TIMELINE OF OUR TUMOR

At least 5 or 6 years ago – It began to grow… unnoticed.

Fall 2007 – Hassan started having simple partial seizures in his right arm. Perhaps 1 to 2 times a week. His would hold his forearm to his body and his hand would show a very slight tremor.

Spring 2008 – Seizure activity seemed to disappear.

Summer 2008 – When we were in the US for the summer, the seizures returned, with much more frequency, this time as interesting little laughing fits. Perhaps 1 to 3 times a day.

Saturday, 6 September 2008 – Visited neurologist #1 in Casablanca. She did an EEG, diagnosed probable slight epilepsy, prescribed an anti-seizure med (Depakene), and scheduled us to come back in a month. She told us to get an MRI done before we returned to rule out other causes of the seizures.

Monday, 15 September 2008 – Phoned the neuro to ask if it was OK to stay at 500mg a day of the drug (he was supposed to take 250mg for three days, then 500mg for 4 days, 750mg for 6 days, then go up to the prescribed dose of 1,000mg per day. However, when he hit 750mg per day, it made him feel terrible. He woke up in the middle of the night to vomit. He felt dizzy most of the day.). The doctor said yes, that was OK for now, and we would see about it further when we came to see her.

Saturday, 11 October 2008 – Got the MRI done (Because of the holiday that falls at the end of Ramadan, we got busy. He went to visit his family, and we had delayed the MRI and return to neurologist #1 by one week.).

Monday, 13 October 2008 – We picked up the MRI films from the radiologist’s office and took them directly over to the office of neurologist #1. She took a look at them and immediately informed us that there was a mass in the left side of his brain. She says that she will keep the films and go over them personally with the radiologist. She tells us that he MUST ramp up to 1,000mg per day of the drug. When we felt scolded about that, we reminded her that he called to check her OK. She explained that she didn’t have his file in front of her when she agreed. She says to come back to see her in a month and plan a follow-up MRI for 6 weeks. She says that if it is a tumor and we are talking surgery, that we will need to move very quickly at that point.

Tuesday, 14 October 2008 – I receive information that a co-worker, Ali, has a cousin who is a neurologist here. I talk to him and, no, the cousin is a dermatologist. However, she works in a clinic with a neurologist who she would recommend. We make the appointment to consult neurologist #2.

Thursday, 16 October 2008 – When Hassan runs in to pick up the MRI films from neurologist #1, she says that she has studied them with the radiologist and there is most certainly a tumor. She says we need to talk surgery. She says that the surgery would be approximately 50,000 Moroccan Dirhams (MAD) (approximately equal to US$5,882) and that she will show him the clinic and operating room where she works with the most state-of-the-art equipment from the US. Appointment with neurologist #2 at noon goes well. He takes much more time to study the images and explain what he sees. He speaks better English, so I immediately feel more comfortable discussing the situation with him. He says we could drill a small hole and take a small sample of tissue for a biopsy. Tumors are graded on a scale of 1 to 4. The bigger the number, the faster growing and more dangerous. 1 and 2 are benign, 3 and 4 are malignant. Even if we were to discover that the tumor is benign (which neurologist #2 estimates that it is… he expects it to be grade 1), we still have a tumor pressing on the brain and causing seizure activity. He recommends surgery. He says we could do surgery next week. We can expect Hassan to be in ICU for a day and then moved to a regular room for a 4 or 5 day stay. When I ask my husband if he feels any more comfortable with this doctor, he looks at me blankly and shrugs.

Friday, 17 October 2008 – We phone to schedule surgery with neurologist #2. I feel comfortable that surgery is the right choice, however much less certainty about who I should trust with my loved one’s head. When Ali phones his cousin to set things up, he tells me the surgery is set for 20 October. Whoa! Too fast! I have many questions about the where and how of the surgery, so the schedule is set to visit the surgeon again on 23 October and have surgery scheduled for 27 October. I am urged by a few friends (one also being my boss) to write an email to the school community to let everyone know what is going on. The news will leak, right? Might as well be the correct news, and from me. Before I write that email, I pull aside a few friends here who I have not yet had the chance to tell in person. When I tell Lizzy, she offers to contact a few doctors from her way-back files in Boston if it might help us to get more information and make the best decisions.

Saturday, 18 October 2008 – Though Hassan did not really want to tell his mother and worry her about all of this, I insisted. He called last night to discuss with her that he wanted her to come for a visit. We had agreed that he should wait and disclose the full truth when she’s already here. She and his sister, Keltoum, got on a bus tonight to arrive early the next morning.

Sunday, 19 October 2008 – Lizzy emailed the two doctors she knew in Boston (Drs. Daffner and Budson). Both of those doctors wrote back quickly and agreed on two names to refer us to (Drs. Wen and Black, both also in Boston). She emailed both of these new names, and briefly explained the situation. By the middle of this night, both Drs. Wen and Black had responded, agreed to look at any images we could send, and as well… something interesting. Dr. Black gave the name of Dr. Mustapha El Azouzi in Rabat, Morocco. Dr. Black says he is a particularly good surgeon if we wish to consult him.

