roots

on friday i went to my boss's father's funeral. his eulogy spoke of him coming over from germany when he was 16 to escape the horrors of a nazi regime. wow!

it got me to thinking.. where am i from anyway??

dad always said he was german, making up words that sounded somewhat german, and mom never really knew, so i decided to get the free trial at ancestry.com and see what i could find out.

i trace my mom's side first. i don't get far with her dad's name, so i follow her grandma's maiden name: belden. turns out my people really do not like to move around much. i keep linking through sets of parents..

1900s - Kansas.

1800 - Kansas.. but wait! they moved from Pennsylvania! oh yeah, last time I checked Pennsylvania is not that exciting. but it's East Coast right? that means we're traveling across the ocean soon.

nope, the 1700s bring Connecticut.

1600s? yep, Connecticut. ok, what year was America discovered? good lord. and then it happens..

in 1591 my great-x10-grandfather was born in.. England! Richard Belding (no, not this Richard Belding) was born in Yorkshire and arrived in Connecticut in 1634. He was one of the first settlers from England, and the son of a Knight, Sir Francis George Baildon. ok, now we're getting somewhere.

other branches on my mom's side led to a few more from England, a couple from Ireland, and a whole pocket of Swedes. pretty cool that most were original settlers to New England.

along the way there's a bit of incestuousness, but it was just her step-brother so i guess we'll let it slide? so the tree didn't fork with old Polly Lynch.

ok, now on to the mother (or father) load. dad always said we were German. now let's find out. again with hundreds of years in Missouri and Tennessee.

seriously, we love the midwest.

then.. Canada?? no wait. that can't be right. before that they came from.. the Netherlands! i'm Dutch?! hm, not what i always imagined growing up, but dad also told me that i was born with a tail and they had to cut it off. in other words, he was full of a lot of stories. can't fib an old fibber, he'd always say.

but best that i can tell, Johann Heinrich Stophel was born in 1718 in Europe. he would be my great x4 grandfather. i think he also went by J. Henry Stoffel, who came to Pennsylvania on the ship Halifax on Sept 28, 1753. i first thought he was born in Rotterdam, Netherlands, but that appears to be just where the ship originated from. the more i think about it, it is likely that he was born in Germany and migrated through the Netherlands. so maybe dad was right after all!

the chain after Johann goes: Jacob Stoffle (1776-MD - also listed as an Ontario, Canada settler), Owen Morgan Stoffle (1819-TN), Daniel C Stoffle (1864-MO), Jewell Jesse Stoffle (1894-MO), and then dad, William Jewell Stoffle (1923-MO).

i'm not sure how accurate everything is, but it's safe to say i come from a long line of colonial settlers turned farmers.

and once we land in a spot, we like to put down roots.

au maroc!

On May 30 our group of 15 departed for our adventure. We were supposed to be a group of 16, but one girl arrived at the airport, all packed and ready to go, and said she wasn’t going. It wasn’t nerves.. something had happened. But she didn’t want to say what. Rather odd, but nothing I could do to make her go.

So off we go to Morocco!

But first, let’s sit on the tarmac at JFK for two hours. We arrived at our layover in Rome just in time to miss our connection, which was a blessing in disguise. We got rebooked for 9pm and it was currently 9am. Hm, what to do? Sounds like Rome-in-a-day to me!

We hopped a shuttle and before we knew it we were at the Colosseum. It was hard for me to wrap my brain around it. I had prepared myself for hearing people speaking Arabic and calls to prayer and instead I am lugging my carry-on amidst a flood of tourists in Italy. It was a welcome surprise though. Last time I was in Rome was with Molly in Spring 1998. I got a little emotional at the Trevi Fountain. For some reason that sticks out in my mind – us throwing our liras in the water and making wishes.

2010:

1998:

Rome was so much more crowded this time around. I don’t remember nearly as many people 12 years ago. But we had a blast. And walked so much I got blisters on my pinky toes. Saw the Pantheon, St Peter’s Basilica, ate pizza at a trattoria, and stopped for gelato. Where was it we were headed again?

