tomorrow is just a day away

Fes

It feels like yesterday that I sat down on my white and yellow striped down comforter in my almost-unpleasantly yellow bedroom and began crafting my first blog post about my travel to Morocco. Now, I am here sitting on my green flowered bed just four days before I leave this place that I've learned to call home. There was a period of my stay here when I didn't recognize that time was finite. It seemed that I had endless days to say, "I'll take pictures of Rabat next week," or "I'll go to Sale with Naima next Thursday after class". That luxury is a thing of the past. I have spent time here doing things that I am proud of, things that I intended to do and things that I will remember forever; but I cannot say that I know where my last 112 (116 when I finally leave Morocco) days have gone.

see my street lights? well you can't see that they disappear
as the hill starts

I have adopted new measures of time that have become obvious to me after some reflection on how they affect me. First of all, when I got to Rabat I quickly began working out because of the unsettling amount of bread I eat here. My house is a 10 minute walk from a nice big hill that leads down to the beach where I run. I made an interval training routine out of the light-posts that line the hill; up the hill sprinting for the length of five light-posts, then jogging for three and power walking for one. And then construction started on the street and my light-posts were uprooted, one-by-one, until a day came when they existed no longer. At that point, I realized time was passing. My second measure of time is a plant that sits next to my spot at the dinner table. I hardly even recognized it when I first arrived in my home and timidly ate dinners with my family. But now, I can't eat dinner in peace because its grown so large that the large fronds poke at me and rest on my hair as I eat. It doesn't bother me, per se, but it bothers me that it could be moved just a few inches. Who knows if I'd recognize if time were passing if it weren't there? My last and most important measure of time is Salma. She was an infant when I arrived, hardly even a real person and so tiny and fragile that I was a little bit afraid of her (but so in love with her from the start). Now that her first birthday is approaching, it is just one day before I leave for my travels; I recognize how much she has grown since I first held her. She has long and thick hair, two bottom teeth and a top one that is poking through. She is big; I can tickle her and play with her without fear that she will crumble. More than the time it has taken to develop physical changes, she has developed a strong connection with me, one where she will sometimes choose me over her parents. I love her so much and it hurts my heart to know that I can't know her as she's growing up. Salma has shown me that my time here is almost through.

she's not an infant anymore...wearing
swishy pants and all

Needless to say, I have learned more than I ever imagined I could in four months here. These lessons were abstract; nothing I can write down on paper and say confidently whether it will help me on a test or a paper in the future, but lessons that I save in my mind that I hope will help shape who I am. First of all, I'd like to call out the media as a criminal. Criminal in so many ways. For one, the United States portrays itself poorly. I came here and so many Moroccans were under the impression that Americans college students are like the ones you see in Van Wilder. I had such a hard time explaining that was only a small portion of students and that some actually care. Also, other parts of the world aren't blind to the fact that our media shapes our views based only upon what we have available. They know that our media is trying to portray all types of Islam, not even just radical Islamists or terrorist groups, as the enemy, just as the United States did with the Soviet Union during the Cold War. It is propaganda and it takes a step outside the confines of the union to recognize that.

Chellah

Something amazing that I've found is that people in Morocco really do care about what is happening in the world and they know things that even the average American wouldn't. For example, after our brave President announced his support for gay marriage (I love you, Mr. President), Moroccans were eager to ask what I thought about it. In a country where homosexuality isn't even acknowledged, literally, people pretend it's not real, it was surprising to me that they even knew! Also, every Moroccan can tell you that Morocco was the first country to recognize the United States' legitimacy in 1777, but how many Americans can tell you that? We are so absorbed in a world that we've come to believe is superior than others that we don't know things that can bring us back down off of our cloud.

The Sahara

Generally along those same lines is a lesson that has given me great conflict. I was born into an American/Western/Christian life and world that has left me little reason to stray and figure other things out. But I stand firmly by the statement that it is gravely important to become uncomfortable to truly understand what matters. I lost my faith here because I am in a world so different than my own. A world that is so confident that Islam is the truth and the way to the Father. But I grew up in a country where Jesus was the way to Him. I still believe in God, no way have I been given this opportunity through happenstance, but God is telling me, "Go! Figure out this world I created for you! And then when you find your truth, come back to me." That is where I stand with my faith. Where is the reward in not challenging my wit? my tolerance? my knowledge? or my ability to stand strong, confident and moral as a person if I haven't thought about whether what I was prescribed as an infant is what is truly meant for me?

