Yes, I know it's been a long time since I've written anything. These last few weeks can be best described as busy and hot. The long days of school, homework, studying, spending time with the family, and writing are starting to get the best of me. On top of the busy day-to-day life is the heat. For example, this morning it was 106 (41 Celsius) at 10am, and a high at midday was around 115 (45C). I'm hoping that it might cool down to 100 so that I can play soccer on Thursday without getting heat stoke.
My language learning continues to be challenging. I would love to say it has been rewarding since I've been here in Morocco, but unfortunately that is not the case. I am studying Modern Standard (or Classical) Arabic (FusHa) and Moroccans speak Moroccan Arabic (Darija). I wish I could say that Darija was just a close dialect of FusHa, but the more that I am here and the more I learn, I really believe they are two different languages. One of my Moroccan friends described Darija as "Arabic spoken with a really bad accent." On top of the difference in accents, many (or most) words in FusHa are not the same in Darija. It can be really frustrating when I learn a bunch of new verbs, nouns, and adjectives in the classroom, only to come home and not hear a single one spoken by my host family or on the streets. Of course, it was my choice to study FusHa over Darija and despite the frustration, I do not regret the decision. In other Arabic speaking countries such as Jordan, Lebanon, Egypt, or the Gulf, their dialects of Arabic are much closer to FusHa and someone speaking Darija will most likely not be understood by people in these countries. Therefore, I have to remember that it will pay off in the long run to have a strong foundation in FusHa instead of Darija.
Besides occupying my time with language study, I spent quite a bit of time at weddings last week. My host family was invited to a wedding last week in Meknes (about 45 min drive from Fes). Having heard so much about Moroccan weddings, I was thrilled at this special opportunity and even got myself a djellaba. Djellabas are long one-piece robes that usually have a hood. As the traditional dress of Morocco, I felt that it would be appropriate to wear a djellaba to the wedding. Mounia, her mom, her sister Sana, Sana's husband, their daughter Umeiema, and I drove to the wedding last wednesday. To my surprise, the wedding was quite boring. The six of us sat around and talked on the rooftop, where we waited until 11:30pm for the bride and groom to arrive at the house. Moroccan weddings differ between regions (even cities) and social classes. Umeiema, the 16 year old daughter of Sana, told me that weddings in Meknes were different than those of Fes, and I could tell in her tone that she had a strong preference towards weddings in Fes. Furthermore, this wedding was in a lower income neighborhood in Meknes and therefore, there were few people, little decorations, and the electricity continually shut off, sometimes for more than an hour. Once the bride and groom arrived, there was a bit of a celebration outside the house to welcome them in, but the party still did not meet my expectations. The highlight of the night was actually talking to the brother of the groom, Robin. The conversation began when I told him I was studying Arabic and having some difficulty with it. It wasn't like learning Spanish and even he agreed that Arabic was one of the hardest, if not the hardest, languages to learn. He spoke Arabic (Darija and FusHa), French, Spanish, English, and German fluently, and knew a bit of Italian. He asked if I was a Christian (I guess assuming that all people from America are Christians...?) and by answering yes, began a long discussion about the two faiths.
