One Wild and Precious Life

I have been reading a book— Braiding Sweetgrass —loaned to me by a dear friend who said that she thought I would appreciate it. She was right. It contains some of the most beautiful and poetic non-fiction writing I have read in a long time. Each chapter is like a lovely gift to unwrap. In a recent chapter, I was struck by the description of weaving a basket because it reminded me of work that I have been involved with for the past three years with a non-profit organization in Morocco. As I read about the process and the lessons learned from the process of basket weaving, I thought of the Moroccan farmers, the land, the planting of fruit trees, and the sustainable economic development of communities. The author describes the challenges of starting a basket: “The first two rows of the basket are the hardest. On the first go-round, the splint seems to have a will of its own and wants to wander from the over-under rhythm around the circle. It resists the pattern and looks all loose a...

Friday morning:  I'll just have my coffee and then get started on my work. Well, I might as well check the news while drinking my coffee. Oh, here's an article my mom would like; I'll text it to her. <texts with mom for a while about the weather in her state and mine> Let me make myself a hearty breakfast so I can work through lunch. I might as well watch last night's Jeopardy while eating my breakfast. Oh, I'd better clean up these dishes before going up to get dressed. <washes dishes, wipes down sink, counters, stove, and range hood - accidentally knocks the range hood air filter off and breaks it - gets tape to fix it - puts back all supplies> Let me make the bed while I'm up here getting dressed. Oh, I forgot that I have all this jewelry from my summer outfits to put away. <sorts necklaces, earrings, and bracelets into compartments in jewelry storage containers - places them back in closet> Huh, I should take out these fall shoes and bring ...

Below the hotel window are the sounds of families going to watch the Semana Santa processions. Lured by children's laughter and women's voices, footsteps on cobblestones echoing up from Calle del Infante, we venture out on our first evening in Madrid and follow the crowd to Plaza Mayor. We watch the costaleros bearing aloft their saints, candles, flowers, and carved Cristos on their slow pilgrimage across the old town. Men in green nazareno robes of penitence, eerily pointed hoods and covered faces in mourning for their sins of the last year, pass by in all solemnity. Spain is revealing herself to us with each new street corner we turn. Dining  al fresco  on the edge of the plaza brings the popular delights of bocadillos de calamares , music, and general goodwill as we take in the sights and sounds of this golden hour. With our remembered high school Spanish and their bits of English, somehow we get by and understand one another. After dinner, we stroll along the main boule...

Daylight Savings Time just began in Morocco. It goes from March 27 through May 8. We start by setting the hour back and then ahead at the end, the opposite of the U.S. strategy. At first, I was confused, but then I realized that it covers the period of Ramadan, which will begin around April 2 and last until May 2 this year, depending on whether the moon cycle predictions are correct. This brings the day to a close a little earlier so that people don't have to wait until 8 or 9pm to break their fast with their Iftar meal. That makes perfect sense to me now that I put two plus two together. My neighborhood is a collection of people and vehicles and street scenes. I begin the day with a cup of coffee on my terrace and watch the scenes unfold. From my perch, I see the signs for the local school and for the Royal Opera. The first people out are cleaning the sidewalks in front of their businesses. The street sweepers come along, and so do the farmers with their horse-drawn carts going to...

My landlord is French. I do not speak French, and he has very little English or even Arabic, but we somehow get by. I did not take French in school. Yet, I recently had a meal at the neighborhood seafood place, El Snack Bahriya, in which I ordered in French and conversed in French with the waiter. I don't understand how that is possible, but there is no denying that it happened. I am in a one-bedroom apartment with a lovely sitting area and small kitchen on Avenue Hassan II in Marrakech. I can sit on the terrace if I like and watch the little yellow taxis, the tiny European cars, the Mercedes SUVs, the motorbikes, and the bicyclists go by, as well as the occasional horse-drawn carriage with tourists out for a ride. I am not a tourist. There is Farouk café next door and Clay Oven, an Indian restaurant, across the street, teasing me with its enticing scents and higher prices, but I can still get a full dinner there for under $20. A small pizza at the café, though, is only $2.50, and ...

I am borrowing my daughter's Chromebook for my work in Africa for the next several months. She bought it just a little more than three months ago. It was functioning fine... and then it wasn't. I woke up after charging it overnight to find that it would not power on. Last night (Saturday), I took it to Best Buy from whom she purchased it as well as purchasing a 3-year warranty. After I explained what happened to it to the clerk at the Geek Squad, and showed him the receipt, he declared, "No problem. We will send it out for repair at no charge." "Can I get it back within two weeks, though? I am leaving for three months' work in Africa on February 19, and I need it by then." "We cannot expedite shipping." "You can't? Or you won't? See, I think you can expedite shipping, and you should in this instance, because we bought an apparently defective computer and a warranty, and we deserve for you to make this happen." "I can...

It snowed today. Beautiful. Serene. Quiet and white and delicate. I watched from a warm interior, and I worked a little, cooked a little, walked in it at sunset to buy bread from the local store for tonight's dinner of vegetable soup. I was quite happy, quite contented. I told a friend what I was up to, and he, living as he does in Morocco, remarked that he missed the rain and the snow. I considered this and reflected that I take for granted the regularity of rain and snow in my part of the world. I had the luxury of enjoying the beauty of it without having to think about what it means to live in a place of drought.  An article I recently co-authored was published last week. It is about renewable energy in Morocco and projects that help mitigate the effects of climate change: soil erosion, carbon emissions, water resource management. It is one thing to write about it, to apply for grants for projects to help those who are not as lucky as I am, but quite another to live without reli...

