A 3-Holiday Weekend and a Week in Spain

Another loooong one....

In the past 4 days I've celebrated 3 major holidays. On Thursday, I celebrated Thanksgiving, though not a Moroccan holiday by any means. Yesterday, Saturday, it was Eid al Adha (Festival of Sacrifice) or commonly referred to here in Morocco and other parts of North Africa as Eid ul Kabir, which literally means "The Big Eid" or "The Greater Eid" ("Eid" meaning holiday or festival) and today we celebrated "El Clasico", the football (or 'soccer' for those Americans reading) match between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid, the two most popular teams in Spain and two of the best teams in all of Europe (or the world for that matter). For Thanksgiving dinner, I was invited to a nice Italian restaurant by two of my really good friends from Tangier, Imane and Taha. In order to keep the tradition, I asked the three of us to share what we were thankful for in our lives. It was a special moment to take a break of our busy lives and share what we are thankful for. Even though I didn't see turkey (traditional to eat on Thanksgiving) on the menu, the highlight for me was the feeling of gratitude that we easily forget with our busy lives in which we often to take things for granted more than be thankful for (I am speaking about myself more than anyone else, because I in no place to judge your gratitude. I confess that I among the worst at pausing to say 'thanks' for health, for food, for being in Morocco, for another day of life, for my family, for my amazing friends and relationships, for God and everything he has done in my life, for moments of joy, for hardships, and for education and for opportunities). I am still learning how to have the grateful mentality that Henri Nouwen seemed to have mastered during his 6 month stay in South America, "I learned that everything that is, is freely given by the God of love. All is grace. Light and water, shelter and food, work and fee time, children, parents and grandparents, birth and death--it is all given to us. Why? So that we can say "gracias", thanks: thanks to God, thanks to each other, thanks to all and everyone" (Gracias! p.187). Many Christians practice the tradition of saying "Grace" before eating. It is a time to give thanks to God for providing the food and in the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., no follower of Christ should begin eating without first giving thanks to God as well as praying for those who are not fortunate to eat regularly (my paraphrase, taken from his autobiography). I have prayed only a handful of times before my meals and it is something I really miss. I mentioned it a bit in my entry about my reflections of Ramadan... I wish that it was part of the Muslim and/or Moroccan tradition to pray before meals. I know some do, but it is very rare. After sharing the things we were (and are) grateful for, Taha said that he missed saying grace. A few months ago he came to visit me in California and it was there that he remembered one night when my girlfriend prayed before our meal and also for my roommate Chad, as it was his birthday. It was a moment that stuck out to him whereas for me it was the status quo, the normal thing to do. Isn't it amazing how contagious a little bit of prayer and gratitude can be? Just as fear and anger can be contagious, so is gratitude. Let us work on spreading gratitude, even if it's a small and simple prayer before a meal or for someone's birthday. You never know how it might affect someone else and how it can spread like a wildfire. I think the more grateful we are, even for the little things, the more people will see and acknowledge the goodness of God and respond in a way of gratitude and worship. After all, isn't gratitude a form of worship?

Back to the holidays. Holiday #2 was yesterday. It is possibly the biggest holiday in the Islamic tradition. Called, "Eid al Adha", it is a day when every Muslim family, if financially able, must slaughter a sheep. The slaughtering of the sheep is to recall the story shared by Muslims, Christians, and Jews of the faithfulness of Abraham to sacrifice his own son and becuase of his faithfulness, God provided a sheep (more specifically, a ram) in place of his own son. I read the story (the Judeo-Christian version which is found in Genesis chapter 22 in the Bible) yesterday and thought to myself, "What a crazy story!" One random day God tells Abraham, "Hey, go take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and sacrifice him as a burnt offering." So Abraham wakes up the next morning, takes his donkey and his son Isaac out into the forest to be sacrificed. No big deal, right? Let us not forget one of the most important moments in history when God tells Abraham--no... God promises Abraham--that he will not only become a father, but the father of a "great nation" and that all the people of the earth will be blessed through him and his descendants. I'm not going to go into everything here, but the basic things to know is that Abraham was childless, and even at nearly 100 years of age, his wife still didn't bare any children. Finally, they have one, a boy named Isaac. Then one day he's just supposed to go burn his child as a sacrifice, the same kid who is going to fulfill the original promise God gave Abraham--all because God asked him to? What was God thinking? Talk about a crazy story! Because of Abraham's faithfulness and obedience to God, a sheep/ram was provided to take the place of Isaac and then sacrificed. In Islamic tradition, the slaughtering of the sheep, or ram, is done by each financially able family to remember the faithfulness and obedience of Abraham to God.