Monday, 20 October 2008 – Ali has spoken with neurologist #2 (via his cousin) about the estimate on cost for this surgery. He tells me that normally the surgery would be about 70,000 MAD (US$8,235), but that with the family connection the surgeon could probably do it for about 35,000-40,000 MAD (US$4,117 – 4,705). These estimates are, I believe, for surgery only… not clinic fees, anesthesiologist, etc…. but I already can’t believe the difference in the cost of medical care here vs. the states. ALSO, I asked one of my good friends Barbara to help me out by trying to contact Dr. El Azouzi in Rabat. As we search for contact information online, we discover more and more about his ties with Dr. Black… and we discover Dr. Black is a pretty big deal. He’s a neurosurgery professor at Harvard, among many other things. Anyone he recommends is worth checking out, right? Barbara’s husband, Mohamed, knows many people in Rabat, and he sets to work trying to contact Dr. El Azouzi. But not before telling us, “Oh, I know him. He’s the doctor that cared for my father when he had a stroke.” Yet again, it proves to be a small, small world. Hassan’s sister, Keltoum, had to return home on the 8 hour bus trip today in order to be at work for the week.

Tuesday, 21 October 2008 – Mohamed continues trying to contact Dr. El Azouzi, to no avail. We decide to track him down the old fashioned way. On foot. We plan to go to Rabat on Wednesday, and Momamed works a few angles. He gives us a couple of different contact names who can help us find this elusive doctor. Barbara even pulls in a favor for us… a friend of hers, Peter, will pick us up at the train station tomorrow morning and take us to the hospital.

Wednesday, 22 October 2008 – We arrive in Rabat at 9am. It’s pouring cats and dogs. Peter picks us up and drives us out toward the hospital, however we can’t find the clinic we think we’re supposed to be headed for. Peter calls his sister in law, Wafaa, a dermatologist, and we go to pick her up so she can show us where to go. When we arrive at her office, she’s on the phone with Dr. El Azouzi’s office making an appointment for us to see him. At first his office suggests an appointment date a month away (That’s normal for the states, but quite abnormal here. This guy must be busy!). Wafaa begs. They agree. At about 10:45am, we have an appointment for noon. Peter and Wafaa take us (me, Hassan, his mother) out to lunch and then help us find the Dr’s office. They leave us to it. We were told the Dr. was in surgery and running late. He arrives in the office at approximately 2:30, and we’re across the desk from him by about 2:45. Let me stop here to say that I was really hoping that I could make it make sense to have surgery in Casablanca. It’s close to home, we have the “family” connection, etc. What I’m really hoping will happen here is that I say to Dr. El Azouzi, “Are you familiar with neurologist #2?” And he will reply, “Oh, my, yes. He is an excellent doctor. You are in fine hands.” Then my butterflies will die and we can feel calm and secure. I’ll save the suspense… things do not happen as I had wished. They’re better. Dr. El Azouzi, neurologist #3, examines Hassan, looks at the MRI films, and talks to us frankly about what he sees. He explains a lot, and has a very soothing manner. He thinks the tumor is a Grade II just by looking at the films. When he asks me if I speak English, I tell him how we got his name from Dr. Black in Boston. This thrills him, and there happens to be a photo behind my head of him with Dr. Black, Mrs. Black, and the previous king of Morocco. Wow. He gushes about what a great man Dr. Black is, and how good. He tells us that his consultation will be free of charge. We discuss how difficult it is to make the choices of where and who for the surgery. He has to turn to answer his office phone briefly, and I use that pause to ask Hassan if he can think of any other questions we need to ask right now. He says, “I feel like if I am with this doctor, I am okay.” Finally! Now he gets that “comfort level” I kept asking him about. When I ask Dr. El Azouzi one last question before leaving, it is one of those uncomfortable ones about money. I asked what ballpark we could expect. We do have insurance here, but you’ve gotta pay up front and then get the reimbursement months later. He said, as far as the surgery itself was concerned, he could do it almost for free. That left clinic fees and anesthesiologist fees totaling approximately
30,000 MAD (US$3,529). He could do the surgery on Friday. He expects Hassan not to need ICU care at all, and only a 2 day-ish clinic stay. I explain that I would like to wait a few days in order for my mother to arrive and be with us. We take our leave to consider all things.

Thursday, 23 October 2008 – As Hassan and I discuss things, we’re still reeling over how much we love Dr. El Azouzi. As it turns out, the Dr. is traveling to France for a meeting in about a week. If we don’t schedule surgery for tomorrow, we would need to wait until he returns from Paris. Not good to operate and run, right? Hassan feels good about the decision now, and he doesn’t really want to anticipate surgery for two weeks. So, we phone to schedule surgery for tomorrow morning. Hassan goes to get the steroid shot he needs to get a day before surgery in order to “soften” his brain. We phone another of his sisters, Yemina, to travel up by bus and meet us in Rabat tomorrow morning (His mother does not speak Arabic, only their dialect of Berber, so she’s a bit more of a stranger in a strange land here than me). I decide we need to go get a hotel tonight where his mother and sister can stay through his hospital stay. If everything is under control, I’m hoping he can go into surgery with no worries about all of us. One of the school drivers, Abderrahman, agrees to take us in the school van. My friends Barbara and Jodi are going along. It’s like a road trip. We stop for snacks and everything. Jodi keeps saying, “I can’t believe we’re taking him to have brain surgery!” When we arrive in Rabat, it’s raining yet again. We drive around for hours trying to find a reasonably priced hotel, not a total dump. Difficult, apparently due to a conference or two in town for the weekend. Finally, at around 10pm, we luck out, and get settled for the night. As we’re driving around, one of the teachers is online at the school helping to make plane reservations for my mom for the next day.

