Reflecting on Day One in River Village

It’s amazing how quickly you can learn to grade on a scale. If I were in a hotel, I’d be whining about the lack of sheets and the peeling plaster. But I’m in my host family’s home, so I’m dazzled by the size of the room and the lovely wrought-iron headboard. I first made acquaintance with the bed at 1:30pm, when I went into my room to crash. I was exhausted from the drain of being the center of attention, and from the soul-sucking silence of a-lingualism.

Having two of my four host brothers speak French makes everything easier. The baby, though, Abdelbast (which turns out to mean Servant of The One Who Makes the Path to Heaven Straight, more or less – it’s from one of the 99 names of Allah), is the only one I can speak to without effort. Turns out I speak fluent baby-talk, Humdullah. Little Sis and Middle Bro are fun, too. Little Sis reminds me of one of my favorite students. (I know, I know, teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites. Whoops.) Middle Bro is a prototeen, in all the best ways – he’s clever and funny and excited about everything. Plus, he climbs trees like a goat.* On our walk this afternoon, he and Little Sis taught me that green almonds – which are unripe fruit that will become the almond nuts we all know and love sometime this summer – make a nifty snack. Sis-in-Law vouched for it, and it turns out they’re tart and crunchy. [Later note: It also turns out that my tummy vetoed the idea of eating unripe fruit. I later remembered that the Peace Corps Medical Officer had also vetoed the idea of eating unripe fruit. Apparently, it’s unanimous. Whoops.] On the walk back, Sis-in-Law dazzled me with her ability to balance about two cubic meters of dried grasses on her head while walking up an uneven, rocky pathway that left me gasping.

* No, that wasn’t a typo. In southern Morocco, one of the most striking sights for tourists is goats climbing trees. You see, one of the biggest cash crops of the region is Argon (sp?) olive oil. It’s famous because the olives aren’t harvested directly. Instead, they let the local goats climb the trees, which they do as easily as mountain goats climb scraggy mountains, and eat the olives. The goats then (ahem) relieve themselves of the olive pits. The pits are then harvested, pressed, and the oil is sold. Don’t worry; it’s not used for cooking. At least, I don’t think it is. It’s made into lotions and soaps and used as a beauty product. (Hey, it makes at least as much sense as injecting botulism into your face.)