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.

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!).

Kein sukhn bizaaf filmaghreb

Not too much excitement today. There was occasional honking and yelling in the streets in anticipation for the constitutional referendum on Friday but no further demonstrations that I know of. A relative of my host family went to the hospital today, so everyone left for a few days except my host dad. Everyone was a little frazzled this morning so I really only got to say Rabina maakum wa tariq assalama ("God be with you and have a safe trip") before I left for class.

After class I met with my language partner for the first time. She is my age and a niece of one of the professors at the language center. I want to be open-minded and culturally flexible, but honestly she came off as bossy, impatient, and harsh. She took me to a suuq and pointed at a bunch of spices, telling me the name of each one and making me repeat it. Then we turned to leave and she asked, "If you were shopping by yourself could you ask for each spice by name now?" I laughed and said no, it would take a little more practice. She stopped and looked at me like I was stupid, and then we spent the next ten minutes memorizing the spices until I got them all right. I have no reason to buy spices, and even in English I couldn't tell you a spice's name just by looking at it. The rest of the hour was much like this. Every time I spoke Arabic and accidentally inserted an Egyptian or Fusha word she made a TIME OUT gesture with her hands and said, "No! We are speaking darija (Moroccan Arabic)." Oh well. Maybe this is what I need right now, but I'm not looking forward to next time.

And now, as promised, here are details about Tanja, in serial form (because it's kinda long).

Part One: The Beach
Six of us met up at the train station in Meknes. We were all waiting there with our first-class tickets in hand (only first class has A/C) when the loudspeaker announced "The train to Meknes will be delayed by approximately one hour." We were disappointed, but decided this was a perfect opportunity to get lunch before going on a four hour train ride. We returned to the train 40 minutes later. It had already passed.
This meant we had to change our tickets, which was a HUGE fight that is not worth going into details about. The lesson, however, was: Wait at the station even if your train is delayed. Otherwise, the train ride was nice, and we had a very successful conversation with a man who was sitting with us in our car.
We arrived in Tanja and took a grand taxi (who we later learned way overcharged us) to the hostel and checked in. PRO TIP: Almost all hotels in Morocco require that you show a copy of your passport (I'm not sure why). The hostel is right on the beach, so we put our things in the room and walked down to the sand. Tanja is a very touristy city, and everyone speaks Spanish to tourists (because most of the tourists are from Spain).
The beach is lined with nightclubs and bars, and we were swarmed by street kids selling flowers, tissues, and gum. For some reason all street kids in every city in Morocco sell these three items. Once we got to the beach, we looked over the water which was glimmering under the lights of Tanja at night. We stopped at a bar for a while before going back to the beach, where I sat in the sand and talked with a friend while a couple others went running and wading in the waves.
At 4 am we returned to the hostel, exhausted. I decided to take a shower but this turned out to be somewhat difficult, because the bathroom was a just a corner of the room with a curtain. The shower head and drain was right next to the toilet and sink, and so I had to tell my roommates to wear shoes if they wanted to use the bathroom. This didn't turn out to be a problem, however, as we all slept until noon the next day, with our sleep only occasionally interrupted by the azaan. I enjoy the azaan when it's broadcast from minarets around the city, and it doesn't interrupt my sleep, but it was far less enjoyable at the hostel in Tanja, where a man was just screaming outside our open window.

Al-rujua min Tanja wa al-Muzaharat

It's super late and I have class tomorrow so unfortunately I have so much to say but I'm leaving it for later. Here are the main points:

1. Sorry about the design issues in the blog. It's under construction because I screwed up while uploading photos. The design will look much better by the end of the week. The good news is, you can see a lot of new photos on my album.
2. I'm back from Tanja (Tangier). It was beautiful, educational, and exhausting. Details soon to come.
3. There were huge protests in the capital, Rabat, as well as Meknes and other cities around Morocco. I got pictures and video. The pictures can be seen in my photo album and the video will be up within a week, insha'allah.
4. Leave me a comment if you like a post, or tell me some other way (email, facebook, pigeon). It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Ala aliqaa'!

Anwaa al-khubz al-ledida

Unfortunately due to a slow Internet connection it has been impossible to upload video of the protests I witnessed this past Sunday. I will try to visit an Internet cafe this coming week. More protests are scheduled for this coming Sunday in the capital, Rabat, in the run up to the constitutional referendum on July 1st. Protests will probably occur around the country so maybe I can get some footage of that too. If you want to learn more about the protests or the referendum, you can read about it here.

Today was a pretty slow day, though I did go to the qahwa (cafe) with my host dad. Qahwas are everywhere in Morocco, and are social centers for men to gather and drink and talk. They are constantly full and many Moroccans joke that in an eight hour work day, men spend six of them at the qahwa.

I don't usually drink coffee but I ordered some at the qahwa today. It comes in a little shot-glass sized coffee cup, just as the tea is served in what looks exactly like a tall shot glass. The coffee was very good, probably because they put so much sugar in it. They put sugar in everything.

If I leave this country without type-2 diabetes, it'll be a miracle, wallahy.