First day of the new year - 2022 is full of promise and unexpected things. I embrace the unknown.  Things to be grateful for: - I own a car and can pay for gas to travel. I have the freedom of adventure. My world is not circumscribed by my neighborhood or town. I know I am lucky in this. - I have access to technology to communicate with anyone, anywhere. I can reach out to loved ones and strangers alike. I can check on people and make sure they are safe and well. I can learn about the world. I know that not every person, especially not every female, has this access. - I made it through another year without getting sick. I did not lose my family. I did not lose my job or my home. There are people working everywhere, every day, to bring this strange and tragic time to an end. I can support their work by staying informed and making reasonable choices, keeping vaccinated and boosted, wearing a mask, keeping my distance. I am lucky that my life allows me to make those choices. - I am lo...

To be honest... Fall 2021 might well have been the toughest semester of all for me. After a semester interrupted by the sudden closing of the planet due to the pandemic followed by a full academic year teaching remotely with all courses online, I thought the return to the classroom in September would be easier. I was wrong. Being on campus for the first few days was nerve-racking as I navigated the doorways, stairways, and hallways in fear, not knowing who among the students and staff were vaccinated, and vigilantly policing the mask mandate: "Please cover your nose... pull up your mask...go get your mask from your car..."  After some time, I adjusted to it, but I never felt fully comfortable, and even attending meetings and hosting office hours online instead of in-person did not diminish the nagging feeling that I just did not want to be there. I just wanted to teach and then return to the safety of my home. I began to wonder whether this feeling might be the new normal for...

My grand summer adventure in Morocco is concluded.  I have returned to America.  But my journey has just begun, and I am not done with Morocco yet.  In fact, there is much more ahead... Last week, I awoke to a day in Marrakech of 108 degrees.  I never needed an umbrella during the almost five weeks there, but the skies outside of my apartment looked ominously dark.  I decided it was time to go.  In a matter of hours, I changed my flight, packed my bags, tidied my apartment,  lugged two suitcases and a carry-on down five flights of stairs, gave away perishable food to my apartment complex guard, turned in the keys, notified my teacher that I would not be able to make our evening lesson, texted my husband to pick me up at JFK that night, lugged my bags out to the avenue, hailed a taxi, and made my way to the airport.  Deposited in the departures area by my cab driver, I was immediately approached by a stranger to assist with my bags, but I declin...

“Jam Session” 25 July 2018, Café Clock, Kasbah, Marrakech         What an amazing find!  A hip place in the southern section of the kasbah (the older part of the medina) – new juxtaposed against old.  Trendy music in a funky ambiance.  A cozy downstairs courtyard and seating, and a shaded terrace upstairs.  Vegetarian and vegan fare or meat, whatever your preference.  Activities every night.  Tonight, I’ll have dinner and take in a jam session.  I will come back tomorrow for a cooking class and maybe stay for evening storytelling.  I took a cab here driven by a fellow named Ahmed.  We talked in Arabic for the whole 20-minute ride: I told him I’m American; I am in Morocco studying Arabic; in America I teach English; my husband and daughter are in America; and I’m 54; he told me he is 46, that he has two boys – Elias and Hamid – and one daughter – Hima – and that his wife is expecting their fourth child (to which I repl...

Lying in my bed looking at the blue sky and sunlight through my curtained window, I hear the daily constant of nearby construction.  Each day there is the banging of steel girders and of mallet on wedge as bricks are pounded into place.  But today my attention is drawn out the window into the courtyard below by two turbaned street musicians, one with a simple, hand-held, bendir snare drum and the other with a traditional ghaita flute.  They are walking the streets playing for money, and I watch as a young boy hands them a coin through a gate and another from a first-floor window.  They protest that the amount is not adequate and there is a heated exchange until the boy runs away and the other closes the window.  As they walk away, they suddenly look up to see me in my fifth-floor window.  They wave, I wave, and I close the window and retreat. After a cold, delicious midday salad from Les 2 Freres, listening to a mentally-ill elder shout vehemently...

I walk out to the avenue to catch a taxi.   As I stand on the side of the road checking my phone, I realize that I am about to step on a dead cat and her kitten, decomposing in the dried grass under the African sun, the kitten’s mouth still searching the mother’s belly for the milk that would not come.   In Morocco, cats are everywhere and welcomed, but there were not enough scraps for this one.   Today is my last class at the language center.   I would like more, but I did not arrange for more, and now there is no spot for me.   I could join a group, but they are more advanced.   I don’t want to slow their progress, so I decline.   I feel awkward.   I have brought my camera today.   I ask another student to take a picture of me and Saida in front of the board with my writing in Arabic on it.    Instead of going home, I wait for bus #1 in the opposite direction.   It is a long wait.   A young woman and a middle-aged...

Some thoughts from the past few weeks... 7 July Yesterday was my first full day on my own without a translator.   It was harder than I thought it would be.   As it was Friday, most shops were closed from 12-3 for the sabbath.   In the afternoon, I went up to the avenue to buy an onion for dinner and some toilet paper and paper towels and bottled water.   I asked for papier toilette and got what I needed, but the word I had for napkin was wrong.   I then tried papier macula and made a mouth-wiping motion.   He understood, my local grocer, a kind man maybe in his 40s.   After depositing my items at home, I went back out and found a taxi.   The driver was kind and helpful.   I showed him the name and address of the shop.   I’m in a residential area, so I had to walk a bit to find and flag down a yellow petit taxi.   I asked him to use the meter, which he did, no problem – mashi mushkilah .   He picked up another passenger al...