It was evident that Robin liked to talk... a lot! He was very outspoken and opinionated. He spoke English faster than I could and in my opinion, it was the most excitement going on at the wedding. Sana, Mounia, Umeiema, and grandma kept trying to get him to shut up (as not to bother me), but didn't mind. It was one of those situations where someone brings up one of the forbidden topics at the dinner table-- money, politics, or religion-- and everyone is uncomfortable except for the one or two engaged in the conversation. I guess that's how it was. He told me that he had read much of the Bible but expressed difficulty in understanding two things... 1). How Jesus could be the "Son" of God and 2). How Jesus could be God ("isn't he the son?") As you can imagine, this sparked some great conversation as we talked about God and language, especially in regards to the first concern. Language is an illustration of truth, it is not truth itself. Language is used to make a point, or illustrate a truth, but it is not perfect. In this case, there are a lot of connotations with language, especially with particular words, that can take away from truth. Jesus is the son of Mary. Both Robin and I agree on that. Jesus is the son of God. I stood alone on this claim. However, the word "son" in "son of God" is not the same "son" as "son of Mary". The problem is that Robin had trouble understanding this concept because to him, the definition of "son" is 100% objective and cannot be applied to the latter case ("son of God"). If "son" means a boy who is the product of a man having sex with a woman (you get the gist of the definition?), than the "son of God" means that God must have had sex with a woman to have Jesus. Many Christians would think that this is absurd because we have taken the term "son of God" for granted. However, it is critical that we look at the language used to illustrate truth. Can we really blame people for having difficult understand that Jesus was the "son" of God when we really dive into that? Also, it is worth mentioning the second concern about Jesus being God. Putting aside the "son of God" topic and discussing "Jesus as God" was also an issue incomprehensible. He expressed frustration and confusion in the idea of the Trinity, which was completely understandable. It wasn't the time to start explaining the trinity in the Cappadocian terms of God being one "ousia" (inner-being) and three "hypostases" (outer-being). Even this explanation can be problematic as it sounds as if there are separate parts of God, instead of these (3) hypostases and (1) ousia which are God. His simple metaphors of the trinity he shared with me such as, "someone can be a brother, a father, and a son all at the same time" didn't do it for him (neither does it do it for me), and all I could say was that God is bigger and beyond my ability to think or comprehend. The problem lies in the concept of trying to explain and describe an existence that is beyond ourselves. It is impossible and therefore unsatisfying to many people. The point of our conversation was not that he disproved Jesus as the "son of God" and I proved he was, or that he bashed the idea of a trinity while I argued for it, because neither of those happened. He questioned these things out of a desire to understand, not to talk me out of my faith in hopes that I would join his. It was a dialogue to critically look at the two faiths and make the most of this opportunity to interact and engage "the other" (me being a Christian and himself a Muslim). When talking about the purpose of man, he asked me, "what is the purpose of man? I answered, "To glorify God." He lit up and agreed, "Yes! To glorify God!" Despite the differences in the way we seek to glorify God with our lives, we can come together on that fundamental truth-- that our lives would earnestly seek to glorify our creator. And I cannot help but wonder, "what does this look like in the eyes of our creator?"
So, back to the wedding..... nothing too exciting happened besides some delicious food at 12:30am! Yup, dinner after midnight. I learned a few days later (at the other wedding I attended) that this was actually EARLY! After dinner, we decided to head back to Fes, as I has class the next morning and Mounia had to work. We said our goodbyes and headed to the car parked down the street. The time was just after 1am and there were kids playing a game of soccer in the street. There were about six kids, ages 6-12 (I assume) playing soccer in the street, being loud, getting in little quarrels, solving conflicts and disputes, and having a great time, all without a single parent in sight! It was amazing . The more I thought about it, the more I questioned the concept of safety. People ask me about safety in Morocco. This snapshot I have of kids playing soccer in the street in the middle of the night is so ironic because people are so scared of Morocco, or North Africa, or the Arab world, as if it were some evil place where violence and hatred is rampant. Yet, at 1am on a Wednesday night, the streets are still full of kids. Back in my upper-class suburban neighborhood in San Diego, there is not a single soul out at 1am (a little exageration), but there sure are not kids playing soccer by themselves (no parents around) in the streets!!! And even if kids wanted to go out and play soccer at 1am, I dont think that the parents would be too keen on the idea. Why? The first reason I guess would be "safety". "Its too late... It's not safe... There are a lot of dangerous people out this late" might be some of the responses from the concerned parents. The irony is that people assume "the other", or the unknown, (especially in the Arab world) is "not as safe as America" when in reality, that is far from the truth. With knowledge of, experience and interaction with "the other", we start to break down our stereotypes and misconceptions and begin to learn the reality of the world in which people really live. This is usually not a fun or easy process, but instead a painful paradigm shift that takes place within. I think Shakira's words, "I prefer an ugly truth to a beautiful lie" speak volumes. Although she was referencing the people of Colombia who live surrounded by a difficult reality, these words are relevant to those who are seeking truth. It is not always beautiful, but it is only truth that will set you free. Life is full of surprises and from my experience, it is the truths that are most difficult and shocking that are often the most important to accept.