Friday, 24 October 2008 – Surgery day! His sister arrives at the hotel just in time to leave for the clinic. Finally we’re all taken care of. We arrive at the clinic at around 9am. By 9:30ish they’re taking him into prep. Perhaps 9:45ish, they wheel him away. I thought he was going to have a blood workup with the anesthesiologist. At 10ish, Dr. El Azouzi comes by the waiting area to tell us not to worry, everything will go just fine. I spoke to friends at the school at approximately 11am and reported that he was in prep. I told them I would phone when he was off to surgery. At 11:30ish, I began to get a little suspicious that I had misunderstood what was happening. The Dr. reported back at about 12:00 that the surgery had gone very well!! I didn’t even know he was in surgery! By 1:00pm or so we are in a private room and he is drifting in and out of the anesthesia. By that evening, he’s fully coherent and we’re amazed. The urinary catheter is causing him much more discomfort than his head. His sister Yemina and I go to the pharmacy to pick up meds he needs (things are done very differently here), and we also take samples of the tumor tissue to a pathology lab across town. They said the results would be ready on Wednesday. I got to stay in the clinic with Hassan, and his mother and sister retired to the nearby hotel.

Saturday, 25 October 2008 – My mother arrived in Casablanca this morning, and friends from the school picked her up. Hassan was still napping quite a bit, but doing amazingly well. Dr. El Azouzi stopped in and said he anticipated releasing us to go home tomorrow. Friends from the school visited and brought my Mom as well. Everyone was amazed that Hassan had just had brain surgery. Doesn’t seem real. He got up and walked a bit today.

Sunday, 26 October 2008 – Released from the clinic. Went home, got him cozy on the couch. The trip tired him out, but otherwise, he’s doing great. His mom and sister are keeping him more than well fed.

Monday, 27 October 2008 – Hassan’s sister Yemina heads home. I go back to work. This is when it comes in spectacularly handy to live in an apartment above the school offices.

Wednesday, 29 October 2008 – Today Hassan felt GREAT. He was talkative, laughing, and joking. Punchy, I called it. He had several visitors, and things were looking peachy. We tried to phone for the results of the pathology report. The lab says they sent it, but will release nothing via telephone. The doctor’s office claims not to have received it yet.

Thursday, 30 October 2008 – In the wee hours of the morning, Hassan woke up and got out of bed. I figured he was going to the bathroom, and I asked if he was OK. He said yes, but a few minutes later, my mom ran into our bedroom and said, “I think Hassan is having a seizure.” Sure enough, grand mal. He had walked into the living room where his mom was sleeping on the couch. He sat down and started stretching his neck and arms. Then, whammo. We could not get in contact with Dr. El Azouzi, so we took him to a 24-hr clinic here in Casablanca. Two teachers, Lori and Barbara drove us around looking for a clinic. I seriously kicked myself for not having a back-up plan here. We finally find a clinic and they admit him to ICU. There’s nowhere for me to wait. They say a dr. will be there in the morning and they’ll do a CT scan at 9am. On the way back to that clinic for the CT scan, I finally hear back from Dr. El Azouzi. He says a seizure is a normal possibility after his surgery. He says no need for the CT scan. As long as he’s “OK” we are directed to take him home. He tells me that we should up Hassan’s dose of Depakene from 1,000mg to 1,500mg per day, as well as add Urbanyl 15mg per day to avoid further seizures. We have to fight the doctors at the Casablanca clinic to discharge Hassan against their medical orders. Finally we get home. I nap at his feet on the couch and at about 2pm I awake to seizure #2. Call the doctor again, and he still says normal. Asks if Hassan is running a fever or vomiting? No. Don’t worry until he has 5 or 6 seizures in a day (not easy. I’m having to work hard to keepittogether through the seizures). Hassan begins to vomit. We attempt to get the new med from the pharmacy when it opens after the lunch break at 3:30. No go without a prescription, so I call the doctor yet again. Can he fax the prescription? Do I need to bring him in now that he’s vomiting? Before I can get my questions answered he breaks the news that the pathology report came in. It’s grade III. Anaplastic Oligodendroglioma. Now we have to plan radiation and chemotherapy. Barbara took the phone away (you think I was barely keepingittogether before that news???), and the next thing I know we are planning to take Hassan back to Rabat to the clinic tonight. While we were making the plan, at about 4:30pm, Hassan had seizure #3. This trip to Rabat was much less fun than the previous road trip to the hospital! Hassan’s mom had been slightly nervous at the thought of brain surgery, but I can’t fully explain how seriously FREAKED OUT she was by the seizures. You can take an old lady out of the Berber mountain village… Anyway, she called his sister Yemina to come back up for support. That will be good. Hassan was admitted to the ICU for the night. My initial plan was to camp out in the waiting area (which is a glorified hallway). When Dr. El Azouzi got there to check on us, he noted some swelling of the brain and said Hassan was dehydrated. The plan is to keep him as long as it takes to get him stabilized. Just take it one day at a time. I feel it speaks a great deal about this doctor that he took me aside, explained that I needed to take care of myself also, and (perhaps most importantly) I absolutely melted into his suggestion. Notable that he also offered to personally cover all of the clinic costs for this stay. I went home and slept soundly.

Friday, 31 October 2008 – I took Hassan’s mother and sister to visit him, and I went planning to spend the night. We got there in the mid-afternoon. He had been moved to a room, and we found him asleep. Much to our surprise, he woke up and had us all laughing in no time. He was feeling 110% better. After everyone else left, I broke the news to Hassan about the pathology report. He had been in no shape for this conversation during the 24 hours since I found out.

Saturday, 1 November 2008 – Dr. El Azouzi is scheduled to leave the country this afternoon, but he agreed to see me this morning. Before I even got dressed to make the trip over to his office, he popped into Hassan’s room at the clinic. He was pleased with Hassan’s condition and discharged us to go home. He gave us the name and number of a doctor in Casa in case we needed anyone in an emergency. He discussed the pathology report with Hassan. He summed it up by saying that he wished he could say “benign”… so, it’s not the best news, but it’s certainly not the worst news, either. He gave orders to rest, eat well, and see him in 2 weeks to discuss the plan for treatment. We took the train home and he got cozy on the couch again. He’s slowly processing the “cancer” thing.

