I've been back in Morocco for a week now. I left Morocco for a quick trip to the Netherlands for a wedding and also to renew my visa. Every time I enter the country, the stamp in my passport is only valid for 3 months and so I was due to leave the country and then come back in again. It just so happened that one of my really good friends (named Melvina, she calls me her "brother from another mother") was getting married in Holland right around the same time my 3 months was up. To top it all off, a new budget airline was launched a few months ago in Morocco with daily flights throughout Europe. As you read in my last blog, my experience at the airport was quite a unique one, but I got there safe and sound. And if you're wondering about the lady whom I agreed to check in with in order to claim half her bag weight, she wasn't carrying any drugs, bombs or other illegal material, so I (or we) wasn't stopped at customs in Amsterdam. Actually, we got disconnected after getting off the plane and I didn't see her in the immigration line or in the baggage claim area. I thought maybe she already got her bag (after all, she was sitting in the front of the plane and got off way before me) and took off to Den Haag without me. If you recall, back at the airport in Morocco, she found out I was going to The Hague and offered to give me a ride and also a place to stay for a few nights if I needed it. I was going to take her up on the ride, especially because our plane was about 4 hours late and we arrived in Amsterdam at 2am. There were no more trains to The Hague, so when I didn't see her after going through immigrations and customs, I figured that I was going to be spending the night in the airport. It's not all that bad (I did it last year) except for the security guards in yellow that prohibit people from falling asleep or sleeping on the floor. I remember being woken up every 30 minutes by these men in yellow yelling something at me in Dutch. Luckily, just as I was finding a place to crash for a few hours, I saw my luggage friend. She was like, "Where the heck were you? I was looking all over the baggage claim area and even asking customs officials if they've seen a young American man already pass through." I had my doubts, thinking that she left just like that. I kept thinking to myself that that was very un-Moroccan of her. And just when I began to doubt, I saw her. I should have known better. Stupid me. In places like the US, someone would have offered to give me a ride or a place to stay and then snuck out of the airport without being seen. In Morocco, they call this "swab". In other words, you are polite and hospitable, but don't really mean it. Offering me a ride to The Hague at 2am and then leaving me behind at the airport would have been "swab", but luckily that wasn't the case. It was standard Moroccan kindheartedness. Her husband was waiting outside the airport and they drove me to The Hague, to the doorstep of my friend's house. No strings attached. Just out of the goodness of their own hearts. Why can't the world be a place where this happens so much that it's not even a big deal anymore?
At 3am, after a long day of traveling, I finally got to lay down and get a nice night of sleep. In the morning, Melvina's parents walked into the kitchen area of the apartment, where I was sleeping on a roll-away bed. They had no idea that I had come. I haven't seen them since the last time I was in South Africa (about a year and a half ago) and they were pleasantly surprised. Her family has really adopted me as one of their own sons, especially whenever I am visiting South Africa, and her father always introduces me as his son. When introducing me to the new in-laws in Holland, he would say "...And this is my son, Ryan... Melvina's sister" People would smile and shake my hand, but they had a perplexed expression on their face as they were trying to figure it out. They didn't want to be impolite, but they were wondering how an African man could have a white son like me. Plus, Melvina and I don't look anything alike. I might be a little tan but I'm no African. Unless they asked, I just let them figure out that Melvina's dad wasn't serious about me being a blood-relative and left it at that. I'm not going to lie, it was a bit awkward at times.
Being in Holland was really great. It's definitely a change from Morocco. I don't know if I would consider Morocco a "Third World" country (whatever "Third World" even means these days), but I also don't know if I could call it a "First World" country (whatever that means). There are definitely aspects of Morocco that are more familiar to the Third World and other parts that are very First World-like. However, Morocco is no Holland, and Holland is no Morocco. Despite the widespread forces of globalization that are making the two countries more and more alike, there are something things that I saw in Holland that you just don't see in everyday Moroccan life. Here are a few of those snapshots...
1. Parking lots/garages for bikes only. There are not even enough parking garages for cars in Morocco, let alone bikes.
2. The first day in Holland, I saw a guy riding his bike; handle bar in one hand and a Heineken in the other. I was thinking about trying that in Morocco... maybe someone will stone me like the French girl in Fez (story below).
3. While walking the streets of Amsterdam, it's not uncommon to catch a strong whiff of Marijuana streaming from the "Coffee Shops". I have yet to smell any Marijuana in Morocco, pretty ironic for being the world's second largest producer of the plant.
4. On just about any street in Den Haag or Amsterdam, I could choose to eat Japanese, Greek, Chinese, Turkish, Indian, Suriname, or Indonesian food. In Morocco, it's either tajines, sandwiches, or shawarma.
5. Crosswalks and crosswalk lights. In Morocco, you just go. Although crossing the street in Morocco can sometimes be difficult (especially in Casablanca), crossing the street in Holland is equally as difficult. First you have to look for bikes on the specified bike lane, then check for cars, and before crossing, watch out for trams that have the right-away. If it's red and you try to cross, it's very likely you will get hit by either a bike, car, or tram. In Morocco, everyone on the road expects pedestrians will cross whenever they like and will mostly swerve to avoid hitting you
6. Liquor stores and bars- the Dutch love their beer. In most places in Morocco (apart from the nice hotels catering toward the international crowd), you have to look pretty hard to find alcohol.
7. Trains and public transportation that are fast, frequent, and reliable. In Morocco, trains are relatively fast and mostly reliable, except when compared to the public-trans of Europe.
8. Ramadan in The Netherlands is almost non-existent. Unlike Morocco, all cafes and restaurants remain open and people are shamelessly eating in public. In Morocco, you will not find any cafe or restaurant open (except those catering to tourists, located away from public view) or anyone eating/drinking/smoking in public during the Holy Month.
9. To ride in a taxi in Holland must be a luxury (and expensive) because they are all new Mercedes E-classes. In Morocco, the taxis are 30 year-old Fiats but are only a 10th of the price to ride in.
My four days in Holland were fabulous. Balanced between the family (Melvina and her parents), eating (lots of good meals, especially food that I don't get in Morocco), enjoying public transit (taking the trams and trains into Den Haag central and also to Amsterdam), meeting new friends (Stefan's friends and Melvina's new in-laws), and having the time of my life at a wonderful wedding, I had such a great time that I really do miss Holland. After going to a few Moroccan weddings, I was interested in seeing what a Dutch wedding would be like. This summer has been a summer of weddings for me... one back in California, three in Morocco, and now one in The Netherlands (I went to more weddings this summer than in my whole life). Of course, I didn't get a "typical" Dutch wedding (if there was such a thing), but instead a blend of Dutch, Suriname, Indian, and South African cultures into one fun celebration. The wedding began at noon at the City Hall where they did all the legal stuff. There were about 100 people, family and friends (most of whom were Stefan's, as Melvina's support is mostly in South Africa) in this little room. Since it was all in Dutch, I didn't really get much of it, so I just pretended like I knew everything that was going on. After an hour, the papers were signed, the groom kissed the bride, and just like that, my sister Melvina was married. I had the privilege of being the "non-paid" photographer. It was my first time taking pictures of a wedding and I really enjoyed it. They had a professional photographer, so this gave me the freedom to experiment and take a bunch of shots without having the burden of making sure they get their money's worth. Every shot was really just a gift to them... and experience for me. It was a nice change to see the wedding from behind my camera's viewfinder (I know... I'm such a nerd). After all the legal stuff was done, the party began at a venue nearby. The wedding celebration took place a club/church. Yes, Club slash Church. During the weekend, the building is used as a night club... dancing, booze, the whole thing. Then a few times a week during the day, the fellowship rents out the building to use for their gatherings. Don't you love the irony of it? Anyways, there are several ups to having a wedding celebration in a club. Some might say it's because of the open bar, and others might say they just feel more comfortable at a place like a club (instead of a reception hall or traditional church building). In my opinion, the best part about having a wedding celebration in a club is the sound system. You know you aren't going to be lacking in the music section when you are partying at a club. And to top it all off, the DJ played some great music. It wasn't just your Top 40 R&B hits that everyone knows... he included music from India and Suriname, as well as a good dose of salsa and other latin hits. When you get a group of multi-cultural people celebrating a wedding and you play music from all over the world, you know you are going to have a fun time. Melvina's parents were breaking it down South African style, Stefan's Suriname relatives were doing their South American style jig, and the Indians were doing their thing. I don't know where I was in the mix, but I had fun! 6 hours of dancing and a couple hundred photos... what a night!
