Grimy Hands and a Floating Cemetery

It's been a week since Ramadan ended. Last monday, the entire country joined the 1.3 billion Muslims worldwide in celebrating the Eid. Eid ul-Fitr is the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan. The word "Fitr" comes from the Arabic word meaning "to break fast", quite an appropriate name given, as the highlight of the day is eating breakfast together as a family for the first time in a month. In Morocco, it is not only a national and religious holiday, but a social one too. Believers wake up early to be at the mosque at 8am for a special prayer and khutba, or sermon. As most everyone goes to bed late during Ramadan, this isn't the easiest task. Waking up on Monday at 8am was like waking up for the first day of school after a long summer break. To make matters worse, I didn't sleep until 6am the "night" before. With a combination of finishing up some writing, having taken a nap earlier in the afternoon, the first call for prayer and Haitam's brother snoring, I finally got to sleep, ironically, after the sun came up and only to be woken up two hours later. Knowing that I went to bed later than some people go to bed in California and only getting two hours of sleep, I felt like I just walked off the plane from America. I felt sick to my stomach, my head was pounding and nothing seemed like a reality. I gave myself jet-lag without even traveling!

While Haitam and his family were at the 8 o'clock service at the Mosque, I listened to the chants and prayers and then looked outside the window as everyone left the mosque (the Mosque is next door to the house). In Morocco during the Eid, everyone wears their djellabas. A djellaba is Morocco's traditional dress for both men and women (though the womens' djellabas are much more colorful than the mens). It was a wonderful sight last Monday morning. Men and women were dressed up in their best djellabas and greeting everyone as they walked by... but more on the greetings in a sec. It is tradition for the family to eat breakfast together and then go and visit friends and family. After breakfast, Haitam and I went, in our djellabas of course, to visit Taha. Driving to Taha's house, we passed through town, which was completely empty and as we passed the "Lazywall" (a place in town where Moroccans sit, lazily, and brainstorm idea on how to cross the Straight of Gibraltar and get to Spain) and caught a glimpse of southern Spain from across the Straight of Gibraltar. It was by far the most beautiful day of the year. The deep blue cloudless sky was almost as impressive as the Straight, which had not a single trace of wind on it. Tangier is definitely one of the windiest cities I have ever been to, so to see the Mediterranean as flat as a lake was nothing less than phenomenal.

After visiting with Taha, drinking a few cups of tea, and stuffing ourselves with more pastries, the three of us took off to go visit some other friends. We stopped at Amin's apartment and stood on the street talking for about an hour. As the four of us were standing on the street and talking during that time, random guys would come up to us and say "salaam aleikum... eid moubarak" and shake all of our hands. Moroccans love to greet, but during the Eid, it makes every other day seem like Moroccans are afraid to touch. It reminded me of Christmas day in America, when no matter who you walk by you give them a "Merry Christmas". However here, it was a handshake, hug, and maybe a kiss on the cheeks. My favorite though was a guy driving down the street when he passed a friend, or aquiantance. He stopped the car (in the middle of the road mind you), got out and embraced his friend. Cars started piling up behind him and waited patiently for him to get back in the car. Any other day, cars would have been honking non-stop until the guy got back in the car. But because of the Eid, patience prevailed and time was stopped to greet friends and foreigners alike.

Now that Ramadan is over, I'm not only enjoying being able to eat, drink, and go to cafes during the day, but also getting to sleep a little bit earlier. Going to bed at 11 is now considered early whereas during Ramadan, eating dinner at 1 or 2am was normal.

I have recently started my internship, one of the requirements for my Global Learning Term (GLT) here in Morocco. I am interning at an organization called Darna, a center for poor women and children, many of whom come from the streets. It is located just outside the medina on top of a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. Not a bad location for a non-profit organization! :) There are about 100 kids that come to Darna to receive education and have the opportunity to learn several skills (such as cooking, sewing, farming/agriculture, art, etc.) so that by the time they are 18 they can hopefully enter the workforce. Many of these kids have even tried crossing the Mediterranean to get to Spain by makeshift rafts or by sneaking onto or under a semi-truck that crosses the Straight on ferry. Just the other night, I went for a run down by the port and I saw kids jumping on the semi trucks as they were entering the port, hoping to pass through customs without getting caught. I've seen people run underneath the semi truck as its stopped at a light in town and crawl up under the wheels, hoping they won't get caught at the port and will make it across to Spain. As I mentioned in my last blog, Tangier has one of the highest concentrations of Moroccans and Sub-Saharan Africans who risk their lives to emigrate to the EU. Unfortunately, or fortunately (they are still alive), many of the kids of have tried this end up at Darna.

