An overdue photo log of my life in Rabat

The entrances and main streets in the medina are

always total madhouses. I’m learning how to weave.

One day, we went out exploring in the new city

(built by the French during colonization).

We found…

A park, where we sat for a while and

watched the old men sitting across from is.

And got a bit hungry. It was still during

Ramadan, so Jena got creative.

The train station…

With a pizza hut…

A bookstore…

With Harry Potter in Arabic.

I bought a baby book to practice reading Arabic.

Another day, we went to the beach.

This town looks a bit different from Rabat.

Lauren found her future home.

And often the real adventure is getting there

Usually when I am trying to go somewhere new, I would look it up on google maps, figure out exactly how to get there, find bus schedules, etc, but here, things don’t roll like that. There are no city maps, any inquiry for directions turns into a group debate, and taxi destinations seem to be relative, or maybe just often misunderstood.

My friends heard about a film festival happening in the next town over, so we decided to try to check it out. The festival had a web site, but didn’t contain any mention of admittance or tickets. It did, however, have a phone number, so after running down most of the money on my phone, and probably convincing the man on the other end that I was a complete idiot, I determined that there were two venues where films would be shown outside for free.

Next step: figuring out where we were going. I asked one of the teachers where to go, and after involving just about every other person in the building, he told me that we could take a cab to Sidi Moussa.

The taxi driver seemed confused when we asked for Kariat Oulad Moussa, so we told him Sidi Moussa, and after winding through the narrow medina streets until my head was spinning, he told us to get out. We realized, that as there was no screen in plain view, that we had no idea where we were going, and we didn’t even know what to ask for. We decided to start by finding Kariat Oulad Moussa, and were told to take a bus.

We thought it was close, and considered walking, but as it turns out, Kariat Oulad Moussa is not, in fact, Sidi Moussa. (I learned a bit later that it means village of the children of Moussa) As we rode the bus for half an hour though city, slums and suburbs, we decided the people were right in telling us we couldn’t walk there.

Finally, the bus driver told us to get off. We saw a group of apartment buildings, some cafes, and low and behold, a big dirt field with a big screen. A small group of people (all boys and men) were gathered around the screen. We sat behind a group of little boys, who’s singing, dancing, giggling and chatter was way more entertaining than the film. (I think they thought the same thing about us.)

Romance…Arab style?

I saw this on TV this morning and thought it was hilarious, especially having no idea what he is saying. At first, I thought it was a stalker love story, but then I realized that she might be running away from his marriage proposals…

Joe Ashkar - Habibt Alby - جو اشقر - حبيبة قلبي - The best free videos are right here

The TV is an important member of a Moroccan family and it is ALWAYS on. Apparently, some of the families watch dubbed Mexican soap operas, but I think mine seems to prefer Moroccan and Syrian ones and Lebanese and Eqyptian music videos (although Dad only seems to care about the news). Their favorite, however, is the candid camera in Casablanca taxis.

I had never realized shoulders could be so provocative. Here, girls generally don’t go out with their shoulders bare, and at first this surprised me. But watching middle eastern music videos made me think maybe they are more seductive than I had given them credit for.

And I even came out without a weird stomach ailment

Last weekend brought me on a whirlwind tour of Meknes, Moulay Idris, Voloubilis and Fes. This basically included getting up really early in the morning, driving 2 hours to Meknes—the capital for a short time in the 18^th century—where we exited the bus to take a picture of one gate, then another, touring an old granary, and visiting a shop. Moulay Idris, the capital during the first Arab dynasty (8^th century), was on the program as a destination, but really, we just stopped there to eat lunch. Next, we hit Voloubilis, a very extensive Roman ruin (there were mosaic tile floors still intact—so cool), before hitting Fes.

The Fes medina from above

Last week in the medina, I overheard someone saying that Morocco has four capitals—Rabat is the administrative; Casablanca is the economic, Marrakesh is the touristic, and Fes is the historical. And Fes certainly was historical. Containing the largest medina in Africa, with some streets too narrow for two people to walk side by side, I really did get an impression of being in the middle ages. I’ve felt that way

in Rabat, but in addition to vendors selling fruit, spices and fish out of crates on the ground, the Rabat medina has a plethora of motorbikes and cars rumbling though the wider (and sometimes the narrower) alleyways. Fes has donkeys.

