Color! Part 4

So I've told the tales of our "colorful" beginning in Morocco.  I'm thankful that time eases the stress of a rocky start, and now it's all quite humorous and provides an entertaining post here and here!

The final house was well worth the wait after all the mishaps in the other places, and each move brought us closer to finding a place to call "home".  We moved in early September, after the kids had started school.  One good thing about all this is that once the furniture was in place, all the shipments containing our personal things could also be delivered.  We were able to completely unpack and set up house in less than 2 weeks!  I think it had something to do with the fact that we were more than ready to be settled....somewhere!

The house was located in the Souissi (pronounced, Sweesie) neighborhood of Rabat, very close to the Hay Riad neighborhood.  The exterior of the house was rather plain, but with a colorful and lush garden.  However once inside, our jaws dropped like never before.



main entrance



A long, wide hallway ran the length of the main part of the house, leading to incredible entertaining space, including a beautiful and spacious terrace.  This house contained unbelievable Moroccan charm, from delicate stucco designs in the ceiling, to carved wood work, to floor-to-ceiling zellij tile work on three walls of the salon (living room).  Never before, and never again will we live in such a grandiose home.



Grand Hallway; carved wood arched divide, stuccoed ceiling above,

carved wood ceiling to left





lovely terrace



detailed view of terrace zellij

While this post concludes our quest for living arrangements when we arrived in Morocco, it also is about the colorful craft of zellij (pronounced, zel-leej) tile.



close up of zellij in salon



view of salon before I began collecting doors; beautiful but very busy and hard on the eyes



view of salon after acquiring a few doors softens the zellij to a welcoming, exotic showplace

Entirely made of terra cotta clay, each piece is hand chiseled into various shapes to make complex geometric shapes for walls, ceilings, fountains, floors, outdoor terraces, tables, pools, etc.  The possibilities are endless.



fountains, tables, and calligraphy all made of zellij for sale at the tile factory in Fez



beautiful fountain located inside Hilton Hotel (aka House #2)

view of different styles, and now makes me wish I had bought them ALL!



closeup of the detailed work around the windows of the salon



octagonal table offered at the tile factory

At first sight, it is overwhelmingly "busy", but after one has learned the arduous task of how these works of beauty are created, you view it with a more appreciative eye.  In the cities of Fez and Meknes, one can visit the tile factory and watch the lines of crafts men and women work their magic with enamel paint, a chisel and mortar.  The large pieces of tile are painted, then cut and chiseled to the size required for the design,  then assembled in geometric shapes, just like a puzzle.  After assembled face down, the mortar that holds it all together is applied.  The process has not varied in over 1000 years.



craftsman working his magic



the last piece of the puzzle before the mortar is poured



Based on Islamic traditions, Muslims celebrate beauty through decorative arts since their faith does not allow representational art.  Zellij tile work allows one to contemplate on God's perfect creation and beauty through these intricate geometric designs.

To learn more about zellij visit here, or to acquire some examples of your very own here.

I'm thinking a splash of zellij in the kitchen or bathroom of my new home would be awesome!  To what room would you add this incredible Moroccan charm?

Color! Part 3

Bear in mind we've only been in Morocco for 2 weeks.  My encounter with Mr. Goofy Toothless is still fresh in my mind, and we've also been having electrifying issues throughout the house.....literally!

EVERYTHING electric in the house sends a significant jolt of electricity through us whenever the items are switched on.  No, I am not kidding!  Apparently the house was not grounded when it was constructed, nor when the Embassy took over.   Because we were new to the embassy and the community, we didn't want to be known as "the complainers" so we dealt with the issue on our own.....cautiously, but also reported it to the maintenance section in hopes that it would/could be remedied. 