I woke up to the sound of Arabic chants coming from the mosque next door. Laying in bed, it had the same feel to the other Eid we celebrated three months ago at the end of Ramadan. Believers went to the mosque firs thing in the morning yesterday as they did three months ago and chanted prayers yesterday as at the end of Ramadan. But once I got out of bed, it was a completely different holiday. Whereas the other Eid, Eid Al Fitr, people left the mosque all wearing djellabas and traditional clothes, greeting everyone on the streets and being social, this Eid, Eid al Adha, was concerned solely with one thing... the sheep. On Haitams narrow street, little makeshift corrals were set up the past week to gather the sheep and hold them there until they were sold and/or slaughtered on the Eid. As people left the mosque, they took their sheep that they previously purchased and dragged it to their homes. Watching this from the rooftop terrace, I looked down on the street to see fathers dragging the sheep by their horns, usually with the help of the anxious little kids. Once they got to the front door, a man (often the hired butcher) would grab the sheep by the four legs and carry it up the stairs to the rooftop. (For those in America or not familiar with Morocco, most people in Morocco live in apartments or apartment-like houses. In other words, most people don't have isolated houses with their own yards or area around the house. Each house and/or apartment building has a rooftop/terrace... which is usually the location for the slaughtering of the sheep... or hanging clothes out to dry on every other day) Once the sheep was on the terrace, its legs were tied. At this point the butcher, with the help of one or two others to help hold the body of the sheep down, would hold the head down against the ground, it's throat facing toward the sky, and according to proper 'halaal' procedures (if unfamiliar with halaal meat, wikipedia it for more info) would cut the throat of the sheep. At this point, blood would go everywhere. Sometimes the blog just gushed calmly on to the ground, other times it squirted, and pretty far too! As Haitam's family bought three sheep, I got to see this process several times. It was all a new experience for me. I missed the slaughtering of the first one because when I got up to the terrace they were already taking off the head. So I watched from that point on for the first sheep, and other two sheep, observed the whole process. After the throat is cut, the blood gushes and squirts. If you ever get to be a part of this ceremony one day, I would recommend staying at least 6 or 7 feet (2 meters) away, as you might get an unexpected surprise... sort of like the 'splash zone' at Sea World. The cutting of the neck, and it's huge artery, is said to be the quickest way to slaughter an animal, and the way that creates the least amount of suffering for the animal. I'm not an expert, so don't quote me... this is just what I've been told. Maybe wikipedia will have better information.

Anyway, after the blood stops and the sheep is dead, the butcher (and maybe another butcher or help from any other guys willing to get their hands a little dirty) does what he needs to do to remove the head. I know that's vague. I'm trying to be descriptive, but also I don't want to be too vivid, especially for those who don't like this kind of stuff. What I'll say is this... we like to pretend, or should I say, turn a blind eye toward this seemingly gruesome event and idea of slaughtering. But for those of you who eat any meat or chicken or lamb or even fish, are eating something (an animal) that has been through a slaughtering process like this, but probably worse (at least if you're in the US). I'm not up-to-date on my animal rights knowledge or awareness of slaughterhouses in the US, but I imagine that the animals go through much worse conditions than what I described above. What America does really well is distancing its people from the origins of the food we eat. I'm not saying it's your fault or my fault or a major problem in the world today, but I do think we need to be aware of where our food comes from and how it gets to us. In other words, we might enjoy the luxury of having fresh vegetables for cheap prices in our grocery stores, but against having any immigrants, especially illegal ones, in our country. I am pretty certain that many of the cheap prices are possible only because we have illegal immigrants picking them for us. Of course, not all, but I would estimate quite a bit. We can't have a double standard of enjoying cheap fruits and veggies at the same time as wanting to kick out all the illegals in America. In the same way, the chicken you had for dinner last night probably came from a factory where a single visit to that place might make you never want to eat chicken ever again... or maybe they slaughtered it like most places in Sub-Saharan Africa where someone grabs the chicken by the head, holds it off the ground and cut off it's head with a machete and after the chicken runs around like crazy without a head. I'm not saying this so that you don't touch any meat ever again, but instead that we become aware of the food we are eating. Just as I mentioned about the immigrants, you can't say, "Oh this lamb is the best lamb I have ever had!" when eating a meal at Haitam's house or at a Moroccan house or restaurant while finding the way they slaughter sheep cruel or barbaric and wanting nothing to do with it. While watching these three sheep being slaughtered, their heads taken off, skinned, and organs taken out, I felt a bit guilty taking part of something that looks so cruel... but then realized that I am the one responsible for this as I am eating beef, chicken or lamb just about every day. I think that I need to remember not to remove myself from the reality of what I am eating and to be aware of what is behind, more or less, the food on my plate.... whether it be child laborers, immigrants, cruel slaughtering methods/treatment, or a local farmer doing his best to make a living.

