Morocco 2009

Bislaama al maghrib!

2009-05-20T13:43:00.004+01:00

This past semester has just flown by, and I’m now writing my last blog entry from home in Belgium. Study abroad in Morocco was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my college life, and now that it’s over I can’t help but connect with a certain passage in Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad (slightly amended):
"We are at home again. We are exhausted. The sun has roasted us, almost.
We have full comfort in one reflection, however. Our experiences in [Morocco] have taught us that in time this fatigue will be forgotten; the heat will be forgotten…and then, all that will be left will be pleasant memories of [Morocco], memories which someday will become all beautiful when the last annoyance that incumbers them shall have faded out of our minds never again to return." (438)
Yes, there were times that I just didn’t want to be in Morocco…standing in a crowded train on the way back from Asilah, with my nose in some Moroccan man’s armpit, not allowed to strip down to my tank top because of those silly cultural expectations; walking down the street in conservative clothing, and still being verbally harassed by any man between the ages of 13 and 83…but just like Twain reminds me, I will soon forget those experiences or my mind will transform them into funny party stories, and Morocco will become what I can ironically call, my Mecca.
I have been attempting to give you all an idea of what these past few months have entailed for me, but I know that it’s rather futile to try and make you understand every part of my experience. There’s only so much I can show with pictures and blog entries, and it’s the small things that I can’t convey…like walking through the crowded medina, giving a beggar loose change, and sharing a meal with my adopted Moroccan family. The other students who were on the trip with me have added so much to the experience (it was Matt that pointed out page 438 of Twain) and it just wouldn’t have been the same without some amazing travel partners. I know they "get it" when talking about Morocco experiences, and we couldn't help but feel like we were leaving a place we could call home, as soon as the plane took off from Rabat-Sale airport. I’ve done a fair amount of traveling in the past 21 years, but there’s just something different about Morocco. Maybe it’s the fact that I was able to connect with the country and the people throughout a longer period of time, or maybe I’m just becoming more perceptive; whatever it is, I’m thankful for the opportunity that I had to step outside (way outside) my comfort zone and experience something that was so uniquely different.
Now that I’ve returned home, I marvel at the sensation of warm water coming from the sink faucet, I feel the need to wear a scarf everywhere I go, and my “salaam aleikum’s” are met with awkward stares (especially from the military guards on base). It will take some getting used to life in Belgium and the U.S., and returning to Chapman will certainly be a shock, but I plan on returning to Morocco hopefully after I graduate, with a research award (insh’allah) so I'm trying not to miss it too much.
As for now…I’m working on some potential post-grad stuff, spending time with my family (yoga with my mom, swimming with my dad), waiting impatiently for Rob and Tara to come visit, and hanging out with friends as they filter through on their way back home from study abroad adventures. And I'll most likely take a few trips into the Moroccan quarter in Brussels.
Thanks for reading my blogs, or at least pretending to, and I hope you all have an amazing summer!

Moroccan Blackout

2009-05-04T17:12:00.000+01:00

Every once in awhile I’ll forget that I’m in Morocco but then something will happen and I’ll snap back to reality. Last evening was one of those times. Lea and I were sitting in an internet café checking our email when all of a sudden the power went out. Instead of everyone freaking out and frantically trying to figure out what happened, people just kind of sat there for a bit. The guy next to me muttered “al-maghrib…” (Morocco…) and the owner of the internet café started playing music on his cell phone. I looked outside to see whether we were the only ones without power or not, but as it turns out, all of Al Hoceima was without power. Besides the dark skyline, you wouldn’t have known there was anything amiss. In the US, you would most likely hear something similar to this:
“Do you have power? I’m out of power. Our electricity is GONE.”
“Yeah, I don’t have power either! What do you think we should do?”
“I say we call the power company. Yeah! Let’s call the power company, right now.”
“I’ll call them too. Do you know if the other side of town has power? I wonder if they have power. I think I’ll call Joe to see if he has power. I bet he has power.”
…And so on. There sure is something to be said about that American tendency to want to discover the root of the problem. My response was typical.
We walked back to our hotel and stared down from our balcony at the rest of Al Hoceima going about their business as usual. The taxis were running. The men were headed to the hammam. People were selling hash. Life was normal.
Finally after about an hour and a half of no electricity, the lights came back on. There was no unanimous cheer or clapping to be heard, like I had been expecting. I saw an old man look up in mild interest, say “humph”, and shrug his shoulders when he saw a few street lights turn on. At the barber shop across the street, the barber went back to shaving the man who was still sitting in the chair waiting patiently.
Newsflash: you’re in Morocco, Jeannie.

Chaouen to Al Hoceima

2009-05-02T12:56:00.003+01:00

The Rough Guide to Morocco states that “there are very few journeys in Morocco as spectacular as that from Chefchaouen to Al Hoceima. The road precisely—and perversely—follows the backbone of the Western Rif, the highest peaks in the north of the country.” If there was ever any need to refer to a road as being “perverse,” then this was most definitely the correct time to do so. My research led me to Al Hoceima because of a mass grave that was discovered in 2007, and this is the only reason I boarded the bus at 0615 and braved 6 hours of twisting and turning roads past the marijuana plantations and snow-topped peaks. I was popping motion sickness medicine like it was candy and even offered some to several of my fellow bus-haters, but they politely refused, as their heads were already in plastic bags. Sure the views were great, but I would have been fine with maybe an hour of this so called “spectacular” drive. There’s something unnerving about the phrase “insh’allah” (if God wills it), when you ask the driver if you’ll be arriving soon and he responds with “insh’allah”. Not really what I want to hear when I’m gripping my armrest so tight, my knuckles are white…
However, the best part was when all of a sudden we emerged from in between two peaks and the solid blue Mediterranean Sea was right in front of us. When Lea, John, and I arrived in town, we sought out a hotel where we could drop off our bags before grabbing lunch—I have another bone to pick with Rough Guide: That supposedly “reliable hot water” at our hotel and “clean rooms”? Yeah. Nowhere to be found. We grabbed some delicious kefta (ground spiced meat) sandwiches and walked down to the beach to eat them, where we ended up spending the rest of our afternoon, passed out in the sun from this morning’s drive. The beach is just a small 500 yard stretch of sand, but because it’s not peak tourist season it’s surprisingly empty (though there were a few more people today because it’s Morocco’s Labor Day). The ferry boarding dock is to our left, and there are some cliffs bordering the coast to the right (perfect for diving into the water!). It’s tempting to hop over to Spain for some sangria and tapas, but I’m not so sure the study abroad people would be too happy about that. Besides all our laziness over here, we’re all working pretty hard on our ISPs, and planning on returning to Chef on Tuesday to finish writing them. Wish us luck!
Note to the Moroccan transportation authority: painting a solid white line down the middle of a six-foot wide stretch of concrete does not constitute a two-lane road.

The beginning of ISP

2009-04-21T02:05:00.001+01:00

Well ISP has officially started and I haven’t exactly hit the ground running yet. My parents and Nina showed up on Thursday evening, and I couldn’t have been happier to see them. It was getting to the point of the program where I needed a small taste of home and seeing my family definitely provided that for me. With impeccable timing, some of the Italian side of my family was passing through Casablanca on Friday, and they took the train up in the morning so we could all tour Rabat together. We had a great lunch, complete with couscous and tajine (it was couscous Friday after all…) that we finished up with some traditional Moroccan tea. My goal was to give Nonna and the Italians a small taste of Morocco for the short amount of time they were here, and I hope they were able to understand why I love this country so much! Taking them through the souk in the medina was my favorite part of the day because too often I’ve walked through there in a hurry to get to class or meet up with friends, without noticing the intricate details. The crowded streets, lined with stands of brightly colored fruits and vegetables, can seem overwhelming at first, but I’ve become a professional people dodger over the past few months. There’s always so much commotion…the old lady yelling at the fish man for trying to rip her off…the two young boys throwing down their bags to wrestle…the orange vendor attempting to have a philosophical discussion with me in darija…all of these quotidian activities seemed novel at first, but after time went on, I unfortunately became more immune to them. Having family come visit, made me realize just how incredible it is that I’m actually living and studying here in Northern Africa!
I’m meeting up with my parents tomorrow in Fes, where we’ll go on to Ifrane for a couple days. It’s supposedly a nice lake area with some good hiking, so I’m looking forward to some pretty fun adventures with the fam. Then it’s back to reality with more ISP interviews…

