6/28 The Festival of Gnaoua

Breakfast was chocolate croissants, coffee, OJ, and bread and jam. By now I was recovering from my upset stomach, so I scarfed everything down no problem. We then went to a woodworking session with Nico, an artist with a history with the program. He made two pieces for us. The first piece was wood from a trunk, and an orange tree laced through with various wooden ships forming leaves in the picture. The second piece used wood from a root, and an metal piece laced through with seashell leaves. He was real friendly, and enjoyed all his adoring fans. The most amazing things he made were the tables in the corner, which were made from 6 pieces of wood glued together, and decorated magnificently. After lunch back at the hotel I went with shopping with Modolu for souvenirs. Modolu is totally in the bargaining mood, and talks down the vendors even when he doesn’t want to buy the thing. We found some ramparts and took pictures, before returning to the hotel and going to the beach.

I now felt well enough to play soccer, so after scouring the beach looking for our group (passing both a techno stage and an Arabic rap stage) we finally found them. Everyone but Modolu and I chickened out, and just watched us play soccer with the locals, who were good, but not impossible. Also, the first guy we started juggling with, told us his friend was now living in the US working with a church (to which our friend seemed to belong to as well). Moroccan Christians here are extremely rare, so it was really interesting meeting one, and he was extremely friendly. At dusk I took Mely and Steph to the ramparts, serving as body guard. Today was Mely’s birthday, so I thought it the least I could do, after we got everyone to sing at dinner and got her an icecream. We had fun sitting on the fortress, and took some great photos which may or may not turn out as good as they should.

I then met up with the rest of the group who were heading to Kimano Marley at 10PM. We followed the crowds of Rastas to the far gate, and as we actually walked through the gate, the crowds were jammed packed. Some of us were literally shoved by old ladies, and I served as the lighthouse showing those in the back where to go, while I watched those in the front. Sadly, Katrina had her camera stolen right from her in the hustle and bustle, which started us off on a bad note. We finally made it through, and stayed as a group while we waited for the tech crew to finish setting up. Abol AlrahEm found us and took us to his spot, which became our headquarters. However, very shortly after Kimano started, the students decided to go to the front, so we slowly snaked our way through the middle. I really enjoyed Kimano’s style; his personal songs were a mixture of rap and reggae and he played some of his dad’s songs too No woman, no cry, and I shot the sheriff, and We're Jamming. We had fun dancing with the rastas, though I was ever vigilant of where their hands were. People were being hoisted up holding Bob Marley flags, others were flung into the air cheer leader style (in a hip-hip-hooray fashion), many were smoking, and in the middle of it all there was definitely a hookah group set up. It actually was quite easy moving forward because everyone kind of stayed in groups of various sorts. Also, people loved our dance moves and started copying us, though the prize goes to Steph for her Kapowetta. We definitely raised hands and lighters for at least half the songs, and even given constantly looking out for thieves, it was one of the most relaxing concerts ever. I loved it. Apparently he ended with One Love, but I missed it because I walked Rachel back to the hotel. Someone tried to steal her bag off her shoulder when Katrina spotted him, and their was a tug-of-war wherein Rachel’s bag ripped. She was shell shocked and couldn’t really enjoy the concert anymore, so I took her back, and by the time I returned only the street cleaners were left. I then doubled back to the hotel where a Gnaoua group was breaking it down by our hotel.

Granted the crowd-bases are slightly different, still, way more people were dancing to the Gnaoua group than the Marley songs. It could also be that this was the last group of the festival, so I tried to stay as long as I could, but my legs had had it so I quickly returned to the hotel.

6/27 Thieves Among Us

I woke up dehydrated and sick to my stomach from walking yesterday, so I rolled into the bus after a quick breakfast. The ride was beautiful, but unfortunately my eyes were closed for the last half, battling motion sickness. The speed bumps at the end didn’t help, and as soon as we arrive I run to a café and have to convince the waiter to let me use the restroom. I was bursting, and after maybe 5 minutes of begging he finally understood that I would buy something after and thus let me in. After much needed relief I have an orange juice at the café on the beach, now realizing that I never got the name of the hotel, and the group is gone. Judging by the fact that Fadowa told me to go to the café, which wasn’t exactly close, instead of running to the hotel, I know that this place, whatever it’s called, is out of site. I wander in the general direction of the place before asking an officer where the hotels are. He points me in the wrong direction, and I go halfway down an alley selling rugs, etc. (which actually would have led me there through the backside) before deciding there was no way suitcases would be dragged through here, and returned to the bus dropoff to see if Fadowa came back. She hadn’t, and it had now been 30 minutes. Realizing there was an offchance the hotel name was in our schedule I finally find the name of Hotel Beau Rivage, and go back to another officer. This one was dealing with someone having some issue I couldn’t understand, so I have to wait another 15 minutes before getting my 15 second reply of walk straight ahead. After walking straight (which leads me to the ocean) I guess that its another right turn and finally find the name of the hotel written on a roof. As I walk in the general direction of the roof terrace, I can no longer see the writing – lost again. Fortunately, by then I was only 50 yards away, and Kacey spots me from the ground-outside-restaurant. Everyone was waiting for me (there were even searching parties), and I got a round of embarrassing applause as I arrived. Fortunately my table agrees motion sickness and dehydration as acceptable explanations; their genuine concern makes me feel much better. They waited for me to order, and we all then get a salad (basically pico-de-gaillo) and a fish tangine. Of course, after the whole upset stomach affair, I would get the fish head tangine.

After lunch some went shopping while I went with the group to the beach. I was too tired to play soccer, as I normally would, and the water was freezing, so I ended up falling asleep on my towel. I never knew you could sunburn your eyelids. Unfortunately, while Katrina and I were asleep, Liz’s bag got stolen. Apparently someone grabbed it while walking by, and her passport was in it, along with her camera. We had dinner at the hotel (thankfully not fish) and at night went to the various bands.

In Essaouira each gate of the Medina (along with the beach) held a stage which bands played from (overlapping) for about two hours each set. Some bands started as early as 3 PM, and each night lasted until 4 AM. After taking a quick nap I went to the Martin Shorter Quartet, which was a modernist jazz group playing right outside the hotel (you could literally hear it from the terrace). They were allright, some of their stuff was really good, and I greatly enjoyed when the Gnaoua band came out during the last 30 minutes and the two jammed together. The Gnaoua band was more scripted, and couldn’t really make much up on the fly, but the two teams managed to get by and overall it wasn’t half bad. While listening to the jazz my hands were in my front pockets guarding my camera and wallet. I scared away two sets of thieves from stealing from the guy next to me by watching them like a hawk, making obvious eye contact before they tried anything. Later, a third thief came up with a group and tried to dance with me by grabbing my hands out of my pockets. I wouldn’t have it, and curiously enough him and two others left directly after (instead of grabbing the next person like a normal dancing fiend would have). At one point I was chilling by the officers, when a French tourist came by and told him there were thieves which had already stolen his wallet. The cops ran off in the direction he pointed, which I thought was stupid because there was no way they were going to catch the kids. Thinking back though, it was probably the best thing those tourists could have seen, so maybe it wasn’t that useless. The cops returned after a minute. Before I left, however, someone did manage to pilfer the coke can in my back pocket. Unfortunate because I wanted to recycle the by then empty can.

6/26 Marrakech

We met at the CCCL at 8:30 to go to Marrakech this morning. It was a 3 hour bus ride over the country side of Africa. There was a pit stop halfway, but lunch was at the hotel so we kept trucking. As we slept and took photos the bus significantly got hotter. Apparently, Marrakech is over 100 degrees in the summer, and today was going to be about 105. Waves of heat hit us upon arrival, and the air seemed thick with sunshine. This entire trip was going through tourist territory, so prices would be up, and thieves would be everywhere.

Wallets in our front pockets and purses up close, we shuffled into the hotel and tried not passing out as our rooms were on the second floor (hot air rises, and to top it off we had to use stairs to greet our oven rooms.) It was about 2:00 when we arrived, and glorious lunch was awaiting us at the hotel. In addition to the classic beef and couscous they had spaghetti there. Dad’s (biological) warning that no one’s spaghetti is ever as good as mom’s floated to mind, but I wanted to taste how Moroccan Spaghetti was so I got it anyway. As with most pastas here, it was overcooked, but not disgustingly so. They also had deserts, flan and apple tart – not bad.

