Out of Africa

I left Morocco on May 15 and spent the following two weeks traveling around Europe. It was great to do some more sightseeing and cultural adjusting before I returned home. It goes without saying that living in Morocco was such a vastly different experience from any I'd ever had before, and it gave me a new perspective and taught me about myself. The experience also set me up for amusing and embarrassing moments of culture shock. In Paris, I heard a protest chant and initially thought it was the call-to-prayer. I visited Starbucks for the first time in 4 months and my friend had to stop me from reaching into the garbage to retrieve a fallen coffee lid. I had to get used to tipping again, to being able to wear semi-revealing clothing, and to seeing so many white people. I think I annoyed my travel companions with my awestruck exclamations about everything from traffic lights to women walking alone.

Delta security was highly concerned about me on my flight from Prague to New York. After they learned I had spent 4 months in Morocco, they unpacked and x-rayed every single item in all of my bags (several times). There is a common Moroccan souvenir that especially worried them: it is a wood box that has a key hidden inside. You can't get the key out without performing a long series of complicated maneuvers on the box. Moroccans call it the "magic box", but airport authorities were not amused by this sealed box that contained unidentified metal.

I don't really know how to wrap up my Moroccan experience here; I am still reflecting on my experiences and learning from them. And I don't want to sound trite, but this was one of the best experiences I've ever had. It was so challenging at times--I was often frustrated, confused, and scared. But I discovered that it is in those moments that you learn the most. The lasting learning you get doesn't come from listening to a lecture on a comfortable chair in a warm classroom. I already know that my lasting learning is coming from the struggle to converse with my Moroccan host sister, from having to look down and walk quickly whenever a man passed me, from getting in arguments with Moroccan waiters and landlords, from living off of only bread and tea for a week, and other such moments. In some ways, I've started to learn from this experience how to travel and how to live.

When I compare one of my first memories of Morocco to the way I was living at the end of the program, I realize that it is eventually possible to be at home anywhere. During the first, nerve-wracking weekend with my host family, my host mother told me I should leave the house. I hadn't made any plans with friends yet and I had never walked around Rabat without the group, so I was terrified walking the unfamiliar streets by myself. I remember at one point, I was so lost and everything was so foreign--I was lost on a new continent in a whirlwind of new smells, sounds, and sights. I couldn't stay still or I would get harassed, but I couldn't keep walking because I didn't know where I was going. I couldn't go home because my host mom told me to get out of the house. I just burst into tears and ended up making a very expensive phone call home. But by the end of my program, I knew Rabat so well that I was possessive of it. What were these tourists doing here in my city?! It's amazing how we can adjust to anything.

I made great friends on this program, and we became close not only because you're never by yourself in Morocco, but also because we went through challenging experiences together. Being stuck on a bus full of flies and rotting meat on a flooded road can unite people like nothing else!

I have so much to say about Morocco and my experiences there, so talk to me in person about it sometime. I'm hoping to go back in the next few years, insha'Allah!

Until then, as-salamu alaykum (may peace be upon you).

B'slemma

For the last three weeks I have been living in a large, traditional riad-style Moroccan home with 12 other girls. For my cumulative independent study project, I have been studying the social motivations and consequences of code-switching between Darija and French on Moroccan radio stations. I’ve conducted 20some interviews and I got tours of some big Moroccan radio stations. I’m really interested in this project and it makes me wish I were a linguistics major.

This is my last week in Morocco, and I can’t believe it. Tomorrow we are moving into the same hotel we stayed in during orientation week, and it is crazy to think about how much has changed since January. I am more comfortable in this country than I ever thought I would be. I remember my first thoughts about Morocco as I rode the bus from the airport—I couldn’t believe how green Rabat was, and seeing all the women in hijabs was a shocking sight. Now I walk down “vegetable street” without noticing the fish heads strewn in the street, hanging sheep carcasses, and cats with no eyes or fur. Frankly, I have become hardened to gruesome sights, to the sight of poverty, to sexual harassment, and to unclean conditions. I don’t want to lose this shell; as corny as it is, I think living in Morocco has made me a better traveler and learner. I have truly come to love Morocco. As frustrating and repressive as it can seem sometimes, it is a wonderful place and I’m so glad I studied here. I want to share all the things I love about Morocco with everyone.

Tonight I came across my BlackBerry in my suitcase. It was strange to see and it reminded me of all the things that will seem foreign to me when I return to the States. On the list are: toilets, soap in restrooms, crosswalks, showers, escalators, signs in English, people showing skin on the street, customer service, water fountains, people on their phones, trash cans, hot water, sirens, traffic and driving, suburbs, ice cubes, pets, and churches.

An Abridged Glossary of my Moroccan Experience

Khobz bizzef

In a pre-emptive measure to ameliorate what Barnard calls "reverse culture shock", I am going to list some of the terms most commonly used by American students in Rabat. This way, you can recognize them when I use them back in the States. Most of these are in Moroccan Arabic (Darija).

Shoukran سُكْرَاً: "Thank you". The word most commonly used by American students in our homestays. Often, even if the rest of the conversation is in French or English, shoukran will be said at the end.