I made it home around 2am (early if you compare it to Moroccan weddings) for a few hours of sleep before my last day in Holland. Fortunately, my flight back to Morocco was at night so I was able to catch a train to Amsterdam for a few hours. Amsterdam is probably my favorite city in Europe (I've been to quite a few throughout most of Western Europe). It's unlike any other city. There are no skyscrapers (except for outside the main part of Amsterdam) and the whole city is lined with the skinny 4 story houses you've seen in postcards or while watching The Diary of Anne Frank movie in Middle School. There are literally thousands of miles of bike paths throughout the city as well as a whole network of dykes/canals that give another perspective of the city when seen by boat. Then, as was the case the other weekend when I was there, there is always something going on in Amsterdam. Last year in April when I was there, there was a huge carnival set up in the main square. The other weekend, there was an outdoor music festival throughout the city. Bands were playing in parts all around the city. To top it off, there were guys walking around with Grolsch keg carts. They had a chilled keg of beer on their cart, selling beer on tap to those enjoying the festival. I think this keg cart fits in the "This is definitely not Morocco" list. One of my favorite things about Amsterdam however, is the diversity of the city. Amsterdam is a city of immigrants. Some, especially those whose political views are further on the right than they are left, may see this as a negative aspect. But I see this as something beautiful, not just because I had so much fun the night before at a diverse, multi-cultural wedding, but because the beauty of God's creation is found not in those like ourselves, but in those unlike ourselves. It is through interactions with "the other" that enlightenment, understanding, and knowledge are made possible. Amsterdam is a place where people from around the world have come in pursuit of a better life. The city of Amsterdam is a beautiful mosaic of God's creation. On every street you will see people from every continent, color, and religion. It seems that the world is moving in the direction of a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural collection of cities where understanding and harmony replace hate and close-mindedness. May we continue to seek "the other" and discover the true abundance of God's beautiful creation.
***Above, I mentioned something about the French girl in Fez. I guess last week, a French tourist was visiting the medina in Fez. Fez, particularly the medina, is the religious capital of Morocco. Many consider it the most conservative city in Morocco, simply for this reason. So, this French tourist was walking through the medina. Because all the cafes are closed during Ramadan, she was unable to stop and eat or drink. However, she had a water bottle and wanted to drink a bit. Attempting to be culturally sensitive and "hide" the water from public, as not to offend or make it look like she was eating or drinking anything, she put the water bottle in a bag and then continued to drink it. If you can picture this... a girl drinking something from a bag... it looks like booze. The story goes that people began to throw stones at her because it appeared that not only was she drinking something, but she was drinking alcohol. This is a big no no... anywhere in Morocco, especially during Ramadan, especially in Fez. I can't help but to laugh at this story. I am not a Muslim, but I can't help but to respect everyone else who is fasting. If I am going to eat or drink anything, I'm going to do it away from everyone... not in the medina where there are thousands of people on the streets. Also, to "cover it up" in a bag is just ironic. I can only imagine how oblivious she was to her own actions, until the rocks started coming. On the other hand, I can understand the Moroccan side... kind of. I understand how offensive that might be, but I could never imagine myself throwing rocks at a not-so-bright tourist. That is too hilarious (I hope you get my humor)! So maybe if I ride a bike with a Heineken in one hand, like the guy in Holland, I too may be stoned. That would be a story to tell my kids.....
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Aeroport Mohammad V, Casablanca
I decided a bit last minute to come to Holland for a wedding. This isn't like the weddings I went to in Morocco (I went to 3 weddings for people I didn't even know), but this wedding means much more to me. Melvina, one of my closest friends in South Africa, is getting married on Friday to a Dutchman. Melvina and I first met in South Africa back in 2003 when I taught Life Skills and AIDS Education Curriculum in a township outside of Cape Town. Her family invited me to stay for a few nights in their modest home in Plettenberg Baai. Since then, they've really adopted me as one of their own and I've continued to stay in contact with them while in the US and while visiting South Africa several times since 2003. I had the priviledge of meeting Melvina (and her husband to-be) last year when I came to Amsterdam and now I'm back in Holland (in Den Haag... just south of Amsterdam) for the wedding. Although Melvina knew I was coming, she didn't tell her parents so I was able to surprise them. It was as great moment, as they had no idea Ryan would randomly show up to their daughter's new apartment in The Hague.
Anyways, I thought I'd share a little bit of my experience flying here from Morocco as it was quite an memorable one. Here is a little something I wrote last night from Mohammad V Airport in Casablanca.
I don't know if it's this airport, or Air Arabia, or what. This is a total nightmare. I got here more than 2 and a half hours before the flight. I waited in line for about 1 hour and a half, passed security, got to in the terminal, only to find out the gate was already closed. "Did I miss my flight?" There were at least a hundred people still in line waiting after I checked in. It didn't say a gate, just "termine" (French, for "closed" or "finished"). After frantically going back and forth between terminal several times, only minutes before 4:10, which is when the plane was supposed to leave, it looks like I missed my plane. If the hand-written boarding passes weren't ghetto enough, a plane leaving with half it's flight missing, sure is one for the books. Only in Morocco I guess. Finally, I see a group of the people who were waiting in line with me to go to Amsterdam, all around the "information screen" getting upset at the police and airport security who have not a clue what's going on. "Just look on the screen" they said, "Air Arabia? Marsielle? France?" "NO. Amsterdam" I said. What?" Ahh... useless. They weren't much help. Finally, by ruling out that the plane didn't leave with only half flight, we assumed that it was delayed. Someone came up to us and said it was delayed 30 min (which then became 2 hours and then 4 hour delay), so we had to wait. It's pretty bad when 20 of your passengers are looking at the flight info screen, which says that the plane's left, and there's no one in the airport that can help. No Air Arabia service desks... nothing.
Back to the check-in line.... it was ridiculous. I moved about 12 feet the first 50 min. Then, this lady asked me to join her, as if we were flying together, so that her oversized bag wouldn't be charged. In America, that is totally illegal. I told her that and we both laughed. But I said, "Mekein Mushkil" ("no problem"). She was impressed by my shweeya Arabic (the reality is my Arabic is even far from "shweeya" so I tried not to feel too good about myself), and was grateful of my decision to help her out. OK, so I know I'm going to get a flood of emails, probably from my mom, telling me never to make such a stupid decision like that again. I know I know I know. Maybe in hindsight it wasn't the smartest decision, but know that I'm here and safe in Holland, I have no regrets about what I did. In my defense, I took nothing from her bag because she just asked me to check in with her so that the weight of her huge bag could be distributed to our total weight allowance. She was nice and got me ahead of the line and checked in. I felt kind of bad though. There were two lines; the one I was in, which was moving much faster (12ft/50min) and then there was the other one (not even half that pace). The people in the slow line looked at me with evil stares... but everything was out of my control. After telling my new friend that I'm on my way to Amsterdam to go to a wedding, "Well... The Hague" I told her, she told me that she lives in The Hague and asked if I had a place to stay. "You can stay with me and my husband, he's meeting me in Amsterdam". She was an middle aged Moroccan woman. Her English wasn't great, but we could communicate the basics. "I can drive you to The Hague" she said. I love it... Only in Morocco. First, I shouldn't have accepted to help with claiming her luggage... but I did. Then, she invites me to stay with her at her house and give me a ride to The Hague... just because... no strings attached! Haha! I feel like this is what the world should be like... "Can you help me with this (luggage)?" We lived in a screwed up world where we fear that someone is going to have drugs in her baggage or a bomb or something. Then... she makes sure I have a place to stay, otherwise I will be invited to her home. This is not the world as it is today (ok.. maybe the minority... or places like Morocco), but this is the world as it ought to be. There's hope in the midst of long lines and frustrating budget airlines.
I know this is bad, but standing in line was actually entertaining. There was no order, no "lines", just a crowd of people and their luggage waiting to check in. 30 feet later, after waiting two hours, you get to check in, only to watch your bag get a handwritten luggage tag, then handed a boarding pass written in pen. Gotta love the advance in technology! Because there was no roped off line, like most places in the world, some people tried cutting and others were getting heated. Then, yelling started. Two ladies started going at it in Arabic, both infuriated. The Police were just standing and watching (classic). In Ramadan, a time that encourages non-fighting, fights break out. People get irritated and heated. Then, everyone starts gathering around, and the husbands grabbed their wives to keep them from full on killing each other. These people would have been arrested, or not let on the plane, at the very least. I felt privileged to see such action at the airport, so close to me! Free entertainment. But then again, I guess I can try to understand why people got so upset. The waiting sucks, you haven't eaten or drank anything since 3:30am, and you just want to get to Amsterdam. But this is Ramadan. A time for patience. What good is fasting from food, when you don't control any of your other emotions. However frustrating it was, I just remembered, "It's Ramadan. If I can learn anything from this month, it's patience. Patience. Patience." So, I continued to watch... and laugh (on the inside of course). :)
Anyways, I thought I'd share a little bit of my experience flying here from Morocco as it was quite an memorable one. Here is a little something I wrote last night from Mohammad V Airport in Casablanca.
I don't know if it's this airport, or Air Arabia, or what. This is a total nightmare. I got here more than 2 and a half hours before the flight. I waited in line for about 1 hour and a half, passed security, got to in the terminal, only to find out the gate was already closed. "Did I miss my flight?" There were at least a hundred people still in line waiting after I checked in. It didn't say a gate, just "termine" (French, for "closed" or "finished"). After frantically going back and forth between terminal several times, only minutes before 4:10, which is when the plane was supposed to leave, it looks like I missed my plane. If the hand-written boarding passes weren't ghetto enough, a plane leaving with half it's flight missing, sure is one for the books. Only in Morocco I guess. Finally, I see a group of the people who were waiting in line with me to go to Amsterdam, all around the "information screen" getting upset at the police and airport security who have not a clue what's going on. "Just look on the screen" they said, "Air Arabia? Marsielle? France?" "NO. Amsterdam" I said. What?" Ahh... useless. They weren't much help. Finally, by ruling out that the plane didn't leave with only half flight, we assumed that it was delayed. Someone came up to us and said it was delayed 30 min (which then became 2 hours and then 4 hour delay), so we had to wait. It's pretty bad when 20 of your passengers are looking at the flight info screen, which says that the plane's left, and there's no one in the airport that can help. No Air Arabia service desks... nothing.
