So wee bit of a catch up: With only two days until 2010 - hello Marrakech! - my house can still be deemed your typical 'major fixer-upper' at the moment. Though it has indeed been painted! L'Hamdullah! But, it's dirrrrrrrty to the max, my stuff is shoved in one room, and there is no electricity. Yes, even after signing off on the house 3 weeks ago, the landlord/city/whoever-wants-to-take-responsibilty has 'I will do it tomorrow'-ed the hell out of this situation. I installed lightbulbs today though, and spent a bloody fortune on a refridgerator. Which is rather comical in and of itself.
I pulled out some dough from the bank, headed to the place that I had decided to buy from, and low and behold he had sold the damned thing already. So we go down the road and got a cheaper deal with a kursi (fridge-chair) included... suckaaaaas. We load the think on a donkey-cart to haul it up to my house and I get there (walking) before it does (naturally...). So my host-sister and I go in to clear the muck outta the way for a clear path, I walk through the kitchen entrance and ooooo shit... is this thing... wide enough? Uh-oh. Spaghetti-o's. Right, so I am of course plotting how to get the door frame off since I don't think a fridge is what I want adorning my foyer for the next two years, when delivery man arrives. My host-dad and him heave the thing up the stairs near my kitchen when the wave of expected perplexion hits them... wtf are we going to do. So they sat there contemplating different angles for a while, and then it hit me, take off the fridge door! And we did, and it fit, and all is merry in the land of Donniell's new flat. Well, almost.
Mother Effing Maroc Telecom is trying to make me pay for an ENTIRE YEAR of internet and telephone upfront for my house since I'm not a national. Bulllllpucky! I sat there arguing with them that no other volunteer has had to do that, and basically they told me to suck it. Or something close in Darija. I'm sure of it. The only way around it is to have a Moroccan co-sign to say that yes I will pay for the next two years, and then I can pay monthly like normal people. Here's to asking host-daddy for help again. (You like how even when I want something from my fake father I call him daddy... oh the extra -dy, how you work magic sometimes.)
In other non-house related news, I've been doing some Edgar Allen Poe action at the Dar Chebab. Little Raven, little Tell-Tale Heart, little House of Usher. Kids are eatin' it up, it's soooo awesome. Might do a little Ray Bradbury next month, we'll see how it goes over.
Christmas was truly delightful here for the record. I was expecting it to totally blowwww as how could one special day make up for an entire month of food and commercialism back home. But it more than sufficed, Nathaniel and Stephanie truly provided awesome company - with a little family phone in from Ami and her fam! as well as my own :) - and some awesome food. We seriously pigged out. Completely comotose while watching the first two epidsodes of Big Love (cuz what says Jesus's Birth better than some good old fashioned Morman polygamy?). We even voted, and Big Love came out over It's a Wonderful Life. I don't know if I'm proud or dissapointed at that. And I pretty much got a normal person's year's supply of coffee! Or, in my case, like a month, month and a half tops. Oh and that brings me to something else you people can send me! A thingy of Starbucks flavoured coffee syrup! I bought some in St Andrews and it lasted forever. Delish. Vanilla or Hazelnut please!!!!
That's all folks! I think. xx
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Random Bits and Bobs
I had stingray for lunch Sunday. Yeah, I know. It was super tasty, for the record.
The wind is crazy harsh this week. This is the first time we've had electricity for 24 hours.
It feels absolutely nothing like Christmas, freaks me out a little. But, I'm going to get my bake on this week and cook up some awesome-ness for Friday when make-shift celebrating will commence with my site-mate extraordinare Nathaniel and his girlfriend who will hopefully make it into the country today! Darn you London and your snow! (I'm only playing my dear, I love you London, I'd never talk about you behind your back.)
Speaking of London, if all pans out well, I should be spending the last weekend of May in London! Woo-hoo! Those of you who are UK based had better get your buns down there to see me :).