My host dad's friend joined us and brought a snack called harsha. It's basically a grilled cheese sandwich with very thin toast and tastes delightfully similar to macaroni and cheese. We talked about Moroccan foods and Moroccans' love for bread. Moroccans make so many kinds of bread and they eat it with every meal.

I won't be able to post for a couple days because I'm traveling (I'll leave the destination a surprise) but I promise I'll upload tons of pictures when I get back, insha'allah.

Fasl athaura

Today in class, we were discussing the Arab revolutions and one of my classmates asked our professor a simple but important question: "Are the current political conditions in Morocco similar to the conditions of Egypt before the revolution?" Our professor seemed taken aback by the question for a moment. She is a university professor in Egypt and participated in the demonstrations there from the very beginning. Her answer was long, much longer than we expected. It was incredibly moving to hear, so I will try to repeat it here as best I can (keep in mind I'm writing from memory and translating from Arabic, so take the numbers, especially, with a grain of salt).

"The political conditions that we're seeing in Morocco are similar to those in Egypt just before the revolution, but there are many important differences. For one, Morocco is a kingdom, while Egypt was a republic (though there was no difference in practice). Second, while there is severe and widespread poverty in Morocco, it is nothing compared to the abject poverty that exists in Egypt. As a university professor in Egypt with seven years of experience, I make the equivalent of $1500 a month. A university professor in Morocco starts her career with that much. I still work two jobs to make ends meet, and it is common for Egyptians to hold two or three jobs, especially if they are parents. The scope of poverty in Morocco is not as wide or severe, so Moroccans do not have the same financial pressures that led to so much anger in Egypt.
"Moroccans, I have noticed, have such a good sense of humor. They laugh, they make jokes, they socialize. I see families spending time in public parks around Meknes, and children go play soccer together at the soccer fields. We have nothing like that in Egypt. There are almost no public services or public spaces for people to enjoy. In the last twenty years, everything has been privatized. Even the beaches, which used to be public spaces, now cost up to 100 EGP (Egyptian Pounds, 1 dollar = 6 EGP). Long stretches of the beach can only be accessed if you own a beachfront property, which can cost 1000 dollars a month. So poor Egyptians have no resources and no place to socialize. You could see before the revolution that people had lost their sense of humor. People didn't joke, they felt so much frustration.
"I love talking to people. Whenever I get in a taxi, I always take the opportunity to talk to the driver because more than anyone, they know the mood on the street. At the start of the revolutions I asked a taxi driver who was driving me in the city, 'What do you think of the demonstrations?' He was suspicious of me at first, and asked me right back, 'What's your opinion on it?' I answered excitedly, 'I love the revolution! It's amazing to see this happening!' He relaxed and said he supports the revolution as well. He told me that he worked for the government his whole life, and his pension only gives him the equivalent of $120 dollars a month. He says he is 76 years old and his wife is very sick. He couldn't afford the medication she needed with his pension so he works as a taxi driver. Even with the extra income, he told me, he can only afford half of the medication she needs."

Her voice cracked and she wiped her eyes, which were brimming with tears. "I'm sorry," she said. We sat there in silence for a long moment. "We should really get back to class," our professor said suddenly. And so we returned to our lesson.

I will never forget that quiet moment of honesty and humaneness. Somehow her story drove home the human cost of dictatorship more than any political article I had read or any youtube video I had watched of the revolution. Dictatorship and poverty don't just silence people. They don't just frustrate or anger people. The conditions in Egypt were killing people. And similar conditions exist all over the Arab World.

I don't want to end this post on such a sour note, so I'll talk about the market (sooq) in Meknes. I visited a new section of the market today. This part of the sooq sells food, including pastries, spices, grains, vegetables, fruits, meats, and live chickens. If I drew a map of the sooq, I would label this section "The Cloud of Bees."

Seriously. It's not uncommon to see pastry shops with windows full of bees crawling all over the sugary sweets. But this was ridiculous. We were walking in the largest swarm of bees and flies I had ever seen. And no one seemed to care. The shopkeepers kept selling and buyers kept buying as bees crawled all over the food and buzzed around or heads. I just decided to do as the Romans do and just walk through the cloud quietly without making any sudden movements. As I walked through the meat section, I saw some of the butchers taking a nap...on the equip they use to cut and prepare the meat.

And the smell. I will never forget that smell as hard as I try. The smell of chicken feces mixes with rotting meat and olives was honestly the worst stench I have ever experienced.

I think everyone should visit The Cloud of Bees once. But I won't be visiting twice.

Justin Bieber wa al-ihbat

Today was the first day in Morocco that I felt real frustration for the language barrier here. Mostly I have gotten by fine with my limited Arabic, but today I understood the limits of my knowledge. I met a Moroccan high school student today, let's call him Sharif, who is related to the head of our program. Sharif is 15 years old, and I met him while interviewing Moroccans for a homework assignment. He ended up helping me with my homework, and we compared our favorite American musicians and walked around the Hamariya. He spoke quickly and it felt like every other sentence I had to respond with Aasif, me fahamtish (I'm sorry, I don't understand). This meant our conversation was somewhat slow and stumbling, but in the end, I reminded myself that I have only just started learning Moroccan Arabic and I had managed to keep the conversation going.

