You know what is within walking distance from my house? At least two pharmacies, five private schools, multiple hair salons, a dry cleaners, three dress shops, a place to buy DVD's, and more corner stores, fruit and vegetable stands and cafes than I can count.
You know what is NOT within walking distance from my house (at least not any distance that I want to walk on a daily basis)? A playground.
Any of you with small children and not a lot of outdoor green space know how much that can suck. And believe me, it sucks.
Not that there is no outdoor space near our home, there is. Right outside our door, in the middle of our neighborhood there is a large concrete area where kids play (endless) games of soccer and classic games like tag and cash cash (also know as hide and seek). When I engage my kids in these activities and round up the neighborhood kids as well, then my two get a lot of valuable play time and exercise. But man do I wish that area was grassed in with a playground on top. I don't think anything would make me happier at this point.
There is a play-area type facility, pretty big too, right behind the local Wal-Mart-type store that is about a 20-minute walk from the house. The problem is that I don't want to make that walk each day with kids (you may have read one of my previous posts expelling the joys [NOT] of taking walks with my kids), and I don't want to pay the fee for the kids to play.
Yeah you heard that right. You have to pay to get into the playgrounds around here.
Say wha????????
Yeah, I had the same reaction. But it is what it is and so there it is. I took my kids to a local indoor/outdoor play spot over the holidays and, though the place was great, you had to pay for each of the different play areas and there were time limits.
Don't these peeps know I want to plant my kids in their play area and let them run wild while I ignore them and read a book, or is that just an American thing?
In all fairness Marrakesh can boast of having these gas stations that have morphed into restaurants with outdoor playgrounds attached. These are free but the closest one to me is an hour walk away and there's no bus to take me there, only my two feet. Doesn't sound too free to me
Anyway, in the spirit of feeding Marrakesh's playground industry, I will be taking the dreaded 20-minute walk to the pay-for-play playground tomorrow and letting my kids loose. And there better not be a time limit.
Me at Jardin Majorelle
Friday, February 24, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Mean Muslim Men
As you might expect, Morocco is full of Muslim men, and you know what that means...meanies.
Meanies who detest my very presence outside the home and scowl at me in the streets for daring to step out.
Meanies who loathe to greet me and turn away at my "Salaam."
Meanies who dare me to take my daughter to school and-gasp!-give her an education.
Meanies who can't wait to get home and greet their wives with a quick jab to the head.
You know what I mean right? Of course you do.
OK, obviously I am kidding and hopefully most of you got that, otherwise we have a very sad state of affairs. Now it goes without saying that there are bad Muslim men, meanies as I will call them here. But of course there are non-Muslim meanies everywhere. So as this blog is about my experiences living here in Marrakesh, let me tell you about the men I see and how they act and what they do. And no exaggerations, I promise.
The greetings here, as I've talked about in another blog post, are intense and the warmth displayed in meeting is not reserved for men meeting men alone, or women meeting women. Men greet women with dignity and a smile. They usually share a handshake or a kiss to the hand or head if the man is greeting an older, respected lady. These men will stop and speak with you and ask how everyone in your immediate family and your second cousin is doing. This is normal. See it all the time.
The relationships between husband and wife are pretty routine as well, from what I can tell. I've seen my brother-in-law and his wife argue, ending with his wife ripping up said paper they were fighting over (don't ask me what was said, I have no clue), and then him sending her "I'm sorry" eyes over the dinner table. Normal stuff. This same brother-on-law, who can have an attitude on occassion-would rather die than let me take out my own trash and has even chased me halfway down the road to retrieve from me my trash can and finish the task-and takes to the kitchen on his only day off to help his mother prepare lunch. This isn't done with any fanfare or smugness, it's just a normal course of life. As is the occasional fight with his wife.