Essaouira

Something more tangible for me that I've learned here is the value of a dollar. With an 8DH:1USD exchange rate, I was pretty willing to buy most things in the beginning of the trip. But with time, I got a little stingier and now I am pretty sure I will never again be considered a consumer in the United States. In college, it's really easy to get consumed in the fun and the surreality of living on in a world knowing you have your parents help should you need it. Along with that is carelessness with money. Mom and Dad, this is my promise to start taking better care of my money. Being here and responsible for determining what my funds will go towards, what weekend trips are the most important and what beautiful Moroccan items to come home with has instilled in me the reasoning to be more selective about my purchases, rather than spending on arbitrary things. It is so much more rewarding to save money for something that you have thought about for a while.

Taghazoute

The last two things that I have learned since being in Morocco are the most important and affecting. They exist on their own but are also entirely related. Since being here, I have been surrounded by such great examples of people who value their time and their meaning in the world. I am truly impressed by some of the students in my program and I am envious of how early they had been influenced by someone or something somewhere in time before me. It's so easy to waste time in college which is sometimes a good thing. Living in a place with people all the same age, learning things about the world at the same time, and not being entirely self-supporting is not the real world, but it is the college world. Whether I am making last-minute decisions to do things with friends, procrastinating in my apartment with my roommates, sitting on Facebook for far too long or just living in the moment, I am not always making good use of my time. I have really come to the understanding here that it is simple and beneficial to figure out ways to make time worth something. With all the hundreds of downloadable task timers online I can set limits for myself for how long I spend on the internet. And when I watch a movie, why don't I watch it in French so I am learning something while enjoying my down time? I am so interested in so many things but don't spend enough time involving myself further in the topics. Why don't I invest more of my time in non-school related reading? And Ted Talks, for heaven's sake, are the most fascinating videos on the internet. Sitting down to watch a few of those rather than watching Yerin fall asleep (but isn't she so cute?) would make me a more interesting person. It's because of the people I have met here who have some of the same interests as I do, I assume that's why we ended up here together, that I have become inspired to spend my time enhancing myself and not just doing what everyone else does in their daily life. And here is where these last two lessons are related...

my street in the medina

When someone asked me, "What are your main interets?", I had to take a minute and think. Ponder myself, my interests, the things that I should pursue daily. I'm angry with myself that I could not produce an answer more quickly. This is me...I should know exactly what interests me and I should know how to dictate my interests to someone else. So it lead me to wondering...what do I stand for? I think that high school is to blame for not actively pursuing things that I love and things that would make me more me. At a time when no one wanted attention for the wrong reasons, everyone seemed to become one similar being. Individuality wasn't appreciated in high school nor was it actively sought. I used to love drawing and painting, but I can't tell you a time that I put that over my sports. Because sports were what everyone was doing. And I love to sing but I have never had the courage to be in a chorus or a musical because that was drawing attention that was different. I lost some of my uniqueness in growing up and I want to make up for that time. There are so many interesting and successful people in the world who know how to be themselves and thrive because of all of their individual qualities that they have accepted. Something that has given me solace in this huge realization that I may not be who I want to be is that my host family constantly reminds me that they think I am different and special. After meeting my friends and talking with them and also commenting on other Moroccans my age, they will tell me that I am different and that I work hard and that I understand things about the world. I think part of the reason why they recognize these differences is because I am American and I have a largely different mentality than one that they are familiar with. But the fact that they see me differently encourages me to be just that; different.

Akchour

And now this all culminates into coming home to the United States. Everything that I just mentioned, all these lessons that I've learned and my decisions to change all rest in my hands. I am given the most perfect and beautiful gift; the opportunity to redefine myself and make these changes permanent. After living in Morocco for four months, my old habits should be easy to ignore and my new habits should be easy to put in place. I do fear that going back to life in the United States might feel mundane, but I can redefine the way I do things and put new meanings to things that previously were so normal. I am not excited to be with friends again who expect me to be the same person I was when I sat in Dulles airport with sweaty palms and a Time magazine in my hands, wondering what Morocco held in store for me. I have changed so much over this span of time, in ways that I want to embrace. I don't exactly know who this "me" is yet, as I haven't been able to put myself in the American context. And I don't expect others to understand me completely right away because I don't think I will understand myself completely. I just have to be accepting of what others have in mind about me and not respond to their preconception with defense, but with explanations.

the people  who made me happiest

I know that people who care about me and love me are interested in my experiences here, but I have encountered it before and it is difficult to manage. People will say. "How was your trip? Did you love it?", but they will only have the capacity or the interest to listen for 30 seconds or a minute. I care more than anyone else will about what happened here, but I need to determine a way to make this life I led here understandable for those who I love and care about. Everyone knows about the elevator speech; give people a quick and to the point summary of what happened and its value and then expect no more questions, so I will have one of those prepared. But amazing things happened here in Morocco and I couldn't be more thankful for this experience. I have grown so much as a person and have opened my mind to so many things. Morocco is a really beautiful place and it has helped me discover the kind of person I want to be.

