long as the beads weren't hurting Safi, why not let the people have their superstition? Mentality is half the battle when it comes to healing.
In the afternoon I went to a baptism or "cebo". It was the baby of the hospital's driver, Youssouf. Everyone I work with was there, plus many of the women in the Bonfeeri association, and other neighbors. All dressed in the finest of Basin of course. I was only in my pink tungu. But when we, "La Sante" got up to dance to the appropriate song "SIDA est la" (AIDS is here), I got 2000CFA put in my head wrap and a shawl draped over my shoulders--even without a booty it was deemed that I can dance! It was incredibly amusing having the women try and get me to shake it. No matter how I tried to explain my lack of a derriere, they'd just try harder. I greeted the mother and baby, and gave money to the griots (the older male griot tried to dance with me, ha) so they wouldn't insult my name. The next morning I was greeted with "Ni nda gaani!" "You and the dance!" Fadi, a nurse, said I can't go home, I am truly Koyraboro now (what the Sonrai call themselves, "village people"), awww warm fuzzies of acceptance!
In the afternoon I went to a baptism or "cebo". It was the baby of the hospital's driver, Youssouf. Everyone I work with was there, plus many of the women in the Bonfeeri association, and other neighbors. All dressed in the finest of Basin of course. I was only in my pink tungu. But when we, "La Sante" got up to dance to the appropriate song "SIDA est la" (AIDS is here), I got 2000CFA put in my head wrap and a shawl draped over my shoulders--even without a booty it was deemed that I can dance! It was incredibly amusing having the women try and get me to shake it. No matter how I tried to explain my lack of a derriere, they'd just try harder. I greeted the mother and baby, and gave money to the griots (the older male griot tried to dance with me, ha) so they wouldn't insult my name. The next morning I was greeted with "Ni nda gaani!" "You and the dance!" Fadi, a nurse, said I can't go home, I am truly Koyraboro now (what the Sonrai call themselves, "village people"), awww warm fuzzies of acceptance!
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Market strike
I went to Gao to get some Gao-borey lovin', but the mood was soured by the fact that the market had been closed for days. The Mayor threatened to raise tariffs on stalls, doubling them to approximately $0.40. The police were actually hitting people in market! So I still have yet to get my 10-month bracelet though the day passed May 27th. Ah well, if anything service has taught me it is patience.
On my way back to site I took the bus (my way to Gao was in the nice and air-conditioned hospital vehicle), and had to pay 2000CFA for myself and 2000CFA for my bike! Guidronne-robbery! Plus, I didn't even get a seat. Sarah and her homologue were headed to a village 25km south of Gao on the road to Ansongo and wisely reserved tickets. I however was left to sit on an ice-box in the middle of the aisle. At least it was a pooly insulated ice-box and I was kept chilled.
The kids of La Famille Cisse had an impromptu dance party in our courtyard. Addey and Abba have some moves! And Abba was trying to teach the other kids how to roll their stomachs. I was amused and slightly disturbed by the "grippa" dance which is a song about the bird flu calling out to dancers to dance like dead and or dying chickens. And you thought our chicken dance was annoying?
On my way back to site I took the bus (my way to Gao was in the nice and air-conditioned hospital vehicle), and had to pay 2000CFA for myself and 2000CFA for my bike! Guidronne-robbery! Plus, I didn't even get a seat. Sarah and her homologue were headed to a village 25km south of Gao on the road to Ansongo and wisely reserved tickets. I however was left to sit on an ice-box in the middle of the aisle. At least it was a pooly insulated ice-box and I was kept chilled.
The kids of La Famille Cisse had an impromptu dance party in our courtyard. Addey and Abba have some moves! And Abba was trying to teach the other kids how to roll their stomachs. I was amused and slightly disturbed by the "grippa" dance which is a song about the bird flu calling out to dancers to dance like dead and or dying chickens. And you thought our chicken dance was annoying?
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Tweet, Tweet!
I went to the hospital again today to find Safi's mother had started to make the milk, and when we weighed her child again she had gained a kilo!
Coming back home Addey, a host brother in the 4th grade, was holding a decapitated birdy by its wings tweeting and flying it around. I was aghast. Then again, he doesn't have a transformer or a GI Joe to play with. Everything is a little more...(insert graphic adjective here).
Coming back home Addey, a host brother in the 4th grade, was holding a decapitated birdy by its wings tweeting and flying it around. I was aghast. Then again, he doesn't have a transformer or a GI Joe to play with. Everything is a little more...(insert graphic adjective here).