From 3-5 we had time for individual visits to museums. My group went to the palace first. The palace consisted of very decorated rooms of tile and intricate ceilings, as well as more rooms than five normal houses, but it was still somewhat less than expected. The entire complex was open to the air, and by the time we made it to the garden Naomi started feeling exhausted. We finished up taking pictures, and left at 4. Naomi wanted to see the Saudi tombs, so we all decided to go. A hustler came up and gave us bad directions hoping we’d stop by his shop (we could tell something was up by his Extreme-friendliness and fast talking, and a local helped us out by breaking his game). Unfortunately, Naomi was at her end, and we had to usher her back to the hotel after she started throwing up in the street. Everyone was tired and baking, so only Liz, Kristen and I continued to find the tombs. It took forever, but fortunately we kept getting directions from French tourists who seemed to know what they were doing. On a side note, I always asked tourists when possible to avoid future lying hustlers. We passed the place twice, and seemed to walk way out of our way, but finally a local pointed down a small crevice which was the entrance to the tombs. We paid the entrance fee, and squeezed through the rest of the passage as wide as my shoulders. It opened up into the graveyard, both smaller than expected, as well as quieter. It was very peaceful in there, and the cat family nearby seemed to agree. We finished taking photos before grabbing a cab back to the hotel for our ‘exercise’.

After museums we had a field exercise on the plaza (Djemma el Fna). Our group had to come back with noises from the plaza (I know, they ran out of ideas), so basically we got free roam. Snake charmers (snakes = Hemsh) and monkey owners galore. Sorry all those looking for pictures with me and a monkey, not only was it around $10 dollars after bargaining, the monkeys were treated severely harsh, so I didn’t want to support their owners. Both street salesman run to you to get your money if you take a picture, so the only one’s I took were from very far away. A snake charmer tried to get me to take a picture by putting one around my neck (non-poisonous water snake) and then asking me if I was scared. I said no so he put its head closer and either he or the snake hissed, in either case he wasn’t going to get my money. The plaza also has orangejuice booths up the wazoo, and for only 3DH it was hard to resist. We also wandered into the shops around the souk, I even bargained an Italy jersey down to 120 DH (Fadowa said anything below 150 was impressive for a foreigner). Prices in the entire town are inflated, due to the high tourist market, so I decided to wait to Rabat. Geoff and I wandered to the shopping side more frequented by locals, where a friendly elderly card player invited us to his house. We gratiously declined, but all over Morocco one receives these types of offers (which means something totally different for guys than girls).

After dinner at the hotel, we went out for ice cream (I just ordered whatever the locals were having – amazing), and Modolu and I went to watch the rest of the game. To find a café watching it, we had to wander slightly off the tourist streets, and just searched for a small place packed with locals all looking one direction. No one actually could give me directions to a good place to watch it (/could understand French), but eventually we found a place. It was packed to the brim, but the waiter rearranged some seats and took seats from outsides to finally get a spot. We sat next to the card players, and eventually made friends with them by rooting for the right team. After Spain won we paid for our waters and went back to the hotels to shower.

I then went back to the plaza with a small group to see what it was really like. Night on the plaza is actually a more accurate representation of the place, now also packed with small diners, each with a young man trying to get your patronage. Also, in addition to the snake charmers there were now circus performers, musicians, and belly dancers (two guys dressed as women that tried to get us to pay when we paused there for a bit). Each performance was surrounded by its own throng, but that doesn’t stop the money bouncer from finding the newcomers and picture-takers.

On a side note, I am completely sick of techno music - they play it way too much here.

6/25 “The multi-million dirham question” - alternatively - Morocco and The Houston Astros

I showed Modolu the shortcuts to get to school this morning. On the way we bumped into an elderly gentlemen who lived in the states in the 1950’s and 60’s. He had an awesome American accent, which he fluidly switched into, as well as the 60’s lingo. He welcomed us ‘hepcats,’ and we told him how well we were finding Morocco. He left us with a five toothed smile.

Oral presentation today in class. We presented for all the other groups some of our vocab in situations of our choosing. The beg.-advanced class had a monologue, a salesmen trying to sell a horrible apartment (but meshy mushky), and a song (very impressive). The beg.-middle class did a casual meeting of two friends on the road, and the other beg.-beg. class did a café setting featuring the president of the United States. Everyone was nervous, which made me feel better about our never practicing before that morning. We did a souk scene – I mean – we did The Souk Scene. I also met my goal of telling jokes in Arabic, and then some.

The scene opens with me speaking highly of the beautiful, sunny, cloudless day, when I meet up with Kacey. He is another student in the same school as me, so I introduce myself and likewise. After mentioning both our families are “Just fine, thank you,” we decide to go to the souk to buy a chicken. All the venders are yelling at us, Whitney at the fruit-stand, Sam at the chicken-coup, and Lizzie selling various items (aka everything else we know how to say). We start heading towards the other teacher, but I turn Kacey around to avoid “the crazy teacher” (second set of laughs, after Kacey had used a feminine form to ask how I was, and I enacted likewise revenge in my response). We asked each vender what they had and how much. The fruit salesman showed off her range, but the price was slightly higher as these were her “habeebe’s” (darlings). I claimed the pear was too small (showing it to be maybe 4 cm), and offer her 1 DH before moving on. The chicken salesman has his act together. He immediately claims to befriend us, and definitely pulls off the hussle. He shows the chickens are friendly by sitting one on his head, and for us, his friends 100 DH. Kacey says he’s a poor student while I point to the chicken on the counter which is “not new, green, and has a huge fly above it.” He pushes the gross one to the side, changes his price to 50, and then begs us (and I mean begs us) as his family is poor and his little boy is sick and dying. I get a laugh for the look I give Kacey when I say we have no money and grab him to run to the next vender. Lizzie, now Jenjis Kahn (there is no ‘G’ in Moroccan Arabic pronunciation), shows off her variety, including shirts. Kacey asks how much her shirt is (which is what she pointed to), and she replies too expensive for him. The CD seems interesting so I ask for the price. 2008 DH (which we know because of the year). I ask for a chair and sit down in a completely shocked manner, which pulled in the gag laughs. When asked why she plays the CD, and it’s the ABC song. We sing Aliphone, Baone, … and get all groups to join as we break it down with the mizmar, mizmar, mizmar.

I find the most difficult thing since coming here has been wrapping my mind around the idea that the democratic movement here is mainly propagated by a religious front, the Islamist movement. With freedom of religion at the American constitution’s core, I still have trouble believing that alternative agendas will not arise in a system whose essence intertwines the two. However, it makes since that the front comes from a fundamentalist pull. Since colonialism there have been two main political movements: The first is the Arab nationalist movement, which has had both secular and religious fronts. Our Islamist speaker yesterday claimed Morocco has had relative independence from this Middle Eastern front since the 1970’s, though of course, some of its ideology can be found in current parties. The second movement is socialism, overtly secular in its implementation. The fall of Soviet Russia brought widespread disillusionment to this way of thought, though, again, it still plays a role in politics. The nebulous future USSR’s fall caused, paved the way for the newest movement that of fundamentalism, which is simultaneously leading this movement towards democracy. Speaking with Farah about it, she brought up that she thinks it will be good when they most likely win the next election, basically so they can show their true colors. Right now the movement is largely theoretical, not having enough power to enact any forms or legislation. Once in power, the Islamist party can show how outside of theory they will fall short in whichever areas and a better way can then arise (with my Western bias, maybe this is when the democracy movement will stay but shift to a secular front).

Lecture today was specifically on Democratization in Morocco. Interestingly, the Alawite has been the only dynasty to survive before, during, and after a colonial takeover. We started by looking at how the king has maintained his power, and while some of it stems from religious legitimacy (hereditary line to Mohamed), most comes from wise political edging, including the current movement towards reforms and democracy. The multi-million dirham question was how the monarchy will continue to fare as the people play more of a role in the political sphere. We focused on how democratization could be brought about given the current system, and I personally feel the two most important ideas brought up were the separation of the Judiciary branch (with greater checks-and-balances) as well as a better educational system. We participated in this session with Moroccan students, both university and high school, and surprisingly, one of the Moroccan highschoolers offered some of the best insight. On a side note, the kid had a Houston Astros jersey on, showing he truly had wisdom. His first point was how the monarchy is part of the Moroccan identity, and he felt it would never leave its politics. Most climatically, he defined literacy as “the capacity to respond,” to which the professor responded if the child was in his class he would sit and let the kid teach the class.

