WARNING! I might get philosophically and/or religiously opinionated in this entry. After all, the more intimate one becomes with a foreign culture, the more one is obliged to rethink his world view.
If I wasn't convinced before this weekend that Morocco was the place for me, the last couple of days have left me with no doubt. After my Arabic class on Friday my professor, Abd-essamad, informed me that his wife, Fatima, invited me to their home to have couscous with them for lunch. Having been told by practically every Moroccan I've met that I have to eat Moroccan couscous, I gladly accepted and the prof and I headed to Temara, a city neighboring Rabat where Abd-essamad and Fatima live. The couscous was bnina (delicious), but the experience of eating it was what made it special. My hosts showed me how to eat couscous the Moroccan way, which is done with the hands: cuff right hand downwards, scoop up a bit of the couscous out of the big serving bowl, roll the contents into a bite-size ball and plop it into your mouth. And everything tastes better when you eat it with your hands! (For some reason my camera wouldn't take pictures on Friday, so I have no proof of this wonderful meal. I promise I'll get a picture on here soon for those who are curious and interested in what Moroccan couscous looks like.)
This tradition of preparing couscous a particular way on a particular day (every Friday Moroccans eat couscous), serving it out of a particular kind of bowl, and eating it with a particular set of hand movements is at the heart of what Moroccan culture is. It is not just a favored or convenient way to eat this unique dish - it is a custom that unites friends and family in a cultural event. Many aspects of the Moroccan life are littered with customary behavior and actions: Moroccans eat with their rights hands, touch their right hand to their heart after shaking hands, start from the right when greeting multiple people, say "bismillah" -
in the name of God- before consuming food or beverage, kiss the forehead of elders when greeting them, slap hands after humorous remarks or insults between buddies, and last but maybe most importantly, Moroccans share everything. These customs are all very important for Morocco to remain Moroccan, and not Occidental. Because there is such a sense of cultural identity, Moroccans are quick to take care of each other, be it family or stranger. Their heritage lets them know who they are, so they are not a society of individuals searching for themselves. They know who they are and they know they belong to a greater community. Yet they are not exclusive, but place a foreigner before even another Moroccan when providing care and help. This is what I want for the United States. I want Americans to not only feel more connected to each other culturally and show this with acts of kindness to strangers, but also to be even more welcoming and hospitable to foreigners (this might mean treating them as humans and not as immigrants or illegals...) Without a doubt, being surrounded by such prevalent cultural traditions and heritage has forced me to ponder my own culture. What does it mean to be an American, a southerner, an Arkansan? Is my culture loving and inclusive, brotherly and sisterly? Do I even have a culture, or has it all been lost to mainstream media, mainstream fast-food, mainstream speech, and mainstream religion? Do I have cultural uniqueness, or have McDonalds and Wal-Mart monopolized and monotonized my culture? A combination of experiencing cultural uniqueness here and reading Wangari Maathai's book
The Challenge For Africa have allowed me to see how important all the little customs and traditions of a community are for preserving its culture. That society might be a micro-nation (a.k.a. "tribe") or it might be a nation. Either way, without culture, a society is a collection of individuals. And without a sense of cultural belonging, individuals seek personal gain while the good of the community is neglected. How important culture is!
I will continue recounting my weekend now, but I want to interject here that on the way to Temara Abd-essamad and I took taxis, cram-packed with Moroccans. Abd-essamad, being the great teacher and social-addict that he is, forced me into conversation with the other passengers even though I know only basic greetings in Arabic. He translated ONLY when it was absolutely necessary, and instead he encouraged the other passengers with whom I was speaking to speak fervently with their hands and faces while asking questions or giving me information. Though I understood very little and was able to respond even less, we laughed hard and slapped hands every minute or two. The most verbally vigorous passenger we rode with commenced to give me advice on how I can learn Arabic with lightning speed: he told me I should sell popcorn in the street or be a taxi driver who charges his passengers conversation instead of money. There was a passenger in the car, however, who made the comment that I might be an American spy here learning Arabic, to which the taxi driver added that I Abd-essamad should get me to convert to Islam. Before Abd-essamad could translate this or even defend me, the man who had jokingly given me advice on how to learn Arabic shot back at these men with verses from the Koran stating that people cannot be forced into a belief and that Muslims and Christians should eat together (in other words: nobody can convert me to Islam, for the truth speaks for itself, and Islam is inclusive and Muslims should not exclude non-Muslims from any facet of life, not even eating.) This man, who had just met me, defended me with verses from the Koran against people of his own religion without ever inquiring about my beliefs. When the taxi arrived at his stop, this man told Abd-essamad and me that he wanted to get to know us better and help me improve my Arabic, so he gave us his phone number before he exited the taxi. This is not uncommon. In fact, almost anytime we take a taxi, we chat the entire time with the other passengers, and the conversation flows as if between old friends. THIS is Morocco.
