Jacob's Rockin' Moroccan Adventure

A overdue confession

2011-05-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

I imagine most people who had been following this blog have surely given up by now. And I can't blame a one of them. If anybody is still following, here's a brief update and information about the future of this blog.

First I want to say that a little over a month ago I was working on a major blog update. I had put in about 5 hours of work on it, and was about half-way done, when my computer caught a virus and went completely kaput. Shortly after that I travelled to visit friends and then my dad came for a 2 week visit, so I gave up on trying to re-do the blog entry. And now, since I don't particularly want to spend 10s of hours in an internet cafe catching my blog up, I have decided to drop a few lines now and then giving basic info, and then worry about filling in the juicy details when I get back. I know that's not the purpose of a blog, but for one, I'm not big on technology, and two, I don't want to use more time than I have to while I'm in Morocco to sit in internet cafe's. I'll be home soon enough and do all the catching up that's necessary and desired!

So, here's a small recap of what I've been up to in the last three months: I indeed started teaching at the orphanage that a local Rotary club connected me with back in January. I began by teaching English, but this didn't last long. I recruited a handful of my friends, both Moroccan and international, and so there was a squadron of us to teach English, science and math. Two was all that was necessary for English, and two of my Moroccan friends decided to teach science, so I decided to just teach math. It has been a terrific, rewarding experience teaching the kids at the orphanage. I have to teach them in Derija (Moroccan Arabic), which is very difficult for me with my level in the language, but it has posed no problem to learning. This is due almost completely to the kids endless energy, desire to learn, leadership (helping each other), and patience with my Arabic. We have a blast for about an hour and a half twice a week, working on math problems and trying to not get side-tracked with curiosities the kids have about life in the United States and my personal endeavors. We start every day with typical, endless Moroccan greetings and beat-boxing, something the kids love to do and tell me to rap in English. Yeah, I've got it pretty good at this orphanage, and I'd like to think the kids are getting something out of it as well.

I have travelled a bit to visit friends of mine, and mydad also came for two weeks, during which we travelled around the Pyrenees and got to know every part of Morocco we could in the allotted time. Now I am back to studying and intend to learn all the Arabic I can before I leave.

My computer wasn't the only gadget to fall victim to bad technology luck - the memory card of my camera also stopped working recently. I lost all the pictures on it, many of which I hadn't yet transfered to my computer. Therefore, I don't have a visual representation of my recent activities, but I plan to get a replacement card so as to be able to show you guys what I've been up to.

Again, my apologies, but such is life and technology. Please feel free to contact me by email with any questions, comments, or further interests (jacoboperry@gmail.com)

I'M STILL ALIVE!

2011-01-26T15:02:00.000-08:00

Reckon it’s time for an update? I guess I should start this blog entry off with an explanation of why I haven’t posted an update in over a month…Well as for the month of December, one word describes my life pretty well: hectic. I got in over my head with scholarly and extra-curricular activities. I was taking 6 hours of Arabic a day and then teaching English four nights a week. Then I had the other daily obligations with friends and providing for dinner, etc. In short, I hardly had time to respond to emails, much less spend 4 hours to make a blog entry (sadly it does indeed take me at least that long to make even a simple entry. I’m not a technological wiz…) So am I forgiven?

So let me give a brief recap of December, highlighting the big events and animating with pictures, before moving into the new year and plans for the near future.

The intensive Arabic courses I took on for December definitely benefited me linguistically, but because of them I experienced mental exhaustion for the first time in my life. One day I even reached the point of struggling to answer basic questions in English. I had decided to take 4 hours of Classical Arabic classes in the morning and 2 hours of Moroccan Arabic classes in the after noon, and the combination of languages (they aren’t indeed that similar) is what probably did my head in. I speak Derija (Moroccan Arabic) in the street for basic necessities, but once the conversation goes further than simple remarks about food and daily life, I have to resort to French to converse with people. Then at school I learn Fosha (Classical Arabic) and speak it with other students and teachers. Then one day a week I have a Portuguese class which is taught in Spanish…so you see why my brain started to grind gears? I realized I hadn’t made a wise choice in taking so many hours of Arabic (and different dialects of Arabic), so I knew I just had to make it out of the month of December and in January I would take just 4 hours of Fosha (Classical Arabic.) I also decided to stop teaching English at the school where I was. I didn’t think I was contributing to the education of ambitious, motivated, humanitarian-minded students, so I decided my time would be better-spent elsewhere, hopefully making a difference that will help Morocco long-term. December was a productive month, nonetheless, and I’m glad I made it through.

The 14th of December was the birthday of Hessna, the youngest daughter of my Moroccan family in Temara. They invited me to attend a little get-together, so I showed up with some goodies, ready for a party. Birthdays aren’t cause for grand celebrations in Morocco, but they’re fun nonetheless. We ate a nice meal together, and after we had finished the family asked me to sing the Happy Birthday song in Arabic, opera style (I had jokingly sang opera the last time I was there and somehow they thought I was talented and they asked me to prepare the birthday song in opera fashion for Hessna’s upcoming birthday.) I asked Abdessamad to accompany me, so he sang low and I sang probably 5 octaves above him, and I must say we sounded magnificent together. Everybody cheered, took a video, and then joined us as we followed our opera performance with an English version (in normal voices). After the meal it was time for music and dancing. They put on typical Moroccan birthday music, and we started dancing. Hessna was the only one dancing at first, with the whole family around singing and watching, but they soon drug me into the mix, and Hessna began showing me the steps. They took advantage of having a goofy foreigner at their mercy, and they tied a scarf around my hip and showed me how to do the typical dances of Moroccan women…and of course they filmed it. Hey, I don’t mind being the butt of a few jokes as long as everybody enjoys the evening. My little sacrifice (but was it really a sacrifice when I was having such a great time?) Sorry I don't have pictures of this event. I am an amazing photographer who never learned how to take a good picture and who always forgets to take them in the first place...