Despite the disorganization I've experienced so far, the kids have really been a delight. This morning as I went to Darna, I was met at the gate by a little boy who stood there with both arms stretch up to my neck. I leaned down and he wrapped his grimy hands around my neck and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. Just when I was worried about figuring out what I was going to do for the kids today and how I was going to hopefully teach them something, I'm reminded that these kids just want to be touched and loved. Like last week, the kids won't stop touching me (maybe part of the reason why I came down with a cold over weekend). The rambunctious little ones will jump on me from all sides. The older ones aren't as straight forward as the younger ones but will always put their arm around my shoulder (when standing) or on my leg or knee when sitting. This is obviously a bit uncomfortable, as something like this wouldn't necessarily happen between two straight guys in America. Of course, this is just a cultural norm of Morocco that I've come to accept and try to be comfortable with as well as a reminder that these kids are starving for attention. I used this quote in last week's blog about my new friend Ibrahim, and I think it's fitting for the kids at Darna too. Henri Nouwen, a Dutch priest/pastor for a mentally handicapped community in Canada/author, describes this hunger that he witnessed among the kids during a visit to an orphanage in poverty-stricken Bolivia, "The children were so starved for affection that they fought with each other for the privilege of touching me. How little do we really know the power of physical touch. These boys and girls only wanted one thing: to be touched, hugged, stroked, and caressed. Probably most adults have the same needs but no longer have the innocence and unself-consciousness to express them. Sometimes I see humanity as a sea of people starving for affection, tenderness, care, love, acceptance, forgiveness, and gentleness" (Gracias! pg. 44).

I sat in on a class to observe how the instructor teaches the class and interacts with the students. He was teaching a "life skills" class to some of the older students who will be out in the "real world" in a few years. He said, "assume you have 100 Dirhams (about US$13), what are you going to do with that in order to make money and survive? Suppose you have 200 Dirhams, what then are you going to do?" Everyone went around and answered. Each student gave a creative idea about how he would spend the money in hopes of bringing in a return. On student said that he would be a bunch of CDs for really cheap, then turn around and sell them for more. A girl said that she would buy the ingredients to make shabakia (Moroccan pastry) and sell that. I realized that I was in a room full of potential business men and women, who given the opportunity and resources, would go to desperate measures to make a few dirhams to survive. It was humbling to know that not only were these things seen as hobbies for me or extra change (I'm sure I could buy a bunch of CDs online and come to Morocco and sell them.... but I would never look to that for my main source of income) but that opportunities for these young Moroccans are few and minimal. When I convert 200 dirhams into my currency, it's not much. While I'm thinking about investing with thousands of dollars, these guys are working with $10 or $20. There was another volunteer in the classroom from Spain and when the teacher presented this project to the class, the Spaniard said, "Con solo 20 Euros, estoy muerto. No puedo hacer nada en mi pais" ("With only 20 Euros, I'm dead. I can't do anything en my country (with 20 Euros)"). Some may say, "It's all relative". Maybe it is, but I still cant imagine even trying to get my in Morocco with a few hundred D's.

There is a place in Tangier that I absolutely love. Every time I go, I am reminded why I have fallen in love with Tangier. Just about every day, I make the trek down the hill from Haitam's house and then back up the step hill towards the kasbah (fortress) on the outskirts of the medina. Depending on how much time I have, I usually sit on the edge of the cliff overlooking the water for a few minutes or a few hours. The view is absolutely amazing and the ocean breeze is refreshing, though usually a bit strong. The view from the top of the cliff looks straight out across the Straight of Gibraltar, the mouth of the Mediterranean. Anything that enters the Mediterranean (with exception to those entering through the Suez canal in Egypt) enters here between this little 15 mile space of water between two continents... Morocco and Africa on the south... Spain and Europe on the North. Some days are easier than others. Some days I recall the snapshots I have of when I sailed through this same straight 19 months ago on The Scholar Ship. Other days, my heart becomes burdened with overflowing thoughts and questions about the world we live in. This little straight of water separates the "haves" from the "have-nots". If you're born on the south side of this sliver of water, your life is drastically different than if you were born on the north side of it. One side has tons of money, priviledge, and power, and the other not so much. One side has total access to travel to, to visit, to work in, and to potentially exploit the other, while the other side is trapped in a world of poverty, oppression, injustice, disadvantage and disease, unable to step foot on the other. Days like these make it hard to fathom why being born on one side of the water dramatically affects every aspect of your life. This little 15 mile space has claimed the lives of thousands of Africans (statistically speaking, 3 documented deaths for every 2 days during the last 15 years) who have drowned or been shot by government authorities. Some describe it as the Mediterranean's "Floating Cemetery". Looking out over this beautiful place, I try not to remove myself too far from the bloody water that tells stories of all the men, women, and children it has claimed.

I realize that I'm ending mid-thought. I apologize if it causes the same unease in you as it does in me. I did not write this with the intention of making people feel guilty or restless, but I cannot go any further or come to any conclusion. I tried continuing to write but to no avail. Each sentence begun and thought pondered was left unfinished. I am left with questions and a heavy soul. I have questions, but I'm not necessarily looking for answers. My soul is restless with thoughts, ideas, burdens, and mixed feelings, looking for an outsource. There are somethings in life that we just don't know and no matter how hard we try to understand or fix them, we are left discouraged and still questioning. Maybe this is one of those things, maybe not. Regardless, I am left with a simple, yet profound prayer; "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."