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!

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.

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.