Senioritis as a junior

2009-04-10T12:34:00.001+01:00

Sorry for the lack of communication lately…ISP (independent study project), which is basically a mini-thesis, is just around the corner and the stress is palpable. We’re kind of at a weird phase in our program; everyone has caught the contagious disease called “senioritis” (apparently it does exist after high school), we’re supposed to be finishing up the preliminary research for our ISPs and figuring out our travel plans, and we’re all kind of missing home a bit. I don’t presume to speak for everyone on the program, but that seems to be the general feeling among people I’ve talked to. My parents and younger sister are coming to visit next week (yay!!), so that will probably tide me over in the family department until the end of the program, but unfortunately the ISP and “senioritis” issues are things I’m just going to have to ride out.
My ISP will be focusing on the human rights violations that occurred during the reign of Hassan II (1961-1999)—more specifically, the implementation of communal reparation programs throughout the country. This is important for many reasons; one of the most important ones being that this is the first case of communal reparations in the Muslim world. I’m lucky to be here during such a ground-breaking time, and everyone keeps telling me that I should have no problem finding people willing to work with me. Let’s hope they’re right, because I’m still looking for an ISP advisor!
We move out of our houses next Sunday and then we’re on our own for three weeks to travel around the country at our leisure (ha.) while scrambling around to do field work and write a pretty important paper. We receive a daily stipend to cover our transportation, housing, and food; from what I’ve seen throughout a semester of traveling around Morocco, it won’t be hard to survive on the amount they give us. I don’t think I’ll be staying at any 5-star hotels, but you can get a decent hotel for ~$10/night, no problem. As for the food… I bought lunch for 3 dirham yesterday (about 35 cents), so I think I’ll be ok. Going back to the high cost of living in Southern California is going to be one heck of a shock, that’s for sure.
I’m not too upset about moving out in a week…my family’s been nice, but because they house students all the time, I feel like I’m in a boarding house more so often than not. It’s worked out well though because my friend’s family has adopted me and I’ve started eating couscous at their house on Fridays and hanging out with her younger sisters…I’ve got the family atmosphere when I want it, but then I can always retire to the calmness of my bedroom whenever I need to. Best of both worlds. Also, I’ve discovered the movie part of the souk…any movie you could possibly want, for less than a dollar. Granted, these aren’t the most legit movie copies, but when you need a small taste of America, it’s reassuring to know that it’s there. Watched Twilight this evening and I think I might cave and read the books now (Uncle Rich—I watched Reservoir Dogs!).
Think that’s all for now, but I’ll try to update with more frequency from now on. You can hold me to that.

Pictures from Village Stay

2009-04-09T14:22:00.000+01:00

long overdue...

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2087741&id=35805018&l=1902cfa035

Roughin' It

2009-04-02T18:51:00.000+01:00

I’ve had a few days to reflect on my experiences from village stay and I hope that I will be to convey at least a third of what I experienced last week. Nothing that the other students in the program and I had been briefed on before we left could have prepared us for the new life we were encouraged to adopt once arriving in the village; that one week taught me so much about myself that I’m sure I would have never discovered otherwise. This adventure was one that took me way past the usual and launched me headfirst into foreign territory.
Saturday morning, we loaded our duffel bags into the bus and started along our route that took us south to Casablanca then directly east to the “city” of Bejaad. We drove along a small one-lane road until our bus could go no further; it was at this point that we loaded our bags into a van that looked like it had barely survived World War II, and we began walking the rest of the few miles to the village. Our attempts to absorb the beauty of the scenery surrounding us were futile…waves of plush green hills dotted with bursts of red, orange, yellow, blue, and purple flowers. I have never seen so many wildflowers in my life, and this was easily one of the most gorgeous places I have ever been. I quickly snapped out of this little reverie when we came in to sight of the village and the huge group of men (our “fathers”) gathered at the mosque waiting to greet us. I was introduced to my village dad, Mohammed, and we walked down the dirt road to what I would later be calling “home”.
Describing my house will be difficult as it was unlike anything I had ever stepped foot in before—seeing the pictures will give you a better idea, but I will do my best to find the right words to give you a general idea. All of the houses are arranged in “compounds” and scattered throughout the country-side, with families usually living in the same compound, in connecting compounds, or within a very short walking distance from one another. Relying on others is a way of life in rural Morocco and no matter how independent someone appears, there’s no such thing as “independent living” in a village. Keep in mind, when I say tea, I really mean sugar with a little bit of water to aid consumption and a few tea leaves sprinkled in for color. But I digress.
Back to the description of my house: it was built with mud and straw (pisé) and at one time, concrete was generously slathered on the ground to make the floor but that has now started to give way to the dirt; when you walked into the compound, the donkey and cow were on your right, behind them was the sheep pen, to your left was a storage hut, and in front of you was the living area, which entailed a “kitchen” (fire pit, ice box with no ice, and small metal table), a multipurpose room, and a salon/bedroom/nursery/dining room. While there was a roof over all of these rooms, it was a very open air place as you had to step outside to go from room to room. Animals were commonplace throughout the living areas, and many times I’d look up from my book or journal writing to find a chicken attacking bread crumbs by my foot or a kitten escaping the dog and curling up near my foot.
Besides my father Mohammed, the other people living in my house were: Fatna, my grandmother; Fatima, my mother; Abdulatif, my 9 year old brother; Sumiya, my 4 year old sister; Hessna, my 2 year old sister; and a 4 week old baby whose name I could never understand. The family dynamics were unlike any I’d ever experienced before, and this society was still operating under the former Family Code, which stated that upon marriage, the wife became the property (read: slave) of her in-laws. This might sound kind of funny until you’re face-to-face with a woman who isn’t allowed to eat at the table with her husband and children, who sits by herself on the dirt floor in the corner and eats the scraps of those at the table, who is ordered around by everyone, including her 9 year old son, and who is treated about the same as the family’s livestock.
The paternalistic society was very frustrating to me, and besides what I just mentioned, one of the more aggravating things was that Mohammed adamantly believes that his son’s education is more important than his daughters’. He loves his daughters, this much is evident, but he doesn’t see them as “valuable”, dare I say, as Abdulatif. When he asked about my family, he was concerned to hear that I only had two sisters and no brothers. He looked up to the sky and said a few things, which I understood to be “God bless your father, the poor man with no sons.”
While meals with my Moroccan rural family were obviously very different from meals with my family back home, certain moments reminded me just how similar we all are. After dinner, the family sat around and talked together (minus Fatima who was cleaning up), and while I’m not sure what they were talking about (a couple times I think I heard “crazy American girl”) the scene looked a lot like dinners at my house when we all just sit around and talk. The actual meals were quite varied during my stay; breakfast was always tea and flatbread (made fresh that morning), and lunch and dinner depended on what was available. The day I arrived, they had just killed a chicken, so that was used for three days for lunch and dinner…I even got chicken liver and heart as a snack one day. Yum. When there was no more chicken left, we ate bread and olive oil, and sometimes fresh butter. You can tell the family appreciated every little bit of food they had, and nothing was ever wasted.
As for the language barrier…it was immense. Not only did these families not speak French, but they also didn’t speak fus’ha (Modern Standard Arabic), and the darija they spoke was very accented and different from the darija I’m used to hearing in Rabat. Nonverbal communication was the way to go, but even that got confusing at times (their motion for “come here” looked like they were petting a dog). No matter what I did or said, they seemed to think that repeating complex sentences to me would magically grant me the ability to respond in flawless darija (they seemed disappointed that I was not fluent after day one…).
The first night I slept there, the grandmother woke up every hour, shined the flashlight in my eyes to see if I was sleeping, and would pile more blankets on me to show her concern to the fact that I was awake (which I most certainly was, after she temporarily blinded me with the flashlight). I woke up the next morning with ten blankets piled on me.
During the week, we were put to work by planting olive trees, helping to build their community center, participating in a talk with the village men, and learning to weave. The rest of the time was spent with our families, doing chores (I’m now a pro at shelling peas), playing with little kids, and catching up on reading (currently I’m reading Mark Twain’s Innocents Abroad…you can bet you’ll be getting quotes). We even got a game of Frisbee going…though they wouldn’t let me play after I accidently threw it into the mosque.
This post is a lot longer than I thought it would be, so I think I’ll wrap this up before you stop reading. This was both a relaxing trip and a stressful trip…on one hand we had no obligations, no email, no cell phones, and no outside communication; however, on the other hand it was stressful because I was trying to communicate with my family, process the social situation, and absorb all that I could. Overall it was an amazing experience and it has definitely given me a lot to think about…

Pre-departure for village stay

2009-03-20T20:18:00.001Z

It's a two-post kinda day because it's a special occasion: I’m about to head out for the next big adventure…a week in a rural village. You can bet there will be no cell phone service or internet, so don’t hold your breath for the next post. I’m spending a week with a host family in the Ouled Khallou tribe in the Feryat village outskirts (east of Casablanca in the Khouribga province)…I’m not really sure what to expect quite yet and besides being a little nervous, I’m so excited! We’re going to be spending the first day meeting with our families and attending a discussion with the Ouled Khallou men, and then the next few days will be spent hiking, painting walls, weaving, planting trees, and immersing ourselves into the rural life. The houses are spaced very far apart and you can’t walk by yourself because of the psychotic guard dogs (we’ve been told to carry rocks in our pockets), so I’m anticipating spending a lot of time with either just my family or by myself. To be honest, I think it’s going to be a nice change of pace and a very eye-opening experience. I’m going to be bringing pens and paper for the children and we’ll be helping out around the village (hence the painting and planting I mentioned before), so I feel like we’ll be doing some good while absorbing as much of the culture as we can. I think that we’re going to be learning so much from the Ouled Khallou people, and it’s only far for us to give something back as well. A lot of people in the program are worried about getting sick, the bathroom situation (there isn’t one), the fact that we have to sleep on the floor, etc. etc., and it’s getting kind of annoying how pessimistic and close-minded these opinions are. I just keep thinking that this is exactly what we all need. There’s so much that I know I take for granted and I think this week-long excursion will help remind us all of what we have. I’ll be back next Friday or Saturday and I’m sure I’ll have some crazy stories to tell about my attempts at herding goats or communicating with the village kids (no pun intended). Have a great week!

