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Jib jib faloozy….

In Morocco this is what street kids say as they hold out their hands or if said angrily it's how thugs demand money...I'm taking the tone of the street kids...(and giving away my latest book for free) ;)

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  • Slarty Bardfast

Vagobond in Meknes and Moulay Idriss

Tomb of Moulay Idriss
Last weekend, we decided to take a daytrip to Meknes since neither Hanane nor I had been there before. We got a later start than we intended but figured it would be no problem since Meknes is only an hours train ride from Fez and Fez is only a 40 minute taxi ride from Sefrou.

The taxi was a simple thing since that is a part of my normal commute, 10 dirhams each in a grand taxi and then a petit taxi to the beautiful new train station in Fez. 23 dirhams to get us there and then another 20 dirhams each got us on the train in second class seats which I find to be not too much different from the first class seats anyway.
Train to Meknes
Arriving in Meknes we weren’t sure which station to get out at so we got out out the first “Gare De Meknes’. Immediately we both noticed that Meknes has a very different vibe than Fez, much more laid back and slightly more cosmopolitan. People didn’t pay any attention to us and we strolled the broad avenues until we found a nice little cafe to sit and sip an espresso in. Even the cafes seemed less imposing than those in Fes since we saw a fair number of women in each that we passed. This was both of our first trip to Meknes and since we didn’t have as much time as we had hoped we would, we decided to simply call it an exploratory mission where we would get the general vibe of the place and figure out what we wanted to do the next time.
Moulay Idriss
We decided that we’d like to see the ancient Roman ruins of Volubulis but upon inquiring where we should find a taxi we were told that it was late in the day and we would most likely not find a taxi back if we were to go. Keep in mind it was only about 2 pm. Most people we talked to said that we should catch a taxi to Moulay Idriss and from there another taxi to Volubulis. As usual, we were traveling with no guide books so we wandered over to where the taxis to Moulay Idriss were queing up.

Along the way we passed some sort of exhibition, quite a nice movie theatre, and a restaurant that made Hanane’s eyes light up with possibilities “The Chicken Palace”. It was filled with Moroccan business people and smelled great.

At the taxi stand we encountered our only tout of the day who offered to take us to Volubulis for 300 dirham, an incredibly excessive price. We didn’t even bother arguing but walked away and got in a taxi to Moulay Idriss for another 10 dirhams each. At this point, Hanane’s energy was flagging a bit and she told me that she would rather just go to Moulay Idriss, have a look around, and then come back and eat at the Chicken Palace. I tried to argue a bit but it was pointless as the point of the day was for us to both enjoy ourselves and arguing seemed counterproductive to that end.
Moulay Idriss, Morocco
The drive to Moulay Idriss was beautiful with vineyards, orchards, and stark landscape that is starting to turn green with spring spread out in every direction. Approaching the city was like coming upon a citadel on a remote plain as the city sat high on the hillsides above. I counted at least five Saint’s tombs or monuments along the way.I’m sure there were more and we could both feel the baraka pulsating in the place as we stepped out of the taxi into the narrow twisted streets of Moulay Idriss.
Moulay Idriss
My initial inclination is to always go straight to the high point and so with Hanane shuffling unhappily beside me we climbed to the top of the town. I admit that I felt a bit of regret at being so close to Volubulis and not seeing it and perhaps that is why when she suggested we take the low road, I insisted on the high. Sometimes I’m a bastard that way and I know it.
Moulay Idriss
It wasn’t a terribly clean town and the men all had big asses, that is there were a plethora of donkeys loaded with goods, a usual site in Fez but not one we see a lot in Sefrou.
shoes in the souk

Sometimes it seems like Moroccans are obsessed with shoes….

