Medical care in Rabat

The last thing that anyone wants is to be ill while abroad. I've been having some problems with my knee, and finally had a watershed moment last Monday. Without thinking, I went to my favorite pharmacy.

The pharmacist insisted that I see a physician, and sent me to one down the street. Not only was I seen THAT DAY by a man who'd graduated from prestigious medical schools in France, but the 1/2 hour consultation cost me less than the $25 co-pay that I have through my grant program.

I didn't want to wait to order the medications through the grant, so I went back to the pharmacy. Medications for 20 days cost under $20. In short, $45 later, I have complete peace of mind that I'm receiving very good care.

Le coq d'Agdal

For most of the winter months, I could hear a rooster in one of the courtyards behind the apartments. He was a very devoted singer as well as a bit of an insomniac. Quite literally, he sang night and day. It always made me think of this precious song by Claude Nougaro about a rooster that's in love with a grandfather clock.

Claude Nougaro - Le Coq et la Pendule
envoyé par Quarouble

Time was probably also against the modern day Moroccan lover (see lyrics), and I can only imagine that the Agdal rooster was likely made into a meal of some kind (see recipe). The Moroccan bird's fate likely involved less wine, though.

I realized that I missed the late-night Don Juan's song only when I started hearing his replacement recently. Fortunately, the new rooster has better sleeping patterns, or is less love-struck.

All about the numbers

Within the short space of one week, we've been hit with not one but TWO changes to numbering systems in Morocco.

The post office has decided to create and distribute zip codes (postal codes) to everyone here in Rabat. I first noticed billboards along the roads, requesting folks indicate their post codes for quicker mail service. I didn't know mine (every piece of mail I get is addressed to a different post code, and some pieces don't have a postal code listed at all), and was amused at the idea.

Then, on about Wednesday, a sticker appeared near the mailboxes in my apartment, telling me my postal code. I'm 10090 -- a number no one had used before to send me mail, I'm quite sure.

While the United States were gearing up to change to summer time this weekend, we in Morocco were gearing up to add an additional digit to our phone numbers. I've been used to "phasing in" new things (the Y2K bug fears and changes to years, etc.), but overnight between Friday and Saturday, the phone systems all switched at once. It's now imposible to make calls without adding the new digit. To be honest, on Saturday when my calls didn't go through, I assumed my phone was just broken again.

These changes are no doubt positive ones, and I'm glad to see Morocco moving ahead in this way. I'm also glad that the Fulbright office shared news about the phone number changes, and that the post office was kind enough to advertise the postal codes. I still may not know if I have class tomorrow (I'll assume I do until I hear otherwise, I guess), but at least I know my new phone number.

Through the grapevine

ESI students are great. On Tuesday, several indicated in their FaceBook status that they were pleased with the choice of new director for the school.

It's official: Mr Lemallem will be the new director. The announcement came the day of the week when I'm not on campus, so I'm pleased that the students were so actively mentioning it in the social sphere. It's still difficult for me to understand when news breaks at the school -- my Derija isn't exactly improving and folks here are so bi- and tri-lingual that they forget that not all can understand.

Unlike American university searches for Presidents and Heads, nothing about this process was transparent for me, as a teacher from the outside. Suffice it to say, I'm very much hoping to meet the new director at some point before the end of the year. I tend not to be notified about faculty meetings, so this might be more difficult than it would seem.

On a related front, we'll be receiving two days of vacation for the Prophet's birthday next week. Other Muslim countries will celebrate on Monday and Tuesday, but Morocco started the month a day later, and will have the holiday on Tuesday (with our second day off on Wednesday). Students want to make a long weekend of it and not come in on Monday, and no one can really blame them. Instructors are in a very undesirable position, though, of trying to guess whether it's worth having class, or better to reschedule ahead of time. In one of my Monday classes, my students and I opted to reschedule. In the other class, it's still unclear whether we'll have class on Monday, five days from now.

I must say that one of the draws of coming to Morocco was the knowledge that I would be forced to (re-)learn to "go with the flow". It's just not worth developing high blood pressure over what are, to me, last-minute changes, and ones that are not communicated to the instrutors. Returning to the North American way of things, in a few months, is going to require a good deal of reverse culture-shock training, I think. As of right now, though, I'm trying desperately to hang in there and take Moroccan life as it comes. New director, unplanned days off, and all.

Savoir-faire v. savoir

I've run into the argument often enough with teaching cataloging: how much savoir-faire or know-how needs to be part of the cataloging curriculum (so that students know how to catalog when they finish) v. how much knowlege needs to be presented, so that students have a broad understanding of the past, present, and future of the field.