Moroccan Cooking Lessons

2009-03-20T20:17:00.000Z

Ever since I almost caught my kitchen on fire last semester while cooking tofu, I’ve taken a sabbatical from cooking. However, I decided to get over the lingering memories of scorched soy beans by accepting an offer, from my friend’s mom to teach us how to make harira and bstilla, two of my favorite Moroccan dishes. Ever since I arrived in Morocco, I’ve been determined to learn how to make one or two things, and this was my lucky week! Harira is a tomato base soup, traditionally made during Ramadan to break the fast, and bstilla is a flaky chicken or pigeon pastry made with all sorts of delicious spices. As a side note: most of the time I have no idea what I’m eating in this country…I just eat whatever they put in front of me and don’t even worry about the name. The harira is a perfect example of that; I’ve been eating it for almost two months now and I’ve never really know what was in it. When she pulled out the puréed tomato base, onions, and garbanzo beans, I thought to myself “ok, I could have guessed that.” But when she pulled out the chicken, I thought it looked a little different than usual, so I asked her what part of the animal it was. Her response? “cou de poulet.” Come again? Oh yes, chicken neck. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss. We zealously threw 10 chicken necks into the pot, along with the veggies, lots of parsley, and saffron (a staple in any Moroccan food), and while that simmered on the (camper) stove, we turned our attention to the bstilla. Luckily, there were no more surprises there…just a mixture made of shredded chicken (I assume chicken breast, but I didn’t ask), saffron, onions cooked in oil and saffron, more saffron, and a few other items that were lost in translation (I took better notes than this blog post lets on). We made personal size bstillas by putting the chicken mixture into filo dough and folding it into a pocket about the size of a tea saucer. She then led us to the kitchen where we were to fry the little suckers. Let me give a brief description of this kitchen: small, full of birdcages (the family collects and crossbreeds finches and canaries (?!)), camper stove with pans of hot oil and tea kettles teetering precariously, 3 little girls running underfoot, and no room in which to turn around. It was definitely a challenge for this woman, not to mention the fact that she had three awkwardly curious American girls following her every move. Despite the obstacles, we had dinner on the table for the family (and some random woman) by 9 pm. I’ve never eaten chicken neck before, and I’m still not sure how I feel about breaking the neck in half and then proceeding to eat the meat vertebrae by vertebrae, but all in all I think it was a success. The harira turned out scrumptious and I think I could have eaten the bstilla all night long. This was one of the most fun nights I’ve had in Morocco…my friend’s mom was the best sport and kept us laughing the entire time, and not to mention well-fed.
Note to the Italian side of the family: I guess the news of your cooking class inspired me to learn some new recipes…Nonna, you’d be so proud :)

A little bit of self-reflection...

2009-03-16T13:00:00.001Z

I’ve been in Morocco for about 6 weeks now and I feel like it’s about time for a little self-reflection. Since I’ve been here, there has never been a single moment that I have regretted my decision to come to Morocco. Sure it’s been a big adjustment from my secure, stable life in the US and Lord knows it’s been tough not being able to talk to my family and friends all the time, but I wouldn’t give up this experience for anything. Yes, there have been drawbacks, but the positives way outweigh the negatives, and the things I’m learning here are already opening my eyes to possible future plans. Without a doubt, I absolutely love Morocco and all that it has to offer.
When I first arrived, I was appalled at the attitude of most Moroccan men I’d “meet” on the street and the male-dominated society was very difficult to get used to. The street harassment was one of my biggest culture shocks and while it still infuriates me, I’ve found ways to deal with it (I’ve been talked out of swift kicks to the groin by many; though from an intercultural communication standpoint, I believe this would send my message across quite clearly). I have met several Moroccan guys that have forced me to challenge my hastily-formed stereotype that all Moroccan men are sketchy, chauvinist pigs, and hanging out with these guys in a “normal” social setting helps to remind myself that I can’t hide from situations that intimidate me.
The cultural knowledge that I have gained thus far is one of the things I am most proud of. My greatest fear, when traveling is that I will offend someone because of a culturally insensitive remark or action, but I feel like I have managed to skirt by that land mine during my time here (if not, then I was simply unaware of it). Some of the little things I’ve learned: respect beggars and always give, if not a dirham or some food, a proper greeting (i.e. “may God grant you peace”); lower my voice when walking by a mosque, especially during prayer time; not to walk in the middle of the roads in the medina; never turn down an offer of tea, no matter how late it is or where else I should be; and never speak to someone in a language other than Arabic (granted they speak Arabic), without first exhausting my repertoire of fus’ha and darija vocabulary. I’ve found that in keeping these basics in mind, along with others too numerous to list, I have not only managed to avoid insulting someone, but I may have changed someone’s negative opinion of Americans. I’m not claiming to be the perfect little ambassador, but I’m a firm believer in the fact that representing the United States as a country that respects other cultures will lead to more positive views of the US from its foreign counterparts, and this in turn will produce more effective international relations. The US’ image abroad can use all the help it can get, and we can’t fix this with photo ops with heads of states, and meaningless talks that we never plan on finishing; it is through contact with ordinary American citizens that this tarnished image abroad will slowly begin to develop into something we can be proud of.
Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I’ll get off of my soapbox for the night. Just a little update on my day-to-day life: Today I took a day trip to Mohammedia, a beach town 30 kms south of Rabat, with a group of American and Moroccan friends, and apart from my weekend in Moulay Bousselham, it ranks as one of the most relaxing days I’ve had. We played Ultimate Frisbee, walked along the beach (SO much cleaner than Rabat’s), played the game of who knows more American songs (one of the Moroccan guys won), read, slept, and soaked up some vitamin D on a gorgeous Moroccan day. I’m developing a lovely Moroccan tan—short-sleeved shirt and capri pants tan lines. I’m still trying to figure out what I’ll be able to get away with wearing when it starts getting too hot to wear conservative clothing. Tomorrow looks like it’s going to be a sleep in, do some Arabic, and got to the hammam kind of day. Like I said, I love Morocco.

Southern Excursion Pictures!!

2009-03-11T12:59:00.000Z

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2085607&id=35805018&l=c0151
Enjoy!