We then split up into groups with the Moroccan schoolers, and after 45 minutes returned to share our topics, which included differences between the US and Morocco in education, marriage and constitution, as well as analysis of the Islamists, and the king and religion in Morocco. Curiously enough, in our group Rachid asked whether Jews have a heavy influence on politics in America. I think he was hinting at the pro-Israel stance (as per Farah’s “not exactly black” comment) but we explained about how our government works with various political groups the foremost of which not being “Jews” though some on them might be Jewish. Concerning education, the biggest problem in Morocco rests with the teachers, who don’t teach well and leave at will (say if their grandmother is sick, or they have to go search for Crystal Skulls and Holy Grails). We touched upon corruption, and Rachid from our group brought up how he was in the hospital with a dying friend, begging for the doctors to see him. The doctor asked him if he had identification (yes) and 100 DH to bribe him. Rachid didn’t, so they waited at the entrance for hours. Finally the dying friend’s family arrived, and “talked” to the doctor, returning with a lighter wallet and service. Lastly, our group talked on religion and the king. Our presentation segwayed into a discussion of censorship. While Rachid proclaimed the evils of a government that abolished a newspaper for publishing an analysis on Islamic jokes that already existed in society (to which some Moroccan students agreed with the government in the censorship) even Rachid seemed to agree that the Denmark cartoon was stupid and worthless. This set off the American students, not that the cartoon wasn’t stupid and offensive (I personally just observed as I haven’t seen the cartoon), but the double standard which seemed to exist between forbidding such religious ‘commentary.’ In closing, the professor asked each nationality of students to list positives and negatives to their countries. Curiously enough, while Americans listed Freedom foremost of their pride, Moroccans quickly claimed their king, peace, and being Muslim. In general, American students were quick to point out embarrassments (with the unstated point of showing that these are things we want to change), and despite the fact that we just listed off problems in corruption, education, etc. in Morocco, only brain drain and lack of knowledge of Islam reasoning was stated by the Moroccan students (concerning the last, as prev. stated, many Moroccans will claim they follow certain ideas because they are Muslim ideas, sometimes incorrectly). Farah later explained that this was mainly because the Moroccan culture is to only speak of positives when you first meet someone, and maybe bring up criticisms later. She spoke favorably that they might hear how easily we critiqued our own society, and maybe apply such analysis more quickly to their own.

After school we went to Doolers’, where I taught the kids Kamsa! (High Five!) Then Modolu and I met up with Kacey to watch the Turkey Germany game. We sat on the floor of the internet café and shared the atmosphere with the locals (all men). A full four people in the entire place were Germany fans, everyone was for Turkey (including me) and this showed more as time went on. Interestingly, as soon as halftime came, the amount of people in the street almost instantaneously doubled. Also, though fans noticed my cheers and started to look at us foreigners more favorably, it wasn’t until lightning interfered with the transmission that we were welcomed with arms wide-open. We became the radio for the game, when the signal was lost and Modolu pulled up the minute reports on ESPN. We gave out the scores, which unfortunately ended in bringing smiles to only four. Despite the outcome, in all the experience was great, and we all left the café at 9:30 as friendly acquaintances. I met my father along the way home, who was also watching the game at another café. I told him we were upset that Turkey played a better game but still lost, and he agreed. “But don’t worry,” he said, “Spain will beat Russia and Germany anyway.” This might just seem like guy talk to most, but knowing the sports sentiments of the locals can come in very handy…

6/24 Camel Necks

So while Farah is our director, Fadwa is our manager. Fadwa is our age-ish (25), and is the one who leads us around and tells us to get back to class after the break. Our class affectionately gave her the nickname Melikette Abdee, “Queen of the Slaves.” Other fun stuff from class apparently ‘Hemka’ the Fusha word for crazy is actually a bad word in Chinese. When we first said it in class Kacey cracked up and couldn’t hold it in. We asked him what it meant, but he just sarcastically answered that it meant crazy.

There were two afternoon lectures today. The first was by an Islamist, who explained to their views on democracy “which is the only solution.” Islamists refers to the collective action of the Islamic movement regarding the political and social dimension. According to him, the three most important changes necessary in the current government are participation, accountability, and transparency. However, change will come slow due to corrupt politicians, a vacuum of political leaders who are credible (for the parties, in comparison to the national icon the king serves), and the overall weakness of parties. He claims the tipping point will most likely come from the inevitable economic crises, but until then he mentioned how opposing sides (like the king and the Islamists, who don’t support a monarchy) must work together on reforms both can agree on, such as illiteracy, poverty, and overall lack of education, which are still large issues despite their advances. This last mention reminded me of readings from Dr. Dow’s class, who spoke of how the best method for conflict resolution was the focus and advancement of commonalities - too often forgone in convoluted politics.

In the break that followed I wandered over to the library at the CCCL. They have quite a collection here, but the most unique by far is their compositions of the previous Independent Study Papers (ISPs). I want to do mine on a health topic in Morocco, and Farah had suggested one of the best ISPs ever made, which apparently was a Fall 2004 paper. I ended up reading a very interesting report on Jnun and local health perceptions here. Jnun (Djin) are beings created by Allah made of smokeless fire. These creatures would best be equated to ghosts, as they can be good or bad, have families, and even have elements attributed to them. Various ailments can be attributed to jnun, epilepsy can be the result of bumping into one, while blindness can come from being ‘beaten by a jnun.’ Also, jnun can possess humans, taking over their blood, which can cause crippling or urges for sexual promiscuity. Though the source of this specific type of spirit stems from the Koran, I got the feeling that it largely fit in with the local customs predating Islam. Treatment from Jnun takes many forms, through prayers to Allah, or seeking spiritual shamans who can satiate the plaguing spirit. Also, there are dangerously powerful seals and incantations which are passed down in families. The seals are written in square forms, and usually all involve verses from the Koran – the partial pictures provided reminded me a lot of those used in alchemy. However, attempting rituals involving jnun powers are very risky, as mispronouncing even one word can cause a jnun to haunt you or even instantaneously transport you to an inhospitable land hundreds of miles away. Further, angels are believed by some to be sky jnun.

The last "lecture" of the day was a sneak preview into the music festival we will be attending in Essouira. A group of 5 (The Akkaf Brothers) played for us a variety of instruments both historical (my favorite made from the neck of a camel) and contemporary (bongo drums and plastic prototypes). They played for us 12 songs from a variety of tribal styles, and it took about 3 before we were all standing up dancing throughout the entire CCCL. Some of the songs were played with only percussion instruments (including drums played with sticks), while others also included string instruments. Also, one of the women maintenance members is amazing at the Moroccan style of dance (involving hips and many short stuttered steps) as well as that tongue lalalalalala thing. It was awesome. One song even had English in it – of course it was about how WWII soldiers stole the women with their cigars and alcohol, a mark against society and a dishonoring of the women. Ehh, I was just happy to understand it. I didn’t mind not knowing all the words though. Closing my eyes I almost caught glimpses of pre-colonial nomadic and rural life.

6/23 Sidi Ifni

Today’s morning class featured the first use of Al-Kitaab. I know it’s slower than Molly’s class has been, but I think the extra focus on oral will really pay off. Today was mainly about conjugations for verbs and possessives of nouns, which will definitely come in handy. Unfortunately our oral presentation is this Wednesday, and though I can conjugate, I only know three verbs. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Lunch was at the Center again. No offense to my family’s cooking, which is AMAZING, but the Center has Brahim, whose even better. A cook whose work, though always basically the same meal, gets me every time. Something about cinnamon raisins perfects the entire day. Our afternoon lecture was on Politics in Morocco, and we focused more on the current situations and movements. Obviously the King lies at the top of the sphere, but the prime minister and his cabinet complete the rest of the executive. The legislative branch consists of a Parliament of two houses, the lower chamber elected by the people, and the upper chamber elected by city councils. Currently the judiciary is simply one of the cabinet positions under the prime minister, but apparently it will separate soon. You could tell our lecturer was a professor, because he kept asking us of an analytical view of the situation, always the positives and negatives. Curiously enough, three of the king’s pet projects were about to be moved under the cabinet. You could tell the group was biased against monarchies, because everyone favored such a movement towards “self-stabilized government,” however, the best light of the situation was how the projects moving was negative. The professor explained that now the Human Rights Campaign, Imam Council, and Berber movement (the king's projects), will have to be subject to the politics, which are currently very convoluted, and way more corrupt compared to the palace. Lastly we spoke of Sidi Ifni, a city whose riots two weeks ago closed down the port. Original reports from the fight that followed, declared widespread rape with police brutality leading to 8 deaths. However, current reports list neither deaths nor rape, as the original response was partially fabricated. We spoke of corruption in the media, which are mainly sensationalist writers, to show why not everyone is for freedom of the press (including the head of the Religious Affairs which spoke to us the 20^th). Furthermore, the tv news never even reported Sidi Ifni. This led us to speak one of the main unspoken issues here – how the ruling “class” of elite in power mistrusts the masses, which are often too easily swayed. To add to it all, this political culture of participation is still new to Moroccans. So what is the fix? The professor encouraged us to ask Moroccans “How they feel about their future? And what obstacles lie in the way?”