I mentioned that we compared our favorite music, and unfortunately, MTV has a long, long reach throughout the world. I asked the girl at my home stay who her favorite artists were and she rattled off a laundry list of cringe-worthy names. "Ajebni Britney Spears wa Miley Cyrus wa Eminem wa Taylor Swift wa Shakira wa Rihanna wa Kesha wa Justin Bieber wa Lady Gaga..." When I asked Sharif, the only difference in his answer was that he subtracted Justin Bieber and added 50 Cent. When I asked both who they're favorite Arab musicians were, they said they didn't really like Arab music. I'm not really sure whether this should make me feel proud or sad.

This picture has been up for a while, but I wanted to point it out because it so perfectly captures the spirit of Meknes. Meknes is a very old city with beautiful architecture and a historic, genuinely Moroccan vibe. But it's also filthy. You can walk across the city without seeing a trash can so trash lines the streets and is littered all over the public parks. People pee in the street and cars belch clouds of black and blue smoke as they lurch along. Donkeys defecate in the street and no one picks it up. Street cats are everywhere, like pigeons in New York City, and children who should be in school instead run around with no shoes selling gum or tissues.

I took this picture nearby the language center. The rubble, one man explained, is from a building that collapsed about a year ago. He insists the mess will be cleaned up soon, in sha'allah.

Quruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuud!!!

Today I left the house with only one mission in mind: find the monkey forest. I had heard about the monkey forest during orientation from a young woman who had just returned from spending several months in Ifrane, Morocco. She mentioned that there was a forest near Ifrane where you can go and hang out with monkeys. From that moment I knew I had to visit this magical place.

So I met up with nine other students at the hotel and we took two taxi kebeer (big taxi) to Ifrane for 150 dirham per car, with five of us snuggled up tight, two in front, three in the back. The person who sits in the center front, next to the driver (mool attaxi) has the worst position because the driver has to get way in your personal space every time he shifts gears (I fortunately avoided this position).

The drive to Ifrane today was beautiful and the countryside looks strikingly like California's Central Valley (but with less smog). Ifrane is a very pretty town that looks much like any American suburb. There are lawns, wide streets, parks, and a pond. We walked to the university in Ifrane, Jamiat al-Akhawein (University of the Two Brothers). We tried to walk through the gate, but a guard stopped us and said the university was closed and we needed an appointment to visit. After a long argument, he agreed to let us in as long as two of us left a photocopy of our passports for identification. We handed over the photocopies (which our program recommends we take everywhere) and entered. The university looks like any small private college. Once inside we were greeted by a security guard and an administrator who welcomed us and insisted on giving us a tour of the campus.

We walked around the campus and saw the gym, the auditorium, the library, the campus mosque, and a lecture hall. The campus is very beautiful and modern, and caters to English-speaking students (mostly American) who take part in exchange programs. After the extensive tour, we were hungry, so we asked if the restaurant on campus was open. The guard said it was and that we could eat there, though some people in the group found the prices expensive so we decided to look elsewhere. The security guard asked us where we were going, and when we told him we were looking for the monkey forest, he gave us detailed instructions on how to get there and return to Meknes. Then, naturally, he invited us to eat lunch with his family sometime. We said shukran, insha'allah, made our goodbyes and walked to find a restaurant.

After lunch we found two taxi drivers willing to take us to the monkey forest, which we found out is named Sedr Goro. The price was expensive, but we had to pay the taxi to wait for us while we were in the forest because there is no taxi stand near the monkey forest.

Finally at Sedr Goro, we got out of the taxi and some men on beautiful horses rode up to us and asked if we wanted to ride. We politely declined but agreed to take some pictures after he insisted his horses were beautiful and good. A man offered to sell us a bag of peanuts, and one person agreed. After a short conversation about the monkeys, the peanut seller came with us into the forest to show us how to lure the monkeys.

And the monkeys were EVERYWHERE. It was a family, and a couple of the mothers carried babies on their backs. These monkeys have become used to tourists feeding them food, so they're not too shy. When my friend offered one monkey a peanut, he decided to steal the whole bag instead. We hung out with the monkeys for an hour and then returned home in the taxi.

After being dropped off in Meknes, I thought the day's adventure was over, but I ran across a large demonstration on the way home. I asked a young man who was watching what the demonstrations were about, and he said that they were about the upcoming referendum to amend the national constitution on July 1st. Some protesters were with the February 20 Movement (a movement made up of mostly young people who do not support Morocco's current government and operate much like protesters in Egypt and Tunisia) and counter-protesters who support the government. I'll post the two videos I took of the demonstrations as soon as I can. It was amazing to be in the middle of everything, watching the effects of the Arab Spring firsthand. I'm very excited to see what happens in the run up to July 1st and afterward.

Keefash nastamal almirhad?

Today I had to ask my host family a very embarrassing question: How do I use the bathroom?

I went into the bathroom assuming it was like any other bathroom I had ever been in. But as soon as I opened the door, I understood otherwise. Most of it is your standard fare: toilet on the left, sink on the right, but in the back corner, the builder had carved out a square, about 3 feet by 3 feet that was about 4 inches deeper than the rest of the bathroom with a small drain. In this depression was a stool and above it, on the wall, was a shower head. I decided I would figure it out later and I walked up to the toilet, did my business and then reached out for the...