Thursday, 13 November 2008 – Hassan has been getting stronger, venturing out, generally feeling much more like himself. No notable deficits. Perhaps a little irritability… who knows if that’s the surgery, the meds, the fatigue? Today we went to Dr. El Azouzi. He’s still very happy about Hassan’s progress and prognosis. He gave us the name of an oncology clinic in Casablanca. Once Hassan gets some necessary dental work out of the way, we’re on to the next phase of the journey.

This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for year two of our marriage. I’m sure it’s not Hassan’s ideal 26th birthday present… but there are so many good things about our situation. He had warning signs but not painful ones. We got a quick diagnosis and found a superb doctor. He’s got no deficits from his surgery… got right back to being himself. And I can't possibly say enough about the support that we've gotten from everyone around us. "Thank you" doesn't seem like nearly enough. I know the future might not be as smooth, but I am hopeful.

Here’s hoping future updates are happy ones!

Ode to Babs

She hates to be called that.

However, as I’m about to spout much mush about my adoration of her, I couldn’t help it. Really. Sorry, Barbie. OH... she hates that, too!

Somewhere in time I read or heard that if one dies with five true friends, he is rich. I’ve often considered my extreme wealth in the form of exceptional friends gained in high school, college, and beyond. If any of you are reading this and wondering why I’ve never written an ode to you, perhaps it’s because I like to shop for gifts much more in America than here. Also, I can’t say I’ve ever known a friend who I thought would appreciate an ode in quite the way Barbara will! To get to the point... In Casablanca I have added to my friendship coffers with Barbara Stringer. And today is Barbara’s birthday.

It’s tempting to stop here with a simple “Happy Birthday” so daunting is the task of writing an ode. I shall do my best...

Barbara is caring, sensitive, zany, elegant, bright, gentle, fair, happy, enchanting, loyal, thoughtful, lively, dedicated, wise, worldly, witty, generous. I could go on. Basically, Barbara is downright delightful.

I am so happy to have met her. Getting to know her over the last year has been my tremendous pleasure. She has entertained me with her stories, worried about me when I was down, helped me when I was overloaded, and shared in some of my year’s simple and pleasurable moments. I enjoy her, and I seek her out.

I began this task with the intention of telling a bit of her story, for she has packed a dizzying amount of LIFE into her years. But perhaps I shall leave you with the hope that someday you will meet Barbara, and be thrilled with the stories from the source.

Perhaps cliché, but I feel that knowing her, being near her, not only raises the quality and enjoyment of my life... actually inspires me to be a better person. I hope that she takes it as a compliment when I say that sometimes I feel inadequate around her; she is so very good. I aspire to rise to her example.

Barbara, happiest of birthdays.

STORY OF JOB -- 2 of 3

May 2007 – July 2008

Spring semester 2007, and we were busy making plans for more improvements and more growth in Agadir for the 07-08 school year when the bomb was dropped… our proprietor was backing out. Moulay Said told us in mid-May that he was having heart problems and would have to be gone much of the year for treatment in France. He just could not take the stress of worrying about the fate of our fledgling school. Fair, but utterly disappointing… not to mention we suddenly had no jobs. So, we began to feel out ways we could keep things going. We spoke to the parents and told them we were going to try to open a school on our own. We visited the Center for Regional Investment with our business plan, we visited villas with a real estate agent, we spoke to the parents and other local educators, all trying to make it work. We contacted a school in Casablanca that we had previously visited for advice, and spoke at great length about the option of franchising their school. We had one parent interested in investing the money we needed for start-up. And in June, our boss asked us to stop trying. He was still stressed out over the whole shebang. As Denise and I had started with him, he felt that anything we did on our own would ultimately be traced back to him. Turns out he didn’t so much have all of the appropriate permissions to do what we were doing in Agadir, and he was terrified of someone asking too many questions. So, in June 2007, Denise and I accepted that we were jobless, gave up the exciting and terrifying thought of beginning our own international school, and started to consider… what next?

We began the “Shannon and Denise International Job Search.” Very organized and efficient, I must say. We created a form on which to record the contact name, details about the job, what we had sent in application, etc. We had both just been married at that point, and the boys are limited in their easy options for travel. They could go to Turkey or Tunisia with no special visas, so we applied to schools there. We also hoped that if we got a job in a middle east country or Egypt that perhaps we could sort out visas easily enough, so we applied far and wide. We contacted that Casablanca school just in case, and they did have a few openings. So, we began talking to CV, the Principal, and HT, the Director. Bit of foreshadowing for you: Little did we know that by the time we visited the school to sign contracts, both of these men would be gone.

We were torn. We got replies… several from Turkey. Something in us wanted to venture outside of Morocco (and the boys were keen to see other parts of the world). However, in the end, my father’s practicality lives strong in me, and we began focusing on our possibilities with the school in Casablanca. One of the greatest benefits of choosing to go to Casablanca is that we had the opportunity to sign contracts for the 2007-08 school year before we went home to the states for a summer 07 visit (Our previous boss in Agadir honored his part of our contract to buy us a ticket home in the summer). On late June, we knew that the principal in Casablanca, CV, was leaving for the summer. At that point, our dealings began to be with the Business Manager, AG. We negotiated our contracts with him by phone, and traveled to Casablanca on July 7, 2007 to sign contracts. Denise as a music teacher, and me as an elementary classroom teacher. We travelled overnight by bus/train, and arrived in Casa at 8:30ish am. We found a bathroom in which to freshen ourselves, and then we took a taxi to the school.