The only time I’ve been scared since I got here was when I went to go change to go to the beach. I ran up to my room to find Ameena asleep on the couch. One of the biggest things we were warned about by Farah (as well as friends back home) was not to be alone in a closed room with a girl (by closed I mean even drapes drawn). Not that anything would happen, but people would assume such, and there have been previous incidents when a guy and girl from the program were watching a movie together alone behind a closed door. When I got to my room the curtains were all drawn, so I took a deep breath, tried to kind of open up the “door” curtain, and ran in to get my suit and sunscreen. After a quick change in the restroom I managed to drop off my clothes back in the room and slip out unnoticed. I don’t think I took a full breath the entire episode.

Afterwards, Sam and I went to meet up with Shafi to go surfing, as the club was closed. We met up with him, and watched him take some waves by the rocks, but he was too scared we might break his board there. The baby-beach was too flat, so Sam and I watched him for a while, and then split. Today was my internet day, so I sent off a couple “Dear John, I’m doing great…” emails, before updating my blog enough to publicize it on facebook. I met up with Rachel and Kacey at the Internet Café, where we spoke of our experiences, including why we were in this program, etc. I had a lot of posts to catch up on, and was talking with Jess online after Rachel and Kacey left, so ended up staying at the café until 9:45. In the 3 hours I was there I had a tea, cake, and banana juice (expensive but awesome – I’m pretty sure they use malted sugar) ran 26 DH (plus I’m pretty sure he added it wrong, but I used enough free internet to not want to fuss over it). At home I glanced at the meat being prepared; maybe that wasn’t a good idea. Always wait to look at what you ate until after you’ve eaten it. O well, I can manage.

Lastly, before retiring I came one step closer to meeting my goal of telling a joke in Arabic. At the beginning the director asked us what our goals were, and I could only come up with the basic response of learn enough to understand and engage in basic conversation. However, after thinking about it I’ve definitely made telling a joke my ambition. Already I’ve used slapstick/gag humor, as well as told jokes in French. I’ve realized the implicit hilarity behind people speaking to a guy and using feminine forms of the possessive and vice-versa, but today I told my first half Arabic joke. When asked whether I wanted a nas (nap), I replied ‘I wish (in French), but now I had to go do homework (Arabic). Always homework (both).’

6/22 Dallas Café

We slept in until 10:30, and checked out by 11, though the girls took until the noon deadline. Two people for one night was 220 total. By the time we awoke, Naomi, Kristen, Whitney, and Liz were gone, though Whitney had to take here friends to the airport. We didn’t see any of them again and they left on their own. We had a quick coffee and croissant to hold us over until lunch, and then found out where the Market was. Along the way I found a place called Dallas Café. Don’t worry, there are pictures.

Supposedly the Central Market in Casa is supposed to be the best fruit in Morocco. It was about the size of Santa Fe’s and though I’ve seen bigger in France we did arrive when some had already closed/left (the market closes at 2). We shopped around, I got a bunch of bananas for 12, and Strawberries for 6 DH. We ate there, mainly due to the fact that shops there fight for your patronage. I had an amazing shrimp meal (though New Orleans was still better), and they washed and served my strawberries for me.

We then left for Hassan II, but along the way, Mely and I stopped at Rick’s Café. The place was only open until 3, then closed until 6:30, so we decided to go before the mosque. You had to pay for either a meal or drinks to get in, and we didn’t have time for a meal but didn’t want to miss our chance, so we decided to drop the cash for the experience. I’ve never seen Casablanca, but after visiting the place I definitely want to. In fact, of all the Gin joints in all the world, the first scene I ever saw from the movie was at this one. Also, the café totally overlooks the ocean, which apparently breaks a line in the movie. After taking pictures like a tourist with one day to live (I whooshed at the piano), we sat to soak it all in and drink our tea (30 DH here! compared to 7-ish elsewhere). Also, my hypothesis was proven, any place as fanciful as that definitely had toilet paper.

We quickly walked to Hassan II, which wasn’t hard to find as it overshadows the entire city and was just further on the coast. A 15 minute walk later, I was yelled at by the usher/bouncer, for almost entering where only Muslims can go. He told us where to get the tour, so we ran to the other side and down the stairs in time to catch up with the rest of our group. In part because we always stopped to take pictures of all of us, we were always last in the tour. Apparently, the mosque was built in 6 years and was worked on 24-7 until then in shifts. The architect was a French friend of the king, but all the materials (save some small columns and the chandeliers – Italy) were from Morocco. The ceiling was wood, intricately hand-carved, and could open up for nice days like a stadium. There were hidden speakers for the Imam to call from, and seats for religious leaders to teach from. The doors are huge, very intimidating, and the floor beautiful and colorful marble. We took off our shoes to enter the main area, which can serve 25,000 worshipers (20000 men, and 5 women in the mezzanine). We also saw the absolution chamber, where they would go to clean before worship (3 times per face, hand, and foot). Lastly we visited the Hammam, which wasn’t open yet, so we felt we could actually sit on the benches. Apparently there is an outside laser which points to Mecca (though we never saw it last night), and a glass floor overlooking the ocean, which wasn’t in the part tourists could visit.

We passed out outside the mosque, and after a five minute blink we walked to the street for a cab. The taxi charged us 10 DH per person, which was actually a rip-off (20 DH for the distance usually), but they got the job done. We made it to the gare, and caught the train back home to Rabat, though I ran to get Sam from the restroom, and we had ran across the tracks to get in on time. Dooler and I stopped by a café on the way back, and we somehow found the energy to walk back in time to catch the Italy Spain game.

6/21 Casablanca

Class today was short. Last night I studied until I fell asleep, twice, but it paid off. Today the quiz was an oral dictation, which we had to jot down. I felt pretty good about it, though I forgot the hamza’s. In the afternoon we went to the café to practice in public. I felt pretty good about the situation in theory, but when it came to my turn to order, I got anxious and my mind blanked. I managed to ask for a coffee, black with no milk. Normally coffee’s here are about half milk and come in a small cup. Sure enough, my order came out in a small glass, and it was black, but hilariously enough they still only gave me the same amount of coffee. There wasn’t even a shot’s worth of coffee in there; maybe they only give that amount regardless. Afterwards I stopped by the bank before returning home and packing. On the way home a nice guy walked with me and we talked in French about Morocco in general and languages and Casablanca. Casablanca was my out when the guy invited me over to his friends place. He was very genial, so friendly, in fact, that he invited me over to share his snack.

A group of ten of us went to Casablanca, Matt had to drop out because he’s going to the Morocco-Rwanda game tonight, the lucky dog. Whitney left early with her two friends, who we met up with at the club later that night. Not including them, my traveling companions consisted of Katrina, her host-sister Selma, Sam, Mely, Dooler, Lizzie, Julia, Naomi, and Kristen, the last two of which organized this fiesta. We walked to the train and purchased one-way tickets to Casa-port (basically because none of us knew how to do roundtrip tickets in Morocco). Though there were about four stops in between, we didn’t have to make any transfers. However, mid-transport, we did have to change hotels, as our first one gave away our reservations (Seinfeld anyone?). Thanks to Rough guide, we got everything figured out, and arrived an hour and a half later. Fortunately, Selma hooked us up with taxis to get to the hotel, so we could drop off our stuff before heading to the beach.

