The Festival of Sheep

Yesterday, we were invited to spend a local religious holiday with a family from one of our adult English students.  It is the largest festival on the annual religious calendar - referred to as the "big festival" in our colloquial Arabic.  

First, a little background: the day patterns a famous story from their holy book - the central act being the ritual slaughtering of a sheep.  But that's just the beginning!  The rest of the day is consumed with the cleaning, cutting up, and cooking of ALL (and I mean everything except the gall bladder, hooves, and horns) parts of the sheep.  There were many cultural challenges to the day:

Challenge No. 1

The family had SIX sheep to slaughter in the middle courtyard of their house.  Surprisingly, I have killed a goat in the states before...and cleaned it, cut it up, and served it that day.  But, I'm mostly a city boy; so the pools of blood with bits here and there started to dry my mouth out!  By the second sheep, I was helping skin and clean.

Challenge No. 2

Raw liver.  The saying on this holiday is that you cannot eat the main meals until you have eaten a small part of the liver...right out of the gutted sheep!  It was still warm in my mouth - but shockingly nice to eat.  I thought this would be the most difficult challenge of the day...read on.

Challenge No. 3

Sheep testicles.  After butchering the sheep, we set about cutting up the meat into bits for stews, bar-b-que's, and special traditional dishes.  I was helping my friend bar-b-que meat when one of the other guys passed over six sets of sheep testicles...also to be bar-b-qued.  At least they were to be cooked, right?!  I painfully watched as they were opened, cut up, and put on the grill.  And then the time came: all the adult men gathered around and each got a (BIG) piece of testicle to enjoy - no women allowed.  And of course, as the guest, I received more than enough testicle to savor.  All I can say is that is does NOT taste like chicken, and I did not gag.  Success!

Challenge No. 4

Every part of the sheep is used for some purpose.  The heads and legs were taken to an iron grate, and--with a blow-touch--one of the guys worked on removing hair.  After a while, I helped with this.  So, imagine the process: a cut-off sheep head (with tubes, pipes, and blood hanging out the back), sitting on a table, someone carefully burning off layer by layer of hair, removing each with a knife, until the skin is smooth, blackened, and hairless--did I mention the wonderful smells?  It was actually fun!  I successfully finished one full head, and about 8 legs before we needed to leave.

There were other challenges awaiting us, like quartering the head, removing the brain, cooking sheep head soup, eating meat-filled stomach and intestines...but we honestly had to leave in order to make another dinner invitation that night.  

It is these kind of experiences that make our life here so enjoyable, exciting, and fulfilling.  We felt special to be included in a local family during this important festival, and the food we did eat during the day was brilliant and tasty.  There was a continual stream of freshly grilled sheep meat all day, and we stopped for a late lunch when the "bizene" was ready.  This is a traditional dish with a spicy meat sauce and barley flour mush.

Just another day in one of our favorite countries...

I Got Henna-ed

It’s an elaborate process, that I found quite enjoyable.

1. Have a big home cooked meal of couscous & lamb (although I already ate lunch before I came since the date was for a non-lunch time, oh well!).
2. Arrange the cushions and recline while I select my favorite sticker-stencils to use for the henna pattern.
3. Chuckle to myself as the women decide I have not, in fact, picked the best designs, and they make the selections for me.
4. Argue as I fight vainly against having my hands henna-ed – I teach adults and don’t want men to see it. The compromise: henna only on the inside of my left hand. Reality: henna on the inside and all over my fingers of my left hand!
5. The women carefully apply the stickers, bordered by medical tape.
6. They mix the henna, a secret concoction of the henna powder and other unknown ingredients – this lady is renown for making the darkest henna around, and she guards her recipe!
7. I enjoy the feeling as they put the cold henna all over my feet and legs, making a thick mask
8. They cover the mask with tissues, then wrap me in giant plastic bags, and cover me with a blanket against the cold of the henna.

9. I lie back to relax and nap as we wait, and I feel chilly.
10. I begin to feel warm as the bags keep in my body heat and humidity.
11. I begin to feel very warm, then hot and I notice condensation forming on the inside of the bags.
12. After two hours the tender skin on my ankles and calves is burning! The women are pleased since thins means the henna will be dark.
13. After three hours I must begin to head home. They women begin to peal off the layers. Out come the dessert spoons as they scrape off the henna mask. While the application was enjoyable, this part was ticklish!

14. They rubbed my new henna with special oil, then olive oil when the henna oil ran out I was instructed to apply more oil, and Vicks Vapor rub, and to avoid water for a day.

The results:

NB: Henna does not smell good and the aroma lingers for quite a while - which is why some women don't henna at all...their husbands don't like the smell.

The Adventure of Changing Plans

For our mid-term break we headed to a desert city music festival. We arrived early at the ‘taxi depot’ downtown, looking for a mini-van taking travelers on the 8 hour trip. Come to find out, they only depart at 4pm so that they can make the journey at in the cool of night. We chose to submit to their times rather than hire a private car. But, at 4pm when there weren’t enough takers to fill the van, we headed to a house on the outskirts of town to fill up with Tuaregs heading across the desert to Niger. The trip was long since we stopped for tea breaks, dinner, and checkpoints where each time our fellow-travelers piled out to be patted down and inspected. We arrived at 3am!

The next day we discovered that the music festival had been canceled for some reason. Fortunately, a familiar face pulled over, excited to see us...it was the driver-tour guide from our excursion last spring. Now friends, he invited us to accompany him as he showed around group of local friends who work in the oil fields together. We visited another ancient city; watched dune races, and attended a Tuareg festival where Jared was interviewed by the national news – what novelty to have a whitey from the US there! And we ate rishda (tender handmade noodles) in the old city, where they got a kick out of dressing us in their traditional wedding garments.

It was a spontaneous and extremely enjoyable trip – and Jared made some wonderful new friends who are genuinely good guys. It was my first time to really be around local men, since there was no where else for me to go. But these mid-twenty year olds were so kind and respectful to me; it was a great experience for me too, balancing out my normal horn-honking and stare-down encounters!