Oh yes, Morocco.

A little after midnight on the morning of June 1 we arrived! Finally! We were welcomed by our wonderful guide Seddik. After checking in at the Idou Anfa Hotel, I managed to get a few hours of sleep. Our first day we had a quick tour of Casablanca. First stop was the Hassan II Mosque. It’s actually fairly new. The king wanted to give Casa a point of interest.

We walked through the Central Market, where the locals buy their food. The fresh veggies were beautiful and the seafood was so fresh – if only I had a kitchen nearby!

I bought some spices and was amazed at how welcoming the vendors were. Not pushy like I had been warned. It was a good warm-up to haggling in the big market at Marrakech. Very few spoke English, so I had to pull out my French from the depths of my 30-something-year-old brain. At the beginning I couldn’t remember the basics, like how do you say trash can? Oh yes, la poubelle. But I was conjugating verbs in no time!

Lunch was at the beautiful La Fibule on the coast of the Atlantic. Amazing food and we had our first of what would be many Moroccan salads, tajines and mint teas.

This was one of my favorite tajines, with lamb, prunes, and almonds.

And the fruit! Oh wow, the fruit!

That afternoon we started our service project in conjunction with Amis des Ecoles. We worked at a school in Casablanca, the Ecole Idriseri Fille Borgogne, helping set up their new library and clearing out their gardens. The school is in a fairly affluent area, but the kids who go there are from the slums. Usually Amis des Ecoles works with rural schools, but wanted to lend a hand to this urban school. Ftooma and Nihad were there to help us with the library project. Many books had been donated to the library and we were there to wrap them in plastic. The garden crew cleared one garden and planted some bushes the first afternoon.

The next day we returned to the school to finish our projects. This time I braved the heat and worked in the garden. The heat ended up not being too bad without any humidity. After clearing the weeds away I found this beautiful huge grape vine. I wish I could have brought some of it home with me. Just before lunch all the kids lined up to receive their books. The books were written by the publisher, Amina, who was there with us. They are Moroccan tales which have – for the most part – never been written down. My favorite is about when a child loses a baby tooth, the child throws it up to the sun and makes a wish. Makes much more sense than the tooth fairy. Each girl received one book in Arabic or French, one package of biscuits and a few pieces of candy. It was such a big deal and we were just as thrilled as the kids.

After having my baby, it is so easy to see my own child in the faces of other children. I thought about how often E gets leftover books in his cubby after book fairs at school. He’s always excited, but I need to remind him to be even more grateful for what he has.

There was a little confusion on whether or not we were going back that afternoon. The director of the school said they were closing, but later I found out a few of the volunteers had stayed so we went back. The children were all gone and it was very quiet. A strange “journalist” came by to take photos and interview us, but I just had a bad feeling in my stomach about him. He talked a big game, claiming he can “build someone up or tear them down.” If the best journalist is a 10, then he’s a 15. Turns out he’s a blogger! I was worried he would be political, but he actually posted a nice article about us. Sorry, no link for fear of tracking.

From the school, we decided to hit up the beach. We walk down there as a group, and the people in front start to slow down to a stop. The stragglers catch up and see what stopped the others in their tracks. The beach had literally thousands of people. And no women in sight. No one was lounging or sitting, everyone standing, walking, or playing soccer. It was a strange sight. And immediately we all became self conscious. We braved the stares on the long walk to the water. I took on the mom role and held everyone’s stuff as they all went in the water. Most of the girls ended up leaving their clothes on over their bathing suits. I put my feet in, but that was plenty for me. Some of the group went pretty far in the water, and all I wanted them to do was hurry back so we could get out of there. All around was a strange smell and strange feeling to the air. I finally found a beach I didn’t like.