Unfortunately, I am out of time to write about my wedding experience in Tangier (which was much more exciting than the one in Meknes, served dinner at 4am and went on until past 6am), meeting my good friend Taha at the airport in Tangier as he arrived back home after nearly 8 months overseas, and the other exciting things going on. I need to get back to my school work for APU (regarding Moroccan Family Organization) as well as a few Arabic assignments that need to be turned in tomorrow. I hope this update finds you well and may peace be upon you! Asalaama' Aleikum!
Ryan
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A Lesson Learned
After waking up before 7am for five days straight, I'm ready to sleep in a little bit on the weekend. Saturday is my day to sleep in, but not this weekend. At 7:30, I was abruptly woken up by jackhammers outside my room (which is just a few feet off the street). I couldn't believe that the one day I want to sleep in, the jackhammers outside are braking cement, and the whole house is basically shaking. I did my best to get back to sleep, but I had to just accept that I wasn't going to get to sleep in this morning. A few hours later, I was eating breakfast upstairs when I heard Mounia call from the kitchen, "Ryan, ajii" ("Ryan, come"). She had prepared several platters which included bread, pastries, olives, dates, and a huge platter with 2 pots of tea along with several bottles of water. She had me help her take the food downstairs and take it to the workers who were working outside to repair the waterlines. They took a break from their jackhammers and shovels and came to accept the snacks with much gratitude. At first, in my selfish, Western, and frustrated mindset, I almost asked Mounia why she was giving them all this food. I mean, they woke ALL of us up at 7:30 with their jackhammers, they've made a mess of the streets and have given us headaches the past few days with all their noise and dust, and NOW you're giving THEM food? What are you thinking!?!?!
Since I couldn't take all the trays down to them in one trip, she made me take the rest while she stayed inside. She wasn't being rude, but culturally sensitive (can someone even be culturally sensitive in their own culture.... or are they just being themselves?) I assume that culturally, she didn't feel like it was a good idea to go take the food to them. She could have done it in several trips but instead she had me do it. If she were to serve the (all male) workers, she might be looked down upon by others in the neighborhood as this kind act of providing the workers with some food might have been portrayed as something more (if you catch my drift). When a single lady does something like this for a group of males, it may carry sexually-charged connotations... in this culture, in this situation.
So, I was making several trips out to the workers bringing them food, water, tea, and so forth. They were so appreciative and I brought smiles to their faces. Yet, I was completely humbled because not only was it NOT my idea to bring this food, they assumed that this was a gift from me and it wasn't. It was these very workers that I was frustrated at and wanted to have nothing to do with. After all, they woke me up with their noisy equipment at 7:30 and I didn't get to sleep in (poor me). I felt completely unworthy to be serving this food when I had such animosity, or frustration, toward them. I learned a lot in this simple act of service. Never could I imagine myself, or someone else, taking refreshments and snacks out to some construction workers back in the States who were working with jackhammers at 7:30 on a Saturday morning in my neighborhood. For Mounia, there was no question of if she should bring them something to eat and drink. The question was how much can she bring them so that they are full and content; not tired, hungry, or thirsty. I will never forget this simple, yet powerful, act of service. May we all learn from this simple act. Would the world not be a better place if we took the time to serve our enemies (this morning at 7:30, they were my enemies!)? I think Jesus said something along those lines....
Since I couldn't take all the trays down to them in one trip, she made me take the rest while she stayed inside. She wasn't being rude, but culturally sensitive (can someone even be culturally sensitive in their own culture.... or are they just being themselves?) I assume that culturally, she didn't feel like it was a good idea to go take the food to them. She could have done it in several trips but instead she had me do it. If she were to serve the (all male) workers, she might be looked down upon by others in the neighborhood as this kind act of providing the workers with some food might have been portrayed as something more (if you catch my drift). When a single lady does something like this for a group of males, it may carry sexually-charged connotations... in this culture, in this situation.
So, I was making several trips out to the workers bringing them food, water, tea, and so forth. They were so appreciative and I brought smiles to their faces. Yet, I was completely humbled because not only was it NOT my idea to bring this food, they assumed that this was a gift from me and it wasn't. It was these very workers that I was frustrated at and wanted to have nothing to do with. After all, they woke me up with their noisy equipment at 7:30 and I didn't get to sleep in (poor me). I felt completely unworthy to be serving this food when I had such animosity, or frustration, toward them. I learned a lot in this simple act of service. Never could I imagine myself, or someone else, taking refreshments and snacks out to some construction workers back in the States who were working with jackhammers at 7:30 on a Saturday morning in my neighborhood. For Mounia, there was no question of if she should bring them something to eat and drink. The question was how much can she bring them so that they are full and content; not tired, hungry, or thirsty. I will never forget this simple, yet powerful, act of service. May we all learn from this simple act. Would the world not be a better place if we took the time to serve our enemies (this morning at 7:30, they were my enemies!)? I think Jesus said something along those lines....