There was no flush handle.

There was instead what looked like a knob attached to a long screw on top of the toilet. I pushed on it. I turned it. Nothing doing. So this prompted me to ask the lady of the house how to use the toilet. She showed me that you had to turn a small knob on the side of the toilet to start the flow of water and then pull UP on the knob thing (Morocco: 1, America: 0).

Then she showed me that the shower worked just like a normal shower in theory. In practice, the space in which to shower is so small that I couldn't turn around without hitting the knobs and changing the temperature. Unused to showering without a curtain, I sprayed water all over the floor, despite my slow, measured movements.

When you travel to Morocco, every day is a new adventure.

Museeqa wa khitaab al-malek

Today was a long and eventful day. The Arabic students call Fridays in Morocco "Couscous Fridays" because that is what people eat for lunch every Friday after prayers. Today a few of us were invited to a Moroccan household to eat Couscous with them. The meal consisted of an enormous plate of couscous topped with chicken and vegetables, which we were encouraged to "Eat! Eat!" until we felt about to burst. Then came watermelon for desert. At this point, I was begging for the family to stop feeding us. After the watermelon came a traditional serving of mint tea (shay binana). The meal took two hours and was delicious. To keep a long story short, after the meal, the program director asked if I wanted to stay with a host family. I accepted, and here I am. Out of the hotel and, to my pleasant surprise, back in the house of the Moroccan family who fed us lunch.
In the evening another Arabic
--UNEXPECTED BREAK --
At 11pm my host family asked me to join them for dinner. These people won't stop feeding me!

Anyways, on to the story...
This evening a friend invited me to a private music concert. We met in the old city and he walked me to an unmarked door. He knocked and moments later a man opened the door and led us in. Inside the pink-walled house were a few more Arabic students watching a man playing a finger drum next to a much older man, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor playing a large guitar-like instrument.

The instrument, I found out, is called a ganbaree, and it is a three-stringed, narrow, deep box with a long handle, much like a guitar. The guitar had small cymbals attached to it so that when the man played the gambaree, the vibrations caused the cymbals to sound in time with the music. The singer sang in a mix of Berber and Senegalese and taught us some of the words to the songs. The young man next to him was his nephew and a member of his band. The nephew played complex rhythms on the finger drum that were hard for us to reproduce, though we all tried our best. The gambaree player sped up the rhythm until a couple of the girls started dancing in the room and we were all clapping.

After he finished playing, the man explained the history of the music. He said that when lighter-skinned Arabs shipped African slaves to the Arab World, the slaves brought their music with them. This music was eventually adopted by the Arabs and became a part of the culture that was passed down through the generations. The experience was wonderful and unique.

Later in the evening, the king of Morocco, Mohamad VI gave a speech in which he said he would amend the Moroccan constitution to reduce his own powers and transfer some of them to the elected parliament. The cafes were filled with men watching the speech live, and it was apparently well received, as all night we have heard honking, and seen young people marching and chanting "The King is One! Long live the King!" You can read more about the speech here: http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2011/06/2011617172114510513.html.

A final observation: hilarious Moroccan t-shirts. Young Moroccans have a very European sense of style. The clothing is loud and flamboyant, and consists of knock-offs of expensive brand-name clothing. The message on these shirts is often lost in translation, however. Here is a collection of a few hilarious t-shirt slogans I saw just today:
1. A young man wearing a graphic tee that read QUEEN DISQUARED.
2. A man in his forties wearing a t-shirt that simply said SLAVE.
3. A girl wearing a shirt that stated ME IN SEXY SHIRT.
4. A young teenage boy wearing a t-shirt that read GSTAR RAW.

I'll keep an eye out for more.

Hiwar jins filmaqha

Today our Moroccan speaking partners visited us in class. This has been a really awkward experience for the past two weeks, but today three of us and our Moroccan friend left the classroom to sit in a cafe and talk there instead. Our speaking partner, let's call him Khaled, led us to a cafe in Al-Hamariya (the new city) which is apparently a hotspot for local shabab (young adults). There we had a relaxed conversation and naturally the topic turned to sex.

Khaled confirmed that there is absolutely no source for reliable information about sex in Morocco. Discussing sex with family members is strictly taboo, so young people only talk about it with their friends. Still, sex happens, and condoms and birth control are legal (though maybe not widely used, judging from the amount of children I see running around in the streets). We also talked about elopement (zawaaj al-urfee), which is a new but growing phenomenon in the Arab World. Laws concerning marriage and elopement change from country to country, and in Egypt, couples who elope have fewer legal privileges than do couples who receive their parents official blessing.

I also asked Khaled about the recent law concerning women's rights. The law is known as Mudawwanat al-Usra (The Family Code), and its latest amendment was passed in 2004 and extended greater legal rights and protections to Moroccan women. One of the key portions of the amendment grants women the right to initiate divorce proceedings against their husbands. Other provisions of the law concern children's rights, polygamy, and marriage. You can read more about the law here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mudawana.