A Groom Wedding

I attended my first groom-sponsored wedding. It was quite a different experience than being with brides' families. I participated in three days of the event:

Day #1
I went in the afternoon and ate lunch with the old women of the family, each of whom were missing more teeth than they had. This was a powerful grouping of all the aunties and grandmothers. There were two big tents sent up in the street outside, one for the women, and the other for men. Later we sat around the perimeter on wide cushions, eating snacks, dancing in the middle, and just being together. I helped to apply tuna to the mini-pizzas the family bought to serve.

Day #2
I missed the large-scale feast because I was teaching. The night before I noticed laundry baskets full of soaking chickpeas for humus, bushels of potatoes, and cases of cokes. That night I attended another evening party. This time a display of gifts from the groom’s family to the bride took center stage in the tent. I was asked to photograph the display since I had a digital camera.

After waiting for three hours, listing to the drumming and chanting of the women, we all piled into cars and mini-vans. My van contained the sisters and cousins, with the drums and was quite the party-wagon. We careened through the narrow streets with the entourage blaring their horns in celebration – we were taking the gifts to the bride’s house.

At the bride’s house, she had a plush tent sent up in her courtyard, full of her friends/family. We nibbled on almond cookies & sipped almond milk & green tea. The gifts were displayed in the middle, and after an hour the bride entered the tent to ululations. She wore the traditional large white draping cloth, which draped down to cover her face. She was preceded by a women holding a mirror facing the bride. They slowly circled the gifts several times. Finally, she sat, and felt the gifts. She tossed some herbs over her shoulder, and ate something. I never did see her face that night. After many hours, we resumed our cars and traveled back, amid much celebrating. Jared and I found each other and made our exit home.

[Embarrassing!: Night #1 I struggled to walk through the sand in my high-healed shoes. However, arriving at the house, we all took off our shoes and left them in a great pile while we walked barefoot on the carpeted tent floor. Wising up, Night #2 I wore my more comfortable and less-dressy work shoes. However, when I began to remove my shoes, they told me to leave them on for this evening. *Groan,* scuffed, brown, flat shoes did not go with my formal dress! I tried my best to hide them, and chose to ditch them at my chair most of the evening. I did the same at the bride’s tent, but when I was beckoned up to the front row, I forgot to take them with me. Ever-kind women passed them to me through the crowd – giving them all a chance to see and touch those ugly, brown shoes!]

Day #3
I arrived at 10pm, knowing that is the usual time for the real festivities to begin. However, it didn't occur to me that 10pm is when the bride enters her women’s party, when they eat the cake, and then have dinner followed by more dancing. I didn't realize we were waiting for that bridal party to finish! So, we sat, and sat, and sat. At two AM excited girls piled into the van with drums to go get the bride. After a bit, we heard the noise of their return and all the women hurried to cover themselves. The bottom ropes of the tent were cut and a Hyundai sedan came right into the tent! Inside, there was the bride and the groom. He escorted her up to the front, where an elaborate bridal love seat had prime position in front of a tiered wedding cake, and flutes of orange nectar. They sat for a long while. Some of us took pictures with the couple – I was invited as a display of tokenism – the token [white] foreigner! Then they fed each other cake and juice, in the best of ‘western’ wedding tradition. There seemed to be great importance on everyone eating cake – and none could be left over. I rolled home about 3:30am, with a plate of cake for Jared. Teaching the next day was a bit of a struggle...

The Other Side of Life

Many expats complain of the lack of social life here. True, there are no movie theaters, no malls or department stores, few restaurants, and little opportunity for sports. We usually enjoy hanging out with friends, learning to cook and speak, and eating. Jared cruises around town with the guys, visiting coffee shops and finding restaurants where musicians perform (the way to hear live music here). Shopping for food and clothes is also an outing for us, and at home we enjoy talking, reading, or playing Boggle.

This is our bread and butter, low key entertainment. However, we have kept surprisingly nimble in our "formal" social engagements - we sporadically break into the diplomatic circles. With such a small pond of expats, we get invites from friends, and it helps that Jared is the music teacher since most events are musical ones.

*FEBRUARY: To the national museum's theater to hear a Canadian classical guitarist, sponsored by the Canadian Embassy

*MARCH:

• To the South African Residence (where the ambassador lives) to celebrate their national day - complete with all foods/beverages imported from South Africa, including some kind of worm delicacy!
• To the Indonesian Embassy for their cultural fair.
  
  
  
  

  Jared examining traditional instruments -
  perfect for his classes on Asian music.

*JUNE:

• To the British Residence to hear a classical pianist and vocalist perform.
• To hear the Germany Embassy-sponsored Jazz Ensemble, from Germany of course.
• To a gathering of the British and Commonwealth Women's Group at the Indonesian Residence for a presentation on the many uses of the Indonesian wrap, involving demonstrations and fashion shows on how to tie them (think of a typical British WI - Women's Institute - meeting, here).
• To our city's theater to hear a famous Bossa Nova group from Brazil (Jared teaches two Brazilian kids, whose father is a diplomat).

*AUGUST

• To dinner with the Anglican Bishop for our region
• To the French Consulate to hear traditional music by a Sufi Ensemble

[Isn't it ironic that we weren't invited to our own two nations' national celebrations?! The Queen's Birthday and the Fourth of July are two of the biggest events on the expat calendar here.]

Mostly, we enjoy these events for the good music, and also the free food. You might guess we're out of our league since we often 'network' with our students whose parents are the big wigs; and since we don't have our personal driver drop us off and pick us up - we walk to the street and hail a taxi. Still, it makes for a nice change of pace, and in a place where it's all about who you know, it definitely helps to have some friends in high places.

[Incidentally, since we celebrate everything, we did pull off our own Fourth of July complete with camel burgers, corn (canned; cobbed corn is more for animal feed and isn't sweet, so we found), ice cream and watermelon.]

