Daylight Savings

Who knows how long it would have taken us without the Google Alert on Morocco. That’s how we learned (a week or two beforehand) that on June first, Morocco was setting the clocks ahead an hour for daylight savings. Something so part of the fabric of life in the US. Impossible to forget, with little pictures printed in newspapers reminding everyone to turn forward or turn back the clock. And of course, so much of it is automated, with computers updating the time without being asked.

But daylight savings in Morocco is new (it was tried and scrapped back in the 70s), and while it was done to conserve energy, it was not well publicized for English speaking expats. At dinner the night before six of us debated when it began, and while everyone agreed on the date, nobody knew the hour. We weren’t alone. The rapid decision meant airlines weren’t notified. Our friend Akio arrived from Los Angeles via Frankfurt that night. And while his flight from Frankfurt left on time, he was surprised to find that he was an hour late upon arrival.

Looking on the internet, we continued to see the old time listed for days, and today a search for daylight savings in Morocco produces more sites that say it doesn’t exist than say it does. We hear that at the end of September the Government will assess the experiment and decide whether or not to continue daylight savings. Until then, it continues to be a topic of interest. Prayer times are noted relative to the sun, not the clock, so the first call is now a little before 5 am instead of a little before 4 O’clock, and the last prayer isn’t till after 10pm. People are already looking ahead to Ramadan in September. While the overall daylight won’t be changed, the end of daylight will come later according to the clock. Will this make Ramadan harder? It doesn’t make sense to us, but then we won’t be fasting.

We were surprised to find that two weeks into the new time, there are holdouts. Hamoud went to a 2 O’clock meeting with a carpenter who was going to build us a few shelves for the factory, only to be told by the man’s assistant that he wasn’t there. “He’ll be here in an hour,” the assistant offered. “But our meeting is at 2 O’clock,” Hamoud countered. The assistant wiped a little sawdust off the table and laughed. “He still keeps the old time, and by the old time 2 O’clock is in one hour.”

A Man and His Factory

There are few things that equal the glee of a man in his factory, especially a factory with piles of cement and marble powder and cool pigments for mixing colors. And machines, let's not forget the machines. Big, heavy hydraulic presses that could render a hand a pancake if misused. Oh yeah, and a pool-sized water bath for curing tiles. And racks for drying tiles. And a forklift for moving tiles. And boxes and boxes for shipping tiles - not to mention fumigated pallets on which to stack the boxes.

This to announce: popham design finally has new digs. A modest spot near the airport in Marrakech where we can do some r&d (not to be confused with r&r, which doesn't get rewarded at this factory), and deliver on those orders from the States that have started to come in.

So here are a few pics of the factory and the man behind it (note his beaming mug!).

Where to Begin

True, it's been awhile since we contributed anything to the Chronicles, but it's not because we've been eating bon-bons all day. In the months since our last post we've: undergone Third World surgery; started a Moroccan business (www.pophamdesign.com), actually make that two (www.habibihomes.com); been home and back (yes, back, we're going to be in Marrakech for awhile for those of you who put off an early visit); made some new friends; hosted some great old friends and family; and generally continued weaving our little thread into the fabric of life here in Marrakech. Oh yeah, we also got a car - a rather toy-like car, but a car nonetheless. Her name is Tarte Citron and she's had her seats slipcovered in a very tarty chartreuse linen with white piping.

What's past is past, though, so we'll attempt some fresh news soon. In the meantime, here are a few pics from the last 6 months; sadly, of late, our camera has been relegated to capturing cement tiles in all their glory.


Tarte Citron, isn't she lovely!



Sam experimented with a bearded look for winter . . . and impersonated Darth Vader




Mark and Dara Quinlan came to visit in December


We took in the Maison et Objets show in Paris in January



Where we also caught up with old friends Philippe and Chantal de Riberolles


Fanny and Romain made a quick trip to Marrakech on their way from LA to Buenes Aires


Easter in Los Angeles - the cousins chose spring green outfits


Mum, Marjie and me at Dar Zellij in April

Ramadan Melodies

Before going offline last year, we drafted this Ramadan post. Cleaning out old files this morning, we found it and as we're just a few months away from Ramadan '08, we figured we toss this up on the blog. Might even inspire us to put up some new pictures, who knows . . .