You must be curious about Christmas celebrations in a Muslim country…well let me tell you about ours! Christmas is not a recognized holiday in Morocco, and in fact most people didn’t even know the exact date (most people thought it was January 1st since it made sense to them that Jesus’ birthday would signify the start of a new year…yeah, kinda makes sense right? I had never considered that before…) However, my roommates Jette and Jull Ian and fellow Ambassadorial Scholar Annemarie and I were able to find a little Christmas Tree and decorations for it, and we set up a nice little Christmas area in our house. None of us are big on the commercial aspect of Christmas, so something quaint and simple suited us just fine. We organized excursions to the medina (old city where the good markets are) with each other to get the others a couple of little gifts to exchange on Christmas. We had several guests for Christmas: Jette’s sister from Germany, Annemarie’s friend from Sweden, and Jull Ian’s friends from Holland. Since we were a mixed European/American group, we decided to split up Christmas celebrations according to tradition: we celebrated Christmas on the 24th for the Europeans, and they cooked an awesome, typical German meal, and we celebrated the 25th for the Americans, and we cooked a quite good, traditional American meal. We even opened stockings on Christmas morning, so all around it was a complete, fun, successful Christmas. We went to mass at the big Catholic Church in town, and for me at least that was a terrific experience. It was filled with people from all over the world, with over half the congregation being from Sub-Sahara Africa. The church choir consisted of only Sub-Saharan Africans, and as a result the hymns and chants had awesome African rhythms and were accompanied by dancing in traditional African fashion. Needless to say, it was my kind of approach to hymns.

European Christmas (24th). The German sisters (two girls on the left) made a soup thing that consisted of potatoes, onions, garlic, tomatoes and other goodies that I can't remember. It was very good. (Can you tell we don't have heating in our house?)

And voila the American Christmas meal. We cooked up some mashed 'taters, green beans, chicken, and garlic bread. And gosh dernit it was tasty! (crap I didn't change clothes...)

Our humble Christmas tree and what Jette calls "Bahim's Muslim Corner" (Bahim is Jette's Moroccan boyfriend.) Bahim was pretty impressed with our Christmas celebrations. It was his first and he really enjoyed it.

Because Islam has its own calendar based on the lunar cycle, the Muslim new year does not often coincide with the Western New Year (January 1st). Since Morocco does recognize and celebrate the Muslim New Year, it doesn’t give a lot of celebratory importance to the Western New Year. So a group of us foreigners decided to throw a New Year’s party at our house. It was complete with alcohol, dancing, and of course a countdown to 2011. The only thing missing was fireworks. But we stood on our rooftop and yelled “Happy New Years” at the top of our lungs, probably disturbing the neighbors, but definitely catching the attention of some Moroccan teenagers on a nearby rooftop who wondered what the big fuss was about.

So January started and I wasn’t teaching English at the language center anymore, but I got busier with the local Rotary clubs, so my schedule never really slowed down. I have complained plenty about my business, mainly because I’d like to have more time for friends and family back home and also my friends here, but I always realize when I have a dull moment that life is just much more meaningful when I’m busy. It’s better to lose a little sleep and respond a little more slowly to emails and have a day full of productive events than to have nothing to do. After all, an idle mind is the devil’s workshop. One of the worse effects of poverty is the idleness that accompanies it. It gives a person time to fret about all the bad stuff. I believe humans were just made to be busy, either with each other or working, and hopefully a healthy combination of the two.

Something very positive that came from getting more involved with the local Rotary clubs was a connection to a local orphan school. I presented to a club and told them about my past experiences with the orphanage in Honduras and my life interests and goals in Morocco, and one of the members, Driss, had a wonderful proposition for me to get involved at an orphan school here in Morocco that he has a relationship with. Last week I went with Driss and Annemarie to the school to become acquainted with its administration and facilities. We set up a meeting with the director to discuss specifics on what we can do to help. I’m very excited about this project. I wanted to work in an orphanage in Morocco, and now it seems I have a great connection to one through Rotary.

Here I am exchanging Rotary club banners with the president of Rabat Rotary club Rabat Chellah.

After my crazy month of December I needed a break, a vacation from my hectic schedule. There was a national Holiday the second week of January, so some friends and I decided to take advantage and go to the desert. We rented a car and headed out early in the morning to arrive to the Atlas Mountains by sunrise. The plan worked and we weren’t disappointed by the view we had as we drove through the mountains with the colored sky in front of us. Then it just got annoying looking into the bright morning sun. Oh the sacrifices we make for short pleasures… Morocco is such a diverse, beautiful country, ideal for road trips. We drove all day, stopping at a beautiful lake to have lunch, at a Fossil Museum so that Safa, the geologist with us, could drool over stones, and we arrived at our destination around 9pm. We spent a few days in the desert playing on the dunes, taking camels to a campsite in the desert and having lunch, and just hanging out. We left enough time on the drive back to make more stops, and this was well planned because Safa and Anne-sophie wanted to stop every 50 feet to take pictures. That led to a lot of jokes on the part of Karim, our friend from Switzerland, and me. The drive back through the mountains was breathtaking, and we really appreciated having our own car to be able to pull over at will to take pictures or to eat, which we did plenty. We even had a flat tire adventure and met some nice people in a small town in the mountains to get the tire repaired. Our last stop was in Marrakech, the famed city of color, wonder, crazy markets, and wild parties. The girls had to do a little shopping, so Karim and I got drug along as body guards. But that’s not such a difficult job when you’re “protecting” two beautiful women. Enjoy the pics!

A view of the countryside as we headed south towards the Sahara.

The lake we stopped at to eat lunch. Karim and I almost dared to take a swim, but the water resembled ice just a little too much.

To explain: I'm kissing a camel made from grass, and Karim is eating a rock made from....rock.

Kings of the Sahara.

The Sahara's setting sun.

The Sahara in front, the little towns that wind along the verge of the Sahara in the middle, and in the background the Atlas Mountains. Morocco is a beautiful country.

Performing magic tricks with the sand.

The evolution of shadows.

A pose for Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.

The group on camels. We headed into the desert, had a scrumptious lunch, and road back to catch the sunset over the dunes.