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Seeing With New Eyes
At first,I want to say that nothing too thrilling or adventurous has happened recently. But then when I think about the last week or so, I'm reminded of the exciting new things that I'm experiencing here in Morocco. Learning Classical Arabic, going to Casablanca for the weekend, meeting up with several friends, going to the 3rd largest mosque in the world, buying a bike, and finding a group to play futsal (soccer) with, are some of the highlights over the past 10 days. I'll start by describing my typical day as an Arabic student...
My alarm goes off on my cell phone between 6:45 and 7:00 in the morning. Wishing, more than anything, that I could go back to sleep, I make my way to the bathroom to take a quick shower, grab a quick breakfast, consisting of coffee and milk, pastries, bread, olive oil, olives, bread, and more bread. I make my way to school around 7:30am. Because I live so far from ALIF (my school- Arabic Language Institute in Fes) I invested in an old mountain bike to get me to and from school. The first few days I made the walk, but it took nearly an hour each way. I have a two hour class in the morning and another two hour class in the afternoon, which means that I make 4 trips to and from school every day. When you do the math, it adds up to almost 4 hours of walking and about 10 miles (16km or so). So I decided to purchase a bike. The bike gets me to school in a quarter of the time (about 15 min each way). It saves me about 3 hours of walking and more time to study, read, eat, sleep, socialize and do homework for the afternoon class.
After my first class, which goes from 8am-10am, I usually come home and sleep. If I'm not too drained, I will read some and catch up on school work for my GLT classes for APU. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I play futsal with a group of students from ALIF, as well as local Moroccans. For those of you who don't know, futsal is soccer, but played instead on a basketball-like court, with smaller goals, and most often a smaller, heavier soccer ball is used that doesn't bounce as much as normal soccer ball. It is as hot as you know what. There is no shade and our game from 12:00-1:30 is scolding as the sun radiates off the cement. I bring 3Liters of water and it is gone before I get back to class at 2pm. In the afternoon, I return back to ALIF for my second class of the day. Learning Arabic is both invigorating and difficult. I feel like a 2nd grader, as I am learning a completely new alphabet. Furthermore, Arabic is written and read from right to left (with numbers being the exception), making writing challenging, sloppy and fun, all at the same time. I have really enjoyed it so far, but it is without a doubt, a hefty task ahead of me. The slightest change in pronunciation of a particular letter can change the whole word. For example, the word "Ha-Saw-D" means "harvest" whereas "Ha-Sa-D" means "jealousy", or "Sai-EED" meaning "Mr." and "sAh-YEED" (with more of an umpf on the "Ah-Y") means "happy" . There are several sounds in Arabic that are not comparable to any sound in the English language. This makes it difficult not only to say, but also to hear the difference, distinguish the sound, and identify what that sound/letter is. Despite the minor frustrations and completely new set of vocabulary and sounds, I'm really enjoying this stage of learning. I find it fascinating the links between Arabic and Spanish (if you know anything about the history of Spain and the Arab conquest, this makes perfect sense) as well as the commonalities between Arabic and Swahili (having spent some time in East Africa, I've picked up a bit of Swahili and there are definitely some overlaps that can be traced back to the Arab influence in Eastern Africa).
When class ends at 4pm, I usually ride my bike home, to be welcomed by Mounia and the extended family. The afternoons and evenings are social time. After a long day, I'm thrown into a whirlwind of chaos. Every day, there are different people coming in and out of the house. There are kids some days, aunts and uncles the next. It's hard to keep track of everyone and their relation to the family, but it is getting better with time. In the evenings, we often go out for an evening stroll into town along the promenade. There are hundreds, if not, thousands, of people out walking along the promenade every night between 8-11pm. Families are walking with their kids. I've been voted as the designated "dad", the one who pushes Medi (almost two) in the stroller all night. The funny thing is that this stroller is anything but new and is in desperate need fixing, or better yet, replacing. When you push the stroller, it turns sharply to the right. So the whole night, I'm having to push the stroller to the hard left, just to make it go straight. If you can picture myself pushing this stroller with a little boy in it and a couple Moroccan women, I'm sure it turns some heads among the locals. Mounia and her sister told me (they were joking of course)just to tell every one that this is my child. But when I thought about it, I thought it might have some negative, and more importantly, false, implications. I would rather not have people thinking that I came to Morocco and had a baby... that's just not the image I'm going for. But it's fun joking with the family!