Today I procrastinated doing my homework in the best way possible: by going swimming! We are hoping to set up a game of Ibn Battuta, our Arabic innovation on Marco Polo, which honors the Moroccan explorer and Islamic scholar Ibn Battuta, who traveled the world by ship in the 1300s and covered a greater distance than any explorer after him until the invention of the steam ship.

Lastly, I want to describe the horror that is the hotel soundtrack that plays in the lobby and all the hallways of our hotel. The playlist consists of the following:

25%: “All By Myself” sung by Celine Dion

25%: “It's All Coming Back to Me Now” sung by Celine Dion

25%: “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” sung by Celine Dion

20%: 15 Minutes of Santana Guitar Licks

5%: Other

Sometimes one of these options will be looped over and over for up to a day straight. If Hell has a soundtrack, it is certainly this.

Arraqs maa asuufiyeen

Below is a Q&A session about Morocco you won't find in a travel guide:

Q: Is that an employee of the trash pickup company sweeping the street with a palm frond?
A: Yes, yes it is (and I so regret not taking a picture).

Q: That cat on the sidewalk is just sleeping, right?
A: No, Jimmy. That cat is in cat heaven.

Q: Will the power go out in the language center during class?
A: Yes. And that includes the A/C.

Q: If I take a chicken into the hotel restaurant will they cook it for me?
A: Yes, and everyone will think you are awesome.

This evening was supposed to be movie night at the language center, but we all received a pleasant surprise when a Sufi (صوفيّ) band arrived and started banging drums, clanging bells, singing and chanting. A large group of us ran to see where the sounds were coming from and we found ourselves in a room full of people clapping to the music.
Sufism is a sect of Islam and is characterized by a spiritual, mystical approach to religious thought. They are known for repeating the names of Allah over and over as part of prayer. There is no good comparison in Christianity, but their celebrations and music sometimes appear similar to Evangelism in the United States, where people dance and sing in order to achieve a feeling of ecstasy.
This was very evident during the performance, where the singer chanted and repeated the names of God and sang Quranic phrases, varying the intonation with each repetition. The music built and crescendoed until people got up to dance in a big circle, and by the end of the song everyone had joined. I felt some of that sense of ecstasy from the music. In Arabic, this concept of musical enthusiasm and ecstasy is known as tarab (طَرَب). For more information about Sufism and tarab, check out the following links: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sufism, http://www.wbur.org/npr/.

Today we learned about tipping (attadweera) in Morocco. Pro tips for travelers below!
1. Moroccans do not usually tip taxi drivers.
2. Tipping is expected in cafes but not restaurants.
3. Tipping is appropriate when people do small favors for you (like carrying your bags).
4. There is no set price for tipping. 1-2 dirhams is usually appropriate but the amount is always at the discretion of the tipper.

Tips for advice found on this blog gratefully accepted.

Tei nana filmatam alsirra

Today I had the best tea I have ever tasted in my life. But better than the taste of the tea was the fact that I was drinking it in a restaurant that was simply a French woman's living room. In order to eat at this restaurant, we made friends with one of the security guards who works at the language center, and when we said we were looking for a place to eat dinner, he told us to follow him. He led us through the maze of alleyways in the old city until we arrived at an unremarkable door with a small sign that said "Restaurant" in English. The security guard knocked on the door and a moments later a young Moroccan guy opened the door and let us in.

The inside of this house was absolutely gorgeous. The building was three stories tall and the roof was open to the evening sky above us. The walls were covered in artwork. We sat and talked with the guard for a while until he left and we ordered chicken, which was followed by tea that the lady of the house made with mint and herbs she grows herself. She also brews and bottles her own rosewater and her own jams. Vases in the house were filled with drying herbs and the smell of cooking, boiling tea, and roses was an experience in itself.

Earlier in the day we visited a museum that was simply an old madrasa. In most Arab countries, the word madrasa simply means "school" but in Morocco, the word refers specifically to a Muslim religious school (this is also how we use the word in the United States). We toured the school, and the architecture was fascinating. Excerpts of the Quran were carved and inscribed on the walls alongside intricate patterns. The inside of the building contained an open courtyard with a fountain for Muslims to wash their hands and feet before entering a mosque or praying.

We climbed to the roof to look over the old city, at the minarets that tower above the old buildings and the mountains far beyond the edge of Meknes.

I didn't write a post yesterday but a couple funny things involving fire happened. First, on my walk back to the hotel I found a blazing brush fire by the side of the road. There was no one around and no cars seemed to be stopping, but the fire was getting bigger and it was right next to the hotel and other buildings. The dry underbrush was perfect tinder, so I decided to do the right thing and tell the hotel staff...after I took a couple pictures. By the evening the fire was dead. I have no idea whether it died out on its own or whether whatever fire department they have here put it out.

Second, I was walking around the old city exploring and I happened to turn a corner when I heard a huge POP!!! I jumped in surprise and saw a group of children scatter. When I smelled a sharp burning odor, I realized that the fleeing boys had been playing with fireworks in the street (like children should, right?). More stories about Moroccan children's shenanigans next time.