It was the souk day and most of the merchants were packing up and heading home. There is a beautiful fountain near the top in a nice little park but sadly it contains no water only dried and brown leaves.
Moulay Idriss
We journeyed downwards then into the heart of the Medina and found ourselves in a stunning little square surrounded by small hanuts and food stalls on all sides except that containing the tomb of Moulay Idriss I, the founder of both Fez and Moulay Idriss.
Moulay Idriss square
Going inside there was a lot of conversation around us as people tried to figure out if I were Moroccan or Muslim. Finally a young guy said “He can’t go in there, he’s not a Muslim” and Hanane laid into him telling him that I am and that as such I have the right to see the tomb. Yes indeed, I paid my 300 dirham conversion fee.
Tomb of Moulay Idriss
Inside we found pilgrims praying and soaking up the baraka of the place. We dropped some coins in the slot and touched the tomb thus moving some of the baraka into our own bodies, sat for a while, and then made our way back to the taxi stand but not before buying a little earthenware bottle and cup covered in the creosote like tar that Moroccans believe assists in maintaining good health. It smells like smoke and is certainly some sort of pitch, but I’m not sure exactly what kind of wood it is, it’s possible it is creosote. The jar and cup were a whopping 10 dirhams more plus another 10 for some figs to munch on our way to the chicken palace.
Moulay Idriss tomb
The drive back was no less beautiful and then we walked to the chicken palace which was indeed delicious with a sort of ginger sauce on the roasted chicken, fries, a nice salad, and a couple of sodas. This set us back a whopping 90 dirhams. After this, we decided to check out the exhibition and then perhaps see a movie before heading home but this plan was scrapped when I realized it was a circus. Hanane had never seen a circus. It was a tired little French circus with 3rd class seats for 45 dirhams each. Once inside there was no enforcement of seating but we liked our seats.
Morocco Circus
It was fun but not very good. The three tigers were sort of fierce and the cirque du soleil-esque spinning woman amamzed me as she spun around while hanging from her neck butthe balancing act fell off his balance, the elephant was old and miserable and when a bratty little French kid made it lie down and then danced on it wearing his white sneakers I wanted to go down and smash him. The clowns were annoying, the plate spinner broke as many as he spun, and the tigers quickly faded from my memory. Hanane’s favorite moment was when the plates began to break, she decided to start counting loudly to see how long they took to fall off. I’m not sure what her thought process on how long was success was, but she laughed loudly. She also enjoyed the cotton candy. I liked watching the trained horses run in circles. No photos allowed but I snuck one of Hanane with the elephant behind her since it was the first time she has seen elephants or tigers. Of course my camera still has no display so it is point, shoot, and hope for the best.
Circus Morocco
We left a bit early but the train was delayed and so we ended up sitting at the second train station Gare de Meknes Soltan for about two hours. She got tired, I got grumpy, a crazy beggar begged for a fig, and a crazy old man told us how he had lost his memory after he retired.

We got back to Fes about midnight and I dragged us away from the petit taxi sharks outside the station, finally we caught a taxi to Atlas where we cuaght an illegal taxi to Sefrou. He wanted to wait for another person but finally I just paid for the extra seat to get us on the way 45 dirham total, more than the train to Meknes! The train had been another 20 each, the petit taxi another 8, and the strain of waiting in the dirty little Soltan station, wandering the streets of Fez at midnight, and finally wandering through my Casbah at 1 am (waty later than I am comfortable with) took a lot of the enjoyment out of the day.
Moulay Idriss Tomb
All told about 400 dirhams for a pretty good day. It would have been better if we could have stayed the night but since we still don’t have marriage papers, that wasn’t really an option for us yet. I look forward to seeing more of Meknes, finally seeing Volubulis, and I probably won’t go back to any more Moroccan circuses….

Recommended Morocco Reading

I’ve put together a list of books I think anyone considering life in Morocco should check out. It’s eclectic and not all inclusive, but I think it covers a fair range.

The Private World of Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Berge by Robert Murphy

As he did with fashion, Yves seized at one moment in time, a taste that was in the air, only to show his mastery. During the 1970s exoticism and Marrakech were currents in the air and St. Laurent became the authority. He was interested in Art Deco before it became fashionable, even before Andy Warhol and Karl Lagerfeld . . . St Laurent’s and Bergé’s taste is an expression of a culture and is always a story. When they decorated a house it was no longer an ordinary house: it became a story to tell.

Morocco Eyewitness Travel Guide from DK Publishing

With over 900 full-color photographs, tips on public transportation, and detailed lists of hotels and restaurants, Eyewitness Travel Guides: Morrocco provides a wealth of informaton on this North African treasure.

A House in Fez: Building a Life in the Ancient Heart of Morocco by Suzanna Clark.

While vacationing in Morocco, Suzanna Clarke and her husband, Sandy, are inspired to buy a dilapidated, centuries-old riad in Fez with the aim of restoring it to its original splendor, using only traditional craftsmen and handmade materials. So begins a remarkable adventure that is bewildering, at times hilarious, and ultimately immensely rewarding.

A House in Fez chronicles their meticulous restoration, but it is also a journey into Moroccan customs and lore and a window into the lives of its people as friendships blossom. When the riad is finally returned to its former glory, Suzanna finds she has not just restored an old house, but also her soul.

Islam Observed: Religious Development in Morocco and Indonesia by Clifford Geertz.

“In four brief chapters,” writes Clifford Geertz in his preface, “I have attempted both to lay out a general framework for the comparative analysis of religion and to apply it to a study of the development of a supposedly single creed, Islam, in two quite contrasting civilizations, the Indonesian and the Moroccan.”

Mr. Geertz begins his argument by outlining the problem conceptually and providing an overview of the two countries. He then traces the evolution of their classical religious styles which, with disparate settings and unique histories, produced strikingly different spiritual climates. So in Morocco, the Islamic conception of life came to mean activism, moralism, and intense individuality, while in Indonesia the same concept emphasized aestheticism, inwardness, and the radical dissolution of personality. In order to assess the significance of these interesting developments, Mr. Geertz sets forth a series of theoretical observations concerning the social role of religion.