Dinner is served any time between 10pm and midnight. It consists of coffee and milk, bread, bread, and some more bread. Sometimes, a light pasta, which includes spaghetti noodles and bland tomatoe sauce, is served. Dinner is always very light, because lunch is the main meal of the day. Evenings end with homework, studying, and usually a small dose of the news- Al Jazeera in Arabic. I retire to bed anytime between 11 and 1, to get a few hours of sleep before I start the day again.
Here's a short story of something I experienced a few days ago.... On Monday (or Tuesday... i forget), I was riding home on my bike after my last class. I saw a woman standing on the sidewalk and a man approached her looking infuriated. He began yelling at her, then slapped her across the face.. hard. It wasn't just a slap, but a SLAAP. I slowed down almost to a stop to looked back. My immediate reaction was to go over and yell at the guy. I was faced with a decision in which I didn't know how to act. I felt so bad for the lady. As I was way past the scene, still looking back, a guy on a moped stopped. I dont know if he saw the guy actually hit the woman, but he stopped, and I figured better he than me. I had no context to the situation, so I dont know what the problem was. It was a horrible situation (obviously more horrible for her..) and it was painful to see. I was faced with a decision that was beyond me. The fact that this happened in public took me by surprise. There is a powerful paradox in Morocco of shame and honor. In general, Moroccan women live a life that is honorable to her family, in fear of shame, whereas men can do things with no shame. I can explain this better and give examples if you ask me, but for sake of this, I'll leave it a bit more vague. The other afternoon however, that woman's honor was completely humiliated and turned into shame, while the man hit her without any shame, but in honor instead. I did not know how to process this. To my surprise, there were three things that stuck out to me as I tried processing this. 1- As I read that night some of my academic material for my work in Morocco, I read, "When a wife errs, it is also part of the culture for a man to beat her- an act considered abuse in Western societies." (Njoku, 2006: 103). 2- I told Mounia this story. Her reaction wasn't what I was expecting, "That is life" she said. She told me I shouldn't have done anything to interrupt the fight, and reacted as if this was a normal everyday occurrence. I saw not a single trace of sympathy for the woman. And finally 3- I talked with a male Moroccan friend about this. He said, "NEVER get in the middle of a fight between a man and woman (here in Morocco)". In my eyes, this incident was much more of a one-way street, as the woman showed no sign of retaliation. But my friend told me that if I were to do anything, both of them would instantly turn against me.
These weren't the answers or reactions I was looking for. This experience threw me a curve ball and I'm still trying to make sense of this. Through my Western eyes, this is completely wrong and abusive. Through the eyes of a Muslim Moroccan lady, this seems to be no big deal. I'm seeking to understand this situation through a Moroccan lens, but it isn't clear. I am reminded of the words of Marcel Proust, who says, "The real act of discovery consists not in finding new lands but seeing with new eyes." After all, I guess that is the purpose I am here, not just do discover a "new land", but to develop a new set of "eyes" to see the world. Please hear me out... I'm not justifying abuse by any means!!! However, I am trying to understand the reason for Mounia's reaction so that I can better understand the lens in which people make sense of the world and the people in it.
Well, it's time for bed. I have a test tomorrow and a big weekend ahead of me, as I have a friend from South Africa visiting Morocco and coming to Fes for the weekend. I have recently uploaded photos on my Flickr website from my weekend in Casablanca, particularly of the Hassan II Mosque, the 3rd largest in the world. It is one of the most remarkable works of architecture that I have ever seen. It was built about 15 years ago, and is said to be able to fit Paris' Notre Dame or Rome's St. Peter's Basilica INSIDE it! They estimate the price to build the mosque is anywhere from US$800 million to $3.2 BILLION!!!! If you ever get a chance to visit Casablanca (or Morocco), it is a must-see! Also, I have attached a link of some other pictures from Tangier, Fes and my homestay family. For those who do not have facebook, you should be able to access the pictures from this link....
