Working at the children's orphanage in Rabat...

Last Friday, I spent my morning working at the children's orphanage because the women's center where I'm teaching English is closed on Fridays.  The first thing I have to say is that I'm grateful for the placement I got, as working at the orphanage this morning was very difficult for me. The room I worked in was large, bright and very clean and had probably 10 or so cribs and a large play pen in the center of the room where two of the bigger boys were situated. Initially, I assumed that the children were toddlers, maybe the oldest 5 or 6, but once I started feeding them I saw that they all had their permanent teeth (they were all fed some sort of formula but the bigger two in the playpen, who were spoon-fed milk soaked bread.   I later learned that most were in the pre-teen to young teenagers, although there were a few that even the workers knew exactly how old they were.  I must admit to being a bit surprised when I saw pubic hair on one of the girl's whose diaper was being changed next to where I was.  That told me a lot regarding their age.  Their tiny bodies were contorted, and their limbs bone thin and when I picked a few of them up to move them, they were hard to carry as their bodies didn't conform to mine as I was used to, but rather, were stiff and unyielding.  I was also terribly afraid I would hurt them so was being overly cautious.

Illegitimate children in Morocco are considered outcasts, non-people or bastards and given that unmarried sex is illegal in Muslim countries, the stakes are very high for a woman who finds herself pregnant without a father that is willing to marry her and accept in the responsibilities.  There doesn't seem to be any kind of repercussion towards the man who gets the woman pregnant, but rather, it is entirely the burdon for the woman to carry.  Although recent legal reform says that an unmarried woman may register her child to make them available for social programs, with the fathers concent or not, this is not a law that seems to be followed and women still seem to be paying the price.  This is why so many children end up in orphanages as they are literally the babies who are "thrown away" by the mother to protect herself.

The children at this orphanage are totally dependent upon others for their care and from what I saw,
couldn't do anything on their own short of cry to indicate distress.  During my time there,  I was able
to go up to the 3rd floor where the youngest babies reside.  They were absolutely adorable and most of them looked healthy and would be considered "adoptable."  The adoption standards are rigid though, as only a Muslim can adopt a baby in Morocco and even though they may bring them up as they choose (in a Muslim family), they must promise to keep the baby's given Arabic name.  The whole process can take years and there's a reluctancy to adopt to families living outside of Morocco, even if they are Moroccan.  The children with physical limitations, like the ones I was working with, aren't considered adoptable and even if there was someone who wanted to adopt them, the orphanage is reluctant, fearing that the families would not be able to handle the burden and would leave the child once again.

Initially, I wasn't sure what my role was going to be once all of the kids had been fed (they were
bathed and in clean clothes before we arrived), but it didn't take long to realize that once their bellies were full, all these kids wanted was some attention and physical touch.  A simple caress of a cheek
with gentle words or singing was enough to calm them down and more than once, I was able to get a
few smiles or a hand that would reach through the crib bars to touch me.  I had to keep reminding myself that they weren't toddlers, but rather were children, due to the fact that they fit in a normal
sized crib.  There was one girl who tugged at my heart and who I spent most of my time with. She had beautiful brown curls and huge brown eyes and was so contorted that her little body barely took up half of the space in the crib.  She was wearing a child-sized, red "ROCK THE BAND" tee shirt that made mention of a music festival in Buffalo, NY.   My reaction vascilated between sad as it seemed to make her appear even more vulnerable than she already was, and happy, simply because of the irony of it.  That being said, I did tell her several times that she rocked the shirt and for some reason, that became a connecting thread for us, even though she of course had no idea what I was
saying.  My tone, however, I'm sure she understood.

As much as I've enjoyed learning about the history of Morocco and the traditions of its people,
(Muslim lessons will begin later this week), I'm finding that I learn so much about a culture through
observation of how their most vulnerable are treated.  I saw this at Mother Theresa's in Perú and
again at the orphanage in Rabat.  Because of medical issues, which I'm sure are a result of poor
prenatal care coupled with difficult births, most likely without medical assistance, most of these children will have a very shortened life span.  It was so touching  to see the women at the orphanage work tirelessly and with such love to insure that these children are given the best life possible.  All of their cribs were made up with colorful bedding and had at least one stuffed animal propped up where it was visible to the child.  The clothes they had on were clean and gender specific (which was a good thing as I was having a hard time with a few of them determining if they were boys or girls).  I was deeply touched by the love I saw in that room.  When I went upstairs to peek in the babies room, I had to wonder about the ones that may not ever get adopted and will end up spending their entire life
in  the orphanage and what they could become if raised in the protective embrace of a loving family.  The staff does the best it  can, but there are not enough employees or volunteers to give
these children the attention and the touch that they are so hungry for.