Southern Excursion Recap

2009-03-10T12:57:00.002Z

So I’m apologizing right now for what I anticipate will be an extremely lengthy post. I got back from Southern Excursion Friday evening and I’m still in shock over how incredible the entire week was. I rode camels in the Sahara, drove through the snowy Tizi n’Tichka (pass in the High Atlas), stayed in renovated kasbahs, drove past countless crumbling kasbahs, explored the Marrakech medina, had a cobra (that was foaming at the mouth…) lay across my shoulders in the Djemma el-Fna, and had an all-around absolutely amazing time. I’ll try to recap the trip as best as I can, but check out my pictures to get a better idea of this whirlwind week. If a picture is worth a thousand words then mine use the entire English, French, and Arabic language. I'll post the link as soon as I can get the internet to work.
We left Saturday morning and spent most of the day driving in our tour bus through the Middle Atlas with a few stopovers at places like the cedar forest (saw a tree that was over 300 years old!). There are about 28 students in the group, our Program Assistant (Nawal), another Center employee (Fayrous), one of our Academic Directors (Lahcen), the bus driver, and his assistant and we were getting in some major bonding time during the long bus rides. We spent the night at an old kasbah that had been completely renovated and was one of the most gorgeous places I’ve seen…they’re definitely picking some great hotels.
While this is mainly a vacation for us, we still have academic assignments from time to time and this includes debriefing on the previous day’s activities or presenting on a topic relevant to what we’re experiencing. I ended up having to present on almonds on the day we drove through the winding and snowy High Atlas roads while facing backwards…I think it was a miracle I didn’t get sick! We also have lectures from time to time, but it’s nothing to high-stress because they really just want us to absorb as much as we can from this trip…and let me tell you, it’s a lot to take in.
On the second day we drove some more through the mountains (had my first snowball fight in Africa!!) and arrived to Erfoud for lunch, about 80 kms from Merzouga to do our camel trek up the dunes. After eating, we loaded our small overnight bags into the Land Rovers that were waiting to take us the rest of the way to the Sahara, over the unpaved arid land. Speeding through the desert (the guy drove like you, Mom!) was one of the most exciting carefree things in the world…we’re talking “hiked-out-on-a-trapeze-on-a-catamaran” kind of happy go-lucky. When we got to Merzouga, we visited a local nonprofit called Hasi Labiad that focuses on educating women and children, and preventative measures for keeping young boys in school (Sidenote: many of them drop out to work with tourists, so when traveling it’s best to not exacerbate the problem by accepting tours from school-age boys or buying souvenirs from them. I’ve taken to giving young children pens instead of money). We then made our way over to the camels and rode them up the dunes so we could play around like little kids in a large sandbox and watch the sunset. Again, see the pictures for a better idea of what it was like! Later that night we spent the night at an auberge (their version of an auberge was a gorgeous old kasbah) in Merzouga. After dinner we had a Gnawa musical performance…Gnawa is Moroccan music with sub-Saharan influences. The next morning, we woke up before 5 am and spent an hour hiking up the sand dunes in complete darkness in time to watch the sunset from the peak of one of the higher dunes. This was definitely one of my favorite parts of the trip and while the trip up the dunes was pretty intense, it was all worth it once we saw the sun rising over what we could only assume was Algeria (I don’t think we were all that far from the border). After the early wakeup call we had, it was (I never thought I’d say this) a relief to be back on the bus…we drove by the Todra and Dades Gorges, through the Dades Valley, and stopped at, yeah you guessed it, a kasbah for lunch. Bad planning on the program’s part because the salon we ate lunch in was so comfortable that two other girls and I fell asleep for a little while, and almost missed our afternoon lecture. Don’t worry, I managed to catch a few more minutes of sleep in the Berber tent set up by the pool when they weren’t looking. Sneaky, sneaky.
In Ouarzazate we had a tea reception and dinner at Association Tishka, a girls’ high school. We actually spent the night in the dorms they had built for the girls who come from rural villages to continue their schooling. While we weren’t staying in the same area as the girls, we got to eat dinner and socialize with them throughout the evening. The verbal language barrier wasn’t as difficult to overcome as I had originally thought; some of the girls spoke small amounts of French, I spoke enough Arabic to get basics across, one or two of the girls used this opportunity to practice their English, and everyone got to polish their charades skills. We ended the night with an impromptu Moroccan dance party complete with drums and various other noisemakers (they just kind of appeared out of nowhere).
The following morning we were on our way to Marrakech through the Atlas. I can’t write anything else about this day without mentioning the fact that it was Rob’s 21st birthday...HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve made it this far, but congratulations :) We spent more time in the bus today…I know it seems like we’ve been in the bus nonstop, but I’ve gotten to see so much of the varied landscape that Morocco has to offer and I know I wouldn’t have been able to see it any other way. We started that morning off in a southern oasis, had lunch in the High Atlas in the middle of a snowstorm, and arrived to Marrakesh by late afternoon.
Marrakesh has to be one of my favorite cities in all of Morocco, by far. The main square, Djemaa el-Fna, has cobras, entertainment monkeys (DON’T give them money), delicious fresh-squeezed orange juice, spicy herbal tea, and it’s basically heaven for anyone who likes to people-watch (aka me). The massive souk then stems off in various roads and alleyways off of the square, with different sections for shoes, leather, jewelry, carpets, sheepskin, wool, etc. You will all be impressed to hear that I managed to keep my money in my purse for the most part, except for one occasion when I got so caught up in the competition aspect of bargaining that I ended up with a colorful cotton and silk blanket. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the blanket and can’t wait to put it on my bed at home, it’s just that I probably wouldn’t have bought it if that darn salesman didn’t start talking to me. I blame him. I managed to avoid the souk on the next day, and visited some of the more historical points of interest like the Koutoubia Mosque (the minaret is almost 70 meters high!), the Saadi Tombs, and the Majorelle Gardens. The Majorelle Gardens, owned by the late Yves Saint-Laurent and decorated in the Art Deco style, was one of my favorite places, besides the Djemaa el-Fna.
We finished off our Southern Excursion with a trip to Essaouira, a beach resort town about 7 hours south of Rabat (unless you’re taking public transportation…). This was a very low-key end to the adventure, and I spent most of my time walking along the beach, in the souk, and throughout the medina. Walking along the Skala (the great sea bastion a.k.a. ramparts) at sunset provided the perfect conclusion for such a sweeping tour of Morocco. After this whirlwind adventure, I was completely exhausted and slept for about 5 hours out of the 7 that we spent on the bus.Now it’s my turn to play tour guide because my grandma (Oma) is here visiting. She brought me the necessities…more hand sanitizer, travel bottles of Febreze, granola bars, and a Tide To-Go pen so I should be good to go for the next month before my parents come to visit. She also brought laundry detergent, so who knows…maybe I’ll convince Mama Z to throw some in the next load of laundry and start a trend. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Moulay Bousselham

2009-02-27T16:20:00.003Z

So I’ve officially found my favorite place in all of Morocco…Moulay Bousselham (granted, this is probably a declaration I’m sure you’ll hear me making often). I can’t even begin to describe this small fishing village or describe to you how friendly everyone was. Before we left, every Moroccan we told we were going to Moulay Bousselham responded with something along the lines of “How did you find out about Bousselham?!” I figured this was a very good sign. A group of nine of us SITers (so much for solo…) made the 2 hour train ride to Souk al-Arbaa from Rabat, where we then caught a taxi the rest of the way to M.B. I wish I had filmed the half hour taxi ride, because it was pretty much the most terrifying/exciting experience of the trip. The best way to describe it is by comparing it to one of those car chase video games. You know the ones where you swerve every 2 seconds to avoid hitting another car, road debris, a dead body (none of those on the way to M.B. thankfully)? Well, switch the setting to the middle of nowhere in Morocco, put four people plus a taxi driver and a surfboard in the car (don’t even get me started on the surfboard), add in a half washed out road, random cows and sheep, and speeds maxing out at 80 mph and you’ll have a general idea of what the taxi ride was like. And I lived to tell the tale…pretty impressive if you ask me. We got to our hotel which was looking over the “lagoon” (basically a river with a bunch of sandbars running into the ocean) around mid-afternoon and did the most important thing first: found a restaurant. We ended up going to one the guide book recommended because of the “helpful staff”—they weren’t kidding. The second we walked up, Abdelhak, our waiter, started clearing out a table for us by removing all of the dirty dishes and literally throwing them onto the other guests’ tables. For the rest of the meal, he then proceeded to run back and forth between the kitchen, our table, and the store (to get our drinks, bread, salt, etc) in a very spastic manner. I’m telling you…this guy was either on drugs, or desperately needed them. We later found out that it was just him working the restaurant that day, thus earning it the nickname “one man and a pan” from our group. When I walked down the street the next day, he dragged me (no joke) into the restaurant so he could serve me a glass of Moroccan mint tea, on the house. Looks like I made myself a friend! We were waking up early the next morning to go on our bird watching expedition, so Saturday night we stayed at the hotel and sat out on the terrace with music and snacks from the souk. We could see all the stars perfectly without the distraction of city lights and the fishing boats in the cove below were barely distinguishable silhouettes. Definitely one of those moments that you wish you could capture on camera, but you know it just wouldn’t turn out. The next morning was just as photogenic but a little more camera-friendly. We got up in time to see the sunrise, down some coffee, and head down to the fishing cove to meet up with our guide, Khalib (I can almost see Alexis cringing at the sound of this early morning adventure). We then took a three-hour tour around the river, where we saw our fair share of birds and got to climb up a huge sand dune then run down it. I was so excited to see birds like egrets, spoonbills, and flamingos that when I saw a seagull, I turned to the guide and asked him in broken Arabic “Ooh that one’s pretty! What is it??” He looked at me like I was stupid and said “seagull.” I kept my mouth shut for the remainder of the tour.
We had a little beach Frisbee session that afternoon, and then headed to Souk al-Arbaa in time to catch the train back to Rabat. After returning to the craziness of the city and the stress of schoolwork, I’m already planning my next trip back there. We met so many random people there and got so many couscous invitations (spastic waiter, toothless “taxi” driver, local students on the beach), that I think it’ll be impossible not to return.
We went to Casablanca on Wednesday and I have no desire to go back there anytime soon. The big tourist attraction there (besides Rick's Café) is the Hassan II Mosque, but I was thoroughly unimpressed. Sure it's nice and big and pretty looking, but when only 52% of your population is literate, you think you'd spend that $850 million on something like education or something. Just an idea. Overall, I was unimpressed and wouldn't encourage anyone to go visit unless they had a great desire to see a European city with even less government accountability than usual. I could go on with this for awhile, so I think I'll stop now.
By the way, I’ve gotten several emails about people not being able to comment on the posts. I have no idea what’s wrong with it, but until it’s fixed (itself), just write me an email if you want to tell me something: my normal email dagos101 at mail dot chapman dot edu (but replace the at and dot)
Also, I'm leaving tomorrow for Southern Excursion, which includes dunes, camels, beaches, walnuts, and good food. I'll try and update the blog if I get to a computer at all, but you'll most likely hear from me sometime after the 6th of March when I return. B'slamaa!

more pictures...