Tuhami: Portrait of a Moroccan by Vincent Crapanzano

Tuhami is an illiterate Moroccan tilemaker who believes himself married to a camel-footed she-demon. A master of magic and a superb story-teller, Tuhami lives in a dank, windowless hovel near the kiln where he works. Nightly he suffers visitations from the demons and saints who haunt his life, and he seeks, with crippling ambivalence, liberation from ‘A’isha Qandisha, the she-demon.

In a sensitive and bold experiment in interpretive ethnography, Crapanzano presents Tuhami’s bizarre account of himself and his world. In so doing, Crapanzano draws on phenomenology, psychoanalysis, and symbolism to reflect upon the nature of reality and truth and to probe the limits of anthropology itself. Tuhami has become one of the most important and widely cited representatives of a new understanding of the whole discipline of anthropology.

Heavy Metal Islam: Rock, Resistance, and the Struggle for the Soul of Islam by Mark LeVine

With a jolting arrangement of images and voices, LeVine powerfully upends received notions about the Middle East by exploring one of the area’s least-known subcultures. Interviewing and jamming with musicians from Morocco to Pakistan—including rappers and trip-hop artists as well as metalheads—LeVine (Why They Don’t Hate Us) presents Muslims, Christians and Jews who, in the face of corruption, repression and violence, use their music to speak truth to power and carve out a space for individual expression and a new form of community. The degree of independence the musicians enjoy varies widely—from Israeli band Orphaned Land who are free of restrictions (and widely admired in the Arab metal world) to Egyptian metalheads who fear arrest and possible torture for sporting long hair. Each artist in this book struggles, on some level, for cultural and political reform, and LeVine argues that if these musicians could find a way to cooperate with progressive religious activists and the working class, they could trigger a revolution. This is a tall order, but the author’s warm and intelligent examination of a reality few in the West have experienced suggests it may yet be possible.

Living in Morocco by Barbara Stoeltie

More a book on Moroccan luxury style than on life in Morocco, still this book is filled with beautiful pictures and some surprising insights.

Disorienting Encounters: Travels of a Moroccan Scholar in France in 1845-1846. The Voyage of Muhammad As-Saffar by Muhammad As-Saffar

In December of 1845, Muhammad as-Saffar was sent by the reigning Moroccan sultan on a special diplomatic mission to Paris. During the journey, as-Saffar took careful notes and upon his return he hurriedly wrote this travel account.
Why was the sultan, descendent of the Prophet Muhammad, and head of a dynasty that had ruled Morocco for more than two hundred years, so eager to read this account? Perhaps he thought it would illuminate some troubling matters: how the French acquired their power and their mastery over nature; how they led their daily lives, educated their children, treated their women and servants. In short, the sultan wanted to know the condition of French civilization and why it differed from his. As-Saffar provided the answers.
Moreover, as we read the account, Muhammad as-Saffar comes alive for us. We see him reflecting on the beauty of women, contorting during his ritual ablutions, and suffering from boredom at endless dinners. His opinions and ideas infuse every page. For him the journey was more than a catalog of curiosities; it was a transforming experience. Given our very limited knowledge of the time and the absence of other voices that speak with equal clarity, this travel account enlarges our understanding of the relationship between nineteenth-century Morocco and France.

Traveling Spirit Masters: Moroccan Gnawa Trance and Music in the Global Marketplace by Deborah Kapchan

A group of ritual musicians and former slaves brought from sub-Saharan Africa to Morocco, the Gnawa heal those they believe to be possessed, using incense, music, and trance. But their practice is hardly of only local interest: the Gnawa have long participated in the world music market through collaborations with African-American jazz musicians and French recording artists. In this first book in English on Gnawa music and its global reach, author Deborah Kapchan explores how these collaborations transfigure racial and musical identities on both sides of the Atlantic. She also addresses how aesthetic styles associated with the sacred come to inhabit non-sacred contexts, and what new amalgams they produce. Her narrative details the fascinating intrinsic properties of trance, including details of enactment, the role of gesture and the body, and the use of the senses, and how they both construct authentic Gnawa identity and reconstruct historically determined relations of power. Traveling Spirit Masters is a captivating and elucidating demonstration of how and why trance–and indeed all sacred music–is fast becoming a transnational sensation.

We Share Walls: Language, Land, and Gender in Berber Morocco by Katherine E. Huffman

An excellent in-depth study of the gender and language dynamics in Berber communities. A highly readable and timely addition to the emerging and promising scholarship on language, gender and women in Morocco.

In and Out of Morocco: Smuggling and Migration in a Frontier Boomtown by David McMurray.