Back to the check-in line.... it was ridiculous. I moved about 12 feet the first 50 min. Then, this lady asked me to join her, as if we were flying together, so that her oversized bag wouldn't be charged. In America, that is totally illegal. I told her that and we both laughed. But I said, "Mekein Mushkil" ("no problem"). She was impressed by my shweeya Arabic (the reality is my Arabic is even far from "shweeya" so I tried not to feel too good about myself), and was grateful of my decision to help her out. OK, so I know I'm going to get a flood of emails, probably from my mom, telling me never to make such a stupid decision like that again. I know I know I know. Maybe in hindsight it wasn't the smartest decision, but know that I'm here and safe in Holland, I have no regrets about what I did. In my defense, I took nothing from her bag because she just asked me to check in with her so that the weight of her huge bag could be distributed to our total weight allowance. She was nice and got me ahead of the line and checked in. I felt kind of bad though. There were two lines; the one I was in, which was moving much faster (12ft/50min) and then there was the other one (not even half that pace). The people in the slow line looked at me with evil stares... but everything was out of my control. After telling my new friend that I'm on my way to Amsterdam to go to a wedding, "Well... The Hague" I told her, she told me that she lives in The Hague and asked if I had a place to stay. "You can stay with me and my husband, he's meeting me in Amsterdam". She was an middle aged Moroccan woman. Her English wasn't great, but we could communicate the basics. "I can drive you to The Hague" she said. I love it... Only in Morocco. First, I shouldn't have accepted to help with claiming her luggage... but I did. Then, she invites me to stay with her at her house and give me a ride to The Hague... just because... no strings attached! Haha! I feel like this is what the world should be like... "Can you help me with this (luggage)?" We lived in a screwed up world where we fear that someone is going to have drugs in her baggage or a bomb or something. Then... she makes sure I have a place to stay, otherwise I will be invited to her home. This is not the world as it is today (ok.. maybe the minority... or places like Morocco), but this is the world as it ought to be. There's hope in the midst of long lines and frustrating budget airlines.
I know this is bad, but standing in line was actually entertaining. There was no order, no "lines", just a crowd of people and their luggage waiting to check in. 30 feet later, after waiting two hours, you get to check in, only to watch your bag get a handwritten luggage tag, then handed a boarding pass written in pen. Gotta love the advance in technology! Because there was no roped off line, like most places in the world, some people tried cutting and others were getting heated. Then, yelling started. Two ladies started going at it in Arabic, both infuriated. The Police were just standing and watching (classic). In Ramadan, a time that encourages non-fighting, fights break out. People get irritated and heated. Then, everyone starts gathering around, and the husbands grabbed their wives to keep them from full on killing each other. These people would have been arrested, or not let on the plane, at the very least. I felt privileged to see such action at the airport, so close to me! Free entertainment. But then again, I guess I can try to understand why people got so upset. The waiting sucks, you haven't eaten or drank anything since 3:30am, and you just want to get to Amsterdam. But this is Ramadan. A time for patience. What good is fasting from food, when you don't control any of your other emotions. However frustrating it was, I just remembered, "It's Ramadan. If I can learn anything from this month, it's patience. Patience. Patience." So, I continued to watch... and laugh (on the inside of course). :)
Friday, August 21, 2009
Ramadan Starts Tomorrow... I Think
I'm back in Tangier now, the place that I will call my home for the next 4 or 5 months. Coming back to Tangier after a grand tour of Morocco, I know why I chose to make this place my home. The sunsets themselves are hard to beat. The summer sun sets behind the city on the Atlantic coast illuminating the sky with beautiful oranges and reds (I've only seen more more orangey sunsets in Los Angeles, but I think that is more because of the man-made pollution and exhaust of the 10 million residents... not the master artist himself). The clouds have both an airbrush and blotchy effect, I thought only obtainable on a canvas painting with oil or acrylic. But then I realize, isn't the one who created all this a better artist than the one who paints colorful sunsets and cool cloud formations on a two-dimensional sheet of canvas? Of course there is more to Tangier than the sunsets, like the 24 hour/day ocean breeze or the choice to take a dip in the Atlantic or the Mediterranean. But I'm just a really big fan of the sunsets. And the people of Tangier... well... they are... OK... I guess. (sarcastic). I love Tangerines (not only the fruit, but the people too). But I'm not going to show favoritism to my friends from Tangier because someone from Casablanca, Marrakech, or Fez might be reading this and I like them too! Also, after reading A.J. Jacob's book "A Year of Living Biblically", I've been inspired to follow the bible as literal as possible (I'm nowhere close... but it's worth a shot). The Apostle Paul writes "God does not show favoritism" (Romans 2:11) and Jesus says "Be perfect, for God is perfect." (Matthew 5:48). Therefore, I figure that in order to be perfect (no simple task for a guy like me), I probably shouldn't show favoritism to the people of Tangier, despite my love for the city.
Anyways, I heard some good news last night. One of my friends spent the summer working for a producer here in Tangier and was able to work on a few film sets. Tangier has been frequented in several movies. It's a scenic city conveniently situated on the Straight of Gibralter, looking right at the Southern coast of Spain. Between the countless rooftop terraces and the cafe-lined streets facing Mediterranean, it's no wonder that it has shown up in so many films, including the most recent, Bourne Ultimatum, the last of the Bourne Trilogy, where Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) is filmed jumping from rooftop to rooftop through the medina (great movie... highly recommended). My friend also told me that she saw Matt Damon a few years ago when he was here filming at the same cafe that I go to just about every day. I don't know why, but this makes me feel cool, or special, because I go to the same hip cafe that Matt Damon went to when he was here. But then Jesus' words cut deep, "For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted" (Matthew 23:12). This whole "be perfect" thing is a bit harder than expected. Maybe with a bit more time and practice, it might become a bit more feasible. OK.... so the good news. I guess Leonardo DiCaprio flew in yesterday and he's shooting a film in the Medina for the next ten days. I was tempted to go meet Mr. DiCaprio at the airport, but maybe I'll just camp out at the 5-star hotel he's staying at and hopefully get an autograph. As I'm writing this, I realize that I have no idea the purpose for telling you this. Unless of course you were wondering where the pop star was, or if celebrities ever come to Morocco, now you know. On to more relevant things...
Ramadan starts tomorrow... I think. For those of you who don't know, Ramadan is a month of fasting (no food, water, smoking, sex, or fighting) from sun up till sun down and is required of all Muslims (with exception for those who are pregnant or have other health issues/restrictions... they have to make up the days of fasting later) as one of the Five Pillars of Islam. It is one of the most important times of the Muslim year, when adherents fast, remember those who are less fortunate, and spend lots of time with family (unless you are in your early 20's and you study away from home, like many of my friends). There has been so much anticipation leading up to Ramadan, especially on TV where they advertise these cheesy Saudi soap operas and "comedies" that are aired during the month (During Ramadan, people watch tons of TV... more about that later). For those who haven't had any experience with Ramadan in the Arab world, think of Easter weekend on steroids. On Easter, churches around America are packed and nearly everyone becomes a church goer that Sunday. Multiply that times thirty. Mosques (so I hear) are so packed that people can't even fit into the mosques and are praying outside on the surrounding streets and sidewalks. Restaurants close, except for those ones that stay open for tourists. It is serious stuff. If a Moroccan (Muslim) breaks the fast in daylight by taking a sip of water in public, he can be arrested. Can you imagine during Lent (the 40 days leading up to Easter) if Police went up to people asking if they gave up (or fasted from) anything during the 40 days? If they answered "no" they would be arrested, but if they said "yes, chocolate" then they were safe from the Police (and God's wrath). When I think about people giving up chocolate for Lent, it makes me wonder if it's really worth it. Jesus fasted for 40 days... and we give up chocolate. I just don't think that's what Jesus had in mind. Maybe something more like food and water, as He did. Maybe then we'd know what it's like to be poor, without food, and the only thing in life we have to count on is God. But then I'm just being too idealist.