Back to the Eid. It was a very memorable few hours I spent up on the terrace, watching these three sheep slaughtered and the whole process that goes along with it, as well as watching sheep being dragged away to peoples' homes, and looking across the M'ssalah skyline of Tangier to see families out on their rooftops taking part in this sacred religious holiday. After it seems like all the sheep had been slaughtered, the streets were then busy with butchers walking in the neighborhood hoping for just one more slaughter. A good butcher can do the whole process in 10-20 minutes, and therefore could slaughter up to 5 or 8 different sheep at different homes and make quite a bit of hard-earned wages. Late in the morning, these butchers walked the streets, covered in blood and carrying their set of slaughtering knives. I couldn't imagine someone coming to Tangier, or anywhere in Morocco or the Muslim world for the first time, having no idea about the holiday. They would walk off the boat or out of the airport only to find the most common people on the streets were carrying large knives and covered in blood. I can't help but laugh at the thought of a somewhat wealthy, conservative, or sheltered couple making a weekend trip across the Mediterranean from Europe for the first time only to find this seemingly barbaric sight. At first glance, they were probably thinking to themselves or telling each other, "I know we shouldn't have come!" If Westerners had stereotypes of Muslims being terrorists, they were wrong about that because a walk around the streets on Saturday would have replaced the terrorist stereotypes with the reality they were a bunch of violent murderers (animals of course). haha!

For lunch fresh kebda was served. And by fresh, I mean really fresh! Kebda--not to be confused with 'kefta'--is liver. Within about two hours of the slaughter, the organs were removed, cleaned, and cooked. Thank God for garlic, spices and lemon which make meals like this easier to eat. Although I've tried the stomach and intestines (and probably some other miscellaneous body parts from inside), I prefer to stay away from them if possible. Haitam knows this and so he asked me the next day, "If you were stuck in the desert and all there was to eat was l3lawa (pronounced more or less 'LuhaLWAH'), would you eat it?" I said, "Yes of course, but there's a huge fish in front of us, so I prefer the fish!" So far, the intestines and stomach are my least favorite (after a few bites I'm finished), the liver is pretty manageable but not my favorite, and the meat itself I love. I have yet to try the sheep brains... so it's going to be a tough call between the sheep brains and intestines. If I try, I'll tell you which one is more enjoyable. :)

That night, I went for a walk around Tangier. The Eid is a bit similar to Christmas Day (or even the Superbowl) in America. The streets are probably the least crowded as they can be throughout the year, most stores are closed and most of the people are in their homes enjoying the holiday. This is of course with the exception of the couple thousand people who think it's a good idea take their kids to Legoland on Christmas and eat at the Cafe... meaning that people like me had to work last Christmas. At least in Tangier, there is no Legoland or other themeparks that are open on the Eid, so just about everything is closed. Turning the corner of nearly every street I found big metal trash cans turning into bon fires filled with wood and coals. Kids, teenagers and young adults alike were all gathered around the flame with rebar metal or long sticks One one end they stood away from the heat holding the stick over fire as if they were roasting marshmallows. But instead of marshmallows they had sheep heads impaled on the other end and were roasting them over the open fire. After the sheep were slaughtered, most people gave their heads to the eager kids and teenagers to start roasting in the afternoon. I guess the best way to eat the head is like a rotisserie chicken; over open flame. It was kind of a weird night for me. Empty streets, trash cans and open flames everywhere, kids roasting sheep heads huddled around the open flames, closed stores and cafes and just an overall weird ambience. Maybe it was a bit more barbaric than I'm used to for a Thanksgiving weekend, but I'm thankful I was able to experience this holiday as over a billion people around the world were doing the same... 4 or 5 times as many people than those celebrating Thanksgiving... weird!

Tonight was holiday number 3 of the long weekend. OK, so it's not an official holiday, but it had a similar affect that holidays have in society. Tonight, people gathered together across race, religion and citizenship to watch the infamous Barcelona/Madrid match. Originally I wanted to watch it in a cafe... where most people in Morocco watch football matches. When it comes to the Spanish league (and other European leagues, but mostly the Spanish League and the Champions League), Moroccans are crazy about football. It could be your first visit to Tangier and if when walking down the street you hear a loud uproar and people cheering, you could probably bet money that it was either a Barcelona or Madrid game (with few exceptions such as the Egypt vs Algeria game a few weeks ago in which most Moroccans supporting their neighbors went crazy--and when i say 'went crazy' i mean, they really went crazy... it beats any Lakers game, boxing match, or superbowl game--at the first score made by Algeria). So when Madrid and Barcelona face each other in a match two times every year, known as El Clasico, it's like a cocktail for the perfect storm. When you take possibly the two best clubs in the world and the best players in the world, you cannot leave unsatisfied, as was the case with this years' El Clasico. Because of the cold rainy weather in Tangier this weekend, I decided to stay home and watch it with Haitam and a few friends. It might not have been the craziness or roudyness of the cafe clamour, but it was still exciting (not to mention that time with friends and relationships is more important than my own desire to have an 'authentic experience'). The match was one of the best that I've watched in a long time. Thanks to Ibrahamovic's beautiful goal, Barcelona took the victory against Madrid as 1-0. Although there was only one goal, every minute was filled with intense playing and unmatched skillfulness. After the victory, crowds filed out of the cafes and on to the streets, cars honking and people celebrating. It seemed like people were more excited about the El Clasico as they were yesterday for the Eid. In this way, I consider El Clasico a holiday celebrated by people throughout the world, especially here in Morocco and I imagine even more so in Spain.