Given the time I've had to process this initial visit, no doubt my time this Friday at the orphanage will be a bit easier, but that's not to say that it won't come with a tear or two.  Gratitude.  For so much.  I
can't begin to express....

There are no photos allowed inside the orphanage to protect the children, but I did get a photo of me ouside of the building, complete with the jacket they like us to wear to protect our clothing.

How many Moroccons does it take to get someone out of a bathroom with a jammed lock?

Sadly, I know that answer... it was 4.  One to shout directions to me in Arabic from the other side of the door, one to start tearing the jam down with a crow bar and two to watch.

I spent the weekend with three of my housemates on a jaunt to the Sahara to ride camels and sleep under the stars... well not exactly under the stars as we were in a tent, but pretty darn close.  It's hard to even begin to describe how magical the camel ride was and the sleeping out in the desert in the middle of no where, but I have to admit, when I returned to the house tonite, the first story that came out was me getting stuck in the small bathroom in my hotel room.

Because it was a 10 hour drive from Rabat to where we were going to ride camels and camp in the Sahara, we got there quite late so stayed in a local hotel, where we would board our camels the following day for our trek to the camp site.  The door bathroom lock was not quite up to par from the beginning, and I wouldn't have even used it except it was the only way the door would shut and felt it was a courtesy to Mimi, my roomate for the evening.  So.... shortly after breakfast, I returned to the room to get my things in order for the trek and lo and behold, when I tried to unlock the door, it
wouldn't budge.  I fiddled around with it for a few minutes, when Simone (one of the other girls I was traveling with) knocked on the door to tell me they were ready to go.  When I told her I couldn't get out, I heard her go down the hall shouting "....uh....we're going to need some help here..."  And that is when the 4 Moroccan men showed up and started shouting directions to me in Arabic.  I wasn't having any luck explaining to them that it wasn't the door handle that was jammed, but the lock below it (honestly, I don't know why I said anything as they couldn't understand a word I was saying).    I was in there a good 15 minutes before I saw a crow bar rip apart the door jam to free the lock.

I have to admit, I was starting to panic a bit as the bathroom was quite small and I wasn't sure exactly how they were going to free up the lock short of knocking the door down.  When the door was finally
opened, and I saw the damage to the jam, I looked at them with a thankful, yet oh so apologetic look and they just shrugged their shoulders and smiled as if to say..."No problem, it happens all the time..." (which I'm sure is not far from the truth).

I was leery the rest of the weekend of bathroom doors with funky locks... and believe me, that includes most of them that I saw.  Between trying to hold doors shut with my foot, (yea, I know... it wasn't easy) or leaning forward and holding it shut with my hand, I decided the easiest (and safest) route to go was to simply let it swing open and forgo the privacy, which I did and fortunately seemed to hit the public bathrooms when no one else did.

After a weekend of magic in the desert with a camel trek, a full moon and a night under the stars, honestly, it was the getting locked in the bathroom story that came out first to my housemates once home.  The rest of the weekend, I'm savoring and will share in pieces...

Our "Alibaba" inspired hotel restaurant...

Casablanca has Rick's Cafe, the 2nd largest religious building in the world and STARBUCKS!!

We were without the internet in the house for the past two days and once over the initial... "now what?"... I've got to admit, it was nice.  Something happened that I remember fondly from my time volunteering in Perú and that is conversation.  The four 20 somethings in the house did not share that sentiment and not knowing what to do with their hands, their minds, their attention, they left the house for some night life.  Dee Dee, Mimi and I sat around and chatted... something I've missed. But now it's back and we're all connected, especially the 20 somethings, who appear to have regained their will to live.

I took the train to Casablanca today, a little over an hour away, with Mimi and Dee Dee this morning.
Our first sense of accomplishment came early with successful maneuvering through the prompts on
the machine where we purchased our tickets.  Suffice to say, it took several attempts but when tickets
(and even to the right place) and change popped out of the orange slot on the machine, there was a
unanimous sigh of relief.  People are very friendly and helpful here, although that help usually comes
in the form of French, not English.  Few (I can count on one hand), have been able to offer assistance in English, but I expected that.

The station as well as the train were both incredibly clean and modern, making for a nice, easy ride. The station in Casablanca was a beautiful surprise - almost like a large shopping center,  although most of the stores were closed.  Today is a national holiday for the Moroccans, which is why we weren't working and could travel in the first place.  I'm learning that there are many national holidays in this country (we will have next Tuesday off as well...).  Today was the celebration of Morocco
taking Western Sahara from Spain.

