Monday, August 8, 2011

Allah yahaneek

Suddenly I'm back in the US and very happy to be on home soil. Sadly, that means that this is my last post, and the season finale of Suddenly in Rabat.

My adventure in Morocco ended not with a bang but with a whimper. I said goodbye to my host family, who were very sad to see me go and met up with the rest of my classmates to take a bus to the airport. The moment I got on the bus, a wave of nausea hit me. "It's probably just motion sickness," I reassured myself.

But no, it was Morocco's last revenge. Two hours into the bus ride at a bathroom stop I had to ask the driver to wait for me while I found a nice patch of grass to vomit on. I was doubled over on my knees cursing Morocco and quietly sobbing "Whyyyyyyyyyy????" After about 10 minutes I stood back up and got back in the van, sitting shotgun so that I could lean out of the open window.

Needless to say, the nearly 48 hours of travel was agonizing. I could barely walk from the nausea and simply hoped that I wouldn't vomit into the x-ray machine while going through security. It's really not worth remembering much else from that time. A good friend gave me some anti-nausea medicine which is probably the only reason I survived the ordeal (thanks again!).

So I'm back in the States, and I know that my last post was damn depressing, and I don't want to go out on that note. I've been thinking for weeks about how I would end this blog and I still don't really know. I would simply like to provide a few lessons I learned and conclusions I came to in the end that I hope will benefit the reader.

Lessons learned:
1. You will get sick if you visit Morocco. Is it worth it? Ask me after the nausea goes away for good.
2. Eat meat slowly and carefully. Moroccans leave all the bones in their meat (beef, chicken, fish) and if you go to a restaurant, it may not be properly cooked all the way through.
3. Know the price before you buy. KNOW the price before you buy. KNOW THE PRICE BEFORE YOU BUY. This applies to anything and everything: souvenirs, food, transportation, etc.
4. Carry exact change.
5. You will probably ignore or forget all of the above advice. That's OK. Throw yourself into the culture. Take risks. Get to know people. Make mistakes and make them big. Then don't make them again.

Conclusions:
1. While in Morocco, I've seen the best and worst of human nature on display. People cheat, lie, push, hit, yell, litter, you name it. But other Moroccans, especially my host family, have sacrificed for me, helped me more than I could ask, trusted me, talked to me, listened to me, laughed with me. There are so many times I was tempted to generalize and say, "Moroccans are shitty people" or "Moroccans are the most wonderful people I have ever met." In the end, I can't say either. They're complicated, like anyone else.

2. I still haven't figured out politics in Morocco. Everyone reads, watches, and discusses the news but political engagement is in the gutter. Does everybody really like the king? Are they complacent about politics? Are they cynical? Are they hopeless? Why do they seem to accept the status quo? More than one Moroccan has told me, in reference to the Arab Spring, "We don't want revolution in Morocco. We don't want violence. We want change through small and steady changes in the legal system." I absolutely understand their aversion to violence. But are peace and revolution compatible? Is bloodshed the price of liberty? I don't know. It's a scary question, and we may yet see it answered as the effects of the Arab Spring become apparent.

3. I never experienced culture shock while I was over there, except perhaps one time when I was in a taxi in heavy traffic in Casablanca. Does culture shock feel like the cold terror of impending death?

4. Notice how all my conclusions are questions? If I learned any one thing while I'm in Morocco it's how little I know. About the culture, the language, you name it. If you are a learner of Arabic, you will be shocked by two things: 1. How little Arabic you understand. 2. How much you can accomplish despite this.

There is so much that I experienced that I didn't get to write about in this blog. There is the time a retired security officer waved a SEAL Team 6 knife in my face to teach me about petty crime. There was the young boy wearing a shirt that read "ENLARGE YOUR PENIS." There was Jihad telling me all the rude English terms he knew: "She is such a MILF? Is that how you say it?" There was the day our class erupted into a jam session of singing, dancing, and clapping just because we were so stressed from exams. There was the time we explained the medical benefits of marijuana to our Moroccan professor. There was my host-uncle yelling at his kids: "Come here now! It's time to pray!" and them yelling back "Nooo! I want to play Super Mario!"

Thanks so much for joining me on this trip, you guys. I hope the next time you suddenly find yourself somewhere new, you'll make it an adventure. I know I really want to travel again. Not just to Morocco, but all over the Middle East. In fact, all over the world. Plans are in the making for the next travel blog.

But that's after this nausea goes away. Ya allah.

Friday, August 5, 2011

Hede balad khayiba

My journey in Morocco is fast coming to an end and I will miss this place very much, especially the wonderful people I have met. I've been feeling nostalgia coming on this week and I'm tempted to write about some of the great memories I have but I think I've swept some things under the rug.

There's a lot of ugliness in Morocco. I've felt pity, sadness, frustration, and anger here. Walking in the streets of Meknes, you can't help but see the dark side of this country through the small tragedies that pass you by.

A man with no arms carries a plastic bag of food in his mouth. A father slaps his young daughter in the street and makes her carry the groceries. An older boy beats a younger boy, who picks up a rock to strike back and has to be pulled away by a friend. A young man huffs paint-thinner out of a surgical glove. A pregnant cat searches for food while another lies dead underneath a tree. Alleys are lined with piles of garbage and puddles of piss.

I have interacted with people here who are brutish and aggressive. Beggars and shopkeepers and greedy and dishonest. Today I was in a taxi while the driver ogled and catcalled young women as he passed them. He turns to me and says, "I was just trying to talk to her. What's her problem?"

Women are willfully submissive and ignorant in deference to their husbands. Men are willfully submissive and ignorant in deference to their government.

I don't know how to end this post. But I think it's important to mention the problems that persist here. Especially because Moroccans rarely do so.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Feen yumkin lee nalqee shakhs keyarif al-injleeziya?

Fasting feels easier now, as my body has apparently adjusted to the new food schedule. Still, it's difficult to focus on anything else when your host family is cooking in the next room.

My host family keeps serving the same food for Futoor which is nice for now because it's so tasty, but I hope for their sakes that they switch it up once in a while because I'm guessing eating the same meal every day for a month would get old fast.

Internet at my home stay is still out ("The guy is coming to fix the connection today," my host-brother tells me for the nth time). So I spent most of the day at the language center hanging out with the other students. While all eyes in the Muslim World are turned East towards Mecca, ours face West to the promise of good hamburgers and bad summer movies.

Tonight we're having a party for all the students and teachers that I'm very much looking forward to (mostly because food).

Ramadan kareem, everybody.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Me kenaqdarsh nakul akthar

Photos of Chefchaouen are up! Thanks so much to my friends who donated your photos. They're awesome.

Yesterday was the first day of Ramadan and I totally failed at fasting. But I have an excuse! I had two exams yesterday (both two hours long) and I just wasn't going to do them on an empty stomach. I couldn't eat at my home stay so I went to the hotel where some of the students are staying. The restaurant serves lunch for free but only for students who are actually staying at the hotel. So even though I hadn't eaten there in almost two months, I bet on the fact that since I looked like an American student, they wouldn't know the difference. And I was so right (no worries though, I gave a big tip).

The atmosphere during Ramadan is very different than any other time. Shops don't open until the afternoon, and the streets are practically deserted in the morning. People are more lethargic and/or grumpy (it happens when you can't eat, drink, smoke, or have sex all day). I experienced my first Futoor (also called Iftar) which is the meal that breaks the fast at sunset. For the last hour before sunset everyone just hangs around anxiously waiting for food. Then all of a sudden a cannon (midfaa) fires and the azaan sounds outside. In every corner of the Muslim World people dash for the dinner table.

With all of us gathered at the table my host-aunt pronounced bismillah (in the name of God) and we started eating. The order of food is very ritualistic. People break the fast by eating dates and drinking milk, because it's believed that the prophet Mohammad did so in his lifetime. After that you can make your way through the plates of food on the table (hard boiled eggs, pastries stuffed with meat, cake, sweets, beans, vegetables). In the center of the table is a large ceramic dish that holds hareera, a soup that is traditionally served during Ramadan in Morocco. I ate mine American-style with a spoon, but everyone else just sipped from the bowls like cups.

After eating to the point of bursting, everyone moved into the living room to watch a Moroccan comedy show. I understood a little, but not enough to get the jokes. I asked my host-aunt if they eat a meal before sunrise, and she said no, al-Futoor wa khalas. I was relieved, and went to bed a little while later.

