The Learning Curve

I'm playing catch up with my blog entries; this brings me up to date.

I'm feeling very proud of myself at the moment, as I started placement yesterday at "L'Hopital des Enfants" in the "Association des Amis". It is without a doubt going to be one of the most challenging yet rewarding exeriences of my life.

After waking up in the freezing cold (acclimatising is proving more difficult than first thought), a breakfast of mint tea and toast and honey, I made my way to the taxi stand. I have to tell them "Souissie" and then L'Hopital des Enfants, and I get dropped across the four lane road by the grande taxi.

My placement is wonderful. It's a small building in the grounds of the hospital, and it's bright and colourful. When I rocked up, there were more volunteers than children. The two French volunteers were keeping the one child occupied with connect four and drawings, and when he ran off, we occupied ourselves with list making and idea generation. For us, it's pretty much organised chaos, as the children arrive when they arrive and leave whenever they have treatments or their parents are finished with theirs.

As every child enters the room, they walk to us and say salaam, and then give us kisses on both cheeks, as is the Moroccan way. I have never met such polite 10 year olds (both male and female) in my life! After my placement (I finish at 1), I again made my way to the Projects Abroad Office in a district called Agdal; once my meeting finished I returned home to a large lunch and my host family.

 It struck me today how easily the language barrier is broken, and how quick these children are to not only trust but make friends and care. It's as easy as smiling. There is a quote from an unknown author, and it goes as such:

"A smile is a language even a baby understands"

This has never been more true and the baby at the Association would agree I'm sure.  

That being said, it does help knowing the local language, and whilst my Arabic is coming back to me fairly quickly now, not knowing French is a serious disadvantage. Furthermore, it is a weird sensation when the French volunteer looks at you for translation when a child doesn't understand and says something in Arabic. I want to say "I'm as clueless as you are, I don't speak it either", but I'm too polite.

The language barrier also provides some entertainment and the doctors think it's hilarious how the children argue over who's necklace I make, while I sit there oblivious, threading beads.

It is the same on the street, although you pick your audience. People look at you because you are different and unusual, but (for most) it's not threatening in the slightest. You get the odd male who decides to make a fool of himself in front of his mates and get rejected, but most people are genuinely friendly, and surprised when you know how to communicate (to a degree).

I guess my learning curve has just started. I'm on the steep part of it, and I hope it will level out in the next few weeks. I want to say days, but things change so quickly here, such is the frenetic pace of life and indeed the tranport system.

I am now up to date, but will post a facebook status with the links as soon as I write anything more.

Love love!

C xx

Ahhh Australia! Baby Dingo!

I can only assume that when this is shouted at me in the Djemma El-Fna in Marrakesh, people are referring to the Azaria case. Such a charming image of Australia in Morocco!

In my last post I mentioned that I was on a train home to Rabat from Marrakesh. It ended up taking 5&1/2 hours! We were in second class, however on the way to Marrakesh on Friday night we payed extra and took first class. The difference between the two is about 120dhs and six seats in a compartment compared to normal rows of two.

La Gare de Marrakesh (The Train Station in Marrakesh)

 On Friday night after being shown around Rabat by Aadil, I chucked some clothes in a bag and walked to the train station, where I met up with Lexy and met John for the first time. After 2 attempts at buying my ticket (the first time he gave me the wrong destination, the second time it wasn’t 1^st class-yeah....he saw me coming)We boarded the train, John and I in one compartment with 4 other people and Lexy in another. Halfway through the journey our compatriots left, only to be replaced by three rather nice young gentlemen from Morocco and Saudi. One they realised that John could speak fluent French and I some Arabic (bit of a stretch-it hadn’t quite come back to me yet) they were very talkative, making the rest of the journey quite pleasant.



When we arrived in Marrakesh the first aim was to find a taxi. Again, as tourists, we were slugged more, but John managed to bargain it down. We had no choice, as we had no idea where we were going, although neither did the driver as we soon found out. John and Lexy had booked a hotel in the Medina called “Hotel Bellevie” and after a 30 minute taxi ride and stopping to ask for directions we made it to the medina and Riad Zitoun (Lit. “House of Olives” or “Olive House”. Don’t ask). This hotel (once we had found it in the Riad) was small, homely and charming. In all honesty, I was just grateful for a warm bed and looking forward to the normal shower and included breakfast.

A typical Moroccan Breakfast consists of Moroccan pancakes (which are square pastries that you spread with apricot jam), little round crumpet-like pancakes (also spread with jam), a hot drink such as hot chocolate or mint tea and freshly squeezed orange juice, along with bread fried in olive oil. These breakfasts are amazing. The homestay family pretty much just does toast and tea, so this was a nice treat.



The rooftop garden where we had breakfast. It's not supposed to be an arty shot, it's just genuinely bad photography.

These hats are so cute!