Speaking of Spain, I have to share a little bit about the 7 days I spent traveling around Andalusia with my mom as she came to visit. However, I know that just talking about the highlights won't do the trip justice because it was an incredible week traveling around to some of the most beautiful and historic cities and spending such quality time with my mom. We've traveled a lot together, especially throughout Middle School and High School, but it's been years since we got this quality time together. It's weird to think that the most quality time we have together usually take place outside the country, especially because I spend most of my time now at my University in Los Angeles and if I'm not in LA, I'm either at home in San Diego for a few days and or out of the country again. So we took the ferry across the Straight of Gibraltar--something I've been waiting to do since I first arrived in Tangier because I look across the Straight every day to the coast of Southern Spain--and bused from Tarifa to Algeciras where we rented a car and headed north to Sevilla. Oh the joys of driving. I know a lot of people (or maybe just my dad) hate driving. But because I haven't driven since I left America (except for the handful of times I drove Mounia's car in Fes and the few times I drove here in Tangier) and I don't mind driving (especially if it's a brand new rental car!) and there is no traffic, it was great! Not only was being in a new country, a new continent, a new culture and new language a nice change, driving a new car on nice European roads was one of the little things that made me happy.

After a quick stop in the small hill town called Arcos de la Frontera, we continued on to Sevilla and arrived before dark. I was really enjoying driving until we got to the small cobble-stone streets of Sevilla (and every other city for that matter). There's no grid, no organized layout of the city, and all the streets are one-way alleys. Good thing we didn't rent a Hummer because we wouldn't have even been able to drive down the streets without getting sandwiched by the tight buildings or road markers. Sevilla was impressive. I don't know if it was because I was back in the First World, the "West", in love with Spain and Andalusia, enjoying speaking Spanish, excited for tapas and beer or all of the above, but I loved Sevilla. The first night there I thought to myself "Oh I could live here! This is my favorite city in Spain (I only knew Barcelona, Girona, and Madrid before this trip)". But as the week continued, I had the same reaction everywhere we went. When we got to Cordoba, I loved it. Maybe not as many tapas bars as Sevilla, but so many good restaurants and a new part of the city that reminded me a lot of Argentina (probably why they named a city in Argentina Cordoba). Marbella (pronounced "Mar-Bey-ya" which means 'beautiful ocean' in Spanish) was the next stop. It wasn't like Sevilla or Cordoba but it was on the beach, situated along the beautiful "Costa del Sol" (The Sun Coast) between Gibraltar and Malaga. Our first night at the timeshare was spent with a walk to the beach (maybe a two minute walk from our room) for a beautiful sunset and glass of wine. Not a bad life... right? This was Thanksgiving vacation for me.... so it was nice to enjoy the beach, sunsets, time with mom, and sightseeing... something I never do or usually like to do. But a few days of sightseeing once in awhile isn't too bad. Mom and I made a day trip to Gibraltar, the British enclave peninsula across the bay from Algeciras. Like Ceuta, the Spanish enclave in Morocco, Gibraltar was weird. I can't imagine growing up in either of these places. You are British, living in the UK, using British Pounds and eating fish & chips, but you are surrounded by Spain. If you want to travel more than 5 miles (8km), you have to leave your country. Or in the case of Ceuta, you are a Spanish citizen, using Euros, enjoying tapas and beer, but anymore than 5miles from your home you are in a new country. You live in Africa, but you are in Spain. If you want to travel around your own country, you have to go to a different continent, taking a boat across the Straight of Gibraltar to the mainland. Weird! To top it all off, I found more people speaking Spanish in Gibraltar (UK) than English, and in Ceuta, I found the same thing with more people speaking Arabic and wearing djellabas than speaking Spanish. Gibraltar and Ceuta are quite possibly the two weirdest places I've ever been!

After Gibraltar, we headed back for one more night in Marbella and then left in the morning for Granada. I heard that Granada was one of the most beautiful (if not the most beautiful) cities in Spain... and it sure was. Like my reaction in Sevilla and Cordoba I thought, "I could live here!" Granada is known for its tapas and tapas bars because it's one of the few cities in Spain where they still serve you "free" tapas when you order a drink, alcoholic or not. My mom couldn't wrap her mind around this concept... maybe because it was our last stop and because we've been paying for tapas the whole trip. But it's the way it should be (بنسبه لي) and I hope Granada doesn't change.