Group after group of electricians and "specialists" came to the house to determine where the main problem was.  What do you not understand!?  The problem exists in the WHOLE house, not just one specific area!  Finally, a "smart" guy arrived with a gizmo that detects whether or not the electric socket is live and whether or not it's grounded.  Lo and behold!  NONE of the wall sockets were grounded!  So now comes the arduous task of determining where to run the grounding line.  Honestly, I don't care where you run it, just freaking do it!!!  Being shocked numerous times a day starts to wear on one's mental stability! 

In typical Moroccan fashion, the location is determined but the work can't be done today....nor the following week because it's another one of numerous Moroccan holidays that the embassy is closed.  Great! 

So while we wait for the specified day of repair, we continue to live cautiously...usually in the dark because we were all afraid of switching on the lamps.

Getting close to bedtime one evening, I decided to go upstairs and check on the kids.  As I got to the top of the stairs, I heard a very loud "POP" and then a thud. 

I inquired, "What was that!?" to whomever could hear me. 

The response I got was haunting....."Mom, come quick!"  It was our son, Nick. 

I hurried to his room.....he was on the floor with a look of surprise and shock (pun intended) on his face.  He was plugging in one of our transformers so that he could watch a movie on the portable DVD player.  The shock that ensued was so intense that it knocked him to his knees and left him in the floor, stunned.    After a couple minutes, he was able to stand up but it took him the rest of the night to feel normal.  Good grief!  This cannot go on!  When my children are being put in harms way, something's got to give.

The next work day, my husband put in a request to the Embassy Housing Board that we be considered for moving to a different house.  This may sound like a logical and simple solution, but in reality it isn't.  Housing in the capital city of Rabat is at a premium.  Rental rates are also at a premium and there are caps on how much we are allowed to spend on leased properties.  There are also many other factors involved in finding appropriate, adequate housing for the families of the embassy, and the board members all vote on placing families in these homes.  As luck would have it, there was no where else for us to go.  We were assured the issue would be resolved, but that it could take time.  (surprise, surprise)

Needless to say, our excitement about coming to Morocco had dissipated and was quickly being replaced with dread and unhappiness.  The kids were starting to get annoyed with each other and boredom was setting in.  I was starting to feel the stress of being in a house where we had none of our personal things and were basically held captive because of lack of transportation, not to mention never feeling as if we could relax without getting shocked. 

The end of our 3rd week in country brought a much needed weekend that my husband was not traveling.  We got out and did a bit of sight seeing on our own and had dinner in a local restaurant.  Sunday evening came quickly and we were preparing for the start of a new week with everyone promising to stay positive and optimistic.  As we said our goodnights, I couldn't help but hope the worst is over and we've turned the corner to improvement.

I couldn't have been more wrong if I had tried.  At 3:30 am, we were jolted awake by the sound of rushing water.  My husband and I bolted up in the bed, trying to determine where the sound was coming from.  Of course!  It's coming from inside our house!  We jumped out of bed to discover a pipe had burst in the kids' bathroom.  The water was shooting out of the wall, horizontally, like a geyser!  There was no shut off valve in the bathroom, and the water is quickly filling the floor about to go into the hallway and into the kids' bedrooms.  Our first and main thought was about all the electric issues we were having.  Oh.My.Gosh!!! 

"Kids!!!  Wake up!!!  Unplug anything you have connected to the wall sockets in your rooms!  Use only the overhead lights!  Anything you have on the floor in your rooms, get it up on your dresser or your bed."  Surprisingly, they all did as they were told without a lot of moaning about being sleepy, or not fully understanding what we wanted from them.

Meanwhile, I ran downstairs to get a bucket, a mop, and a squee-gee for the floor.  Mind you, the water is shooting out of the wall horizontally, meaning we had to catch the water in the bucket by holding it sideways!  We put the boys in charge of this, and on the spot dubbed them the Bucket Brigade!.  I started pushing the water with the squee-gee toward the balconies in the kids' rooms.  By now, an inch of water is flowing into the hallway from the bathroom.  Jeff has called the emergency number at the embassy to have the on call plumber dispatched to our house.