Every summer for almost forty years, tens of thousands of Moroccan emigrants from as far away as Norway and Germany have descended on the duty-free smugglers’ cove/migrant frontier boomtown of Nador, Morocco. David McMurray investigates the local effects of the multiple linkages between Nador and international commodity circuits, and analyzes the profound effect on everyday life of the free flow of bodies, ideas, and commodities into and out of the region.

Combining immigration and population statistics with street-level ethnography, In and Out of Morocco covers a wide range of topics, including the origin and nature of immigrant nostalgia, the historical evolution of the music of migration in the region, and the influence of migrant wealth on social distinctions in Nador. Groundbreaking in its attention to the performative aspects of life in a smuggling border zone, the book also analyzes the way in which both migration and smuggling have affected local structures of feeling by contributing to the spread of hyperconsumption. The result is a rare and revealing inquiry into how the global culture is lived locally.

David A. McMurray is assistant professor of anthropology at the University of Oregon in Corvallis.

Searching for a Different Future: The Rise of a Global Middle Class in Morocco by Shana Cohen

By examining how neoliberal economic reform policies have affected educated young adults in contemporary Morocco, Searching for a Different Future posits a new socioeconomic formation: the global middle class. During Morocco’s postcolonial period, from the 1950s through the 1970s, development policy and nationalist ideology supported the formation of a middle class based on the pursuit of education, employment, and material security. Neoliberal reforms adopted by Morocco since the early 1980s have significantly eroded the capacity of the state to nurture the middle class, and unemployment and temporary employment among educated adults has grown. There is no longer an obvious correlation between the best interests of the state and those of the middle-class worker. As Shana Cohen demonstrates, educated young adults in Morocco do not look toward the state for economic security and fulfillment but toward the diffuse, amorphous global market.

Cohen delves into the rupture that has occurred between the middle class, the individual, and the nation in Morocco and elsewhere around the world. Combining institutional economic analysis with cultural theory and ethnographic observation including interviews with seventy young adults in Casablanca and Rabat, she reveals how young, urban, educated Moroccans conceive of their material, social, and political conditions. She finds that, for the most part, they perceive improvement in their economic and social welfare apart from the types of civic participation commonly connected with nationalism and national identity. In answering classic sociological questions about how the evolution of capitalism influences identity, Cohen sheds new light on the measurable social and economic consequences of globalization and on its less tangible effects on individuals’ perception of their place in society and prospects in life.

Morocco since 1830: A History by C.R. Pennell

The first general history in English of Morocco in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Morocco since 1830: A History explores the profound changes that have affected social relations in Morocco over the last 150 years, especially those between the sexes, and between linguistic identities and cultures.

Although the country has returned to roughly its pre-colonial boundaries, Morocco still suffers from the effects of colonization by France and Spain. Its current king, like the sultans of the nineteenth century, claims legitimacy through his leadership of the Islamic community, but there is a long tradition of dissent based on Islamic ideals. Morocco’s history is also marked by the enduring presence of a large Jewish community.

This comprehensive portrait examines the tactics used by Moroccan rulers to cope with European penetration in the nineteenth century and colonialism in the twentieth, and, since the 1950s, to retain control of the independent state. As Pennell points out, however, the ruling dynasty is not sufficiently representative of modern Morocco, nor are political events the only influence on change. Most Moroccans are still poor, and their lives are shaped by their economic circumstances. The influence of harvests, access to land and water, and external trade have always determined the fate of the majority.

Nothing Is True – Everything Is Permitted: The Life of Brion Gysin by John Geiger

The multimedia artist, poet and novelist Brion Gysin may be the most influential cultural figure of the twentieth century that most people have never heard of.

Gysin (1916–1986) was an English-born, Canadian-raised, naturalized American of Swiss descent, who lived most of his life in Morocco and France. He went everywhere when the going was good. He dabbled with surrealism in Paris in the 1930s, lived in the “interzone” of Tangier in the 1950s and traveled the Algerian Sahara with Sheltering Sky author Paul Bowles before moving into the legendary Beat Hotel in Paris.

Gysin’s ideas influenced generations of artists, musicians and writers, among them David Bowie, Keith Haring, Patti Smith, Michael Stipe, Genesis P-Orridge, John Giorno and Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones. None was touched more profoundly than William S. Burroughs, who said admiringly of Gysin: “There was something dangerous about what he was doing.”

It was Gysin who introduced the Rolling Stones to the exotica of Morocco and took Stones’ guitarist Brian Jones to Jajouka where he recorded the tribal musicians performing the Pipes of Pan. It was Gysin who provided the hashish fudge recipe published in Alice B. Toklas’ cookbook, promising “ecstatic reveries and extensions of one’s personality on several simultaneous planes.” It was Gysin who introduced Burroughs to an automatic writing method called the cut-up, a literary progenitor to sampling. And it was Gysin who developed—with Ian Sommerville, the Dream Machine—a device that allowed people, with the flick of a switch, to access altered states of consciousness without drugs.