We took taxis to Miami Beach, which the Rough Guide said was the best, however, there wasn’t actually a beach there, just some sharp pointy rocks some brave fishermen were balancing on. We kept walking to an actual beach, taking some wrong turns along the way. Anyway, we finally made it to the beach, and called the other groups that didn’t go with us to the Supermarket. The beach was definitely different than Rabat, for one thing, there was only no one in the water. Someone noted they heard Casablancans avoid the water at the beach, which definitely showed here. Regardless, we showed them the water was fine, as we used our surfing lessons to catch some nice bodysurfing runs. This weird kid kept following Mely, so I blocked him for a while (a very long while) until he got bored. Poor girls, the stereotypical Moroccan guy really needs to learn how to act more respectful. We made friends with our neighbors back on the shore, and took each others pictures, before a horse arrived. Weird, but it makes since, as the owner led it around and locals took pictures with it. Everyone sat around, and I wasn't into tanning, so I joined some locals with a soccer ball on the shore. We juggled for a while, but apparently I made enough to start a game, so we soon switched to 3 on 2. As we played, more joined in, and we soon had the largest game going on the beach. I was having a good day, and gave a couple assists, which made our forward trust me. However, I didn’t really start getting the ball until I scored two in a row (including a header), at which point I had complete credit with both teams. Our group came up to cheer for me after a while, which was fun and definitely kept me running, and I made a couple of friends including one guy on the other team who was pretty much my equal, and we kept trying to outdo the other. The highlight of the game for me was when we reached maximum (8 on 8 or so), and they wouldn’t let this other local kid play. He got really upset, and when he saw me he said in French (so I could hear) “You let Frenchie here play but not me!?!” They walked him off the field a couple times, but had no problem with “Frenchie” playing over the local. Also, to add to ‘how the game was meant to be played’ we played along the coast, and as the tide went out, so extended our field, which was amazing. As the sun was setting it was hard to keep in the game and not just soak in the beauty (actually that's a lie, I had no problem staying in the game). After at least 2 hours I had to leave, as my blistering feet were killing me and they were sad to see me go.

We were all hungry and Naomi started talking to the hotel check-in guy about places to eat. He told us about his favorite place, 'La Bodega,' and he even offered to lead us there. Despite the street harassment that the women get, the stereotypical Moroccan is very friendly and often offer to help you find where you're going. This hasn't been the first guy who even led us to the place. Once there, we got a table after about 30 minutes, and I got whatever Simo’s favorite meal was (chicken, shrimp, and something I had no idea what it was, in nuggets form). La Bodega also had music, and after we finished our meal we took turns dancing in the small area we had. Apparently after Priveledge I have been labeled a good dancer, which was a tiring label to live up to as the night went on. While dancing, I also got a fun talk to by one of the guys there, when I apparently “blocked his game twice.” His game apparently was creepily going behind the girls and dancing with them almost without them noticing. I did notice and stepped between, which of course earned me his love.

Eventually, Mely had a dehydration/heat spell, so we went outside and got her air and water when she almost fainted. We chilled outside there for a while, and the waiters took care of her. They kept bringing her water in a glass, but the third one had a cockroach in it. Mely refused it, but the waiter said it was cool and then sucked the water off of the cockroach. Apparently it was plastic - he definitely got us all. We also met an American piano player out there, born in France he moved to New Orleans and was playing in the club nearby. He was very friendly and excited to meet us, 'American brothers'. We got Mely a cab, and Selma and Dooler, went with her.

On our way home, I talked with the Simo about how he hussled people, as he apparently is a professional pool player. Once again, always find a local to hang out with -aka FYOL.

6/20 "It's not like Pimp-my-Ride"

We’re catching up in school, and now moving at a more appropriate pace. Also, because we focused more on the letters and sounds, I notice our class has better pronunciation and faster letter recognition than the “fast-beg. class.” Before our afternoon lecture, we had an hour free to explore the Center. I took advantage of this, after talking to Austin and Molly on skype. In the center we found the kitchen, and living quarters (which are super nice) as well as the main office. Probably the coolest thing was a small peeping hole, used by the women to look at visitors, back when showing their face to the visitors (aka potentials) was forbidden. Steph and I took a couple pictures of this before heading off to ‘The Role of Muslim Religious Council in Morocco’ lecture.

We went to a talk by the Head of Religious Affairs, who gave us a quick breakdown of religious affairs in Morocco, which are very much intertwined with the political sphere. After his summary Dr. Ahmed Abbadi took questions, which he then “answered.” Probably the most memorable moment of the experience was when he compared how religion in Morocco gives more fundamental purpose to civilian life, as well as beauty. Apparently this differed from ‘Pimp-My-Ride’ which only provided the latter. I also enjoyed how the entire talk was very political and obviously vague, however, he made a point to speak of how wonderful things are when they are clear, "because you don’t want confusion when someone explains something to you." Everyone was really friendly; we took tea and snacks while we were with him, and he even spoke favorably of someday having a comparative religion class in lycee’s someday, however I got the feeling he mainly said that because he knew it was what we wanted to hear.

Surfing was extremely rough afterwards. Julia felt sick, but Josh took her spot for today. Whitney was late and ended up spending the day with one of her friends while we drove over to ‘Hawaii,’ with another American group who is here to study French. We crossed our path of broken glass again, and the waves were the highest they’ve ever been so far. Unfortunately, I was still dead tired from yesterday’s paddling excursion. I had enough energy to catch the waves, but I only got up on a couple because the push up was too taxing. I again had the shortboard, which didn’t help, but I definitely am getting more comfortable on it. After once again surfing to the sunset, we danced on the car ride back.

6/19 How it was meant to be played

Today’s class focused more on reading, fortunately the short vowels were included. We had lunch at the center, and afterwards had a lecture on the Virgin Mary (who is still a virgin) in the Koran. Apparently, Mary is the only woman mentioned by name in the Koran (the rest are just wife of so-and-so, daughter of such) and her name appears more than Mohamed himself. There are a lot of parallels drawn between her and Hagar, as well as her and Mohamed – both of the latter being “conduits of Allah’s word.” We had quite a discussion on the differences between Jesus in Christianity and Islam; there are three main points of contention. First of all, Jesus is not considered divine, nor was he crucified (probably as a result of the arguing going on at the time over ‘who killed Jesus.’) Secondly, there is no trinity (Muslim’s see this as creating a polytheistic religion, which they don’t approve). Thirdly, there are no different names given Mary (like Our Lady of the Guadeloupe), which is mainly a Catholic contention. Interestingly, there is no Joseph in the Koran (any mention of him would immediately draw nonbelief to her virginity apparently). Mainly, the point of Mary in the Koran seemed to be to be a bridge for the three major monotheistic religions, as well as prepare for the exodusing of Mohammed to the Medina.

Surfing lessons today consisted of all baby waves, so we decided to paddle out to the tip of one of the outlets. Worst day ever to grab a short board. The lack of buoyancy caused me to drag more in the water, and Sam and I were the last ones to get there. Before reaching the edge of the peninsula, the water crests were huge (comparatively), which made paddling even harder. I made it halfway back before having to switch with the instructor to a longboard, but it was necessary. Once back to shore, we tried practicing catching waves and jumping up, but as soon as I got up my board would catch in the sand, so I could only practice the former.

After returning from the beach, I grabbed Hemsa and returned. This time, we played soccer for almost 2 hours. Playing soccer at the beach consisted of the same variable rotations as before. We would start out passing and juggling amongst ourselves, and while doing a kid joined in. For a while then, Hemsa and the child practiced playing goalie, this time between two paper rolls (like those found at the core of wrapping paper) stuck in the sand for posts. With set boundaries it was easy to score, which gave me some credibility with the locals. After we returned to juggling, gaining one more, before our assembled team decided to challenge another. A field dragged in the sand had already been marked out, and we used mini-metal goals (which didn’t stop a goalie from sitting to block it when times got rough).