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Wait, that's an Oregon Trail disease!
I managed to fight away a case of bacterial dysentery (literally "bad stomach") just by drinking lots and lots of clean water...but was advised to turn to antibiotics to clear up an upper-respiratory infection that came on the day the dysentery cleared. I'm all healthy now; but it does remind me that no, I do not have an iron stomach. I had been buying the ice people sell in market in attempts to beat the heat, but chances are it was made with untreated water. And one cannot exactly filter ice.
I was amused by how the Malians reacted. This was the first time I was seriously ill. Many many came to visit and say "Albai yeesi." They laughed when I said I was praying the diarrhea away (really, it is best to just let it pass) and not taking any medicines. The answer to all maladies here is an injection of "kinin," or the Sonrai version of "quinine"; Of course that is also because all maladies are assumed to be malaria. In fact, there are two words for "medicine" in Sonrai: "safari" (it's a wild ride for your immune system!) and "kinin." I am often asked on the street for "kinin" be it that the local is pointing to a gash in their leg or holding their head in pain. But I don't have a problem with doctors treating for a deadly disease--malaria--even if it might just be dysentery (the symptoms are often the same). A better safe than sorry attitude does save lives.
I was amused by how the Malians reacted. This was the first time I was seriously ill. Many many came to visit and say "Albai yeesi." They laughed when I said I was praying the diarrhea away (really, it is best to just let it pass) and not taking any medicines. The answer to all maladies here is an injection of "kinin," or the Sonrai version of "quinine"; Of course that is also because all maladies are assumed to be malaria. In fact, there are two words for "medicine" in Sonrai: "safari" (it's a wild ride for your immune system!) and "kinin." I am often asked on the street for "kinin" be it that the local is pointing to a gash in their leg or holding their head in pain. But I don't have a problem with doctors treating for a deadly disease--malaria--even if it might just be dysentery (the symptoms are often the same). A better safe than sorry attitude does save lives.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Oh, Anniversaries!
It was five years ago today I graduated from Wayzata High School. I wonder if anyone back in MN will have a reunion? Or they've fallen out of style cause everyone practically stays in touch whether superficially or not through Facebook.
The mood of the day, pensive, and the fact that I was not getting off my mat other than to run to the latrine, gave me time to reflect. I was happy Safi, a 2 year old was brought into the hospital with a bad case of whooping cough because at 6kg390g and 79cm with an arm circumference of only 9cm (average is 12cm), she seriously needed nutritional rehab. It was the obvious illness that caused her parents to bring her in, not the silent killer: hunger. Now, Bebe reports to me when she visits that Safi's mother is refusing to prepare the rehab milk. It is incredibly frustrating when the resources are available and people don't use them! Maybe the shiny silver packaging is just too foreign, or the idea that the mother's milk isn't enough is offensive. Maybe the parents don't even want the burden of their child anymore. Safi is just so small!! And she'll only keep wasting away unless the worms are killed and she starts eating. I want to be back at the hospital! My foreign presence can be a blessing and a curse: people fear or don't trust the white woman, the outsider. Or, they are more likely to act because I am there, "we'll do it if the foreigner says so." But in this case I feel because Safi didn't cry when I weighed her, the mother just might warm up to me enough to let us treat her daughter.
The mood of the day, pensive, and the fact that I was not getting off my mat other than to run to the latrine, gave me time to reflect. I was happy Safi, a 2 year old was brought into the hospital with a bad case of whooping cough because at 6kg390g and 79cm with an arm circumference of only 9cm (average is 12cm), she seriously needed nutritional rehab. It was the obvious illness that caused her parents to bring her in, not the silent killer: hunger. Now, Bebe reports to me when she visits that Safi's mother is refusing to prepare the rehab milk. It is incredibly frustrating when the resources are available and people don't use them! Maybe the shiny silver packaging is just too foreign, or the idea that the mother's milk isn't enough is offensive. Maybe the parents don't even want the burden of their child anymore. Safi is just so small!! And she'll only keep wasting away unless the worms are killed and she starts eating. I want to be back at the hospital! My foreign presence can be a blessing and a curse: people fear or don't trust the white woman, the outsider. Or, they are more likely to act because I am there, "we'll do it if the foreigner says so." But in this case I feel because Safi didn't cry when I weighed her, the mother just might warm up to me enough to let us treat her daughter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