We were warned extensively about thieves and swindlers of many sorts, but I actually felt safer in the Fes medina than I do in Rabat. We heard very few catcalls, and the people who did talk to us seemed more genuinely friendly (as opposed to trying to pick us up).

After my friend Megan bought some earrings, one shopkeeper invited us to stay for tea and showed us pictures of his family in the Sahara. In addition to his mother language, Amazighi (Berber) and Arabic, he has learned English, French, Spanish and Italian by working in his shop and listening and speaking to tourists.

After My friend Asil introduced me as Shakira, this man shook his hips and gave me a hug.

Assorted Adventures

I wasn’t intending to write today, but seeing as I’m home and there is no one pulling me off anywhere (rare occurrence), I thought I’d share a few things I missed from yesterday, as well as my super awesome day today.

Yesterday afternoon, we got out of class early, so after I met with my academic director about my research project (he had some really good ideas—I’m thinking about interviewing people and collecting life stories or analyzing values of individuality, tradition and changes in society through Moroccan soap operas), my friends and I decided to go to a juice café we’d heard about.

The menu consisted of about 30 different kinds of juices listed in French and Arabic, ranging from expected ones like orange to exotic options like mango and papaya, to downright unexpected combinations like avocado-orange. (Plus a few mysteries—still haven’t figured out what croquis means. According to google translate, it means stretch…) I wanted to try almond juice, but was told they didn’t have it, so on a whim, I chose something called kaki. It was delicious, and today, a bit of research proved it to be persimmon.

My food adventure continued later that night, when for desert, my family served what from far away looked like peeled potatoes, but turned out to be the insides of some sort of spiky cactus fruit—also delicious. It tasted sweet, but freshly not-too-sweet, and had some crunchy seeds (kind of like pomogranate).

This afternoon, as I was walking to class, I passed a very pretty kitten and stopped to take a picture. Most of the cats here are feral and run away when anyone gets near them, but as I crouched down to take the picture, the kitten walked over and practically hopped into my purse. We’re not supposed to touch animals, but I decided this one was too young to have rabies. After petting it for a minute, I got up and started to walk away, and the kitten followed me for about a block.

After class, I brought my friends to try to find the kitten again, and as we began to walk up the alleyway where I had found it the first time, some guys told us that it was a dead end. When we told them we were looking for a cat, they knew which one and found it for us, and then joked with us for a while.

Later in the afternoon, we heard that some people were playing soccer at the beach, so my friend Asil and I went to check it out. When we found them, Asil exclaimed, “They’re even playing with real Moroccans!” (someone’s host bro and his friends) At low tide, the flat, hard sand makes a great soccer field, and the beach is full of different games, marked out with lines and shoes stuck in the sand.

Here’s what you’ve missed:

I went to the beach last weekend, and the jump from dirty, busy Rabat to a community of gorgeous villas that could have been transported from Santa Barbara was a bit shocking. Of course it was beautiful, and we all decided we want to do our independent studies on beach culture. This is Lauren’s future house:

Interestingly (and very happily observed) men’s interactions with us were very different. Though we still had a few creepers, most of the guys tried to get our attention in ways that would be pretty acceptable in the US—things like throwing threw their ping-pong ball though our group and then taking off their shirts once they had our attention.

We finally got a schedule (though they’ve already changed it). Now if they would just give us a syllabus…

I’m ashamed to say I now have a twitter account. But I swear it wasn’t voluntary! We changed lecturers in our Morocco class, and the new one is VERY technophilic…in unexpected ways for a university professor. For our class, he wants us to join and comment every day on a facebook discussion group, and follow him on twitter. He spent a good half an hour of class explaining Twitter and reading us the tweets of various people he follows. And now we’re facebook friends…

And last of all, best pick-up line of the week: (said by some stranger on the street as I passed) “I’ve dreamed of you every day and every night.”