Working with the authorization of Gysin’s literary executor, William S. Burroughs, John Geiger has produced the first-ever biography of the painter, poet, piper Brion Gysin.

Colonial Affairs: Bowles, Burroughs, and Chester Write Tangier by Greg Mullins

A North African port city that was home to as many Europeans as Moroccans, postwar Tangier was truly an international zone, a place where the familiar boundaries of language, culture, nationality, and sexuality blurred, and anything seemed possible. In the 1950s and 1960s three leading American writers settled in Tangier, where they were able to find critical new ways of living and writing on the margins of society. A subtle literary portrait of Paul Bowles, William S. Burroughs, and Alfred Chester, Colonial Affairs is also a complex and perceptive account of the ways colonialism and sexuality structure each other, particularly as reflected in the literature written in postwar Tangier.

Sexual commerce and culture flourished in Tangier during these years, as gay expatriates fled repressive sexual norms at home. Greg Mullins explores the covert and overt representations of sex, fantasy, desire, and sexual identity in the literature of Bowles, Burroughs, Chester, and Moroccan authors who collaborated with Bowles. He argues that expatriate writing in Tangier articulates the desire to exceed national and other forms of identity through representations of sex, especially marginalized forms of sex and sexuality. The literature that emerges variously celebrates, critiques, and attempts to evade the double bind of colonial sexuality.

Framed in relation to queer and postcolonial theory, Mullins’s work is grounded in contemporary debates about sex, race, and desire. His sophisticated yet nimble analysis establishes beyond any doubt the central importance of colonialism and sexuality in the fiction of these writers working at once at the center and the margins of tradition-and reveals to contemporary readers the queer angles of their distinctly original work.

For another great list of books go to
http://moroccoblogs.com/morocco-books-and-writers/

Scroll past my list and you will find many more great books by Moroccan authors, Ex-pats, and everyone else.

Morocco Baraja Cards

As many of you know, I read Tarot cards. In fact, I read Tarot and I read an old deck of Hawaii playing cards that I carry around with me. In other words, I’m tuned into cards. I can even do a few card tricks.

I’ll often pick up playing cards I find in the street and read meaning from them. One of the things I noticed here in Morocco was that the cards here are pretty different than the cards I’ve seen elsewhere.

Baraja Casablanca Tarot Morocco

In fact, the playing cards look a whole lot more like Tarot cards than like the standard 52 card deck that most of us know. The suits are tarot suits coins, cups, swords, and wands. I saw this and then I decided to get a deck and check them out.

Unlike Tarot or poker cards, these cards are missing the 8’s and 9’s. The cards go 1-7 and then they jump to the face cards numbered 10-13. The facecards are a jack, a knight, and a king. So that adds up to only 40 cards.

In addition there are strange gaps in the lines that frame the cards. they are obviously by intent, but I don’t yet know what they are for. I’m working to figure out all the meanings of the cards now so I can read them. A quick internet search turned up that the decks have a Spanish origin and are called Baraja.

The earliest literary references to playing cards in Europe refer to the game having been introduced by a ‘Saracen’, and also to Moorish and Damascene varieties of playing card. We do not know for sure what these fourteenth century cards looked like… but for an idea click here.

The occupation of enclaves in North Africa was one of the objectives most actively pursued by the Catholic monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella after the conquest of Granada. This expansionist policy was curtailed shortly afterwards when Spain turned its efforts to the recently discovered West Indies. It might be logical to assume that North Africa has always been supplied with Spanish suited cards, and that these came primarily from France or Spain.

During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries playing cards were imported into Morocco and Algeria from Spain and France by manufacturers such as Camoin, La Ducale, B.P. Grimaud and others. These were of the Spanish National pattern, based on the Félix Solesio designs produced by the Real Fábrica de Madrid at Macharaviaya (1776-1815).

The Camoin firm closed down in 1971, but many clones of Camoin’s cards have been, and still are being produced by a succession of Moroccan manufacturers, usually from Casablanca. These include:

Malka Frères
Imprimerie Royale
Imprimerie de L’Entente
Imprimerie Litho-Type Marocaine
Maroc Cartes

…and other anonymous brands such as Cartes Lion, L’Elephant, L’Aigle or Sindibad. Morocco is now one of the last remaining countries to use the old Spanish National pattern.

jakc with gazelle Baraja Morocco

Of course, with only 40 cards there aren’t any major arcana either, but they appear in other ways. I’m certain that these cards are used by Moroccan soothsayers and fortune tellers. There really isn’t any way they couldn’t be. They are beautiful cards.

I haven’t learned any games yet either…but I will.