noise

I'll never be mad about a bird outside my window or the neighbors playing basketball too early in the morning. Morocco has done it all.

the chief of kif in the rif

If there was a word synonymous for stuttering to describe the way my fingers are hesitating to type across my keyboard I would be so interested to know it and insert it ^. But I don't know that word and unfortunately that is what my fingers are doing. It must be because I am refusing to acknowledge that I just took my last weekend trip in Morocco for the semester. Truly saddening.

I left Friday afternoon on a "climatised" bus, hamdullilah, for Chefchaouen, a town in the Rif mountains known for its blue medina, beautiful craftsmanship and hashish. Have I mentioned that it is unGodly hot here? I think I have but I'm not satisfied with no one else suffering as much as I am here so I like to include how hot it is here as much as I possibly can. It was a delightful retreat to cooler weather and a beautiful medina. We arrived and settled ourselves in to our hostel but not even seconds after we had arrived were Moroccans trying to sell us hashish. Even the hostel attendant was pushing drugs...so naturally we bought a little. We went to dinner at a hilarious restaurant/cafe situated on the terrace of a pottery shop. They didn't have a menu and I am pretty sure it was because their prices were a little high, so no one could see beforehand and decide to eat elsewhere. Needless to say, four of our seven orders were incorrect. And throughout our entire dinner, a table of 19/20/21 year old boys were blasting Rihanna and System of a Down on a cell phone. The prevalence is absolutely mind blowing of the lack of personal space or common courtesy consciousness here. I'm never even mad about it because I've found that I'm shoving into people and not saying sorry just like a Moroccan now too, but it still just highlights the differences between our cultures.

Saturday morning we rose early to get a start on our hike to the "شلال " (shillal//waterfalls). When I packed, I was under the impression that the hike was just 45 minutes or so, but that turned out to be how long it took to get to the first, uncool, amateur waterfall. So I hiked for three hours each way in sandals, thank goodness I didn't fall. I am actually quite shocked I didn't...sometimes I manage to fall when I am planted on all fours. The tiring hike gave bountiful rewards. The waterfall was absolutely breathtaking. I hadn't imagined it would be so majestic. After hiking for so long in the heat we were all really anxious to cool off in the water, but when I say that the water was cold, I don't just mean like Brita that's been sitting in the fridge cold, I mean personal trainer ice bucket cold. We braced the water with care, easing ourselves in little by little, losing feeling in first our feet then thighs and always the worst, our stomachs. With bravery we went under the water and made our way out to the waterfall but halfway there I could feel my lungs having difficulty breathing and I could hardly even tell my body to keep swimming. But we made it and it was beautiful to look out at the nature from underneath a waterfall.

The hike took almost the whole day but we were able to get back into Chefchaouen by 5:00 to shower, walk around and have dinner. Chefchaouen was really beautiful. I have really come to appreciate nature since I've been in Morocco. I love Rabat for reasons other than beauty, cleanliness, and concrete. Breathing fresh air without a hint of burning trash or seeing wildlife growing without Bounty and Twix wrappers tangled in with the stems is really nice.

Can you fathom this beauty firsthand?

My extremely beautiful group of friends.







Now, this week has been a blur. I have had term papers due and the last class of the semester on Wednesday. I took my first final this morning and have three more to go. I just went out with Naima and Abdullah and they helped me get three pairs of banana slippers for free which is so nice. Mawazine starts tomorrow and we are all really excited!!

accurate.

When I do my Arabic homework...

i guess this is what normal is

I haven't felt entirely compelled to update my blog in a few days. I have been doing fun things, seeing new places and thoroughly enjoying myself, no doubt, but nothing has stood out as something to write about. Is this a result of my life here seeming normal now? On the brink of heading back home, I feel like I belong here.

DETOUR, read about a weekend trip:

Last weekend I went to a small village in the Middle Atlas Mountains called Bensmim. It is is, for all intents and purposes, the most untouched place that I have visited so far. So why was I relatively passionless and almost irritated that I had signed up to go to Bensmim? What I realized is that I think I have surpassed the enchantment of meeting people from such far corners of the world. I would spend two nights with this family, why did I need to attempt to speak my Darija? explain that I am not invested in learning it because Morocco is the only country IN THE WORLD that speaks it? get to know more people who would tie me closer to Morocco? I went into the weekend with a terrible attitude and I am not proud of that. But I took a deep breath of clean, cold, country air, and I told myself it was unfair to not invest my time in the family who so kindly offered to house me for the weekend.

update: Reading back over what I wrote yesterday I feel like a huge brat. Yes, it is still enchanting to meet people from such distant places. How many other times in my life am I going to have an experience such as this? I think what I meant to say is that I was not excited for an awkward experience staying with a family with no shared language, for just two days. I still feel extremely blessed for the experience I am able to have and I hope that I don't forget how lucky I am again.