One of the many highlights was a flamenco show we attended our first night in Sevilla. Sevilla is known for its flamenco and I'm so glad we went to a somewhat traditional flamenco. (I say "somewhat traditional" because I'm not flamenco expert, so I dont know how traditional it was, and the one we went to features local artists and is not as touristy as the other ones) I was astonished throughout the whole 60minute show. I got lost in the guitar player's skillful strumming, elegant melodies and unparalleled talent, as I've never heard such beautiful sounds come from a guitar before. The whole performance and experience was remarkable. Although the guitar player was world class and producing sweet sounds for the audience to hear, focusing only on the guitar would have been a shame. It was the full experience that made it so impressive. It was the music that captured the ears but the dancing that fancied the aesthetics. I felt at times like I was on a roller coaster; sometimes feeling a rush of intensity while the man rapidly strummed the guitar and the lady danced like crazy, and then instantly a stopped. Then it would build up again slowly and break, continue, rise and fall several times. If you let the music have control, there's really nothing like it. It was one of the most beautiful pieces of art I've ever seen. The flamenco trio (guitarist, singer, dancer) was doing what they do best to create one lively outpouring of art, beauty, talent, and music. Within minutes, the whole audience was consumed. If you take two people for example, (I think it would have still been incredible with the guitarist and the dancer) with such different talents and abilities and put them together as one... wow! It's stunning! Call me crazy, but I think this is a beautiful analogy for a marriage/relationship. Sure the guitarist on his own is great and same with the dancer. But when you have two people with such diverse talents and abilities and synchronize them, the finished product is something amazing! How beautiful is it when a man and women, so different and unique in their own ways, come together in a life that naturally draws people, not to the individual but instead to beauty and fullness of something that is beyond them, greater than themselves.

Spain was wonderful! Cathedrals, mosques, history, statues, good food and great atmosphere captured most of our time. Although we were in Andalusia, the once Muslim/Arab occupied region of Spain, I was reminded that we weren't in Morocco anymore. From the church bells sounding throughout the day which replaced the "Adhan" (Muslim call for prayer) which I've become accustom to hearing every day, to the 20-30 page menus for just wine (something not so uncommon in restaurants across the region), I was reminded that we were in a different country, a different continent, and among people of a different religion. Not to say that I don't like Moroccan anymore, but having spent the last 5-6 months in one country, one culture, and one religion (with a few exceptions of gatherings of Christian bible studies and times of worship), it was a nice change. And although I often feel more at home in the global south (and/or non-Occidental countries), Spain was an exception. I look forward to going back in the future (Inshallah) to both the same places and new ones as well.

It looks like this might be the longest entry so far. As always, I have just scratched the surface of describing my time, experiences, observations and interpretations of these past few weeks. If you've gotten this far, thank you! Thank you for your time, your curiosity, your investment in my life. I look forward to getting together with you to share even more about my experiences and the things I am taking away from them. As of now, I have less than two weeks left in this country before I head back to America. I cannot even fathom being back in America in two weeks time. It hasn't hit me yet, and I don't know if it will until I actually get there. In these next few days in Tangier, I will be finishing my research and other work for my Global Learning Term, as well as saying many sad goodbyes and trying to find some sort of closing--physically, emotionally and spiritually--to these last 6 months. It seems just like yesterday that I arrived in Tangier, wrote my first blog, and was at the beach enjoying summer, but I need to look back upon these past months which were full of new experiences, challenges, frustrations, lessons, and new people in my life.

I will try to write one last blog before I leave, but I do not know what the rest of my time will look like. However, I do plan on keeping this blog at least for a while and I have several thoughts and insights that I would love to share with you all (in blog format)... things that have been brewing since the day that I got here and that I've been wanting to share. Stay tuned for those.

In closing, السالام عليكم, As-Salaama Alaikum, 'Peace be with you'.

It's About the Journey

What a month is has been. There's no way that I could talk about everything that's been going on in the last month (if you think my last few entries have been long... just wait). Instead, I'll give you the Cliff Notes (Sparknotes for the younger crowd) version of my life in Morocco since I wrote last, and maybe a few personal thoughts here and there. Instead of going chronologically, I start at the present and back up a bit. I'm sitting in a Riad (traditional Moroccan-home-turned-into-hotel) down some narrow alley in the ancient medina of Marrakech. A few hours ago, I met my mom at the airport as she flew in all the way from California (via London). Its a bit surreal seeing one of your parents after you haven't seen them for 5 months. It's not like coming home however, it's more of a welcoming them (my mom) into the place and country that you call home. It's a strange feeling. But I'm excited, to say the least, to introduce my mom to the amazing culture and life here in Morocco. I know that 4 days isn't really enough to get a good grasp of this place, but I hope that in the short time we have together here, she will have a little insight to the culture, the food, the hospitality, the religion, and the landscape (both physical and social) of this amazing country.