Practitioners say that savoir-faire should be taught; academics say theory should be the emphasis. This is roughly the distinction between extended practical training that one would get in a workshop and theoretical approaches one expects to find in a university setting.

LIS in North America is in a strange position. The professional degree for librarians is a university masters, requiring that programs integrate both savoir-faire and savoir into the curriculum. For most professional positions in the US/Canada culture, it's expected that candidates will have university credentials anyway, and that continuing education for acquiring new skills is part of just about any professional field.

Recently, I've been struck by the fact that library school in Morocco emphasizes the kind of training I expect to find in N. American trade schools.

ESI is indeed a "School" and not part of a university. Students are in classes more hours per day than high school students in the United States, and they are told just about everything they need to know by their instructors. Perhaps this is a product of the emphaisis on documentalism in Morocco. But what if librarianship requires more theory, and it's just not part of the program?

The interesting thing would be to understand how the choice of education style impacts the field as a whole, librarianship in particular, in Morocco. Apparently "informatists" don't stay too long in their positions before they move up in the ranks at their place of employment. New graduates are brought in to take their places. The second question, then, would be: How does the coming-and-going of information professionals impact the information landscape in Morocco: if there are few who have a robust understanding of the field and who are in professional positions, then how can the large-scale advocacy of libraries be expected?

l'Institut Culturel Italien and Moroccan archeology

The Institut culturel italien in Rabat is similar to the Institut français de Rabat in that it organizes cultural events for members and interested folks in the community. Last evening, the center hosted a lecture called « L'archéologie du Maroc antique » and the event was standing room only. Professor Emanuele Papi from the Univeristy in Sienna talked about the Italo-Moroccan team's excavations of recent years and what had been learned.

My class at ESI ran late (we had to talk about plagiarism and it took a while longer than expected) so I arrived 10 minutes late. I can only assume that the presentation began on time, and I learned a lot during the time I was there.

In the period before the Romans, the Mauritanian period, all trading villages had to be built inland because of the high tides associated with the Atlantic. Settlers would take a river inland for 10 km and set up trading villages in naturally protected areas. The Mediterranean coast to the north was entirely inhospitable, and only from the level of Tangiers down could trading settlements begin.

When the Roman toops arrived, they came in small numbers and with soldiers who had been recruited in Spain, Syria, and Bulgaria. Some of the "Romans" were Berbers who collaborated, and took Latin versions of their Berber names. It is likely that none of the "Romans" in Morocco had ever set foot in Italy, much less in Rome. Volubilis is the most well-known Roman installation, but there are others. One site, called Chellah, is near Salé in Rabat.

In one Moroccan city, Essouria, a center for dying purple dating back to Roman times has been identified. It takes 11,000 mollusks to dye one small shirt purple using these ancient techniques. The liquid pigment is unstable and cannot be transported; the fabric must be transported to the dying center. Dr. Papi's team can be certain of the production of the dye because of the mounds of mollusk shells in the area.

The Romans may have been among the first colonizers of Morocco (followed by the Arabs, the Spanish and the French), but this scholarly presentation was in the language of the most recent colonizers, the French. Dr. Papi did a beautiful job of describing his work in French, to an audience of French speakers, nestled away in a room at the Italian Cultural Center. French may no longer be the international language it once was, but it continues to be the language of scholarly communiation in Morocco. Of course, the audience was largely Western, but that should be the topic of another blog post, I suppose.

Street parking

Throughout the city of Rabat, men will help you parallel park, will watch your car (sometimes washing it), and will help you pull out into traffic, all for the small fee of a few dirhams. These men are identifiable by their royal blue lab coats. None of this activity is sanctioned by the government; in fact, when the city installs parking meters, it's still necessary to pay both the attendant and the meter.

These parking attendants are self-organizing. Within the network, they vy for the best streets and get to know the inhabitants. When they go out of town on vacation, they find a replacement. The blue coats are a tradition, not something official.

Around the corner from me, a new attendant appeared last week. He must be about 11 years old. I suppose he has to work -- despite governmental claims to the contrary, the economic crisis is hurting Morocco, especially in terms of tourism. This boy works all day, while American boys are in school learning to read and to reason. I've been giving a lot of thought recently to whether Morocco should being using French or English for international communications. Perhaps in doing so, I've been overlooking a much more serious problem: that of 50% illiteracy within the country.