Playing on the beach there I realized this was how the game was meant to be played. The game ran smoothly, with everyone trying to keep the play going. Players came off and on the field to join as their schedules allowed, and everyone was cool about everything. Each called there own fouls, it’s make-it take-it, and when the ball was kicked off the court, others would kick it back on the field. These onlookers would even stop mid-conversation and walk to where the ball was, almost as if they were going out of their way just to be a part of the game. Also, there was one occasion where the other team basically cherry picked a goal, but instead of shooting it in, the forward stopped the ball short, turned around, and kicked it back to his side to restart a run. I’m still getting used to playing in sand, though me and Hemsa hooked up on some awesome assists and across three defender passes. I’ve noticed Hemsa is more of a peacekeeper, as when disputes arise he would always go over and settle them in the humblest manner (usually by giving the offended party the ball). After the game everyone slapped hands and said good game (in Darija), and we all went our separate ways. To top it all off, we ran into Shay and Zacharia on the way back. Zacharia asked me if the game was good, and then asked Hemsa in Darija whether I was good. Fortunately I knew enough Arabic vocab to catch this, and Hemsa definitely agreed that I was. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow will bring!

6/18 “Vous êtes mon fils”

Today consisted of short vowels, finishing the alphabet (finally), and surfing. Our lingering progression through the alphabet has been the most frustrating part of Morocco so far, and I have already mentioned how our class is the ‘slow one.’ However, today I heard the class giving oral dictations we have already covered. Judging by the vocab they are going over, and some of their oral skills, we might not be that far behind at all.

Curiously enough, one street away is called “Below the Hammam,” which is the one I take to class. I visited Sam’s family today after school, apparently his sister is Ameena’s friend. Every family here seems related in some way, and it probably isn’t too much of a stretch to imagine one family knowing most if not all other families within the Medina (which always seems to have just one more alley than I’ve been down).

I finally caught up on sleep (minus Sunday I haven’t got 8 hours any day) by talking a nap after lunch, from 2 to 4. When I woke up, everyone was passed out, unfortunately including Hemsa, who was supposed to play soccer with me at 4. No worries; I just did homework and practiced vocab instead. Also, 1 Liter of Coke here cost 7.6 DH, and you can return the bottle for 2 DH.

To jump ahead, I tried to explain to Hemsa I knew a group which was going to play soccer at 1:00 AM. I tried to give them the name of Sam’s sister that knew Ameena, but I’m pretty sure I butchered/forgot a letter, so they didn’t understand. The father had a problem with allowing me to go, because it was dangerous and risky and I looked like a tourist. He told me, while I’m here I was his son, and he thought it in bad taste. I was touched by the whole conversation, and it even reminded me of the “not exactly black” lecture, because they definitely skirted actually forbidding me. Likewise, I’ve noticed lately Ameena and Hemsa have been warming up to me. Hemsa after going to the beach and concert together, and Ameena just over time – she’s now breaking the touch barrier like with her other family members, roughing my hair and laughing like old friends. Today at dinner we had a fun Arabic lesson with Shay trying to understand Mohamed, and Ameena trying to mess her up and laughing at her stuttering and miss conjugation (i.e. giving Hemsa and Mohamed girl possessive adjectives). It was all in good fun, and definitely lightened the whole stay.

Back to the surfing lesson, today was the first day I used a short board. In the beginning of the day the instructor showed Sam and I how to jump into our stance (pushing off from the same breast-push up hand position and landing in the foot position, which feels a lot smoother) because we were getting up while keeping our shoulders square. Apparently turning while getting up is a common problem. Also, I feel more comfortable in that but down surfing position, and my knees are inside (turned like a snowboarder in the downhill feet position, not duck or 0 degrees). Surfing the longboard felt so much more comfortable, and I even got down sitting, turning, and paddling against and through waves. The instructor saw how easy I was getting up and riding the waves, so he suggested switching to a shortboard with the other group that was with us today. The other group there was studying both French and Arabic, and I switched with one of them no problem. The shortboard is so much more exacting in the movements. There is one exact place I have to sit on to forgo flipping over or slipping off. Turning is easier, almost too much so. However, as the day went on, I started getting more comfortable, riding some waves by the end, but in no way am I there yet. I saw Shafi doing jump turns, which I’ll have to try next time I get a longboard. He also was pumping up and down the waves on the shortboard, which you seem to have to do to keep moving along (diagonal) the wave.

Oh, and by the way, before going to the 6:00 surfing lesson, I conquered The Turkish Toilet.

6/17 Metaphor for the 'Sacred Divide'

As far as learning the language, today I had my first epiphany. Culminating mainly from getting ‘papa’ to help me with the pronunciation of my vocabulary words, I’ve finally started to really get down the difference between the consonants and their emphatic equivalents. All of a sudden my ears somewhat opened and I can now begin to differentiate between the various emphasizes. Also, though we haven’t mentioned short vowels yet, there are only two more consonants left in the alphabet, and compared to what vocab the other class is learning, I’d say we’re quickly catching up.

The afternoon lecture concerned the hijab, which serves as a physical, visual, and spatial boundary, and is a metaphor for the ‘sacred divide.’ Discussion mainly moved to how it fits in with the modernizing, global world. Surprisingly, the hijab isn’t considered a “reveiling” but rather a new movement, started in the Iranian revolution (though now has lost most of its political connotations) and continued in a Arabian feminine liberation movement. Four main points that the hijab serves: conforming wearers to hide social status (though with today’s fashion this seems to be broken), protection for women (including less street harassment) b/c wearers are less questioned on where/why they go wherever, wearers are taken more seriously, and more religious freedom as they no longer need permission to go to a mosque. We also talked about how fashion has taken over some head coverings, which aren’t nec. Hijab’s, and we spoke of the reaction to France’s forbidding of the covering (apparently the head religious officials have given wearers pardon).

After returning from the lecture ‘the guys’ (my brother and dad and I) went down to the hammam, the public bathhouse. Wow! This will definitely be one of the highlights of the entire trip. Before entering, we stopped by a souk and bought a Kif for me, which is a rough-ish washcloth that fits over your hand. This has been the second time that Hemsa has helped me get a 10 DH item for less, this time it was 7.5 DH, about $1 (I bought a green one, as it is the only color I know how to say) . We turned left down a small alley after the sausage salesman, and right down a smaller alley at the “FAR” graffiti (Force Army of Rabat, Morocco's first official national army, and the self-proclaimed name of the soccer team). Walking by the door I would never have guessed there was an entire bathhouse inside. Hemsa called in, and the last remnants of the females left. Apparently, women use the hammam from 10AM-6PM (it was around 7:20), and men use the same one from 6-10PM. Walking in, the hammam seemed just like a house, except with tiles completely on the floor and shoulder high. But the house kept opening up. We walked down a short passage to an open cashier booth. We stripped down to our undergarments in the gelsa, which was separated from direct view by a wall stretching halfway across. The cashier room had cubbies to put our bags in as we went inside. The lecture on the hammam was only last week, but already I was surprised at what I saw. First of all, to enter I opened the large wooden door and was welcomed with a hug of warm air. Thanks to a heavy wood block on a rope leveraging it back, the door closed on its own as I entered. The hammam is separated into three rooms, each room with small cylindric vents opening to an attic about a foot higher, which I assume opened to the sky at some point. Each room itself was arched up so as to trap the hot air, and was cut off from the other rooms by walls on either side around a middle walkway. Arches also separated the rooms, and the entire nexus gradually sloped upward with a drain at the bottom. As I walked up to each successive room, the temperature got successively hotter, with the first just slightly humid, the second slightly higher than lukewarm, and the last sweatingly hot. Each room had pipes which provided cold water, and the last room had a fountain pool of hot water, warmed by coals unseen. We left our stuff in the middle room, and I helped Hemsa fill 6 buckets with warm water (after rinsing them) for the 3 of us. We then topped off each bucket with cold water to reach the perfect temp. Meanwhile Mohamed rinsed an edge of the last room for us to sit and lie. We did so, the two doing ‘guy talk’ and me asking questions. I can see how this would be one of the greatest traditions, especially when it comes to male bonding. We lay in the sauna for at least an hour, stretching, relaxing, and pouring water from the hot water to drench ourselves.

The hammam also offers a massager, kessala, who for 30 DH will rub you down. I’m told the male massages are rougher than the women, and I think he rubbed off my sunburn, but I survived, as well as stayed in the hottest room for just as long as the locals! After laying for the front and back rubdown (neck, arms, trunk, legs, and buttocks) I started tingling like the needles you feel when circulation returns to areas where it was shut off before. I guess that’s how hard the massage was. But it all felt great. Afterwards, we scrubbed down, shampooing, and my klutz self christening the whole process by getting soap in my eye at the very beginning. Partially blinded, I somehow managed, and washed down while the kessala visited everyone else. Hemsa and I practiced the “you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours principle, and afterwards we cleaned off our kis’ and went back out to change. A picture of Hanan 2 stared at us change into fresh clothes, feeling more refreshed than I did in Colorado when I jumped from the hot tub to the frost and back again.