Much to our surprise and delight, we were greeted with a two-story Starbucks as we made our way
up from the platform... a very welcome sight!  A  couple of sips into my coffee made me realize how bad the coffee at the house is.  It's instant coffee that's been boiled and is served with hot milk.  Tea doesn't seem to be available unless it's the traditional Moroccan mint tea, which is only served at
lunch at with far more sugar than I'm normally used to.  I don't usually like to hit up the American sites when traveling outside of the country, but was very happy to enjoy a Starbucks this morning.

A welcome site...

The main attraction in Casablanca is the Hassan II Mosque, the 2nd largest religious building in the world after the mosque in Mecca.  It was completed in 1993 after 6 years of construction by

35,000 craftsmen and had a price tag of over half a billion dollars.  The price tag fell upon the people of Morocco, with even the children offering up their pennies to help pay for it.  We arrived 20 minutes too late for a tour, and really didn't want to wait 2 hours for the next tour, so asked one of the guides if it would be OK for us to go in a bit late.  No.  There were no exceptions.  Dee Dee added that we were staying in Rabat and were volunteering in the orphanage (where her placement is).  It

was like Dorothy explaining to the wizard that we had come all that way...

"Well in THAT case....


I don't think any of us like playing the "volunteer" card, but it is nice to gain the respect from the

locals when they find out why you are here.  Well played, Dee Dee. having private tour was nice.  I
must say, as elaborate, exquisite, grand, enormous and incredible as it was, I found myself somewhat
offended by the huge gesture of grandeur that this King built in his honor.  It was built BY the people,
but clearly is not FOR the people.  First of all, it was close to $10 to enter, so was clearly for tourists.
Although the call to prayer went off while we were there, no one was coming in to pray.  It felt overly large and far too empty.  Many of the rooms were for "show" only (our guide shared that with us as I asked..), such as the rooms for ablutions (where the  body is cleansed before prayer).  In a city with so much poverty, to walk into a large intricately tiled
room that's only used as a display for tourists, seemed like the wrong way to spend so much money.  From what I've read, many of the locals feel the same way.  I am glad we went though, and was
happy to be able to step inside, especially given that it is the only mosque in Morocco that a non-
Muslim can enter.

Hassan II Mosque

Intricate tile... everywhere!

BIG door!!!

The other highlight was a delightful lunch at "Rick's Cafe" (from the movie, Casablanca).  Although the food at the house has been wonderful, it was nice to have a leisurely lunch in a restaurant.  OK, maybe it was the glass of wine that added so much to the enjoyment.  There was a note on the bottom of the menu, by the way, to any Muslims that may be dining there that some of the dishes may have alcohol in them so one should check before ordering.  As Mohamed has said, alcohol is against the law here, but is available for tourists... and tourists only....(I think there is a lot of turning a blind eye that goes on around here...)

Rick's Cafe

One last observation... I noticed small rooms at the train station, one for men and one for women, where shoes are removed at the doorway and people can slip in to pray during the calls to prayer.  I saw several men going in, but no women.  I asked some of my students about this the other day, and one of the gentlemen told me that it's more important for the men to go pray than for the women.  I'm not sure how accurate that is, but from what I observed today, it seemed like the women were too busy tending to the children to slip into the rooms for prayer.  I suppose what has struck me the most about the call to prayer is that the women and the men pray separately.

We made it back to the house just in time for dinner, but I must say, I'm still pretty full from lunch.  Great day!

Tomorrow the language school is closed, so I will be spending time at the orphanage.  It won't be easy.  That I know for sure.

The young man knows his adjectives! And the teacher has success...

Give it time and have and patience...

Today, during what became an impromptu study of adjectives, I had each of the 6 students come up with 3 positive adjectives describing someone they knew, without any repeating.  The next to the last student at the table described her best friend with these three adjectives:

1.  She's beautiful
2.  She's stylish
3.  She's slender

The last student, a 20 something young man with a continual smile on his face and twinkle in his eye, had only one response when I asked him for his 3 adjectives, and it was:

"I want that girl's phone number."

And we've connected... the teacher and the students.

This is real learning.  We're getting to know each other well enough that humor is beginning to filter into the lessons....

Today was a much better day.

Nothing to do with teaching today, just a photo I took that I liked...

English lessons for them, Arabic lessons for me, and we all go home happy... well sort of...