As far as Darija goes...It is probably the easiest language I have ever tried to learn. But as I have taken eight years of French and I am learning Modern Standard Arabic (little to no overlap with Arabic Darija), I don't invest as much time into learning it as I should.

Bensmim

The whole weekend was cold and wet which didn't help my sour mood, but it did add to the hilarity that myself and Brennan, my friend who stayed with me in Bensmim, found in every situation. I'm not kidding, I laughed more in these two days than I have my entire time in Morocco. It was one of those things where you're not supposed to laugh, but you do. And you try to stop but that makes it worse, and when you start crying and snorting and lose control of your muscles, it just doesn't matter because the moment is so funny.

So you see why Bensmim was funny, yes?

We visited a women's cooperative where they make herbal medicine, textiles and honey for a small profit to help other women. It was a tiny association but had somehow infiltrated the Marjane (Morocco's Walmart) market. The women said they need the cooperative as an outlet to be with other women, to talk about their husbands and kids and to find support in friendships. I thought about my godmother, Carol, a lot while I was here because she is such an amazing person. I thought she would find such power and courage in these women and I wished she could have been there with me. Instead, I got her some things that the women made that I thought she would appreciate.

We took a three hour hike through the mountains and if I learned one thing, it is that I like hiking a lot more when I'm not dressing myself for a weekend with suggested temperatures in the 70s. It was cold, I'd say about 40 degrees for the whole hike and I was wearing running capris and a North Face fleece...But the views were incredible and I always love a different type of work out. But I was not upset when the vans came and found us and I could sit on my hands for the four hour drive back to Rabat. 

can you feel the chill? 

Now my life recap:

I have been spending as much time doing as much as possible. I've been going to more cafes, talking to more Moroccans, sitting in parks and loving my family. Salma gets annoyingly cuter by the day and sometimes I just can't handle it. It is so distracting. I was attempting to write a term paper about how legal injustices against women exist even after Moudawana (Moroccan family law and personal status code) reforms of 2004, but there she is all the time, talking to me, waving at me, giggling at me and I have to play with her. 

Abdellah and Naima gave me a djellaba as a gift and I am so excited to have it. I don't think I will ever wear it out in Morocco because it might (no, it will definitely) draw so much attention, but it will, without a doubt, become my most worn cozy item in the States. There's a tradition of eating couscous/"seksou" on Fridays in Morocco. My family doesn't do it every Friday, Abdellah says its too heavy, but Naima said she would teach me how to make it, so that is how I spent my Friday afternoon. 

adopted the veil to cook.
Naima says my hair falls out everywhere because I
change my shampoos so frequently? 

djellabah // hooded night gown // old school snuggie

I stayed in Rabat this weekend and spent a lot of time at a friend's apartment. We went out Friday night, to a club called BoM and then back to a Moroccan man's mansion after he insisted we stop by, "Come my house, come my house...". We intended to be there for five minutes or so but didn't get home until the sun was rising at 7:30. It will go down as one of the weirdest nights I've ever had. This man was, by all intents and purposes, actually crazy. nuts. psycho. out of his mind, and out of this world. But he had an amazing house. 

We made peach and brie tacos for Cinco de Mayo and they were really good. I finished a term paper and now only have one more left. I am trying to get all of my studying out of the way before the Mawazine music festival starts on the 18th. Its five days of free concerts put on by the King. Mariah Carey and Lenny Kravitz are two of the Americans who will be performing. One of my professors has a theory that the festival falls at this time of the year because students are taking finals and the government doesn't want them to do well, therefore, keeping the country mildly educated. Who knows...I think its because it's before summer vacation when the families who have the money to pay for tickets leave to vacation in Spain and Portugal. 

Tomorrow night I am cooking dinner for my family. They asked me to cook what we cooked for Cinco de Mayo but I'd rather cook something more American...any suggestions? I am going to the supermarche with Naima tomorrow.

This weekend will be a good one! I am finally heading up to the north to see the Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts. 

confined by sorrow

Sometimes I wonder whether I bring enough joy to this home to outweigh Naima's sorrows. She is a housewife; confined by the walls of her home, the medina, and those which were constructed by Abdellah.

