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.

Some notes about home

It is kind of cool and frustrating that almost every day in Rabat I must walk through the souks (marketplaces) and rue Mohammed V. I've said that if I were blindfolded, I could easily tell if I were in the medina or in the Ville Nouvelle just by the smell. The medina smells like bread (even the smallest stores sell wheels of "choubs"), spices, and trash (trash cans sit out in the middle of large avenues). Walking down "souk road" on rue Souika, you'll pass hamsters, animal carcasses, juice stands selling delicious fresh-squeezed juice, fake DVD stores, electronics stores, leather goods, crafts made of cedar, and much more. You shouldn't walk down this street if you're in a rush! I can smell the souk now even though I'm miles away.

My host family's TV is always on while I am awake, even if there is no one in the room. I want to get out and explore Rabat, but because my family rarely leaves the house, I feel like I treat them like a hotel. Only when my English-speaking host sister, Fatiha, is home (late, after night school) is there ever a chance of seeing something with English. There's no clock in the TV room, so I've learned to tell time based on what TV show is plahying. There's the Spanish soap opera "Margarita", the 8:45 French news report (which usually means dinner will start cooking soon), a comedy about this child with a horrible unibrow, and of course, dubbed Jackie Chan movies (Youssef's favorite). I find that watching TV for so long in a language I don't know gives me plenty of time to think/daydream. Maroc Telecom (phone/internet company) is the biggest advertiser on billboards and on TV. I was thrilled when I learned enough Arabic to understand what those commercials are saying!

I went to the hammam last week, which is like a Turkish bath. I was a little nervous, but you quickly lose all shame when everyone else is naked too. It is so crazy to see how covered women have to be on the streets, but once they are separated from men in the hammam, they make a social ritual out of shedding their clothes with their friends. Makes me wonder what culture is actually the most modest. I found the same thing when I tried a belly-dancing class. The teacher pulled a curtain across the studio so men couldn't see in, and then the women stripped to "economical" and flashy outfits. They seemed much more at ease when they were with their friends in this safe zone. Anyway, back to the hammam...

You go through this series of 3 different rooms of increasing temperature and there are certain activities that are supposed to happen in each room. I went with friends instead of with my host family because my family goes when I'm in class. Therefore, I didn't know what was supposed to happen in each room. You fill up buckets, lather with a black, oily soap, rinse with buckets, use a mitt to scrub off all your dead and dirty skin, lather with your own soap, rinse, shave, and finally shampoo. I have to say, I understand now why Moroccans don't shower that often! My skin felt so clean and different after the hammam.

My cousins and I saw a husky on the street the other week. What was more amazing than seeing a husky in Morocco was seeing the hordes of men with cameras and cell phones swarming around the strange creature!

Journaling on the go

I am aware that it has been a very long time since I last blogged. This is partly because I have been very busy, with visits from parents and cousins, studying Arabic, and lord knows what else. I just returned from SIT's week-long "Southern Excursion". I had such a great time. Below are some of my entries from my travel journal. They were not written for this blog, so please excuse lack of organization.

2/27/10 Middelt, Middle Atlas (day 1)

Went to a picnic lunch in the cedar forest in the Middle Atlas mountains. Had peanut butter and didn't realize how much I missed it! Saw some Barbary apes, sheep, donkeys, and Amazighs (Berbers). Now I have a migraine from mint tea withdrawal! Makes sense, as I am accustomed to drinking at least 3 glasses with breakfast. Our hotel looks right out over the Atlas Mountains. Middelt is a quiet town used as a last stop by travelers before they cross the mountains. It was shocking to see snow in Morocco. We passed some beautiful lakes in the foothills and a Swiss-style town (Ifrane) that really felt like Europe, with red sloping roofs, a tranquil stream, and a famous (?) stone lion. Our hotel is refreshingly fancy. I'm sleeping on an actual mattress, there are only 2 people to a room (instead of 6+), and there are outlets and showers!