'Norweij'

Despite the difficulties of Summer School, we did enjoy being here - laid back pace, time for Arabic and Oud lessons...Jared ate dinner with the school night guards every week. One man learned to cook in the army and is quite good - he thoughtfully sent food home for me one evening. But after 6 weeks of School, we were aching to get out and have a breather. The School was more exhausting than we bargained for.

We spent a few days shopping in London, which I've never had much cause to do before, but what fun! We hit the end-of-the-season sales. I stocked up on tunic-type shirts and ankle sports pants to use as swimwear, and Jared found ties and button-up shirts. I also bought a kitchen scrub brush and my mother mailed me baking soda, an oven thermometer, a potato masher, cockroache traps, razor blades, and cream of tartar - all of which can't be found here. (Not that shopping lists are usually intersting, but they do show an unique snap shot of life.)

Some very dear friends welcomed us in Norway - such a God send. We went first to Oslo tanking up on Museums, wild cherries and peal-your-own shrimp at the harbor. Then we enjoyed the fresh air and greenness of Bergen and the Fjords. A family was generous enough to lend us their cabin in a remote mountain valley which hosts the largest glacier in Europe. Hiking was just what the doctor ordered, and we were thrilled to pick wild blueberries for trail snacks. We were totally impressed with Norweigans as all of them we met picked their own assortment of berries to make jam and juice, and made us waffles and homemade bread - not to mention that they invented the cheese slicer. When our two weeks were up, we actually felt prepared to return.

With such an expensive economy we didn't stock up on anything, except some brown cheese (it's both caramel colored and tasting, best eaten with jam and crisp crackers - who would have thought - YUM!) - and it set off every airport sensor from Oslo to North Africa! But it is safe in our fridge now.

Entering the Soup Race

It's our first Ramadan overseas. Life is very different during this month.

1. We don't eat or drink in public during the day. At school I have windows lining the wall, and the only blind spot is to sit directly under the window. So, we frequently have lunch pressed up against my wall. We aren't using our balconies at home much, either. Many of the teachers 'suffer' because it's cramping their morning coffee routine!

2. Very few people are out and about during the day. Summer-time Ramadan is difficult because it is very hot, but people can't drink. As a result, the beaches have been vacant, meaning we've had wonderful swimming/snorkeling expeditions where I can freely swim without being watched.

3. Sharing break and lunch time with my friends usually involves reclining in the staff room, with many girls sleeping; we don't talk much. It's a relatively new issue for them to have to work during their month of fasting. The two don't mix very well.

4. School starts half and hour later to acknowledge the fact that local students and staff stay up all night. In fact, during this month they virtually switch their body clocks: sleeping during the day, and waking up to celebrate with big meals and late-night shopping trips.

5. The sunset call to prayer is around 7:30pm - marking the time when they can begin to eat. Around 7pm begins "The Soup Race," so named for the first course of the meal - soup. It is wisest to be off the roads and sidewalks during this time because cars fly by at 100mph in a rush to get home and eat. It is amazing to watch, but also scary!

6. Stores open around 10pm. We took a family out shopping for a piano, leaving at 9:45 and returning home around 1am. Last night we went to a concert of traditional music which began at 10pm and after wading through traffic, we got home again around 1am. These nights are hard to pull off on with school in the morning!

7. Some nights Jared's friends pick him up around 10pm and they cruise around town drinking coffees and eating ice creams until he returns home and falls into bed at 4am. Those 7:50am school staff meetings come early, even if they are half an hour later to 'make up' for Ramadan.

8. But I think the best part of Ramadan for me is the TV. They have special shows produced just for this month - but they also show AFV (America's Funniest Home Videos) EVERY NIGHT! Some of you know how much I enjoy that show. It feels good in my soul to laugh hard, and when this month is over I will miss AFV the most!

Surviving Summer School

With a month and a half between us and the end of Summer School, I'm just now thinking I might be prepared to share some remarks about it. Seriously, in our department evaluation meeting a few weeks ago, I almost burst into tears; and the director looked close himself.

All in all, it was a success: no one died; no one was majorly injured; the school wasn't completely destroyed; school lasted the whole six weeks; and there were no major complaints from parents.

In other ways, however, it was a real challenge.

The first day I had two classes of 20 kids, each with a mix of 4-8 year olds. [Note: we were meant to start at 5 years old, but half my group was 4, as I discovered when I asked them in Arabic how old they were.] Eventually I was able to split my classes by age - and to reduce the number. However, 14 4-5 year olds is a handful with no aide. Furthermore, most of them spoke not one word of English. Not even the proverbial, "Hello, How are you - Fine, thank you."

When the books arrived at the end of the second week of school, I noted with dismay that they presume you must teach bilingually at that age. The activities were far to complicated for both their pre-deductive minds, and my Arabic.

No need to rehearse all the horrors here. But I finally saw a real turn-around by week 5 (of 6!). By then my Arabic had progressed enough to be able to give them all the routine instructions: sit down, clean up, where is your bag, it's not time for swimming, be careful or I'm going to call your mother... [Note: our langauge teacher also taught "I know how to hit you until you cry," but I chose not to use that one!]
One of the best moments was early on when I was trying to get a student to repeat a phrase. I was motioning toward my ear in an effort to get the idea across nonverbally. Slightly confused, the little boy came up and kissed me on the cheek. Nonverbal signals aren't universal!

To be honest - I do miss them! I love being here because you can kiss their little cheeks with abandon. No rules about that.

Jared taught the oldest kids - 12-16 year olds. His main problem was that one family just back from Canada sent their [fluent] kids to English Summer School [here read "Day Care"]. He used my room on the top floor. I don't want to make any guesses about what happened during the activity sessions led by teaching assistants, but there are still colorful balls of clay on my ceiling, and all down the hallway. It makes me laugh every time I look up. Apparently we missed the most fun on the last day when a kid jumped in the pool fully clothed to escape the Director who was chasing him; chaos escalated to pizza and anything within reach also being tossed in. What a summer!

Here are a few pix - they're not as angelic as their faces and puppydog eyes appear!