We came back from the Hammam to catch the end of the Italy-France game, which every male adult seemed to be watching (no women though) along all the café’s we passed. Even the men in the Hammam were talking about it. I think everyone else in the program is getting a little sick of watching soccer, but I, for one, find this European Cup to be my constant (for the Lost fans)– keeping me through the craziness.

6/16 The Running of the Bulls / “I learned to love him.”

Ask me about the titles when I get back.

As for what Arabic is like, this guy gives a fair description, though it's a bit too whiny for my taste.
http://www.slate.com/id/2120258/

6/15 "Like Kennedy, bam!"

After last night I slept in until 10:30. It seems my host family is way more chill than others. While Katrina had to fight with her family to let her get out (others couldn’t even stay out past curfew – when the sun went down around 8), my family was cool about me staying out late last night. I asked them when they would prefer I return, and they encouraged me to stay late and experience Morocco. Score.

Around 11:30 I had breakfast (as lunch doesn’t normally come until 2). While we were eating, a family friend came over. Welcome Mohamed, the conspiracy theorist. Mohamed was very friendly, and spoke English, but definitely bought into the stereotypical Hollywood stories. When he heard I was from Texas he started talking about how they all are Cowboys replete with hat, whiskey, and bar-fighting. I got him to agree that, the stereotype was more in the past, but then he continued. He told us how McCain would make America worse, and how Obama was better. Fair enough, but he continued. He told us that if Obama gets elected, he will be shot, “Just like Kennedy, bam!” Of course, the ‘reason’ he will be shot is that his dad is Muslim. Apparently, such 'connections' are also the reason Princess Diana was shot. That killed me. We tried to get the point across things weren't that bad, but he wouldn’t have anything contrary. It was pretty depressing.

On a lighter note: Tomatoes on sunburn! Wow, the miracle product from Morocco, Nezha first put some on Kass, who got it the worst of us two, and later myself. After about 10 minutes, it feels just like Aloe Vera, and even got less red.

Unfortunately, I think swimming yesterday gave me swimmers ear. These next couple of days won’t be that fun if it doesn’t go away. An ear infection is the last thing I need, when I can barely even make out the differences in ‘s’ between ‘sah’ and ‘sa’.

I wandered around for a while, and found the local church, which apparently has masses in English, French, and Korean (who knew?). I wandered back to the internet café by Hotel Berlin, where I met Geoffrey and Modolu. I returned at 7 to go to the jazz festival, and along the way, a highschooler tried to sell me hash, and he looked like he had taken a little too many free samples. Hemsa, Kass, Shay, and I met up with their classmates Michael and Caitlin and one of their brothers who led us to Chelah. We took petit taxi’s (the blue mobile’s) to the jazz place, running 10 DH a taxi.

While at the festival I saw Rachel, who was there with her salsa dancing friends, and Naomi and Kristen, who were with their aunt. We entered the festival, which was actually a concert, on the last song of the opening act. They were from England, and this piece was about a spider who lived in their garden. They were my favorite. After them came a French group that opened with a spitballed piece done on the fly. I didn’t like it very much, and the rest of the group felt the entire set the drummer overpowered the songs. The next three songs were pre-made by the band, and they were much better. This group was led by a trumpet player, who actually left for a smoke in the middle of the set. It totally added to the effect, though the guy was pretty snobbish despite. The next two guys to come up were on a mandolin and percussions. The percussion fellow opened by playing a gong with a violin bow, and afterwards moved to bongos, windchimes, a cymbol on a string, and a drumset. They were major talented (Hemsa’s favorites) and definitely had the whole Middle Eastern flare to them. Unfortunately the previous band came out to jam with them. They started off pretty good, so long as they stayed with the mandolin player’s beat, but then the trumpet guy tried to lead, and it just sounded like noise. We left as the beats slowed down, and walked downhill back to the house for “macaroni and cheese” (by that I mean pasta with grated cheese on top) to receive a well deserved rest.

6/14 "What's Crackilackin?"

Today we only had morning classes, so as to spend more time around the town. Afterwards I found my way back, as well as to the houses of Liz, Modoloo (who lives in the same block of housing complexes as I) and Kristen. It’ll take some getting used too, but by the end of the stay here I think I will have this Medina down.

After lunch I went to the beach with Hamsa. It was a last minute thing, and we were joining his friend Yness, so I didn’t have time to put on sunscreen. Four hours later my shoulders reminded me of the mistake. At the beach we alternated between playing pickup soccer games, juggling, swimming, and diving off the rocks into the Atlantic. The water isn’t as salty as the Gulf of Mexico, and we had a lot of fun playing in between dives, though the barefeet on the firm, new, fully pumped soccer ball ripped up my right foot.

After the beach, I ran home real quick to grab some sunscreen before going to my first surfing lesson. I met up with Sam, Whitney, Julia, and Katrina, and a French business lady here Kristell, who were also in my group. The instructors spoke English which helped out a lot, and Shafi surprised us with phrases like “I’m just Joshing you,” and “What’s Crackilackin’.” Because the waves were relatively flat here, the instructors surprised us with a trip down to “Hawaii.” We packed up our boards and traveled down to a beach a little southwest of the town. First we stretched and did a little ‘chariots of fire’ run down the beach side to warm up. It was well needed. The instructors then explained about the two lines that run down the surfboard, which serve as the balancing lines used throughout the entire process. For the next hour and a half we covered how to catch a wave and get up. The rest of the day was spent walking up to where the waves were breaking, and catching and riding them in. Wash out, rinse, repeat. The first couple times weren’t that successful, but eventually we all got it.

We made good friends with our surfing instructor, Shafi, who told us where we could get a cake for Naomi's birthday. After we all went home to change, we went out to Agdal, to meet up with the party that had already started without us. Katrina’s host brother drove Sam, Katrina, the instructor, and myself, down to Agdal, where we met up with Josh, Mat, Liz, Kristen, and Naomi. Our instructor knew one that was free, so we got them and took them over to Privelège. We had a great time, finally getting some "bizza" (there's no 'p' sound in the language) for dinner. The place had a DJ, and eventually a drummer came out to freestyle to it. We couldn’t sit with the beat, so we all got up and danced. Before leaving the club, I showed the locals the crip’ walk which apparently earned me the label of 'good dancer.' Our instructor knew everyone there, and he said the owner is like a brother to him. This just reinforces my rule from New Orleans – To find the best hangouts, hangout with the locals. Getting a local to show us around will probably be the best part of this trip.

We split at 1:30, and I finally laid my sunburnt self to bed.

6/13 "A Little Knowledge can be Dangerous"

After waking up to the first prayer call at 4:30, I continued the habit fearing I had missed my alarm each time. Finally at 7 my alarm and phone went off (I’m so glad my phone charger has a built in converter, as does the laptop). Then I faced the Turkish toilette. No one can understand the fun I had that morning when the shower head came off, unless you know what a Turkish toilette is. A Turkish toilette is two marked places for your feet, which surrounds a whole that’s maybe 2” in diameter. This one happens to have a douche (shower) above it, which let me to my first Moroccan game of ‘Go Fish, for the head in the hole.’ On the bright side, I’m now sure to remember to eat with my right hand only, as the left hand is the unclean one. Breakfast was toasted bread and jam (confiture – yay French). While we ate the rest of the family slept in the same room, my guess is they’ve left their actually rooms to give to the other Americans and I.

School was the same. The three hours really flies by, though it we could be more efficient if she let us do the writing parts at home. Sam, Whitney, Kacey, and Liz are my classmates, and we have the ‘slow’ class. There are three types of classes total, Beg. Adv., Beg. Int. and Beg. Basic – and the latter has two classes. To give an example, the first day we covered 6 letters in BB, the other class finished the alphabet song and counting up to ten. Everyday we are spending the last ten minutes going over Darhija, and I’ve already started confusing it with Fus’ha. Zahira only knows Darhija, though, so learning it will certainly be useful, but unfortunately not for the week in Egypt. Darhija only is understood in Morocco, Algeria, and Tunesia. Oh well.