But I was woken up in the middle of the night by my host-brother, who knocked on my door and said "It's time to come down to eat." I said I had already eaten and he responded, "Yeah, but now it's dinner time." I groggily asked what time it was and he said 1:30am. "Come down to eat, then you can go back to sleep." Apparently I'm very persuadable at 1:30am because I wandered down with him to the dining room where my family had once again gathered around a plate of beef and vegetables. I ate two bites before I felt sick (I was really really full) but I stayed with them a while to be polite before walking back to my room and collapsing on the bed.

Today I'm fasting for real (well, I'm still drinking water) but it's more difficult today because I just described all the food I'm going to eat tonight and while I sit here in the language center, the women who run the center are cooking in the next room over for tonight's futoor. It smells like hareera and I'm salivating.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Al-talib min le makan

I finished the most important exam of the summer today, and it was even more difficult than I expected. I made it through, however, and now have only two more exams between now and my return to the States.

I spent all today at the language center enjoying the Internet connection and studying, so not much to report on interactions with the locals, except a random guy who accosted me in the street today, yelling in English, "Where are you from my friend?" I waved him off and he yelled after me, "You don't understand me? Where are you from? From nowhere?" It's hard to tell when people are just being inquisitive and when they have some ulterior motive (usually selling something). Either way, it's not a good sign when the first question out of their mouth is "where are you from?"

Tomorrow is the first day of Ramadan in Morocco (the starting date varies slightly from place to place) and so the experiment begins. Will I be able to fast this week? I honestly don't know. I'm not giving up water and the fact that I have exams means I may need to eat to stay sharp. But I'll do my best.

Ramadan mabrook!

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Al-teqedda ma al-a'eela

I wasn't able to write about Chefchaouen yesterday for two reasons: First, I had no Internet connection at my host stay and second, I was too mad at myself for forgetting my camera (so no pictures, sorry!). Actually, it's even worse. I brought my camera and even charged the battery the night before, but I left the memory card in my computer. I asked my friends to take lots of pictures though, so I'll post theirs in my album as soon as I get them.

The day started early, when I woke up at 6am to head over to our program's bus by 7:30. I had told my family the night before that I was leaving early and would not need breakfast. And yet, just as I was going to bed, my host-aunt (for clarification, there are four of them) brought me a huge slice of cake and a carton of milk. "I'm leaving these for you in the fridge, fahamty?" Melted my heart, wallahy.

So the next morning I ate the cake and ran out the door, walking across the city to the hotel. No one in Morocco is awake at 6:30am, that's crazy talk. To my surprise, when I arrived at the hotel, I found the entrance blocked by a huge cloud of what appeared to be thick, blue smoke. It barely moved in the morning air, almost like floating cotton candy. "What the hell?" I thought. "Is it exhaust from the bus? Tear gas?" Not seeing anyone around, I decided to make a break for it, holding my breath and running through a gap in the cloud.

Inside the hotel, the students were gathering to wait for the bus. A friend came up to me and said, "I want to get a snack before we go but the hotel staff said I couldn't because they're spraying insecticide."

Crap. Hello cancer.

We loaded onto two buses and drove off towards Chefchaouen. The name apparently means "the city between two horns" because it is located between two mountains. It is located in the north of the country, and so its history is heavily influenced by Spanish culture. The history is actually really interesting, so if you want a primer, check it out here: Wikipedia - Chefchaouen. The town is known for its distinctive blue color. Many of the houses, streets and alleyways are painted various shades of blue. It's really beautiful (give me a break about the camera, jeez).

Sadly we only spent a few hours in the city because it was a day trip, but we took the opportunity to explore the small mountain town. The old city is much like any other besides the blue color scheme, but other nice features are the little aqueducts that run through the city carrying cold river water from a mountain spring. Children play in the water and store owners keep sodas in it to keep them cold. I, James* (remember him?) and Jasmine* split from the group and decided to follow a trail that led into the mountain above the town. We followed the trail out, past a woman herding goats who eyed us suspiciously and up to a mosque that overlooked the town. It was a gorgeous view, though the mosque was sadly closed. After taking some pictures, we walked even farther up the mountain, past a couple of guys who were sitting under a tree and possibly smoking hashish and up until we found another tree, where we saw a bunch of little heads pop up under the shadows of its branches.

"Puppies!" yelled Jasmine*.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," growled the mama dog as she emerged from the shadows and stalked towards us.

Crap. Hello rabies.

James* grabbed a rock and we backed away slowly (no, just kidding, we flat out ran) back to the woman with the goats, who was still not amused with our antics. Back in the town, we made our way to a pizzeria where Jasmine* and James* ordered fries and ate them cautiously, complaining that the cook had put the fries on their plates with their hands after handling raw meat.

I slept most of the way back, though the seats in the bus were so uncomfortable that my back was still sore this morning.

Today was less eventful. I woke up blissfully late and went to the old city market with my host aunts (all four of them) where I followed them around and learned how terrible I am at bargaining in comparison with seasoned Moroccans. Those ladies went to four different hanawat (shops) in search of a new grill top before they settled on one they liked. They kindly offered to go with me to buy a gift for my family, and helped me argue with the store owner to get a reasonable price (He was a tough cookie. I think I still overpaid.).

After that I said "see you later" to my family and walked to the language center, getting lost in the old city in the process and navigating its more seedy corners (I certainly won't miss that smell of garbage roasting under the sun) until I found the center. A note for travelers to Morocco: in the old city, the direct route is not necessarily the best route. But honestly, getting lost in the old city is one of the pleasures of Morocco. You find something new and wonderful every time.

Tomorrow I have the most important exam of the summer, so wish me luck out there.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Le al-mukhadarat wa le al-sandweech

I could have cried today. My last Cous-cous Friday. I just had to take a picture to preserve the memory of my host family telling me Kul! Khud! Zeed! (Eat! Take! More!) as they heap pornographic amounts of cous-cous and vegetables onto my plate. My host-aunt (is that a thing?) grabbing a fistful of cous-cous and tossing it gently until it curves into a perfect sphere before popping it casually into her mouth.

A couple of my host family's sons or cousins or something (I honestly can't keep track) invited me and a friend from the program to "play ball" with them. I assumed this meant soccer, but it was a little strange that they were asking at 9 o'clock at night. But we said yes and walked down the street with them and into a creepy alley until we arrived suddenly at a pool hall. The boys invited us into the pool hall, which was a supremely weird place. Techno music blared from the speakers and club lights flashed, but inside there were only some arcade games, a couple foosball tables, and a bunch of pool tables inside. We played foosball for a little while, dropping coins into the machine every couple of minutes, and then we moved on to the pool table, which cost 5 dirham for a round.

I didn't really understand the rules that the boys insisted on playing by, which seemed loosely organized at best ("Wait, this time I get two turns because [indecipherable Moroccan]"). As we were playing I noticed a sign by the table that read "No drugs. No sandwiches. Interdat is forbidden." I pointed it out to my friend and he sighed, "Then what's the point of living?" True dat.

I had a short conversation with him about living at my host family's house (he lives in a different apartment but they own and inhabit the whole building). We're both guys, and so we discussed how women cover inside and outside the home. Most of the women in my host family wear the hijab outside of the house, but inside the house they don't cover. An exception to this rule was when I asked to take a picture of them at lunch today, and my host-aunt declined because she wasn't covering.

My friend lives with a more conservative branch of the family, and the wife (Saleema*) always covers in front of men, even in the home. It's pretty awkward sometimes because I'll walk into a room and all the women will be sitting and talking, and Saleema will see me and run scurrying into another room to put on a scarf. I sometimes feel like I should wear a bell around the house.

Tomorrow I'll be traveling to a region known mainly for its picturesque landscapes and its agriculture (i.e. marijuana). A friend was visiting my house today and my host-aunt asked her why she was going. "Al-keef", said my friend ("the marijuana"). My host-aunt laughed and gave her a high-five.

Don't do drugs, kids. Or sandwiches.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Irfa'u ka'askum

I hosted a small party today at my host family's house. It went pretty well, though many students weren't able to make it because they had to finish final projects. We got a good group though, and our professors even showed up for a while and we talked about Arab culture and how you just can't say the word 'penis' in Arabic whenever you want to.

After the party died down a small group of us worked on our final project, which is a pretty epic full-length movie based on an Egyptian novel we read this summer. I play an evil outlaw who accepts payment in order to carry out a revenge killing (and gets shot off a horse in the process).