Variations on a Theme

In oral societies lessons can be quite different. Now that Jared has completed practice exercises from his teacher's own book, he's moving on to songs. His teacher sings a bar, and Jared is expected to pick it out on the oud, building up to the entire piece. And, all this happens with an audience consisting of multiple brothers and a sister-in-law, and whatever friends come by for the excitement. Good thing Jared's used to performance.More than oud lessons...

...how-to-make-Arabic-coffee lessons.

Did I mention this is a hard instrument to learn - and quite tiring!

Pass the Shears

During our Africa trip in the first year of our marriage I began cutting Jared's hair...and I've been doing it ever since. At first I buzzed it with the electric razor, but neither of us are into that look any more; so I use scissors the old fashioned way.

Yesterday I decided to take a whack at my own. At one point (in our low-budget circumstances) Jared returned the hair-cutting favor; but since then he's refused - it's too much pressure. My hair was driving me crazy, so I decided to turn in the wardrobe mirrors and have go.

Some of you know that I've been growing my hair out since last winter - in Arab culture women's hair is long. Maybe later I'll shorten up when I understand all the cultural meanings of hair. But until then, I've been working on growing it...until yesterday. I don't know why exactly, but I cut a lot off! I intended a trim and a re-shaping. Instead I took off about three inches! That's not much, but since I have curly hair, the shorter it is, the more it curls up and the shorter it looks. As I was cutting, it looked like less in the backwards image of the mirror; plus it was pretty fun; and I got carried away.

It looks fine, but it's a bit sad since just this week (1) my friends were remarking (favorably) how long my hair was getting and (2) Jared noted how pretty it was long. So, kinda too bad that I just chopped the long part off.

Next time I won't be so drastic, and maybe I'll even beef up on my salon vocabulary so I can try to explain what I want in Arabic and let a professional have a go. (But to be honest, I'd rather mess up my own hair than someone else. Even in my own country I'm always suspect of haircuts!)

Tech Update

We found out one reason our Internet has been so malfunctional...there is a router plugged in to a three-way plug in a high-traffic office. A chair sits in front of this outlet, and anytime the plug is knocked by the chair...Internet goes offline until it's re-knocked and the electrical connection is made. Crazy how low-tech a problem it is that has kept us off the net for so long. I tried to tape it securely, but not very well. Good news is it should be pretty simple to find a solution.

Hairy Situation II

So I did decide to shave my forearms: they were soft for a few days before they got a bit prickly. And, the regrowth hair isn't as blond. Jared didn't even notice the change. I don't think I'll continue on a regular basis. Perhaps I will do it again the next time I go to a [sleeveless-dress] party. I went to a wedding a few months ago and I forgot about the arm-hair issue. I realized it, to my horror, sitting at the table. Those banquet halls are little up like an operating room so that the ladies can show off their elaborate make-up and sparkly dresses...and it also makes arm hair more noticeable than you ever would have thought. I will admit that I kept my arms beneath the conveniently-high table as much as possible.

Maybe I'll be shamed into more action. Today on TV I saw an ad with a woman shaving her arm! It wasn't actually a shaver, it was some rubber grip contraption that removes the whole hair (ouch!). Women here wax/sugar their arms.

It's not just me though...one night we saw a Gillette commercial which was advertising their masculine razors, and low and behold, the video cut to a silhouetted man shaving in the shower - shaving his arm pit! Jared did a double take and exclaimed, "Was that man shaving his armpit??"

So, fair's fair here - and Jared's got his own hairy cultural investigations to do!

Oops

Anyone learning an foreign language is fated to make many, many mistakes. Some are funnier or more unfortunate than others.

These were some of the better ones from my precious 7-8 year olds last year:

* “I love you bananas!!” Exclaimed a boy trying to join in the warm-up class discussion about fruit. He knew the stock phrase, “I love you,” but he didn’t know which parts are adaptable and which aren't.

* “That’s sh**! That’s sh**!” Shouted one little boy in the height of frustration while playing a ‘communicative’ game. His mistake: he couldn't pronounce the ‘ch’ sound, and he also didn’t know the present continuous: “That’s cheating!”

* “Miss, show me your tits,” One little girl sweetly said as she looked at a picture of Jared and me. Slightly shocked, I asked her to repeat, and she said the exact same thing. My best guess is that she was looking at my teeth in the photo, and asking to see them in person. She didn’t know the irregular pluralization of ‘tooth,’ and she didn’t get close enough on the pronunciation either!

Such mistakes make me smile (I try not to laugh at the time), and they do make for good stories. However, my students also have their own stories to tell their parents:

* Today my language teacher pointed out that I've been shouting 'slap him' to my Summer School class of 4-5 year olds, when I thought I was staying "Stop!"

School Teachers

Now that school is out and our regular students are all vacationing around Europe, I'm missing them! Though some of them are a real handful, but they're also a lot of fun. Here are a few pix.

Since I spent most of my Primary School hours with Year 3, I was invited on their field trip to local Roman Ruins.

We have 55 nationalities at school and for International Day they all get excited about dressing up. These are local kids in their traditional costumes. Many of the girls are shadowed by their drivers because of the family gold they wear!

As well as teaching, Jared also organizes most musical events for the school. He arranged for a traditional band to play for International Day. Here you can see the bagpipe-like instrument. There are also several drummers, and they all twirl in circles, making their white skirts billow like dirvishes'.

Jared also directs and/or accompanies musical events, such as the end-of-year Primary Concert.

The past four months were really more than any one person should have been given. Jared truly amazed me (and the administration, staff and students). But it definitely wore us both out.

Too Hot to Handle

When our metal gate is too hot to touch, it's hot.

When I wash my dishes with hot water from the 'cold' tap, it's hot.

When the tile is too warm to offer any sympathy, and when you can feel heat radiating off window panes without touching them, it's not.

Solar heating takes on new meanings.

Yesterday it was 120F. It really does feel like an oven.