Back to Ramadan. You get the point... this is important stuff! It's on the top 5 (pillars) list of Islam for Heaven's sake. But, do we know when it's starting? Does anyone know when it's starting? Earlier this week, I was told that Ramadan would start on Thursday, or maybe Friday. Later in the week, I started hearing, "Friday... maybe Saturday". Even last night (Thursday) still no one was 100% sure, "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Saturday". "No. Saturday or Sunday" someone else said. I understand that it all depends on the moon, but with 1.3 billion Muslims anticipating this 30 day fast, it's hard to imagine that all 1.3 billion are sitting around wondering if it's going to be Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. So, assuming it starts tomorrow, today will be the last day I get to enjoy drinking water and eating (i'm not much of a smoker or a fighter, so those aren't too bad for me to give up and I'm not married, so I don't have to worry about the sex) during the day. I can understand why non-Muslims living in or visiting a Muslim country during Ramadan might not fast. But eating or drinking in public is just flat out inconsiderate (in my opinion). It is my goal to fast during Ramadan and if at any point I change my mind (not planning on it) or I need to eat or drink because of illness, I will still not do so in public, simply out of the respect to my Muslim brothers and sisters fasting around me. As I mentioned before, Ramadan is a time of sacrifice. When we give up the basic everyday norms, we not only rely on God's grace and mercy, but also humbled to think of those who are less fortunate than ourselves (the majority of the world). There is purpose in the month of Ramadan, not just several weeks of hollow actions and practices. Although he was talking about his experience with Judeo-Christian traditions, the words of A.J. Jacobs can be applied in this Muslim context as well, "I thought religion would make me live with my head in the clouds, but as often as not, it grounds me in this world."
Unfortunately, there is a negative side to Ramadan that I feel necessary to share. Of course, there may be some Muslims who don't really follow Islam and therefore might eat and drink and smoke on their own during Ramadan. These may be called "Cultural Muslims", a term used by one of my Moroccan friends. He told me this term when describing the commonalities between Morocco and Mexico. Having spent a significant amount of time in Mexico, he was making a parallel between Catholic Mexicans and Muslim Moroccans. Statistically, they each represent almost 100% of their respective populations. However, there are some Catholics who are Catholic because they are Mexican and because almost everyone else (in Mexico) is, just as there are some Muslims who are Muslims simply because they are Moroccan. In both cases, they are more "cultural" than religious. Their life reflects a life that is more in line with the greater culture than that of a life of real and relevant faith. This isn't even the negative side that I'm talking about. I think this "cultural (fill in the blank here)" term is somewhat universal. It can be applied to Catholics, Christians, Muslims, Jews and probably Hindus, Buddhists, and Atheists. Ok, maybe not atheists, but anyways... During the month of Ramadan, many Muslims, whether or not they fast or eat, can usually be found in front of the TV, watching cheesy Saudi Ramadan sitcom specials. I don't mean to say that you can't watch TV during Ramadan (who am I to judge?), but it seems like it takes away the purpose of this holy month, especially when watched 12 or 15 hours a day. A bit like giving up chocolate for Lent, maybe TV sitcoms aren't what God had in mind. Furthermore, most Muslims wake up before the first call for prayer (around 3:30 or 4am) to eat their last/first meal before the sun comes up, then go back to sleep for a few hours before starting the day. I have no objection to this. It's when people wake up at 3 or 4am to eat, then go back to sleep until 1 or 2pm. They wake up in the afternoon, go pray at the mosque, then come back for a late afternoon nap. Before you know it, the sun's down and it's time to eat again. What's the point of fasting when you spend most of your time awake feasting? Of course they "followed" the rules and restrictions of fasting from sun up until sun down, but was it really a sacrifice? Of course I could "follow" the rules by giving up eating chocolate or white bread for Lent, but is that getting at the heart of it? I have so much respect for those who, despite the side-effects of not eating or drinking, continue to work during Ramadan, who wake up before noon, and who fast without complaining. It's not about drawing attention to ourselves, but being humbled and sacrificing. I hope that after saying all this that I fall into the former category as one who sacrifices the things taken for granted every day to rely on God and to begin to understand what it might be like to be poor and hungry.
I don't mean to end on a negative note because this is not the heart of Ramadan. But I do feel like I would be unjust in saying that Ramadan is a super-holy month, its heart and purpose observed by ALL Muslims all across the world. That would just be like saying that ALL Christians give away half of their possessions to the poor, lend money to others without being expected to be paid back, invite strangers into their homes, when taken to court they offer the persecutor the clothes off their back, visit those in prison, or love their enemies and do good to those who hate them. Maybe one day...
Until then, reflect (and act) on Gandhi's probably-overstated, yet timelessly applicable words, "Be the change you want to see in the world."
(If you aren't challenged by these words, then maybe something is wrong... or I'm living in a different world than you and we need to talk)
Anyways, I heard some good news last night. One of my friends spent the summer working for a producer here in Tangier and was able to work on a few film sets. Tangier has been frequented in several movies. It's a scenic city conveniently situated on the Straight of Gibralter, looking right at the Southern coast of Spain. Between the countless rooftop terraces and the cafe-lined streets facing Mediterranean, it's no wonder that it has shown up in so many films, including the most recent, Bourne Ultimatum, the last of the Bourne Trilogy, where Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) is filmed jumping from rooftop to rooftop through the medina (great movie... highly recommended). My friend also told me that she saw Matt Damon a few years ago when he was here filming at the same cafe that I go to just about every day. I don't know why, but this makes me feel cool, or special, because I go to the same hip cafe that Matt Damon went to when he was here. But then Jesus' words cut deep, "For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted" (Matthew 23:12). This whole "be perfect" thing is a bit harder than expected. Maybe with a bit more time and practice, it might become a bit more feasible. OK.... so the good news. I guess Leonardo DiCaprio flew in yesterday and he's shooting a film in the Medina for the next ten days. I was tempted to go meet Mr. DiCaprio at the airport, but maybe I'll just camp out at the 5-star hotel he's staying at and hopefully get an autograph. As I'm writing this, I realize that I have no idea the purpose for telling you this. Unless of course you were wondering where the pop star was, or if celebrities ever come to Morocco, now you know. On to more relevant things...
Ramadan starts tomorrow... I think. For those of you who don't know, Ramadan is a month of fasting (no food, water, smoking, sex, or fighting) from sun up till sun down and is required of all Muslims (with exception for those who are pregnant or have other health issues/restrictions... they have to make up the days of fasting later) as one of the Five Pillars of Islam. It is one of the most important times of the Muslim year, when adherents fast, remember those who are less fortunate, and spend lots of time with family (unless you are in your early 20's and you study away from home, like many of my friends). There has been so much anticipation leading up to Ramadan, especially on TV where they advertise these cheesy Saudi soap operas and "comedies" that are aired during the month (During Ramadan, people watch tons of TV... more about that later). For those who haven't had any experience with Ramadan in the Arab world, think of Easter weekend on steroids. On Easter, churches around America are packed and nearly everyone becomes a church goer that Sunday. Multiply that times thirty. Mosques (so I hear) are so packed that people can't even fit into the mosques and are praying outside on the surrounding streets and sidewalks. Restaurants close, except for those ones that stay open for tourists. It is serious stuff. If a Moroccan (Muslim) breaks the fast in daylight by taking a sip of water in public, he can be arrested. Can you imagine during Lent (the 40 days leading up to Easter) if Police went up to people asking if they gave up (or fasted from) anything during the 40 days? If they answered "no" they would be arrested, but if they said "yes, chocolate" then they were safe from the Police (and God's wrath). When I think about people giving up chocolate for Lent, it makes me wonder if it's really worth it. Jesus fasted for 40 days... and we give up chocolate. I just don't think that's what Jesus had in mind. Maybe something more like food and water, as He did. Maybe then we'd know what it's like to be poor, without food, and the only thing in life we have to count on is God. But then I'm just being too idealist.
Back to Ramadan. You get the point... this is important stuff! It's on the top 5 (pillars) list of Islam for Heaven's sake. But, do we know when it's starting? Does anyone know when it's starting? Earlier this week, I was told that Ramadan would start on Thursday, or maybe Friday. Later in the week, I started hearing, "Friday... maybe Saturday". Even last night (Thursday) still no one was 100% sure, "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Saturday". "No. Saturday or Sunday" someone else said. I understand that it all depends on the moon, but with 1.3 billion Muslims anticipating this 30 day fast, it's hard to imagine that all 1.3 billion are sitting around wondering if it's going to be Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. So, assuming it starts tomorrow, today will be the last day I get to enjoy drinking water and eating (i'm not much of a smoker or a fighter, so those aren't too bad for me to give up and I'm not married, so I don't have to worry about the sex) during the day. I can understand why non-Muslims living in or visiting a Muslim country during Ramadan might not fast. But eating or drinking in public is just flat out inconsiderate (in my opinion). It is my goal to fast during Ramadan and if at any point I change my mind (not planning on it) or I need to eat or drink because of illness, I will still not do so in public, simply out of the respect to my Muslim brothers and sisters fasting around me. As I mentioned before, Ramadan is a time of sacrifice. When we give up the basic everyday norms, we not only rely on God's grace and mercy, but also humbled to think of those who are less fortunate than ourselves (the majority of the world). There is purpose in the month of Ramadan, not just several weeks of hollow actions and practices. Although he was talking about his experience with Judeo-Christian traditions, the words of A.J. Jacobs can be applied in this Muslim context as well, "I thought religion would make me live with my head in the clouds, but as often as not, it grounds me in this world."