Tisbahu ala kheer.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Wash kein tasheelat dyal qitat?

Sorry to do this to you guys, but this is the saddest picture in the world. I was walking around the Hamariya in the blazing July heat when I found this homeless cat sleeping in a bucket of dirt.  If you know of a sadder picture, please don't send it to me. I'm not sure my heart can take it.

Other than that, nothing much has happened in Meknes. I'm pretty sure that demonstrations continue in the country's larger cities over the new constitution due to the explosion in the number of flags I have seen hanging on government buildings.

I asked my speaking partner about the flags but she gave me a characteristically evasive answer ("Oh, they just really like Morocco").

With the program winding down, we're all working on our final projects, and (as usual) adding as much shock-value as possible to make our professors uncomfortable. Suffice to say that it's probably illegal to publish a good portion of our work within the country's borders.

My battery's about to die so I have to post quick but I hope to have more exciting adventures later this week.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Bisaha

This morning I was still sick, so I took off the day from classes to sleep (yay!) and catch up on homework (wah wah). Sleeping was a bit difficult as demonstrations have been escalating around the country both calling for greater reforms and defending the new constitution. And for some reason my neighborhood seems to be the source of all political expression in Meknes, as two marches have chosen my street as their starting point in as many days.

And other than that I've just been lying in bed today, enjoying the silver lining of food poisoning. And between cramps I felt a pang of homesickness for the US of A, where at least I know I'm free (of bacteria).

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Kenabky ala al-ard

Last night I went to bed tired but content after a great day in Rabat, but at some point during the night I woke up to a wave of nausea that sent me racing for the bathroom. I clung to the toilet in agony, knowing something big was about to happen, but not sure whether to sit on the bowl or just hang my head over it. I spent between thirty minutes to an hour on the floor of the bathroom, moaning, whimpering, and half-sobbing "damn you Morocco, damn you straight to hell." Surprisingly, my stomach slowly settled down, and I was finally able to get up and crawl back into bed.

Until a couple hours later, when I woke up with my stomach screaming just one thing: RUN. Twenty minutes later, feeling as if I had nothing left in my system, I returned to bed. Even this morning, my stomach is still going through its own Arab Spring. I'm writing this post to distract myself, but I'm still racing to the bathroom every ten minutes or so at the hint of another spasm of unrest.

I promised to write about Rabat today, though, and this seems like a good opportunity (oh god stomach cramps whyyyy?).

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4:30 and walked with my friend James* to the train station so we could catch our 5:30 train. We were leaving early so that James could attend church in the morning (Rabat has one of the only Orthodox churches in the country). Once we arrived in Rabat, James asked a taxi driver to take us to the church and the driver said he knew where it was. Ten minutes later he dropped us off in front of a synagogue. We decided to just find it ourselves on foot because we knew it was nearby. After a long search we finally ended up at the gates of the church, but unfortunately the gate was locked, the intercom was unresponsive, and the posted schedule was in Russian, which neither of us could read.

So with a maalesh (never mind) we hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take us to the government district. Interestingly enough, he took us back to the train station, which is located in the district. We walked around, taking pictures of the Parliament, the Palace of Justice (a courthouse) and various other buildings. In a park across of the Parliament, protesters had hung banners stating: "Military prisoners of the War in the Moroccan Sahara demand his Majesty the King Mohamad VI intervene for their just treatment. Long live the King" and "We spent 25 years in the prisons of the enemy and we didn't see the rights of the nation" among others. As far as I know this refers to the ongoing conflict between Morocco and Mauritania over land in the Western Sahara. Other signs stated the protesters had been camped out in front of the Parliament for 61 days.

From there we took a taxi to the mausoleum of Mohamad V, where the remains of two previous kings of Morocco (Mohamad V and Hassan II) are buried. The grounds are very beautiful, with an open court yard full of old columns facing a tall sandstone tower. The site is an unfinished mosque whose construction began hundreds of years ago. On the end of the grounds across from the tower is the tomb of Mohamad V, which is guarded by (surprisingly friendly) guards in traditional military dress. There is a man sitting in one corner of the tomb reading the Quran silently to keep vigil over the tomb (he sits so still I first thought he was a wax figure).

The mausoleum overlooks the ocean, so we decided to walk down to the beach. To get to the best spots of the beach however, we had to walk through the old city, which was packed with people. It had a relaxed feel, though, as the shopkeepers were less aggressive than in other cities. The alleys were full of European and American tourists, holding copies of the Lonely Planet guide to Morocco in front of them as the walked (don't do that) and asking their guides the proper prices of souvenirs in loud English ("Mohamad! How. Much. Is. This?).

As we exited the walls of the old city, we passed by an old citadel that also overlooks the ocean. A man inside said the citadel was used for defense by Moroccans, the Spanish, and the French. There is a historic prison inside, which he said we could enter for 11 dirhams. We declined because we had used our small change.

We walked to the beach, which can only be accessed by walking through a sprawling graveyard. The juxtaposition of gravestones in front of people playing on the beach is, needless to say, weird. But the beach itself is very cool. A long stone walkway divides the beach in two. On one side, huge crowds play in the waves and sit under umbrellas that young men offer you wherever you walk. Parasol? Parasol? On the other side are rocky tide pools, beyond which surfers ride in powerful waves and bail out before they are smashed against the rocks.

At the beach we met up with some friends in our program and split up into two groups. James, Anna* and I walked back into the old city to find food while the other students went to find a restaurant elsewhere. We stopped at a little stand where the server was incredibly kind and talkative, praising our limited Arabic. The food was very good but I strongly suspect it's the reason for my current illness.

After eating we explored the old city for a few hours and then headed back to the beach to wade in the gentle waves until it was time to go home.

All in all a successful day in Rabat (oh god stomach cramps I hate you Morocco I hate you so much).

*James and Anna are not their real names.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Finally in Rabat

Rabat was so cool. It was a very long day in the capital so I'll save the stories for tomorrow. Until then, check out the pictures!

Friday, July 22, 2011

Shaq filwaqt

Today was cous-cous Friday and after class I went home to eat with my host family. As in practically every house in Morocco the family brought out an enormous bowl (about a foot and a half in diameter) full of cous-cous topped with chicken and vegetables. It's quite an experience to eat with the family as they say Kul! Kul! (Eat! Eat!) and the sound of Friday prayers is broadcast on the television. Le ila ile allah...le ila ilehu... And I love watching my host family eat cous-cous. The proper method of eating cous-cous in Morocco is to grab and handful along with some chicken and vegetables and roll it into a ball in the palm of one hand, tossing it gently to perfect the sphere. Then you pop it into your mouth. It looks easy but it's a real art to create the ball so that it doesn't crumble. I just stick to a spoon.

A friend is staying the night so that we can go to Rabat early in the morning to spend the day there. We met up with some friends to walk to the old city and do some shopping, though none of us ended up buying anything. The sooq is absolutely packed with people after sunset, and the saha, the main square, is bustling with vendors, running children, bands playing traditional music, men with camels, and snake charmers. People were buying light-up frisbees and tossing them in the air in high arcs that accented the sparkling atmosphere of night life in Meknes. Less magical are the men who walk around huffing paint from plastic bags, or even surgical gloves.

And as I was sitting here, typing away on this post, I was drinking water from a regular drinking glass, when suddenly the bottom just fell out of it, silently and without warning. Water splashed all over my lap and all I could say was "Wait, really?" Upon examination, the break was so smooth and clean as to have been cut, but there was no visible crack until the moment it broke.

I'm chalking it up to a quantum-mechanical fluke, aliens, or the Mossad.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Ya yumkinsh nafooq kul yom fisabah bakry

Today after class I went to study with some friends in the language center when we all got hungry. We walked over to a nearby hanoot to find some snacks. I'm partial to a tasty brand of coconut-flavored crackers that costs a dirham per packet (~13 cents). Today I also discovered a snack called Rondos that has a cartoon turtle on the packet and consists of cheerio-looking crisps that are "Cheese and Ketchup" flavored. I dared a friend of mine to buy a packet and we each tried one out of morbid curiosity. Our opinions varied from "tasteless" to "disgusting" to "fishy" to a look of betrayal.

Weekend plans are still up in the air for many students, including myself. I was hoping to go camping, but that would require renting a car. In theory this is possible, as rental car shops can be found everywhere. A friend of mine went to investigate, and told me that she visited every single shop she could find in the Hamariya and apparently none of them have cars available. It seems to be a trend that Moroccans will advertise that they sell something and then when you request said item, they look at you as if you're crazy.

