As-salaam aleikum from Rabat. To bring you up to date....
My journey here was pleasantly uneventful. As predicted, I didn't really get excited until the wheels hit the ground in Morocco, but did start getting to know others in my group during the flight and while waiting on various customs/passport lines. Our group ranges in age from 78 (a retired nurse from London) to two recent grads who both turned 22 years old this week. There are single people and married couples, mostly mellow, experienced travelers, and more women than men. The group already in the house is much younger; the social divide is stark already!
The Cross Cultural Solutions house (aka “Home Base”) here in Rabat is what I would call “perfectly adequate.” It's in a fancy neighborhood in the suburbs, with embassies and such like all around, but by U.S. standards it's upper middle class. There are nice houses and Mercedes, but empty lots with litter in between. Sidewalks are inconsistent; where they are not, you just march through the dusty red Moroccan sand, and negotiate around the cactus and wild bougainvillea. We're on a busy street and Moroccans drive like maniacs, so I'm trying very hard not to get run over as I walk near the house. It would be totally ridiculous to come this far only to be run over by a Moroccan taxi!
If I have time/skill, I'll upload pictures of the house and my bunkbed digs. Outside of being terrified that I will snore or worse during the night, I'm sleeping fairly well. Plenty o'closet space; the bathroom not TOO gross; shower water usually at least warm. Almost all toilet seats in the house are broken or loose (I don't think Moroccans sit down), so THAT's a little disconcerting!
We are being fed wonderful Moroccan and Mediterranean food; we eat together (about 25 of us) in a large salon, with couches around the outside and short tables with small ottomans in the middle. Meals are precisely timed, so we are already Pavlovian in our response to the bell that's rung at mealtimes, jostling each other to line up at the buffet. At 4:00 PM, mint tea is served, along with small semi-sweet pastries (sort of like pancakes).
Now, about the volunteer work....Each morning, 14 of us are taken into downtown Rabat (near the ancient Medina) in a big white van to the Lalla Meriem Home for Abandoned Children. Some of the “children” are actually adults of indiscriminate age and severely deformed. The other 200 or so range in age from 0 to 6. The orphanage is in decent condition; what you'd expect from any such institution. The nurses are efficient, a bit rough by our standards with the kids, but basically kind. I have opted for the easiest gig I could think of, which is to help with the 6 to 12 month-olds. There are about 12 children in our area of the orphanage (what's called the “nid jaune,” or “yellow nest”), and I and another female volunteer help the nurses from 8:30 to 12:30 daily. You can pretty much imagine our work, as it's universal -- changing stinky diapers; wrestling just bathed-limbs into too tight clothes; comforting or distracting inconsolable screamers; bottle feeding; and cleaning up milky vomit. What makes it all a bit weird is that the nurses are trying desperately to tell us what to do in either French or Arabic, and then realizing we speak neither competently, using emphatic hand gestures and nods. The other thing that's quite odd is to see how docile the babies are. They're quite normal, but for the most part, they know that crying doesn't really pay off. They all wait patiently while the others are held, bathed, changed and fed.
We also spend a large chunk of time minding the babies in a 10' by 10' playpen. We just sit in there with them (which is of course no small feat with my creaky body). They roll over each other, cry, poop, throw up, suck their thumbs, touch the others gently, or just snooze. We keep them cleaned, and entertain them with songs and funny faces. We're also trying to touch and caress them a lot, in the hope that some small bit of the experience will make them think later in life that they deserve to be loved.
Back to Home Base and Rabat...we're getting Arabic and Moroccan history lessons, and have been taken on a quick tour of the Kasbah and the medina (old city), where all the souks (markets) are. The CCS managers who work with us speak classical Arabic, Moroccan Arabic, French, Berber and English; they are excellent sources of information, and we're allowed to ask any question, no matter how dumb or culturally inappropriate. Mainly, I request from them the Arabic words for diaper, bottle, feed, sleep, don't cry, etc.
This coming weekend, I am traveling with six other volunteers to the edge of the Saharan desert , for camel rides and camping. Should be a blast – we'll drive through much of this beautiful country, including the High Atlas mountains, and will see great music, visit with Tuareg people and other local stuff. (If you have a map of Morocco handy, you can see our route from Rabat on the northern Atlantic coast to Merzouga in the south east of the country, near Algeria.) I'll fill you all in next week about the journey.
I think that's all for now. I'm enjoying myself, unwinding, not thinking AT ALL about my life before or after this trip (perhaps dangerously so). I'm just moving along, even letting other people plan all the weeekend side trips. I am so enjoying not being responsible for anything, except little Ahmed, Omar, Aaliyah, et al.