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2086295&id=56904198&l=cd8adc54cb
and my Flickr page....
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ryansworldadventures
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my blog! I hope this finds you well, and I'd love to hear from you! Assalaam Aleykum! (Peace be upon you)
Ryan
My alarm goes off on my cell phone between 6:45 and 7:00 in the morning. Wishing, more than anything, that I could go back to sleep, I make my way to the bathroom to take a quick shower, grab a quick breakfast, consisting of coffee and milk, pastries, bread, olive oil, olives, bread, and more bread. I make my way to school around 7:30am. Because I live so far from ALIF (my school- Arabic Language Institute in Fes) I invested in an old mountain bike to get me to and from school. The first few days I made the walk, but it took nearly an hour each way. I have a two hour class in the morning and another two hour class in the afternoon, which means that I make 4 trips to and from school every day. When you do the math, it adds up to almost 4 hours of walking and about 10 miles (16km or so). So I decided to purchase a bike. The bike gets me to school in a quarter of the time (about 15 min each way). It saves me about 3 hours of walking and more time to study, read, eat, sleep, socialize and do homework for the afternoon class.
After my first class, which goes from 8am-10am, I usually come home and sleep. If I'm not too drained, I will read some and catch up on school work for my GLT classes for APU. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I play futsal with a group of students from ALIF, as well as local Moroccans. For those of you who don't know, futsal is soccer, but played instead on a basketball-like court, with smaller goals, and most often a smaller, heavier soccer ball is used that doesn't bounce as much as normal soccer ball. It is as hot as you know what. There is no shade and our game from 12:00-1:30 is scolding as the sun radiates off the cement. I bring 3Liters of water and it is gone before I get back to class at 2pm. In the afternoon, I return back to ALIF for my second class of the day. Learning Arabic is both invigorating and difficult. I feel like a 2nd grader, as I am learning a completely new alphabet. Furthermore, Arabic is written and read from right to left (with numbers being the exception), making writing challenging, sloppy and fun, all at the same time. I have really enjoyed it so far, but it is without a doubt, a hefty task ahead of me. The slightest change in pronunciation of a particular letter can change the whole word. For example, the word "Ha-Saw-D" means "harvest" whereas "Ha-Sa-D" means "jealousy", or "Sai-EED" meaning "Mr." and "sAh-YEED" (with more of an umpf on the "Ah-Y") means "happy" . There are several sounds in Arabic that are not comparable to any sound in the English language. This makes it difficult not only to say, but also to hear the difference, distinguish the sound, and identify what that sound/letter is. Despite the minor frustrations and completely new set of vocabulary and sounds, I'm really enjoying this stage of learning. I find it fascinating the links between Arabic and Spanish (if you know anything about the history of Spain and the Arab conquest, this makes perfect sense) as well as the commonalities between Arabic and Swahili (having spent some time in East Africa, I've picked up a bit of Swahili and there are definitely some overlaps that can be traced back to the Arab influence in Eastern Africa).
When class ends at 4pm, I usually ride my bike home, to be welcomed by Mounia and the extended family. The afternoons and evenings are social time. After a long day, I'm thrown into a whirlwind of chaos. Every day, there are different people coming in and out of the house. There are kids some days, aunts and uncles the next. It's hard to keep track of everyone and their relation to the family, but it is getting better with time. In the evenings, we often go out for an evening stroll into town along the promenade. There are hundreds, if not, thousands, of people out walking along the promenade every night between 8-11pm. Families are walking with their kids. I've been voted as the designated "dad", the one who pushes Medi (almost two) in the stroller all night. The funny thing is that this stroller is anything but new and is in desperate need fixing, or better yet, replacing. When you push the stroller, it turns sharply to the right. So the whole night, I'm having to push the stroller to the hard left, just to make it go straight. If you can picture myself pushing this stroller with a little boy in it and a couple Moroccan women, I'm sure it turns some heads among the locals. Mounia and her sister told me (they were joking of course)just to tell every one that this is my child. But when I thought about it, I thought it might have some negative, and more importantly, false, implications. I would rather not have people thinking that I came to Morocco and had a baby... that's just not the image I'm going for. But it's fun joking with the family!