Unfortunately, there is a negative side to Ramadan that I feel necessary to share. Of course, there may be some Muslims who don't really follow Islam and therefore might eat and drink and smoke on their own during Ramadan. These may be called "Cultural Muslims", a term used by one of my Moroccan friends. He told me this term when describing the commonalities between Morocco and Mexico. Having spent a significant amount of time in Mexico, he was making a parallel between Catholic Mexicans and Muslim Moroccans. Statistically, they each represent almost 100% of their respective populations. However, there are some Catholics who are Catholic because they are Mexican and because almost everyone else (in Mexico) is, just as there are some Muslims who are Muslims simply because they are Moroccan. In both cases, they are more "cultural" than religious. Their life reflects a life that is more in line with the greater culture than that of a life of real and relevant faith. This isn't even the negative side that I'm talking about. I think this "cultural (fill in the blank here)" term is somewhat universal. It can be applied to Catholics, Christians, Muslims, Jews and probably Hindus, Buddhists, and Atheists. Ok, maybe not atheists, but anyways... During the month of Ramadan, many Muslims, whether or not they fast or eat, can usually be found in front of the TV, watching cheesy Saudi Ramadan sitcom specials. I don't mean to say that you can't watch TV during Ramadan (who am I to judge?), but it seems like it takes away the purpose of this holy month, especially when watched 12 or 15 hours a day. A bit like giving up chocolate for Lent, maybe TV sitcoms aren't what God had in mind. Furthermore, most Muslims wake up before the first call for prayer (around 3:30 or 4am) to eat their last/first meal before the sun comes up, then go back to sleep for a few hours before starting the day. I have no objection to this. It's when people wake up at 3 or 4am to eat, then go back to sleep until 1 or 2pm. They wake up in the afternoon, go pray at the mosque, then come back for a late afternoon nap. Before you know it, the sun's down and it's time to eat again. What's the point of fasting when you spend most of your time awake feasting? Of course they "followed" the rules and restrictions of fasting from sun up until sun down, but was it really a sacrifice? Of course I could "follow" the rules by giving up eating chocolate or white bread for Lent, but is that getting at the heart of it? I have so much respect for those who, despite the side-effects of not eating or drinking, continue to work during Ramadan, who wake up before noon, and who fast without complaining. It's not about drawing attention to ourselves, but being humbled and sacrificing. I hope that after saying all this that I fall into the former category as one who sacrifices the things taken for granted every day to rely on God and to begin to understand what it might be like to be poor and hungry.
I don't mean to end on a negative note because this is not the heart of Ramadan. But I do feel like I would be unjust in saying that Ramadan is a super-holy month, its heart and purpose observed by ALL Muslims all across the world. That would just be like saying that ALL Christians give away half of their possessions to the poor, lend money to others without being expected to be paid back, invite strangers into their homes, when taken to court they offer the persecutor the clothes off their back, visit those in prison, or love their enemies and do good to those who hate them. Maybe one day...
Until then, reflect (and act) on Gandhi's probably-overstated, yet timelessly applicable words, "Be the change you want to see in the world."
(If you aren't challenged by these words, then maybe something is wrong... or I'm living in a different world than you and we need to talk)
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Family... And Ryan, Sheesha and Sex Tourism
Warning: This is a long one.... :/
I'm back in Marrakech, the place where it all started. It was two months ago today (the 10th) that I landed here, my first point of entry into Morocco. There's something about this place that keeps bringing me back. I know that it's not the weather (the summer temperature is usually around or above 47C/116F) or the ocean breeze (the closest beach is a good two hour drive). There's a craziness of Marrkech that I'm beginning to love and the hospitality is so welcoming, it's almost too much (more about that later... either this blog or the next). A first visit Marrakech might throw some people into an uncomfortable spin. On the taxi ride from the airport into town, one might encounter several near-death collisions with motorbikes, other taxis, trucks, or classy SUVs that are being driven by wealthy vacationers from Europe. But despite the chaos, there seems to be some functioning way of life. There is beauty in the midst of chaos. You see families of 4 riding together on one motorcycle, without any helmets-- the husband is usually driving, the youngest one in front of him on the handlebars, and the 7 year-old sandwiched between him and his wife on the back. My favorite is when there is a helmet strapped onto the handlebars. Really? How hard is it just to put the darn thing on? However dangerous it is, it has become one of my favorite snapshots of Morocco. Coming from a country where a family of 4 often has 5 cars, it's nice to see a change (not to mention the amount of resources saved and emissions not destroying our beautiful planet). I'm thinking of adopting the 4-person-to-1-motorcycle-rule when I return to the States and have a family some day. Don't worry though, the helmets will be worn on our heads instead of the handlebars.
Well, it's been a few weeks since I've written anything, and so you are probably wondering a few things... Why am I in Marrakech? What happened to that cool family I lived with in Fes? Am I still studying Arabic? and Have I been to any more weddings lately? Let me back up a bit. The last week in July was also my last week in Fes at ALIF (Arabic Language Institute of Fes). It was a great week. I spent quite a bit of time with my classmates. We called ourselves "The Family". After six weeks of being together for several hours every day, we were like a family. However, the class consisted of 6 girls and myself, so it turned into "The Family.... and Ryan" (what a downer). I'm always the odd one out. Our last "hoorah" was a trip into the desert where we road dromedaries into the dunes at sunset. It was postcard material. We all wore these scarves and looked like Lawrence of Arabia and spent the night under a moonless night in the Sahara. Without the moon, there were billions and billions of stars. I laid on top of a sand dune, the same one I laid on just over one year before on my trip to the same place, and was overwhelmed by the infiniteness of the universe. Or shall I say, the finiteness of the universe and the infiniteness of God, the creator of this crazy big universe. It was one of the moments that was just myself and my creator, not a worry or care in the world, and completely flooded with awe and praise to the One and Only. So you're either thinking one of two things, A.) That my night in desert involved the use of some drug or hallucinogenic Moroccan substance OR B.) You know exactly what I'm talking about because you too have been in a similar setting, overwhelmed by the infiniteness of God, and you know I'm not too out there. Believe what you'd like, but I'm hoping that you go for choice B. The desert, without a doubt, makes the short list on the top things to do in Morocco. It was the highlight of my trip last year and I think no trip to Morocco is complete without watching a sunrise or a sunset from the Saharan Dunes. After taking the camels back and grabbing a quick breakfast, we hit the road for our 10 hour journey back to Fes. Along the way, however, we stopped at a lake (well, it was a river until they built a dam, and now it's a huge lake) to take a dip. We were the only ones at the lake and we weren't quite sure if it was even legal to be swimming. The setting was spectacular- a (dam-made) lake in the middle of the desert at the base of the Middle Atlas Mountains... not a single soul around.
The trip to the desert came at perfect timing. It was a bonding experience for "The Family... and Ryan". Our whole class went on the trip except for the crazy lady in our class. I still barely know her name because every time someone asked, she said "AyeKatarina bla bla bla". All I know is that she is a forty-something year-old lady born in Turkey, now lives in Greece, and is over-the-top defensive and rude. The last week in class when we were exchanging emails and contact information, she refused to write anything down and said, "You didn't miss me in the desert, so you won't miss me in the future". (By the way, I kindly asked if she wanted to join us on our trip out to the desert, but she refused). I could go on and on with stories about AyeKatarina, but I will spare both you and myself.
After spending 6 weeks with a Fassi (a person or thing from Fes) family, I was just getting into the Fassi groove. When driving Mounia around in her new (but old) Renault, I knew all the pot holes to avoid and traffic circles that were yield (about half of the traffic circles are yield and the other half, you have the right-away unless it's a red light), I was getting used to Fassi Darija accent, it was normal for me to eat all three meals without ever touching a fork, knife or spoon, I could shoe away obnoxious Fassis that wanted me to eat at their restaurant or take their tour of the medina, and 105 degree heat (40C) was mild and cool enough to play soccer in. So for my final night in Fes, I figured that it would be best spent at a wedding. Let me tell you, Fassis know how to throw a wedding! This topped the other two weddings I went. The venue was a huge flashy villa a few kilometers outside centre ville. The bride and groom arrived around 9pm, which kicked off the celebration, accompanied by a live band that played Moroccan (wedding) hits. *NOTE: I know this is really culturally insensitive of me, but honestly, all the songs roughly sound the same. Of course the melody and the beats differ from song to song, but I can't tell if they are speaking Darija, Berber (a language spoken by the people from Morocco before the Arabs came), Arabic FusHa, Lebanese Arabic, or Egyptian Arabic. Shoot, maybe there were a few sung in English that I didn't even realize. One song plays and Mounia tells me that it's a song from a genre specific to the region of Fes, but I think to myself, "This sounds just like the song they played at the wedding in Tangier". The bad news is, I can't tell the difference between Fassi songs, songs from Tangier, or songs from Lebanon or Egypt (although you'd think it would be more obvious... maybe just for the native Arabic-speaker). The good news is, I got so many of these songs stuck in my head that a week after, I found myself humming the melodies, not knowing any words, and my Moroccan friends making fun of me.