That evening we cleaned up for dinner at Amal’s house, the founder of Amis des Ecoles. What a beautiful home! She lives in an area of Casablanca appropriately named “California.” She gave a presentation on her work in a small rural community named Tata and then we enjoyed the most wonderful dinner. Tajine, couscous, pastilla, an array of Moroccan salads, and the most amazing spring rolls I’ve ever eaten! She had guests there from Philly – one of which was a movie star and had a hit song in Germany (thanks to our German delegate for figuring that one out!)

After Amal’s we had promised Yassine, a former chapter member and youth conference delegate, we would stop by his house as well. Wow, the word house is an understatement. The rooms had beautiful mosaic tiles and chandeliers and carved wood ceilings.

The back yard held an infinity pool and outdoor fireplace and sitting area. We enjoyed mint tea around the pool and made a massage train. Now that’s living!

It’s now June 3 and I’ve had four nights of 3-4 hours of sleep. I’m getting too old for this. Contacts are not happy with me.

But it’s time to head to the mountains for a little R & R – maybe?

We meet the reps from the High Atlas Foundation, Abderrahim and Nabila, at lunch in Marrakech and follow them the rest of the way up to Tassa Ouirgane. Well, almost. We get stopped just outside of the village waiting on permission from the government to enter the village. While waiting, we have some more mint tea and several of the delegates get their head wrapped in turbans. Still waiting, we head up to a nearby village where all the girls got some henna and some did a little shopping. Vendors were a little more aggressive here, but mostly friendly. My henna caused a bit of a blister rash, but hopefully nothing too severe.

Finally we are granted permission to enter the village and the bus takes us as far as it can. Then it’s up to a little Mitsubishi pickup to get us the rest of the way. Abbe and I thought we were on a suicide mission off the side of the mountain, but we were just turning into the drive at Dar Tassa, our guest house. So glad there was a road there!

Due to our delay we just ate dinner and had a relaxing evening. The view was just gorgeous from our home in the mountains. The welcoming goat milk did a number on my tummy, so I stayed behind with the other leader Brandon – also feeling the goat milk – as the others went on a night walk. Finally, a full night’s sleep! I love the mountains!

The next morning we went on a 2.5-hour hike around the valley and mountains, through the orchards and mountain stream, and along the man-made canals. It was a challenge but I loved it!

Our Berber guide quietly led the way with his walking stick.

We had two delegates experience panic attacks, but we all made it through to the end. My favorite part was walking in the cool stream.

A view of where most of the group slept at Dar Tassa.

That afternoon we had our community meetings, one with the women and a separate meeting with the men. I was with the women. They were very hesitant to even hold the marker since they didn’t know how to read or write. We encouraged them, and they finally began to sketch out their community. Through Community Mapping and PairWise ranking methods, the women identified their main priorities as a teacher and a hospital. The men decided on water and a bull. The women’s meeting had to be cut short because they had to go work. (the men went on for a couple more hours!)

After the meeting, one woman invited us to her home for tea. It was our one chance to see inside a home of the very private Berbers. It was bigger than I expected, and very clean. You can tell they have a lot of pride in what they own and keep it looking very nice. There was minimal furniture and these little plastic trees with artificial flowers all over them. We later learned that this was the craftwork of the woman’s daughter. We sat in one room with only rugs on the floor, and the woman brought in a small table for the tea and nuts. Along with her and her daughter were an elderly neighbor and a young cousin. None of them spoke English or even French, so we communicated through Nabila who spoke Arabic.

Tassa Ouirgane was the first time I heard the call to prayer. It must have been too loud in the busy city of Casablanca for me to hear. It was almost chilling. And very surreal. I loved the prayers. Each one was a little different, and they went out over a loud speaker and echoed off the mountains.

The mountains were my most and least favorite part of Morocco. When we had nowhere to be and were totally on someone else's schedule – or lack thereof – I was able to relax and enjoy the experience and the beautiful surroundings. But when it was time for us to get to the main road and we had no vehicle to take us and we’re hiking in the hot sun instead of packing, then I started to get stressed a little. Abderrahim had made me change my watch to “Berber time” and the schedule didn’t give us enough time with the change to catch our bus. But he came through and found us a van from the market to take us to the main road – almost on time.