Nahar asafar fee Fez

Internet is pretty slow today so today's short post won't do the day justice. Today I traveled with some friends by train from Meknes to Fez, one of Morocco's oldest and most historic cities. When we exited the train station we ran firsthand into a bad taxi experience.

Three of us hopped into a petite taxi (taxi sagheer) and asked how much to get to the old section of the city. The cabbie said "4 dirham each" and we said "No, that's too expensive." He said "Fine, I'll use the meter" and we got in. Petite taxis in Meknes all have meters (more on petite vs. grande taxis later). The meter already had 10 dirhams on it, so we told him to reset it and he said "No, it's fine." So I yelled, "Le! Le! It's not fine. Let us out now." So we stopped to get out and he said "Wait, wait! How much do you want to pay?" I said "2 dirhams each." He agreed and we kept going and arrived at the gate to the old city. So we put six dirhams in his hand and suddenly he got angry and pointed at the meter, which he had never reset and read "20 dirham." At that point I was so angry, I just yelled "No! We agreed two each! Everyone out!" So we left and the cabbie got out too, following us and yelling. He even poked a girl we were with before we told him (not politely) to get the hell away from us.

Unfortunately, many of our other purchases today involved people trying to trick foreigners into paying too much. A friend of mine had spoken with our professor about this and she related that it was simply part of the culture. Trust in business decisions and contracts has not yet developed in this part of the world, and life remains very Darwinian. Taking money from foreigners, especially, is not considered a breach of ethics. It is simply the responsibility of the seller to get as much money as possible and the responsibility of the buyer to pay as little as possible. Foreigners are just worse at this than locals.

Nonetheless, Fez was an exciting place. The old city (almedina alqadeema) is a giant maze of passages lined with shops, homes, and entrances to grand mosques. Artisans perform their work on ceramic, marble and gold in the streets. We walked by one of King Mohammad VI's royal palaces where he vacations outside the capital, Rabat. Right by the palace are public gardens, which are very beautiful and filled with people sitting and talking, and boys climbing trees and throwing pebbles into the ponds.

Tomorrow classes start again (sigh) but I hope to continue exploring the famous cities of Morocco next weekend.

Ana mareed

Yesterday was Friday, the Muslim holy day, and people gathered in crowds in the city streets to engage in public prayer and listen to the sermons that are broadcasted by speakers throughout the city. I got pretty sick from the Moroccan food I've been eating this week. I made it through class yesterday but as soon as I got back to the hotel, I knew it was time to head to bed. After spending an eternity in the bathroom, I slept for a few hours, and then after a little while I fell asleep again for good. Unfortunately, due to illness, I missed a live concert that took place in the old city last night. Today, however, I feel much better, almost back to normal.

Yesterday in class we interviewed one of our female Moroccan professors about the status of women in Morocco, and we learned some really interesting things. Women only recently gained the right to divorce their husbands for any reason. The phenomenon of men harassing women is seen to be a problem in men's way of thinking about women, and many women (including our professor) believe that only men can change this behavior and there is nothing women can do to stop it. Sex is still an extremely taboo subject of discussion in Morocco, and there is no system of sexual education in the country. Our professor said that sex is not discussed even within the family.

We also spoke with some Moroccan college students about life in Morocco and heard some very interesting opinions. For instance, one young woman, who wears the hijab (a headscarf that covers the hair and neck) said that she does not approve of women wearing the niqab (a headscarf that covers the entire face, head, and neck, leaving only the eyes exposed). She supports the ban on the niqab that was recently passed in France, and said that the niqab is a security risk.

A new lesson I learned this week is to always pay with exact change if possible. I was at a restaurant in the old city with some friends, and we haggled for a good price for some tajyeen (a stew, usually of chicken or beef topped with vegetables, made in a special covered pot, also called tajyeen). After the meal, I handed the waiter a larger bill and asked for change. He handed me back five dirham less than he owed me. I told him I needed five more and he said "That's for the tip (serveece)" before scuttling away. Pro tip for travelers to Morocco: tipping is not expected, and if you do tip, 2-3 dirhams is sufficient. I was angry, but as one of our professors says, that's the price you pay for looking foreign.

Lastly, I went with a couple friends to Pizza Hut out of curiosity. It's surprisingly classy, with a full menu, waiters, salad bar, and swanky furniture. I took pictures of the menu, and was (not surprisingly) laughed at by a group of cooks watching from the kitchen. Hopefully my embarrassment becomes your enjoyment.