Anyway, I sat a table with Mounia and her niece Oumeima. We sat and watched everyone dance in the main room of the villa until it looked like they were having too much fun, then we'd join. Let me just say that these guys (well, mostly girls) know how to dance and have a blast. The first half of the night, I found myself to be the only guy on the dance floor, which is every man's dream (dont worry, it's not dream, Diandra). Unlike America, people here don't really dance with each other in pairs, they just dance. Occasionally you get a group of sweaty bodies that lock arms and start jumping up and down screaming in Arabic. If you didn't know any better, you would think that these people had a few too many cocktails at the bar before hitting the dance floor, but the reality is there is not a drip of alcohol to be found. Weddings here, just like most Moroccan's lives, are alcohol-free thanks to the Qur'an.
It's worth mentioning that throughout this wedding, the bride wore a total of 6 different dresses! Yes, 6! And they weren't just any dresses... they were colorful, extravagant, and expensive! I think I got a picture of all of them, so I'll have to share them with you when I get back. The dancing stopped with the food came out. Weddings in Morocco go in reverse order from the wedding receptions in America. In Morocco, it begins with dancing and music, and ends quietly with a huge meal and lots of picture taken. I am still in awe about how they prepared so much food for so many people. The first meal was seafood pastilla. This looks like an enormous chicken pot pie, but instead stuffed with a wide variety of sea food. It's a very elegant and savory dish, and one Fassi told me "Pastilla is for rich people." Each table (there were probably 20-30, 8-10 per table) got one of these huge pastillas, enough to feed 15 people. I was stuffed. Then, they brought a whole roasted lamb on a huge silver platter to each table. The lamb dish is one of the most famous in Morocco and has been served at all three weddings I went to so far. The lamb sits in this rich sauce, or juice, and garnished with savory prunes. It's no wonder the whole wedding goes silent when the food comes. After you can't stuff anything more down your throat, the fruit assortment comes, followed by mint tea. At this point it's 2:30am and some people take off, as if it's too late and they have work in the morning or something. But not us. Mounia gets to sleep in and I have a final at 8am. We stay until about 3:30am or 4am, banging on tables and making up witty chants in Darija. This one guy at our table, Kareem, was hilarious. Type-A personality, over-the-top nice and made sure everyone was having a good time. His mom was also at our table and was like an older, funnier, woman version of him. I guess it's custom to make fun of the quiet tables, as if they are not having a good time. This soon turned into a "who can bang on their tables the most and get the most stares"-sort of challenge. We definitely had the most exciting table and it was the most I've laughed in a long time. If this is making no sense to you, I'm sorry, you just had to be there. :(
Half way home at 4am, Mounia decided she wanted her last driving lesson (it's a perfect time because there's no one on the roads). She bought her car several weeks ago, but doesn't know how to drive a manual car, so relied on me to be her driving instructor. This presented some very frustration, but mostly scary, situations. I can't remember how many times she stalled in the middle of a big intersection and couldn't get the car to move. I think I ran out of fingers counting the times of near-death experiences (and this car was made a few decades before the airbag era). As much as I wanted to get home by 4:30am and get a few hours of shut-eye before my final exam, I stopped the car, switched places, and played it cool. "Patience, Patience, Patience" I keep reminding myself.
Of course, I set my alarm only to have turned it off and fallen back asleep. I dont remember doing that, but it's the only thing that could have happened. I woke up frantically at 7:45 (I dont know why... but lhumdullah) quickly put on a shirt grabbed a pen, and jetted out the door. It takes 15 minutes (well, 13min to be exact) to get to school in the morning so I sacrificed the breakfast, the brushing teeth, and the milk and coffee to get to my exam on time. The exam wasn't so bad after all. With language (unlike studying over a list of organic-chemistry terms or something like), you either know it or you don't. It doesn't really matter how much sleep I got or didn't get. I missed a few questions on the test, not because of the sleep that I didn't get the night before, but because of the my competence-level in Arabic. Also on the bright side, the wedding was a much richer experience and more memorable than if I would have stayed at home studying.
Friday was a sad day of goodbyes. Goodbyes to my two professors. Goodbyes to my classmates/"The Family" (all except for AyeKatrina who said something like "have a good life, happy travels" and then walked out the door). And then there was my family, Ahilatee Margrabeeya. I've said plenty of goodbyes in my life, but there are a handful of really meaningful goodbyes that make my hands shake and my heart race as if I were on a caffeine high or about to play a rock concert or something. This one was one of those heart-racing caffeine buzz ones. I'm sure I will see them soon, maybe in a few weeks if I come back to Fes, but this family has taken me in as one of their own. I felt like a son to Mounia, a grandson to grandma, an "older brother" to Oumeima (those were her words), a cousin of Faisal and Medi and Zakariah and Issam, and a nephew of Sana and Sameera. I will miss the laughs, the amazing meals cooked by mama every day, the cockroaches in my bathroom (OK, maybe not), the frustrating yet scary driving lessons with Mounia, the temper tantrums of Medi, the horseplay with Faisal, the Spanish practice and lessons with Oumeima, the Turkish soap operas (Mierna wa Halil), and the smile and high-fives of grandma. The thing with goodbyes is that there is so much anticipation leading up to it, and then... boom. It's over, just like that. This was one of those. Out of the door, I was instantly preoccupied with finding a taxi to get to the train station ASAP. I was about to miss my train.
The next week took me to several cities in Morocco, mostly in the southern part of the country. I took the train to Casablanca where I met up with Laila. She helped me find a store where I took my camera to get fixed. The following day, I met up with some friends from Tangier, Taha and Haitam, as well as Meagan and Brooke (they studied on the The Scholar Ship with Taha and I and are traveling in Morocco for a couple weeks), AJ (traveling with Meagan and Brooke) and Mohssine and Marie (Americans living in Tangier... Mohssine is a Fullbright Scholar and professional drummer/musician doing a project with street children here in Morocco). It was a road trip that has been in the works for a couple months now. Unfortunately, something happened last minute and two other friends from Tangier (Karima and Imane) weren't able to make it on trip. So, it was mostly Americans, and one fellow Canadian (Brooke) who was the butt of all the jokes. With Taha driving one car and Haitam the other, they picked Laila and I up in Casablanca and we headed to Marrakech, where we stayed for two nights. Laila's family had us over for lunch the following day, where I think I ate the biggest lunch in my entire life (I'm not exaggerating). Let's just say that I didn't eat anything until the following afternoon!!! Remember the seafood pastilla at the wedding? Yup, her grandmother made one of those! This was after the assortment of salad and vegetables and tea. I stuffed myself full of pastilla, just as everyone else did. You could tell we were full. We slowed down, unable to eat anymore. That's when I turned to Brooke and said, "Yeah, this is only the first entree." I was half-joking (more like 90%). Then, another entree came... this time, bigger! Even I was surprised! It was the lamb and prunes dish!!!! I don't know how, but I just kept eating. It was so good! It is one of the nicest, most elegant meals that can be made for a guest (remember the hospitality I mentioned in paragraph one... this is a bit of what I'm talking about... Marrakech hospitality). There's no way you can turn that down! I really think I ate 5 pounds of food that day for lunch! I could barely breath! Of course, the meal was followed by a huge plate of fruit and Moroccan sweets and tea.
Next stop was Essaouira, one of my favorite places in Morocco. It's a beautiful white-washed medieval-esque (probably older) beach town. It was where I spent my last night in Morocco last year when I was here. It has this melancholy vibe to it or maybe it's just me being too sentimental. Jimi Hendrix spent a significant amount of time in this area, and it is thought that the ancient castle ruins on the beach a few miles south of the town inspired him to write "Castles Made of Sand". Despite the thousands of tourists packed in the tiny alleys of the medina, Essaouira has this laid-back feel to it and is unlike anywhere else in Morocco. Definitely a gem worth visiting in the summer!
From Essaouira, we traveled south to Agadir. Agadir is a city that I haven't been in Morocco, so I was really excited to go. Unfortunately, it was a bit of a let down. I don't know what my expectations where, but they weren't met. I'm sure with more time spend there, it would have been nicer, but at first glance, it's a bit of a gritty city. There wasn't too much character besides a string of beach resorts. We met one of Taha's friends from his University that lives in Agadir. He was really nice, a great host (not a surprise for Morocco), and showed us around for the two days we were there. He mentioned that Agadir was once best-known for its sex tourism. This got brought up as we were at a table sitting behind two guys from Saudi Arabia, whom he implied that they were here for reasons other than the beach. It didn't make much sense, as Dubai is much closer to Saudi Arabia and its reputation for sex tourism is booming. He told me that it's cheeper here in Morocco than places other places in the gulf like Dubai, so they often come here. A few hours later when we were walking down the boardwalk, I asked him if there were any sheesha cafes. Smoking sheesha (or hookah) is common throughout much of North Africa and the Middle East. He told me that the state (or province) of Agadir has banned sheesha and made smoking sheesha illegal, unlike other regions in Morocco where it's common. I am still mesmerized at the fact that sex tourism thrives in Agadir, but it is illegal to smoke sheesha in a cafe. Get me out of here!!!