After consulting the Lonely Planet tourist guide (John and Lexy both have one. I left mine at home. Oops.) we decided to check out the Djemma El-Fna main square and the surrounding souks (markets). This place was a bargain hunters and hagglers dream (Portia Joyce-Tubb I’m looking at you) and we wasted no time getting lost in the hazy maze of alleys filled with stalls selling goods including spices, leather and material bags, dried fruits, slippers, lanterns, ceramics and scarves, along with the mandatory jewellery strung everywhere. Dad, I haven’t bought you a fez yet but don’t despair, it’s only a matter of time (along with the other cool hats-see picture).


Spices-a common sight in the souks

Because Marrakesh is quite a tourist mecca, the traders are quite forceful. Shouts of “hello, come to my shop!” and “lovely jubbly” when they found out John is British followed us everywhere.

A major issue of  themaze like souks and the surrounding medina is that maps don’t quite apply as they do in western countries.



The rooftop garden at "Maison de Photographie".

We decided to go to the “Maison d’ Photographie” for lunch, and it took us about 2 hours to find someone who knew where the gallery and not the “tannery” was. However, after conscripting a young boy who was for some reason holding a pigeon, we were led right to the front door, and pestered for a “thankyou gift” (10dirham-we are already tight arsed). It was well worth it though, as the place was beautiful, and we had a citron tangine lunch on the rooftop garden with the picturesque, snow-capped High Atlas Mountains in the background.

After a couple of hours and another consultation with the Lonely planet guide, we set off for the Djemma El-Fna main square, and set up camp in a rooftop hotel called El-Bahla, basically just because it had wi-fi access. At night the square comes alive and we watched as hundreds of restaurant stalls were constructed of marquees and trestle tables.

Djemma El-Fna main square at night.

Dinner at 117. It wasn't quite heaven, but the food was damn good.

We have an interesting sense of fun. As anyone who has seen these night markets and food stalls (either in Africa or Asia) will know, as you walk through you are accosted by quite forceful people who are payed to put bums on seats and sell meals. So we decided to walk through the ENTIRE area passing every restaurant. As you do… We had no sooner taken 2 steps from one restaurant where we “made no promises” and said “maybe later” and we were grabbed by someone else trying to sell his stall and food. We were told that “1 1 7 takes you to heaven” and that the food was “finger licking good” (KFC called, they want their slogan back), however, the really funny moments came when the spruikers found out where we were from. As soon as they knew that we were British, Aussie and Canadian, shouts of “Lovely Jubbly!”, “Fish and Chips”, “Baby Dingo” “Australian Open” and “Canada!” echoed through the alleys after us as we attempted to walk away whilst doubled over in laughter. And this happened in every stall we went to. We decided to eat at 117, and the waiters were great, taking photos and keeping us entertained, whilst keeping the beggars away.

A major drawback of the tourism in Marrakesh is the number of beggars and people who want money for nothing. Snake charmers, cross-dressing belly dancers (although who would know?) musicians, monkey trainers and people who are simply dressed in costume attempt to charge you for the photos you are taking of them. If you take a photo with a guy in costume, or of a dancer; or if you choose to have a monkey sit on you as john did, you will get charged for the photos you take by the number of cameras you have. If you stand at a musician or snake charmers circle (they are wide circles) long enough you are bugged for money. There is no such thing as a free show.

Like any city, Marrakesh has its highs and lows; pros and cons. You have to expect that you will get accosted and yelled at in the markets, as people want your business. It’s all about the money. On the whole, as a first experience of Moroccan culture it was amazing, but you begin to see the underside of the city as time moves on; sellers being forcibly removed and with their goods scattered by the police, sleazy men (although not all are sleazy! Some are very friendly, nice and decent) and small children that you turn away because it’s the fifth time you’ve been asked to buy a single packet of 5 tissues or have your shoes shined (canvas doesn’t shine kiddies). The gap between rich and poor begins to show through, and it becomes apparent that behind the smiling stall holders, there are a lot people who struggle.

I started at placement today, which means more stories but of a slightly different nature. I’ll try to blog every few days or so, and keep everyone in the loop when I go on a weekend trip or something interesting happens.

For now though, my love and prayers for everyone at home.

Love love!

C xx

Those little, tiny life changes...

There is a smell here and I can’t quite describe it. Those who have travelled to Africa and Asia will know what I mean. It’s a cross between humidity and smog, mixed in with rubbish and dirt and oriental cooking smells. It's slightly overwhelming and oppressive when you mix it in with the crazy roadways and organised chaos that is Morocco.

So I’ve been promising the family that I would blog for the last few days, so here it is. My excuse is a pretty shit one, but I’ve been in Marrakesh with my friends for the weekend. Sorry. I also apologise for the lack of serious reflections, as at the moment I’m just trying to fill in the gaps and get things down from when I left to now. I’m splitting up my blog posts, as Marrakesh actually has photos to go with it and this doesn’t.

As I write I’m sitting next to my English friend John on a train from Marrakesh to Rabat. I got into Rabat on Thursday night (local time) and was picked up at the airport by a Projects staff member called Aadil. The plane flight was without a doubt the LONGEST 24 hours of my life. By the third flight from Hong Kong (HK) to London I was ready to get my spider monkey on and start climbing walls. It all ended up ok, and I landed in London without a fuss. The following flight from Heathrow to Casablanca was hilarious, as I was sitting next to an old guy called Adullah ben Alleh, and my god could he talk! In between “Now in Morocco…” and “You should expect...” I didn’t find much time to be nervous about the impending landing. However, I have never been in a plane where the nose has pointed quite so sharply downward (so you can see the slant of the plane forward) for landing.