I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing I couldn’t see where we were going and how fast. Finally we stop and the doors open and HEYYY! It’s Seddik!

We’re off to Marrakech!

We arrived at our beautiful hotel in Marrakech – Salam Tichka – and had a few hours to relax and enjoy the pool. Then it was off to the Djemaa el Fna market where Seddik gave us a quick tour of the food vendors and where to shop. The group was first surrounded by the snake charmers putting snakes around everyone’s necks. Then came the monkeys. You won’t find a picture of me with a snake or monkey however. I was doing my best to go unnoticed. After that strange welcome the market was actually quite nice. We found a restaurant with a bird’s eye view of the market where we could have a nice and fairly quiet dinner. I was amazed at the motorcycles and cars and bikes speeding through the crowd of people.

After dinner we walked down a path and found a couple of very friendly vendors who sold us some plates at a great price. Soon it was time to return to the bus, but we were missing a few. Turns out they were still on Berber time. The best part is, Seddik says that Berber time doesn’t even exist!

The next morning we visited Dar El Bir Wal Ihsan, which is basically a VoTech school for the underprivileged. It was actually pretty inspiring they way they have shops and apartments out front to make money to pay for the orphanage and school. They also have space for the elderly, who go to get their hair cut, etc. at the school. They have created their own self-sustaining community!

An impromtu sing-along/dance party:

We had lunch with the students. No plates, no silverware, and no English. Maybe the most interesting salad I had ever seen. Veggies surrounding a rice/corn/tuna mixture covered in mayo and ketchup.

The next course was curried chicken and olives. So good! Even my vegan delegate couldn’t resist that chicken!

After we left the school, we did a quick visit to Medersa ben Youssef, and then back to lounging by the pool. I love Marrakech!

Our wonderful guide Seddik:

The lovely Salam Tichka Hotel:

That night we returned again to the market to finish our shopping and had a fun dinner with hat spinners, lute players, candle balancers, and belly dancers! The spice vendors and orange juice vendors had beautiful carts, but were pretty aggressive. I paid three times too much for my OJ. It was all part of the fun though!

The next day we took the bus back to Casablanca and had dinner before catching our 2am flight. Everything was going so smoothly.. what could possibly go wrong now?

Then it happened.

Jenny had been feeling ill all day, but we had written it off as traveler’s diarrhea. But by dinner time she was having severe pains in her abdomen and we called a doctor to the restaurant. He was worried it might be her appendix so off we went to the hospital, called Clinique Anchfaa. Luckily we still had Seddik with us.

At first the hospital didn’t seem too bad. Small and dimly lit with pink walls. The doctors (the one we called and the one at the hospital) did a sort of sonogram on her stomach. They were speaking Arabic, but in broken French and English told us that her appendix was very large and about to burst. They wanted to perform surgery immediately to take it out. I was on the phone with both of her parents – who were amazingly calm – and they told me that they had this insurance where a medical jet with doctors on board would fly in and rescue us. It turned out like any other insurance company and wanted to pass the buck to someone else. Morocco isn’t the easiest place to access and the doctor was telling them they needed to operate so the insurance thought she should stay there for the surgery. But that was not going to happen after I witnessed the insertion of the IV.

I held Jenny’s hand as she looked at me and screamed as if she were in labor. Two nurses and the surgeon took turns jamming the large IV needle into her hand and digging around looking for a vein. You could see the needle under the skin moving around. It was awful. I was going back and forth telling Jenny it was ok and trying to comfort her and telling the doctor that this was ridiculous and it should not take this many tries. Finally relief came when the only woman nurse got the needle in on the first try.

Luckily Jenny’s father is a surgeon as well and said that even if her appendix ruptures, she has 24 hours to have surgery and survive. The surgeon put on quite a show for me speaking to “someone” on the phone about how many years experience he had and it was just terrible we didn’t want to operate. Once Jenny signed the refusal of surgery form the doctor left. So now we’re left in an empty hospital and no magical jet to rescue us. Her parents decided (and I agreed) she at least needed to get to Rome.