Ironically, yesterday we also chatted with an electrical engineer who specializes in air-conditioning - how wonderful. Perfect time to ask why our ACs won't produce much cold air at key times. [Rough] Answer: they weren't made to function at this temperature. The temperature of the gas in them runs at a higher temperature than the outside air, which allows for exchange of the gas - and cold air. But, when the air outside is as hot or hotter than the gas itself, well...no cool air. So, basically we won't get much cooling when it's really hot. And, with less electricity to go around than is needed, we'll be running low during peak usage times as well.

We decided to sleep in the living room last night. It was still really hot and the AC wouldn't give, so we decided that room was better. Jared was happy on the couch, and I was cozy on a thick rug on the floor...until I remembered those mammoth cockroaches! I switched to the loveseat. Around 1am we finally started cooling off and got some sleep.

One-Man Band

Add to the growing list of instruments: the oud. It's the Arab lute, and it's an ancient instrument. After his ethno-musicology studies, Jared set his sights on this instrument and was counting down the days until he could purchase his own. He went out with a friend a few weeks ago and selected this one. Good thing he took a knowledgeable friend because the first oud he picked up was for a woman - and that would have been a cultural disaster!

Since then Jared was scouting for a teacher who is a master of the instrument, and who also speaks some English. Recently he found one. He pays for an hour, but usually spends about three at his teacher's house. The whole family is enthralled with this foreigner learning the oud (and Arabic). I'm invited to go tomorrow to hang out with the non-English speaking wife. So, it will be practice for me too.

The keyboard in the background is a school loaner for the summer while he doesn't need it for his classes. Today he practiced for several hours on all three instruments...his little heart is just bursting with music!

Another Dream: Check.

[He exclaimed that the oud slips off his pants while he's trying to practice. Next time I turned around he was sitting in the chair with his pants around his ankles, wearing his boxer shorts and practicing. Now that's a great picture (especially since his boxers are a British flag patter), but in this country from a man's knees up to his waist is considered sensual...so don't want to tempt you ladies!]

Peanut Butter Fingers...SOS

Some of you know that I really love peanut butter. And, we both enjoy the natural kind - just ground peanuts (and salt). Needless to say, that isn't available here, but peanuts are, soooo.......I've tried to make it myself. However, my efforts haven't been too successful, and Jared won't partake of the results.

Namely, I can't get it very smooth. It's not like the kind we use to buy. I have added extra oil, but really, how much do you have to add?? When is the peanut suppose to release it's own oils?! First I tried roasting and grinding my own, but gave up on the roasting in an effort to succeed. I also switched from a (not so great processor) to the blender. I even tried almonds.

If you have the know-how, please do email! Our pancakes just aren't the same...

Our Pets

Within the last two months both my sister and my parents have obtained new puppies. I must admit I’m a little jealous when I see how cute they are via Skype. Here, dogs have a bad rap, involving religious taboos; and cats aren’t too popular either. I've been offered kittens, but among other things, I’m afraid they’ll eat rat poison from the building lots next-door. That’s too much, I think. Interestingly, the pets of choice for locals are tortoises and song birds.

We're far from alone in our apartment, though. Here's our growing list of ‘pets’, in order of our fondness for them:

1. Gecko – he stayed in our bedroom for several days and provided endless entertainment as we did a “Where’s Wally” hunt to find him. Plus, he ate bugs, which is a major point scorer.
2. Singing Bird – he built a nest in our air conditioner vent, so he perches outside our window and sings. Sometimes he sings angrily when we crumble in the heat and turn on the AC. It’s pretty funny, though, to see him fly around in a rage.
3. Ants – big ants find their way inside, and then can’t escape somehow. They’re so big that it is mesmerizing to watch them. The bathtub usually seals their fate because they can’t climb up the slick walls.
4. Spiders – are fairly minimal, actually. While I like that they eat bugs, I will admit to terminating some in our bedroom. I don’t know which ones are harmful and which are peace-loving, but I don’t like the idea of being bitten while I’m asleep!

5. Weevils - birthed in a bag of dried beans. Solution: set bowl out in the sun so they hatch and fly off; soak them so the rest float to the top and discard; cook as normal.
6. Mosquitoes - they’re in season now, and I’m Jared’s personal mosquito repellent as I attract them all to me. I can have over a dozen bites, while he remains untouched *grrrr*.

7. Flies – they're seeking out water from our eyes/mouths and food.

8. Big Mama Cockroaches

– these also surprise us as they randomly turn up on our title floors. The solution: trap them under a Tupperware bowl until we have time to exile them.

One of My Students...

...has a farm, so we get olive oil and fresh camel milk every week.

...is a tailor, so we get our pants hemmed for free.

...brought me the latest Jackie Chan movie (he's a young Mongolian).

...loves to cook, so I get cooking lessons for free - including Arab meat pie (see picture) and kebabs.

...collects stickers, so I also have a growing collection (she's a primary student!).

...out of respect brings me little treats, like packaged muffins or crackers.

...brought me a Mars bar from Germany (she had to point out it wasn't the locally produced kind when I didn't recognize the import of the gift as I should have).

...brought me a strawberry cream cake (an 8 year old!).

...is making a business trip to Germany, and is promising to bring me back good chocolate.

...owns a car dealership (...maybe for the future!)

Church

When we arrived we decided that we'd like to visit the various churches around our city to see what they're like...turns out there's quite an array.

There are a few churches that have legal status and the accompanying visas for their pastors - in order to serve the expatriate community. The Catholic Church is, I think, the biggest. They maintained their cathedral through some turbulent years, and it is ornately decorated inside with frescoes and mosaics. They hold numerous services each week, in languages from Filipino, Indian, Polish, Korean and Italian to Spanish and French. They also have about 100 nuns here from the same order as Mother Theresa; and they mainly do medical work.