I can also relate to you a hilarious story my mother-in-law told about her neighbor's husband who would frequently come home drunk (a big no-no for most women) and whose wife would take her fist and feet to him in the street. Not too hard of course but enough to get across her point that she did not appreciate his behavior. My mother-in-law said he would holler at her "Safi Khadija, safi." Which means enough. But that Khadija was going to get her licks in. Now of course I'm not saying this is good or even appropriate, although the thought of it is a little funny, but I'm sure it's not what most people would expect from a Muslim marriage but there it is.
Here in Marrakesh I see men dropping their kids off at school, carrying their packages or purses for them, or walking with their wives while pushing the stroller. I see men and women haggling over the price of goods and services, and I see many a lady scooting around town on her motorbike.
Normal stuff folks, normal stuff.
Meanies who detest my very presence outside the home and scowl at me in the streets for daring to step out.
Meanies who loathe to greet me and turn away at my "Salaam."
Meanies who dare me to take my daughter to school and-gasp!-give her an education.
Meanies who can't wait to get home and greet their wives with a quick jab to the head.
You know what I mean right? Of course you do.
OK, obviously I am kidding and hopefully most of you got that, otherwise we have a very sad state of affairs. Now it goes without saying that there are bad Muslim men, meanies as I will call them here. But of course there are non-Muslim meanies everywhere. So as this blog is about my experiences living here in Marrakesh, let me tell you about the men I see and how they act and what they do. And no exaggerations, I promise.
The greetings here, as I've talked about in another blog post, are intense and the warmth displayed in meeting is not reserved for men meeting men alone, or women meeting women. Men greet women with dignity and a smile. They usually share a handshake or a kiss to the hand or head if the man is greeting an older, respected lady. These men will stop and speak with you and ask how everyone in your immediate family and your second cousin is doing. This is normal. See it all the time.
The relationships between husband and wife are pretty routine as well, from what I can tell. I've seen my brother-in-law and his wife argue, ending with his wife ripping up said paper they were fighting over (don't ask me what was said, I have no clue), and then him sending her "I'm sorry" eyes over the dinner table. Normal stuff. This same brother-on-law, who can have an attitude on occassion-would rather die than let me take out my own trash and has even chased me halfway down the road to retrieve from me my trash can and finish the task-and takes to the kitchen on his only day off to help his mother prepare lunch. This isn't done with any fanfare or smugness, it's just a normal course of life. As is the occasional fight with his wife.
I can also relate to you a hilarious story my mother-in-law told about her neighbor's husband who would frequently come home drunk (a big no-no for most women) and whose wife would take her fist and feet to him in the street. Not too hard of course but enough to get across her point that she did not appreciate his behavior. My mother-in-law said he would holler at her "Safi Khadija, safi." Which means enough. But that Khadija was going to get her licks in. Now of course I'm not saying this is good or even appropriate, although the thought of it is a little funny, but I'm sure it's not what most people would expect from a Muslim marriage but there it is.
Here in Marrakesh I see men dropping their kids off at school, carrying their packages or purses for them, or walking with their wives while pushing the stroller. I see men and women haggling over the price of goods and services, and I see many a lady scooting around town on her motorbike.
Normal stuff folks, normal stuff.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Food, Actually
The other day I was chatting with my mother-in-law, partially through my sister-in-law and partially through me. With her broken English and my even-more-broken Arabic we somehow manage to communicate. Anyway, earlier in the day all three of us ladies were talking about travel and my MIL was saying that she had never been outside of Morocco and it was something she had always wanted to do. Later that evening I asked my MIL where she would go if she was able. She said she'd go to America. Seems normal enough. She has two sons, one daughter-in-law (me) and two grandbabies there. But her reason for coming was what through me for a loop. She said she'd want to come to cook for me and Ali.
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
Initially I just had to laugh at this, but later her comment got me thinking. Her cooking is what she does, it's her thing and she does it well, and, to her, coming to my home to my modest kitchen to cook for me, her son and grandchildren is how she can best show us she loves us. That's saying a lot about cooking for a woman who is quick with a laugh, still roughhouses with my maniac of a son, is a lover of people and conversation and is always quick with a funny story and a sly wink for me.