No trip to the desert is complete without some sand-boarding. Karim and I did this a couple of times before becoming completely exhausted from climbing up the dunes. Seriously, there's nothing more exhausting than climbing 10 feet up a steep dune.

Jewels of the desert. One endemic to Morocco, one an invasive specie, but both so much fun to travel with!

Safa, I still blame this on you. I told you we couldn't make it through that section of the desert with a mid-size car. But it was fun getting it unstuck.

This camel downed a bottle of coke in front of us. I can't imagine his dental hygiene.

Employees at the hotel played typical Moroccan music after dinner every night, and we joined in playing instruments, dancing and singing.

I'm beating on the guitar since I don't know how else to make music with it. Safa is clapping some very typical Moroccan instruments called...well...I don't know, but now you see what they look like.

And dance!

I don't understand why this picture never diminished in size, but enjoy the view we also experienced in the mountains as we drove to Marrakech.

Typical pizza from southern Morocco. It's like two crusts with the goodies on the inside. And of course no Moroccan meal is complete with very sugary tea.

The cozy, gorgeous overlook we stopped at to eat lunch that oversaw a little agricultural enclave off the highway.

Marrakech by night.

Is an explanation needed?

A baby, a desert, and umm....Let's give thanks!

2010-11-29T07:14:00.000-08:00

The biggest recent event in Morocco was the birth of Narjis, the first child of my dear friends Abdessamad and his wife Fatima. Narjis was born the 24th of November, the day before Thanksgiving. She weighed 2.8 kilograms and was completely healthy. I got to see her on her 3rd day after seeing the light and she was gorgeous, had her mothers' eyes. Here are some pictures.

Here's daddy admiring his creation. I hope to have that same goofy grin on my face one day.

On the left is Abdessamad's sister-in-law, Hessna, who came over for the day to help with household chores while Abdessamad's wife Fatima rested and took care of baby.

I've got a new challenge ahead of me: learning Arabic before the Narjis does. I think I can manage that. I'm just glad I got a 3 month head start.

In other news, last weekend I went on a trip to the Sahara desert with a group from the school where I'm studying now. Oh yeah, did I mention that I'm now taking 20 hours/week of Arabic classes at a language institution? It's a terrific program with a class pace that suits me well: FAST! Anyway, on this trip we visited a city called Erfoud in the Sahara Desert in Eastern Morocco (the Sahara also extends into the southern part of Morocco.) After visiting a mausoleum with some old dead people, we headed to a very poor neighborhood that was a historic neighborhood of the region, built hundreds of years ago. We entered this place and toured around, looking at all the "historic" stuff and observing the conditions these poor people lived in. Our tour guide took us through the winding paths between all the houses and took us to all the "hot" spots that a tourist must see in this historic, destitute quarter. As soon as we entered the neighborhood I felt my conscience start burning and I was immediately aware that we were intruding on these incredibly poor peoples' living space to see what harsh conditions they lived in and take pictures to show our rich friends back home. Essentially we were treating those people and their circumstances as exploitable means to have a nice vacation and see the "real" Morocco. To me, that is not seeing the real Morocco. Seeing the real Morocco means interacting with the commoners without exploiting them or viewing them as simple peasants of the "third world." Sit down and have a Moroccan tea with them over a conversation and you'll see more of the "real" Morocco than you ever will going around taking pictures of all the "exotic, strange, crazy" customs and architecture. Aw crap, I'm getting opinionated again...

Saturday night we went to meet another tour guide who had camels waiting for us to ride to our campsite nestled in the sand dunes. We arrived just before the sun set, so for the first 30 minutes of our ride into the desert dunes, behind us was a sky of the most vibrant shades of orange, yellow, red, and pink. We arrived to already set-up camps, so we decided to go climb the dunes and have fun in the sand. We ate dinner together in a community tent and talked about everything from world politics to local cuisine. After dinner we made a fire and told jokes, stories, sang, and had a dance competition (in which I was the only one who participated...but at least I won!) After everyone had gone to bed, an adventurous Romanian guy and I grabbed a snowboard that was behind one of the tents and we headed up the tallest, steepest sand dune around to slide down. We found this to be harder than we imagined, and we found it possible to slide only on very steep slopes, but we were able to find a couple of good spots and slide about 50 feet before slowly coming to a halt. I've never snowboarded or skied before, and that was a blast! I'm ready to try to real thing now.

The next day we got up at 5:30am and headed out to reach the ideal spot on top of a dune to see the sunrise. This wasn't as impressive as the sunset the previous night, but it was still pretty special to witness over the Sahara dunes.

Here are some pictures from the trip to give visual representation to my shanty English depiction.

A gate to somewhere. I took a picture because this is a typical, ancient, Moroccan city entrance.

This is the door that opens to a Mausoleum. It shows typical, intricate Moroccan artwork.

These are two perhaps not-so-typical Italians girls who study Arabic with me and who also went on the trip. They were a blast!

This is the sight we encountered before entering the dunes.

The shadow to the right is me on a camel taking a picture of me on a camel taking a picture...got it?

There's our guide leading us into the desolate nothingness.

Relax F.B.I.! These things really do help when the wind is kicking up sand and beating you with it constantly.

This is what fell behind us as we wound around and climbed over dunes entering the desert.

This was the sunrise the following morning. The colors don't show here, but I think the fact that we were cold does.

"God, King, Country" painted on the hillside in Arabic, a site often seen on the hills in this region.

A great place to get lost without water, right?

To celebrate Thanksgiving this past Thursday a proper meal complete with turkey, ham, mashed 'taters, green beans, cranberry relish, dressing, and pecan pie was prepared at the American Club in Rabat for a group of us from the school. Fewer than half of us were Americans, but we all came together to enjoy an American meal on an American Holiday and enjoy each other. We Americans did our best to explain the origin of the holiday, but most of our conversation circled around culture and the silly things we have in each culture. Here are a few pictures of the meal we ate:

I can't say I was expecting a terrific Thanksgiving meal overseas, but I have to say I was quite impressed. It couldn't hold a flame to my mom's cookin', but it was delicious nonetheless. And check out the big mug of sweet iced tea! That's how I kept the meal Southern.