There is a mostly Ghanaian Church that we visited - and it was just like being back in Ghana! The rhythms of the singing were moving - and we aren't that good at moving to them, but the rest of the congregation was! I struggled to even clap in-time to the non-Western beat.
The local Anglican Church has the other cathedral downtown. It is majority Nigerian, with the next population being Indian, and a small minority of Europeans/North Americans/Auzzis/Kiwis. This makes for some very, very interesting cultural dynamics:

Nigerians are the Ushers, and this is a serious position. If you sit too near the back, they will ask you to 'shift' - to move up to the closest seat to the front that's available. The goal being to fill in every seat from front to back. Women sit to the right of the isle, and men on the left side. Secondly, beware of falling asleep during the service or else the usher will walk down the isle and nudge your elbow! Likewise, when the Egyptian Bishop was visiting, he would pause in his preaching to wait for latecomers find their seats!

Even the resident pigeons mind their p's and q's. Usually they restrain themselves to cooing and mild flapping about as they navigate the rafters. Only one time have I seen anything fall -yet that that was not during a service, and only hit an uninhabited side isle. Very impressive.

Three other things I find amusing: 1) The building sports some exceptionally well done paint-by-number religious artwork. 2) The responsive readings become a race, with many reading as fast as they can (to sport their English skills??). And 3) The Nigerians lead their own songs before the main service starts; you have to listen hard to realize that they are singing in English, and sometimes I even have to ask the person next to me what they're saying because the African-English accent is so think.

Btw, it's still a little strange to be with the church on Fridays, and at work on Sundays!

Floored

I've peeled myself up from the tile floor to tell you that today was a hot day. I think it was about 115 degrees, or so. What makes it more hot is the strong, sandy wind. It is strange to get used to wind being hot.

And so, we came home and stripped down to lie on the cool-ish tile floor. I mentioned earlier that we do have air conditioning. Yes, we have the capability. But, unfortunately something about the electric cable not being strong enough means that sometimes there isn't enough juice to go around the building. So at night our lights flicker and go dim, and the microwave doesn't produce heat...and the AC doesn't produce much cold. Not all the time, but usually when we're all trying to use energy - either when it's pretty hot or pretty cold and we turn on the ACs/heaters. Good thing that no one else will be living in our building during the really hot summer months (we're staying longer to teach summer school while everyone else is going on vacation).

Sand is the other part of the equation. As I taught my evening class I watched the wind whip up a massive cloud of sand so that I couldn't see out of my thirdfloor window. It's the North African version of fog. I was praying that we hadn't left our windows opened! The students were asking for the English word for sandy wind - and we don't have one of our own! As Artic-dwellers have multpiple names for snow, they have a more advanced sand vocabulary here.

The BBC describes the situation this way: We are "affected from March to June by very hot, dusty winds from the desert which bring very high temperatures, often exceeding 50°C/122°F for a day or two."

Let's hope it is a only a day or two - and that it doesn't mark the beginning of the real summer heat.

Either way, I think we'll be spending a lot more time on our tile floors.

Farmers’ Markets

One joy of being here is discovering the produce available. We get fruit and vegetables seasonally. I was thrilled with the best oranges I have ever tasted in February/March; but those are long gone now. Presently we’re in heaven with apricots and peaches. We always enjoy olives (because they’re dried) and the best dates on earth. Here are some pictures – check out how ‘straight-from-the-farm’ it is…

...Spinach complete with ladybug; carrots with tops on (normally the produce men cut off the tops before you take them home, same with onions); yolked and feathered eggs; as yet unitentified local fruit, with a large pit inside; and a Barley Loaf.

They get to the vegetable stands via pickups trucks piled high with watermellons or cantelope (currently) coming in from local farms. Once I went to the big wholesale vegetable market. There, a young boy follows you around with a wheelbarrow, toting your produce for a tip.

Malfunction Junction

I think the #1 risk we encounter is road safety. This can be said in many places, but I do think that the driving here can be more dangerous than any other place I’ve encountered. I tend to feel this way when we’re joining a young (testosterone-filled, macho) male in his taxi. These guys bob and weave through traffic like they’re in Hollywood car chases. Unfortunately, the other cars haven't rehearsed the choreography.

The reason I think driving is more dangerous here than elsewhere is that there is enough infrastructure to supports high speeds. Whereas in other parts of Africa potholes, dirt roads, and dilapidated vehicles limit the speed cars can reach, here the main highway is in fairly good shape and newly imported cars can travel at excessive speeds. This is a problem because there is not a long history of driving culture to establish certain life-preserving ‘rules’ of driving, or to facilitate much beyond white-knuckle driving experiences. As you can imagine, driving cars is quite different than driving the camels and horses they are replacing.

That isn't to say that there aren't any road rules. For example, the rule at roundabouts is that you yeild to those entering the roundabout. If you try this, you'll see how difficult it is because it requires the drivers to turn around in their seats and look backwards; further, it encourages those approaching the roundabout to enter it at full speed as though it were just a part of their own road. However, roundabouts are often ignored altogether, with drivers driving "straight" and thus heading into oncoming traffic. At our big intersection there is one lane that was designed to be either and on, or an off ramp to the roundabout. It, however, functions as both, which makes for many near-misses.

These are popular names for a few local traffic points that sum up the situation: "malfunction junction," "death roundabout" and "suicide slipway."

Camel Country

Because this is Camel Country, you can find an array of camel products here.

For example, we buy ground camel at the butchers, and use it much like beef. E.g. I've made Camel Chili and Camel Burgers. It has a stronger flavor - but it's very nice. It's also higher in protein with less fat than beef - so I read on the Internet. Here, camel couscous is a common dish.

You know that camel meat is available at the local butchers when you see a head hanging in the window (likewise, a cow head means that the beef is fresh - and they also display other items of anatomy for sale!). Alternatively, if you see the live animal tied up next to the butchers, you can bet tomorrow will be the day to get it fresh ground. And, more than once I've jumped out of my skin upon rounding the corner and being greeted by the Chewbacca-like moan of a tied up camel - definitely within spitting distance. Jared likes to call them 'habibi,' which is a term of endearment, and they respond with the sound of a microphoned sheep being strangled.

One of my students has a farm. He approached me after class last week to remind me that about a month ago I mentioned that I like to drink milk (we must have been doing "I like" target language!?). Then he offered to bring me fresh camel milk from his farm. My friends laughed when I told them - some of them have never tried it, and some claim that the first time you drink it you can get diarrhea. Great! Well, he brought about a liter of milk, with promises of more if we like it. It's in the fridge now - I haven't attempted it yet, but I will soon.