Abd-essamad and I met a couple of his friends in the afternoon Friday and we went to a cafe to voraciously engage in conversation for a couple of hours. At the cafe, Abd-essamad told me that they were going to a wedding ceremony that night, and after getting permission from the groom, he invited me to attend. I enthusiastically said yes, but I didn't realize at the time how lucky I was to have such an opportunity so quickly after arriving to Morocco. We headed to the barber so a couple of them could get "cleaned up" for the big event. This atmosphere at the barber shop was what I imagine barber shops in America were like 50 years ago (and maybe still are...I wouldn't know): everybody who was there seemed to be at home and kicked back while enjoying the conversation that too place, and anyone who stopped in to get in line for a haircut joined the conversation. And again Abd-essamad took advantage of the teaching opportunity and he made me practice greeting people the Moroccan way, reinforcing cultural customs. I was becoming Moroccan, and I was being accepted as a Moroccan. At one point when we were all wrapped up in conversation, one of Abd-essamad's friends who was sitting next to me put his hands on my leg by the knee as a way of resting his hands as we were talking. I didn't even notice until his hands had been on my leg for a few minutes, but it was so casual and natural that I couldn't help but embrace it and continue with the conversation. This man, Mbark, is a married man, mind you, and what the hand on my leg gesture meant was that he accepted me as a brother.
We went to the wedding ceremony later that night, which I found out was a pre-wedding party in which the groom and all his peeps gathered in a room, talked, drank tea, and ate, and the bride and her peeps did the same (or something similar, as I was not allowed in the other room to validate this.) Again, Abd-essamad couldn't pass up an opportunity to toss me into conversation and make me use all the Arabic I could. He would tell people to ask me questions I could digest and respond to, and he would also set up situations where I could use the few funny expressions I knew, and this had the effect of creating a humorous, comfortable environment not only for me, but for all those present who might have had apprehensions about a foreigner joining the group. This seemed to open up the floor to questions from everyone about me and America, which I gladly answered. Soon people were joking with me, telling me about Moroccan culture, and the groom even asked me to serve a round of tea, a very important task at such a special ceremony. The entire room was watching me and teaching me
exactly how to prepare and serve tea the Moroccan way (which has very specific steps.) And after it was served, I received wonderful comments on my ability to prepare tea. I don't know if they told me this out of politeness, but I do know tea is something sacred to Moroccans, something they could possibly be snobs about, so I took their comments as a big compliment. Though I felt bad for stealing some of the light from the groom, my heart was warmed by the attention the entire room (~20 people) showed me as a guest. We drank our tea while we talked and laughed and exchanged questions about culture, and at one point in the discourse I realized Mbark's arm was around me as we chatted with our neighbors on the couches (to set the scene, Moroccan living rooms have couch-like furniture that lines the walls in a room, so we were sitting in a big rectangle around tables with tea.) When I realized, I was briefly taken out of the conversation by a deep feeling of brotherhood. I was not a foreigner or even a stranger - I was a brother, and Mbark's arm around me was him telling me that I was part of the family. I'm sure he meant this, but I'm equally sure he didn't think this. It was an unconscious act of love. He
felt it, so he
did it.
I was invited to the big wedding ceremony the next night, and WOW, what an event. I'll throw some pictures up first, and then describe the activities.