Where is the water shut off valve?  There isn't one.  Where is the main valve for the house?  No clue!  After about 45 minutes of catching the water and dumping it into the tub, the plumber finally arrived.  The bathroom valve was, indeed, non-existent.  The main valve was out on the street.  We'd have never found it even if we had tried to look for it.  We were exhausted by the time the water was capped, and there was really no sense to get back in bed at 6:00am.

The proverbial camel's back was broken with that particular piece of straw.  Monday morning found my husband in the executive offices of the embassy, requesting our family be moved to another location while this house is repaired, or a completely different house is assigned.  To which the reply was, absolutely!  Get this family out of that house!

We were moved to the Hilton Hotel where we hung out for 2 weeks, giving the Housing Board the opportunity to find temporary housing for us while they searched for permanent housing.  The Hilton was lovely, but living in a hotel out of a suitcase can get old rather quickly.

The Hilton Hotel no longer exists in Rabat.  It was bought by Sofitel,
and was transformed into a lovely 5-Star resort.

Finally we were moved to a beautiful temporary house while our permanent house was procured and made ready.  This house was previously part of the embassy housing pool, but the owner wished to place the property on the market for sale.  We felt very fortunate to be allowed to stay in this house, even though temporary.  It gave us a sense of belonging, and allowed us to relax and focus on getting the kids ready to begin the school year in their new school.  Not to mention, it was quite comfortable and we were dazzled by its charm.

Villa Karim (Generous House)......Indeed!

So 2 1/2 months after our arrival, we moved 4 times before we were officially "home".  And a lovely home it was for the next 3 years. 

Stay tuned for Color!  Part 4 as I focus on the magnificent charm of that amazing house. 

Color! Part 2

While I loved our time in Morocco, it took us a while to develop that love.  In the beginning, we wondered if we were doomed to being miserable for the entire 3 years, given the house we were assigned.

Let me start from the beginning...

In 2008, we lived in Virginia, but were preparing to move to Morocco.  We were very excited about this next adventure, as it would take us to another American Embassy community.  Being active duty military and assigned to an embassy is a pretty sweet way of life.  The embassy community is a group of State Department employees serving in the Foreign Service, all branches of the military, USAID, Peace Corps, among others, all representing the United States and the US mission to Morocco.  With that comes some very nice perks, in most cases:  embassy-provided housing and furniture and, best of all, the benefits of being a US diplomat in a foreign country.

Housing guidelines state that housing is provided based on the service member's job, grade (ie: rank), position held at the embassy, and family size.  Generally speaking, everyone usually gets amazing housing, more than adequate in size, and usually quite nice.  Nicer than what most would be able to afford stateside.  So with much anticipation, where we would live was foremost in our minds as we packed our belongings to ship to Morocco.

Date of arrival is of much consideration as to whether or not the residents can go directly to their assigned housing or spend time in temporary lodging until the residence is occupant ready.  The embassy strives to deliver new employees to their housing upon arrival so that the transition period can begin sooner rather than later.  Thankfully, we were taken straight to our home the day we arrived, after a long flight across the Atlantic and a lengthy layover in Paris.  We were more than ready to begin settling in. 

The weather was quite pleasant on July 1st, compared to what we left in the US southeast.  Warm, but with a pleasant breeze blowing off the Atlantic Ocean, we piled out of the van to enter the garden of our new home.  We were met by our sponsors, who provided a warm welcome and had stocked the pantry with some basic food items and ensured the house was ready for us by having sheets on the beds and towels in the bathrooms.  Thank you again, Dunkelberg family!

From the outside, the house appeared pretty nice!

It was very spacious, with 5 bedrooms, 5 1/2 bathrooms, kitchen, living, dining, common room and a full basement.  The possibilities were endless.....I suppose.  The kitchen was dismal, with the layout not being very user friendly, no dishwasher, and there were NO cabinets for dishes, glasses, utensils (you know, the things we take for granted in the US).  The only storage was a huge closet with sliding doors like a bedroom closet.  Strange......I thought!  Ok, just another hurdle in this foreign land.  I tried to remain positive and upbeat.