I really have no idea as to the impact I had this morning during my first day teaching English, but I 

was given an exquisitely drawn rendering of my name in Arabic by the one student that told me 

without words that she was not going to talk.  Instead, she carefully drew a very stylized version of my name in Arabic.  Every once and a while, I'd notice her looking up from her drawing, with a

grin or a chuckle at something I had said, so speak or not, I think she understood more than she wanted to admit, and was simply shy about speaking.

My name is in there somewhere...

There were 20 some students at the school, mostly all female (3 male students trickled in during the
course of the class, which surprised me, but I was told that men were allowed to come for the English lessons).  Although they all had different skill levels, the one thing they had in common was their desire to learn.  I was with another volunteer from the house, Kelsey, which made it a bit easier, if not to simply have someone to share glances of "what do we do now???"  We eventually decided that breaking into two groups of ten might make conversing a bit easier, and it did.  Because we didn't know what their English abilities were going to be, we didn't bring any materials with us so were winging it all the way.  I did, however, bring some photos I had of my family and my life,  as I thought it would make for a good conversation starter (although their abilities varied tremendously,
they all seemed to be able to understand most of what I said and string simple sentences together).

Shortly after passing the photos around, I noticed that the woman seated next to me had put her head down on the table.  I thought that perhaps she wasn't feeling well, but soon noticed that she was
crying.  She explained to me that her son lived in California and she missed him terribly, and seeing
the photos of me with my children made her sad.  Of course I felt terrible and any momentum I had
made with my now smaller group of students, was quickly lost.  One of the other women gave me a glance and unsaid permission to go on as she would be fine.  Maybe this happens a lot?  I couldn't help but remember something that Mohamed had told us the previous day and that was to never take the worth of our passport for granted.  In Morocco, you have to have a visa to leave the country, which has to be applied for months ahead of time, along with a $160 fee.  He said then you may or may not get the visa and don't know until you are notified by mail.  Of course the $160 is lost either way (minimum wage is $250 a month, so a $160 fee is quite a bit of money).  This poor woman, working so hard on her English so she will be able to speak English for "when I'm in America," may not even be able to get a visa in the first place.

I had just gotten started again with my impromptu teaching, when the same woman grabbed my arm
and pulled me closer to her and told me she had recently had an operation.  It took a few tries of her
telling me, but I was finally able to put it together that she had breast cancer, had recently had a mastectomy and had just finished radiation.  She may have found a friend, but I'm not sure sitting
next to me is such a good idea as I think she was trying to turn a classroom situation into "private lessons."

I pulled out just about everything I had, as they patiently waited to see what I had for them next.  No
one, except for my new best friend, wanted to take any initiative on the talking short of the guy in my
class who was very interested in learning more about Las Vegas.  I've only been there once, but did my best to stretch out what little I had.  Oh,  and he wondered..."did I eat at McDonalds a lot??  This
was no easy feat today, and if I didn't have something to tell them, they would quickly fall into spirited conversations among themselves... of course, all in Arabic.  I experienced several of those
awkward moments of watching myself as I tried to work my way back into the attention of everyone
that was surrounding me at the table.  And slowly, I'd be able to work myself back into visibility with anything I could pull up... "What did you do yesterday?  Wasn't it hot??"   Sorry folks, but short of
asking you your favorite color, that's all I've got.  I know it will get better.

Kelsey had a similar experience with her group, so once back at the house, we started pouring
through stacks of materials we found in a supply closet and were relieved to at least have something to work with tomorrow.  This is a free language school for the students and is staffed with only with volunteers.  I always wonder how much impact I'm really making during volunteer situations like this, but when Mohammad told us that if we weren't there, they wouldn't have class, made me realize
that we absolutely were making a difference, regardless of how inept I felt today.  Teachers, I've
always had the utmost respect for what you do, but that respect doubled today.

The rest of the group volunteered at the children's orphanage or the children's hospital.   After hearing
their stories, I know I made the right choice in my job placement.  Most of the children at the
orphanage were "thrown away" after birth by single mothers in order to avoid jail time, as giving
birth out of wedlock is punishable by law.  One of the other volunteers told me that most of them were severely deformed and needed complete care.  She also told me that the place was immaculate and that the children were very well cared for.

I remember the long quiet rides back to house after volunteering at my placement in Perú and today was no different.  No doubt, first and foremost on all of our minds was how fortunate we were that we were born in the United States.  It's easy to forget that...

We had an afternoon of site seeing, with time inside the medina (the old walled town) an ancient fort
and our first glimpse of the ocean.  The colors were amazing.

One last thing... in the short amount of time I've been here, I've already become accustomed to the bells, that sound more like fog horns, that signal prayer time...  four times a day..