We drove 5 hours through the night to Ouarzazate, a town on the east side of the High Atlas Mountains, just opposite from Marrakech. Ouarzazate is well-known for its studios. Big-name Hollywood movies like Gladiator, Alexander, The Mummy, Babel, and many others have been filmed here in Ouarzazate. Other than that, it's not too exciting. After an afternoon spent reading and hanging out, I said my goodbyes to the road trippin' group before bed. Taha took me early the next morning to the bus station so I could catch the morning bus back to Marrakech, while the group continued up to the desert, Ifrane, and back to Tangier. We split because my camera is fixed and waiting for me in Casablanca. I'm taking a few days here in Marrakech to work on my studies for APU and then in a few days, I'll head up to Casablanca, rescue my camera, maybe hit up another wedding and Fes, and then back to Tangier, where I'll be for the majority of the next 4 months. I'm excited for Ramadan, which starts in two weeks, or less, and a chance to finally settle in, for good. No more road trippin' or weekend trips (OK, maybe one or two here and there). It's Tangier for several months. Ramadan, internship, research project, and hopefully some improvement on my Arabic.
If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading my LOOOONG blog entry. It really means a lot that you'd take some time out of your busy day to read this. In an era like today, when almost everything is visual or made into a movie, it makes reading that more uncommon, but much more special. I wish I could reward you with a treat or prize of some sort, like a Moroccan cookie and mint tea, or at least some profound proverb or enlightening epiphany that I've had recently. But I think we're both out of luck. There's a saying in Darija that says, "Your portion is in Paradise". It's said when someone is fasting and you are eating in front of them.... So, I guess I leave by saying that to you... "your gift for reading my very long blog is in Paradise". I don't know what it is, but it's there in Paradise. :) Now go in peace. Ma' Salaama
I'm back in Marrakech, the place where it all started. It was two months ago today (the 10th) that I landed here, my first point of entry into Morocco. There's something about this place that keeps bringing me back. I know that it's not the weather (the summer temperature is usually around or above 47C/116F) or the ocean breeze (the closest beach is a good two hour drive). There's a craziness of Marrkech that I'm beginning to love and the hospitality is so welcoming, it's almost too much (more about that later... either this blog or the next). A first visit Marrakech might throw some people into an uncomfortable spin. On the taxi ride from the airport into town, one might encounter several near-death collisions with motorbikes, other taxis, trucks, or classy SUVs that are being driven by wealthy vacationers from Europe. But despite the chaos, there seems to be some functioning way of life. There is beauty in the midst of chaos. You see families of 4 riding together on one motorcycle, without any helmets-- the husband is usually driving, the youngest one in front of him on the handlebars, and the 7 year-old sandwiched between him and his wife on the back. My favorite is when there is a helmet strapped onto the handlebars. Really? How hard is it just to put the darn thing on? However dangerous it is, it has become one of my favorite snapshots of Morocco. Coming from a country where a family of 4 often has 5 cars, it's nice to see a change (not to mention the amount of resources saved and emissions not destroying our beautiful planet). I'm thinking of adopting the 4-person-to-1-motorcycle-rule when I return to the States and have a family some day. Don't worry though, the helmets will be worn on our heads instead of the handlebars.
Well, it's been a few weeks since I've written anything, and so you are probably wondering a few things... Why am I in Marrakech? What happened to that cool family I lived with in Fes? Am I still studying Arabic? and Have I been to any more weddings lately? Let me back up a bit. The last week in July was also my last week in Fes at ALIF (Arabic Language Institute of Fes). It was a great week. I spent quite a bit of time with my classmates. We called ourselves "The Family". After six weeks of being together for several hours every day, we were like a family. However, the class consisted of 6 girls and myself, so it turned into "The Family.... and Ryan" (what a downer). I'm always the odd one out. Our last "hoorah" was a trip into the desert where we road dromedaries into the dunes at sunset. It was postcard material. We all wore these scarves and looked like Lawrence of Arabia and spent the night under a moonless night in the Sahara. Without the moon, there were billions and billions of stars. I laid on top of a sand dune, the same one I laid on just over one year before on my trip to the same place, and was overwhelmed by the infiniteness of the universe. Or shall I say, the finiteness of the universe and the infiniteness of God, the creator of this crazy big universe. It was one of the moments that was just myself and my creator, not a worry or care in the world, and completely flooded with awe and praise to the One and Only. So you're either thinking one of two things, A.) That my night in desert involved the use of some drug or hallucinogenic Moroccan substance OR B.) You know exactly what I'm talking about because you too have been in a similar setting, overwhelmed by the infiniteness of God, and you know I'm not too out there. Believe what you'd like, but I'm hoping that you go for choice B. The desert, without a doubt, makes the short list on the top things to do in Morocco. It was the highlight of my trip last year and I think no trip to Morocco is complete without watching a sunrise or a sunset from the Saharan Dunes. After taking the camels back and grabbing a quick breakfast, we hit the road for our 10 hour journey back to Fes. Along the way, however, we stopped at a lake (well, it was a river until they built a dam, and now it's a huge lake) to take a dip. We were the only ones at the lake and we weren't quite sure if it was even legal to be swimming. The setting was spectacular- a (dam-made) lake in the middle of the desert at the base of the Middle Atlas Mountains... not a single soul around.
The trip to the desert came at perfect timing. It was a bonding experience for "The Family... and Ryan". Our whole class went on the trip except for the crazy lady in our class. I still barely know her name because every time someone asked, she said "AyeKatarina bla bla bla". All I know is that she is a forty-something year-old lady born in Turkey, now lives in Greece, and is over-the-top defensive and rude. The last week in class when we were exchanging emails and contact information, she refused to write anything down and said, "You didn't miss me in the desert, so you won't miss me in the future". (By the way, I kindly asked if she wanted to join us on our trip out to the desert, but she refused). I could go on and on with stories about AyeKatarina, but I will spare both you and myself.
After spending 6 weeks with a Fassi (a person or thing from Fes) family, I was just getting into the Fassi groove. When driving Mounia around in her new (but old) Renault, I knew all the pot holes to avoid and traffic circles that were yield (about half of the traffic circles are yield and the other half, you have the right-away unless it's a red light), I was getting used to Fassi Darija accent, it was normal for me to eat all three meals without ever touching a fork, knife or spoon, I could shoe away obnoxious Fassis that wanted me to eat at their restaurant or take their tour of the medina, and 105 degree heat (40C) was mild and cool enough to play soccer in. So for my final night in Fes, I figured that it would be best spent at a wedding. Let me tell you, Fassis know how to throw a wedding! This topped the other two weddings I went. The venue was a huge flashy villa a few kilometers outside centre ville. The bride and groom arrived around 9pm, which kicked off the celebration, accompanied by a live band that played Moroccan (wedding) hits. *NOTE: I know this is really culturally insensitive of me, but honestly, all the songs roughly sound the same. Of course the melody and the beats differ from song to song, but I can't tell if they are speaking Darija, Berber (a language spoken by the people from Morocco before the Arabs came), Arabic FusHa, Lebanese Arabic, or Egyptian Arabic. Shoot, maybe there were a few sung in English that I didn't even realize. One song plays and Mounia tells me that it's a song from a genre specific to the region of Fes, but I think to myself, "This sounds just like the song they played at the wedding in Tangier". The bad news is, I can't tell the difference between Fassi songs, songs from Tangier, or songs from Lebanon or Egypt (although you'd think it would be more obvious... maybe just for the native Arabic-speaker). The good news is, I got so many of these songs stuck in my head that a week after, I found myself humming the melodies, not knowing any words, and my Moroccan friends making fun of me.
Anyway, I sat a table with Mounia and her niece Oumeima. We sat and watched everyone dance in the main room of the villa until it looked like they were having too much fun, then we'd join. Let me just say that these guys (well, mostly girls) know how to dance and have a blast. The first half of the night, I found myself to be the only guy on the dance floor, which is every man's dream (dont worry, it's not dream, Diandra). Unlike America, people here don't really dance with each other in pairs, they just dance. Occasionally you get a group of sweaty bodies that lock arms and start jumping up and down screaming in Arabic. If you didn't know any better, you would think that these people had a few too many cocktails at the bar before hitting the dance floor, but the reality is there is not a drip of alcohol to be found. Weddings here, just like most Moroccan's lives, are alcohol-free thanks to the Qur'an.