Went to a wedding Sunday evening. Among the highlights: a fight breaking out mid-ceremony, the freaking, like, 6-inch heels the tiny bride was sporting, and the dog orgy my family and I happened upon on the walk home around midnight. Awkwaaaaaard.
Ah yes, and pick-up line of the week goes to... drumroll... 'I might be in Kech soon and we should make... I mean HANGout :)' Yes, that actually comes from a fellow PCV. Hahahah, I love you Jason. Only just beat out the guy who who was whispering to me in French the entire way home from the Dar Chebab the other night. Oh, or the old wrinkly man with three teeth who winked at me and saved me a seat on the bus on the way home from Kech yesterday; I sat on the floor in the back of the bus. My ass still has burn marks from the engine right below me blasting heat on my rump.
I've been thinking of things you people can send to me by the way! Seriously starting to wish I brought less underwear and more books. Magazines! Rollingstone, Newsweek, and InStyle are top of the list but seriously anything will do! Those of you brits.....somebody please send me a huge bag of Tetley's Tea! And a hot water bottle! Mother of God my feet are cold at night. Fun socks are always appreciated :). Those are pretty much the 'needs' at the moment, but feel free to add what you please! All contributions will be responded to with equally awesome stuff from my current home :). Thanks!
The wind is crazy harsh this week. This is the first time we've had electricity for 24 hours.
It feels absolutely nothing like Christmas, freaks me out a little. But, I'm going to get my bake on this week and cook up some awesome-ness for Friday when make-shift celebrating will commence with my site-mate extraordinare Nathaniel and his girlfriend who will hopefully make it into the country today! Darn you London and your snow! (I'm only playing my dear, I love you London, I'd never talk about you behind your back.)
Speaking of London, if all pans out well, I should be spending the last weekend of May in London! Woo-hoo! Those of you who are UK based had better get your buns down there to see me :).
Went to a wedding Sunday evening. Among the highlights: a fight breaking out mid-ceremony, the freaking, like, 6-inch heels the tiny bride was sporting, and the dog orgy my family and I happened upon on the walk home around midnight. Awkwaaaaaard.
Ah yes, and pick-up line of the week goes to... drumroll... 'I might be in Kech soon and we should make... I mean HANGout :)' Yes, that actually comes from a fellow PCV. Hahahah, I love you Jason. Only just beat out the guy who who was whispering to me in French the entire way home from the Dar Chebab the other night. Oh, or the old wrinkly man with three teeth who winked at me and saved me a seat on the bus on the way home from Kech yesterday; I sat on the floor in the back of the bus. My ass still has burn marks from the engine right below me blasting heat on my rump.
I've been thinking of things you people can send to me by the way! Seriously starting to wish I brought less underwear and more books. Magazines! Rollingstone, Newsweek, and InStyle are top of the list but seriously anything will do! Those of you brits.....somebody please send me a huge bag of Tetley's Tea! And a hot water bottle! Mother of God my feet are cold at night. Fun socks are always appreciated :). Those are pretty much the 'needs' at the moment, but feel free to add what you please! All contributions will be responded to with equally awesome stuff from my current home :). Thanks!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
My Latest Love Affair
I'm publicly admitting to the fact that I am having an affair.
I am completely, hopelessly, and pathetically in love.
With Brigitte Bardot.
A dog.
Who, at the moment, is homeless. Here in Sedona-miz. She is about a 4 month old puppy who is cream and browny-orange, with a scrunched up little nose and adorable - yes puppy dog - eyes that have been asking me to take her in since I got here.
I am in a serious predicament for the following reasons:
1. My biggest issue with my new country of residence is the treatment of animals, or lack there of. I even had a discussion with my host-sister last night about this, and even she is slightly repulsed by the lack of respect given to animals here. Dogs roam the streets at night looking for scraps of food, usually from the souq, to stay alive. It seriously breaks my heart everty time I see one of the dirty, and potentially adorable, rabid mungrals, searching for their next meal. And the thing is, they aren't agressive at all. In fact, quite the opposite, they cower, tail between legs, assuming I'm going to swack them or throw a rock at them like everyone else does.