2009-02-24T20:14:00.004Z

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2083260&id=35805018&l=80e56
Here are some more pics...Moulay Bousselham included.

Happy Couscous Day!

2009-02-20T16:09:00.001Z

Since I’ve been living in Morocco my favourite day of the week is now Friday, aka Couscous Day. Because it is the Holy Day for Muslims, Friday has many traditions surrounding it (one of them being couscous), and since I’m not allowed into a mosque, I’ve decided to adopt two of the less religious traditions: eating platefuls of couscous and then taking a sieste right after. Normally I just have Arabic class in the morning and then I eat lunch at home and I’m free for the rest of the afternoon. This week, we have class after lunch because we were in Fes on Monday, but we were still given 2 ½ hours for lunch. Couscous is basically really small granules of semolina wheat and in Morocco it’s served in a huge platter (bottom half of the tajine clay platter) with vegetables and sometimes meat piled into the center. Today we had cooked zucchini, carrots, cabbage, pumpkin, tomatoes, chickpeas, and beef…it was delicious! I’ve found that Moroccans are very communal, and eating is no exception to that observation…the platter of couscous is placed in the middle of the table, no one uses dishes, and it becomes an “organized” free for all. My family’s a little more modern so I get the privilege of eating with a spoon…I’m one of the few students in my program that are allowed this luxury. I said it was “organized” because there are some strict rules when it comes to couscous, but they can all be summarized into one big umbrealla rule: Stay in your Zone. I like to call it the “Zone Game”. When the platter is placed on the table, you look at the couscous in the area right in front of you and picture a 60 degree angle facing you; the couscous that fills this area is yours. You’re then free to stuff your face full of couscous, veggies, and meat. People get very upset if you break into their Zone, so it’s especially important to not miscalculate your Zone dimensions. Walls of couscous are actually formed between different zones and it’s the most awkward situation when you accidently tap it with your spoon and it all comes tumbling down. At my house, Mama Z turns the TV channel to the midday prayer and we listen to the Qur’an being read/sung. Loudly. It actually drowns out the muezzin’s “Allah akhbar!” (Allah is great) chant, and since we’re right near the mosque, I can assure you it takes a lot to block him out. The only other sounds you can hear are the scraping of spoons on the clayware, Mama Z’s orders to “kuli!” (eat!), and my responses of “safi! Sh’bat.” (enough! I’m full.). After we’ve devoured the weight of a small dog in couscous, the dishes get cleared and we all retreat to our rooms to take a small nap. Mine was considerably short this afternoon considering I have class and to be honest, I’m a little bitter. But it’s all good…nothing can be too bad on Couscous Day!
A few of us are leaving tomorrow morning for Moulay Bousselham, which is a small fishing resort town about 125 kms north of Rabat. We’ll be visiting Merdja Zerga, which according to all the guidebooks, is a prime bird watching area. The thing that really sold me is that in order to partake in the bird watching, you hire a guide to take you out on a small boat of some sort and he’ll tour you around the lagoon. I’m so boat deprived right now and I’d give anything to go sailing, so I figure this might be as close as I get for a little while. We’ll be back Sunday mid-afternoon, so it’s just going to be a short relaxing weekend away from the city…after a week of Fus’ha lessons, I’m ready for a little downtime.

CLEAN CLOTHES! kinda...

2009-02-19T12:50:00.002Z

I’ve been wondering for some time now how I’m supposed to go about doing my laundry here at my homestay, and when I returned from this weekend’s trip I discovered I had to tackle this dilemma quickly…I only had a couple days’ supply of underwear left. I mentioned something to Mama Z about laundry and before I knew what was happening, she had grabbed my laundry bag and marched off to the Great Unknown (aka the third floor that I’ve never been up to)…apparently my house has a washer that I was not aware of. There are still cultural differences that I’m grappling with, and the way in which clothes are washed is definitely one of them. My clothes were returned to me today, slightly stiffer from flapping around in the ocean air of Rabat but not looking or smelling any cleaner. After mentioning this to a few other people in the program, I discovered that using laundry detergent isn’t really the norm here and I was lucky enough that my clothes had even come into contact with water (I’m assuming they had). One of the guys in my program has taken to bringing his laundry with him to the annex where we have Arabic in the mornings, washing it in one of the bathroom sinks, and then hanging it to dry while we learn to conjugate. I went up to the rooftop today and there were his boxers and a few t-shirts, just flapping around in the breeze, with his jeans laid over a ledge. I no longer see things like that as weird or unusual...it's more of a "what else is he supposed to do?" kinda thing.
This afternoon, an off-site discussion took the place of our normal Culture and Society Seminar (CSS). We walked to Mohammed V University where we met with a group of Moroccan graduate students to discuss Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations. It was a great discussion that gave us the opportunity to throw around thoughts, ideas, and opinions with a group we would not otherwise be with in a classroom setting. We all had some very strong opinions on this piece…if you care to know mine, let me know because I could go on for awhile…and there was a general sense of tip-toeing at the beginning of the discussion, so as not to offend anyone, but after awhile we all loosened up and continued to talk for about two hours. Later on, at a restaurant, we (me and a few friends) ended up running into a group of the Moroccan students, so we pulled our tables together and just talked for awhile about everything from politics to things to do in Rabat. After we ate some kefta sandwiches (lamb, random meat, and spices squished into meat patties), one of the Moroccan students offered to walk back with us to the medina because we weren’t exactly sure where we were going, and of course we said yes. He then proceeded to start a one-sided discussion with me on why France is terrible, why I should be studying any language besides a European language, why French people are stuck up, why Europe lacks any culture, etc etc etc…I think you get the point. We had been walking and having this lovely “discussion” for about 20 minutes when I realized we were walking in the wrong direction. I interrupted Abdel’s latest tirade on France’s racism to ask him if he was sure we were going the right way. And get this…he responded by saying “Oh, that I have no idea. I’m not from Rabat. You know the city across the river, Salé? That is where my family is from and where I am now living. I want to walk with you to practice my English.” Great, just great. We finally convinced Abdel that we need to ask someone for directions, and when we had the medina in our sight, we convinced him that he should probably catch his taxi back to Salé before it gets too late. Needless to say, he was quite an interesting character.
Tomorrow we’re visiting Villa des Arts in the afternoon before having a lecture on the Moroccan art scene. I think I’m going to speed through the exhibit because it’ll be a gorgeous day and also it’s market day. Souk times ten…what could be better??

Excursion to Meknes, Fes, Voulbilis, Moulay Idriss...