And voila the group of international students who decided to partake in the Thanksgiving meal.

A Bloody Great Festival!

2010-11-18T18:27:00.000-08:00

By dinnertime yesterday I'd helped slaughter two sheep and skin and gut three. I'd also prepared and ate "shwa" -barbecue - with the liver, lungs, and fat of the sheep we slaughtered. Is the title of this blog entry starting to make sense?

Jiull Ian (my Romanian roommate) and I headed to Temara Tuesday night to participate in the Eid al-Adha preparations with my Moroccan family. We went out and bought all the utensils for the slaughtering, skinning, gutting, butchering, and cooking of the sheep, including: knives, skewers, grill racks, cutting boards, spices, and an axe. It seemed the whole town had the same idea, and the streets were full of vendors with all the essentials for the Eid and shoppers with all the essentials for buying these essentials. When we had bought all we needed, we headed home to eat dinner. The intense night activity reminded me of Ramadan when everybody was out socializing and feasting until 4am because of daytime fasting. I was beginning to see the importance of Eid al-Adha for Muslims, but its significance was hammered home when Khalid, one of my brothers in my Moroccan family, refused to eat very much dinner so as to have as much room as possible for the feast the next day. I laughed when he explained why he had stopped eating, but I quickly realized he was serious. Wow, I was anxious for the ceremony to begin.

My Moroccan family and Jull Ian (bottom right) eating tajine Tuesday night before Eid. Everyone scrunched around a little table...what a way to share a meal! Khalid is the one putting food into his mouth. This was probably his last bite before leaving the table to save the maximum amount of room for the next day.

As we approached the family's house, this is the scene we encountered. Everybody was burning the heads of the sheep they had just slaughtered.

Jull Ian and I went back with Abdessamad to his house and were up until 3:30am, goofing off and generally enjoying the feeling of anticipation before the huge event. Because of this, we overslept and missed the slaughtering of the first sheep, so we arrived to a bloody, headless mess. In good-ole Moroccan fashion I jumped right in with a knife and started hacking away at the skin of the beast (actually I was watched carefully and criticized often for bad or unnecessary cuts, but I sure learned fast!).

And this is the scene I walked in on when I arrived to my family's house after waking up late at Abdessamad's.

So I joined right in!

Khalid and a friend taking off the horns.

After slaughtering and cleaning the family's sheep, we went to Abdessamad's to slaughter his two sheep. Voici les photos:

Abdessamad's sheep.

Haziza (Abdessamad's sister-in-law) and her husband Mbark horsing around on the sheep.

A man with special religious significance (and talent with a knife) came to do the actual slaughtering. He came, we held down the sheep, he cut the throat, and he left, quite literally that fast.

You eat meat? Well here's the first step in it arriving to your plate!

Hassan, Abdessamad's brother, began gutting the sheep, taking out first the fat that would be used for barbecue and other dishes, then the stomach, liver, kidneys, intestines, and lungs. We ate all of that, by the way, except the intestines. And I liked all of it! Maybe it was the delicious fat and spices that made these new foods so tasty, but I think the fact that I took part in the entire process of the food arriving on my plate had a lot to do with it as well. (Oh yeah, look at all the blood splattered on the wall in the background. That is due to the sheep kicking out the last of its life and kicking with this all the blood that had been liberated from its imprisoning veins.)

The experience of eating food for which I personally partook in all the processes for preparing was immensely more meaningful than when I have bought meat from the store and cooked it. To know exactly where my meal came from was to be completely responsible for how I treat my body and how I treat the animals that supply the nutrition my body demands. In Spanish and French there are two verbs for the English "to know." One is used when referring to the recollection of information or knowledge of skills. The other is used for things you are familiar with from personal experience. It is this connotation I wish to use when I refer to knowing where my food came from. I knew the sheep, I helped kill, skin, gut, butcher, skewer, and cook its meat, and when I ate it I felt all the work, effort, and emotion that had gone into that bite of delicious energy. I'm no writer, and I'm certainly no wordsmith, but am I conveying how divine this experience was for someone who has grown up so far removed from his food?

The day of the Eid (Wednesday) I spent mostly killing, skinning and gutting sheep. I helped prepare the lungs and liver, which we wrapped in fat and barbecued to perfection, and this was our lunch (at about 3pm, our first meal of the day.) We devoured it, and afterwards Mbark and I took a little nap. Killin' aint easy, and we needed rest. We sat around with the family relaxing and chatting, and later we had a special dinner that consisted of the head of the sheep. Let me tell you, the tongue is especially delicious! The cheek and nose aren't bad, either. (Please forgive me for not posting any more pictures of the best part, the food. I haven't yet found batteries that work for more than about 15 pictures in my camera, but Mbark did get a lot of pictures of the rest of the event, so as soon as I get those from him I'll post them!)

The next day (today) I spent 75% of the waking hours eating, or stuffing my face as they say here. I ate three meals first with my Moroccan family before going to visit their other family members and eating more. I don't even remember now how many times I ate - I just know it was more than I've ever eaten in one day in my life. Moroccans sure have a way of treating guests, especially foreigners. Every house I visited I was offered food and drink. In fact, it's almost unheard of for a guest to come over and not be served at least tea (even if it's close family.) You'd think the least healthy people in Morocco would be those with the most friends, or at least those who visit their friends the most. Darn these good looks! (or more like "darn these people's loving character and hospitality for foreigners!")

Much of the last 2.5 days I spent away from Abdessamad and Jull Ian, who stayed at Abdessamad's house while I was with the family at their house. Therefore I either spoke in Arabic or just shut up and listened, because only two people in the family speak French. However, the fact that a lot of my time was spent just sitting and listening and not partaking or even knowing what was going on or being said doesn't mean I didn't thoroughly enjoy myself. In fact, it's the most comfortable and content I've felt yet in Morocco. That can't make since to a normal person, but maybe that's why it makes so much since to me - I reckon I aren't normal! When I'm with this family, I know I'm with people who love me, who accept me as a family member, and whom I can trust with my life - So who needs verbal communication to be at ease and comfortable amidst such folks? We did often engage each other in conversation, however, but, as always, it was so rough that we mostly ended up laughing at my confusion and forgetting the original purpose of the conversation. This is the kind of language practice I need. This is the cultural experience I hunger for. What an awesome two and a half days!