This leads me to a funny story. When Ali was here during December he remarked to his mother that she should rest instead of cooking dinner, her second home-cooked meal of the day. Now, most women I know (myself included) would take this comment as a relief and happily order pizza with nary a second though.
You know what my MIL's responce was?
"Are you crazy?"
I'm totally serious, and so was she.
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
Initially I just had to laugh at this, but later her comment got me thinking. Her cooking is what she does, it's her thing and she does it well, and, to her, coming to my home to my modest kitchen to cook for me, her son and grandchildren is how she can best show us she loves us. That's saying a lot about cooking for a woman who is quick with a laugh, still roughhouses with my maniac of a son, is a lover of people and conversation and is always quick with a funny story and a sly wink for me.
This leads me to a funny story. When Ali was here during December he remarked to his mother that she should rest instead of cooking dinner, her second home-cooked meal of the day. Now, most women I know (myself included) would take this comment as a relief and happily order pizza with nary a second though.
You know what my MIL's responce was?
"Are you crazy?"
I'm totally serious, and so was she.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Gripes
So it can't all be bliss, right?
So far I've pretty much raved about my experiences here, and they have been great. I'm immersing myself into another culture, which is always thrilling I think. And I'm learning so much about how people live. This is the stuff of fascination for me!
However, there is a flip side to all this fun and I'm gonna give it to you.
People here litter. I know, I know!!! It's shocking but true. I'm not saying we live in a trash heap, but there is definitely noticable trash-specific items spewn aross the shanty (street in Moroccan Arabic) and sidewalks. Also, wherever you find an empty lot you will find trash. A lot of it. It's really tragic and is what I consider the shame of this beautiful city. Luckily the city or country (I don't know which) does a lot to clean up, offering medium-sized bins along the roads and street cleaners. But I'll give you a story about the culture of littering here and you'll see why some roadside Dumpsters may not be enough to fix the problem, i.e. fix people's attitude toward littering.
A few weeks ago I was walking down the street with Ali's neice Raja and her friend whose name I don't know. Sorry. I bought Eli and Drea each a snack from the local hanut (corner store that dot the landscape here in Marrakesh) and I stowed their trash into my bag I was carrying with plans to toss it when we got back home. Upon seeing what I did, Raja's friend actually reached into my bag, grabbed the snack wrappers and threw them on the ground.
I was astounded!!!!!
I picked the wrappers back up, replaced them in the back and said to her in my broken Arabic. "Your city is beautiful. Why would you make it bad with this littering?"
True story, folks. True story.
Another thing that irks me a little is how noone seems to know how to wait in line. Nearly every time I've been in line at a bank or a store someone has cut in and gone on ahead of me. This is common. And don't get me started on the line, or lack thereof, to get on the bus. As soon as people see the bus coming to a stop they charge the doors, before they're even opened mind you, and the pushing begins. No line, no sense of where one might be, just people coming at you from all directions. I admit I've taken to pushing people out of my way, and my kids' way, and told them they were bad and shameful and given them my most disapproving look. I have no idea how this flies, but there is some freedom in knowing I can tell them off in English and they likely won't understand a single word I'm saying. Talk about a no-consequence venting session!
Ok I can say I'm stumped here. That's really all I can think of for now, which goes a long way toward showing how nice it is here, truly. In light of all the Moroccans' friendliness, hospitality and generosity, which is unmatched in my experience, I can forgive a lot of impatience and little littering, even as I go down the streets picking up trash.
So far I've pretty much raved about my experiences here, and they have been great. I'm immersing myself into another culture, which is always thrilling I think. And I'm learning so much about how people live. This is the stuff of fascination for me!
However, there is a flip side to all this fun and I'm gonna give it to you.
People here litter. I know, I know!!! It's shocking but true. I'm not saying we live in a trash heap, but there is definitely noticable trash-specific items spewn aross the shanty (street in Moroccan Arabic) and sidewalks. Also, wherever you find an empty lot you will find trash. A lot of it. It's really tragic and is what I consider the shame of this beautiful city. Luckily the city or country (I don't know which) does a lot to clean up, offering medium-sized bins along the roads and street cleaners. But I'll give you a story about the culture of littering here and you'll see why some roadside Dumpsters may not be enough to fix the problem, i.e. fix people's attitude toward littering.