I have come upon Naima crying twice now. The first time it was late and I was packing to leave for Spain in the morning. I went to the roof to find a sweater that she had recently washed, but I found Naima sitting in the open doorway, holding Salma and quietly weeping. In the reflection of the moonlight I could see the hurt in her eyes. It wasn't a hurt that she had carried with her for a long time, but a hurt that had recently been inflicted. I put my hands on her shoulder and asked if she would be alright, and of course she assured me that she would. I felt such sadness for her, for her situation and that she had nowhere to turn in a moment that left her so weak.
The second time, I had just come through the door from school and Salma was sleeping on the couch next to Naima, whose legs were covered in a blanket. She looked unhappy. Not sad, not sorrowful, not sorry for herself, just plain unhappy. I asked if everything was okay and she said her legs hurt. I asked why, and she said she didn't know. I wondered silently if it was because she spent most of her days bent over cleaning or carrying Salma on her back as she went about her daily routine. But when I returned from my seconds of wondering, tears were falling from Naima's dark eyes. Did her legs hurt that much that she started to cry in that moment? Or did her unhappiness leave her incapable of fighting the tears? I found her Advil and water but what I think she needed was company.

There are times when I observe Naima infected by such a powerful despondency that I wonder if the strong hands that make this house a home might someday fall apart. After some discourse with Adbellah, I see her shrink away into a small, self-conscious woman who hides beneath her veil and her household duties.

I can't help but wonder if sometimes she wishes I weren't here because I am the cause of many of her woeful moments. This happens mostly while we are eating and I ask a question about something I observed or something that I don't understand. Abdellah will begin explaining to me and Naima will contribute. He will so quickly shut her down and shut her up that she is reluctant to speak again while we eat. I have magnified a freedom and liberation in her world that she is so starkly denied that she must wonder how life can be so circumstantial; how she was born into her world and I into mine.

But then there are times when I know that I bring her a joy that she would not have found without me. Naima is only eight years my elder but she thinks of me like a daughter. This she has told me. We laugh so hard sometimes that I wonder if she will cry as she shakes her right hand in the air, exclaiming, "willie willie willie//oh wow that is funny". She loves to teach me things and tell me stories, mostly about Morocco and certain funny customs. If this makes her happy, I will let her re-teach me all that I have learned here, because seeing the way she carries herself as she describes things to me in our limited shared language is so far from the small, forlorn woman that I sometimes find around this house.

Naima has told me that she feels me in her heart and that she doesn't like to think about the end of May. She has given me so much comfort during this time which could have been so scary and difficult for me. In the beginning, I thought of her as someone who took care of me, but more and more I think of her as a companion and someone who will live in a big part of my heart forever. I hate to think of the end of May also because it means leaving this home behind. In the beauty of forging relationships with people across the world, I've found the pain in living a world away from them.

women in the Arab world

It has been a really interesting experience living in an Arab country, arguably the most peaceful Arab country, during this revolutionary period for countries in this part of the world. Morocco advertises itself as a country open to democratization, a country that responds to the demands of its citizens, and a country that recognizes all people (besides women and homosexuals). This is true, to some extent, but may be a direct result of the strong alliance between Morocco and the USA.

Taking classes here has been an experience. It has been an adaptation process, one in which I have learned to have no expectations. I don't know whether it is the Moroccan professors, the curriculum or my study abroad program, but there is very little organization or clear understanding. For example, there have been a few assignments now that have been given, and upon going to the next class, we are told we are wrong and that we were supposed to read something else. This even happened the class before a midterm! We were told to read an article and the midterm essay prompt referenced a different article. My "North African Cultural Identities" professor is particularly problematic to me. She refuses to recognize the injustices and inequalities that still exist in the political and social world for women. She had a group of men from a political party come into our class and tell us that Morocco grants equality to all citizens, but they would not speak of homosexuals. The worst part, though, is that she tried to give the Arab Spring a more fitting name (in her opinion), and refers to it as the "Democratic Spring". It drives me crazy for many reasons, but how about because 1) you can't chose your own name for a movement that is being monitored by the whole world and 2) because it is not democratic in its entirety.

By and large, the Arab Spring is a movement that will lead to more rights and freedom for people. People...does that encompass every single person? Men, women, homosexuals, handicapped, past political prisoners, unemployed and youth? I refuse to believe that all groups will be recognized equally. This interview, although long, is an extremely interesting look at how the Arab Spring is maintaining the "second-class citizenship" of women.

http://www.aljazeera.com/programmes/talktojazeera/2012/04/201242111373249723.html