Here’s the kicker: Seddik now informs me that while they are looking at the sonogram they were saying in Arabic that they could not find anything wrong and it looked normal. They wanted to operate for the money! He would have told me sooner had we decided to go ahead with the operation. But still.. Jenny is not well. At least the pain meds kicked in and we were just left with dizziness and nausea.

So off we go – with Seddik – to the airport to try to catch our flight with the group. We have about two hours until our flight leaves. One the way there, I am calling on my angels – Dad and Molly – to help us get home. It is comforting to know I have at least a couple up there who will always be pulling for me.

We arrive at the airport and I tell Jenny she needs to look lively so the airline doesn’t think she’s sick and ban her from flying. We start to walk through the initial screeners and Jenny says “I can’t do it, I can’t do it” and faints right under the screener-thing! The security guy calls the doctor to come down. Wow – we’re not making our flight at this rate!

Before the doctor arrives Seddik says to me, “Well, she had food poisoning, and is just very tired and drained.” I agree to go along with the story and tell Jenny the details of the fish she ate yesterday, etc. The doctor arrives and we tell him our fib. He agrees that it is very common and she needs to take two Imodium.

Success!

Now we just need to get our girl on the plane. But she’s white as a sheet, can’t keep her eyes open, and almost faints every time she tries to stand up. It was like a bad sequel to Weekend at Bernie’s. We need a wheelchair. You would’ve thought that we asked to have a horse-drawn golden wagon take her to the gate. There are four golf carts lined up, but the drivers have all gone home and they don’t have the keys (keep in mind it is about 1:30am). Jenny sleeps on a golf cart while we wait. And wait. I change my shoes thinking, “Ok, here are my lucky shoes I’m putting on.” No wheelchair. I go downstairs to the bathroom thinking, “Ok now there will be a wheelchair when I come up.”

Hey, that one actually worked! As I get off the escalator I see a golf cart coming down the hall. We get loaded up and they argue for a while about whose responsibility it is to drive us around, and finally we’re off to catch our plane. We get through security and there is a wheelchair waiting on the other side. Jenny is riding up the escalator with her eyes closed and at the top I see her boyfriend Troy standing there with a teddy bear (which they later named Seddik). Jenny looked up and was too weak to smile, but I about lost it! This could be a Lifetime movie, people! Brandon and Elisabeth, a nursing student, were there too and my eyes welled up just seeing them. “Just nice to see a friendly face.”

We were able to make our flight, but only because Morocco decided to have a daylight savings time change and not tell the rest of the world about it. Our printout from the travel agent said 2:20am, but the flight really left at 3:20am. Whew – what a long day.

I was giddy once we boarded the plane. There were moments that I thought we were going to be stranded in Morocco (Seddik was scheduled to fly to France at 8am!) We made it to Rome, and Jenny wasn’t in any pain, just dizzy and nauseated. So we boarded for JFK, where her mom met her at the gate and flew home with her.

When Jenny arrived home, her mom took her to the hospital and the CT scan show that her appendix was perfectly fine. She was severely dehydrated and had an inflamed colon thanks to a parasite. But she is home now and as good as new. Hurray!

Home sweet home.

June 8th I arrived – on time – in Kansas City to my favorite boys greeting me. E had his hair buzzed and the huge knot on his head was healing from his bike wreck. (Ms. Shannon at day care said “oh, she’s never leaving again” when he walked in with that huge knot.)

No regrets about leaving and appreciative to have been offered such a wonderful opportunity. But so happy to be home. Back to grilling. Back to sitting in lawn chairs on the driveway watching E ride his bike. Back to my family. I’ll have so many stories to tell E as he grows up. About how much we appreciate the food we have to eat and the toys he has to play with. About what life is like outside of our happy home.

>> For another viewpoint, read my co-leader's take on the trip here.