Preparations for Eid al-Adha

2010-11-16T09:15:00.000-08:00

For those who don't know, one of the most important events for Muslims will happen tomorrow: a festival called Eid al-Adha. It's a celebration in which Muslim families slaughter a sheep to commemorate Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son in obedience to God. Before Abraham went through with this act God gave him a sheep instead to sacrifice, and so Muslims now sacrifice a sheep to signify this obedience to God. Traditionally the family keeps a share of the meat for itself and distributes the rest to extended family and the poor who cannot afford to buy a sheep. Today, however, this tradition isn't followed much in Morocco because almost every family buys a sheep, either by saving up specifically for the event, doing extra work, or taking out loans (there are signs everywhere here advertising loans for sheep.)

I'll be celebrating Eid al-Adha with Abdessamad and his family. I'm so fortunate to be able to spend it with such an awesome, traditional, Moroccan family. I'll post pictures of the event as soon as I can. For now, here's a couple of the sheep staying at Abdessamad's family's house. The family is keeping the sheep on the patio until tomorrow. Most families get their sheep a few days before the ceremony and keep it/them tied up somewhere around the house.

Khalid, Abdessamad's brother-in-law.

A look at Casablanca and Fes

2010-11-09T12:10:00.000-08:00

Here's a visual representation of trips I took with friends to Casablanca (business Capital and largest city of Morocco) and Fes (first city and cultural Capital of Morocco.)

Mosque Hassan II, the biggest Mosque in Africa. It is in Casablanca and rests right on the ocean.

This is a Catholic Cathedral in Casablanca. It's probably not the biggest Cathedral in Africa, but it's impressive nonetheless.

These kids snuck past the security railing and were jumping off this wall into the ocean below. A security guard came over and tried to get them to come down and return the the pedestrian area, but they mocked him and jumped off all the same.

If you look hard you can see all the local boys speckled throughout the giant rocks. What a fun swimming hole to hop in for the local boys (and probably year-round.)

My roommate Jull Iann and I eating snails. So hot but so delicious.

This is where the boys landed when they jumped off the Mosque 'patio.'

A view of Bab Bou Jloud, the main entrance to the Medina (old city) in Fes. This Medina is an awesome labyrinth of twisting, windy roads that pass by all kinds of shops.

A cemetery right outside the Medina in Fes. Not too different from cemeteries in the Unites States, huh?

An open area in the Medina where people come to people watch, relax, or play soccer, like these kids in the picture. One female member of our group decided to go play with the kids after a few minutes of watching them. She plays soccer in College in the states, so she was quite talented and showed those kids a thing or two about the game. She drew some attention (whether it was because she was a foreign girl out-playing local kids or because she was a woman playing soccer in Morocco), but people enjoyed the event and cheered when she returned to our group.

An Overdue Update

2010-10-27T07:48:00.000-07:00

Hey again! Please forgive me for not having posted in so long, but I'll give an update of what's been going on in the last couple of weeks.

A couple of weekends ago I was invited to another Moroccan wedding, but this time as a performer. It's great to have friends in fun places. A couple of friends of mine who live in Temara are musicians who play in weddings each weekend. They invited me to attend one with them, so I met them at their house a couple of hours before the wedding. They dressed me up in a typical outfit for Moroccan wedding musicians, and we crammed into the back of a van and headed across town, drumming with our hands on our thighs, singing and dancing the whole way. Fortunately we weren't the main musicians for the wedding, so we were only required to make two entrances, play for about 10 minutes each time, and exit. So instead of performing until 7am like the main musical group, we got to experience the wedding, play music, sing, dance, and go home, all in about 2 hours. I didn't know the words to the songs nor how to play an instrument, so I was responsible for carrying a flag and dancing, which I had no qualms about. I love the Moroccan music rhythm, and I fulfilled my duties to the utmost of my ability, moving and grooving in place while my partners sang and played their instruments. Unfortunately I don't have a picture of the actual performance, but I did get one of one of the other members and me before entering the wedding ceremony.

Holding a flag is something I can do! The uniform was very comfortable! It included some Aladdin-like pants that only reached slightly past the knees but were baggy enough to hide an elephant in. I think I'm gonna get some to wear even outside of weddings. I would just have to be careful not to get blown aware by strong gusts of wind...

This man was truly a unique character. he played a Moroccan flute in my friends' group, and he spoke absolutely no French, or any other language I speak. But this didn't stop him from talking my ear off the entire night I was with the group. When I didn't understand his Arabic (which was about 98.5% of the time) he would get closer and talk louder. He did this to the point of being within two inches of my face and kindly showering me with saliva as he tried to make me understand what he was telling me. Oh the things I do to learn Arabic...

I'm still not officially enrolled in the University here, but I'm in a Portuguese and Arabic class at the University. The teachers are very kind and have welcomed me whether I ever get enrolled or not. I am immensely enjoying the classes and I am meeting all kinds of awesome students in my classes. The University atmosphere is definitely where I will best be able to meet new people and find "my crowd." Once I get officially enrolled I'm hoping to move into a residence hall on campus. I think that would be the best way to get integrated into Moroccan University student life and learn the language.

I have, however, finally moved out of the hotel where I stayed for over a month waiting on University housing. Through Annemarie, a fellow Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar in Rabat who is from Chicago, I met a German girl and Romanian guy, Jette and Iulian, who are living in an apartment in the oldest neighborhood in Rabat, called L'oudaya, which is located right on the coast. They invited me to stay with them for as long as I needed to before getting University housing, and I gladly accepted. I've now been with them for about 10 days and I'm loving every minute of it. Jette and Iulian are great people, and the apartment is terrifically simple, old, and with an awesome rooftop terrace that overlooks the city and ocean. I will send pics soon, but I am currently without batteries that work for my camera. I haven't yet been able to find batteries here that work with my camera = (

From Right: Dina (Russia), Annemarie (Chicago), Iulian (Romania)

The girl next to me is Jette (Germany).