[Update: I tried it, and it's good! It's more similar to cow's milk than I expected - probably because he skimmed it (...and no diarrhea)]

We also have camel-hair woven rugs, and various home decorations studded with camel bone. What a useful creature...


To Market, To Market…

Pollyanna & Culture Stress Indicators

One symptom of culture shock is the tendency to compare the best of your home culture to the worst of what you find in your new home. As an antidote against that, I thought I’d try an exercise of taking a more realistic view – or even one more weighted on the other side. So, here it goes…

1. The kitchen sink: Here there is a ledge that prevents you from standing at the sink – you more have to bend over to it, or put your foot up on the ledge, which is better for your back. VS: In LA, we had a handicapped equipped apartment, so our sink was really low and I chose to do squats at the sink to save my lower back and feel like I was getting something out of it (muscle workout!) besides bitterness.
2. Here, the faucet is too low to rinse large bowls pots. VS: In LA the faucet was too high for the sink and splashed excessive amounts of water around the kitchen.
3. The washing machine leaks across the bathroom floor, and it prevents the bathroom door from closing. VS: We had no washer in LA, so no complaints here!
4. Here the internet is in and out on a constant basis. Though we have Ethernet cables at home and wireless at school, it is often as slow as or slower than dialup. VS: We only had dialup at home in LA, and it was always very slow.
5. We have some cockroaches sometimes in our kitchen (though in the past few hot days I’ve seen four big-mama roaches!). VS: In LA we had an infestation that was near maddening.
6. When the reflective windows are shut the light is quite low inside. VS: We had minimal natural light in LA, and used electric lights almost throughout the day.
7. When sandstorms come we get dustpan full loads of sand in our apartment. VS: Our apartment in LA had a lot of dust. But here, we have a Ghanaian woman who comes once a week to help us clean!
8. The limey-pea green paint with orange curtains and light fixture in our bedroom are 'not peaceful.' VS: In LA our bedroom was in our dining room, living room and study (we lived in a studio!) – and we had no overhead light fixture, and no colors.
9. It's surprisingly hard to stay warm in the winter with tile floors and high ceilings. VS: LA where we were known to wear hats, scarfs and gloves inside our apartment - while roasting in the summers with no AC. Here we have heat - PLUS Air Conditioning. We do try to conserve, but when the temps get into the 120F....! Now that it's hot, the high celings and tile floors are paying off.

Of course, we can’t really do the “Pollyanna” response to everything that’s difficult. We did fix the worst problems: Within my first 2 weeks the gas leak was solved, after 1 1/2 months our toilet flushes again, and even the screeching window hinges have cardboard jammed into them so they've been rendered silent. However, there are some less dramatic issues that are still somewhat bothersome to me (this is my list, not necessarily Jared's):

1. The kitchen sink faucet “travels”…as in, it won’t stay poised over the sink to rinse dishes or fill pots. I know I’ve mentioned the sink a lot here – I think maybe I should just replace the faucet and move on!
2. As a good friend commented recently, sometimes I feel like an over-embroidered potato sack. I’m getting tired of the types of fashions I’m socially obliged to wear here. First, I need to be sensitive in making sure I’m not showing skin. I think that will get more difficult the hotter the weather gets. But secondly, the clothing culture for women is quite high here. To walk out in Rainbows (flipflops), jeans and a shirt (California style), would be frumpy and shameful. As a very young women, both these issues are heightened for me. I get some relief at home, but windows and balconies mean that I’m also on display here. Sometimes I close all the shutters or curtains and wear what I want!
3. Really, the affective aspectives of the apartment aren't anywhere within reach of our cultural definitions of what's pleasant to look at/be in. In short, it doesn't feel very calming and peaceful with oranges, pea-greens, pinks and bright blues. It's the visual equivalent of scraping your fingernails down a chalk board.

So, I'm going to look at these three issues and see what adjustments might be possible. I'll let you know...

North Africa…Where all your Dreams Come True

We saw a poster with this title other day and it made us laugh. However, we shouldn’t laugh too hard because this week two of Jared’s long-term dreams came true.

1. For a violin.
2. For a grand piano.

How was this possible?? Well, one of the only music stores in the country (affectionately called “The Yamaha Store”) had a going-out-of-business sale. We rushed over after school one night and bought mass supplies of guitar/violin strings and picks, drum heads and sticks – even guitars. Once the store is gone, it will be hard to get such supplies for the school, so Jared stocked up. We first bought all these goods... and then Jared turned to his own interests – a German violin that he’s been eyeing for a few weeks. Since he was a boy he has wanted to have a violin and learn to play. After all the (school’s) money we spend on the music gear, the shop assistant–turned-friend was more than happy to make a good deal "because it’s for you." As I say this he’s sitting behind me practicing his scales – and is quite happy.


When he’s not spending free time on the violin, he’s over at the school on “his” new baby grand piano. With school funds, he negotiated from 19,000 dinars to 10,000 dinars. Then he showed up the next day with 9,000 dinars in cash (see the picture of what that looks like – the 20 dinar note is the highest bank note available, but school mostly had 5’s and 10’s on hand that day!).



The real feat, though, was transporting it to the school. With no one in-country with piano-moving expertise, we hit Google to get some advice about how to do it. Jared insisted on being present for the move, and he was flexible and gracious when a flat-bed mini-truck pulled up to the shop. But, he wouldn’t budge in insisting that they remove the petals and actually cover the piano. They obliged and found some bed sheets to wrap it in - before using duct tape to secure the piano in the back of the truck (I’m really sorry I didn’t get my camera in time to document that!). Jared hugged the driver and pleaded with him, ‘shwaya, shwaya,’ – ‘please, slowly, slowly.’ It made it in one piece to the school, but then the nine men had to wrestle it up three flights of steps! I’ll spare the details and let you see the pictures…

Pizza and Pancakes (…with Date Syrup)

We still find it hard to believe that we’re actually living here. Plus, we’ve been globetrotting quite a bit the past few years, so it’s hard to grasp the idea that we have full-time jobs and are settled. “Settled” sounds like a relative term. Anyhow, in a recent conversation we determined that a place is finally becoming home we can do our usual pizza and pancake rituals. This involves making whole grain fruit pancakes on Saturday mornings and whole wheat veggie-mania pizzas on the weekend…and we’re getting close.