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| A bony mess. This was the chicken we ate. Notice there was one plate, and no silverware. We broke bread and ate with ours hands. |
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| The Sultan and Rosa (Kind and Queen) on their throne. |
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| Part of the elaborate ceremonial displays for the bride. |
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| More sweet exhibitions |
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| The bride was lifted up by these men and carried around for about 10 minutes as they danced and made coordinated movements that bobbed her up and down. |
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| And the final wedding attire for the pronouncement and kiss. This is important because it is the ONLY time a husband and wife can kiss in public. |
Shortly after we arrived, the ceremonial activities were about to begin, and Abd-essamad arranged for me to say a short, customary phrase in Arabic to the bride and groom. I rehearsed it for about 15 seconds, and uttered it syllable by syllable in front of over 100 people. I finished and was just hoping somebody understood a word or two of my broken Arabic, but the whole place erupted in claps and cheers. That set the stage for a wonderful evening in which I felt warmly welcomed and accepted at a very special event.
The first picture shows the meal the event was commenced by. It started with chicken, which everyone grabbed with little pieces of bread we had broken off of larger loaves that were distributed. Then came a delicious, tender beef roast, which we ate the same way. Then came tea and little dessert goodies. Of course, all of this was accompanied by mouth-watering conversation. Abd-essamad's brother speaks Italian, but not French or English, so he and I communicated by his Italian and my Spanish (we understood almost everything the other said, hooray for Latin-based languages.) With the others, we mostly communicated with Abd-essamad as a translator, but I also used all the Arabic I could, some French, and a couple of the guys at the table were able to throw out a bit of English. It was a lovely linguistic melange, and everybody was included.
Shortly after the meal, the music began. This had the immediate effect of drawing many of the girls to the dance floor area, who were later joined by men. The Moroccan rhythm is quite different from that of the Occident. It doesn't follow the same pattern, and so the dancing is not the same, either. The dancing consists of quick movements of the legs and fast, back and forth oscillations of the upper body. This is accompanied by the hands being outstretched and shimmied, or tucked in like a boxer, but with hands out-stretched and the arms moving like those of a runner, but switching from side to side.
I asked if it was appropriate to dance, and when I was told it was, I was on the dance floor giving it my Moroccan best. The camera crew immediately swarmed to get live video of a gueuri hamak - crazy foreigner - dancing the Moroccan way at a very traditional wedding. I picked up the rhythm pretty fast, and I grabbed Abd-essamad, his brother, and another friend to dance with me. Traditionally, men do not approach women, and the sexes do not dance with each other at weddings. The girls dance with girls, and the guys dance with guys. We guys would interchange partners and shimmy with each other, imitate movements, move back and forth together, and form a line with our arms around each other and coordinate leg movements. The attendees seemed to like that a foreigner was dancing Moroccan dances at a Moroccan wedding in Moroccan attire (Abd-essamad gave me a traditional Moroccan outfit to wear to the wedding, which he later told me it was mine to keep... why did that surprise me?) and the crowd laughed and cheered when I tried out the dances.
I guessed we had arrived at the ceremony about 9pm, and what I imagined to be a couple of hours of celebrations, Abd-essamad asked me what time I thought it was. I said midnight just to give myself some room for error in case time had gone by quicker than I thought. He looked shocked and asked if I was serious. He showed me his watch, and it was 5:20am. And the final pronouncement ceremony hadn't even begun. Moroccans party all night at their weddings!
Later on in the night/morning a few older rural-country men, as Abd-essamad later described them to me, engaged me in conversation. They threw joke after joke at me and hit me with even more jokes after I would laugh at Abd-essamad's translation. "Do you understand me when I speak to you?" "No." "Then why the hell are you laughing?" they would respond, and tear up the air with laughter, which was followed by hand claps and more laughter by all of us. They told me I should marry a Moroccan woman and have a wedding like that one and invite them to it, but that I would have to have a lot of money to buy a big enough cow to feed all the guests (in Morocco, the groom gives a monetary gift to the wife, as well as provides the food for the wedding.) When I mentioned I didn't have anybody to marry, one of the men offered his aunt to me (which would be a very old woman.) I asked if she was rich, and we all busted into laugher again. Abd-essamad and I decided to get a little fresh air outside the venue, and we were joined by one of the old men who began telling us jokes about Muslim Imams and lay Moroccans who couldn't help their desires for prostitutes. Moroccans are just like Americans I know: crazy, zany, and love to laugh, regardless of religion, nationality, or color.