Sefrou Idol

Today was a different kind of day. My habibi loves to sing and she found out that there was a competition in Sefrou today which I’ve been calling in my head ‘Sefrou Idol’, for obvious reasons. Hopefully you will forgive my crappy photography as you may remember that I broke the LCD on my camera and so now I can’t use any of the features such as zoom, focus, or flash since it was all displayed on the LCD. It’s a point, shoot, and hope for the best situation.
Sefrou Idol

The competition was slated to take place in the morning but when we got to the Sefrou Conservatory we found that it had been postponed until 3 pm. So we went and had lunch. Then we came back. We arrived at about 3 pm and found a handful of people but then at around 3:45 they all started to arrive. Moroccan time. Similar to Hawaiian time only with no rhyme or reason to it what so ever.

competition at Sefrou Idol 2010

The first round showed just how hot the talent here in Sefrou is. Singers picked two songs and the judges kept their eyes from rolling or popping out as they listened to the good, the bad, and the ugly. My sweetie wowed them with two difficult Arab tunes…the judges had no words for her except, “We’ll see you in the next round.”

Second round of Sefrou Idol competition

Still we were both nervous and crossing our fingers as they read off the list of those moving on to the next round and then (sigh of relief) they called her name. We figured that we would have to come back but in Moroccan style they decided to give everyone ten minutes to pick a new song and then go on. I suggested that Hanane sing a traditional song since that is where her voice truly shines, but the judges didn’t want something old like that. It’s a shame. Instead, she picked another difficult contemporary Arab tune and kicked it’s ass.

picking songs at Sefrou Idol

At this point the competition was the best of the best. I was feeling incredibly proud that she was singing with these vocalists since she hasn’t practiced and doesn’t have a voice coach or take voice lessons as many of the competitors do. That may have been the deciding factor though, because when they read the next list, we didn’t get to hear her name called.

Final round at Sefrou Idol

Doesn’t matter though. She’s still my Sefrou Idol and I’m happy to know that I’ll get to hear her sing those old traditional songs that I love so much for a long time to come.

Around Sefrou

The view near Sefrou

I’ve been busy lately with teaching at the ALC, organizing the film club, and learning how to use my new semi-automatic washing machine correctly. It’s basically a bucket that agitates and then I empty the dirty water, replace with fresh water, and repeat. Then I wring out the clothes by hand and hang them in my parlor. It’s similar to my semi automatic shower in which I heat water in a kettle, pour it into my solar shower bag, and then hang it in the wet room for a hot shower. Both empty on the floor and make me happy I have a big squeegee to push the water to the open drains.
Me in Sefrou
All of that aside though, Hanane and I have managed to have a few adventures. In the hills of Sefrou the forest is being mowed down to build big mudbrick villas for the rich. Sefrou used to be an area of fruit trees, gardens, and agriculture. Not so much anymore. One day we took a walk in a forest that was set to probably be removed after a few days and while sitting there I found some broken pieces of a big pot. Some of them fit together. In two trips we found about 40 pieces and using super glue I managed to reconstruct most of the pot. All the pieces fit. We couldn’t find the rest, but I think it looks pretty cool. I’ve had to repair it (haha) twice when the superglue didn’t hold and when I kicked the table it was on and broke off the top.
Check it out.
Moroccan pot

Another adventure was to a top secret village near Sefrou where a number of Moroccan saints are buries. Moroccan Islam is filled with all kinds of saints and if you look around you find their tombs on hilltops, in beautiful spots, and really all over the place. This particular place was incredible. Small medinas on hilltops with gushing streams forced through where the local women do their laundry. Of course the men are just sitting around watching.
near Sefrou
In this particular place, the kids all ran away when Hanane would offer them candy, we’ve never seen that before. The view though was stupendous and most of the people were nice though they looked at us like we were from another planet. It’s possible that we will live there someday. I think it’s probably like Sefrou used to be in terms of nature and agriculture.
woman near Sefrou

Hanane took this one. Beautiful shot, huh?

In a few weeks I’ll be going to Agadir for the first time for a teacher conference and I’ll try to get lots of pictures, though on the last trip we took, I sat on my camera and broke the screen so now I can’t use any of the features like zoom or anything else. Sometimes I’m an idiot.

Casablanca – The Film – Revisited

I’ve recently set up a film club in Fes. The idea is to get people together to watch films, discuss films, and practice their English skills. The project is part of my work with the American Language Center.

Bogart Casablanca

The first film we watched was ‘Casablanca’ the 1942 classic starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. My initial programming was to use films that would spark ideas about American culture and since we are in Morocco and Casablanca is set in Morocco, this seemed like a logical first choice.

I’d only seen the movie once before and it was well before I lived in Morocco. I didn’t remember all the details but one thing I knew is that for most Americans, when they think of Morocco, the most powerful association is with the film Casablanca. So, I titled the first viewing/discussion – The American View of Morocco.

