Crazy Voodoo Stuff

For The Prophet's Birthday, we had a 2 day holiday so we went to visit Molly's friend Eric in Meknes again. There is a lot of crazy stuff that goes on there during this holiday, which has nothing to do with Islam (in the way that Santa Claus has nothing to do with Jesus). People get "entranced" by Gnaoua music and do things like cut themselves with glass bottles, or kill a cow and eat its meat raw. You are told not to wear black or red or the crazies might attack you. Eric saw some of this in Meknes, but I was not too disappointed that we missed most of it. But we got a small taste the next day in a nearby village called Sidi Ali, were people were making offerings to the saint Lala Aicha. They were bringing various animals into her mausoleum, where there was music and dancing, the type where women twirl their heads all around until they faint. They were also rubbing live chickens on their bodies and shaking them over their heads. Anyway, this is all kind of weird and not well-viewed by upstanding Muslims, and frankly wasn't that interesting to me. What I really loved about Sidi Ali was the scenery. We climbed a hill and got some great views of the farmland. It all reminded me a great deal of the countryside villages in Peru. Check out the pictures here.
Also, previous pictures of Chellah are here.

In other news, Balia has been successfully spayed. However, the whole process took a heartwrenching turn. When I went to pick her up, her puppy, Black, was sick. Black had become best pals with the day guard, Said, who did his best to look after the dogs. Said agreed to let me take them both to the shelter. Nazha managed to bribe a cab driver to take us all, with the dogs in the trunk (luckily it wasn't a long ride). The staff at the shelter were not particularly helpful when we got there. After waiting a while, the vet took a look at the puppy, who was gaunt and refused to move, and said he just needed some crunchy food. He wasn't willing to do much more unless we turned the puppy over to the shelter. So reluctantly, Nazha and I decided to do that, knowing that Said would be devestated. We thought of lies we could tell him, but it turns out they were not necessary: when I returned the next day, Black was dead. In fact, he was lying dead in his kennel, and no one on the staff had noticed until I pointed it out. Needless to say, this didn't leave me feeling very good for the rest of the day. I had to go tell Said that his best friend had died, mysteriously, without his mother, after I had whisked him away in a taxi. I knew I had done the right thing, but I still felt vaguely guilty, especially after seeing the look on Said's face.

I ended up leaving Balia at the shelter for a week, so they could remove her stitches without me having to shuttle her back and forth. She had a clean place to sleep and plenty of crunchy food and clean water, so I don't think she minded. I felt better about the shelter after that. They told me Black had died of Parvo, which street puppies easily contract if they aren't vaccinated at 1.5 months (which of course he wasn't). I explained all this to Said, hoping it might teach him something about dog care. But he and Nazha both still insist that if I ever find another puppy, I should give it to him to "raise", whatever that means in their minds. So sadly, this makes the second dog memorial I have erected on this blog. Let's hope it's the last.


"Black"
January 10 - March 19, 2008
Rest in peace
On a happier note, we just finished our winter session, so I have been grading exams. The tedium is always broken by bits of hilarity that the students unwittingly inject into the writing portion of the exam. I will share with you now my favorite from this session, which is actually more culturally interesting than "funny". This was written by a Beginning 5 student, responding to "What is your favorite restaurant and why?"


My favorite restaurant in Rabat is McDonald's. I love it because I find it very beautiful and clean and the people are clean. Hmmm, the dishes are very delicious. When I'm going to this restaurant I usually order humburger and french fries and ice cream. [...] I think this restaurant is the most beautiful in Rabat. And almost all the people love it.

Oddly enough, I think she's right.

Title Schmitle

Some things I have been doing recently that I haven't talked about on this blog yet:

• Going to salsa class at a gym on Wed night. One of the other Moroccan teachers at school told me about it. She and all the other ladies are fantastic salsa dancers (mainly Cuban style), which didn't surprise me since most Moroccans seem to have a natural talent for dance. We usually only have one man - the instructor - so we mainly do little routines, and he partners each of us for a few minutes. He keeps suggesting that I should come to beginner class instead, though I can't due to my schedule. This is another typical Moroccan trait: they are very critical. They frequently tell Molly and I how bad our Arabic is. Anyway, I still haven't been a real salsa club yet but I will try it someday.
  
• Visiting tourist attractions. I finally made it to Chellah, a park with Roman and Islamic ruins, and lots of storks. I went on an absolutely beautiful day (since then the weather had been eratic) and really enjoyed it. View my photos here.
  