Alqaeda aloola lilmusafireen filalem alaraby

Today was the first day of Arabic classes and we got off to a rough start. And by rough start I mean our program director walked up to us in the lobby of the hotel where a group of us were hanging out and handed out a surprise homework assignment the night before classes. I was among the first to finish and it took me two hours. For most people it took three (they probably worked harder). A popular phrase among students of Arabic is "Learning Arabic is like being in an abusive relationship." This is a truism if there ever was one.
I know the title of this blog contains the word "al-qaeda" but don't freak out. "Qaeda" in Arabic simply means rule (such as a grammar rule), or base (as in "kurat alqaeda," or baseball). So the title reads: "The first rule for tourists in the Arab World."
That rule is: Do not imitate or make fun of the azaan (the call to prayer). It is broadcast everywhere around Meknes and most other medium-to-large Arab cities. I admit, I still haven't gotten over the fact that it sounds really weird, and even funny (I was walking alone one night when it started and I jumped because I thought someone was yelling "Boooooooooo!" to scare me). I have heard so many students imitate it mockingly in front of locals. This is extremely offensive to Muslims and violates the first rule of personal safety that anyone (including the US Department of State) will tell you. It's funny, it's tempting, don't do it.
On a personal note, my roommate is a great guy and we get along well. There's only one problem: he snores really, really loud. Louder than I have ever heard before (and I know plenty of snorers). It sounds like jackhammers at a construction site. It sounds like a herd of cows being slowly suffocated. It's so loud he wakes himself up, wallahy (I swear to God). I'm guessing I lost an hour of sleep last night, and it's not the first time. Time to get some earplugs.

Lastly, I learned two things about traffic in Morocco. First, there is no yellow light. Second, cars do not stop for you. Taxis NEVER stop for you. I'm convinced that if a bus driver runs me over, he won't even blink. Third, if there is even a minor bottleneck, at least one person will drive into the left lanes and weave through oncoming traffic to avoid it. I do not understand.

Alfisaal huwa laba wa ana alab liarbah

I bought a hat yesterday, which initiated the first experience I had bargaining in Morocco. Moroccans, so I'm told, love to bargain, and so far my experiences confirm this. When I bought the hat, I asked how much it cost and the guy said "80 dirham" (about 10 dollars). I said "Sorry, that's too expensive." And he simply replied "Well, how much do you want to pay for it?"
This appeared to be a good sign that bargaining is a Moroccan pastime. And I wasn't even in the suuq (open air market). I said 40 dirhams and we settled for 50 after I said "It's still too much. Thank you, goodbye." I was worried about bargaining at first because I figured it would be stressful and difficult, but after this first experience, I felt a huge rush and am now addicted. I bargained successfully for a few other items and now I feel like I'm going to go home and weird people out by saying, "8 dollars for a sandwich! Next door they have them for six!"
An exciting point of yesterday was also seeing my first muzahara (protest or demonstration) in person. This blog is now officially newsworthy! As a group of us walked to the language center, we passed by a small group of chanting Moroccans, about twenty strong, in front of a local government building. The group of police standing in front of the entrance was about the same size as that of the protesters, and they watched silently. I wanted to take a picture, but I've heard about photographers getting beaten by police. This was the same day there were huge protests in the capital, Rabat. To read about it, see here: Morocco's Uprisings - Aljazeera English.
Also, we went to a farm to eat a wonderful lunch. In Morocco, a group eats from a single, huge plate, using pieces of bread as scoops to get the meat and vegetables. Photos from the farm will be up tomorrow.

Ala qimmat al-"W"

Ash khubaarik?

This is one of the first phrases we learned in Darija (colloquial Moroccan Arabic) class today. It means "What's your news?" or "How are you doing?" And of course, here I'm reporting my news so it seems appropriate.

The title of this blog means "At the top of the W" because one of our program directors gave a (super dull and unhelpful) lecture about how culture shock looks like a "W" over time. You start our feeling great, even more perky than usual, fascinated with the new culture. Then things go downhill until you get depressed and homesick and experience culture shock. Then things get better and in the end you realize how excited you are to be returning home so you shoot back up the W. Then when you get home you experience reverse culture shock so you get the second part of the "W" ARE YOU BORED YET? Me too.

Still, if we're using the W model, I'm still at the top of the first peak. The inevitable bouts of diarrhea and possibly vomiting have not arrived (more on that later) and I have reached the bittersweet conclusion that YES, I can be understood when I speak Arabic and NO, I cannot understand 60% of what you are saying, good aseedee (sir) but I get the gist. It doesn't help that whenever the locals see me they want to speak only French, even when I only speak Arabic and EVEN, I discovered, when I say "I don't speak French, please speak in Arabic" over and over again. Three of us had a twenty minute conversation with a man who was attempting to give us directions, and every time we thought we finally understood what he was saying, he switched almost imperceptibly to French.

I've already said Meknes is beautiful and the people are ridiculously polite and generous. That's all I'm going to say about that and I hope the photos say the rest.

Diarrhea. Yes, if you study abroad in any African country, your program will explicitly tell you DO NOT DRINK TAP WATER. DO NOT EAT RAW VEGETABLES. DO NOT PET THE KITTIES. They are adorable little bags of ravaging disease. Still, your first meal at the hotel will consist of raw vegetables with a side of tap water. It's a trap!

Still, this means that, up until half an hour ago, my diet consisted mostly of bread, meat, and whatever airplane food is made out of. I'm taking vitamins, but this eventually seemed unhealthy, so today I ate some of the less-harmful looking vegetables.

Hello Typhoid.

Akheeran fil Maghreb!