In the afternoon we had a lecture on the Hamaam, the public bath house. She explained the special soaps and shampoos used, as well as that plant stuff used to temporarily tattoo the skin (used mainly by women). After learning the etiquette and motives behind it (including showing off jewelry, and finding a husband - by allowing the mother to see that you’re pretty) the lecturer shared some of her research on it. She told us if you don’t go molecules called ATP will actually shut down (on a side note that’s basically rigor mortis). This struck me as another example of what Farha was saying about many “knowing everything,” but few actually knowing the exact reasoning behind their actions. Many claim they know the best way, and this is supplemented by any facts or big words they pick up on the way. Not to say that it happens only here, I find we are often also guilty of the same. A little knowledge can be dangerous. Furthermore, because of the huge placement of society over the individual, I asked whether sick people go to Hamaam. She answered, “of course,” and that she knew people who don’t actually feel better until they go. I guess generalizations never work ; )

6/11 “The TV is part of the family.”

We met our families today. Wow! The lecture we received right before meeting them, which basically covered ‘how not to commit an international felony’ got the entire group pumped (and a little anxious) to meet there hosts. The two sisters came and got me from the cultural center ([Markesh Twahasel Athakaifet]). Amina is the eldest, must be the equivalent of a junior or senior in high school, and zahira is the youngest, maybe 8 tops. The mother is Nezha, who speaks French (so now I can survive), and the brother and elder sister speak all three (though English more sketch’ly). Hemsa, the brother (which I remember because khamsa is 5 in Arabic) is also in high school – and acts like the corresponding American teenage boy - led me around the medina and told me the street names. We went as far as the hanaan park. Along the way we stopped in a videogame hangout/café, where is father, Mohamed, was. Compared to other families the kids give the shy greetings, which I later figured is just because they want to practice their American handshake. The parents on the other hand, are very enthusiastic – already I’m known as “Attendez la tete!” as I walked into their overhang on my first try. After afternoon coffee and chocolate croissant, I “watched” soccer for about an hour on the TV that never sleeps while any are awake, while actually eavesdropping on the latest gossip between the mother and I assume, the grandmother.

Super-awesomely, Liz and Kristen’s families are related, as the mothers are all sisters (if I understood correctly), which makes us all cousins! They came over to visit for a while, and right before I met my American housemates. Shay and Kassie are two New York students doing gender studies here until July 3^rd. Instant bonding. Fortunately, they helped show me the ropes, and I was able to help translate in French between the family and the two foreign daughters. With their help, I’m sure my culture shock will be minimal, and I excitedly await tomorrow.

Hemsa tried to help with the homework, but he got bored when he saw I was just doing letters. Believe me, the work feels like I’m in grade school. He was, however, interested in the paper. Apparently they only use graph paper here, though for them I’m sure they drop the “graph” part of the name. I actually prefer their way, and will start using that for my work from now on.

O ya, and during/after dinner we watched some real life emergency medicine in Rabat. They have a channel much like Code Blue, which portrays the accidents and families of victims, and shows the doctors fixing them up. Also, we had a lecture today on ‘How to Stay Healthy in Morocco,’ and while the guy put most to sleep (it was no new applicable info), Liz – the other premed – and myself were fascinated with his stories. I’m constantly amazed at the medical experience which punctuates this trip. Layla Jaeda.

6/11 “It’s not exactly black…”

I made change today. After 3 days of watching the waiters and manager of the internet café we have been frequenting, I finally found who to go up to for change for my dreaded 200 DH bill. Stores hate it here when you use them to break change, and buying a 8 DH café certainly fits the mold for such an event. To top it all off, the manager lady is quite curt. That’s why I went to the new guy. Eager to understand and too shy to reject, the new guy was the middle man for our little exchange.

Two things stand out from lectures today. First of all, the Moroccan culture is extremely polite; they’ll never tell you exactly when they have a problem. To quote, Farah, “They won’t say it’s white. Instead they’ll say, ‘It’s not exactly black…’” It reminds me of girl talk. Apparently you have to use context clues to get the full picture, and miscommunication is very common. That doesn’t bode well with my basic Arabic lessons. I wonder if they continue the charade when they have to see a doctor. Instead of “My leg is broken,” maybe it’s “Well, I can’t exactly walk straight…”

Following in suit, the game is played with food too. As a guest, you never show that you’re hungry. The only way you get food is when the host (usually the wife) forces it upon you. It all reminds me of lost males in need of directions. The game continues, and each time you refuse the host will be more insistent in their offer, eventually putting the food on your plate for you. At that point it seems proper to eat. Apparently this happens when you’re full too, at which point you say “Shukran,” then, “SaFet [C’est fait],” etc. Unfortunately, it has to be in that order, and if you go straight to “SaFet” it’s actually insulting. So knowing French can backfire, zut alors!

6/10 “Obama? Obama!”

First lesson today – crash course in Darhija, the local dialect of Morocco. The classic waiter lesson, along with introductions, is completely in Arabic. Why is it in languages we only learn how to say “I’m doing fine!” when asked? We also have a lecture (thankfully in English) as to language in Morocco, both styles and dialects. Apparently, Morocco has three main dialects, Classic Arabic (untouchable, as it’s the language of the Koran), Darhija, and a Middle Moroccan dialect, which is a mix of the two, used by debaters in politics. Also we have a bus trip around the city, which is deceptively large and actually has a completely modernized side more towards the universities, which remind me of back home.

After returning we show the group where the internet café is, and stay until they close. Kicked out of the café on our first day, not bad. Apparently, one of the group members was cordially welcomed into the country because she was an Obama fan. Whitney, she reminds me of Kim from my MCAT prep class. Already, I find myself walking like a Moroccan dodging cars and not waiting for street signs – it's funny what reminds you of home.

6/9 "There is a Dog"

Both flights I had to catch from DFW to JFK to CMN sat me down next to two doctors also traveling to Morocco. This was fortunate, especially considering we were stuck for 3 hours at JFK before we could take off. Both men were with the Airforce reserve, and were going to do 2 weeks of medical mission work in Agadir. They and about 30 marines packed the plane. My neighboring doctor and I kept the time by talking about how he knows of a group who gets illegal aliens citizenship by training them for their exam (the toughest question being to write either ‘There is a dog,’ or ‘a cat’ – comprehension not being tested), and how he finds general medicine to be the most practical (after all, would you rather be stuck on a desert island with a specialist or a generalist). He spoke highly of my decision to go to Morocco, as any ability to adapt to an amalgam of circumstances will certainly come in handy in the future.

Fortunately, before boarding at JFK, I made friends with another student doing a six week homestay who was also separate from his group. He had significantly more Arabic training than myself (with a whopping 1 year), and thus when our 7 and a half hour flight arrived he stayed with me until I got my bags through.

After grabbing my bag I faced a fun instant challenge, find your group without the use of a phone or internet. I knew they had to have missed their flight as well (they also left from JFK) so I spent two hours reading the itineraries and guessing which they might have caught. After another hour and a half I spotted two ladies talking holding a sign with “SI” written on it. Hoping this was my ride I excused myself in French and found that, indeed, the last “T” resided hidden by her purse. With my exit route secured, I returned to my bench to finally take a breath.

The ladies disappeared for a while and returned with Kacey, a Chinese international student from Hong Kong studying in Yale. My first question after learning his name was whether he too was a beginner. He was. There is no faster way to make a friend. The group flight then arrived with only one member, Mely, a French speaking Poly-sci major from Texas who had a year of Arabic under her belt. After waiting another two hours we learned the group could not catch a flight from Madrid until 11, thus we left for the 2 hour drive to Rabat.

Driving along, the coast line jumps out on our left side. Instantly I realize how much of a walking country Morocco is. Though farmland stretches for miles beside the road, a sidewalk lies between and under several Moroccan’s feet. We make jokes about college life and “Casablanca” as we struggle against jet lag to stay awake.

I expected Rabat to be packed and I was not disappointed, but somehow, despite my expectations, I never actually realized what this would be like. We take our bags, seemingly heavier than when we packed them, up the winding staircase, and ask our multi-lingual hotel manager for the keys. After dropping off our bags we make a quick excursion to the local internet-café to let our families know we’ve arrived before returning to our beds for an earned nine hour sleep.