A few weeks ago I was walking down the street with Ali's neice Raja and her friend whose name I don't know. Sorry. I bought Eli and Drea each a snack from the local hanut (corner store that dot the landscape here in Marrakesh) and I stowed their trash into my bag I was carrying with plans to toss it when we got back home. Upon seeing what I did, Raja's friend actually reached into my bag, grabbed the snack wrappers and threw them on the ground.
I was astounded!!!!!
I picked the wrappers back up, replaced them in the back and said to her in my broken Arabic. "Your city is beautiful. Why would you make it bad with this littering?"
True story, folks. True story.
Another thing that irks me a little is how noone seems to know how to wait in line. Nearly every time I've been in line at a bank or a store someone has cut in and gone on ahead of me. This is common. And don't get me started on the line, or lack thereof, to get on the bus. As soon as people see the bus coming to a stop they charge the doors, before they're even opened mind you, and the pushing begins. No line, no sense of where one might be, just people coming at you from all directions. I admit I've taken to pushing people out of my way, and my kids' way, and told them they were bad and shameful and given them my most disapproving look. I have no idea how this flies, but there is some freedom in knowing I can tell them off in English and they likely won't understand a single word I'm saying. Talk about a no-consequence venting session!
Ok I can say I'm stumped here. That's really all I can think of for now, which goes a long way toward showing how nice it is here, truly. In light of all the Moroccans' friendliness, hospitality and generosity, which is unmatched in my experience, I can forgive a lot of impatience and little littering, even as I go down the streets picking up trash.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Boldness
Here's a story for you. Make of it what you will.
The other day I and Drea were standing in the check-out line of the local supermarket when I struck up a conversation with a French woman. The lady told me that she lives part time in France and the rest of the time here in Marrakesh. She had also lived in Casablanca. Naturally I told her that I was an American and I told her about how I came to be living here, that my husband was a Moroccan and that the kids and I had decided to stay here for a few months to see family and to soak up the local culture.
Her responce: "Do you have a choice between living here and in America?"
She asked me this with a straight face and seemingly no shame at all. I thought the question was a pretty bold one and a perfect example that you don't always have to say exactly what goes through your mind.
I looked at her like she was a little crazy, smiled and said, "Of course I have a choice. Whatever I want my husband gives me."
And for the record folks, I did have a choice to stay here. Up until the day my husband was leaving to go back to America he kept reminding me that if I didn't want to stay he would change my tickets pronto and that would be the end of it. Furthermore, if ever I want to come home before our scheduled return date of May 28 that I need only say the word. I have a fabulous husband who respects me and my decisions and I find it offensive when anyone, especially a complete stranger, questions that.
The other day I and Drea were standing in the check-out line of the local supermarket when I struck up a conversation with a French woman. The lady told me that she lives part time in France and the rest of the time here in Marrakesh. She had also lived in Casablanca. Naturally I told her that I was an American and I told her about how I came to be living here, that my husband was a Moroccan and that the kids and I had decided to stay here for a few months to see family and to soak up the local culture.
Her responce: "Do you have a choice between living here and in America?"
She asked me this with a straight face and seemingly no shame at all. I thought the question was a pretty bold one and a perfect example that you don't always have to say exactly what goes through your mind.
I looked at her like she was a little crazy, smiled and said, "Of course I have a choice. Whatever I want my husband gives me."
And for the record folks, I did have a choice to stay here. Up until the day my husband was leaving to go back to America he kept reminding me that if I didn't want to stay he would change my tickets pronto and that would be the end of it. Furthermore, if ever I want to come home before our scheduled return date of May 28 that I need only say the word. I have a fabulous husband who respects me and my decisions and I find it offensive when anyone, especially a complete stranger, questions that.
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