I invited my friend to tea at my host stay and we had a wonderful conversation with my host family about religion, clothing, food, and local history. I have to say that the conversations I have with my host family makes my language partner appointments seem like a waste of time.

Pictured above is a portrait of Mohamad al-Sadiss (Mohamad VI), the current king of Morocco, looking jaunty at a ski resort. Portraits like these are hung in most public places in Morocco, and include pictures of the king in military uniform, sitting in his throne, drinking tea, playing golf, with his family, etc. etc. I wonder if a line of trading cards featuring these portraits would be a successful venture in Morocco.

Everyone has ants in their pants about getting back to the States. We're all tired of homework and missing things like Chinese food and the First Amendment.

I took a picture of the car door of a taxi kebeer because I was so impressed by the wallpaper. I hope you enjoy it as well.

Rowr.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Jaree al-jadeed

School has been getting real busy in preparation for finals week (which looks to be the worst finals week I have ever endured) and so yesterday during my lunch break I searched for a restaurant near the language center rather than returning to my home stay to eat.
As I've mentioned before, poverty is a big problem in Morocco, and beggars abound in the streets. Many of them are older women, perhaps who have lost husbands due to death or divorce. So yesterday I found myself wandering the streets in search of food while women veiled in the niqaab accosted me at every corner. It was a little like playing Pacman.

Yes, I'm aware that I'm a terrible person.
 I found a restaurant and bought a plate of chicken with rice. When I paid on the way out, I made the mistake of walking outside before I put my change in my pocket. A woman practically leaped out at me with her hand extended, as if to say, "That's mine." I shook my head at her, embarrassed, muttering Allah yasehhel ("may God make it easier for you") as I ran away.

I'm not really supposed to talk about this, but if you've been following the blog for a bit, you know that a friend of mine posted a video in Arabic that went viral. While she said nothing negative about the government, apparently this was enough to draw the attention of the state police, who contacted our program head and basically told him not to let it happen again.

That night I sat with my host family in their living room while Turkish soap operas played on TV (they're dubbed into Syrian Arabic). My host mom's aunt laid long strips of cloth on the table in front of her, using scissors to cut through the cloth. I asked her what she was making and she said that she makes jalabat, a traditional hooded robe worn by Moroccan men and women. She proudly said, "I studied fashion and sewing at university" and went on to say that she sells her clothing in a small hanoot in the Hamariya. She invited me to go with her to see it one day and I gratefully accepted.

Today I met with my language partner, which was pretty much as awkward as ever. On top of that, she was feeling very sick, and so refused to talk very much. Fortunately I'm getting plenty of practice speaking darija (Moroccan Arabic) at my home stay.

And that's where I am at the moment, sitting in the living room with my host family as they prepare grains that look like anise seeds by hand. They tell me that these grains are only eaten during Ramadan and only in Morocco, so I'm excited to try the food during al-Iftar, the meal that Muslims eat at sunset to break their daily fast during Ramadan.

And the last piece of news is that a student in my program is moving in with yet another branch of my host family one floor below me. I don't know him very well, but hopefully we'll get more acquainted over the next couple of weeks.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Ismi Maha wa ana waheeda

I was kind of wondering why the pile of garbage in front of my apartment building has been growing steadily each day. My question was answered, however, when a friend of mine mentioned that the garbage workers in Meknes have gone on strike. That would explain why the streets have been messier than usual. The strike appears to be widespread, though interestingly enough, the only people who seem to be covering it are whiny Americans studying abroad in Morocco (Wait, don't read their blog. It's better than mine).

My host parents are staying near Dar al-Bayda so I drove back yesterday with another splinter of my enormous Moroccan host family (my host dad's cousin, I think, along with his wife and kids). They are really nice people and absolutely refused to let me take a train back. We ate sea food before leaving the city, but it's not exactly like seafood in the US. To reproduce it, all you have to do is take a live fish and dunk it in a deep-fat fryer. I tend to be an adventurous eater, but it's hard to peel and eat a shrimp when it looks at you with those doe eyes (just kidding "DIE SHRIMP! NOM NOM NOM").

We stopped at a gas station on the way back so that my host dad's cousin could pray (they really do do it five times a day) and so the rest of us could use the mirhad ("toilet"). The gas station even played the call to prayer, though it wasn't as impressive as hearing it from the Hassan al-Tanee mosque in Dar al-Bayda.

I'm getting an early night tonight, and the house is quiet and peaceful. I think I'm starting to get ready to go back to the States, but before that I'm excited for Ramadan! A taxi driver today was telling me it's a great time of year in the Arab World. My host mom joked this weekend that I was becoming ever more Moroccan, and so I decided to finish off the immersion experience with a little experiment. I'm going to fast during Ramadan for a few days along with my host family just to see what it's like (though I'm not swearing off water like many Muslims do).

Leila sayeeda, guys.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Back in Blanca

Today I had the luxury of waking up quite late, but the momentum picked up quickly as soon as I got out of the shower and my host parents' son, Hameed (not his real name) told me, "We're headed to the beach." "Now?" I asked. "Yeah, grab your bathing suit."
So I hopped in his car and we drove to meet some of his friends who would go to the beach with us. Hameed is a couple years older than me and is a master's student in economics in Dar al-Bayda. His friends we met up with are all classmates of his at university.

We met his friends in front of an apartment building near downtown. Three guys pulled up in a small Renault and greeted Hameed with a handshake and a air-kiss on both cheeks. We hopped into the car and and began driving to the beach as I was introduced to each of the guys. First there was Jihad: tall, lanky, and the archetype of the Arab macho guy. When I hear Moroccans speak amongst each other, they often sound angry, and Jihad was no exception. I quickly came to realize, however, that this is just what Arabic sounds like when spoken animatedly.
Then there was Osama, who was driving. He was much more reserved and asked me a lot of questions about studying in the United States because he wanted to get an MBA from an American university. ("Wait, did you say their names were Jihad and Osama? Are you just being offensive?" No, imaginary reader, those were their real names. I wished them the best of luck on applying for student visas, but...well, you know. And finally, there was Yusef (not his real name), a quiet guy who was celebrating his last day in Morocco before traveling to Saudi Arabia for the Hajj.
The guys were really nice, and a good group to be with. The trip to the beach confirmed that guys are basically the same the world over. Osama played DJ on the radio, alternating between American hip-hop and French and Spanish euro-trash pop. Jihad pointed out attractive Moroccan women, laughing in English, "You don't have girls like this in America, do you? Beautiful Moroccan girls!" He and Yusef chain-smoked in the back of the car the whole way.

I thought we were going to the Corniche in Dar al-Bayda but about two hours into the drive, I asked Hameed and he told me we were going to a beach town near Rabat that had one of the best beaches in Morocco. And while I can't objectively verify this, I think he was right, because the beach was wonderful. The day was warm and overcast, so fortunately I didn't burn. The beach was a long strip, crowded with tourists, both Moroccan and foreign. Modern, adobe houses lined the beach and a resort hotel marked the end of the strip. The waves were very rough, rising up sometimes ten feet before crashing down onto the sand (and unfortunate swimmers).
Still, the water was full of people. Children walked up to us and asked in Arabic, "Do you want to sit under a parasol? Only ten dirham." We decided against because of the cloud cover. Other children and young adults walked the beach carrying baskets of candy, trays of pastries, crates of ice cream, and pots of coffee, announcing their wares in shouts as they walked by. We sat on our towels for a bit and Jihad smoked a blunt of hashish he had been rolling in the car. Hameed explained that while hash is illegal in Morocco, it is very abundant in the country and widely used among young people.
We watched Osama and Yusef hit a small ball back in forth with wooden paddles they had brought with them. Many others were playing the same game so it looked like a common beach activity. When we got bored we ran into the water, which was comfortably warm, and swam in the waves for a while until we were exhausted and our ears were full of water.

