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.

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.

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.

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.

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!