In order to come down to Marrakech (a good 700km south of Tangier), I left Tangier yesterday morning for Casablanca. I could have taken the train straight to Marrakech, but I didn't want to spend 11 hours in one spot, so I decided to break the trip up a bit. And instead of taking the nice CTM bus (the nicest, and most expensive, bus company in Morocco), I decided to go to the bus station and take the "regular" bus. You don't need any reservations or timetables for these buses. You simply show up at the station whenever you want to go. There you find men yelling "Dar Baida!" "Rabat!" "Fes!" "Meknes!" and so forth. I found the guy yelling "Dar Baida" (Casablanca... literally 'white house' in Arabic) and handed him a few dirhams (almost half the cost of the CTM) and just like that I was on the bus and we were off. Besides the lack of air-conditioning, opening windows, or any other form of ventilation, I thought "This isn't too bad. Why haven't I done this more often?" I could say that I'm used to crummy buses. After four months in sub-saharan Africa and 5,000 miles of bus travel, I had enough crazy substandard bus rides to last me a lifetime. This bus was still luxury compared to some others I'd been on. Plus, it was only 5 or 6 hours max, which was a lot better than 30 or 40 hours (for example, in Mozambique). This was all good until about 30 minutes from Casablanca when the engine started making funny noises and quickly faded to a small put-put. The driver pulled off the highway and turned off the engine. A few seconds later, his attempt to restart the engine was unsuccessful and within a minute or two, everyone was off the bus. Some ambitious men started running along the highway trying to hitch a ride with a passing semi-truck or flat-bed. When I realized that the bus wasn't going to start, I decided the only option is to walk or to do the same as the other men. I walked down the highway and tried to waive down any car or truck that I could tell either had room inside, or a place outside for me to jump on and/or ride on. Fortunately, many of the cars and trucks on the highway saw the broken down bus with a bunch of stranded men and women and therefore pulled over to give lifts to anyone looking for one. Within a few minutes, a business man in an VW Golf pulled over and let me and another man in. He took us down the highway toward the city. Since he wasn't going to the main part of Casablanca, he dropped the two of us off on the highway where we could walk off the highway and catch a taxi into the city center. Almost 7 hours after leaving Tangier (in a car it's only 3.5 or 4 hours), I finally made it to my destination. Sure, the train would have been easier and CTM would have been nicer (and more expensive), but how often do you get crazy stories like this? One day I hope to share stories like with my kids and look back to how much things have changed (or not) with time. Also, I asked myself, "How much have I been separated from the reality of life of a lower-middle-class Moroccan?" I have the funds and the opportunity to take CTM and do things that are luxuries for most of the people in this country. It was a reminder that not everyone in Morocco drives in cars to get to their destination, takes CTM, or has air-conditioning. When the bus broke down, I could have been upset and frustrated - and I had every right to be - that the bus I paid for didn't even make it to the destination, but in hind-sight, there is something so beautiful about this. In most cases, there is some sort of good that comes from the negative. In this case, the negative was that my bus broke down, but the positive was that within 15 minutes, every passenger on the bus (man or woman) was picked up and given a free ride into the city. All they had to do was stand on the highway with their arm out pointing toward Casablanca. I know that not every negative situation has something positive with it, but I find that the longer we focus on the negative the less likely we will see the positive.

Before getting ready for this trip down south to meet my mom, I spent the whole week doing interviews for my research. One of the courses I am doing here in Morocco for my GLT (Global Learning Term) is a community-based research project. My topic is "The Role of Religion (Islam) in the Lives of Young People in Tangier". Within the last week, I did 12 interviews, each lasting between 40 minutes and over an hour. It was exhausting to say the least, but definitely one of the highlights of my time in Morocco. In order to prepare for my project, I made a weekend getaway to Al-Akhawayn University in beautiful Ifrane. It was now my third or fourth time to Akhawayn and every time I go, I love it more and more. Besides getting to spend a few moments with my friends like Taha, Zouhair, Youssef and Laila (who were all in midterms), I spent the majority of my time hiding away in the Mohammad VI Library. It is absolutely beautiful and has one of the largest collections of English resources in all of Africa (I think second only to one or two in South Africa). For nearly two days straight, I sat at the same desk with a pile of books that towered over my laptop. Reading, skimming, writing, reading, skimming, writing, reading, skimming, and writing. Despite the mundaneness (yes, it's a word, I looked it up) of the work, it really paid off. My tower of books provided a framework for the direction my research would take, what questions I would ask, and how I might be able to make sense of the data after I finished the interviews and field-research. I came back to Tangier refreshed, partly because of a short break from my internship and partly from the crisp mountain air. In the days and weeks that followed my trip in Ifrane, I worked on constructing a fluid interview guide and questions, while simultaneously setting up interviews, getting project proposals and questions translated into French and Arabic, and scheduling times/interviews when I would need a translator to help conduct the interviews. It was enough to give me a headache... and it did. Three days in a row my head was spinning, and hurting. But overall, I feel that the interviews thus far have gone really well. I have learned so much about Islam and what it means to practice (or not practice) the great world religion that claims between 1 and 1.5 billion followers. When I am finished, I would love to share with you some of the things I found interesting and surprising. Although my research is limited to Tangier, simply because I don't have the time or resources or scholarly support to study this topic throughout all of Morocco, I have engaged in very penetrating conversations with my friends in other parts of Morocco like Casablanca and Marrakech. Based on what I have found to be very intriguing in my interviews I held in Tangier, sometimes I will pose one or two of the same questions to those I'm with in Casablanca or Marrakech. It's amazing how just one question usually sparks into a wildfire of dialogue and debate. Topics such as the hijab or "equal opportunities and legal protections between men and women" are always hot topics, providing sometimes hours of discourse and entertainment (maybe just entertainment for me).