In the car on the way back we were stuck in traffic when I suddenly heard gunfire. I was visibly concerned and Osama laughed and explained that there was a local festival going on nearby. Sure enough, we soon saw a large fairgrounds full of tents, where members of a Moroccan military cavalry were riding horses back and forth and shooting off their rifles intermittently.
Back in Dar al-Bayda we stopped at a pizza place where I tried the barbecue chicken pizza (a food I have been missing while in Morocco). It was even surprisingly good, though at first I was skeptical about eating barbecue here. The restaurant had two posters of San Francisco, which was funny to see. When Moroccan restaurants try to add an American feel, it often goes hilariously wrong, such as the mural of a sexy Native American woman at V.I.P. (Very Italian Pizza) in Meknes.
We bought a couple of sodas and hung out for a bit before heading back to the house. After Hameed finished his soda, he tossed the can onto the street and told me to do the same when I was done. I told him I would wait to find a trash can, and he replied, sympathetically, "there are no trash cans." This was true, and trash was littered absolutely everywhere. So I sadly dropped my can right there. Sorry, environment.

On another sad note, I don't have pictures of today because Dar al-Bayda has a notoriously high petty crime rate and a white guy snapping pictures is to muggers what a raw steak is to hyenas.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Kul shay mizyan filmaghreb

Nothing to report today. I'll be traveling tomorrow for the weekend, though I should have Internet so I expect to be able to post at least once before Monday.

So instead here's a cool article about the February 20th Movement in Morocco from Al-Arabiya: http://english.alarabiya.net/articles/2011/07/08/156622.html.

I also (finally) posted pictures of the inside of a mosque in the city of Moulay Idriss where a holy man named Moulay Idriss was buried centuries ago. It is now considered a particularly holy place for worship, especially among Sufi Muslims. Sadly, this may be closest you ever get to seeing the inside of mosque in Morocco, due to a law that dates back to the French occupation and prohibits non-Muslims from entering any mosque (except Hassan II in Casablanca). The photos were taken by a friend of mine (thanks again!).

And the picture above is of a poster I found in a restaurant in Meknes. The longer I look at it, the less I understand.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

And al-hamam

Today during class we took a field trip to a pharmacy in the new city because we've been learning health-related vocabulary this week. Pharmacies in Morocco are different from those in the US in that they only sell drugs (not like CVS or Walgreens, which are also convenience stores). A few students spoke with the pharmacist to ask questions about how to treat the never-ending symptoms of living in Morocco (I was late to class this morning because I was on the toilet for twenty minutes). The pharmacist gave us some questionable medical advice, such as "whenever you have a fever, you must take antibiotics." One student asked him about this advice, and the pharmacist clarified, saying that you should take antibiotics when you have a fever due to food poisoning. I'm not sure this is the best advice either, but I'm not a Moroccan pharmacist.

In the afternoon, I met a small group of students at the hotel to go to al-hamam, the Arab baths. A Moroccan employee of the language center, let's call him Hamza, led us to an unmarked building, where we walked up the stairs and into a small office with a tiled floor, a welcome desk, and some cubbies along one wall. As Americans, we didn't know how the process worked, so we just did as the Moroccans did and stripped to our undies and followed Hamza into the hamam itself.

The hamam was a series of three plain white rooms, all with tiled floors, high ceilings, and two horizontal pipes that ran along the walls with small spouts spaced out evenly. Under the pipes runs a shallow drain to carry out the water. Hamza gave us each a large plastic basin, a small plastic bowl, and a scrubber. He led us into the last of the three rooms, which was the hot room. The floor was so hot I couldn't stand on it with my bare feet without hopping. We all picked a spot on the floor by a spout and sat down. One pipe poured out piping hot water and the other pipe poured out cold water. We turned on both spouts to our liking to fill our basin. We used the small bowl to scoop out water and pour it on ourselves to bathe. I kept filling my small bowl with cold water to pour over my spot on the floor so I could sit comfortably.

Then Hamza went to each of us in turn and gave us saboon balidy (traditional soap that looks like black gelatin) and then gave us a traditional Moroccan scrub. He did it for free but usually you pay a small fee to have a man do this for you. The Moroccan scrub involved Hamza telling me to sit on the floor, spread my legs and grab my ankles. Then he used a scrub brush to give me the fiercest sponge bath I have ever received. It's somewhat like being a kid again and having your dad give you a bath, except he's really angry at you. Dead skin flakes off in black clumps. After that, you rinse off with you bowl and lie down on the furnace-like floor, which is very relaxing once you adjust to the heat.

Then Hamza instructed us to empty our basins and led us as a group into the second room, which was a little cooler, and we repeated the process from the beginning. Then we moved to the third and final room, where we filled our basins one final time with cold water and then poured them over our heads to conclude our visit. I have to admit, you really do feel clean after leaving the hamam, and quite relaxed.

In the evening, my host mom invited me to go shopping in the old city with her, and this led to me back to the one place in Morocco I vowed never to return: the Cloud of Bees. The sooq was packed with people shopping in preparation for Ramadan, which begins the first week of August this year. My host mom continued her tradition of overfeeding me at the souq, encouraging me to try a large variety of olives. I also ate a doughnut-like pastry called shfenj from a hanoot (store) where you can watch the men shape the dough, dunk it into a giant boiling cauldron, and then pull the finished pastries out and string them together for you. Then we stopped by a cart that sold a cactus fruit called karmousse that a vendor cuts and peels in front of you. And then (yes, even more) my host mom bought me a pastry called baghreer that feels like an oily pancake and tastes like honey.

I got to see my host mom bargain for a new suitcase, which was very entertaining to watch. Both she and the seller really put on a show for each other ("Why do the wheels look weird?" "Ya alala, these wheels are specially designed for rough streets...!"). On the way out of the sooq, we walked by the meat section, where we walked by piles of goat heads and stepped over puddles of blood and animal fat.

And yes, the bees were there too. But don't worry, they're friendly. Only one attacked my host mom's face.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Natbakh halawiyat al-Maghreb

Today we baked traditional Moroccan cookies at the language center. The preparation was very simple and only involved a few ingredients:
1. Start with enough butter to make Paula Dean blush.
2. Add a glassful for vegetable oil.
3. Add flour.
4. Add nuts and miscellaneous spices, etc.
5. Mix by hand in a large shallow bowl.
6. Have overeager college students shape them into cute shapes (stars, hearts, etc.)

We took the platters of raw cookies to a nearby building that held an enormous stone oven. A guy took our platter of cookies and placed it on a wooden tray attached to a ten foot pole that he used to insert the tray into the oven. We studied for a little while back at the center and soon they were done and DELICIOUS. Also some of our Moroccan professors served us shay binana (mint tea) which really helped in getting through the homework we had to do.

Earlier in the day I saw a small demonstration organized by Matkich Bilady ("Hands of my country"), a political group that supports the new constitution. They were chanting outside a government office near my home stay, though I don't know exactly what the purpose of the demonstration was. I didn't take pictures because the police presence was heavy and they looked uneasy.

So it looks like political unrest continues in Morocco, as confirmed by my study abroad office in another scary email they sent yesterday (included below).


Morocco: Further rallies likely as anti-government gatherings to demand greater political reforms persist
Thousands of people on 10 July participated in rallies organised by the 20 February Movement in the capital Rabat and Casablanca to demand greater political reforms and social justice. A significant riot police presence was reported at both the gatherings, which took place at Bab al-Had Square in the capital and in Casablanca's Oulfa neighbourhood. Similar protests were held in several other cities, including Tangiers, Oujda, and Agadir. A pro-regime demonstration was held on the same day in Rabat; however, the police managed to keep the rival activists separate.
The 20 February movement rejected a constitutional referendum, which was held on 1 July as part of the reforms proposed by King Mohammed VI in a bid to create a constitutional monarchy with a democratic parliament, and vowed to continue with its anti-government protest campaign. Further gatherings can therefore be expected in the coming weeks; recent events indicate that these are most likely to occur on Sundays. Demonstrations are likely in the capital and other major cities such as Casablanca, Tangier, Fès, Marrakech, Agadir, Imzouren, Mohammédia, Salé and Khémisset. Precedents suggest that the security forces are not averse to using uncompromising crowd-control measures to disperse unruly protesters. In addition, government supporters may attempt to stage rallies to denounce the persistent anti-regime protests, raising the risk of unrest, particularly if rival gatherings are held simultaneously and in close proximity; bystanders face incidental risks in the event of disturbances. There is also a high risk of unrest incited by youths from low-income areas in the hours following such gatherings, particularly in northern cities such as Tangiers.
Pro-constitution posters proudly displayed
Thousands of protesters associated with the 20 February Movement on 3 July demonstrated in cities across the country, including in Rabat, to protest against the result of the referendum. In the capital, the security forces restricted the movement of the demonstrators to the outskirts of the city. One person was injured in Rabat by a stone allegedly thrown by a government supporter, and several similar incidents were reported in Casablanca. Prior to this, thousands of protesters on 26 June staged marches in Rabat and other urban centres as part of demonstrations both for and against the constitutional reforms. In Casablanca, at least two people were injured in scuffles between pro- and anti-government demonstrators in the low-income neighbourhood of Hay Mohammedi.
More than 98% of the voters approved the new constitution, which introduced significant changes, including paving the way for the prime minister to replace the king as the head of government, though the latter would continue to wield considerable control over the administration. The 20 February Movement claims that the changes do not amount to a true separation of powers and is demanding more substantive reforms. While Morocco shares a number of socio-economic traits with neighbouring Tunisia and Egypt – where protest campaigns in late 2010 and early 2011 led to the ousting of those countries' long-serving presidents – such as the high youth unemployment rate, its political climate differs from these countries and an uprising is unlikely in the near term. However, demonstrations calling for political and constitutional reform should be expected to persist.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Dour al-internet fi al-siasa al-arabiya

So the most exciting thing that happened today actually did not happen to me, it happened to a friend of mine in the Arabic program here.