B'salaamah.
My journey here was pleasantly uneventful. As predicted, I didn't really get excited until the wheels hit the ground in Morocco, but did start getting to know others in my group during the flight and while waiting on various customs/passport lines. Our group ranges in age from 78 (a retired nurse from London) to two recent grads who both turned 22 years old this week. There are single people and married couples, mostly mellow, experienced travelers, and more women than men. The group already in the house is much younger; the social divide is stark already!
The Cross Cultural Solutions house (aka “Home Base”) here in Rabat is what I would call “perfectly adequate.” It's in a fancy neighborhood in the suburbs, with embassies and such like all around, but by U.S. standards it's upper middle class. There are nice houses and Mercedes, but empty lots with litter in between. Sidewalks are inconsistent; where they are not, you just march through the dusty red Moroccan sand, and negotiate around the cactus and wild bougainvillea. We're on a busy street and Moroccans drive like maniacs, so I'm trying very hard not to get run over as I walk near the house. It would be totally ridiculous to come this far only to be run over by a Moroccan taxi!
If I have time/skill, I'll upload pictures of the house and my bunkbed digs. Outside of being terrified that I will snore or worse during the night, I'm sleeping fairly well. Plenty o'closet space; the bathroom not TOO gross; shower water usually at least warm. Almost all toilet seats in the house are broken or loose (I don't think Moroccans sit down), so THAT's a little disconcerting!
We are being fed wonderful Moroccan and Mediterranean food; we eat together (about 25 of us) in a large salon, with couches around the outside and short tables with small ottomans in the middle. Meals are precisely timed, so we are already Pavlovian in our response to the bell that's rung at mealtimes, jostling each other to line up at the buffet. At 4:00 PM, mint tea is served, along with small semi-sweet pastries (sort of like pancakes).
Now, about the volunteer work....Each morning, 14 of us are taken into downtown Rabat (near the ancient Medina) in a big white van to the Lalla Meriem Home for Abandoned Children. Some of the “children” are actually adults of indiscriminate age and severely deformed. The other 200 or so range in age from 0 to 6. The orphanage is in decent condition; what you'd expect from any such institution. The nurses are efficient, a bit rough by our standards with the kids, but basically kind. I have opted for the easiest gig I could think of, which is to help with the 6 to 12 month-olds. There are about 12 children in our area of the orphanage (what's called the “nid jaune,” or “yellow nest”), and I and another female volunteer help the nurses from 8:30 to 12:30 daily. You can pretty much imagine our work, as it's universal -- changing stinky diapers; wrestling just bathed-limbs into too tight clothes; comforting or distracting inconsolable screamers; bottle feeding; and cleaning up milky vomit. What makes it all a bit weird is that the nurses are trying desperately to tell us what to do in either French or Arabic, and then realizing we speak neither competently, using emphatic hand gestures and nods. The other thing that's quite odd is to see how docile the babies are. They're quite normal, but for the most part, they know that crying doesn't really pay off. They all wait patiently while the others are held, bathed, changed and fed.
We also spend a large chunk of time minding the babies in a 10' by 10' playpen. We just sit in there with them (which is of course no small feat with my creaky body). They roll over each other, cry, poop, throw up, suck their thumbs, touch the others gently, or just snooze. We keep them cleaned, and entertain them with songs and funny faces. We're also trying to touch and caress them a lot, in the hope that some small bit of the experience will make them think later in life that they deserve to be loved.
Back to Home Base and Rabat...we're getting Arabic and Moroccan history lessons, and have been taken on a quick tour of the Kasbah and the medina (old city), where all the souks (markets) are. The CCS managers who work with us speak classical Arabic, Moroccan Arabic, French, Berber and English; they are excellent sources of information, and we're allowed to ask any question, no matter how dumb or culturally inappropriate. Mainly, I request from them the Arabic words for diaper, bottle, feed, sleep, don't cry, etc.
This coming weekend, I am traveling with six other volunteers to the edge of the Saharan desert , for camel rides and camping. Should be a blast – we'll drive through much of this beautiful country, including the High Atlas mountains, and will see great music, visit with Tuareg people and other local stuff. (If you have a map of Morocco handy, you can see our route from Rabat on the northern Atlantic coast to Merzouga in the south east of the country, near Algeria.) I'll fill you all in next week about the journey.
I think that's all for now. I'm enjoying myself, unwinding, not thinking AT ALL about my life before or after this trip (perhaps dangerously so). I'm just moving along, even letting other people plan all the weeekend side trips. I am so enjoying not being responsible for anything, except little Ahmed, Omar, Aaliyah, et al.
B'salaamah.