It's worth mentioning that throughout this wedding, the bride wore a total of 6 different dresses! Yes, 6! And they weren't just any dresses... they were colorful, extravagant, and expensive! I think I got a picture of all of them, so I'll have to share them with you when I get back. The dancing stopped with the food came out. Weddings in Morocco go in reverse order from the wedding receptions in America. In Morocco, it begins with dancing and music, and ends quietly with a huge meal and lots of picture taken. I am still in awe about how they prepared so much food for so many people. The first meal was seafood pastilla. This looks like an enormous chicken pot pie, but instead stuffed with a wide variety of sea food. It's a very elegant and savory dish, and one Fassi told me "Pastilla is for rich people." Each table (there were probably 20-30, 8-10 per table) got one of these huge pastillas, enough to feed 15 people. I was stuffed. Then, they brought a whole roasted lamb on a huge silver platter to each table. The lamb dish is one of the most famous in Morocco and has been served at all three weddings I went to so far. The lamb sits in this rich sauce, or juice, and garnished with savory prunes. It's no wonder the whole wedding goes silent when the food comes. After you can't stuff anything more down your throat, the fruit assortment comes, followed by mint tea. At this point it's 2:30am and some people take off, as if it's too late and they have work in the morning or something. But not us. Mounia gets to sleep in and I have a final at 8am. We stay until about 3:30am or 4am, banging on tables and making up witty chants in Darija. This one guy at our table, Kareem, was hilarious. Type-A personality, over-the-top nice and made sure everyone was having a good time. His mom was also at our table and was like an older, funnier, woman version of him. I guess it's custom to make fun of the quiet tables, as if they are not having a good time. This soon turned into a "who can bang on their tables the most and get the most stares"-sort of challenge. We definitely had the most exciting table and it was the most I've laughed in a long time. If this is making no sense to you, I'm sorry, you just had to be there. :(
Half way home at 4am, Mounia decided she wanted her last driving lesson (it's a perfect time because there's no one on the roads). She bought her car several weeks ago, but doesn't know how to drive a manual car, so relied on me to be her driving instructor. This presented some very frustration, but mostly scary, situations. I can't remember how many times she stalled in the middle of a big intersection and couldn't get the car to move. I think I ran out of fingers counting the times of near-death experiences (and this car was made a few decades before the airbag era). As much as I wanted to get home by 4:30am and get a few hours of shut-eye before my final exam, I stopped the car, switched places, and played it cool. "Patience, Patience, Patience" I keep reminding myself.
Of course, I set my alarm only to have turned it off and fallen back asleep. I dont remember doing that, but it's the only thing that could have happened. I woke up frantically at 7:45 (I dont know why... but lhumdullah) quickly put on a shirt grabbed a pen, and jetted out the door. It takes 15 minutes (well, 13min to be exact) to get to school in the morning so I sacrificed the breakfast, the brushing teeth, and the milk and coffee to get to my exam on time. The exam wasn't so bad after all. With language (unlike studying over a list of organic-chemistry terms or something like), you either know it or you don't. It doesn't really matter how much sleep I got or didn't get. I missed a few questions on the test, not because of the sleep that I didn't get the night before, but because of the my competence-level in Arabic. Also on the bright side, the wedding was a much richer experience and more memorable than if I would have stayed at home studying.
Friday was a sad day of goodbyes. Goodbyes to my two professors. Goodbyes to my classmates/"The Family" (all except for AyeKatrina who said something like "have a good life, happy travels" and then walked out the door). And then there was my family, Ahilatee Margrabeeya. I've said plenty of goodbyes in my life, but there are a handful of really meaningful goodbyes that make my hands shake and my heart race as if I were on a caffeine high or about to play a rock concert or something. This one was one of those heart-racing caffeine buzz ones. I'm sure I will see them soon, maybe in a few weeks if I come back to Fes, but this family has taken me in as one of their own. I felt like a son to Mounia, a grandson to grandma, an "older brother" to Oumeima (those were her words), a cousin of Faisal and Medi and Zakariah and Issam, and a nephew of Sana and Sameera. I will miss the laughs, the amazing meals cooked by mama every day, the cockroaches in my bathroom (OK, maybe not), the frustrating yet scary driving lessons with Mounia, the temper tantrums of Medi, the horseplay with Faisal, the Spanish practice and lessons with Oumeima, the Turkish soap operas (Mierna wa Halil), and the smile and high-fives of grandma. The thing with goodbyes is that there is so much anticipation leading up to it, and then... boom. It's over, just like that. This was one of those. Out of the door, I was instantly preoccupied with finding a taxi to get to the train station ASAP. I was about to miss my train.
The next week took me to several cities in Morocco, mostly in the southern part of the country. I took the train to Casablanca where I met up with Laila. She helped me find a store where I took my camera to get fixed. The following day, I met up with some friends from Tangier, Taha and Haitam, as well as Meagan and Brooke (they studied on the The Scholar Ship with Taha and I and are traveling in Morocco for a couple weeks), AJ (traveling with Meagan and Brooke) and Mohssine and Marie (Americans living in Tangier... Mohssine is a Fullbright Scholar and professional drummer/musician doing a project with street children here in Morocco). It was a road trip that has been in the works for a couple months now. Unfortunately, something happened last minute and two other friends from Tangier (Karima and Imane) weren't able to make it on trip. So, it was mostly Americans, and one fellow Canadian (Brooke) who was the butt of all the jokes. With Taha driving one car and Haitam the other, they picked Laila and I up in Casablanca and we headed to Marrakech, where we stayed for two nights. Laila's family had us over for lunch the following day, where I think I ate the biggest lunch in my entire life (I'm not exaggerating). Let's just say that I didn't eat anything until the following afternoon!!! Remember the seafood pastilla at the wedding? Yup, her grandmother made one of those! This was after the assortment of salad and vegetables and tea. I stuffed myself full of pastilla, just as everyone else did. You could tell we were full. We slowed down, unable to eat anymore. That's when I turned to Brooke and said, "Yeah, this is only the first entree." I was half-joking (more like 90%). Then, another entree came... this time, bigger! Even I was surprised! It was the lamb and prunes dish!!!! I don't know how, but I just kept eating. It was so good! It is one of the nicest, most elegant meals that can be made for a guest (remember the hospitality I mentioned in paragraph one... this is a bit of what I'm talking about... Marrakech hospitality). There's no way you can turn that down! I really think I ate 5 pounds of food that day for lunch! I could barely breath! Of course, the meal was followed by a huge plate of fruit and Moroccan sweets and tea.
Next stop was Essaouira, one of my favorite places in Morocco. It's a beautiful white-washed medieval-esque (probably older) beach town. It was where I spent my last night in Morocco last year when I was here. It has this melancholy vibe to it or maybe it's just me being too sentimental. Jimi Hendrix spent a significant amount of time in this area, and it is thought that the ancient castle ruins on the beach a few miles south of the town inspired him to write "Castles Made of Sand". Despite the thousands of tourists packed in the tiny alleys of the medina, Essaouira has this laid-back feel to it and is unlike anywhere else in Morocco. Definitely a gem worth visiting in the summer!
From Essaouira, we traveled south to Agadir. Agadir is a city that I haven't been in Morocco, so I was really excited to go. Unfortunately, it was a bit of a let down. I don't know what my expectations where, but they weren't met. I'm sure with more time spend there, it would have been nicer, but at first glance, it's a bit of a gritty city. There wasn't too much character besides a string of beach resorts. We met one of Taha's friends from his University that lives in Agadir. He was really nice, a great host (not a surprise for Morocco), and showed us around for the two days we were there. He mentioned that Agadir was once best-known for its sex tourism. This got brought up as we were at a table sitting behind two guys from Saudi Arabia, whom he implied that they were here for reasons other than the beach. It didn't make much sense, as Dubai is much closer to Saudi Arabia and its reputation for sex tourism is booming. He told me that it's cheeper here in Morocco than places other places in the gulf like Dubai, so they often come here. A few hours later when we were walking down the boardwalk, I asked him if there were any sheesha cafes. Smoking sheesha (or hookah) is common throughout much of North Africa and the Middle East. He told me that the state (or province) of Agadir has banned sheesha and made smoking sheesha illegal, unlike other regions in Morocco where it's common. I am still mesmerized at the fact that sex tourism thrives in Agadir, but it is illegal to smoke sheesha in a cafe. Get me out of here!!!
We drove 5 hours through the night to Ouarzazate, a town on the east side of the High Atlas Mountains, just opposite from Marrakech. Ouarzazate is well-known for its studios. Big-name Hollywood movies like Gladiator, Alexander, The Mummy, Babel, and many others have been filmed here in Ouarzazate. Other than that, it's not too exciting. After an afternoon spent reading and hanging out, I said my goodbyes to the road trippin' group before bed. Taha took me early the next morning to the bus station so I could catch the morning bus back to Marrakech, while the group continued up to the desert, Ifrane, and back to Tangier. We split because my camera is fixed and waiting for me in Casablanca. I'm taking a few days here in Marrakech to work on my studies for APU and then in a few days, I'll head up to Casablanca, rescue my camera, maybe hit up another wedding and Fes, and then back to Tangier, where I'll be for the majority of the next 4 months. I'm excited for Ramadan, which starts in two weeks, or less, and a chance to finally settle in, for good. No more road trippin' or weekend trips (OK, maybe one or two here and there). It's Tangier for several months. Ramadan, internship, research project, and hopefully some improvement on my Arabic.
If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading my LOOOONG blog entry. It really means a lot that you'd take some time out of your busy day to read this. In an era like today, when almost everything is visual or made into a movie, it makes reading that more uncommon, but much more special. I wish I could reward you with a treat or prize of some sort, like a Moroccan cookie and mint tea, or at least some profound proverb or enlightening epiphany that I've had recently. But I think we're both out of luck. There's a saying in Darija that says, "Your portion is in Paradise". It's said when someone is fasting and you are eating in front of them.... So, I guess I leave by saying that to you... "your gift for reading my very long blog is in Paradise". I don't know what it is, but it's there in Paradise. :) Now go in peace. Ma' Salaama
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
4 Days, 2 Weddings
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
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
