Going To Fes Today

I am posting first thing this morning in case my day gets busy as I head out of town. I am going by train with three girlfriends to the old, medina rich city of Fes. I have seen pictures of vats of dyes for coloring fabric and all sorts of other things. I have heard of fantastic pottery, and I am holding out hope I can buy some clay for my students so they can actually make vases out of clay. 

Fes used to be the capital of Morocco until the French moved it to Rabat. We are staying in the midst of the old Medina rather than out of town as we did in Marrakech. Oh, some spell the town Fez, but I believe locals spell it Fes. I'll see soon!


The adventure continues..............I'm on the train, and so far, my companions have not chatted with any strange Moroccan men. We have purchased chicken sandwiches, chips and water and we are in a little travel bubble for 4 hours.
Ciao!

Meet Meat in Morocco

In the United States we display nearly naked women, and sometimes men as well, on billboards to flaunt their sexiness, beauty, power of body, etc. to sell something or someone. It is hoped, the American viewer will buy the jeans or beer the model is lounging with, or the car she is draped over. One billboard in Seattle promises all sorts of pleasure with a woman in a local casino. Here, in Morocco, meat is on display for all to take a gander, drool over, assess and purchase. It's just a meat market over here, literally. And, no MDA (Morocco Department of Agriculture) stamping anything I have seen.


At the cafe right next to the gas station, one of their greatest treasures is their fresh, "hanging up there for you to choose", slabs or bodies of meat. It's a carnivore's paradise! I usually get the salade Moroccaine because it totally cuts out the choosing from so many "amazing" cuts of meat. Click on the above picture for a truly amazing view and meet meat in Morocco!

It was a good day in art world. I was super prepared as each class learned about complementary colors. We talked about receiving complements and what that would look like. We talked about having a best buddy, and how that buddy brings out the best in you. Then I introduced color buddies that complement each other. They make each other really shine and pop. They are opposite each other on the color wheel; I used strings to connect the two "buddy" or complementary colors. 

We saw red goes with green and is on the Moroccan flag, and they are used together during Christmas. Blue goes with orange and is on some sports teams' uniforms. Yellow goes with purple and reminds some of spring, Christians of Easter, and are beautiful together.


Then, the students colored mosaics with only two colors, and they had to be complementary colors. They worked away, then did their own cutting out, and then they began mounting their finished piece. We'll finish these up the next time I have them.


In my sixth grade class, I searched and searched on the net for something more with regard to how vases were decorated during the Greek's glory days of art-making, pottery specifically. I found a lovely drawing of Perseus slaying the multi-snake-headed creature, Medusa, he was supposed to have slain (I think, but can be corrected). It was shaped in such a way as to be nicely placed on a vase shaped piece of paper. 

I had found a cool worksheet online that had the students do a scavenger hunt identifying different greek vases, and they were to figure out a puzzle of vases that ended up spelling, "Let's Make Some Pots." I madly began printing out vase-shaped drawings, and I cut the orange vases right before my sixth graders arrived. If you ever think an art teacher is filing her nails in between classes, grab a cup of coffee, and bring it to her instead. She's been working hard! (Especially when she is making the curriculum and has extremely limited art supplies.)


I warmly greeted the sixth graders and gave some background information on the Greeks. I asked what they already knew about the Greeks, and we exchanged some good information. I went over the subject matter usually found on the vases, and we discussed a belief in many gods as opposed to one. I suggested they could display their belief system on their vase, whether it was Islam or Christianity, the Jewish faith or something else. 

I had given them a practice paper with geometric shapes Greeks often used on their vases as well. For some reason, some of the students decided the pottery needed some blue, all this orange and black is tomfoolery in their minds!  So, enjoy Greek pottery, sixth grade, Moroccan style.

To conclude tonight, I want to thank a new friend, Crystal, for bringing me some coffee creamer from somewhere in Europe. She has just returned from The Hague, and as she was heading home, she asked if anyone wanted anything. I asked for instant coffee creamer since they don't sell it here. She gave it to me today, and now my coffee station is complete! Thanks a ton, Crystal. 


I am thankful tonight for complementary colors, creamer, Greek vases, my family and friends, and most of all, the Lord.

The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe. —Proverbs 18:10

The Greeks come to Morocco!

No, not the geeks, the Greeks have come to my middle school art class in Morocco. After realizing the seventh graders love worksheets, the opposite of American students, I have been putting stacks of worksheets on the desks of my middle school students before they enter my room. Today, they had stacks about Greek vase art. They also had a reading comprehension about Monet just to keep them really busy while one student took a test on art terms.


I only removed one disruptive student to the office, so I think I am making progress. (As opposed to 6 or 8.) I said to him as I walked him to the office, "You are trying to shame me by dishonoring me as your teacher." He made no complaint. I finally know his lingo! When I came back, I said, "Who is next?" It's something my dad did years ago in an inner city school. It's been part of my family lore for years, but today I finally used it myself. No one wanted to be next. Thanks, Dad.