Side note: If you notice my hesitancy to type the name of the school, that’s because I don’t want anyone associated with the school to be able to search the internet about the school and find this site. I’d much rather keep it a secret and be able to talk about my co-workers without worry!

Back to the story. We arrived at the school in Casa, and we met with AG and the founder of the school, SK. At this point CV, former principal, and HT, former director, were gone for good, and they had already hired a new Principal, a woman named Jodi, to be delivered in late July. We chatted about our experiences in Agadir, and what they were looking to do in Casa. They also want to franchise the school into other cities, so that’s one reason they were very interested in us… our experience in starting/running the school. They discussed the possibility of sending us to another city in Morocco in the future, perhaps back to Agadir, to open a new school. So, as we discussed the plans in Casa, they let me know that they had considered my experience and now envisioned my role with them as working with the administration in the area of student discipline, etc. That sounded interesting to me, and we continued talking as they gave us a tour of the school. They also showed us the apartment upstairs, as that is what they were proposing for housing. They said they were out of apartments, and that if we were both to receive school housing the four of us would have to share once again. We walked downstairs to fill out contracts, and when it came time for AG to type in my job title, he turned to the owner and asked what to call me. SK thought for a moment and replied, “Assistant Principal.”

Wow.

STORY OF JOB -- 1 of 3

Jan 2006 - May 2007

Most of you know this story… So here’s a very brief recap. On New Year’s Day 2006 I got a call from my friend Denise who had recently moved from Ireland to Morocco. The tiny start up school that she was working for was losing one of two teachers. On January 24, 2006, I arrived in Agadir, Morocco to teach for the spring semester. It was a one-room type setup with seven students aged 3 – 6 years. I usually get really involved in projects, and this was no exception. By the time the end of the semester rolled around in June 2006, I had decided to return for the 06-07 school year. Perhaps my involvement with Hassan helped make that decision.

So, I went home for 3 weeks in the summer of 06, and I returned to Agadir to teach the massive 1st grade class… 3 students. Our overall enrollment had grown from 7 to 11, and we had 2 preschool students and a kindergarten class of 6. The proprietor of the school, Moulay Said, was the director of the Moroccan private school which housed our operation. As his trust in us grew, he was more and more hands off. He would wander downstairs once a week or so and ask us what we needed. That left us, Denise and me, to manage and operate our little school. We began the process for accreditation, we wrote promotional material, we visited the governor of the city and spoke with personnel from the US embassy on behalf of the school. I remember the most challenging aspect being our daily dealings with the parents of our 11 students. One was very down to earth, a few were always late, one drank too much, a couple were vicious gossips, one was an elderly single dad, and one…. oh, that one… very opinionated, very prejudiced, very controlling, very concerned father. I thought he was going to drive me to drink before my experience with him was finished. I wish I had kept a record of my dealings with him. There’s no way I could piece it all together at this point and convey the real madness of it.

I just can't count the times he said something that left me staring at him in bewilderment... blink... blinkblink.

2008

Different languages in different alphabets have always facinated me. How can someone read information from those beautiful decorations? Does someone who does not know the English alphabet see the same decorative beauty (I doubt it.)? I looked for a list of translations of "Happy New Year" into different languages and alphabets, but I couldn't find a simple "Happy New Year." What I found at http://www1.ocn.ne.jp/~infinite/pages/_Earth.htm is close. "May peace prevail on Earth" is a pretty good New Year's wish, no?

So, yes, may you all have a beautiful, peaceful, and prosperous year filled with...

happy moments

laughter

successes

confidence

love

friendship

understanding

and blessings of every sort!

Arabic

Armenian

Bengali

Bulgarian

Burmese

Cambodian

Chinese

Dari

Divehi

Dzongkha

Georgian

Greek

Hebrew

Hindi

Irish

Italian

Korean

Kurdish

Lao

Maori

Mongolian

Nepali

Sinharese

Spanish

Tamil

Thai

Literal Realization of the Family Tree

How do you know when you've really been accepted into the family? When you've got an orange.

This past week, we had one week fall break with no school. Hassan and I left Casablanca on Saturday night toward Agadir and on to his mother's village for a couple of days. The house in which his mother lives has a courtyard of sorts in the center. A square area mostly open to the sky. At the center of that square area is a square planter of about 1 yard square, built into the concrete floor. In that square planter is a small orange tree. Currently there is a small crop of ripening oranges on the tree. Varying sizes and shades of green. Now the fun part -- everyone in the family has been allocated a specific orange on the tree. Everybody knows whose is whose and all are watching them ripen in hopes that his/hers will be the sweetest. Rumor has it that each year's small harvest is indeed sweet. Part of the fun of it is the gamble involved. I've never before considered the natural selection of fruit, but Hassan's orange broke open and fell off the tree early in the game.

I'm sure I'll be forced to share now.

This is a photo taken the last time we were in the village, August, just before we moved to Casablanca.

L to R: Family Orange Tree, Hassan's sister Keltoum, niece Fatima, me, sister Aicha.

Spices Gone Wild

One great thing to take home from Morocco for souvenir (and personal use) is spices. The spices are usually sold at open markets in open baskets and bins... usually piled up appealingly, as illustrated below.