So we began life in Rabat, in a less than modern home, in a country where little English is spoken.  Ok...we can do this.  "It could be worse," we told each other. 

The only part of the house that possessed any "Moroccan charm" was the dining room where the ceiling was adorned with ornate stucco designs, very common with Moroccan architecture.

Less than a week after our arrival, my husband's job required him to travel to other parts of the country, leaving the kids and I to fend for ourselves.  Our gracious sponsors took us under their wing, taking us on tours of the city, showing us the kids' school, and introducing us to other families within the embassy community.  There were a few things that needed attention in the house, mainly hookup of the TV so that we had something to do.  (Remember, none of our things have arrived at this time).  Here, another great perk of working at the embassy.  There is a staff of Moroccan repairmen who work at the embassy and come to the house to fix things, or in this case hook up our satellite dish for Armed Forces Network (AFN).  This kind gentleman was quite generous with his time, and was a wealth of information about Rabat and things we should include on our "must do" list.  After some time, he mentioned that he felt bad for our family having been placed in this particular house. 

"Why?" I asked, thinking he was teasing.
"You and your husband seem like very nice people, and I feel you should know this house is known locally as the "maison du fete", or party house."
"Meaning.....?" I questioned, hoping he didn't mean what I thought he meant.
"Meaning women, and other things, were previously brought here for the pleasure of men." he explained.
I thought I would die! 

He finished his work and packed up his tools, but before he left he added, "Please be careful here, and please learn the phone number for the embassy in case you need to call them."

OH. MY. GOSH! was all I could think.  I was quite panicked, immediately locked the door as I bid him au revoir, and proceeded to call my husband to no avail.  He was not reachable.

Ok...deep breath....everything will be alright.....surely we aren't in danger.....after all, the embassy ensures all residences are secure and are deemed safe for the families that occupy them............right?

I calmed down a bit, and decided to watch a little TV with the kids.  After about 30 minutes, the doorbell rang.  I approached the door semi-cautiously.  Plus, it was broad daylight!  We were, however, still expecting other workers from the embassy to come by for other jobs in the house.    Thinking this was who rang, I opened the door.  All embassy employees have badges, even the repairmen that go to the homes.  They are to show their badges to the residents upon arrival so the resident knows they are cleared to enter the premises.

There was a man gazing at me over the top of my gate, smiling a goofy, toothless smile.  I anticipated him showing his badge as I approached the gate to let him in, but instead he proceeded to ask, still with his goofy, toothless smile, "Madame, est-ce que ce la maison du fete?"  (Ma'am, is this the party house?)

Now my French language ability was near non-existent, but I did hear "maison", which means "house" and "fete", which means "party"!  I quickly returned to the front door, hollered "Imshi min houna" which means "get outta here!" in Arabic, slammed the door, bolted it, and immediately called the security office at the embassy to report the incident.  Embassy security was dispatched to the house, but the man was never found.  I was assured that the roving security guards would make extra stops at my house while my husband was away.  Needless to say, I didn't sleep much until my husband returned home.

In hindsight, I could, and still do, laugh at this incident because the day before this happened, I stood in the front yard contemplating what I was going to do to occupy my time in this new environment, this new city with new opportunities.  Would I become involved in volunteer work, or women's groups, get a job at the school, or at the embassy?  I really didn't know what my options were, but I had no idea that those options could also include being the Madame of a brothel!!!!!



Just call me Belle Watling of Morocco!


PS:  As if things in this house couldn't possibly get worse, they did.  I have no other pictures of this abode, and regret that I didn't document with photographs, but I was still adjusting and trying to deal with all the interesting qualities the house possessed, so you'll have to use your imagination!

Stay tuned for Color!  Part 3