Bizzef: "A lot"; "very". Usually used in reference to the amount eaten at a meal or to the amount that something is zuina.

Zuina: "Beautiful" or "handsome" (zuine), but also used by American students to mean "delicious", "great", or "I don't know what you just said, but I heard the word 'Morocco'".

Shwia: "A little". Usually used to describe the amount of Arabic we know when asked by mulhanoots. Should be used to describe any amount less than bizzef.

(Mul)hanoot: "Shop(keeper)". Hanoots are the ubiquitous, tiny stores located in the Old Medina that miraculously contain everything you could want. They sell soda, candy, Pringles, and khobz, among other things. Can be specialized, for example, an electronics hanoot sells adapters, cords, fake iPods, etc.

Khobz: "Bread", but not just any bread. See image. As bread is used for all actions involving food, this is a very common term. Sold in wheels for about 1 dirham each. Usually associated with safi. See also: liferaft

Liferaft: refers to the khobz-induced weight gain all around the abdomen. Results from insufficient use of safi.

Safi: "Enough". From the French "ca suffit". Used whenever we want something to be over: force-feeding, Arabic class, harassment, etc. It is often necessary to repeat several times.

Landmines (or surprise tiles): The stone tiles that cover the ground of the Old Medina. Most of the tiles are not actually attached to the ground, and after it rains, even the flattest of tiles can dip and plunge your foot into a huge, hidden puddle.

Mashi moushkil: "No problem". A typical usage:

Student A: "You showed up 30 minutes late to our rendez-vous!"

Student B: "Yeah, my family wouldn't let me leave without having tea and khobz bizzef."

Student A: "Ah, mashi moushkil!"

This term was used after every shoukran during the village stay, but our Rabat families don't use it very much.

Hamdulilah الحمد لله: "Praise be to God" or "Hallelujah". This term is always appropriate. "How are you doing?" "Hamdulilah!"

Insha'allah إن شاء الله "God willing". Use this term whenever referring to the future, even if the event is certain. Ex. "I will see you in class tomorrow, insha'allah".

Hshuma: "Shame". This is actually a very important word in Morocco, and Moroccans' concept of shame is so different from ours. Hshuma is used in raising children, warding off street harassers, scolding women for showing too much skin or walking outside with wet hair or eating in public or dancing in front of men or walking with a man who isn't their dad/brother, etc. American students use it as a verb as well. For instance, you might ask your friend: "My skirt barely goes down to my knees. Am I hshuma-ing?" I am so used to living by the Moroccan sense of propriety that when I see tourists in shorts or tank tops I am offended. Hshuma is an interesting concept that I will discuss later.

SAFI.

A glimpse

French quarter of Marrakech, Sunrise in the Sahara, my first henna (done by host sister), tannery in Fes

Village Stay

My family didn't reach a consensus on whether to smile or not. Nagette, Zenib, Mom, and Hiat.

Value Village

Typical 2 hours in a rural Moroccan village:

6:00 am Wake up on the ground next to host brother and sisters

6:10 Escorted by siblings to a patch of ground behind the cows. Instructed to pee there, in front of cows, siblings, and the neighbor's bedroom window

6:15 Take in the foggy sunrise over the rolling green hills. Baby chicks scurry around my feet, the rooster crows, and my 6 siblings pull me into a game of soccer

6:45 I enter the kitchen, where my host mom is sitting on the dirt ground in front of the fire. She's making fresh bread for breakfast while my older host sister, Hiat, is making tea (that tastes like sugar water) over a burner on the ground. In the kitchen there is only one table at knee height, some small plastic chairs, and a row of plastic bottles filled with olive oil. They make their own olive oil here and we eat it with bread at breakfast, tea, and dinner

7:15 Breakfast. Father comes in from herding sheep to join us at the short table. My youngest brother, Mohammed, has a cold and no one stops him from coughing on the food or in our faces

7:30 With my older host sister, Fuzia, I carry large plastic bottles to the well about a kilometer from the house. The surface of the well water is green from algae and frogs swim freely in the well, but we gather water and this is what they'll drink from and use to wash dishes

7:45 I help Fuzia "wash" the breakfast dishes. Because we eat the bread with our hands from a communal plate, there are only teacups and a plate to wash. A tiny bit of soap then a dunk in the well water is the wash cycle

8:00 3 of my host siblings (Nagette-11, Ayoub-13, and Zenib-8) run down the road to school. The school looks fairly new and consists of 3 classrooms for different age groups. The older kids study Classical Arabic and French. I play catch or soccer with Mohammed, who is around 3 years old. Although he got me sick, I developed a special fondness for him because his face lit up whenever he saw me. All the kids here are remarkably happy, certainly compared to the ones I know in Rabat and New York. It seems like such a healthy lifestyle for them. They don't even know much about what the internet is! They spend their time picking wildflowers and playing soccer. They are easygoing and easily-entertained, which is lucky for foreign visitors!