Last year, I fear we chronicled Ramadan from an outsider's perspective ad infinitum, so we're not going to bore with the rehash. This year, however, we've been privy to a new tradition that bears mentioning. Last night, we had a dinner party and midway through the meal, as the White Stripes were blasting from the iPod and we were tucking into duck salad with a side of potato galette, the cool evening air was pierced by the sound of a live flute player. It was if he was serenading us from within our own courtyard, so loud and clear was his playing. Sam rushed to the courtyard to look around and up towards the terrace, fearing someone had scaled our walls To-Catch-a-Thief-style. No agile musician was to be seen. But the flute music continued for about a half hour, just loud enough to drown out the Amy Winhouse and U2 tracks on our playlist.

And again tonight over leftovers, Sam and I, each typing away on emails at the dinner table, were surprised to hear the flutist return at 9 p.m. sharp for an encore performance. The volume rose and fell as if our wind player were positioning himself in different windows of the mosque with each refrain. It lasted 10 minutes or so and made us realize how much we appreciate the "live" quality of our mosque, at which the prayer is called by a real person five times each day (7 times during Ramadan) instead of by a recorded muezin, as in many other Arab countries.

Live and in concert, that about describes our living arrangement, for better or worse.

Birthday Stroll

After running errands all day, we took a stroll in the Cyber Park to unwind before Sam's birthday dinner. We couldn't resist this 'Gladiator' moment. The park, which is in the medina on Mohammed V, is a lovely, cool, sweet-smelling patch of green in this dusty city, and its no wonder that many Moroccan lovebirds have found it the perfect place to steal a few minutes alone on a bench.

Campaign Season

The singing, drumming and clapping floats down to us through the courtyard. This isn't the singing we're accustomed to hearing. On Monday and Thursday evenings, we get two hours of chanting (recitations from the Koran) from the mosque next door. The voices are predonimantly male. Beautiful and soft, they emerge from behind closed doors. In the mornings, we often hear a chorus of small children's voices coming from the adjacent Koranic school. We imagine that it's an arabic counterpart to the ABCs song. But for the past few mornings, there's been periodic singing in the neighborhood, of the sort we occasionaly hear in the evening as we walk past a wedding feast. I venture outside and find a local political rally in progress. This one dominated by women and children.





We're in the midst of campaign season in Morocco. While the same is true in the US, the election there isn't for another 14 months. In Morocco, laws restrict campaigning to the two weeks prior to an election. This is a major election for the lower house of parliament, and it does have people on edge; it's expected that the Islamist party will dominate the election and send progressive politicians packing. The government has made moves to counter that, including one taken from the American electoral playbook: gerrymandering. Earlier this summer, the government redrew the district lines to dilute the concentration of Islamist supporters. Of course, Morocco has another political tool not available in the US: it's a monarchy. And not a European Monarchy with a ceremonial King, but a red-blooded one that wields power. It's quite likely that the Islamists will win the election; if that happens, it will be interesting to see how the King responds.

Numbered election boxes are drawn on walls throughout Morocco, and campaign posters are officially limited to these spaces. Many campaigns have iconic stencils that they spray paint on walls throughout the city - a set of scales, and on another, a rearing black stallion, whose promise is less obvious - but others clearly lack any real organization and we're surprised by how many of the boxes remain empty wherever we go.

This singing rally I've stumbled upon is interesting in that is nearly all women and children, and I remember reading that thirty seats are reserved for female politicians. Further, the sight of my camera, usually cause for modest retreat, is today greeted with smiles, drumbeats and campaign fliers.

Right now, there's a lot of excitement. On September 7th, we'll know the results.

Lulu Has Landed

One of the best things about our year in Marrakech has been the schedule of visits from friends and family. And while we expected people to take advantage of our being in Morocco to come for a visit, we little hoped that a near and dear would think about a more long-term stay. After a not-too-auspicous introduction to Marrakech over the holidays (in our unheated house!), however, Lulu decided to accept an offer to teach high school history at the American School. The notion of her coming seemed impossibly sweet, though remote, in February, but by the time summer rolled around and her ticket was booked, we took to counting the days to her arrival like giddy fools. And we were almost pleased when she did get here to find that her furnished apartment was bare, necessitating a stay at our house for a few days. She took to the city like an old pro and was soon careening through the medina on a bicycle and emailing us to suggest drinks at a bars of which we'd never heard. She's got a Moroccan cell, a Skype account, a roommate and small group of new acquaintances and already knows her way around the Mellah (fruit + vegetable market) and Bab El Khemis (flea market). Talk about zero to 60 in seconds! Let's hope we can hang on for some of her adventure here, too.