I introduced the film by giving some background, the year it was made, the fact that it wasn’t made in Morocco but in Flagstaff, Arizona and that none of the cast had actually been to Morocco with the exception of one man who played a bit part of a waiter. I suggested that we watch for examples of Moroccan culture, stereotypes of Moroccans, and also that we pay attention to how the main characters were portrayed.

As to Morocco, you could just as easily have changed the name to Juneau, Shanghai, or Kabul. There is barely anything of Morocco in this film. Morocco is an Islamic country filled with mosques, in the 30’s and 40’s it was occupied by France but much more conservative than it is today in many regards, and (just in case anyone has forgotten) even then, the vast majority of the population was Moroccan.

In Casablanca the story begins by showing a map with Casablanca incorrectly placed on it, much closer to Tangier than to Casa. Later Captain Renault asks Rick why he lives in the desert when he loves the sea (in fact Casablanca is an Atlantic Port), there is not a single word of Arabic spoken (not even Salaam a leykum or inshallah) and we see a cutout of a mosque for about 3 seconds in the beginning, only one man in a jallaba, and a woman in a 1001 nights type of veil is the only covered woman we see. The actors don’t speak with anything remotely close to Moroccan accents, are not Arabs or Berbers, and the one portrayal of a Moroccan that gets any attention is a clown who is trying to sell a carpet and with no urging from the client continually lowers his price. In short, what do we see of Morocco in Casablanca? Nothing. Walu. Zilch.

Instead we see dancing, drinking, gambling, and lots and lots of white people pretending to be apish Moroccans wearing fezzes of a style seen in Turkey and Egypt but never in Morocco. So much for the American view of Morocco.

Instead, this is a film about how America sees itself. Rick is a hustler, a selfish man who uses and casts the ladies aside, he has no friends, no loyalties, and he ’sticks his neck out for no one’. Of course, since he is really the representative of American self image, deep down he has a heart of gold, and surprise surprise, he is really the most important man in the world because he ends up saving the most important underground resisitance leader (and by proxy thus saving the world from the Nazis and thus he is the most important person in the world) and on top of that, not only does he get the girl who jilted him in Paris when she found that her husband wasn’t dead, but he also gets to jilt her by sending her off with the husband when she chooses to stay with him. Sweet revenge.

As to the girl, she betrayed her husband with Rick, betrayed Rick with her husband, and then was ready to betray her husband with Rick again, except Rick saved their marriage instead.

The Frenchman…well he is a dog who blows whichever way the wind blows whether it is with the Nazis or the Allies. He uses his position to solicit sex from young married refugees, takes bribes, and in the end though, decides it is better to side with Rick than the Reich (after all, Rick is the most important person in the world and just saved the world single-handedly)

Then there is Sam. Sam seems to be the best friend Rick has and looks out for him but Rick treats him with a coolness and disdain that is reminiscent of the master and slave relationship…Rick even offers Sam his freedom but Sam turns it down “No Massa, I already can’t spend all the money I make with you.” And of course Rick overtly denies that he buys and sells human beings, Sam is his slave by choice.

The Nazis, well they are Nazis. And the freedom fighter, he brings the most inspiring moment to the film when he demands that the French Anthem be played over the top of the German one.

In summary, I don’t hate the film. It’s a good film. It’s fun to watch, it feels good, but really…Casablanca in the desert?

Fuck You Podcast #2

I’m glad you guys liked the first episode. Episode number two is just as enjoyable.

Fuck You Podcast #2

If you would like to be featured in a future podcast, don’t worry, you probably will be.

A look at the news- the state of the world

I’ve put off getting an internet connection at home for a while since money is tight and I knew the connection would be slow, but now, I’ve gone ahead and done it. I’m connected in the Casbah.

The connection is slow. When the United States is awake, it is incredibly slow and when the U.S. sleeps it’s just sort of slow. Like a good dial up connection.
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I’ve been looking at the news a lot and it’s not surprising at all. The U.S. has found new reasons to further tighten its security and thus make itself more isolationist while still embracing a ‘world U.S.’ policy. Obama continues to make change we can believe in, i.e. no real change at all with more civilians being killed during his first year in office than in Bush’s last. The economy is still struggling, the rich are still getting richer and the poor getting poorer, make note of the fact that the poor don’t usually have stocks, so the Dow industrial climbing higher isn’t the sign of prosperity it is painted as. Health insurance rather than health care will soon be forced on all Americans with those who don’t sign up being penalized. You can read that as if you don’t pay the insurance companies, you will be found and fined. Climate change is striking and energy consumption is still climbing.