Last week, one of our class assignments was to record a newscast in Arabic and turn it in to our professor for a grade. One girl, let's call her Ruby (her youtube name) posted her video online and as of now it has reached over 25,000 views...in four days. The video has been reposted on several Moroccan blogs, including a prominent Moroccan news site, Hespress. I told my host family to watch the video today, but they had already seen it. The comments on the views are fascinating to read, and range from "excuse me you are very beautiful please marry me " to "I as a moroccan, i disagree with u, given that the 20th feb movement have much more liberals demands that hidden behind the lines of the claimed changes" to "im moroccan and im so happy to see some one interesed by my country thank you and allah alwatan almalik peace and love" (actual quotes).

The truth is, a lot of Arabs, and especially Arab youth, don't find the Arabic language valuable. The reasons for this are a little complex, but essentially the written form of the language (Modern Standard Arabic) is so removed from spoken Arabic dialects, that many Arab linguists fear that Arabic is going the way of Latin. Another reason is that most Arab parents pressure their children to learn French or English because job opportunities in the Arab World are so scarce.

So when a foreigner speaks to an Arab in their own language, it seems to be a huge compliment. I never cease to amuse Moroccans on the street when I talk to them. Often I'll say Kee dair? to a taxi driver and he'll looked shocked for a moment and then laugh in surprise before rattling off in Arabic. Mizyan, alhamdulilah. Ketahdar bilaraby? Inta mineen? (I'm good, thank God. You speak Arabic? Where are you from?) They even take time to correct my mistakes and teach me new phrases.

So I don't know if that's why the video went viral. Maybe it's just because she's a hot Asian lady (on the street, the most misogynistic and racist catcalls are always reserved for Ruby). Either way, it's a really cool case study for what makes a video go viral.

(Future business idea: hot Asian ladies read the news. I thought of it first!) Links to the video below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GP1RizmOo8w
http://hespress.com/videos/34276.html

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Ma'sat al-thaqafa al-ajnabiya filmaghreb.

The first Harry Potter movie is being shown on TV here! Sadly, it's in French, not Arabic. Yet another example of the negative effects of French colonialism.
Incidentally, I tried to buy an Arabic copy of a Harry Potter book. But again, no bookstore carries them in Arabic, only French. What they DO have in Arabic is the entire Twilight series. I worry for the future of Moroccan youth.

That's all for now. Hata al-liqa'.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Bishahal al-tazkara lilfilm?

Lazy lazy Saturday. I got a little sick last night (probably stress related) so I slept in and spent most of the day doing some homework and hanging out indoors to stay out of the sun. I was worried I would have nothing to relate in my blog post (I know, is that what my life has come to? But, seriously, it's a good motivator). So I decided to finally do what I've wanted to do since the day I got here and go to a movie theater in Morocco.
It turns out that the movie theater doesn't open until 8:30 at night, so I stopped by a cafe across the street from the theater and ordered a coffee. I usually hate coffee, but the way Moroccans drink it is great. The waiter serves you an empty coffee cup on a plate and pours in black coffee -- just enough to cover the bottom of the cup. Then he takes a small pitcher of boiling-hot milk and fills the rest of the cup. So it's basically milk with a hint of coffee, which is great for coffeephobes like me.

At the cafe men (and only men) crowd around tables. All the seats face outward to the streets so that people can chat and people-watch. In the US the Starbucks is always full of hipsters working furiously over laptops, but here it's common to see men just sitting, alone or in groups, doing nothing but sip coffee and chain smoke. It stressed me out at first, but once you ease into it, it's a very relaxing experience, even though I still think "don't you guys have jobs or something?" Maalesh habibi, that's the pace of life in Morocco. At least for men.

The pace of life for women is exhausting to watch. My host mom is constantly working. She's the first to wake up, cleans the entire house (even moving furniture), and cooks four or five meals a day, sets the table, and clears the table. This division of the sexes is hard to watch, so I always help my host mom with setting and clearing the table.

An interesting example of how strong the social pressures are here occurred while I was watching TV with my host mom. The news turned to sports (which means Kurat al-Qadm "Soccer"). First the news caster went over the latest scores for the men's teams. Then the clips turned to women's soccer and the announcer announced those scores. My host mom laughed "Women playing soccer," she said, shaking her head in bemusement.

So back to the movie. I met up with some guys from my program and we paid 25 dirhams for a ticket (3 USD). The theater was empty except for us and maybe two other people (the signs outside that pleaded SAVE CINEMA IN MOROCCO don't bode well for theaters). We were a couple minutes early but the movie had already started. I swear I understood every 20th word (the movie was in darija) and it was one of the strangest movies I have ever seen. The basic plot, as I understood it, was that a young man and his buddies are jailed for giving a speech at school about Satanism. In jail, the man becomes involved with extremist Muslims and joins a terrorist training school. But then at the end he changes his mind and blows up the jihadist training camp (awful CGI effects included).

Highlights of the movie: crossdressing male prostitutes, mujahideen singing Nirvana, a dog avenges a rape victim, spelunking for some reason. The title of the movie? "Casablanca Daylight." Don't miss out on the summer movie event of the year!

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Smah lee, twaddart filhay al-sinaee.

Dammit, summer school, you're supposed to be easy. Today I had an oral presentation and a two-hour exam. Then I had to film and edit a 15 minute video project. And then I had to start my daily homework.

But I still had time for an adventure yesterday. I met with my language partner and told her I wanted to find the industrial section of the old market, which I had passed by on a previous occasion. She said she'd never heard of it, so I had to explain what they did there, which led me to learn the words for iron (hadeed) and wood (khashab). We made our way through the meandering alleys of the old city until I found the industrial area. It's very cool to see people making beautiful tables, doors, grates, bed frames, and more by hand (and machine, depending). Unfortunately, I also saw small children helping their parents with the work, handling electric saws and blowtorches with skill (but without protection). I took some pictures and talked to a man who was shaping long metal rods into spirals to include in an artistic grate. I didn't understand a word he said but he showed me how he used a hammer and an anvil to shape the rods.

In the industrial section of the city is a little corner with three or four shops that sell traditional instruments, including flutes, various string instruments, and many types of drums. It was mid-afternoon, however, so the store owner (mool al-hanoot) was nowhere to be found, so unfortunately I couldn't talk to him or buy anything.

However, as we were leaving the industrial area, a man called me to look in his shop. I went in and saw that his store was full of objects and jewelry, all made of metal. He led me into the back of his shop and showed me how he makes the pieces by hand. He took a dull metal pot and placed it in a vice in his workshop. Then he took a tool that looked like a blunt knife, and rubbed vigorously at the pot until it took on a polished, blue hue. Then he took a small spool of metal wires, as thin as human hair. He took out one of the wires, placed it on the pot, and began hammering gently at it until it flattened and stuck to the pot. He hammered intricate patterns on the pot, drawing swirls and flower petal designs. It was very cool to watch.

Then of course, he said, "Please, choose anything, I'll give you a very reasonable price." I was very tempted, but my language partner gave me an impatient look, so I said I would come back. I say this to every shopkeeper, but I have a feeling I may keep my word this time.