Some info from a website called gapadventures: There is something called Ras al-hanut, or ‘best of the shop’ – a complex spice blend used in many Moroccan dishes. It’s subtly curry-like with a spicy yet floral fragrance and robust but not overpowering flavour. Spice shops often employ experts who create the mixture using their own secret recipe and up to twenty-seven different spices. The tough part is in getting the proportions right, as spices can vary in intensity and flavour depending on how old they are or where they came from. Putting in a pinch of this and a teaspoon of that just doesn’t give you world-class results. Side note: I was too lazy to dig through my pictures, so I plagiarized these from random websites.

As you can imagine, things bought from an open market in a third world country are sometimes risky. I've found my share of stowaways in pasta and spices... but never anything quite like what is described here in two emails from the SistersT... they explain it in general hilarity, as always.

September 24, 2007 -- email from FrancesM.
that huge bag of spices we brought back with us from morocco... yeah, they hatched last week. thousands of tiny black cock-roach looking bugs, that evidentlycan't live in our atmosphere, because they died right away. so strange. they straight up, war-of-the-worlds killed over. how's life in casa treating you? i hope you've been well, and make sure you boil everything before eating it!!

September 27, 2007 -- email from T.Jo
I dunno if Frances M mentioned it, but she brought back some tahjin spices in the spring and guess what? They hatched out!!! She warned me this weekend about them basically taking over one area of her kitchen and I happily rooted around until I found those spices. As luck would have it, my bugs were mostly dead--but maybe 20 or so were alive still and slowly crawling around--perfectly sealed in a Glad plastic bag. I felt that the Glad company really lived up to its name, just seeing all those bugs perfectly sealed up in there, unable to invade my sanity and sense of cleanliness. I have a feeling actually, that those were some kind of weevils. It was a bit of a weevil holocaust. There were hundreds who didn't make it (depending on how you define make it--they hatched all right, just didn't live very long, best I can tell--very glad I skipped the larvae stage!!!).

Just more protein, that's what I say.

Story of Home -- 2 of 2

Picture it, Casablanca, August 2007...

The school in Agadir closed, and with it, our stay in that last apartment. Our old boss was gracious enough to let us stay there until Denise and I returned to Morocco from our three week trip home to the States in late July. When we arrived back on 4 August, we began to pack up (solidly -- my least favorite thing to do), and get ready to move to Casablanca. We both accepted jobs at the same school here, and housing was part of the deal. Only one catch. One apartment left, so we would have to share. We hesitated, so they said that normally the Principal lives in the apartment above the Admin offices of the school. It is bigger than the other teacher housing apartments, so they offered us the bigger principal apartment to share, and this year's single principal could live in the teacher apartments. We accepted and accepted our fate to share an apartment for the next year.

We had come to the school to sign contracts in early July, just before we left for the States, so some of the the pictures HERE were taken on that visit, and some were taken when we first arrived to move in. Some things had been changed around... and some have changed since. So, don't be confused about the sofa wandering from room to room. And perhaps someday I'll get an after picture of the apartment all well lived-in. Almost two months, and almost unpacked! It's a place with lots of character. Old, and a bit crusty in places, but cool. Lots of the furnishings are Moroccan craft stuff. Many of the rooms have walls painted with a texture pattern to them... adds a certain something. I don't think I've gotten any pictures of the lanterns on almost every cieling fixture. I've spent some time debating on how to possibly get one of those back home in one piece. And check out the photos for the painted designs on the tables, cabinets, and doors. Very cool.

There are certainly some pros and cons of living above a school, and above one's own workplace. Pros - can sleep in till last minute, have office reaaaally close if you need to put in a few hours on the weekend. Cons - No fake sick days, have office reaaaaally close if you need to put in a few hours on the weekend. Mostly, things are working out beautifully. I do feel a bit left out of the fun. The other teachers who were provided housing all live on the same floor of an apartment building. It's about a 30 minute walk or 10 minute taxi ride from the school to those apartments. Sure, I know that might get old for several reasons... being so close to so many co-workers. But it would also be fun to be around for the last minute runs. Folks over there have identified a place that makes outstanding fresh strawberry juice, a cheese sandwich worth much discussion, and there is talk of an affordable salon. Not to mention the English bookstore around the corner. It's pretty much just us down here on Rue des Papillons (roughly translated Butterfly Route -- cool address, huh?).

Story of Home -- 1 of 2

Picture it... Agadir... October 2006.

8ish months after my arrival into the country, I finally get my own place. This was expected from the beginning, but that plan fell prey to "Moroccan time." On any given day I could inquire with my old boss, Moulay, and I could always expect to hear that he had spoken to the lawyers recently, and that the contracts or escrow or whatever would be finished in about two weeks. Thus, we two-weeked ourselves through 8 months. It is important to note that within that 8 months, Moulay had graciously provided us with a washing mashine. Read Denise's account of that fabulous marvel HERE.

And in October 2006, that beautiful washer moved with us into the new apartments. It was a three story building with an open roof on the 4th. The bottom apartment was accessed by a door on the front of the building. Then if you walked around to a small side alcove, there was a stairwell door which took you up to Shannon and Hassan on the 2nd floor, Denise and Lahcen on the 3rd, and on up to guinea pig Nigel on the roof (Nigel was formerly Jermaine, but when Tito died... how can you have Jermaine without Tito?).

There were many pros to the new apartments, and a few cons... but it was a good life. Our two apartments had the only access to the stairwell and roof, so it was a nice space we shared, while not sharing too much.