Arabic is hard...

This is what I learned today... (well, actually, I learned a lot more than this, but these are my stand out points...)

1.  Arabic is a very difficult language, but I had kind of figured that out before I came, so I'm not going to count that as one

1.  TRUE Argon oil (very popular here) comes from the Argon tree, which is only grown in one city in the world... Agadir, Morocco, which also happens to be where our house manager is from.  Goats climb the argon trees and eat the hard shell off of the nut, which then falls to the ground and is harvested.  I'm hopeful to be able to witness this... trees filled with goats.  Mohammad said it looks a lot like a tree full of birds, only of course they are goats, not birds.  Seems like something worthwhile to seek out.  I mean seriously... a tree full of goats??

2.  Bread is considered sacred (it is a very bread-centered diet here... again, died and gone to heaven on the food here...) so all bread scraps must be put in a separate container when we clean up our plates after mealtime.  The leftover bread is then fed to animals.  All other trash is thrown out.  No recycling (or at least not here...)

3.  If you are Moroccan, and want to get a hotel room with someone of the opposite sex, you must show proof of marriage.  It is illegal for Moroccans to share a hotel room unless married.  This does not apply to other nationalities.

Pretty good stuff.  This is a very interesting country and our in country manager, Mohamed is extremely personable and very knowledgeable.  He served in the Peace Corps, has a law degree, is fluent in several languages and has an incredible sense of humor.

She's not in Kansas anymore...

You know you are far from home when you have to go through two other translations before you finally hear English, but are discouraged that you can't understand a word of your native tongue that's hiding behind a very thick Arabic accent with a whole lot of French influence.  And then there's the signage, as beautiful as it is curious.

Yep, that's me... Laurie Sunderland, reading from right
to left.

The journey to Rabat was long... not because it was all that far (a "short" 2 plus hour flight from
Paris), but because the biggest part of the flight, Boston to Paris, felt more like a KC to Albany run
given the size of the plane...knee to knee, elbow to elbow, bad food and generous pours on cheap
wine (ok actually free wine), all added up to a not so great experience, short of a lovely French
woman sitting next to me (seriously, are we ever so intimate with strangers but on a plane???) who was interested in what I was knitting and pulled out her phone to share photos of her recent knit projects.  Sometimes words aren't necessary.  I love that.  I think I will need to keep loving that communication with few words in the weeks to come...

The house where I'm staying is small but very charming and efficient.  It's also incredibly clean and I would totally feel comfortable eating off of any part of the floor, where, by the way, shoes are not allowed.  Barefoot all the way!  I will be sharing this small 2 bunks room with another girl
who I haven't yet met, as she is away this weekend.  I've taken cues from her neatly stacked belongings and have tried to organize my things with that in mind.  I think she'll be pleased with her new roommate's organizational skills.  Not even knowing who will be in the bed a short 4
feet from mine is just one more curious anticipation that I find myself faced with right now.

Tomorrow, we ( the 4 volunteers who arrived today, including myself) will have our orientation, at which time I will learn more specifically what I will be doing during my time here. It sounds like I may be the only one at my placement at the women's center as it sounds like everyone else will be working at the orphanage, but I will learn more tomorrow.  It is this unknowing, this going to bed with new sounds, new smells, and new sensations, that reminds me of why I love this so much, which kind of surprises my orderly, Virgo side.  It takes me back to so many first nights in 3rd world countries when I teetered between waking up in the middle of the night with feelings of "what the hell???" and not being able to fall asleep because I was so anxious for it to be morning when I'd be able to get a closer look at my new temporary home.

Those of us who were around tonite (only 4 of us) had a lovely light supper of lamb, rice, fruit salad, roasted fennel, Moroccan soup, homemade bread (which I smelled all afternoon baking), dates, pomegranates, and a combination of sautéed vegetables.  Not only was it a beautiful spread, but very tasty as well.

For now, I'm tucked comfortably away in my lower bunk ready to sleep off some of this jet lag.  I'm
soaking in the smells and sounds of this new city, this new country, this new continent and it's feeling pretty amazing.  I can smell a hint of jasmine that is coming through the billowing curtains of my open deck door. Perfection.

I feel like I need to add a bit of a editing disclaimer... I'm not used to my new iPad combined with my blog site that's totally gone French on me ( I definitely need to learn how to say "delete" in French and quit pushing that button.) This was quite a challenge for me to get this tiny bit of typing done tonite...I'm hoping I can blame much on jet lag but that may be hopeful. So ignore the obvious, including the creative indents that insist on being present regardless of what I do.  

Salaam from Rabat!