2. Which brings me brings me to point number 2, the fact that they are Haram, or Islamically Illegal, to have in the household. This point was brought up last night when my host-dad was like, um, you're crazy, you can't do that. And I was like I need to see some proof here buddy, and he was like, well it's not in the Qu'ran actually, but it is in the Hadith, and I was like can you find it for me? And he was like crap, this girl wants proof. He said he would look and is now asking the Imam on clarification about this 'rule' of no puppies.
3. The nearest vet is probably in Marrakech, which is indeed pretty close, but let's just picture the blonde girl taking public transport for a little over an hour with a freshly washed puppy in, most likely, a box (at least its not a purse). Like I didn't attract enough attention before.
Anyway, that's my story. Ah right, I forgot to mention, the puppy was originally named Linda (why they picked a mid-thirties soccer mom name for a freaking adorable doggy, I will never know), but when I got home last night whining about how cute she was, my host dad was like ' You're like Brigitte Bardot! She loved animals!' She may have been a vegetarian hottie, but she was also sort of a racist and got fined 5 times for 'inciting racial hatred' in France. ... Brigitte it is!
EDIT: After discussion with some local friends, turns out keeping dogs in the house is not so 'haram', it is 'something that begins with an 'm' that i can't remember right now', ultimately it is more 'frowned upon' than it is 'illegal'. A lot is written about the subject in the Hadith, including reasons why and why not to have them around. There are apparently four different exceptions that do allow someone to have a dog in the house: hunting, herding, land protection, and blindness. Muhammad ordered that they all be killed, back in the day, especially the black ones as they nullify prayers, stop angels from entering the household, and rewards for good deeds will be deducted daily from those who keep dogs as pets. Utensils that had been licked by dogs were to be washed 7 times and rubbed with soil the 8th time in order to be properly cleaned. Around the time of the prophet, obviously modern medicine wasn't functioning so almost all were rabid and feces was deposited at will. Also, a biggie, Gabriel wouldn't enter the household of the Prophet on one occasion, siting the reason as the presence of a dog.
After researching a bit online, reading quite a few articles, and speaking with some Muslim friends I found the subject really interesting as it is indeed quite close to my heart. In the end, I guess I can understand their stance coming from their point of view. From my point of view, however, I couldn't love Gustav and Killer more! (Or little Brigitte for that matter.)
I am completely, hopelessly, and pathetically in love.
With Brigitte Bardot.
A dog.
Who, at the moment, is homeless. Here in Sedona-miz. She is about a 4 month old puppy who is cream and browny-orange, with a scrunched up little nose and adorable - yes puppy dog - eyes that have been asking me to take her in since I got here.
I am in a serious predicament for the following reasons:
1. My biggest issue with my new country of residence is the treatment of animals, or lack there of. I even had a discussion with my host-sister last night about this, and even she is slightly repulsed by the lack of respect given to animals here. Dogs roam the streets at night looking for scraps of food, usually from the souq, to stay alive. It seriously breaks my heart everty time I see one of the dirty, and potentially adorable, rabid mungrals, searching for their next meal. And the thing is, they aren't agressive at all. In fact, quite the opposite, they cower, tail between legs, assuming I'm going to swack them or throw a rock at them like everyone else does.
2. Which brings me brings me to point number 2, the fact that they are Haram, or Islamically Illegal, to have in the household. This point was brought up last night when my host-dad was like, um, you're crazy, you can't do that. And I was like I need to see some proof here buddy, and he was like, well it's not in the Qu'ran actually, but it is in the Hadith, and I was like can you find it for me? And he was like crap, this girl wants proof. He said he would look and is now asking the Imam on clarification about this 'rule' of no puppies.