HERE are more photos of the place. It should be noted that I picked out little to none of the fabrics, decor, or furnishings. Some were wedding gifts. Some were provided by my boss. It makes for an interesting mixture. Hassan picked out the covers on the sofas. Not too shabby, but he was working with pillows to match. His credibility gets taken away when you see the very mod curtain hanging in the extra bedroom. He didn't see much difference in those patterns. He didn't really understand why I refused to cover the sofas in that orange print. Those curtains were originally provided by the boss as a bolt of fabric to use for exactly that, covers for the sofas. Instead, Hassan had one of his genius days and installed a closet rod across the entire length of the guest room. The free orange fabric magically became bearable enough for a curtain if it would hide my huge new not-quite-a-closet.

And one other interesting note... The blue thing you see on top of the house in the exterior photos is the tent being erected for the wedding party we had up there.

Concurrent

Is that the word I was looking for? I dunno. Seems too simple.

My new office smells distinctly of bug spray.

Where else to begin after months of not blogging?

Well, it does. Strongly, at that. All I can assume is that it has something to do with chemicals used to treat the pressboard desks that were recently assembled therein.

I have a lot of catching up to do. It's a long history, and I'm not known for my ability to tell a linear, tangentless story.... perhaps I should break it up a bit. I'll focus on smaller subject-related stories that take place along the same timeline. What's that called? I can't come up with that word. I hate it when I lose words. Separate stories that are happening at the same time... I'll remember it as soon as I hit "publish post" I'm sure.

For now, I'll tell you I'm well. I'm a little overwhelmed by the new school/new job that I will eventually tell you about. My husband (still seems strange to say that) just started a new job. I'm making new English speaking freinds, and I can't fully express how great that is... but I'm really missing my old standbys. It's almost the first of October. Three more months to turn good on my New Year's prediction of staying in better contact this year.

Oh, and I just finished reading the last Harry Potter.

SER AHK UH ZEET!!!

This morning, I found what can only be described as a filthy beast in my kitchen.

Here are the events of the morning:
I hit snooze a few more times than the world normally deems necessary. I had forgotten all about the plan to head to the school early this morning. So, Denise had come to the door when I was less than half ready to go. I dressed myself. I grabbed by toothbrush and paste and sleepily wandered into the kitchen to brush away the funk.

Side note -- Had to brush my teeth in the kitchen because the bathroom sink is controlled by the same water valve as is the toilet. That valve is shut off because the toilet is undergoing repairs. See, on Friday my birthday gift from my apartment was a flood. I arrived home to hear the beautiful sound of an ever running toilet tank with the cascading sound of water falling into water. Ah, that would have been the 2 inches of standing water at the foot of my toilet. The cause of this indoor fountain was the broken piece of metal in the tank that was no longer holding the floater in place. It had rusted in two. This toilet is only 6 months old, mind you. Why would anyone bother to rustproof any metal intended to live under water inside a toilet tank, right? This is Morocco. Don’t let anyone tell you they run on efficiency and logic here. Welcome to the third world.

Back to the funk. I was brushing. I turned off the water because I’m an environmentally savvy chick in that way. I walked out of the kitchen, still brushing, and tidied the toothpaste and towel back into place. Turned to walk back into the kitchen and HHHWWWWAAAAAAHHHHHH! That’s the best spelling I can do for that closed mouth half-shriek intake of air that let Denise know I had found a monster in my kitchen. I had heard tales lately of an invasion. Denise’s husband Lahcen was innocently lounging in their living room watching TV when he felt the house shake with giant footsteps. Legend has it that he was forced to battle another such beast on the roof yesterday. I never thought the war would come home to my apartment, but it has.

Cockroaches. No, don’t laugh and shrug like I built up the suspense for nothing. These things are not the usual petty nuisances that I have learned to deal with. Morocco is a lot like Midtown Memphis in the way that the war cannot be won. Your enemy will never stop fighting. And never stop reproducing. In Memphis, I learned that one must sign the treaties and accords, and then go on with life trying to defend your territory. Life in my first Moroccan apartment was the same. There were frequent invasions, but mostly by young soldiers unaware of the fate their curiosity would bring them. There was the occasional ½ inch scout sent to see if the territory was still occupied. I think their poisoned screams of agony sent my message well. We have been fortunate in the new Moroccan apartment. We sent the message early that borders would not be crossed with no consequence. And then it was winter. The hibernation of the enemy calmed my nerves. Alas, his time of sleep is over. And he grew. The three beasts we have bested in three days have been 2 inchers. I do not exaggerate. I just stood up and walked across the room to the ruler to check my figures so as not to mislead my public.

I haaaaaaaate cockroaches. I seriously just squirmed typing the word. Here they’re called Ser ahk uh zeet. Oil is zeet. So, it means something like “one who eats the oil.”

My wonderful new husband has the day off today. I finished off his to-do list this morning with “kill ALL giant cockroaches!!!”

Aren’t you glad I blog about the important issues in life?

It's a no go...

We got to Casablanca early Tuesday morning to find that, indeed, the drivers were going on srike. No taxis to be found. Luckliy we found an enterprising young man using his minivan to shuttle some of the people left with no taxi. We found a hotel within walking distance of the consulate, just in case we were still taxi-less on Thursday morning (we were). Then for a couple of days we did little save relax, which was nice. Thursday morning at 7:30am we were at the U.S. Consulate, and after 2 hours of waiting in lines and rooms, Hassan had an interview of about 5 minutes. He was told that he did not currently qualify for a visa. That means I'll be travelling without him when I visit the States this summer.

We had both tried to avoid high hopes, but we're still both pretty bummed. Which made it a less than thrilling trek across town to the bus station (again... no taxis). When we bought tickets at 12pm, the first bus we could get on was at 7:30pm. So, we passed some hours, got on the bus, and got to Agadir at 6am Friday (today). There was one lone taxi at the bus station, which someone else got to first. So, we hauled our bags and tired bodies home on foot. And then we slept.

