AIDS Workshop

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Vision without action is merely a dream. Action without vision just passes time. Vision with action can change the world."
----Joel A. Barker

This workshop and subsequent trip up to Fez was a great excuse to go visit my host family from training in Sefrou. I took the train up to Fez on Friday and ran into a couple other volunteers in the train station. Bart, who was in training with me, happened to be in Fez with his parents also, so we all met up in the old medina. Begin used to Marrakech, Fez seems so clean and calm. I think Marrakech has a wild side to it that Fez is just too stately and scholarly to possess. It had been a long time since I had been in Fez and I stared open-mouthed at the orderly lines of tourists following their guides.

I got back on the road as quickly as I could and finished the trip out to Sefrou, knowing that my host family, the Jabrans, would be waiting for me. Once again, I was surprised by how homey it felt to be back in their house. It’s a cozy and comforting little home and I always feel so relaxed there. That first evening we sat around the house and caught up on the news from the past few months. The next day after a lazy morning, the best tajine I have ever eaten and a long nap, I went with one of the sisters, Asmae, to meet up with Bart and his parents and go up to Sefrou’s little waterfall. I loved meeting Bart’s parents, it was nice to talk to some real American parents and interesting for me to see what they thought of traveling around Morocco, since my parents will be here in about a month. Bart and I took off at one point and climbed up the valley beside the waterfall with a few of his friends. I hadn’t been up so high before and the view was fantastic. Looking farther upstream I could see the caves that people have been living in for centuries, since long before the Arabs came and took over the region. Looking down over the waterfalls were Sefrou’s sparkling white buildings spread out below, surrounded by lush irrigated fields with dry brown hills beyond.

Sunday was one of the most memorable days I have had here in Morocco. Malika, my host mother, and Aicha, the younger sister hurried me through my breakfast in the morning (I slept in till nine) and loaded themselves down with picnic gear. We met up with some neighbor women and set off walking down their dirt road in the opposite direction from town. They had promised to take me to the “jenan” and they were so happy about it I got excited too, though I had no idea what jenan meant. I could tell from the preparations that we were going on a picnic and I figured wherever we went it had to be good.

My Arabic is good enough now to have normal conversations with people, though random vocabulary sometimes throws me a loop. Malika constantly points out the Marrakechi words I use, and reminds me of the ones they use in the Fez region that she taught me a year ago. I hadn’t realized how much I would have to change the way I speak just going to another region in Morocco.

The jenan was spectacular, in a dusty Moroccan sort of way. The dirt roads splintered off in all directions, getting smaller and smaller until we were on a narrow footpath wending our way along the edges of wheat fields and ducking under olive branches. Lizards scurried from the sun patches on the hard packed path as we approached. Turtles weren’t quick enough though and inevitably got picked up and handled, probably too much for their liking, until Aicha or I tired of them and set them off in a field.

At the jenan, which turned out to be some land owned by the Jabran’s neighbors, we spread a tarp out under some plum trees, added blankets on top and settled down for the day. Aicha and her friend took me to another part of the field where we picked pomegranates and walnuts, eating all our finds on the spot. We fed the calf, chased chickens around and climbed in trees, eventually wandering back towards where the other women had set up camp. They had made a kitchen area close to the blankets and were peeling vegetables and starting to steam couscous. A proper couscous is an all morning affair. It takes hours to steam properly, in a kind of colander that fits snugly on top of the pot the vegetables and meat are boiling in. While the steam was working its magic on the couscous, most of the women pulled out embroidery or the little buttons that adorn jellabas, which Sefrou is famous for.

The day sped by and though we couldn’t finish the massive platter of couscous, we sat around long enough afterwards to have tea, naps, more tea and finally coffee before we packed up to leave. The cats happily pounced on the leftovers we set out for them as we gathered up our things.

The next day I had to go to work. At least, I had to be at the center we were having our workshop at before dark. It was another relaxing day, hanging around Sefrou in the morning and Fez in the afternoon.

The next day the workshop began in ernest, the first couple days being led by the Fez chapter of OPALS (Organization Pan-African pour la Lutte contre SIDA) which does AIDS education in the Fez area. They taught us activities and games we can do with kids at the Dar Chebabs we work in, and presented statistics and lots of pertinent information about AIDS in Morocco. It was a great workshop and I got a lot of ideas about ways I can do AIDS intervention in Kelaa. I went into the workshop hoping for ideas for December, since it’s international AIDS month, and I got a lot of new ideas, some from OPALS and some from the other volunteers who have already done AIDS work in their communities. Peace Corps sponsored the workshop, though all the organization was done by one of the volunteers who lives close to Fez.

On Friday it was back on the train, headed south towards Marrakech again. Ramadan starts on Sunday and I still have to get my cat back from Cybele. I don’t think she’s happy about having my cat dumped back at her house for almost two whole months. Though she did say he kills scorpions for her, so I hope she’s not too mad at me.

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Photos

Pomegranates
They were bright yellow, not the pink I was used to, but inside they were deep red, sweet and bursting with juice.

Jenan
The fields were small, and each was bordered by trees, berry bushes or some other kind of live fence.

Buttons
They start with a little snip of plastic tubing, then weave string around it with a needle.

Moroccan Mint Tea
Everything was on hand in the jenan, even fresh mint.

Out on the Town
Besides work, being in Fez was great for seeing other volunteers and eating fancy fruit salads.