I stayed with this family (and their 2 cows, 1 donkey, 5 chickens, countless baby chicks, 2 dogs, and 15 sheep) for a week. There was no running water or electricity. I changed my clothes once, and slept in jeans. It's hard to write about the village stay because I loved it half the time and hated it the other. I'll just include the diary entry I wrote during the stay. Again, it has not been edited for this site, so please excuse lack of structure.

3/21(?) I'm not keeping track of days here

I don't even know what to write about village stay. At times it makes me so happy; at times it frustrates me to no end. It is not the lack of hygiene or modern amenities that bothers me (although it does bother my digestive system!). It's the lack of control/independence. And I thought my Rabat family was restrictive! I have not been alone this whole trip, including for going to the bathroom. I tried sneaking out to the toilet spot behind the cows today, but was soon followed by a few siblings. I can't make plans with friends because I am obligated to get henna (for the 3rd time--this is getting old!). As a 21 year old, it is frustrating having NO choices about my day. Eating, urinating, sleeping (I get tucked in), reading, and playing are all monitored and regulated by at least one family member. Don't get me wrong; they are extremely nice and hospitable. Mohammed, the youngest, is the most adorable and happy child ever. Striking after babysitting spoiled NYC kids. These kids are mature in a different way. My host family is pretty smart about the farm, but at least my mom (maybe others) is illiterate. Here are some moments of the village stay so far:

--Hearing Beyonce on the radio while getting henna from Fuzia

--Going to the well and seeing Mohammed running after me, grinning

--Holding a soft, white newborn lamb

--Having conversations with Mohammed consisting only of "la bess?" (Ca va?)

--Playing catch with my siblings in the grass until the sun goes down

--Waking up to the fresh air and vast fields of green

--In a discussion with the village women, being asked if Americans die!

--Walking with friends in search of a place to pee, but being followed by sheep

--Picking wildflowers every day

--Host sisters asking me to tell them what the back of their face wash instructs them to do, since they can't read

--Host sisters crying when I left. What a surprise!

Gender

Before living in Morocco, I really had no conception of the ways gender plays out in Muslim countries. To some degree, I held the common stereotype of veiled, marginalized Muslim woman. After a month and a half here, I feel fairly comfortable making some observations about gender in Rabat. Morocco is probably the most "Westernized" Islamic country in terms of, among other things, its treatment of gender. I can really only speak about Rabat because I have experienced noticeably different interactions (or lack thereof) in Marrakech, Essaouira, Casablanca, and the countryside.

During our orientation we received some context for street harassment, which has occasionally mitigated my frustration. In the chaos after colonialism and independence, Moroccan women rarely left the house during their lifetimes. The house was their domain; they had full control over everything that occurred indoors. There were even some rooms that men could not enter without permission, such as the courtyard and terraces. Moroccan homes still have a window over the door, through which Moroccan women would traditionally look before deciding if they wanted to let the men of their house enter. Women had full control over the household, but that meant that outside the door was entirely the men's world. Men ruled the streets, and if a woman ventured outside, that meant she wanted to be "hunted". Like a gazelle, the woman was supposed to run and hide when outside.

Traditionally, Moroccan men and women do not meet each other in the same ways Americans do. Instead of at parties or at the office, Moroccans find their dating partners on the streets. So, when a woman is on the street, it means she wants to be hunted. When a Moroccan woman is interested in the man calling after her, she will respond in subtle ways. Moroccan men have to be very creative in their street remarks. They usually speak French to any white women, but I have heard catcalls in Darija, German, Chinese, and English too. They are especially entertaining when they try to attract us with elements of American culture. Here are some amusing/harmless ones:

"So far so good?"

"Spice girls!"

"Yes, we can!...No, we can't!...Yes, we can!"

"Ca va?" (no response) "Ah, ca va pas? Quel dommage!"

(I had just showered) "Is it raining somewhere?"

(When I was walking and eating) "You hungry?". This was actually the only time anyone in this country has cared if I am hungry!

Here are some responses we are supposed to use if we actually feel threatened by street harassment. I apologize for incorrect transliteration. In order of increasing severity, they are:

1. Shouma! ("Shame", to be discussed in another post)

2. S'ir b'halek! ("Go away!)

3. B'sill!

4. Nta h'mar ("You are a donkey", very offensive)

It is pretty rare to see a woman (especially Moroccan) walking alone outside the medina. I went for a run along the Bouregreg river the other day and realized that I was the only woman by myself as far as I could see. I wanted to stop and look out over the water, but I would have felt supremely uncomfortable standing still alone outside the medina. While walking, I have quickly adopted the modest, female Moroccan gaze: eyes angled down at 45 degrees or less.

Public Displays of Affection:

I didn't even realize that my host brother (Youssef) and sister-in-law (Fadila) were married until I went outside the medina with them. In the house, within view of Youssef's mother, they seldom interact and never touch each other. Outside, their P.D.A. is limited to Youssef's grabbing Fadila's sleeve. Couples congregate by the hundreds by the river at dusk--all around, everyone is in pairs. I don't think I can adequately explain how striking it is.