When the wedding was over, around 7am, Abd-essamad and I accompanied his female family members to their house. During the walk home, I chatted it up with Abd-essamad's 15 year-old niece. She used the little English she had, I used the little Arabic I had, and what we couldn't say, we communicated in French. She was ever so excited about learning English. When we got to their house, she brought me her Arabic/English book and learned together. I love these little encounters that languages make possible! The grandmother invited me to enter her home and stay for breakfast, so Abd-essamad and I happily accepted the invitation. Their family lives in what Abd-essamad calls "shanty town," and this is an accurate depiction. It is the urban slums. The houses are all shacks with tin roofs held in place by concrete stones and rocks. The ground solid dirt littered with trash. The inside of the home is what many would consider shanty as well. It was simple, small, with few amenities, but with everything needed to be happy (a couch lining one wall in a small living room/hallway, a couple of small bedrooms, a toilet, and running water.) The family served tea, and gave me a seat on the couch around the little coffee table. The great-grandmother joined us and sat on the floor at the coffee table. I asked her if she preferred the couch or the floor, and she quickly patted the floor with a look of "of course!" She slept on the floor, prayed on the floor, and ate on the floor - and that was what she preferred. I tried to offer one of the women my seat on the couch or make room for her, and Abd-essamad informed me that this was not appropriate for two reasons: she they were more comfortable where they were, and it was impolite for me to suggest where they should sit. Talk about a difference of cultures! I'm loving having to rewire my cultural behavior.
Here's a miscellaneous piece of Moroccan coolness: Last week when I was visiting Abd-essamad in Temara, we hit up the local store for some supplies for dinner, and he introduced me to the shopkeeper. We said our normal little greetings and we headed out, but as we left the man told Abd-essamad to "take care of our brother." This man didn't know me, but he wanted Abd-essamad to watch over me because I was a brother, not an American or Christian or foreigner - a brother.
The next night Abd-essamad and I got home around 1am, worn out, but we ended up talking until 7am. In this conversation we covered topics from linguistics to religion to education. We were both very interested in both, and we kept sparking each others' minds on the subjects. It was the first time I had sat down and discussed a topic for hours on end and been continuously challenged to think in new ways and see things as I had never before seen them. It was like we were driving each others' mental trains and we kept laying down new track for the other. Below I'm putting some of the ideas, sayings, and craziness that came out of that night of thinking and discussing:
-Silent people have a lot to say
-Speak the language; don't let the language speak you. Why resort to typical but meaningless expressions? Speak your mind. Be a child! When you abide by the rules, you'll never get past the horizon.
-Why is learning a language the first and most important step in getting to know a people and providing any type of aid? Because you can't translate a culture!
-Poverty is not being poor; it's not having the means to improve one's condition.
-Why is it so important to encounter and confront different cultures? It makes you investigate your own ideas, beliefs, customs, and behaviors. It shows another way of approaching all of these, and possibly another truthful way. Exposure cultivates novel and deeper thinking than confinement.
-How can you protect a lie? Prohibit the right to express opposing ideas or beliefs. This is why Religion and State must be separate. If it is the truth, it will defend itself. Let the opposition say what it wants.
Deep, pensive conversation was not the only reason Abd-essamad and I were up until 7am. We also lost the notion of time. In fact, the whole weekend was like this. We were focusing on people, not our watches. We moved from one place to the next to visit new people, attend events, buy groceries, eat, and sleep, and we went about our business without ever concerning ourselves with what time of day or night it was. We were free to live and act according to what the circumstances called for or what the lack of pending circumstances allowed for. It was the first time I have ever lived outside of time, and it was quite a freeing experience. I wonder what kind of effect such a liberating experience would have on Americans who pay more attention to their watches (or clocks on their cell phones) than they do to the people they are with. Abd-essamad informed me that this was very common in Morocco for people to be late to or miss appointments and put off running errands when guests unexpectedly show up or the occasion arises for a visit with a friend. In other words: people first! Hurray for Morocco for keeping their priorities straight.
