Rural Home Stay Week

Its hard to describe a whole week in detail, especially when days and nights run together like they do out in the country. It's not so much that you count days when you are out there but you just go through cycles. Life is a cycle that is dictated by the rising and setting of the sun. Cliché perhaps but it is very true: you wake up with the sun at about 6 and go to bed shortly after the setting of the sun. You have a morning devoted to whatever task is at hand. Then, you eat. Then, you have your afternoon devoted to whatever you are doing. Then, you eat. Then, you lounge with family. Then, you sleep. Then, wake up and do the same thing over again.
Our week in a rural village started out with a three-hour bus ride south to a town called Boujaad. There we were greeted by a ridiculous parade of people in this one neighborhood. They were welcoming us to this education center where we learned briefly about what they do. The parade convoy was then marched up a block to a nice house where we all enjoyed a huge couscous. The entourage made me uncomfortable. We then boarded the bus to make our way to the little villages, in which we would be staying individually with families for the next week. I didn’t really know what to expect, but, surprisingly in my case, I wasn’t really worried about it at all. I know that comes as a great shock to some of you, but there was just no need to worry about it since I would be there for the next week regardless and that would just make it that much more uncomfortable.
Luckily, I was to live in this secluded complex of houses closest to the hills and farthest away from the main village with five other of my close friends; Bryon, Alex, Mike, Dan, and Greg. So, the men (our host fathers and us) set off to our homes walking along the highway for ten minutes and then following a pleasant dirt road into the hills. The sun was low in the sky and sent rays of yellow light up into the darkening sea of blue; it was beautiful. I got to see the silhouettes of the neighboring houses above me for the first time, a sight that every night subsequently I would be able to sit back and just soak in. The setting of the sun, the evening light and silhouettes would become my favorite memory.







My family was relatively small in comparison to others. I had a father, mother and three young sisters. This is a regular village not even a poor one by any accounts but I now know what its like to live at the $2 a day mark. I have never eaten so much bread in my life. The diet consists of bread at every meal along with olive oil or this kind a melted off butter I describe later, and maybe a plate of tagine, lentils, or salad. To wash it down you have Moroccan whiskey, aka sweet mint tea, a lot of tea. The bread(hobbes) is amazing, fresh baked every day before every meal and the olive oil…best I have ever had.









I find it pretty hard to account for everything that went on during the week, so this is going to be loose thoughts from the week that will float back to my memory in hopefully somewhat of a chronological order. The pictures will help more description of the time that was spent

Here are some notes I wrote on my first night there:
- Sitting in silence on the concrete floor with a worn sheepskin mat over it with my father Mustafa. The room is dark with only one halogen light bulb powered by a solar panel that sucks up the suns energy all day.
- We both silently sip on tea and eat bread with what seems to be melted goat butter? That tastes a little off. I don’t eat very much of it.
- His praying in the corner is the only thing I can hear. Short swift mumbling under his breathe.
- We sit again in silence, youngest daughter has joined us in silence. Mother comes into room and beings to pray in corner. Silence.

That was the theme for the week. When I was with my friends I was talking, joking, playing cards, playing a game like charades. When I was with my family it was quiet and I was blissfully ignorant to what was being said around me and unable to communicate as they only speak Darija (the Moroccan dialect of Arabic) and I don’t really know much. It was kind of nice not being able to communicate. Just sitting back and staring at each other until we would all go to sleep.



I would follow my dad around in the hills whether he was herding or digging holes for the current reforestation project in the area. It’s hard to imagine that trees once grew here.





There was a craggy hill behind all our houses and we would hike up it for a nice view and good game of charades. The evening light would drape across the valley and would invite good emotion and comfort at our current position. The best way to describe this place is a simple beauty. Life is simple here. The landscape is simple, the houses are simple, the diet is simple.





Some funny notes taken from day five.

- Day 5…Madness sets in.
- We sit and laugh at everything
- The Kfupe rides again…
- This room smells like “someone took a shit on a pile of old socks and the threw bottles of concentrated B.O. extract on it and then someone took another dump on that.”
- Its been concluded, by scientific inquiry and analysis that when two men are sitting alone things are fine…when more join them the farting begins.
- The brilliant Greg is quoted again…“ Hey are you guys sexually frustrated? Have you considered whacking it to the cover of my Jane Austin novel?......(long pause)…..because I have…(long pause)…there is plenty of cleavage and the women are looking at each other like they want to scissor…(long pause)…can I borrow that book tonight? (Alex)”

I feel like that might be the best way to end this entry and let the pictures fill in the rest.

















Hope you enjoyed.