Eid al-Adha

This week we had a five-day vacation, including the weekend, to celebrate Eid al-Adha. The holiday celebrates when Abraham was spared killing his son because God stayed his hand and provided a ram instead. People celebrate the holiday by buying and killing a sheep for a big feast with family and guests.

A city full of sheep for a week, all making their sounds and smells, and suddenly, Monday afternoon, things get very quiet. (I have heard people refer to it as the silence of the lambs, but I don’t know if they were joking.) After the slaughter, the streets are littered with sheep remains, next to dumpsters or smoldering in small fires. I walked past a few burning sheep heads, and accidentally kicked a smoking ram’s horn. You know how in the middle of the night, you go downstairs for something, and step on a Lego brick? Well, this was way weirder than that. Bad comparison.

This story of Abraham and Ishmael (Abraham and Isaac in Judeo-Christian tradition) is not an atonement story in Islam. Like most of my life right now, I don't understand. I don't understand how atonement doesn't enter into it. [What I think I understand is that] Islam says the story is about Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice even that which was precious to him*, and how we all should be willing to give what Allah asks, like the sheep gives its own life to God.

To me, the story of Abraham and his son is largely about foreshadowing the coming of Jesus’ sacrifice, the sacrifice of the lamb and Son, who would take away the sins of the world. I got to be reminded of that with every bleating of sheep from over the wall.

*Islam is no closer than Christianity to condoning, let alone promoting child sacrifice, so we agree on that big time.

Touchstone

There was a moment last week when I looked around and could not believe how beautiful were the people in my classroom. They were their best selves, and it was stunning. I thought, "This is love."

It was not naiveté; it was one reality. They are lovely and loveable.

I will see them in far worse times, and they'll see me there, too. In fact, I already have. They're capable of being rather unpleasant. But I will keep coming back to that moment, because they are also full of wonder, affection, and so many many more days.

Brain Imploding in 5, 4, 3, ...

For the last two and a half weeks, I've been learning about all the systems that make up both life in Morocco and work at the Academy. We, the new recruits, have sat in on sessions explaining vision for the school, and the personal vision of the administration. We've eaten a lot of food together, and formed those unique, tentative bonds that result from shared fear. I think it's time for a list of things I've had to learn in the past three weeks:

how to get a taxi
how to navigate this city at all
my address
how to tell a taxi to get to my address
how to order food at a restaurant
and pay for it
and pay for anything, without overpaying or insulting anyone
how to lock doors, wash clothes, dry clothes, close windows, repel roaches and mosquitoes, sleep through the morning call to prayer,
how to say a few words in Darija and in French,
how to buy and use a VPN,
how to video call (don't use your phone, do use a VPN),
how to clean a floor... oh, everything.

And then there are the school systems for which we've had sessions, but you just have to figure them out at some point:

the school's grading scale and grading software,
attendance policies and online tracking,
purchase orders,
TimeOffManager,
helpdesk,
disciplinary referrals,
curriculum mapping,
Google Classroom,
and the school's email system.
It's gmail, so no change for me... except... have I mentioned that four or five of these systems need their own PASSWORDS?

... and now, to do all of this on a Mac. Nothing makes me feel less competent than having to Google every time I need to know a shortcut on a Mac. How do I open a new tab? Save a bookmark? Command key!

My students know so much more about the world they live in than I do right now. I'll offer them what I have, ask for what I need, and go to sleep now.

Time Isn't Money

You can't pay time back.
It's over.
But you can give it as a gift.

No one can take it from you.
Not really.
You have all of it,
whether you want it or not.
To try to forget
is sorrow untold.

Maybe time is a river.
Flowing forward,
moving molecule-lives along.

Maybe time is a suitcase.
Try to fit everything in.
Then you check the bag,
the airline loses it,
and you forget what you packed.

"You're Still Young"

"You're still young. You have plenty of time."

It's a disconcerting thing to hear at the end of a conversation where you've been talking about being single versus being married.

Plenty of time for what? To bear children? To find love and marry? To grow up? Please don't tell me I'm a kid. Even if you think it's true, I'm not having it. Biologically, I'm well into my adulthood, and anthropologically, I'm already elderly.