Eventually, I sat and cut out large, orange, Greek paper vases for them to decorate, and they began to ask me questions. "Do you hate Morocco?" "Are you just staying two years and then going home?" "You must hate Morocco." I said, "You can't possibly know what is going on in my heart and mind. I love Morocco. I have no idea how long I will be here, but I came all the way from Seattle, Washington to teach you art. I came for you." I was very firm. 


After that, a girl offered to help me cut out the Greek Vases. A little, tiny moment of joy in the seventh grade class. Everyone actually had connections with Greek mythology. Boys wanted to tell me about some of their favorite characters. I chatted with one beautiful Moroccan girl about how the Greeks believed in many gods as opposed to her belief and my belief in one God. She smiled and agreed. (They all believe we Americans are Christians - they think that is a given. I guess it is a stereotype.)


Thanks for praying. There is hope for seventh grade art? (With worksheets.)

Note the Roman numerals; this must have been made after Rome took over Greece? Do you think that's an Egyptian eye from the last art history worksheet?

Shame/Honor

 The root of all feelings of shame or fear or guilt stem from the Fall in the Garden. In the US we deal with our sense of guilt by trying to prove we are innocent. In Morocco, people feel shame when they do wrong or are accused of doing wrong, and they lie or deny to try to remove the shame and restore honor. If one can hide a crime, all the better. People hide handicapped children as well. They must maintain honor just as much as we must maintain innocence.

If I say to a student they are bringing honor to their family by telling me the truth, it might work, but it is hard for them to understand.

Shame- culture	Other people believe:
I believe	I didn't do it	I did it
I didn't do it	No problem	I am shamed and dishonoured by their belief
I did it	No-one knows, so I am not shamed	I am guilty and am punished

A number of us attended a meeting to better understand the culture we are living in. It is very different than the guilt/innocence culture of America. I am seeing why the students deny wrong-doing, even lie about it. They are taught that if you deny wrong-doing you are 2/3rds forgiven, or something to that effect. I needed to take notes. The talk helped explain some of the lying in class.

I have much to think about now, and I was thankful for the lovely meal that came with the talk. Hospitality is also very important here, and it is very much appreciated!


Earlier, I taught a slew of classes. The K-3 classes went really well, and I even sang "Gray Squirrel, Gray Squirrel, swish your bushy tail with them. The class with the 3rd graders doing texture frontage or rubbing was my best class. They really got excited to see all the textures they could find around the room, they were so excited when they colored an area on their paper, and voilla, texture!

Kids were saying it was like magic, and I was just enjoying their wonder. It was a good teaching moment. The other classes were hard, but I just want to enjoy these children tonight. They blessed me with their presence today, and I saw God's beauty in them. So, enjoy these precious little ones all the way over here in Morocco with me.

The students all got into rubbing the bottoms of each other's shoes; and since I acted out for them how to do it without being disruptive, it went really smoothly. Some girls had flower textures on their pretty shoes, and some boys had cool waves that looked good on their fish.


I am thankful for the really happy moments in art today. Thank you for your prayers!

Frottage of the fan cover

Before I close for tonight, I want to thank Marge for sending me a lovely, beautiful bouquet of flowers via a photograph. News from home is so special when one is so far away, and a vase of flowers is an extra special treat. So, thank you, Marge for cheering me up and on! Goodnight from Morocco. 

Monday Moroccan Style

K-4 Yellow Day

The weekend was really restful and enjoyable. Monday came, and I totally got the wind knocked out of my creative art sails. The little pre-K classes go well; they enjoy the color "yellow" today. Then, I teach the older ones the rest of the day. The students' voice volume is incredibly loud. I ask them to put their heads down to calm them down. 

I send 2 students in fourth grade out, one to his teacher for being disrespectful, and one to the office for breaking art supplies and stealing. I wonder if I will ever make a difference. I look at the few students who are working quietly and well, and I complement them.

texture rubbing fish with 3rd grade

The patina of my hopes for a creative art class atmosphere becomes dull as I put away bits of texture that have almost disintegrated after so many students have done the texture rubbing assignment. I hold shards of marble tiles the students have destroyed instead of doing texture rubbings. 

Later, I send two surly seventh graders to the first grade to copy biographies of Van Gogh. They think it's fun and games, and I hope they learn something while they are copying with the little ones. They returned unchanged. What to do?

Many are spoiled rich kids whose parents coddle them, especially the boys, and then when the parents can take their child no longer, many beat their kids or yell at them. Many parents travel in Europe and may be gone for a month. The nannies and chauffeurs care for the kids.