3/2/10 on the bus en route to Marrakech

Stalled behind a stuck bus on a flooded road. These roads are obviously not made for rain, and there is at least 3 feet of water rushing over this road. A taxi just tried to get across and failed. This is quite amusing--reminds me of fording the river on Oregon Trail game.

Last night our group had dinner with some Moroccan girls ages 12-20 at a dormitory that helps girls get an education. It was awkward at first (many of them do not speak French or English), but there were some really good moments. It was funny to see the girls giggling over how much they loved Max (a guy on our program). Their embarrassed whispers and blushing cheeks could be understood by any girl who has had a crush. We managed to communicate through gestures and smiles. The most poignant moment for me was when we took turns singing our national anthems for each other. Usually in the U.S., I do not put my hand over my heart during the national anthem and I usually spend the song thinking about the problems of patriotism and whatever problems the U.S. is having domestically and internationally. I hadn't thought about this before, but my not covering my heart has been a personal (and meaningless) protest of all the things I don't like about the United States. But when I reluctantly stood up to sing our national anthem (by the way, why is ours so hard to sing? we sounded ridiculous), the Moroccan girl next to me, Rashida, gestured for me to put my hand over my heart. Rashida is 14, and she looked at me like I was crazy for not covering my heart. At this dinner I was the most proud to be American that I have been in a long time. No matter my problems with the country, I have to recognize all that it has provided me. I've been enjoying a relatively spectacular education, having a U.S. passport makes travel so much easier, and some people would literally kill to live in the U.S. I have to remember to be grateful that we have relative (compared to many other countries) freedoms to think, express ourselves, live, and love. Of course, no country is perfect, but at least some people in the U.S. have the freedom to recognize this and try to improve things in more meaningful ways than refusing to cover their hearts for our national anthem.

3/5/10 Marrakech

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/11/travel/11hours.html?_r=1

Laura, Katherine and I are in Marrakech following the NYT's article called "36 Hours in Marrakech". We had a very nice and relaxing lunch at KosyBar today. I had bread and ravioli in goat cheese and a Corona. I felt like I was in New York, eating well and being productive exploring the city. It was calming to look over the square filled with fabrics and spices while I ate on a plush white couch. It has really come to my attention here that there is more than one Morocco. The life I experience with my host family in Rabat couldn't be more different from the weekend I'm having in Marrakech. Both are good, but I'm having a very happy weekend. Essaouira was beautiful as well. Very touristy (as is Marrakech), but less stuff to do. I loved the white and blue walls next to the ocean. Felt Greek but was designed by a French man (the name means "well-designed"). I actually preferred the miniature medina there because it was cleaner, brighter, and more manageable. Street harassment is rarer, and I haven't seen this many white people since I've been in Morocco. Had lunch in Essaouira by the ocean with some friends and got offered some "happy cookies". Yep, it's kind of hippie here, as well as European, bright, and warm. Not much to do, so I'm glad we rushed to Marrakech.

There is so much amazing stuff to buy here, but after living in the medina in Rabat, where people constantly yell at me to buy their goods, I have become desensitized to a lot of the beautiful items.

SIT has done a really good job of getting us to see a lot of stuff. It sometimes feels like a big field trip, but I don't regret it.

3/6/10 Marrakech

Yesterday morning at breakfast we got into a huge fight with our waiter. He tried to charge us for pancakes we didn't receive and was very rude to us. We refused to pay for what we didn't get, and as we walked out, he said "You're not English; you're Irish!".

Last night we had a cheap dinner across the street, but our dreaded waiter from breakfast saw us in the other restaurant and came to speak with our dinner waiter. We thought something dangerous would get added to our meals after their heated conversation. But the threat of food poisoning has passed. We then went to Le Comptoir, a beautiful bar filled with roses and lit only by candles. The music, drinks, and chocolate souffle were incredible. We have to come back tomorrow night!

