Long neglected, abandoned blog, so out of date I hardly know what to say. However, the last post ended on an enthusiastic note which turned out later to be unwarrented.  The said apartment was made unavailable due to its present tenant deciding to stay.  The good news is that my very kind host family were in the process of building a new home. They offered to rent their apartment, spacious, nicely arranged, huge kitchen by Moroccan standards, European bathroom at a reasonable sum.  So now I am at home where I was all along.  My hosts' cousin Fatiha did not move with them to the new place. She has a tiny apartment on the roof, but had always been busy here cleaning and cooking for the family, and she is still doing this even though they are gone..

Family stateside worried about exploitation so I asked Badr, my tutor to explore the issue with her. She likes doing this and feels that an older person should be helped and not left alone.  Outside sources confirm this to be a Moroccan cultural bias. So I am probably the only volunteer with a helper who cooks, shops and cleans as well as instructing me in Deriga which is her only language.
Others in the Corps rejoiced at finally getting their own place with the freedom to be naked, cook American, enjoy privacy and its delights.  I think about my aunt Gert who lived alone at my age and who decided to take a nice hot bath one evening and then discovered she could no longer haul herself out of the tub. She spent a long, cold, uncomfortable night in the bathtub before she was rescued. It gives one pause as they say.

Here in my sweet site I have had very unexpected experiences, mostly delightful and I'm not going to talk about the one which wasn't.  Monday this week I met a teacher through my former Bac student Abdali, who said he would like my help in teaching English to his students.  He, Achmed, offered to show me his classroom which turned out to be a large, beautiful room, decorated with nice art done by the students, pastel tables and chairs and on the wall a large interactive computer panel, overhead projector sourced, with so many good sites for music for the students and much else. I had not expected anything like this being accustomed to my dilapidated classroom at the Dar which has a huge hole in the ceiling and stained walls, dirty floors.  I was amazed, envious, delighted all at the same time.  Of course I want to get all this for my students.  Achmed said he could help me get these things at a good price.  Grant writing looms ahead.

The same day I met Jouad when I was buying somethings for the apartment. He asked me in English if I was the owner of the store!  We started a conversation in English which is the first time I have used the language on the street, so to speak.  It turns out he lived in Los Angeles for a few years. He is now a chicken farmer, as well as having a large olive grove.  He really wants to keep his English up and was delighted to hear that I had classes at the Dar (sorry for dissing you, Dar) He showed up Thursday for conversation and that was terrific.  He asked me how I felt about old people not living with their families in the US, so we had a long conversation about the cultural differences in caring for the old;  While he was there suddenly four women teachers arrived who teach at the Ecole near the Dar. They spoke English as well, welcomed me, kissed me on bth cheeks, invited me to visit the school and of course we all went outside for photo ops.  This gave Jouad an opportunity to comment on how welcoming Moroccans are.  I suddenly felt as if I were in a giant church called Morocco.

Then Hadija from the Net Neswi came in to invite me to a féte the next day which was to run from 3 to 6, completely fictitious numbers of course, as the féte began at 4 or so, and lasted until 7 plus.  It was the pep rally for women to prepare for Ramadan complete with songs, druming, sermons and delicious gateaux and drinks.  This is the tradition in our town, I was told, so I don't know if this happens all over Morocco.  I will post pictures later.

Now the ultimate in miscommunication and just plain dumb.  Last week Anas who is the youngest in the class brought a plast ic bag and when I inquired told me it was for me.  I thanked him and put it on my desk; took it home after class and discovered a bottle of Pom and two boxes of homemade cookies. The note said, "Happy birthday Anas;"  Duh.  It was obviously meant for us to celebrate Anas' birthday.  I immediately got out all the records and noted down everyone's birthday.  Then the next class I told Anas we would celebrate his birthday on Thursday this week and I apologized for not understanding.  (Fatiha and I demolished the cookies over the weekend but I had no trouble replacing them at the Patisserie whose glass cabinets were full of cookies as well as gazillions of honey bees dragging their feet through the frosting about which the owner did not comment )  So, Thursday I had all the students learning the months of the year and posting on the board their own birthdays; They made beautiful cards for Anas, a streamer which said Happy Birthday.  Anas never showed up until after the class was over, and the cards and cookies on their way to his house.  His mother came with him and again I apologized for the whole sad affair, with Jouad's help. She was laughing and said it was fine, not to worry. I told her what a good student Anas is, and how much I liked the hat he wore that day.  Big mistake, she insisted on giving it to me; See below. Jouad again could comment on the Moroccan tradition of giving what you admire to you. Lessons learned

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