2009-02-18T12:56:00.001Z

First of all, I’m sorry for the lack of entries as of lately. This weekend’s excursion, the sunny weather, and this gorgeous city have distracted me from the realities of life…namely my school work, but I feel like that was more intentional.
Secondly, this weekend’s excursion to Meknes, Moulay Idriss, Volubilis, and Fes was incredible. All of these places have fascinating histories, seeing as they were all at one time the capital or the birthplace of a dynasty. For your sake, I’ll spare you the historical details. And before I forget: more pictures have been posted, so check out that link from earlier to get some imagery.
We left early Saturday morning for Meknes where we spent only a few hours touring by both bus and foot. We got to see the famous Bab Mansour, built under the Sultan Moulay Ismail’s tyrannical rule, but not much else. If you want to read about a crazy leader, just google Moulay Ismail. He would arbitrarily kill people or have them killed (+30,000 people, not including those in battle) and his reasoning was that “my subjects are like rats in a basket, and if I do not keep shaking the basket they will gnaw their way through.” Gee, what a pleasant guy. We also visited a few arts and crafts shops and I was really tempted to do a little shopping, but I’ve decided to wait on that for awhile. This is where traditional silver damascene is made (hair-line thin silver thread pressed into grooves on steel to create decorated plates, figurines, etc) and also a lot of embroidery is done…Mom and Dad, you’re lucky I didn’t know the dining room table dimensions because you almost ended up with a new tablecloth (for future reference, what are the dimensions?). Our trip to Meknes was just a drive-by visit, and although I can tell there’s not a whole lot to do, I still plan on coming back to visit because it’s one of those cities that’s great to walk around and explore with no particular agenda. I’m not a big crowd person, and when you compare pictures that I took, you’ll understand why I prefer the often overlooked city of Meknes to the winding maze of Fes. Plus, you can go horseback riding there :)
We drove a short ways to Moulay Idriss for lunch and tea at a private home that was absolutely gorgeous. The town itself is quaint, but I can’t really see myself spending much time there. Maybe it was the time of day we showed up (smaller towns still take full advantage of the traditional siesta), but I wasn’t too impressed with the place, besides the gorgeous views of the Middle Atlas Mountains.
Volubilis was next on the schedule, and let me tell you…Morocco was the last place that I thought I’d be seeing Roman ruins. The weather was perfect for touring and it ended up being a great walk after our tajine and couscous lunch and terrace tea-time. We had this guide who would just ramble on and on, so after a little while we started to explore on our own, which was perfect because after spending the entire day with everyone in the group we all kind of needed our own space for a bit.
We arrived in Fes that evening just in time to change for our “fancy” dinner at a riad (best described as a Moroccan mansion) with belly dancers, live music, and a creeper magician included. We all ended up getting to bed pretty early that night because we could barely move after they had stuffed us full of olives, bread, couscous, tajine with chicken and lemon, and mint tea.
We took a walking tour of Fes the next morning, which continued on to the afternoon (after yet another amazing meal)…we had to divide into two groups and have two chaperones each because they were so afraid we were going to get lost. They’re probably right because, as our native Fes guide was proud to point out, the medina has over 9,000 “streets”; most of them are so narrow you have to suck in and walk through sideways. Donkeys are everywhere there because cars can’t get through, and they carry everything from bags of sand to Coca-Cola bottles. After successfully emerging from the labyrinth, we had a free afternoon to ourselves so we did some more exploring around our hotel and took a nap before dinner. My roommates and I somehow lucked out and got one of the best rooms in the hotel on the top floor with a patio, so we ended up having most of the group over for a little party later that night, which was the perfect way to end the trip. We returned late Monday morning and I spent the rest of the day catching up on sleep and doing homework and readings that I had put off all weekend. Now it’s back to the books…that is, until this weekend’s adventures. TBA.

PICTURES

2009-02-13T16:23:00.000Z

they're finally uploaded!

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=32759813&l=367e0&id=35805018

Don't bother packing a watch

2009-02-13T12:58:00.000Z

Today was a lesson in Moroccan timekeeping, and I think the title of this post should give you a hint as to how much value the Moroccan lifestyle places on the concept of time. Every week we get a schedule from our Program Assistants (PAs) and it tells us when we’re supposed to show up for one thing or another. Because a lot of our lectures take place off-site, if you lose that schedule you’re going to be left alone in a dark classroom while everyone else is at the Ministry of Religious Affairs. So far I’ve been treating it like a sacred document, showing up on time to class, eating lunch at 12 on the dot, and getting home in time for tea with Mama Z at 4:30. Today, my American “time is money” approach went up in flames, and I had my first real lesson in the Moroccan “oh, stay just a little longer, no one’s dying” mentality. According to our schedule, after lunch finished at 1:00 we were supposed to meet in the conference room for a seminar on the hijab, and after that ended at 2:30, a discussion on the previous day’s conference with Dr. Ahmen Abbadi (one of the top religious scholars in Morocco) was supposed to take place until 3:30. Well, that’s not really how it went down. The lecture started relatively on time, only 15 minutes late, but instead of ending at 2:30 it continued on until 3:30. The discussion then went until 4:45, which at that point my butt started to go numb from sitting that long. The laundry list I had of places to go, people to see, shops to visit seemed unconquerable. My friend Lea and I were planning on attending a play at 8:00 pm on the Years of Lead, so we assumed we could drop stuff off at her house, stop by my house, run to the souk to pick up a few things, hit up the bank, meet a friend at a café to write up a dialogue for tomorrow’s Arabic class presentation, and then make it to the play, all without a hitch. That was waaayyy too ambitious. We showed up at her house, and her mom immediately started to make us tea. But not just tea. It also included bread and jam, bread and sugared peanut butter, bread and cheese, bread and olive oil (have I mentioned they eat a lot of bread here?), and some kind of chicken pastries. This whole process, while it was certainly delicious, took a nice hour and a half chunk out of our evening. Next stop, my house. Mama Z was waiting for us and it took me a good half hour to convince her that we had already had tea and would be able to live for at least another hour without another glass. After she finally conceded on the tea issue, she moved on to trying to feed us bread. We managed to make it out without being stuffed full of food, only to meet up with our friend at a café to drink, yup, you guessed it…more tea. After throwing a quick dialogue together for tomorrow’s oral presentation, Lea and I dashed out in search of Mohammed the 5th National Theatre, which neither of us had bothered to look up directions to. We arrived at 8:10, only to discover that someone decided to have a reception (thank goodness it wasn’t a tea reception!) before opening the doors to the theatre. The play, which was supposed to start at 8:00, began at 8:45 and continued on until 10:00 pm. Getting home was an adventure in itself…the medina’s not the best area to be walking around late at night (read: don’t do it), but after donning some headscarves and calling one of our guy friends to escort us home, we made it back safe and sound after a long day of unscheduled detours.
For the record, the play itself was amazing. It was all in Arabic, but I could pick up a few words every now and then (definitely a satisfying feeling), and it was good to see how Moroccans are dealing with this kind of blemish in regards to their venerated monarchy. I ended up talking with the wife of the main actor who wanted to know how I liked the play even though I couldn’t understand it that well, and she gave me her contact information--I think I’ll definitely make use of when I start interviewing for my ISP. It’s hard to think about the fact that I’ll be working on such a large research project when I’m in the middle of such an amazing country that I just want to explore. I guess this is where the true test of work ethic comes in…

Wool blankets are heaven

2009-02-12T12:42:00.001Z

Well, as I mentioned earlier this is bound to be a busy week and it’s proving to be nothing less than expected. Arabic class for three hours a day can be really tiring, but I really feel like I’m being challenged and it’s a nice change from lecture-style classes that typically include loads of reading assignments and paper after paper to write. I forgot how difficult it is to learn a new language…the last time I felt this clueless was the first week or so at Belgian primary school (though I think that was actually sheer terror). I’m still in that stage where someone will talk to me on the street and I’ll either freeze up or answer in French. I’ve made a few random friends on my route to school, so those are always ideal people to try out my new phrases with. We’re still learning Darija (Moroccan dialect) in class, but next week we switch to Fus’ha (modern standard) for the remainder of the semester. I’m in a class with five other people, so it’s small enough to not be intimidating, but large enough so I don’t always feel like Hannan, the instructor, is picking on me. As for Hannan…she deserves a gold medal for putting up with all of us. After about two hours in class we start to get a little disheartened when we’re still not pronouncing things correctly and have to repeat it for the umpteenth time in a row, but she’s probably the most patient person I have ever met and no matter what, she still keeps smiling. I think I’m starting to get back into this whole Arabic thing, but every once in awhile I make one of those stupid mistakes…just today I accidently said “I ate romantic for dinner” instead of “I ate pasta for dinner." Oops, my bad.
As for my homestay…I love it! I’m constantly coming up with new ways of keeping myself from freezing to death in the middle of the night, and curling up with a hot water bottle has proved to be the most efficient. Mama Z (as I have now started to call Zakia, but not to her face) makes me tea nonstop (in the morning, after class, before dinner, after dinner, when friends are over, etc) and the food has drastically improved since the sardine incident of ’09. Now she keeps trying to serve me bananas, but I’ve managed to keep these attempts at bay. I’ve definitely been luckier than half of the people in my group who have already had some form of stomach issue/food poisoning…it was a close call when I ate chicken liver the other day, but I’m doing a-ok. And it’s going to stay that way. And I totally didn’t mean to rhyme there. Mama Z also told me to pick an evening that I don’t really have much going on, and I can have a little party at the house for the people in my program. I’m assuming it will involve ridiculous amounts of tea and cake, and that sounds pretty amazing to me.
We had a seminar today to get us thinking about our Independent Study Projects (ISP) and I think I might be sticking with my original idea of researching reconciliation and mediation attempts by the government in regards to the Years of Lead, under the previous king, Hassan II. I know that I definitely want to focus on some sort of human rights issue, which also leads me to the other possibility of exploring the situation in Western Sahara (um, I mean, Moroccan Sahara). This might prove to be more difficult however, as travel into that area is limited (it all depends on whether the US Embassy will let me go) and contacts for interviews are harder to come by. I guess I’ll just have to see where my prep work leads me!
Well it’s time for me to snuggle under mounds of blankets, but I’ll post another update soon. We’re headed to Fes and Meknes this weekend so I’m sure to have plenty to report!
Also, sorry the pictures haven’t posted yet…I’m trying my hardest to get them to upload but the internet’s a little iffy. Bear with me please, I’ll post them ASAP.