We’ve got the pancake thing down now, though Jared now sweetens with date syrup and Cat with honey since maple syrup is a decidedly North American product. As for pizzas, we haven’t quite rolled out our own dough yet, but we’ve just found some suitable flatbreads to use in the interim. I’m full right now after Jared just produced his first batch with fresh herbs - savory and mint. Wow, so good.

Babies R’Us

One of my best friends at school had a baby shower – for her newborn sister! Yes, families are very large here, and it’s not abnormal for women to bear upwards of 10 children (usually they’re the older generation, though).

Of course, I went to the big party for the new baby. It was much the same as a wedding party. The venue was a little smaller, but the stage area had the ornate ‘couch’ of honor, flanked by life sized teddy bears and helium balloons – all in pink since the baby is a girl.

The guests all sat at the tables, sipping on the celebratory almond milk and cookies waiting for the family to make the grand entrance. And it was a grand entrance!...the DJ put on some fast paced music and the baby was wheeled down the center isle in a white bassinet, accompanied by the female relatives – all wearing conical pink Barbie Doll party hats. They stopped the bassinet halfway into the crowd of tables so that the women could dance for the baby! A few women at a time came up and shook their stuff in front of the bassinet for her to enjoy! Eventually the baby was taken up the stage and we proceeded to have the full meal – and lots of dancing.

My polite refusals to dance were to no avail – in my honor the DJ put on an ‘English’ song so that I could dance – how thoughtful! Fortunately, my friend and some other girls at our table joined in. When I say dancing, I don’t mean a general dance floor environment. I mean that one or two women showcase their moves at a time in the center of the room. They often tie a sash around their rear to accentuate their skills at moving it. The rest of the guests watch and some clap in time for them. So, there’s no way to be an inconspicuous dancer. Furthermore, as the only foreigner from Europe/The Americas (my friend said I wasn’t the only foreigner since there were was an Egyptian present!), all eyes were on me any time I made a move the whole night – including trips to the bathroom.

I took pictures of the party favors we were given - each of which held chocolates, cookies or baklava.

Lunch Bunch

A coworker invited me over for lunch at her house. She picked me up at 12pm, but only lives about 5 minutes drive away. We first went for a tour around town, and she showed me her favorite shops, gave me a tour of her alma mater, and posed for a picture with me in a photo studio.

We returned home and lounged in the salon. Reception rooms are lined with these foam couches. Guests recline comfortably here [...why do "we" use chairs! I much prefer this style, maybe especailly because my legs are too short for most chairs]. I briefly met the father/husband, who proclaimed I was welcome with his family - making me feel very welcome and happy.

To reenergize us, we were served mango nectar (juice) and chocolate bonbons. Shortly afterward, it was tea-time, involving a portable gas burner to brew the 'red' tea, a tea pot and a metal jug. In the picture you can see me attempting to froth the tea. They do this by pouring the hot tea back and forth between the teapot and the jug, creating foam that they pour into the small glass tas cups. You know you've done it well when you can turn the cup unpside down and no foam comes out of the cup. I failed miserably - but they enjoyed a good laugh and delighted in taking photos of my attempts!

After some time to chat and laugh, lunch was served. From the picture, you can see we had lamb couscous, fried chicken, salad and potato squares.

Through travels, I've learned that endurance is the game: eat long and slow. This way you can continue to eat long enough to satisfy your host, without actually gorging yourself. Here, however, I ran into a new problem. My hostess (the mother) was not only concerned with endurance, but also with speed and power (gusto). I couldn't eat fast enough for her!! If I took a bite of one dish, that meant I was neglecting another! And my co-eaters kept pushing the meat, olives and vegetables over infront of me - so my "pile" never diminshed.

This thoroughly wore me out and my ever-sensitive hostesses ordered me over to the other side of the room to take a nap - providing me with pillow and blanket. I semi-rested, all the while meeting more women who came and went, and watching women dance and gossip together. They do this daily - taking turns to host the group. One very outgoing women insisted I go to see her house. So we made the expedition, and drank juice and ate chocolates. Next time it's her turn to have me and Jared over. Though he'll be in a different room with the man of the house.

...a long, but wonderful day with new friends. I'll be able to visit them as often as I'm able to - which won't be often enough in their minds!

The Language of Music

It never fails. Musicians always find each other, no matter what country or culture they live in! But this is particularly true in this country, where music has not always been honored as something worthy of effort – in fact, for some time music was outlawed. Today musicians support each other and work together to master their instruments.

Within the second week of my teaching, I met a young guitar teacher at our school. He has become a good friend and has literally driven me around the capital dozens of times in the last weeks showing me good places to eat, introducing me to the other musicians, commenting on his country’s history, teaching me some language…and taking me to local festivities.

The country has just observed a very important holiday – the birthday of their prophet. Two musician friends took me out for the day to eat traditional food with the family, listen to recitations of oral histories, and participate in the street music that parades through the oldest part of the city. What an honor! These two video clips are from the street music parades. You will see that the people here are very welcoming…and inclusive! [video coming shortly...I'm having technical difficulties...]

The Stuff Celebrations are Made Of

One of my coworkers came over to show me how to make the traditional celebration food - made primarily after the birth of a baby. It's four, water and sugar boiled into a thick paste. Once it's the right consistency - which requires a lot of effort (see picture), you pour melted butter and honey over the top. It is very sticky, very sweet, and very oily. You pinch it off with your fingers and slurp it down. I chose the butter/honey route, instead of the other alternative: oil and sugar water. Not my favorite local food, but I've also had much worse in other parts of the world.