Through both my studies/research and experience in Morocco so far, I feel like I have somewhat of a better grasp of the culture and lifestyle. I have learned which questions to ask and their appropriate times. You don't just go up to people asking them why they wear the hijab or probe for personal questions about the religion they practice (I'm being vague here, because although Morocco is 98-99% Muslim, within that, there are endless combinations of adopted beliefs, practices that wouldn't be considered consistent with Islam, attempts to practice a pure form of Islam, and traditions that have been passed from generation to generation. I say "religion they practice" - instead of "Islam" - because each person I've talked to said they practice religion, but sometimes it looks more like a particular worldview or philosophy than it does Islam). Some people don't mind the questions and others do. Like everything else, it's all about timing. In a situation where the person doesn't know me very well, they might perceive me as someone who is ignorant about their religion and trying to dispute their beliefs. Although I may disagree with some of the beliefs and doctrines in Islam, from the standpoint of an outsider (American, non-Muslim, non-Moroccan) student researcher on these topics I can stand at a distance and observe (and learn). In most cases, the conversation turns a bit tense and if there is more than one person, people's different viewpoints sometimes conflict. I love these conversations. Many people however, try to avoid such conflicts as they cause friction. What is so beautiful about this though, is the friction itself. In order to move, to change or to progress, friction is needed. Without friction we remain in the same place, unaffected by the world around us. Friction causes movement and growth. Without it, we would be grown adults on the outside, but like little ignorant kids on the inside. (I don't mean to talk bad about kids... there's something beautiful about who they are and what they stand for. But there is a time to be young, ignorant and innocent, as well as a time to be grown, mature, and aware. The only way to reach that stage is when we are challenged, tested, and stretched.) If it weren't for people to challenge my beliefs, worldviews, or the deconstruction such aspects in my life, then I would be the same now as I was in fifth grade. No offense Mr. Verga (my fifth grade teacher), but I am where I am today because of the 'friction' moments in my life that cause me to excel, change and learn. Not everyone enjoys these friction moments. Most of the time, it's when someone brings up one of the three off-limits topics at the dinner table; politics, religion, or money. But my friend Alex says, "If you don't talk about money, politics or religion, then what are you going to talk about?" Certainly we can talk about the weather or some other neutral topics, but such conversations don't really do much to challenge us, teach us, stretch us, or require us to think. Therefore, I prefer the friction, the dispute and the differences in opinions, especially when in the right timing and environment.

With that said, I have really enjoyed these talks while in Morocco. However, my study of Moroccan culture and somewhat fundamental understanding of Islam (I've really just scratched the surface) has shed light on the complexities of these two intersecting matters. The longer I am here, the more complex everything becomes. Things just aren't black and white. I don't know why I expected them to be, but maybe just based off of my first few months here, things seemed a bit more simple and easy to understand. Now however, I feel like I'm a bit more lost than when I arrived. Sure, I can explain why some things are and how life in Morocco is, but there are somethings I just don't understand. A somewhat comical incident happened the other evening as I was walking back home. Sitting on a small wall was a young couple, totally making out (for the non-native English speakers, "making out" means kissing... a lot). In America (or Europe) for example, this isn't that big of a deal. People kiss in public, PDA (public display of affection) is the norm. But for Morocco, you don't see this every day, or at all (at least among the locals). To make it more exciting (from a social-science nerdy perspective), the girl was wearing a hijab. The hijab is a scarf worn by a Muslim woman to cover her hair and it usually symbolizes a more strict/conservative form of religiosity. Seeing the girl in the hijab making out with her boyfriend (in public) was just about as paradoxical as it gets. Islam outlaws forms of pre-marrital relationships and kissing (not to mention doing it in public). When you see a girl in wearing a hijab making out with her boyfriend, you have to ask questions. Things that were once black and white instantly turn grey and complex. After telling this story to one of my friends in Casablanca, she replied by saying, "I have about 10 or 15 friends who wear the scarf, but only 2 that wear the hijab." She went on to explain, "The hijab is a way of life, not just an article of clothing [like the scarf]." I really liked that. It's not about what we wear or how we dress, but the lifestyle we choose to live. (A side note- I don't however, think women should dress inappropriately ('less-is-better' mentality) and justify it by their "modest" lifestyle. You get what I mean?) Another funny snapshot into the complexities of Moroccan life happened the other weekend when I was working at the Tanjalatina Music Festival (Latin Music Festival of Tanger). In general, there were very few women wearing the hijab at the music festival. But one of the women I saw wearing the hijab was older and had on more makeup than most of the young girls there wearing mini skirts. I thought, "That's ironic" and didn't think anything else about it until later that night when I saw her with her husband who was drinking a beer. Alcohol is strictly prohibited in Islam and to see this was somewhat comical. I almost started laughing when I spotted them. On the left, the veiled woman represents strict adherence to religion (minus the overdose of makeup) and the man on the right is drinking a Corona, something that completely goes against what his wife is symbolizing. I'm left with more questions and my only response is "C'est l'Maroc" ("This is Morocco").