After a 1&1/2 hour taxi ride with Aadil, we arrived in the Rabat medina. The medina is basically the old city, surrounded by walls and containing all manner of shops, souks and alleyways. It’s quite cool, as you see big wooden doors surrounded by tiles and think nothing of them, but behind them are relatively large houses. My homestay is much like this. The family is lovely, however Asaa, the mother, doesn’t speak a word of English. Consequently, I have had to remember Arabic incredibly quickly. The daughters and father are really nice, and all speak some English as well as Arabic and French. The next morning I was picked up by another Project’s staff member called Asmaa, and she showed me to and from my placement and then to the Office. I had lunch with a very funny guy called Yousef (we talked about Justin Bieber. Dislike for him and his music is universal funnily enough), and then Aadil showed me around Rabat and bought me coffee.

In Morocco, tea and coffee are drunk like water, and everything, I repeat EVERYTHING has sugar added to it, which for a sweet tooth and coffee lover like me is heaven. The homestay food is nothing amazing, but there’s always a lot which pretty much satisfies all of my requirements. The home in general is nice but cold (Moroccan houses are made to keep cool in the summer, not warm in the winter) and basic, so the shower is a bucket which you fill and then scoop over you, and there is no laundry-it’s all hand washing (which just FYI Mum, I do myself. I’ll make a good wife someday *giggles*). Speaking of which, the count of marriage offers and shouts of “I love you” stands at 6. Turns out Arab men like blondes, who knew? I’m keeping tabs as at times as this is quite amusing, but there is a serious side to it, and I’m being fairly careful as I’ll be travelling quite a lot on my own every day to and from work, and on weekends. Most people are really friendly and just want to chat, but there’s always one…

I met my roommate Lexy on Friday morning, as she was out when I arrived on Thursday night, and she is really nice. She is from Canada (ergo: awesome), and takes more photos than anyone I have ever met, which is hilarious. Big call, but I have plenty of reasons to make it including the few hundred photos from the last 48 hours. We joke that if we ever forget what we have done in the day, we can go to her camera and pretty much recap it by the hour. As soon as I met her, she asked me what my plans were for the weekend and invited me with her and John, another Projects volunteer from London, to Marrakesh for the weekend. I feel slightly bad because I had no sooner arrived in Rabat and met my family than I had left again, but the snap decision to accompany them was well worth it.

I’m going to stop this post here, as I am up to weekend stories. There are now about 4 people screaming at each other in Arabic over the refreshments trolley in the train and I don’t understand a word, but it’s loud and fast, meaning that the entire carriage is interested and alternating between laughing at insults and shooting disapproving looks. Drama, drama, drama.

I have decided that I like this place. A lot.

Love love!

C xx

Those little moments...

As I lay here on the couch in a position that it best described as "sleep inducing", listening to the new Jason Mraz song (at the insistence of my mother, however it is very good-I'd recommened it) and watching the cricket with my family, I'm led to thinking about where I've come from and where I"m aboout to go.

Normally this wouldn't be such a big thing, but I'm a uni student who has been on holidays for 4 months. Go figure.

Moving on.

There are 10 days until I leave, and I'm beginning to say my goodbyes (I know a lot of people, apparently), and this started with the extended family dinner last night,

It was so touching. The moment I love the most and that I will keep with me for a long time is not the dinner in total, although it was the most lovely gesture and time; it's not the amazing food we were lucky enough to eat, and the setting in which we had it, and the photos we took. It was a moment at the end, about 5 minutes long.

As they were about to leave, one of the families present started to pray for me, and we all stood around in a circle as Chloe began. I pray often, but this was so different; so spontaneous and caring and really passionate.

Suddenly I was close to tears; I was so surprised-it was beautiful. So passionate and filled with fire and love. It took me a good little while to stop feeling like I was about to burst into tears. Something that, as Christians, we do all the time, had hit me so hard. It was so poignant and special, and I think it was at that point where it really hit me where I'm about to go and what I'm about to do, and how much my faith actually means to mean along with the support of my family and friends.

Don't get me wrong, I value all of these things normally, but this moment just hit me and as I've been thinking about it today, I've come to the conclusion that these are the moments we take with us, the ones that shape who we really are. It brings us back to earth in moments where we're struggling; it affirms us, it gives us hope, reminds us of our humanity-our vulnerability. Above all, it gives us hope.

And hope is something that we need, even when we feel on top of the world.

As I go out into the wider world on the adventure of a lifetime, I will take with me this moment, and hope that I can create more like it. Whilst soaking in all of the experiences and the different cultures, languages and religions, making little moments like this and keeping them special is what I'll remember most, and those will be the memories that I treasure.

And this is just the beginning!

Clem x