3. The nearest vet is probably in Marrakech, which is indeed pretty close, but let's just picture the blonde girl taking public transport for a little over an hour with a freshly washed puppy in, most likely, a box (at least its not a purse). Like I didn't attract enough attention before.
Anyway, that's my story. Ah right, I forgot to mention, the puppy was originally named Linda (why they picked a mid-thirties soccer mom name for a freaking adorable doggy, I will never know), but when I got home last night whining about how cute she was, my host dad was like ' You're like Brigitte Bardot! She loved animals!' She may have been a vegetarian hottie, but she was also sort of a racist and got fined 5 times for 'inciting racial hatred' in France. ... Brigitte it is!
EDIT: After discussion with some local friends, turns out keeping dogs in the house is not so 'haram', it is 'something that begins with an 'm' that i can't remember right now', ultimately it is more 'frowned upon' than it is 'illegal'. A lot is written about the subject in the Hadith, including reasons why and why not to have them around. There are apparently four different exceptions that do allow someone to have a dog in the house: hunting, herding, land protection, and blindness. Muhammad ordered that they all be killed, back in the day, especially the black ones as they nullify prayers, stop angels from entering the household, and rewards for good deeds will be deducted daily from those who keep dogs as pets. Utensils that had been licked by dogs were to be washed 7 times and rubbed with soil the 8th time in order to be properly cleaned. Around the time of the prophet, obviously modern medicine wasn't functioning so almost all were rabid and feces was deposited at will. Also, a biggie, Gabriel wouldn't enter the household of the Prophet on one occasion, siting the reason as the presence of a dog.
After researching a bit online, reading quite a few articles, and speaking with some Muslim friends I found the subject really interesting as it is indeed quite close to my heart. In the end, I guess I can understand their stance coming from their point of view. From my point of view, however, I couldn't love Gustav and Killer more! (Or little Brigitte for that matter.)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Obama in Oslo
So after sufficiently avoiding reality for 30 minutes after waking up this morning (too cold, didn't want to leave fetal position), I had a glorious shower (ahem, bucket bath), and headed to the tv as it has finally been repaired! Our tilfeza was down for the count for a while there, but made a healthy comeback and bbc news was calling to me. I flipped it on just the moment before the Nobel Peace Prize was being presented, streaming live from Oslo. My host mom was like 'your friend! Our friend! Obama! What are they talking about?' I poorly, and I'm talking very poorly attempted to translate the general idea of what was happening: what the NPP is, the controversy, er debate, surrounding our president's receival of the prize, and where the hell Norway was in respect to Morocco, in shitty Darija. By some act of God, I think she got the general idea. Mental high-five to me!
During the event, a few cousins and kids dropped by from Marrakech and were providing amusing ambient noise behind me while I was of course glued to the screen. Comments included:
'Ahh, mratu zweena!' = 'Wow, Mrs Obama is beautiful!',
'Alash Obama nn3s? Dyalu, yak?' = 'Why is he sleeping, he's getting the award right?'
and, my personal favourite,
'Wesh ddo drrbha? Shuft shar dyalha!' = 'Did she stick her finger in a socket? Look at her hair!' - in reference to the chick playing the cello is the smokin' red dress and gold arm cuff.
This is not to mention the major boob flash I got while breast feeding commenced in the background. Good morning Vietnam!
Anyway, amongst the obvious over-dubbed commentary by the BBC presenter/know-it-all, he was blatently of the camp that Obama was not deserving, the bias exuding from every word coming out of is regionally-indistinct-and-thus-bbc-appropriate diction. What delighted me the most though, was his dialogue with the 2005 recipient of the NPP, in which he said: 'So, ultimately, he's getting this award for... not being George W. Bush?', in which the reply was 'Um, precisely.' (I may or not be paraphrasing.) Good enough reason for me.