A Moroccan toad (for you animals freaks like me!) It was so much more colorful in person. It even ribboted differently...had an Arabic accent.

Something Musical

2010-10-04T17:27:00.000-07:00

This past Friday I was invited to eat couscous again with the Moroccan family from Temara who has adopted me. In a way, this invitation came as a surprise to me and was passed along out of sheer grace. I say this because of my doings after eating couscous with the family the previous week. When the meal was over, I wanted to thank Mater, the mother of the household who cooked the meal. In Arabic there is "shukran" for a normal "thank you," and there is "lla y-khlf" for an extra-special "thank you" after someone has graciously provided for you. Literally lla y-khlf means "may God reward you". However, I was still new to using this word, so when I tried, it came out as "lla y-khlk," a very slight variation that drastically changes the meaning. I told my wonderfully kind host, "may God take you away." Of course Mater knew what I meant, so she smiled and said, "bssHHa" - to your health, the proper response to lla y-khlf. Au contraire, the rest of the family, when they heard me tell God to take Mater away, busted out into uncontrollable laughter. They explained to me what I had said and then Mater and I both joined in on the laughter. Ever since it has been a joke between Mater and I when she serves me food or tea. I make sure to emphasize the F instead of a K.

Here's a picture of the tea Mater served after couscous. It's typical to hang around a while after a meal and talk. Moroccans will often have tea a short while after lunch and sit around a while longer enjoying the tea and conversing with each other. The lunch "hour" here is from about 12pm to 2pm. They take their time to enjoy a meal with family.

The always smiling "Mater" serving mint tea in the typical Moroccan way. She heated the water up on a butane tank and then asked me to make the tea. This is a very specific, ordered process. First I put the tea pellets in the kettle and Mater poured into this a cup-full of boiling water. I shook it around and poured the liquid into a cup. Then mater filled up the tea kettle with the rest of the boiling water. To this I added the mint leaves and sugar (lots of it.) I poured in the kettle the cup of concentrated tea I poured earlier, and then I repeated a couple of times this process of pouring out a glass and putting it back in (to stir the tea, essentially.) Then I poured out a little bit to taste. It was already too sweet for me, but not nearly sweet enough for Moroccans, so I added another chunk of sugar. When it tasted like tea-flavored kool-aid, I knew it was suitable for the family. I poured each glass, raising the kettle high as I poured in order to create bubbles (Moroccans jokingly complain if there aren't bubbles in their tea. They say they make the tea taste better.) I then passed out the glasses starting on my right and saying bismillah -in the name of God- to each person I served. And voila! The Moroccan way to serve tea.

Now, I am by no means a musician, but I'm convinced my DNA is replete with musical notes and rhythm that were never encoded for production. So I can't make good music, but when I hear it my souls starts a groovin' and I can't help but move to the beat. When I'm around fun music, I feel a connection to the divine. And this particular day I got a pleasant musical surprise. After tea Khalid told me he had a surprise for me. He went to his room and came back with a guitar-like instrument. This instrument, which is very traditional in Morocco, has a wood frame, which is hollowed out by hand. It has a sheep-skin covering the base, and the strings are made of sheep intestine. It is played a bit differently than the guitar in that the middle, ring, and pinky finger drum the sheep-skin covering of the instrument while the index finger strokes the strings. In this way the person playing can play percussion and guitar simultaneously. Khalid was pretty good at doing this, and he and Abdessamad began singing traditional Moroccan songs. They handed the instrument to me, as if I knew what to do with it, and I made a little bit of noise before handing it back to the professionals to make some good sound.

Abdessamad, left, and Khalid, right, playing around and singing traditional songs.

Khalid was very excited about showing me how to play. It's definitely an instrument I could get in to. It has the guitar sounds and drum all in one instrument. Pretty cool.

Khalid went and got a traditional garb to wear and pose for a picture. As I was taking the picture he said, "if you have any single American female friends in the US, show them this picture," and laughed. What do ya say, ladies?

A special Couscous

2010-09-29T15:07:00.000-07:00

Today is Wednesday, but as is the Moroccan way, a family I met for the first time on Monday invited me for couscous on Wednesday (today.) How could I turn that down?! Moroccans eat couscous every Friday, but not other days as well, so this was a special occasion specifically for me.

I want to point out that even though this couscous was a meal prepared especially for me, the mother and sister of the family - who cooked the meal - never joined us men (the two sons, Abdessamad, and myself) to eat. These women had especially prepared a meal for me that they would not share in consuming. That's perty derned nice if ya ask me!

The pre-meal tea. This is peppermint tea with a lot of sugar and always served on a tray like this.

Couscous. And you can even see the steam rising off of it!

I'm using the "lugma" technique, palm down, scooping up the goods.

The resulting ball is ready for launch.

Abdessamad showing the proper form. It's so rewarding to eat with your hands!

I love a country where licking your fingers is the proper way to clean up! Sorry for all the grievances mom - I was just living in the wrong culture.

On the way to the bus tonight, I came across a very common sight on Moroccan roads - an open sewer entrance in the street. I love the Moroccan method of protecting motorists - surround the hole with big rocks visible from a distance. This hole was about two feet long by two feet wide.

Poor countries have poor ways...that work!

My First Rotary Meeting

2010-09-28T11:22:00.000-07:00

After playing email and phone tag with Saadia Aglif, the ex-president of one of the two Rabat Rotary clubs, since I arrived to Morocco, we were finally able to talk last week, and she invited me to a dinner to meet the current president of her Rotary club. The dinner was held at a very nice hotel in Rabat, and both Rabat Rotary clubs were in attendance. A Rotarian from Tunisia was also there as the honorary guest-speaker and he gave a talk about what Rabat Rotarians can and should do to strengthen the presence of Rotary in Rabat, which is apparently pretty weak. Many of the Rotarians were French, as one of the Rabat Rotary clubs has a sister Rotary club in France, and everyone spoke in eloquent French throughout the night. A marvelous dinner-buffet was served, and I got to chat with some very nice Moroccan Rotarians during the meal. Saadia introduced me to the current president of the club, Mohamed Himmiche, and both were very welcoming and offered me support whenever I needed it during my year here. It was nice to finally meet my host Rotarians!