This weekend I had some many GREAT talks with Muslims. I talked with one man who tried to convert me to Islam, but I spoke with about 15 who told me that man needs to become Muslim first, then he wouldn't try to convert me because Islam does not advocate evangelistic mission work. Muslims from young teachers to old street vendors who have devoted their lives to the study of Islam have explained to me that the Koran dismisses conversion by humans, and instead says that it is God alone who converts - one must come to the truth by oneself, not because somebody else says it's the truth. "Afterall," a couple of these Muslims I met said, "what did God give us some highly developed brains for? Are we not supposed to look around and reason and question and doubt and rationalize? How shameful not to use a gift with such amazing capabilities!" One of these Muslims furthered this by saying, "that is why there must be a logical basis for what we believe, be it Islam or Christianity or Judaism or whatever. A source, like the Koran or Bible, cannot validate itself. There has to be a rational basis. If not, we aren't supposed to use our brains or we aren't supposed to use these books." This person went on to tell me that although he follows Islam, he will not raise his children Muslim. He will raise them to be thinkers, and they can discover truth for themselves. "Because I might be wrong," he said. "Islam is what I have found to be the most truthful religion so far, but I admit I might one day find a greater truth. I am still questioning and investigating, and it has made me stronger in my faith, because I know
why I believe."
And these are Muslims telling me this. How does that change your perception of Islam? of Religion? Maybe we
are supposed to use our brains and question our beliefs. What a waste of potential and a missed opportunity to learn and experience so much about the world when one strictly follows what one is told to follow. If you don't question and explore, you don't grow. As my Muslim friend explains, "maybe the full truth is like a cup, and we know but a sliver of it because our culture has only reached that small amount. But if we learn languages and cultures, we are exposed to more of the truth." After all, surely there isn't just one culture that has access to the truth while others are stuck without it until missionaries come to save the day (and all of eternity.) My brain, which was quite possible gifted to me and which has highly advanced (compared to other animals) mental faculties capable of objective criticism and logical reasoning, tells me the idea of just one culture possessing the whole truth is illogical, even absurd. I used to think Taco Bell was the best fast food joint in the world. However, I hadn't tried very many, so when I came to Morocco and discovered a new kind of fast food sold on the street in little stands, I was forced to reconsider my belief in Taco Bell as the one true fast food joint. Maybe they can both be truly good...
I've noticed here that materialism isn't as prevalent as in the States. It definitely exists and has infected most aspects of life, but a big part of society has held off its powerful allure quite well. I believe this is because of Moroccan culture's focus on people. When people become the focus, material loses importance. It has to, or people are dehumanized in their daily interactions with each other.
Due to a couple of pleasant experiences I had eating with people, I was forced to think about the objective of food/eating. It obviously has its most primitive, raw purpose of nourishing the body, but it functions as so much more in many cultures. In Morocco, many families eat together and prepare meals which are shared from one plate. They break and distribute bread (and continue to distribute and give and take as needed throughout the meal), pass around a cup to pour water in for each person, and everybody grabs food from a common dish, often with their hands or pieces of bread used as pincers. In this way, the meal unites the family and causes the members to interact and constantly be aware of the act of sharing. Compare this to a typical American meal where each member serves his own plate and keeps to his own space and eats ravenously until he is full. The objective here is to get full, feed his appetite, satisfy a craving. And because of this, Americans eat more than cultures like Morocco where the objective is not to get full, but to enjoy and share the occasion with loved ones. This could be a reason Americans are overweight, along with the nasty, processed choices we have for food.
I know I am making some harsh generalizations, and I in no way mean to demean any culture or nation. I write what I see and how I perceive what I see. And generalizations are just that, general "truths" can never be absolute. I've witnessed crime and violence in the street here, just as I have seen it in the US, Europe, Asia and Central America. I've also witnessed here great acts of love with no expectation of anything in return, just as I have in every other country I've visited. There are mis-guided people and people with their heads screwed on right everywhere. I just happen to be a big fan of the community Moroccans intentionally create for themselves.
If you've made it this far, you're either crazy or obsessed. But thank you for caring! All comments are welcome and even desired. Please leave them!