It did feel sudden. I arrived in Rabat yesterday after what seemed an eternity of travel. We had to change planes in Paris, and that airport was a little stressful to navigate, mostly because all the employees could not (or refused to) speak English and I have no background in French.
This is ironic because in Morocco, if you look like me (white) everyone assumes you speak French, so even when I tried to speak to a security guard in Arabic to ask for directions, he responded in French the whole time, which means I couldn't understand anything. I had already asked another person to not speak in French, so I just moved on to another Moroccan who spoke to me in Arabic.
As I have mentioned before, Moroccan Arabic (Dareeja) is very different from other dialects of Arabic, so we have all been learning a new language, essentially. Despite this barrier, I have been picking up the dialect quickly under pressure, and when I don't remember a word, I try to get by with Egyptian (which works about 50% of the time so far). This assumption about foreigners knowing French led to a big problem with one Taxi driver. We thought we had made it clear that we understood the price of a ride was 3 Dirhams (Moroccan currency; approximately 8 dirhams to the dollar). In reality he had said 30 dirhams (in French, of course).
We left Rabat and now I'm in Meknes (I know, I know, I'm lying in my blog title). Meknes is a real paradox, both distinctly European and also genuinely Arab. It's beautiful and breathtaking, and also disgusting (trash and shit-stained water abound in the streets, for example).
The language center where we study is very beautiful, and used to be a mansion that belonged to a high-ranking minister. Our hotel is in the new city (the locals say "Alkhamareeya") and the learning center is in the old, historically Arab city ("Almedeena"), which was around before the French took over. This city is a maze of narrow streets and alleys between tall adobe buildings, and suuqs (open-air markets) line its walls.
The heat has been manageable, even pleasant, and the weather has been fair with some rain.
The program directors told us about Arab generosity, but seriously, it's ridiculous. We asked for directions from one young man and he walked with us a quarter mile to make sure we got there and took my hand to make sure I got across the street safely (no crosswalks & insane drivers). Also the food is delicious but they keep serving us salad, which we were explicitly told we could not eat, so it's hard finding the compromise between politeness and crippling diarrhea.
We have been traveling in groups and will soon seek out a restaurant to have dinner.
No photos uploaded yet due to Internet problems. I'll figure it out asap.

Fi Barees.

(Post delayed due to travel and lack of Internet)
June4
In the airport in Paris with the other students. It's not a fun airport and there's almost nothing to do. A couple students, still under 21, rushed to buy wine even though it's barely 9am here. We flew through the night, which wasn't too bad and was mostly uneventful. We have a very long layover, so we're all just sitting around shooting the breeze and passing the time. It's difficult to be in France and not speak French. The French seem very unwilling to speak anything but French, and so asking questions in security and ordering food was a bit of a challenge. I even asked where i could get Internet access and had to pronounce the word "Internet" very slowly to be understood. It makes me want to learn the language because I love being able to communicate with people and hate feeling labeled as a stupid American. "Why would you travel to France and not bother learning the language?" I imagine the airport staff thinking, despite the fact that this is an airport, and we are simply stopping here. Still, the attitude seems less than understanding.
Logging onto the Internet costs money and my phone is dying, so I won't be able to communicate until I arrive in Morocco. I hope this last leg of the journey is smooth and goes fast. I can't wait to touch down in Rabat. Ghedy atasil makum baad ajhee filmaghreb.

Ana ghedy nakoon filmaghreb gheda.

Well, today's the big day. Headed out. Short post, because I have minutes before I have to join the group. I feel prepared, and slept 12 hours last night because I was so exhausted, so hopefully I'll be prepared for the long long trip today. I received this email yesterday from the study abroad office:

Morocco: Pro-reform activists called for nationwide rallies on 5 June

The 20 February Movement has called for peaceful nationwide rallies on 5 June to demand democratic reforms and to protest against the use of force by the police during previous demonstrations.

The rest is old news. We'll see how these developments pan out.

My next post will be written in Morocco (with photos included!) insha'allah.

Fil fanadiq

I wrote a short blog post yesterday on the plane but I couldn't post it, so I'll include it in today's post.

June 1
At the airport. I was hoping the flight to orientation would go smoothly, but of course I'm flying United, so delays caused me to miss my connection. and I have to wait for the next flight. There's a special place in hell for the people who run this airline [UPDATE: the next flight was no better].
This is particularly disappointing because I was hoping to hook up with some friends when I arrive to share a taxi to orientation, but now I'll probably get in last. Malesh, as the Arabs say.
It's been a few days since I last posted, sorry. But I did find my Arabic phrasebook so here's the Moroccan Arabic Lesson of the Day, Air Travel Edition:

When is there a flight to Rabat?
Imta ghady takun shay tayara li Rabat?

Is it a direct flight?
Wesh arihla direct?

I'd like a ticket to Casablanca, please.
Afak begheet wahid alwaraqa lidar albayda.

I'd like to check in my luggage.
Begheet nasajil albaggage dialee.

What's the flight number?
Shahal araqam diel arihla?

June 2
At the hotel, with minutes to go to orientation. I met up with the other students and we went out to dinner and toured the National Mall at night, which was great because the monuments are lit up and the heat is (somewhat) less intense. So far I've been pleasantly surprised at how easygoing the other students are, which I'm taking as a good sign of things to come this summer.