Off to Casablanca again...

It's 9pm Monday night here. In two hours, Hassan and I board an overnight bus to arrive in Casablanca Tuesday morning. His visa interview at the US Consulate is early Thursday morning. Originally we planned to go up on Wednesday, but the rumor is that the bus drivers may strike on Tuesday and Wednesday over some new law. So, off we go to avoid getting stuck with no ride.

At 7:45am local time Thursday morning, we'll be at the Consulate for the interview. If they like him, he gets to come with me to the States this summer for a visit. If they don't, well, maybe next time. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers.

Mawwage. Mawwage is wat bwings us togevah today.

Hi all. I have been trying to sign on to this blog for two weeks now to share the first few peeks at my Moroccan wedding. It did not agree with my methods, and rejected me completely. As is just about always the case, when I finally reached the stage of screaming, "AHHHHH ifsomeonedoesnotcomeandprymyhandsoffofthis mouserightnowiwillshovethecomputeroffthedesk isweariwill," Denise stepped in and figured out a way to beat the system. So (finally) here are a few outtakes.



I was lucky enough to have Frances and Mark here for the wedding. Yay, more people who speak fluent English!

The technichal getting married paperwork happened in a very small, totally unglamourous office. They wrote our marriage contract into a record book which Hassan and I had to sign. Frances has all of the pictures of that on her camera.

Thursday night, we got henna done at home. Here's mine before scraping off the dried paste.

On Friday night, we had the wedding party in a tent room that had been constructed on the roof of our building. First the groom made his entrance.



Then the bride, along with a procession of chanting and drumming in-laws.


First we sat for some photos.

Then we got tired of sitting, so we stood for some photos.

And after what seemed like a long time... and some dinner... we changed clothes and sat down for more pictures. This time they were of us exchanging rings...

and feeding each other milk, and cake, and dates... and kissing each other on the forehead.

After the festivities were over, Frances, Mark, Hassan and I went to Marrakech on Saturday and Sunday. So, I suppose this is a honeymoon photo.

Now that I'm back in, I'll post more details and photos soon.

3 of 3 - few more village pics

One day, I took a walk with the two 18ish year old nieces. We walked to the main road at Aksri. We walked through the olive grove. We walked through the village communal garden plots. We walked up the main road and took in this view. Then we walked to the bottom. Yeah, see those buildings down there? We walked down THERE. Not completely via roads, mind you. I learned quickly that Fatima is part mountain goat. I nearly tumbled down the mountain. She was doing okay, even though she had just broken a strap on her sandal. Yeah, SANDALS. Then, as it goes, we had to walk back UP the mountain. Paradise Valley, my ass.
Here are Hassan and his mother, Keltouma, in the foyer area of her current house. In a traditional Moroccan house, all of the rooms (most of them multipurpose) open off of one central area. This one is open to the sky.
Another view from the roof of the old house. The current house is in the foreground. The one with blue shutters to the right.

And there's the fire out back for baking the bread.

Ok! I finally figured out my problem. Apparently I have the camera set to take pictures with the resolution used to take zoom spy photography. Nice pictures, but big. Denise helped me to resize them, and now this process is much faster.

I'll have to find an older picture of the exterior of Hassan's mother's old house. Didn't have one in this batch. This is the house that Hassan family lived in when he was born. It's up the hill from the house where his mother lives now. This one looks into the open interior from the viewpoint of standing on the roof. There are a couple of rooms up there on the roof/third floor as well. The green door opens to the exterior and I think would have been used as the front door.

This is the view from the roof of the old house toward the village proper (Hassan's mom's house is before you actually get to most of the village... Thank God! Those village roads are not always kind. More about the roads later).

In the kitchen of the current house. The couscous is steaming back there on the stove. The bread has been made. We were all just perched on stools and pillows... alternating between cooking and waiting. I got up to get the camera because it reminded me a lot of my family. 20 people standing around talking in the kitchen while someone is trying to cook for a holiday. Normal, right?

Me pretending to have cooked the couscous. Total fabrication there. Hassan's sister Zahara did it. I watched and tried to learn. I must mention here that Moroccan's don't think it's couscous unless you spend an hour steaming and stirring. Very involved process. Denise makes hers in 5 minutes on the stovetop, and the boys laugh in her general direction.

On Aid, or Eid, however you spell it... we went out visiting. Several sisters and nieces and friends of the family... and the white girl... set out walking through the palm grove. We stopped at several different houses along the way to talk and have tea, and eat some tidbits, and talk, and kiss, and ask about the families, and eat, and drink. Wow. At this house, we happened by at the same time as another group of women. The hostess blessed us all with fragrant oil.

A view from that house (which happened to be built into a mountain) across the palm grove toward the village. I'm kicking myself that I didn't get a picture of this house. It was multi-level. Built into the mountain, like I said. Even had a little room outside the front door for the donkey. Ah, next time.

Niece Fatima at the well in Aksri. Aksri is a small village where you turn off of the main road to go to Hassan's village, Tisgui. We walked up to Aksri several times during my stay. His family doesn't really use this well. There are far less impressive one nearer the house. Fatima was just showing this one off to me. The water bucket was sewn of tire rubber.

This is a restaurant and store in Aksri. It's the landmark for the place to turn to get to Tisgui. This general area of Morocco is known as Paradise Valley. Lots of palm groves in mountain vallies. Beautiful. It's a small tourist destination, so there are neat places like this, and a cool small hotel near this where Hassan's sister Aicha cleans.

Playtime is over. Time to go teach the children. More later.