Today at the language center we hosted a group of traditional musicians who sang, danced, and played a Moroccan version of castanets made of metal. One of the performers played a ganbaree, which I talked about in a previous post. His ganbaree, however, was hooked up to speakers, and the sounds it made were really cool, similar to a bass guitar. I wish I could have learned more but I had to leave early to catch a taxi to my home stay.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Wash kein shee murshed?

Today was a pretty slow day as far as things go in Morocco, so I want to use this post to offer advice to future travelers going to Morocco and talk about some cultural experiences that surprised me. First the advice. This advice is specifically about Morocco, but it probably applies to most Arab countries.

1. Be careful what you wish for (out loud).
Once you become friends with Moroccans they will go to the ends of the earth to make you happy. This is why it's important not to voice any kind of desire unless you know what you're getting into. Even complimenting something is grounds to get you into trouble, as happened to me today.
Me: "This is a beautiful tajyeen (Moroccan cooking pot). How much does one cost at the sooq?"
My host mom: "Oh, just take any of these," she says, trying to hand me various tajyeens.
Me: "Oh, that very kind, no thank you. I can find one at the sooq."
MHM: "No, please take it, as a souvenir from us. I can buy another one any time."
Me: [super awkwarded out] "No, thank you for offering. I'll go to the market, I like to buy things."

2. Don't accept "favors" from people.
Moroccans are experts at exploiting a psychological effect known as reciprocity. People on the street will do all sorts of favors for you...but not because bless-their-hearts-they're-so-kind. They want a tip. And as I've written previously, tipping is expected in Morocco for all kinds of favors, big and small. It even occurs in places you'd never expect.
For instance, I was visiting Hassan al-Tanee (Hassan II), the largest mosque in Morocco. I walked downstairs into the mosque and a member of the cleaning staff led me through a door into a very dark room. It was a beautiful hall filled with low marble fountains that are designed for men entering the mosque to perform ablutions (washing their hands and feet before prayer). A man in an abayya (traditional, light robe) came up to me, and started telling me about the purpose of the room and its history. He saw I saw taking pictures, so he said, "No, you're taking pictures of the wrong things." He grabbed my camera and began taking pictures of art on the walls and Arabic script on the columns. He then told me to pose for a picture, and so, reluctantly, I did so. I thanked him for his help and on the way out the door he held out his hand and said, "Tadweera, tadweera" (tip). This had happened to me before, but in a mosque? I was offended, but I said, "I'm sorry, I don't have money with me" (which was true...that time) and left the building.
I'll give him credit and say that he accepted my refusal to tip gracefully. The previous time this happened, it ended with me yelling "What is your problem? Get the hell away from me!" for the second time since I've been here.
So the lesson is, don't let people do you favors. No "I have a very generous friend who just happens to be a taxi driver..."; "I can show you the way to that restaurant..."; "Do you need a guide of the old city?" No no no.

My story of intercultural experience comes with another lesson: be prepared to be surprised.
I was at a qahwa in Dar al-Bayda with my host dad and his cousin when his cousin asked, "What was your impression of Morocco before you came here?"
I told him, "My friends and family, as well as my host family, made me nervous about coming here at first. Americans really emphasize the potential dangers of the region, such as terrorism, crime, disease, culture shock, political oppression, etc. But when I got here I realized that these fears really apply to the worst case scenarios, whereas most of the risks I run here are no more threatening than in the United States. It didn't help though, that there was a bombing in Marrakesh a month before I arrived. Americans are worried about the influence and potential threats of Islamists and Islamist parties in the Middle East" (sidenote: the term "Islamist" refers to someone who believes public policy should be based on Islamic law and thought. It does not mean the same thing as "Muslim").
My host dad said "No, Islamist parties are no threat. Tell me, who do you think perpetrated the attacks of September 11th, 2001?"
I was taken aback at the question, but I answered, "A group of mostly Saudi young men..."
"Yes, but bin Laden, right?" interrupted my host dad.
"Yeah, bin Laden," I answered.
He gave me a knowing look and said, "No, no, no. Bin Laden didn't do it. It was the American government who did it and blamed Islamists. Have you seen pictures of the Pentagon? That damage was caused by a rocket, not a plane. And who has the rockets to do that? The Americans."
I didn't know what to say at first. It is clearly illogical that the United States government would attack its own citizens, let alone the headquarters of the Department of Defense in order to sow fear of Islamists. But I couldn't really articulate this in Arabic, so I said, "This is a story that some people believe, but most people, including me, find that there is no evidence that 9/11 was perpetrated by someone other that bin Laden, especially not the US government."
"It's the same thing as here," said my host dad. "The bombing in Marrakesh wasn't planted by Islamists, it was planted by the Moroccan government to terrorize people and subjugate them."
My host dad's cousin jumped in and said, "No, no, I don't believe these things. It was the fault of Islamists" and they argued for a bit before changing the subject.

I was, again, taken aback by my host dad's comments, but I have a hypothesis about why he believes these conspiracy theories. My host dad is a very devout Muslim, and when I mentioned the fear that Americans have for Islamists, I think he wanted to defend these parties because he supports them, or feels that they reflect on him. He wanted to defend the reputation of Muslims by distancing himself from the violence that some self-proclaimed Muslims perpetrated. And his comments about the Moroccan government organizing the bombing in Marrakesh made me realize that he, like many Moroccans, has developed a deep distrust for government, and doesn't feel that political leaders in Morocco are defending his interests.

It was a sobering moment, either way.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Kul sena wa antum tayibeen.

It's Independence Day in America and I just finished five hours of homework. Life is cruel in Morocco. The Arabic students threw a big party at the hotel where we cooked halal hotdogs and hamburgers, drank "Hawai" (a soda so addictive it's probably illegal in the States) and carved and distributed watermelon slices.
We also played patriotic songs and sang some wonderful renditions of "America, Fuck Yeah!" We invited our professors (who are all native Arabs) and I think they were highly amused by the celebration.
(Fun fact: Morocco was the first country to formally recognize the United States as an independent nation. The king even gave a speech today blessing President Obama.)

So July 4th marks the middle of my stay in Morocco, and I think the spirit of the day calls for me to list things I miss about the States.
  1.  Shower curtains
  2. Air conditioning
  3. Mexican food
  4. Chinese food
  5. A good burger
  6. Water (that doesn't cause diarrhea)
  7. Netflix
Happy 'Merica Day, everybody.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Leila fi Dar al-Bayda

This evening I returned from (surprise!) Casablanca! The one city in Morocco that everybody knows about because of some movie whose name I keep forgetting...
Casablanca is called Dar al-Bayda in Morocco (it's a direct translation) but everyone will know what you mean if you say "Casablanca" or "Casa," which are also widely used.

I'm totally exhausted and I have class in the morning so I will say more about Casablanca in tomorrow's post. However, here are some highlights:

1. Visiting the largest mosque in Morocco, and the third largest in the world (source: some Moroccans).
2. Walking along the Corniche and finding shady nightclubs with names like Club Vice and BOOOOM BOOOOM ROOOOM.
3. Seeing a woman with a hijab wearing a tee shirt that read JUICY IS THE NEW BLACK.
4. My host dad informing me that 9/11 was a conspiracy.

More to come.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Al-mashi fi athar Walili

I was going to post yesterday with news about the excitement of voting day, but to be honest it was very anti-climactic. All the demonstrations took place the day before. I did, however, interview a few Moroccans who were sitting in cafes about their thoughts on the referendum. Most, understandably, didn't want to talk to me, and one man responded to every one of my questions with Kul shay mizian ("everything is good").

I interviewed one man, however, who was very interesting to talk to. I asked him if he was voting and why. He said yes, he would vote that day because voting is a better alternative to violent revolution in enacting reforms. He said he would vote "yes" on the new constitution because it would get the wheels rolling on real reform in the country. It was the first time he had ever voted in his life.