Rotarians introducing the themes of the night's meeting. The delicious buffet is just behind these men. Yum!

Current Rabat Rotary club president Mohamed Himmiche on the left, and ex-president Saadia Aglif on the right.

In very unrelated news, I thought I'd put up a picture of a typical Moroccan toilet. It's the kind of toilet found in most Moroccan houses, apartments, etc. Sometimes culture-shock stinks. This is one of those cases.

There are places to put your feet when you squat and a drain where all the formerly food and drink go. Moroccan's don't typically use toilet paper. They wipe with the left hand (hence they do everything else with the right hand) and rinse off using water from the faucet which they put in a bucket like the blue one in the photo. When they're all done, they fill up the bucket with some water and poor it down the drain. This flushes everything down the line and Voila! A Moroccan toilet experience.

Getting Intimate With Morocco

2010-09-22T18:51:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

The Sultan and Rosa (Kind and Queen) on their throne.

Part of the elaborate ceremonial displays for the bride.

More sweet exhibitions

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.

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!

Views of the City

2010-09-16T09:25:00.000-07:00

My friend, Safa, and I at the art Museum. (This picture really doesn't do justice to the beautiful architecture of the place.)

This is a building for art exhibitions. This month's feature artist apparently created all his famous artwork before the age of 12. That, or I just don't appreciate abstract art.

A view of the "rug market," where traditionally prayer rugs were sold. Now there is much more than rugs, such as the colorful purses and stools in the photo. In this market there are all kinds of crafts, from furniture to lamps to jewelry.

This is a lovely pedestrian walkway that divides the main road leading from the "old city" (below) to the newer, business city.

This is the bustling market in the old city (mdina) where many people come to grab a quick meal, shop for cheap Chinese products of all sorts, or just people watch. It's quite lively and an energizing place to walk through.

A quick side-trip

2010-09-12T15:07:00.000-07:00

After going to the University on Monday and acquiring as to when classes start and how I would get University housing and being (again) to return the next week, I decided to take advantage of the down time (and extremely cheap transportation) and visit some friends in Spain for a couple of days. This turned out to be a wonderful trip that not only brought back memories and re-kindled close friendships, but one that also reminded me why I am in Morocco and not the developed world. Life is good in Spain, but on the surface, at least, people there are unconcerned with the world around them, especially those who lack basic development systems like plumbing, education, healthcare, etc. I don't mean to criticize Spain, as I don't implicate her as a nation for her complacency. Rather, I believe this contentment to be a product of economical stability and development. The fact that I was uncomfortable in such an environment was reassuring to my own doubts and concerns. There is a part of everybody that desires comfort and a worry-free existence. Personally, I challenge that part of me to concede to the more adventurous, passionate, and globally concerned Jacob. And this quick trip to Spain bolstered by confidence that Jacob Perry is in the right place.

Tomorrow I will return to the University to hopefully get information about classes, housing, and everything else a poor foreigner needs to know before starting the school year. I'm sure things will be all straightened out soon, Inshallah (God willing.)

S-salamu alaykum (peace be upon you)

TIME FOR AN UPDATE!

2010-09-04T17:05:00.000-07:00

The last few days have been terrific. I'm continuing to learn the intimacies of the culture and spend time with Moroccans (and fast....but I found out the Moroccan secret to suffering less during Ramadan: stay up all night eating and sleep as much as possible during the fasting hours of the day = )

A couple of nights ago my Rabat friend Simo invited me to go to Casablanca and for a night out with a couple of Rotaract clubs, including the one he and Housni (my friend who first welcomed me to Morocco) belong to. Being Rotarct clubs, all the members were around my age. They were warm and welcoming to me, and they had a great time just sitting around talking to each other. Since they have joined Rotary and committed to its humanitarian mission of service above self, they often organize events in the city to visit Retirement homes or Hospitals to entertain the residents and patients. They are youngsters who feel obliged to serve their community. It's beautiful. But they don't forget to have fun, and that is why they met this night to catch up and reconnect with each other. On the ride home, Simo explained to me that as Rotarians they feel not only a need to serve their community, but also to have fun. The more fun they have, he explained, the more they want to help people.

A dinner with Rotarians. Me in the middle, Housni on the left, and Simo on the right.

I began private Arabic lessons a couple of days ago to build a small basis before University classes start. My teacher, Abd-Alssamad, is a 26 year-old guy who likes to vary his teaching approach and have fun. After our first class, we went to a nearby park and talked for about 3 hours, mostly about Moroccan culture and Islam. He told me we wanted me to see him as a friend and not a student, and that's exactly what we've been. After our class yesterday, he invited me to go with him to his hometown, Temara, which is about 20 minutes from Rabat. I ended up staying the night and most of today. His wife cooked a couple of delicious meals, and the three of us ate together at the designated times (during Ramadan the meal times are breakfast at 7pm, lunch/dinner around midnight, and usually a light meal, maybe just flan and water, at 4am.)

A yummy 7pm breakfast prepared by Fatima, Abd-Alssamad's wife. Fatima is on the right and Abd-Alssamad is on the left.

Last night Abd-Alssamad and I went out and he took me to a small fair where we ate spicy boiled snails (yummy!). Then we met up with one of his former students of English and we had tea and talked until 3am (during Ramadan it is very common for people to stay awake until the 4:30am prayer. They eat a couple a meals during the night and sleep late during the day to avoid being awake and active for too many hours with no calorie or H2O intake.)

There were two events last night that were culture shock to me, but that caused immediate culture envy. The first happened when we were waiting for a member of our group to take a taxi. The driver realized it would be a little while, so he headed off down to the dock to take care of whatever business he had. What "shocked" me, however, was that he left with us inside the taxi, the keys in the ignition, and his money sitting out. He decided we were trustworthy, so he went to handle his business and return later, with us watching his possessions. When will you see that in the States?