Dinner is served any time between 10pm and midnight. It consists of coffee and milk, bread, bread, and some more bread. Sometimes, a light pasta, which includes spaghetti noodles and bland tomatoe sauce, is served. Dinner is always very light, because lunch is the main meal of the day. Evenings end with homework, studying, and usually a small dose of the news- Al Jazeera in Arabic. I retire to bed anytime between 11 and 1, to get a few hours of sleep before I start the day again.
Here's a short story of something I experienced a few days ago.... On Monday (or Tuesday... i forget), I was riding home on my bike after my last class. I saw a woman standing on the sidewalk and a man approached her looking infuriated. He began yelling at her, then slapped her across the face.. hard. It wasn't just a slap, but a SLAAP. I slowed down almost to a stop to looked back. My immediate reaction was to go over and yell at the guy. I was faced with a decision in which I didn't know how to act. I felt so bad for the lady. As I was way past the scene, still looking back, a guy on a moped stopped. I dont know if he saw the guy actually hit the woman, but he stopped, and I figured better he than me. I had no context to the situation, so I dont know what the problem was. It was a horrible situation (obviously more horrible for her..) and it was painful to see. I was faced with a decision that was beyond me. The fact that this happened in public took me by surprise. There is a powerful paradox in Morocco of shame and honor. In general, Moroccan women live a life that is honorable to her family, in fear of shame, whereas men can do things with no shame. I can explain this better and give examples if you ask me, but for sake of this, I'll leave it a bit more vague. The other afternoon however, that woman's honor was completely humiliated and turned into shame, while the man hit her without any shame, but in honor instead. I did not know how to process this. To my surprise, there were three things that stuck out to me as I tried processing this. 1- As I read that night some of my academic material for my work in Morocco, I read, "When a wife errs, it is also part of the culture for a man to beat her- an act considered abuse in Western societies." (Njoku, 2006: 103). 2- I told Mounia this story. Her reaction wasn't what I was expecting, "That is life" she said. She told me I shouldn't have done anything to interrupt the fight, and reacted as if this was a normal everyday occurrence. I saw not a single trace of sympathy for the woman. And finally 3- I talked with a male Moroccan friend about this. He said, "NEVER get in the middle of a fight between a man and woman (here in Morocco)". In my eyes, this incident was much more of a one-way street, as the woman showed no sign of retaliation. But my friend told me that if I were to do anything, both of them would instantly turn against me.
These weren't the answers or reactions I was looking for. This experience threw me a curve ball and I'm still trying to make sense of this. Through my Western eyes, this is completely wrong and abusive. Through the eyes of a Muslim Moroccan lady, this seems to be no big deal. I'm seeking to understand this situation through a Moroccan lens, but it isn't clear. I am reminded of the words of Marcel Proust, who says, "The real act of discovery consists not in finding new lands but seeing with new eyes." After all, I guess that is the purpose I am here, not just do discover a "new land", but to develop a new set of "eyes" to see the world. Please hear me out... I'm not justifying abuse by any means!!! However, I am trying to understand the reason for Mounia's reaction so that I can better understand the lens in which people make sense of the world and the people in it.
Well, it's time for bed. I have a test tomorrow and a big weekend ahead of me, as I have a friend from South Africa visiting Morocco and coming to Fes for the weekend. I have recently uploaded photos on my Flickr website from my weekend in Casablanca, particularly of the Hassan II Mosque, the 3rd largest in the world. It is one of the most remarkable works of architecture that I have ever seen. It was built about 15 years ago, and is said to be able to fit Paris' Notre Dame or Rome's St. Peter's Basilica INSIDE it! They estimate the price to build the mosque is anywhere from US$800 million to $3.2 BILLION!!!! If you ever get a chance to visit Casablanca (or Morocco), it is a must-see! Also, I have attached a link of some other pictures from Tangier, Fes and my homestay family. For those who do not have facebook, you should be able to access the pictures from this link....
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2086295&id=56904198&l=cd8adc54cb
and my Flickr page....
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ryansworldadventures
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my blog! I hope this finds you well, and I'd love to hear from you! Assalaam Aleykum! (Peace be upon you)
Ryan
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