• Hanging out with Jeff. I spent last Sunday with him, and we went to visit Nazha and family. It didn't go incredibly well: Jeff chewed through his leash and got bitten by Billy (turns out Jeff does not get along with other dogs). He got very upset every time I went in the house, so Nazha and I sat in the garden with him and worked on mending one of my sweaters. We managed to take both dogs for a short walk around the neighborhood without further incident. Jeff was tired and hungry when he got back home so I bought him a sandwich and returned him to his owners. Luckily, the Irish girl who rents a room there was just coming home and I got to talk to her about Jeff. She had bought him the flea medicine which seems to have effectively killed all his fleas. She said she had taken him to the beach yesterday and he had bitten a waiter! We concluded he just needs to get out more, so I will try to take him out each weekend. Fortunately, the cobbler down the street was able to repair his leash.
  
• Visiting the animal shelter, S.P.A.N.A. I took a long walk along the oceanfront boulevard to get there. The shelter is actually quite nice, better than the one we got Rocky at. They have cats and dogs from the street, as well as donkeys and a horse that been brought there due to injury (the details of which are too horrible to recount.) These were the lucky ones, though of course they are the great minority. I asked about volunteering there but they said it was too dangerous since the dogs may have rabies, etc. A young vet took me on a tour, and we made an appointment to get Balia spayed! I'm not sure if I'll be able to manage it logistically without a car, but we're going to attempt it on Tues.
  
• Celebrating my 32nd birthday. Molly's boyfriend Aaron came to visit along with Nicole, another friend who taught in Russia with them. So we all went out to my favorite place, Bistro Pietri, the same one we went to on Christmas. They usually have live flamenco music on Tues nights, but this time it was jazz, which was slightly disappointing but still a nice break from gnaoua (the traditional music that we have grown a bit tired of). We had a nice dinner and ice cream sundaes for dessert. As a result of their visit, we also have a hoard of cherished American goods like peanut butter, Craisins, and various Trader Joe's chocolate confections.
  

Future plans: Molly and I have decided to sign on for another year here. But I will be spending July-Sept in the U.S., mostly in California where I already have some leads on summer teaching jobs. Not sure if I'll be in L.A. or San Diego, but please tell me if you know of anyone with a room for rent in those places, or who would like to rent my room in Rabat!

Goodbye, Old Friend

Jeff spend the night for the first time last week. Jeff is a neighborhood dog who I had been calling Scratchy until I found out his real name. I called him that because he liked it when I scratched him, and now I know why: the poor dog is covered in fleas, and seems to have other skin problems as well. One night we were coming home late and the neighborhood thug was in the main street so we took a detour. We heard a noise and Jeff came running up behind us. I'm not sure if he had a run in with the thug, but he seemed ever so happy to join us. When I opened our door, he came right in and made himself at home. We gave him some water and he drank it as though he had not had water in days. Then he promptly threw up all over the courtyard. He checked out the house and then engaged in a lenghty self-scratching ritual. We felt pretty bad for him. Though by most standards Jeff is a street dog - you see him bopping around all parts of the city as if he knows exactly where he's going - he does in fact have an owner. I actually met him and he seemed a decent old man; he gave Jeff a pat on the head, a gesture you don't see too often in Morocco, and he didn't offer to sell Jeff to me for $12, a gesture that is pretty common in Morocco.
Anyway, Jeff indeed seemed like no stranger to the indoors. Although we set up a bed for him in the courtyard, while I was brushing my teeth, he went in my room and hopped right on my bed. So I got in next to him, and he started to doze off while I petted him. This was one of my most blissful moments in Rabat. But it ended a few minutes later when I squashed a flea on my face. As much as I liked Jeff, I wasn't keen on sleeping with fleas, so I put him back in the courtyard. He scratched at the door for a few minutes and then went to sleep. I heard him up at 6 am so I released him into Oudaya to pee on the walls and carry on with his day. I learned where he officially lives and spoke to the owner's daughter about taking him to the vet. There is actually an animal shelter called SPANA here and they sounded very nice on the phone and said I could bring him by tomorrow for some flea treatment.

I think it is no coincidence that all this happened only 2 days before Rocky died. Bill sent me an email on the 27th that will forever be difficult for me to read. He said Rocky had spent a restless night and was having trouble breathing. That morning, Bill had made the heart-wrenching decision to put him down. He said it took everthing he had to ring the doorbell at the emergency vet clinic. I am sorry, but almost grateful, that I could not be there with them. I am sad that I can't sleep next to Rocky when I come home in July, but I know I will dream of him often.

Rocky Schwevak
December 1994 - February 27, 2008
Rest in peace.