I've returned to the WWW

2009-02-09T12:00:00.003Z

No internet on the weekends so here are the latest updates:

7 Feb 09
Moroccans don’t take hospitality lightly, and that’s definitely something I’m realizing more everyday. I showed up today at my host family’s house and they were nothing but gracious in true Moroccan fashion. Everything from bringing me tea to warm me up (the house is freezing!), to touring me around the neighborhood made me feel so welcome. Just a little clarification...Zakia was the woman I met on Friday, her sister is Hnia, and Hnia’s daughter is Jahin (she’s 22). Zakia is my “mom” here, but I just call her by her first name. Zakia picked me up from the hotel today in the pouring rain and because she lives in the medina and you can’t take a car to her house, we got to drag all of my stuff through the souk (market). It was definitely quite a sight and the entire time I was wishing I had brought a lot less. Zakia lives in a two-story house and I’ve got a small room to myself, with an armoire and a small bedside table squished in with two small beds that are a little narrower than twin beds. The bathroom’s kind of funny because you can tell there used to be a Turkish toilet in there and now it’s a Western, but the shower and the toilet are still in the same room. Now whenever you take a shower you’re facing the toilet and all the water runs down to a drain right near the base of the toilet. I’ve never seen a set-up like that, but she said it works fine…I guess I’ll find out soon enough. Zakia took me on a tour of the medina this afternoon and it was great to get a tour from someone who lives here and knows all the neighborhood gossip. It seemed like everywhere we turned someone was greeting her with a friendly “slamaa!” I did see one girl from my program that I knew and she seemed to be fitting in perfectly with the culture…she had already let her sister dress her up in the traditional djellaba (long robe) and hijab (headscarf). Zakia offered to lend me a djellaba, but I think I’ll hold off on that for a bit.
Oh, and for those of you who like irony…my first meal at my house was seafood (sardines to be more specific). I knew I should have said I was allergic.

8 Feb 09
So the Big Guy upstairs sure has a sense of humor…I was leaving for the hammam this morning with Jihan, but Zakia caught me before I left the house and insisted I wear one of her extra djellabas. I guess I jinxed myself with yesterday’s entry! For those of you who have no idea what I’m babbling about, a djellaba is a long robe worn by both men and women and it has a pointy hood. Some of them are actually very ornate and fashionable; the one I wore was a baby blue color with some decoration on the front and despite its simplicity, it was gorgeous. The hammam was a time-warp experience and I fully intend on making this a weekly tradition. These public baths can be found in the most unsuspecting corners of the medina alleyways, and the one we went to looked like nothing more than a whole in the wall. As soon as we paid the man outside, the entrance fee (<$1), we were transported to a whole different time period; one that made me draw parallels to the days of Roman baths when Caesar was emperor. After stripping down to just my underwear, I gave my bag and towel to the woman behind the “desk,” grabbed my newly purchased kiis (scrubbing mitt), took the bucket that Jihan handed me, and we made our way through a sequence of three dimly-lit connecting rooms, with large arching ceilings, each one warmer than the previous one. After arriving in the hottest room (think steam sauna), we filled our buckets from a large trough with hot water, adding cold water to make it bearable, and staked out our spot on the ground with our mat. I met two of Jihan’s friends there, Kanta and Hanna, who both spoke French and were patient enough to teach me enough etiquette to keep me from offending all the older women who kept staring at me, waiting for me to make a mistake. I can’t even describe to you how rooms so simple and basic could create such an ambiance of luxury. Only one side of each of the rooms had an old light fixture, and the effect was that the opposite side became a compilation of barely discernable shadows that hovered in the steam circulating throughout the hammam. Sitting there among women who were normally completely covered from head-to-toe, with only their eyes showing, I felt like I had entered a world that very few people know exists. We sat in the hottest room for about an hour and slathered a mixture of henna, argan oil, and something they kept calling “soap” all over our bodies. After rinsing it off with bowlfuls of water we took our kiis and scrubbed all of the dead skin off our bodies. I have never felt so clean in my entire life! We moved to the cooler rooms to wash our hair, and then dried off and changed back into our djellabas so we could make it in time for a traditional couscous lunch. Sunday at my house is a very relaxed day, so I didn’t do much for the rest of the day besides take a siesta, walk through the souk, and read Morocco by Marvine Howe for class tomorrow. It was the perfect way to start off what is bound to be a busy week!

I met my mom!

2009-02-06T18:43:00.001Z

We got to meet our homestay families (or at least one person from them) this evening and everyone was so ridiculously nervous before hand. They came to the CCCL for tea and cookies, but tomorrow is when they'll pick us up from the hotel. We received papers with the names of our parents and siblings before we went downstairs to meet them and I couldn't stop folding it, unfolding it, and refolding it, I was so nervous!. As soon as I met my new mom I immediately knew there would be no problems. Her name's Hnia and she's so incredibly nice! We only talked for a little bit, but from what I can tell, she's a single parent, has a daughter named Jihan who's 22, and speaks French, Darija, and Fus'ha. We spoke in French for most of the time, but I told her I wanted to improve my Arabic and I didn't want to speak French the entire time. She got really excited and said that she'd help me out, so I'm really looking forward to that. In case you were wondering...I do have hot water (some people have to boil the water for their showers) and a single room. And a Turkish toilet (but from what I've seen/heard, this seems to be the norm). Everyone in the group is living in the medina, which basically means we're all within 15 minutes of each other and most likely somehow related. I'm excited to move in tomorrow but the thing I'm most worried about now is the amount of crap I'm lugging around. I really wish they had told us that we should only bring one suit
Because this is the last night of orientation, Brahim is making some kind of "special dinner" for us. They've set up tables downstairs in the courtyard and waiters dressed in suits are running around everywhere. It looks like a scene out of a movie! The food here has been amazing, but I've started craving mac 'n cheese and brownies. No, I have not been smoking the hashish. On that note I should probably head down to dinner and munch on some delicious couscous, and hopefully tajine!
p.s. I apologize for the recent lengthy posts...I swear they'll start to be more bearable. There are just so many crazy things going on right now, I'm trying to take it all in and describe it to you at the same time!
p.p.s. Mom--I may have a new Moroccan Mom, but you're my Mom-Mom. Haha hope that makes sense...I love you!

When in Morocco...

2009-02-05T11:26:00.000Z

So yesterday was one of those non-stop days that just seemed never ending. I love everything about this program, it’s just so hard to be stuck inside with all the orientation lectures when I know there are so many places that I could be exploring around the medina. We started the morning with a Darija lesson (Moroccan dialect vs. Modern Standard Arabic, Fus’ha), which quickly reminded me that I need to start reviewing my Arabic books a little more seriously before the three hours a day, five times a week classes start up next Monday morning. The main difference between darija and fus’ha, from what I can tell, is that when learning darija you either remove all the vowels from the Modern Standard word or take a French word and add a more guttural “(c)gh”, and there you go…the result is darija. As part of the intensive Arabic course that we’re required to take, we have 15 hours of darija and the rest is about 105 hours of fus’ha of in-class and office hours. I definitely think it’s going to be frustrating to be learning the Modern Standard when all anyone on the street understands is the Moroccan dialect, but I think it’ll help me in the long run with developing a strong foundation in the language. After all, darija is only spoken in Morocco, and very few people would understand it outside of the Kingdom.
We also had lectures on “Monarchy and Political Systems in Morocco” and “Moroccan Identities”—these were both great because we had our ADs explaining Morocco’s political system and the culture instead of Lonely Planet or Rough Guide. Though, I think the best part of today was when of our program directors came in and outlined the semester for us. The more I hear about it, the more I get excited for this semester. We’ve got excursions every other weekend to all different parts of the country…Fes, Marrakech, Casablanca, and the Sahara are just a few of the big names, but we’re also doing a week-long rural stay in a small village (we’re talking rustic, big time)…and on the weekends when they haven’t planned anything we’re allowed to hang out with our families or go traveling with other people in the group. The only rule is that we’re not allowed to leave the country, which is totally fine with me considering there’s more than enough to keep me busy in Morocco and the borders to Algeria are all closed.
I get to meet my family on Friday and I think that’s going to be a big factor in how I choose to spend my free time. Doha, the woman in charge of the homestay coordination, explained to the group that the families that we’ll be placed with are going to be very traditional, very liberal, or somewhere in between—there’s no set type of family that students get placed with. Basically this means that we’ll either be expected to be home for dinner every night or we’ll be allowed to stay out a little bit later (accompanied by a man, of course). Doha also spoke to us a bit about different living situations we might experience, and I’ve determined that this is going to be a big-time learning experience. She described bathrooms in some of the houses as having a Turkish toilet which doubled as the drain for the shower (in case you’re not getting this: to take a shower, you stand where you would if you were peeing and the water comes from the shower head which also doubles as the flushing mechanism), but then other houses have normal Western-style showers. Now, I’m all about cultural experiences and what not, but I really don’t feel like having a Western shower would deprive me of anything important, therefore I’ll take one for the team and be assigned to the house with separate toilet and shower. I know, I know; how magnanimous of me.
Speaking of cultural experiences; on the way back from tea this evening we decided to stop at one of the many snail vendors that are lined up on Hassan II Blvd to see what all the fuss was all about. The vendors set themselves up along the street and people line up to eat a bowl of snails that were just freshly boiled and as with all things Moroccan, it’s a very social activity. One of the girls mentioned wanting to try snails, another person said he would do it if she did it, and one thing just led to another…soon enough we had a bowl full of snails in front of us and there was nothing left to do but dig in. If you’re looking for a new way to spend a buck, you can forget the dollar menu at McDonalds and head straight for your nearest neighborhood snail shop! Now I’m not saying they tasted gross or anything (I’m sure I just got a bad one), but it feels like I’ve got a snail trying to shimmy its way back up my throat. It’s possibly the weirdest feeling in the world…I’m glad I did it though, because I’m not sure where else I would have tried it nor do I think I’ll forget that anytime soon. But I can assure you, it will most likely be the last time I do that (though there is something kind of satisfying about plucking a snail out of its shell with a toothpick and munching on it). I think I’ll stick with the tea next time…less risk of parasites as well.