Today we had a leisurely breakfast to avoid the rain, and our adventures have been perfectly timed with the weather ever since. We went to La Mamounia hotel and gardens, which were verdant, fragrant, and light. No expense was spared in this luxurious hotel. Next was Jardin Majorelle, which was less impressive but more lush and colorful. This weekend has been flawless--productive relaxation!

Our hotel here costs about $6.50 USD a night! There are no sheets on the bed, but that doesn't matter. We're finishing the 36 hours tomorrow with a full body scrub and massage at Les Bains de Marrakech.

I'll be sad to go back to Rabat. Marrakech is much more entertaining and culturally interesting.

Fake chewing

Living in a conservative, Muslim home in Morocco is almost completely different from living at a liberal-arts college in New York City. For instance, I have a curfew at 7pm most nights! I'm still nervous, so I'm acting with much care at home, but even still, I'm sure I have offended my host family several times already. At dinner tonight, I noticed two conversations in Arabic that were unmistakably about me. I often wonder what incentive these families in the Medina have to take in gauche American students. I wouldn't be surprised if the only thing we provide is something at which to laugh.

At least we break up the monotony of days spent only watching TV! Moroccan homes seem to center around TV, even more so than American ones. The TV in my Moroccan house is on from the moment I wake up until after I go to bed, and the family members spend the whole day in front of it. The women in my house live an especially unenviable life. The farthest distance I've seen most of them travel is from the kitchen to the TV room.

We have all been eating so much here. If I stop eating for even a second, all the family members prod me: "Kooli! Mangez!" ("Eat!" in Darija and French). Dinner is usually at 10pm, so I'm never in the mood to eat anyway. After talking with a friend from the program, I realized I am not the only one who has resorted to pretending to chew so as not to have to eat any more. But even that doesn't always work. I have basically started fasting from 9am to 9pm in preparation for these dinners. I guess I'll have to find a new strategy though, because my host mom still told me tonight that I don't eat very much.

The highlight of my homestay so far has been the only time I went out with a family member. My host brother, Youssef, took me on a tour of the Bouregreg river, which divides Rabat and its sister city, Sale. The walk was so pleasant-- the sun was setting and for once I didn't have to worry about street harassment because a man was with me. Youssef taught me about Moroccan music and played some of his favorite songs while we sat on the rocks beside the river. This was when I knew I was going to be happy here despite all the cultural adjustments. Youssef's wife grabbed my hand later in the souk so I wouldn't get lost. For me, that small gesture made Morocco more of a home.

S'miti Rachel...

I've been in Morocco for almost a week, and it's hard to decide what to write about. All week we have been learning about Moroccan history and culture, how to communicate with our host families, and how not to get robbed or mugged or imprisoned or accidentally engaged to a Moroccan man. Our days have been starting at 7:30 with a delicious breakfast of pastries (pain au chocolat!), cheese, fresh OJ, tomatoes, and cucumbers. We've then been attending lectures about bargaining, street harassment, Moroccan politics, survival Arabic, and the like. It's a little tedious, but I am much less nervous about acclimating now.

I was most nervous about the homestay. After a lecture about how to refuse 7th helpings of dinner and how to use a Turkish toilet, we got to meet our host families. Only my host mom came to meet me, and she came half an hour late. But she seems nice enough. We spoke French to each other, and I realized my French is severely lacking. I'll get a lot of practice with it though, at least until I learn more Arabic! She only stayed to talk to me for 5 minutes, but I think I have 3 grown host siblings who live with her. Supposedly I will have my own room and hot water occasionally, so I'll be ok! I am a little worried that it will be lonely with no other kids in the house and a single mother. My friends' host families include plenty of young children, which would be more entertaining. But more pstilla for me!

I haven't gotten to explore Rabat as much as I'd like yet. I've wandered down rue Mohammed V into a souk to bargain for a scarf and buy a cell phone. We've been so busy with seminars that it's hard to find daylight hours to walk around.

This weekend I'll be spending 48 hours with my mysterious host family. More to come!