It doesn't feel like there's plenty of time. Minutes slip by, and some things are no longer an option. There's not plenty of time to become a ballet dancer. That ship had sailed, and I'm literally too old for it.

I'm living my life, and glad I've made the choices I have. My life has been about a lot of things: fear and understanding, estrangement and belonging. There's a list that could go on.

It's clear that my life has not been about getting married and having children. Maybe it will be someday, and maybe not. But I don't see it as my endgame, that's all. I still need love and family, and I'm so serious about this when I say I have found my eternal love, and I have an eternal family. It's Jesus Christ, and his church. 

More Steps In Each Process

Nothing is ever simple. I want to be clear about this, and make no mistake: I don't resent the long processes I've had to go through for things I have heretofore taken for granted. I'm just noticing, that's all. I'm noticing the many many steps it takes when you have to do it for the first time in a new place. Cooking vegetables, washing clothes, putting up curtains. Each a strange and separate victory.

I wanted to eat some vegetables, so Stacey and I found the market. I wrongfully accused the vendor of not returning enough change; we bought the vegetables and left. Walked home, chopped vegetables. Got out a pan. The stove didn't work. So we learned how to turn on the gas for the stove, and how to light the pilot light. This was a complicated process, since the pilot light wasn't in its usual place for me, and I don't know anything about stoves to begin with. I was able to accomplish my goal of eating cooked vegetables, it just took all evening, a few tools, and a few risks.

Next, I wanted to wash clothes. I examined the washer, and thought I figured out the settings. But the water still had to be turned on manually. When it did start, it took three hours. I guess I chose the you'll-be-elderly-when-this-is-over setting.

My room has been in desperate need of curtains. One day this week, I found a store with some possibilities, but I realized I had to measure the windows first. Today I went to Ikea with some other teachers, and bought curtains that are somewhat too long, I found. But the real problem was how to put them up. The ceiling is eight feet high, and the rod is at the top. What's more, in order to put curtains directly on the rod, presumably one has to remove the fixture from the wall. Nope. I solved that problem by employing shower curtain rings. 

I solved the height problem by moving the coffee table to my bedroom, placing a chair on the coffee table (all sturdier than it sounds), realizing I didn't have enough shower curtain rings, going to two stores for shower curtain rings, coming home and finishing the job, then eating leftover cooked vegetables. One feat at a time, please.

Market

Stacey and I went out today to explore our neighborhood. It was a multi-dimensional trip, filled with optimism. We wanted to learn the neighborhood, buy an outrageously long list that included a doormat and a particular type of water filter, and to end the trip with smoothies. All of this sounded feasible in our minds.

We found the shops, and entered one with lots of shampoo in the window. Many men were rushing in and out. Inside, to the right were shampoos of all sorts, and to the left, wine of all sorts. Maybe liquor, too? We got caught up in a tide of leaving men, and saw no more. Shampoo is stupid, anyway, and we didn't need it that badly.

Next, a hardware store, in the front of which were stacked plastic containers of all shapes and sizes. Atop one pile snoozed a black and white cat that Stacey told me we could not have.

Then to the market where they sell vegetables, meat, olives, and fresh and dried fruit. Olives have appeared rather often in the last 24 hours, and I'm pleased with that. I admit to feeling rather daunted by the market stands, because they were soon to close, and we had their full attention. I find that annoying in places where I do speak the language. It was here that I realized I didn't even remember French numbers. We left for a supermarket where we could see the numbers, and maybe overpay, but at least avoid the staring.

On our way home, we remembered our desire for smoothies: It's hot, and smoothies are good! And look, there seems to be a place that sells beer... but probably other things, like maybe smoothies?

Here is where we found out that we didn't know the French word for smoothie, and we didn't have our phones with us to translate it. So we got beers, and they served us olives and peanuts, and one Moroccan bought us a second round. I'll leave it to you to Google what "smoothie" is in French. And I'll leave it to you to surmise whether we got a little lost on our way home.

Oh, never mind: it's "smoothie," and yes.