No matter what your stance is: totally deservant, ambivolent, complete criticism, you can't deny the goosebumps that appear every time the man has an opportunity to speak. I could ramble on about how much I adore him speaking using far too many, probably food related, adjectives, but hot damn, two thumbs up. Themere fact that he can complete a sentence with less than three grammatical errors is a triumph over our last President. And shout-out to all of my fellow past IR students outta St Andrews, all that Just War talk, and Use of Force, and other rather typical, if not for his flair, political jargon threw me back to four in the morning revising of essays with the ringing of Ian Hall's, Tony Lang's, and Patrick Hayden's voices in my ears. I miss it. Parts of it. Most of it.
Moral of the story is, that little blip of my President receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, made me freaking proud of what I'm doing, have done, and am trying to do. Props to my fellow PCVs. We matter. We are part of a bigger picture. The fact we haven't showered in a week (yay for today!), have no idea what movies or music are popular, let alone relavent, back home and shamefully dream of sushi and corn dogs (wait, just me? shit.) pales in comparison to what we are doing. Maybe not even 'do'ing sometimes, but representing, embodying. Though riddled with nauseating cliché, naivité, and anything else ending in an accent ague, I do believe in peace. I enjoyed the appropriately selected quote Obama chose from Kennedy, in which he said: "Let us focus," he said, "on a more practical, more attainable peace, based not on a sudden revolution in human nature but on a gradual evolution in human institutions." We are a part of one of those institutions. Pat on backs, all around.
During the event, a few cousins and kids dropped by from Marrakech and were providing amusing ambient noise behind me while I was of course glued to the screen. Comments included:
'Ahh, mratu zweena!' = 'Wow, Mrs Obama is beautiful!',
'Alash Obama nn3s? Dyalu, yak?' = 'Why is he sleeping, he's getting the award right?'
and, my personal favourite,
'Wesh ddo drrbha? Shuft shar dyalha!' = 'Did she stick her finger in a socket? Look at her hair!' - in reference to the chick playing the cello is the smokin' red dress and gold arm cuff.
This is not to mention the major boob flash I got while breast feeding commenced in the background. Good morning Vietnam!
Anyway, amongst the obvious over-dubbed commentary by the BBC presenter/know-it-all, he was blatently of the camp that Obama was not deserving, the bias exuding from every word coming out of is regionally-indistinct-and-thus-bbc-appropriate diction. What delighted me the most though, was his dialogue with the 2005 recipient of the NPP, in which he said: 'So, ultimately, he's getting this award for... not being George W. Bush?', in which the reply was 'Um, precisely.' (I may or not be paraphrasing.) Good enough reason for me.
No matter what your stance is: totally deservant, ambivolent, complete criticism, you can't deny the goosebumps that appear every time the man has an opportunity to speak. I could ramble on about how much I adore him speaking using far too many, probably food related, adjectives, but hot damn, two thumbs up. Themere fact that he can complete a sentence with less than three grammatical errors is a triumph over our last President. And shout-out to all of my fellow past IR students outta St Andrews, all that Just War talk, and Use of Force, and other rather typical, if not for his flair, political jargon threw me back to four in the morning revising of essays with the ringing of Ian Hall's, Tony Lang's, and Patrick Hayden's voices in my ears. I miss it. Parts of it. Most of it.