A petit (shwia) photo diary

What I found on my drop off (or why I am obviously

not responsible enough to explore on my own)

Most of the buildings in the medina have terraces (I eat lunch

up here when I arrive earlyenough to get a seat--

which isn't very often.)

Getting home in the labyrinthine medina is a problem

for almost everyone. I took a picture of my alleyway turn

so that I would remember which one it was.

I am very lucky in that is was the only turn to

remember. If I can find my way to a certain main

street in the medina, I can turn here, turn at the

next arch, and after that, my alleyway is a long,

winding dead end.

When I have free time, I like to wander around town.

The Kasbah, which I think is the oldestpart of town,

is the most reliable place to find tourists.

It's a bit distracting to sit in class in this building,

but it makes for good doodling inspriationwhen I get bored.

I want to bring home a Moroccan door.

And an arch to go with it.

Do you think I can bring it on the airplane?

And maybe some tile, too.

I could get used to this pace

This afternoon, after wandering the medina (I correctly gauged my location after following an unknown alleyway, which is happening more and more) and buying some post cards, a pomegranate (about 18 cents) and an interesting looking pastry, I was standing at a corner talking to my friend Megan. We thought we were just saying goodbye, but we ended up standing there for about ten minutes, at which point, a shopkeeper came out with two stools and told us to sit down. So we sat on the street corner and watched people pass (a nice role reversal, to be the watcher instead of the watched). We said hi to our confused friends, my neighbors, and all the neighborhood kids. One little boy who lives on my street came and gave Megan a gummy candy, insisting that she put the entire thing in her mouth and stick it out like a tongue.

Oh, and for my street harassment highlight of the day: a man tried to talk to Megan and I in French, but we ignored him. However, that didn’t seem to cramp his style. He kept walking, first trying to get the attention of a Moroccan girl, then greeting another (who was only five!) and finally snagging some grapes from a vendor as he passed.

And I can finally eat in public!

I arrived here right smack dab in the middle of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting. I’ve heard various explanations (and I’m sure it means something different to everyone), the most common one being to experience the plight of the poor. In practice, it means that some people go to the mosque more than usual (or as opposed to usual), some people act more pious, and NOBODY eats between sunrise and sunset. My program, of course, prepared me well, telling me that everyone would stay up late and sleep all day, but unlike them, I would have to wake up early and go to class. Too bad for me and have fun.

In reality, it was much smoother than expected. My family expected me to eat, insisted on preparing me meals, and didn’t make me feel bad about eating or going to bed early. One day over the weekend, I decided to fast (with water, unlike them, which no doubt made it easier) to experience what it was like for them (they tried their best to convince me to eat), and it wasn’t as hard as I expected. Don’t get me wrong, though—I was certainly excited to eat by the end. At sundown, everyone breaks fast and interestingly, turns on the TV to watch the prayer. They eat “futour” (breakfast) around 7, which consists of dates, milk, bean soup, grits, bread, fried pancakes with honey, and fried, candied dough.

It’s amazing to see how the whole society revolves around it; business hours change; behavior changes; everything, from grumpiness to traffic to subdued harassment, is attributed to Ramadan. Right before seven, roads become hazardous as everyone rushes home for futour, at which point the streets are completely deserted. At night, everyone goes out and the streets are filled with mass mayhem.

Last Friday marked the end of Ramadan. The Eid (day when everyone breaks the fast) was announced on TV (it has to do with seeing the moon, so no one is sure which day it will end until they announce it) and the partying commenced. (Well, they were already partying, so I guess the partying intensified.) But remember, this is Morocco, so partying looks a bit different here than it does back home. No one drinks, of course, but they do stay out late, go to the carnival (I’m getting awfully tired of the flying car ride), go shopping (the stores are all open late at night after the futour as well as during the day), dress up, and walk around town. On the Eid, we ate LOTS of cookies and visited friends and relatives, and ate some more.