They respect the teachers who yell at them. How can a nice, kind, soft-spoken artist from Seattle make it here? It just doesn't seem like it will work. I go home to my apartment, and this time I do throw my book about Morocco. Fes, Marrakech, Rabat, Casablanca all sound so exotic, but the day to day living is just plain hard. If I can just have a moment here and there of beauty, it would be better. 

I comment to a colleague that one Moroccan year is seven people years in America. Visiting Morocco is a blast; living and working in Morocco is much more difficult. 

I'll try to find Beauty tomorrow. 

My roommate's shell collection on the windowsill.

Lord, a broken heart and a contrite spirit you will not despise. Please help me continue this week.

A Relaxing Sunday For a Change

This weekend has been great as far as taking a break from the weekday pace. Some of my colleagues are up at school, but I refrained from going and went to the beach this afternoon instead.


Jill and I got up early enough today to have a leisurely breakfast and trip into the big City to go to church at St. John's Anglican Church. (One of two legal churches here.) I was encouraged by the time spent with others there; they even sang some familiar songs. The pastor, an Australian, has a Baptist background and was right on with the truths of the gospel. I had a nice chat with the pastor, or rector there, after the service, and he was seemingly interested in having artwork shown in conjunction with upcoming sermons. (OK, I'm excited! Those who know my heart for art in the church will understand.)


He suggested a few artists paint or design something for the celebration of advent. He also asked if I could design an advent wreath. That was an exciting conversation for me! I hope to now have a clear goal for a fall painting. My next step is in enlisting other artists to participate. Since I am new, I think I'll ask for help from someone who attends regularly.

The rector also told me about how this church was bursting with American soldier worshippers during World War II after capturing this part of the world. The Vichy French had ruled(allied with Hitler) and the Brits were sent to camps. He noted that the Americans had given the altarpiece to the church. History certainly came alive for me today in Morocco. 


I am clinging to this passage this week: We can always remain in God’s tender embrace because “neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come” (Rom. 8:38), or anything else, can ever separate us from His love through Christ. Once we trust Christ as Savior, the guarantee of God’s love is ours forever.

Paper Collage - "Betrayal"

I've geared up for my work this week by walking three days in a row along the beautiful shore near my apartment. I have made a collage that tells part of my story. It's finally coming out in my art, which is more honest and necessary.


 I'm mentally and spiritually gearing up for another hard work week, but I have the goal of going to Fes, Morocco Friday afternoon- Sunday afternoon. Another Moroccan adventure is just on the horizon! Until then, one day at a time in God's loving hands.

Comfort Zone

I was listening this morning, to a sermon online, that my pastor had given recently in Seattle. One aspect of the sermon was thinking about moving beyond our comfort zone while being a follower of Jesus. I got to thinking about one small aspect of my days last week. 


Of course, it's Morocco, so everything seems upside-down here, except the ocean. My example: last Monday, I was told I had packages from America. This is monumental around here because it seems to take 2 months at the least for packages to get here. We all do a little victory dance when packages arrive. I walked briskly to the office where one picks up packages, and I was told 2 people who had sent me packages had said they were worth $100 or more. 

Customs spots these, and the gal went on to say, the customs officials ask for a heavy tax from the recipient when that kind of value is placed on the package. She also said the packages are often stolen if they have over $100 listed as the worth. So, I was rather taken aback, but decided to go get $1,200 dirhams for the two packages, hoping they had big gold bars or, at least, power bars in them. I gave her the money on Tuesday. She said the packages would come the next day. 


I happily went Thursday to pick up my packages, having given the currier a generous one day leeway. I was told the packages had not been picked up, but they would be here tomorrow, Friday. I went late Friday to pick up the packages, again allowing for tons of time in my little mind, and I was told matter-of-factly by the same gal, "He only picks up packages on Monday and Wednesday. Your packages will be here next Wednesday." I was a little sullen. (I used to be really nice, I think to myself.) She asked if I wanted the $1,200 dirhams back over the weekend. I thought that might be going in the wrong direction, not sure.

I have actually given up ever receiving those packages, and maybe that is the beginning of getting out of one's comfort zone and being someplace better. I'll have to ask my pastor. Of course, I was not happy, felt like things were really weird around here. However, I can't change the system here. I can't find the post office; and I can't stand in line for 3 or 4 hours during the week to pick up the packages.


Why did she tell me the packages would be here Friday? "Saving face" is what they call it here. She was preserving her honor by giving me the hope of Friday being a day for packages. Friday comes, and she maintains her honor by telling me they are coming Wednesday. 


That's why I go to the beach to settle my contorted brain down a bit. Yes, I am outside my comfort zone and hoping to understand life on this side of the world. Or, maybe, I should just enjoy the little meaningful conversations, and there have been some, in the midst of CULTURE SHOCK - Morocco, and total lack of comfort zone at least once every day! (Where's my copy of that book? I want to throw it!)