Recently I’ve come to the conclusion that the upbringing of Americans makes every one of them (including me) think deep down inside that we might be the most important person in the world. Surprise, we’re not. All that ‘you could be the next Einstein, Lincoln, or Ford’ is to blame and as a result, it’s easy to see why Americans are so willing to use the bulk of the world’s resources while the rest of the world suffers. It also explains why American’s get so angry when they are cut off in traffic or argued with “Don’t you know who I am?”

In short, Americans are fucked. Most of us will never be more than just one in six billion struggling soft bodies trying to pad our next the best we can. We love superlatives ‘greatest’ ‘best’ ‘fastest’ etc but the truth is that unless we really stretch our definitions none of us really are any sort of superlative (present company included). I’m neither the best writer of my generation, the best blogger, or the best anything…and chances are neither are you. You’re just you and if it makes you feel better, you are the best you there is. The absolute greatest.

As I struggle to make my way and to clear the way for Hanane and I to get married and have children and build a life together, I am constantly asking myself why. I love her. I think we could be good parents. And, well, we’re here.

It doesn’t mean I think it’s fair to those kids though if they happen. They get a world that probably won’t be better than this old fucked up world.

So the news is not surprising. It’s boring. I want money but even if I had it, it probably wouldn’t be good for much. What, more travel? A nicer sofa? Hot water? I’ve got more than I deserve, and no doubt you do to, though I doubt you can admit it yet.

But hey, go watch Avatar and enjoy the prospect of an entire planet of fairly happy people who are missing just one thing to save their entire civilization and world, a United States Marine. Oooh-rah. Go Jarhead Clan! Go America! You can feel good about it, you need something to feel good about right? After all, you might be the most important person in the world…or maybe even in the universe.

Rowing across the Atlantic – Wow!

While she may not be a vagabond in terms of being a person who moves from place to place with no visible means of income, I find that more important is the spirit of adventure that vagobonds tend to share. I wish I had had the drive or courage to do something like this when I was 17, instead, I simply joined the Marines on the eve of the first Gulf War and thankfully never had to see any combat.

Spotz rowing across the Atlantic

A young American adventurer, 17-year-old Katie Spotz, has started rowing across the Atlantic Ocean in a solo effort to raise $30,000 for Blue Planet Run and give clean water to 1,000 people in developing nations. The young sailor pushed off from Senegal yesterday and hopes to make the 2,500-mile journey in just over 100 days.The map above shows her progress up until now (updated every 20 minutes on her twitter page by Google Earth).

Spotz be the youngest person to row an ocean solo and the first American to row from the mainland of Africa to the mainland of South America if she completes the trip. She is eqipped with solar-powered electronics such as a water desalination machine, a GPS unit, radios, a satellite phone (for texting and updating her Twitter feed), and a laptop for updating her blog. The food and equipment take her 440-pound boat to approximately 1,000 pounds. She is living off freeze-dried food, trail mix, energy bars, and other high-energy, low-weight food.

Spotz warmed up for the adventure by swimming the entire length of the Allegheny River to raise awareness of the problem of lack of clean drinking water around the world. Apparently, though, she has only been rowing for two years and was “the slow kid on her high school swim team.” However, she has run marathons, ultramarathons and bicycled across the US.

2010 – Decade of Decline?

It’s hard to think for some reason of this as a new decade but the fact is that we are in the tens, teens and out of the oughts, maybe we ought to think about that for a second. What will this decade hold?

Well, for one thing we have passed peak oil. Oil is expected to run out sometime during this decade and alternative energy is not ready to fill in the gap. The most optimistic estimates put oil lasting until 2030 the least sometime around five years from now oil becomes to expensive to be practical anymore and too important to governments to waste on their populations.

That may sound abstract, but in fact, that means that energy will be more expensive, no matter what (unless a miracle cheap source is developed). It also means that food prices will rise, plastic goods won’t be as cheap as they have been up to now, and that in general the high standard of material living that most of the world has enjoyed for the last 50 years will start to decline. This may be especially true for the 1st world nations who may try to maintain thier levels at the expense of second and third world nations who will likely suffer so much that Langston Hughes poem and the basis of the communist philosophy may come to pass….the heavy load will sag on the back and then it will explode. Expect problems.

Of course, none of this will matter if the fruitcakes who think the ancient Mayans were correct are correct themselves. It will all end in 2012.

Then there is the Russian scientist who sees the dissolution of the U.S.A happening this year. Not very likely that he is the new Nostrodamus.

And as for the ‘economic recovery’. I’m laughing at the high handed way those with everything are making those with nothing think that things are improving. It’s not the emperor who is naked, but all of his subjects who think that they are clothed in riches. Just look at the U.S jobs report that came out today and ignore the stock market for a moment…is that a recovery? Only for JP Morgan.

And yet, it will be hard for things to decline where I am at. In fact, the loss of what ‘affluence’ has brought in Morocco would probably improve the quality of life for nearly everyone who isn’t rich here. It’s hard to fall further than the 7th century.