I think all Moroccans must be born with a gene for doing crazy ridiculous things with their hips

Yesterday, my host sis went to get her friend who lives next door was home and when they (there were two older girls) saw me with her, they invited us in. After talking for a while and playing with my camera (and looking at ALL my facebook pics) I left for dinner, but it hadn’t been three minutes when one of the sisters showed up at our door inviting me over for couscous. We all ate from a big plate with spoons and our fingers (except for an old man who made balls by rolling the couscous between his palms and eating it like that). Like any good Moroccans, they constantly told me to kooli (eat) even as I was chewing. Later, the girls all tried to teach me to belly dance. (And even the ten year old totally showed me up.)

Today, I saw the old man in the street, and I think he tried to invite me over for lunch and I tried to say that I could come but I had to be home at four, but we were speaking in Darija, so I don’t really know what was going on. All I know is that he shook my hand for a while and asked me a lot of questions and then started leading me somewhere, and then turned around, bought me a candy bar, and brought me back to where he found me.

One grows accustomed to wondering. There are some things I will eventually understand and some questions that won’t get answered. In addition to what people are talking about on a regular basis, I’ve been wondering: Who actually lives in the neighbors’ house, who was just visiting, and how are they all related? Why can my host sister GET money from one of the shops? How do I get into my alleyway from the other side?

A day in the life

Todays highlights included my friend Denise falling in a random hole in the street, fearing for my life as our cab driver narrowly missed people, other vehicles and medians as he sped through narrow streets and pulled sudden u-turns (when I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he told me not to), and walking home through a construction site and along a highway--oh, and successfully driving off an over-eager suitor by speaking to him in Croatian.

My adorable host sis Boutayna (on the right) with her friend Imam

Here I am

Hi everyone, I finally made up my mind and decided to make a blog. I’ll try to post now and then, but feel free to email me as well.

I’ve been in Morocco for a week, now, and here are a few things I’ve learned so far:

Lesson #1: It is, in fact, hot here. I flew into Casablanca and took a train to Rabat—about a two-hour trip. I was pretty glad about the nine-dollar ticket, but spending two hours in stuffy cars without air conditioning is sticky sticky sticky. Especially when the second half of it is spent in a two-foot wide aisle trying to arrange my 90lbs of luggage to allow people to pass. Which brings me to Lesson #2: I brought too much stuff. Big surprise.

Lesson #3: Rules apply differently. As soon as the airplane landed, everyone stood up, even though we were still moving, and the flight staff didn’t seem to care. Traffic appears to be a matter of everyone fending for themselves. Many intersections don’t have traffic lights, and crosswalks are non-existent. Crossing the street feels like a game of frogger. In the airport, we (there were two other students on my flight) were supposed to meet another student who had come in on a different flight, and couldn’t find her. I asked the airport information booth to make an announcement, and the woman simply ushered me into the back room and handed me the microphone.

Lesson #4: French is a useful language after all. The majority of people here don’t seem to speak English, but nearly everyone speaks French, so speaking it gives me the ability to communicate freely and get around. My French is holding up pretty well, too. For things like directions, and buying things, I’m set, though I’m realizing as I try to have more complicated conversations that my comprehension is somewhat general and requires a bit of guesswork, and often I’m left only 70% sure that I really know what’s going on.

Lesson #5: I will be thrown into things unprepared. We spent most of the first week in an orientations to prepare us for life here, but our orient-ors employed an interesting order of operations, which included telling us about bargaining and sending us out into the souk (the market) without teaching us the numbers. “How much for that?” “hgarhfgawi;hefuia” ….

My favorite part was the drop off. They took us in the bus and drove around the city, dropping us off one by one (before the seminar on harassment, of course), and telling us to find our way back. And it was no joke—I didn’t even get lost, and my walk back took more than an hour. I have a pretty good sense of direction most of the time, and love wandering foreign cities, so I thoroughly enjoyed exploring, finding interesting things like old palaces, open gates and shanty towns, and trying to covertly pull out my camera to snap pictures.

On Thursday, we moved in with our host families. They didn’t tell us anything about them in advance, and I was super nervous, but my family’s really nice. They all speak fluent French, which made me realize how nice it is to be able to talk freely with a host family right from the beginning. I have a 13 year old sister named Boutayna who is my new best friend, and a 16 year old brother named Mohammad who doesn’t talk to me.

This is getting long and I have tons more to write, so I’ll continue over the next few days…or weeks.