The next incidence that raised a big red flag for this American boy, was during a separate taxi ride. Abd-Alssamad struck up conversation with the driver and pretty quickly was passed a half-full bottle of water by the driver, from which Abd-Alssamad drank, returned to the driver and thanked him. Abd-Alssamad looked at me and asked if that was normal in the States. "Hell no!" I said, and smiled. He explained, "I told him I was thirsty and he had water, so he gave me some. Culture of sharing!" I LOVED it and thought how great that would be to take back to the States, but I realized that wouldn't work in our germaphobic culture. It's ingrained in the American mind that if we share we will become ill, get diseases, and cooties. But ya know, Moroccans continually and intentionally, and yet they aren't all sick or rampant with diseases. In fact, they look a lot healthier than most Americans (ok that's probably because of fast food.) Below is an example of this culture of sharing.

Culture of Sharing...
Around the tea pot are 4 glasses, which belonged to the four of us sitting at the table. Next to the bottle of water is one glass, to be shared by the four of us. This is how it was served. In other words, we are EXPTECTED to share. Cool, right?

Transportation here is a blast! You know you're likely to get maimed or die at any moment, but somehow you feel safe amongst the methodical madness. When Abd-Alssamad and I went to the market to get stuff for dinner, we took his scooter. It was tiny, but we snuggled up and fit just fine (again, since men see each other as brothers and not homo-erotic threats, it is highly normal for two men to be hugged up on a little scooter.) This is what we looked like on his pimp-mobile.

Sorry, mom...no helmet.

In Moroccan traffic you get in where you fit in, literally. We were quite slow on the road, so we avoided other cars and motorbikes as they rumbled past, then we weaved through itsy bitsy crevices between the people and road-side stands in the market before parking between fish vendors and the sidewalk to buy some chicken. There's nothing like be closer to death to enjoy life a little more.

Abd-Alssamad is a very busy teacher, and gives English classes in 3 different schools. Last he took me with him to one of his classes. When we met the students, I was surprised to see that it was four girls. I guess Morocco is like the States in that is it more often girls who have the ambition and wherewithal to put in extra time learning a subject. For those who have read Three Cups of Tea, it was also reminiscent of Greg Mortenson's vision of educating girls, especially Muslim girls. As you can see in the picture below, three of the four girls were covered in the typical Islamic attire for females. This is by choice, mind you, as women are free to dress as they wish. They cover themselves often out of a desire to remain as pure as possible for their future husbands. By covering themselves, other men cannot enjoy them visually, and these girls are giving their husbands a more valuable, untarnished gift in marriage.

Abd-Alssamad's English students. They were fast-learners, joyful, and happy to have a native speaker join their class. They jumped on opportunities to teach me Arabic, French and about the culture.

I want to point out that this kind of education for girls is neither uncommon in Muslim states, nor is it prohibited or even discouraged by the Koran. The Koran, in fact, insists not only on equal education of men and women, but it tends to give more societal value to women than men. For example, men here can be jailed for not providing well or taking care of their wives. Women in Islamic culture are very important, almost sacred. Do not let extremist groups like the Taliban and Al-Qaeda, who DON'T follow the teachings of the Koran, falsify your image of Muslim culture and society. People here have begged me not to let groups like the Taliban represent Islam. Here they do not recognize Al-Qaeda as Islam.

My Moroccan Welcome

2010-08-31T17:53:00.000-07:00

Hello all! First of all, thank you to everyone who has helped me get here and who is interested enough to stop in and check out what is going on with me.

I have been here three days and I can already tell that this will be one of the best years of my life. I am quickly falling in love with Morocco, and mostly because of the people. I was picked up at the airport by a guy named Housni, a contact of a contact (Shamefully I haven't gotten a picture with him yet, but will post one when I get one.) He took me to his home and though he and his family are Muslim and this is the middle of Ramadan, in which Muslims are not allowed to consume any food or beverage during the day, he bought food for me (and refused to let me pay, and then unfairly convinced the cashier in Arabic to not let me pay since I don't know Arabic), and his mother cooked me up a wonderful mid-day meal. He proceeded to offer me beverages and snacks throughout the rest of the day while he introduced me to Moroccan music and answered my questions about culture and Islam.

Since Muslims cannot eat, drink or smoke during daylight while observing Ramadan (which is a one month period starting mid-August and lasting until mid-September), they go out and have a breakfast meal at 7pm, followed by a dinner-like meal at midnight. During this time there is a lot of activity and nightlife ( and A LOT of smoking, as they cannot smoke during the entire day.) Housni took me out with a friend of his, and after we had a typical Ramadan meal, we hung out at a cafe and conversed about life until it was time to go home and eat dinner (which we had around 1am), which his mother prepared and was delicious.

Above is the wonderful meal prepared for me. It consisted of a lentil soup, some pancake-like thingies drenched in honey, some very sweet desert munchies, dates, grilled cow liver, and a must-have in Morocco, peppermint tea (very sweet.) I think I'll love the culinary delights here because they have an even greater sweet tooth than me.

The next morning I departed for Rabat, where I will study. Housni connected me with his friend Simo here in Rabat, and he has taken care of me ever since. I will be starting Arabic classes tomorrow at a language institution until University classes start in late September.

Thus far I have been amazed at how nice the Moroccan people, how genuine their humane and loving treatment of each other is. And it's not just towards foreigners that they are so sincere and kind, but towards everyone. Though homosexuality is punishable by law with prison time, this is not a homophobic culture. In fact, males as well as females greet each other with kisses on both cheeks. Guys are always with their arms around each other or with hands on the other's arm or shoulder while talking. Male friends even hold hands while walking and talking. This is truly a personable, social, loving culture in which people feel a greater connection to each other than to their daily tasks and domestic worries. This is my perception after three days. It may change once I become intimate with the culture, but I'm definitely enthused by what I have seen so far.