Back from the Bled

So I have just returned from our first foray into a Moroccan village and face-to-face experience living with a host family. To say the time spent there was fulfilling would be an understatement, a readjustment of my preconceptions about what village life would be like is more on the mark. The beautiful town of Ben Smim is what I called home for two weeks and will be again soon for another three weeks. The town of 1,500 inhabitants is situated on the slope of a hill that spills into a valley containing the farms and lively-hood of the local population. The town is known for its wild blackberries, pomegranates, honey, and natural spring water was a wonderful introduction into beld(rural) life.

The greatest highlight of the first phase of our CBT was the warmness and generosity of the community which embraced us from the first moment we arrived. Everyone we met wanted to come say hello and see who the new foreigners were. This was nothing new to them though as there is a Peace Corps volunteer currently stationed in the village. Shortly after arrival we were introduced to our host families who cheerily took us in as new members of their families. The family I was placed with was very small in comparison to most and gave me a different dynamic and thus experience from others in my staging group. My family consisted of a mother named Fatima, a grandmother named Azizi, and a son named Abduliyah (I still have trouble with that one). Fatima had been divorced for about 23 years, very unusual for a Moroccan woman to do but apparently her ex-husband was an ass who beat her and they are much better off because of it. You may be wondering how does a single mother in a little village support herself and family? Well, they ran the towns hemmam (public bathhouse) which was wonderful for me since I was allowed to have all of the free baths my dirtied body could handle (about every three days). Their house was a bit above the center of town on the hill and had a great view of the mosque and valley below. The house itself is something I never imagine staying in; It was a very, very rustic mud and stone hovel with a dirt roof which floods water during the many storms which passed through the valley. As shocking as it looked on the outside it was surprisingly comfortable inside. It consisted of four rooms: a kitchen, bedroom, living room(where the mother and grandmother slept), and a salon(sitting room) which is my bedroom.

The past month on the Islamic calendar was Ramadan where the days are spent fasting and praying from sunup to sundown. I did not take this opportunity to fast but was more than happy to take part in the break-fast which occurred at the setting of the sun. This meal consists of a flaky bread which is dipped in honey, boiled eggs, this deep-friend, honey-soaked wonderful creation called shebekia, a almond and flour mixture called zmita, and plenty of overly sweet mint tea. In reality Muslims do not forgo their three meals a day, they are just eaten throughout the evening instead. First, the break-fast I mentioned around 6:20ish; Then a dinner around 10 or 11; Last but not least a meal at 3 AM before the fast begins again at 4:30 AM. What do people do in between these meals? Sleep, watch T.V., and for the women: prepare the meals. One aspect of this joyous month is the mosque which starts blaring Koranic verses at 3 in the morning to make sure people wake up and eat before the fast beings. If that is not enough for you, a man walks though town banging on a drum just to make sure you get the message. It is a great feeling and makes you realize where you are as you drift happily back to sleep.

Well, I am going to wrap this up. I promise to write again before we leave again for the second phase of our CBT training. I hope everyone is well back in the States!