Moral of the story is, that little blip of my President receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, made me freaking proud of what I'm doing, have done, and am trying to do. Props to my fellow PCVs. We matter. We are part of a bigger picture. The fact we haven't showered in a week (yay for today!), have no idea what movies or music are popular, let alone relavent, back home and shamefully dream of sushi and corn dogs (wait, just me? shit.) pales in comparison to what we are doing. Maybe not even 'do'ing sometimes, but representing, embodying. Though riddled with nauseating cliché, naivité, and anything else ending in an accent ague, I do believe in peace. I enjoyed the appropriately selected quote Obama chose from Kennedy, in which he said: "Let us focus," he said, "on a more practical, more attainable peace, based not on a sudden revolution in human nature but on a gradual evolution in human institutions." We are a part of one of those institutions. Pat on backs, all around.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Needs more cowbell... in 5 days
I'm a wee bit peeved, my friends. This past weekend, on through this week, is the Marrakech International Film festival. The likes of Jen Aniston and Gwenyth Paltrow were seen last week, even Sir Ben Kingsley is stopping by on Wednesday. But who is coming tonight you ask? Which modern day icon of down right awesome bad-ass-ness is showing face this fine evening? Mother effing Christopher Walken, that's who. And do I have the ability to go? Of course NOT. Gahhhh, the man whose face has haunted me since he was the Headless Horseman back in '99? Whose voice has rung true, pleading only for more cowbell? Who could tolerate Alicia Silverstone long enough to complete the filming of Excess Baggage? Catch Me if You Can? Wedding Crashers? And the creme de la creme - Fatboy Slim's 'Weapon of Choice' video where he triumphantly struts, 2-steps, and flies about that hotel lobby?!?! I wanna gooooo mommyyyyyyyyyyyy.
Earlier this week, Nathaniel and I took a little day trip with our friend... Bob (he's a local who runs a bbq place of sorts)... to some little duars (small villages) near the mountains. We had originally planned to bike the whole trip, but after finding out it was actually 23km... one way... we decided a taxi was our best option. So we successfully taxied 19km of it, and walked the rest. All in all, we were fed too much, took some beautiful pictures, and understood pretty much nothing as they were most comfortable speaking Berber (hi, I'm Donniell, I'm learning Arabic). The best part of the day, however, were delightful little snipits that came out of our friend Bob while walking to and from the taxi stand:
out of the blue - 'I tried your nuts last night' -Bob to Nathaniel
out of the blue - 'huevos..... huevos' -Bob to no one inparticular
in context of chickens making some noise on the side of the road- 'those are some young cocks right there. young cock. cock. young cock.' -Bob to both of us
Good times.
Oh yeah, I think I'm going to start a 'best pick-up line of the week' bit here in blogland, as there is an abundance pretty much everyday, and some are just totally worth the mention. This week's 'best pick-up line of the week' goes to a lucky fella in Marrakech, who, while I walked by with about 8 other Americans and my host sister Ouidad, goes 'Oh, gazelle, in 5 days you will be so beautiful!'... 5 days buddy? You think you're going to get in my pants by telling me I may or may not look good in five days? Douchebag.
Earlier this week, Nathaniel and I took a little day trip with our friend... Bob (he's a local who runs a bbq place of sorts)... to some little duars (small villages) near the mountains. We had originally planned to bike the whole trip, but after finding out it was actually 23km... one way... we decided a taxi was our best option. So we successfully taxied 19km of it, and walked the rest. All in all, we were fed too much, took some beautiful pictures, and understood pretty much nothing as they were most comfortable speaking Berber (hi, I'm Donniell, I'm learning Arabic). The best part of the day, however, were delightful little snipits that came out of our friend Bob while walking to and from the taxi stand:
out of the blue - 'I tried your nuts last night' -Bob to Nathaniel
out of the blue - 'huevos..... huevos' -Bob to no one inparticular
in context of chickens making some noise on the side of the road- 'those are some young cocks right there. young cock. cock. young cock.' -Bob to both of us
Good times.
Oh yeah, I think I'm going to start a 'best pick-up line of the week' bit here in blogland, as there is an abundance pretty much everyday, and some are just totally worth the mention. This week's 'best pick-up line of the week' goes to a lucky fella in Marrakech, who, while I walked by with about 8 other Americans and my host sister Ouidad, goes 'Oh, gazelle, in 5 days you will be so beautiful!'... 5 days buddy? You think you're going to get in my pants by telling me I may or may not look good in five days? Douchebag.
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