I'm finally here!

2009-02-02T15:33:00.003Z

It looks like I'll be writing my updates at night and then posting them in the morning. Keep in mind that they're a day late!

1 Feb 2009
I left Paris for Rabat this morning, and it’s been non-stop ever since then. Paris was amazing…the view from the hotel was absolutely breathtaking, and just getting to hang out with my dad was great. The flight was (thankfully) uneventful, and I do have to say that Moroccans sure know how to cook airplane food! I sat near some nice old French man who was nice enough to read me my horoscope before we took off…I’m just glad it didn’t say anything like “expect a fiery death” or “you will drop from the sky.” It was kind of a madhouse when we landed, with all of us students trying to figure out where to go and who to meet. Lucky for me though, I was at the front of the plane and got through customs before it was too chocked up with the rest of the passengers and my bags were some of the first ones off. I was completely clueless as to what I was doing, but I just put on my typical “I know exactly what I’m doing” face and made it out alive. Some girl even came up to me afterwards and told me that she didn’t think I was with the SIT group because I didn’t seem lost at all. See? It works every time! Even if you’re headed in the wrong direction and realize it halfway there, keep on walking, stop and read a sign, pretend that’s what you went to look at, and then (and only then) can you turn around and head towards your actual destination.
After we had piled all of our luggage into the big tour bus, we made our way toward the medina (walled part of the city) of Rabat, where we checked into our hotel and had some free time before dinner. My hotel roommate, Lea and I decided to do a little exploring and errand running. My first task while in Morocco was to buy a SIM card for my phone. Easier said than done. I had no problems finding the SIM card and purchasing minutes…but of course the guy (Mohammed) didn’t accept my debit card (I can hear my mother saying “I told you so”) so I had to find an ATM, which was an adventure in itself. Walking down the street in Morocco is definitely a cultural experience. Men don’t whistle or shout at women here…they hiss and follow you while attempting to have a conversation. It sounds a lot creepier than it actually is, and it mainly stems from the belief that Western women are “easy.” And after typing that, I realize that it probably doesn’t make it sound any better, but you have to believe me on this one; as long as you just ignore them, they eventually saunter off to find different prey. Some men are a little more subtle though, such as our friend Mohammed at the phone store. They’ll just sneak their number into your phone (and get yours) while they’re pretending to help you put your SIM card in. Very smooth, buddy.
French has really been my saving grace here and I’m so surprised at the amount of people who speak it. I use Arabic for greetings and formalities, but other than that it’s just like being back in Brussels. Everyone from the man at the hotel, to the kids playing in the street speak French—they switch over once they realize I can’t carry on an intense conversation in Arabic—and although it’s accented, it’s still perfectly understandable. Mom and Dad: thanks for sending me to a French speaking school, and not a Flemish one.
After we returned to the hotel, our entire group was herded to the Center for Cross-Cultural Learning (the CCCL), which is where we will be taking our classes and eating lunch everyday. The walk there was an incredible juxtaposition between all things ancient and modern…internet cafés set up in little shops, right next to the centuries old city walls, with the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer in the background. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, we wound our way through the alleyways and arrived at the CCCL. I’ll post pictures of it soon but I can already tell you, they won’t do this Moroccan architecture any justice. It used to be home to wealthy Moroccan families in its residential days, but now it’s become a strictly educational building. From what I could tell, it has three stories, two terraces and all the classrooms open up to a main courtyard, which is covered. To be completely honest, I was tired and hungry and didn’t pay nearly enough attention to give you a great description. I promise you’ll understand what I mean soon enough! We had dinner at the CCCL, and while you could tell it was just something that the chef, Brahim whipped up to feed the starving American students, it was delicious. I only committed one major faux-pas during dinner, and that’s when I was talking to Said, one of the Academic Directors, about the ongoing issue of Western Sahara. He suddenly got very stern, looked at me and said “before you go on, you must know, Moroccans do not consider this place to be called Western Sahara. It is the Moroccan Sahara. Not western.” Crap. I knew I should have brought up a less controversial subject…maybe something like gay marriage in the Catholic Church? Well, lesson learned.
They gave out the schedule for orientation and I can already tell that this is going to be a crazy week. Tomorrow’s schedule lists a “health issues” briefing from Dr. Hassar, a program outline, a “fears and expectations” lecture, Morocco 101, CCCL regulations, Darija and Fus’ha lecture, Arabic placement test, and the ever-important tea time. There are a few other things listed, but I have no idea what they’re talking about, so I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
There were no exciting adventures after dinner…everyone in the group has jet-lag, and both my roommates have already passed out. It’s only 9 o’clock. I kind of want to go explore, but a nagging voice inside my head says that’s probably not the brightest idea. I think I’ll just get ready for the upcoming days instead and write up a few emails to send once I have an internet connection.
By the way, in case you’re wondering…no Turkish toilets yet.

Last minute details...

2009-01-07T22:30:00.002Z

29 Jan 09
Well, I can pretty much guarantee you that this will be one of the most uneventful posts; sadly, I'm not in Morocco yet...but I will be on Sunday! I flew into London two weeks ago to meet my mom. We spent a few days there and wandered the city (and saw a musical and drank copious amounts of tea) before heading back to Brussels.
I've spent the last week and a half getting ready for my séjour, if you will and now that it's down to the wire, there's not much else to do but wait. Belgium has a very high Moroccan population, so most everyone that I run into has some sort of advice to give me. Said, at the gym, insisted that my mother teach me how to say "I don't have time for you!" in Arabic so that I can shoo random men away like a local; Ahmed at the NATO Clinic told me that I should have gotten a perscription for Ciprofloxacin because he's certain I'm going to catch the bacterial infection Pseudomonas (and die. No just kidding, he didn't really say that. At least not outright)...he then proceeded to give me 3 tubes of bacatracin, 3 packs of sudafed, 2 packs of cough drops, 2 bottles of cough syrup, 2 bottles of ibuprofen, normal tylenol, tylenol cold, tums, eyedrops, hydrocortisone cream, etc. (going through customs should be interesting); and the woman at the Shopette had no advice to give me, but she does deserve special mention because she was the first person to card me since I've been 21 (I had to have the travel bottles of rum, tequila, and vodka...). I have no doubt that I'm more than prepared for this adventure, and now I'm just sitting around twiddling my thumbs (not really considering my suitcases are still empty).
My dad and I are going to head out for Paris tomorrow morning where, on Sunday I'll be meeting up with the group flying in from JFK and going on to Rabat. After that, I'll start a week-long orientation, and then move in with my host family to hopefully start up some sort of routine. I'm not really sure what to expect as of right now, but I can assure you that as I find stuff out I'll be sure to let you know. I know for a fact that I will be living in the medina in Rabat, only minutes away from the Cross-Cultural Learning Center where I will be taking my classes.
The next time I write, I'll be in Morocco so be sure to check back for a new post on Sunday or Monday. I hope everything's going great with all of you, and be sure to keep me updated!
p.s. not sure what's up with the date stamp on this thing...it's not really cooperating.