Apart from having trouble understanding and attempting to explain culture and experience, the past month has provided more than enough frustrating moments in terms of language. I don't mean to be overly negative, but I have to be honest; this whole language thing is really frustrating sometimes (ok... pretty much always). I've come a long way since I arrived in June, but I've still got a LONG way to go. I dont know if it's because it's Arabic, or because I'm slow at learning languages, or because I'm an American, or because I've only been here a few months, or all of the above. Regardless, I still have no small feat ahead of me. I studied Modern Standard Arabic (FusHa) and am living in a country where that language isn't even spoken. An older friend of mine who's lived in Morocco for 20 years, has a Ph.D in Arabic studies, and speaks perfect Arabic (Moroccan and Classical) said that learning Arabic was like learning all of the romance languages at the same time. French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian all came from Latin. In the same way, Moroccans have their dialect, Egyptians theirs, as well as Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, the Gulf, Iraq, and Libya. However, unlike Latin where it split into different dialects (which then became official languages), all of these countries' dialects are all still considered Arabic because of the sacredness of the Qur'an. The Qur'an acts as the glue which holds the Arabic language together as one, despite its difference in dialects throughout the Arab world. The Qur'an also maintains the standard for Arabic. As languages change, Arabic relatively stays the same because of the immutability of the Qur'an. So, I studied a bit of the pure Arabic, but I'm living in a context in which the language has been changed, progressed, and mixed with other cultural and linguistic elements. If you're confused, don't worry- I'm still trying to figure it al out too. The bottom line is that some days (most days) are extremely frustrating. The other week I reached a breaking point. I wrote in my journal, "Language sucks. It is really a curse and a whole world is closed when you don't know the language. I just stood and watched a 30 minute conversation with a guy from France and a few Moroccans. I could only understand about 5 or 10% (mostly from body language, tone, all the non-verbals, and a few words in English). They talked about Islam, culture, media, religion, and change (of course... right up my alley). Not being able to be part of the discussion is not only frustrating, but also discouraging. Without French (in the case of this conversation), I can't participate, understand, challenge, or give my point of view. I can't be a part of the discussion, but instead just a spectator. How am I supposed to add to the discussion, listen, learn, or convey truths or principals that I know or have learned without speaking the language? It's very discouraging and the more than ever, I want to learn French (as well as Arabic and just about every other major language in the world). Without competency of language in the specific context, learning ceases to happen and I can't convey ideas, beliefs, or challenges." The 'friction' that I mentioned earlier cannot happen. It's not a fun place to be. My high school Spanish teacher (McCluskey- an amazing woman) told me, "When you learn a language, a whole world opens up." This couldn't be more true. Without it, there is a whole world out there that I don't have access to or am able to participate in. I just want to get to the end, where I can speak and understand and read and write perfectly, but I know - like most things in life - it's about the journey... not the finish line. Without the journey, it is pointless. Without the journey, I would miss out on so much along the way. I have to remember that these days and moments of frustrating are hopefully not only building character, but also language skills and competencies that I will have for the rest of my life.

So, a blog entry that I started as being a short one turned out (once again) to be quite long. It's late and I must get some sleep. As much as I would love to tell you everything I learned about the drug situation and drug cartels (fortunately non-violent cartels.. unlike the Mexican/Colombian ones) in Northern Morocco, which is the world's largest exporter of Hashish/Marijuana (I don't even know the difference), or my quick getaway to Ceuta (the Spanish enclave on Moroccan soil), or the smiles from my beggar friends Ibrahim and Rachid that always brighten my day, or the things I continue to do wrong according to Moroccan culture, or the unfortunate reality of the association I was interning with and the kids there, I am going to have to save if for another time. Maybe you have to call me up when I get back for a cup of mint tea or a california burrito (or if you're in Morocco, we better grab shawarma or some avocado juice sometime before December 12... my last day in this amazing country). Either way, I look forward to sharing these rich experiences in person with you all. Until next time... Salaama Aleikum ("Peace be with you")