While voting day was uneventful, this may be the calm before the storm. I received an email today from my study abroad office that said this:

Morocco: Demonstrations planned on 3 July over preliminary results of referendum on constitutional reforms
The 20 February Movement has called for demonstrations on 3 July to protest against the preliminary result of a referendum, which was held on 1 July as part of the reforms proposed by King Mohammed VI on 17 June in a bid to create a constitutional monarchy with a democratic parliament. The preliminary result of the plebiscite, which was announced by Interior Minister Taib Cherkaoui on 1 July, indicated that more than 98% of the voters approved the proposed reforms; the voting turnout was around 73%. The final results are expected to be announced on 3-4 July. The 20 February Movement has alleged that the proposed reforms do not amount to a true separation of authoritarian powers.
Several protests have been staged in recent weeks to demand democratic reforms and against the use of force by the police during previous demonstrations. Although the 20 February Movement has not yet disclosed details of the planned events, such rallies are likely to take place in the capital Rabat and other major cities. Although the proposed draft announced by the monarch was expected to reduce the risk of rallies gaining momentum and pre-empt any further unrest, the latest call to demonstrate by the protest movement suggests otherwise. Precedents suggest that the security forces may use uncompromising crowd-control measures to disperse unruly protesters, posing indirect risks to bystanders. There is also a high risk of unrest incited by youths from low-income areas in the hours following such gatherings, particularly in northern cities such as Tangier.
Thousands of protesters on 26 June staged marches Rabat and other urban centres across the country as part of demonstrations both for and against the constitutional reforms. In Casablanca, around 100,000 people participated in marches organised by a coalition group known as ‘Matkich Bladi' (Do not touch my country) in support of the 1 July referendum, while 7,000 people demonstrated against the planned reforms in the low-income neighbourhood of Hay Mohammedi, where scuffles between protesters and government supporters injured at least two people. Additionally, at least 2,000 anti-constitution protesters marched the same day in central Rabat in a protest organised by the 20 February Movement.
Mohammed VI claims that the proposed constitutional reforms would provide for an independent judiciary and greater roles for the legislature and political parties. While Morocco shares a number of socio-economic traits with neighbouring Tunisia and Egypt – where protest campaigns in late 2010 and early 2011 led to the ousting of those countries' long-serving presidents, such as the high youth unemployment rate, its political climate differs from these countries and an uprising is unlikely in the near term. However, demonstrations calling for political and constitutional reform should be expected to persist.

But enough about politics. Today I visited Volubilis, or as they call it in Morocco, Walili. This was a day trip organized by our program so I piled into a bus with the other students, all of us sweating in the blazing summer heat. Volubilis is a site of ancient Roman ruins that used to be the southernmost outpost of the Roman Empire. The ruins are very beautiful and surprisingly complete, despite the fact that they allow you to climb all over them (some students even climbed atop old grave markers to pose like roman statues and the tour guide was fine with it).

The tour guide showed us the site where townspeople would sacrifice animals to the Roman gods on sacred days, as well as where they used to make olive oil, some houses, and the baths. The tour concluded with what our tour guide described as "a happy ending." And this was not entirely untrue, as the last stop of the tour was the brothel, which was marked by a large erect penis carved from stone and pointing to the entrance of the brothel (photos not included).

From Walili we went on to a small mountain town called Moulay Idriss, where a famous Muslim holy man is buried on the grounds of a large mosque. A sign confirmed the Moroccan law that non-Muslims are not allowed inside mosques, so we sent a friend who is Muslim in to see the mosque and the tomb inside. She ducked under the wood barrier and came back shortly after with lots of pictures, which I hope to post this week.

A man told us that we could walk up the cliff side through the old city to get a better view of the mosque, so we climbed up what seemed like a never-ending staircase that wound through alleyways in the old city. We were exhausted by the time we reached the summit, but the view was worth it. You could not only look over the mosque, but see the whole city built on a mountain and the valley beyond.

I'll be traveling again today and tomorrow, taking advantage of the weekend. As always, location TBA when I return. The suspense!

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Aleila qabl al-istifte'

This is the evening before the election and I can feel the energy in the air (as well as hear the chanting and honking outside my window). I have seen no large-scale demonstrations like I described this past Sunday, but instead today there are a lot of small groups holding banners, chanting and whistling. Some demonstrators wear red shirts with slogans like "I LOVE MY KING, I LOVE MY COUNTRY." I was drinking tea with my host family when a convoy of about twenty trucks with banners proclaiming نعم للدستور (YES ON THE CONSTITUTION) drove down the street outside my building honking the whole way.  We all ran to the balcony to watch the convoy as it went by.

Here are two excellent articles to bring you up to speed on the referendum. The first is from the Qatar-based news network Al-Jazeera, and the second is from the Saudi Arabia-based news network Al-Arabiya. Keep in mind that both networks have their own biases, but they also provide excellent coverage of issues in the Arab World.

The gist of the articles (which pretty much line up with my personal opinions) is that the referendum will likely result in a majority YES vote on the new constitution. The government has pretty much ensured this by campaigning in ways that would be illegal in the United States, such as posting campaign signs in public buses and in the windows of public buildings. In the streets of Meknes, you will only find signs for YES on the constitution. I do not know exactly why that is. However, as I said previously, the size of the marches on Sunday was about equal for the February 20th Movement as for supporters of the proposed reforms.

The reforms, unfortunately, are so cosmetic that the king will benefit whether the reforms are passed or not, and you can read the details on that in the articles posted above.

On a personal note, I can now brag that women are literally throwing themselves at me. Yesterday was so hot that I decided to walk to the hotel to swim in the pool with some friends. At one point I was standing in the pool and talking with a few other guys from my program when I feel a huge splash and a girl's arms wrap around me. The girl pushed herself off of me, giggling, and said, "I'm sorry!" in a French Moroccan accent. She swam to her giggling friends and on the guys told me, laughing, "She literally jumped at you. That wasn't an accident." This was confirmed when she did it again, and then when her friend did the same thing. After that we decided to move away from them.

I'm not entirely sure how flirting works here, but I'm pretty sure I'm now legally married in Morocco.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Wash kein shati qareeb min hina?

Small demonstrations continue in the streets as the constitutional referendum approaches. I can hear cars honking the signature honk in support of the king: LOOONG LOOONG SHORT SHORT SHORT. I hear sporadic chanting but nothing sustained.

I have to take a moment to complain about how hot it is here. I spend as much time as possible at the language center because in my host family's house all I do is sit around and sweat rivers that drip down my arms, legs, and back.

My host family is still away and traveling so I've been alone in the apartment this afternoon. I went downstairs to eat lunch with another splinter of the large extended family that lives in the building. Usually my host mom gives me a separate plate from the rest of the family, I think because she has had foreigners live with her before.
Today, however, lunch was the authentic Moroccan experience as the family set out plates with salads, various pastes made from vegetables and spices, lentils, and chicken. The lady of the house passed around loaves of baguettes that we tore pieces from and used to scoop the food. It's like eating little sandwiches that you make yourself.

I put up pictures of the demonstrations that took place on Sunday and I attempted to put up a video of a protest that took place the previous Sunday. Hopefully one of my readers will let me know if the video works or not.
The back story on the pictures is that I knew since last week that protests would take place around Morocco in anticipation of this Friday. The scary email that my program sent me about the protests said to stay far away, as clashes between protesters and counter-protesters were possible. So I knew I had to be there.

At around 7pm, as the sun was beginning to set, I heard honking and chanting outside my window, and my host dad called to me and said, "Listen! The demonstrations are starting." I asked him where they were taking place and he said there would be two and pointed me in both directions. I have no idea how he knew but I grabbed my camera and ran downstairs.
I visited the march hosted by the February 20 Movement just as it was starting. Participants in the march were calling on Moroccans to either vote NO on the constitutional amendments or to boycott the referendum. These struck me as differing opinions, so I think that there are divisions within the Movement that could hamper its success. The protesters were clearly angry, but the march was peaceful, and police officers and organizers could be seen redirecting traffic so that the march could proceed. The march eventually made its way from the new city to the main square of the old city, and its size grew to huge proportions as it approached its destination.

The other demonstration I witnessed was in support of the constitutional amendments, and this event was made up of supporters of the king, many of whom waved signs that said "God, Country, King" or wore shirts that proclaimed "Long live the King." The mood of this demonstration was more celebratory. A band played marching music, children held up portraits of the king, and there were even a couple horses in the crowd, decorated with velvet costumes and sequins. Young men piled up in the backs of enormous trucks and cheered and jumped as the trucks honked LOOONG LOOONG SHORT SHORT SHORT. The demonstrators threw up clouds of fliers that all had نعم للدستور (YES ON THE CONSTITUTION) printed on them and they littered the streets behind the marchers. This demonstration was just as large as the other, though fortunately the two demonstrations did not meet at any point, which was a laudable strategy for the organizers.

I did see ambulances, a riot control truck equipped with fire hoses, and an armored van filled with riot police that was following the February 20 march, but the demonstrations remained absolutely peaceful.

By the way, more on Tanja later (I'm tired, sorry!).