Le premier jour c’est dur et le dernier jour c’est dur.
Morocco seems to have finished just as it started. With the disconcerting feeling that I will miss the people I am leaving behind. When I originally thought about what this last post of mine might be, I considered listing all the parts of Rabat and Morocco I will be saddest to leave. Though now that the time is here I think this list is better saved in my memory than on this screen.
Instead I’d like to kiss the cheeks of Morocco, touch its hand then touch my heart. Shoukran. For things you might not even have realized, shoukran.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
someone to watch over me
i am officially done with the academic portion of morocco. not that it was much to begin with, but i still let out a sigh of relief when i finished my presentation today. one of my close friends here is leaving tonight to go back to the states for her sister's graduation. i'm starting to get that twisted knot feeling (as if i haven't already hinted at it enough). i moved out of my homestay on sunday and am staying at hotel majestic, the hotel we first moved into when we got to morocco, for the rest of my trip. full circle. i think it's going to take me a few weeks to get used to the idea of not being here anymore.
since being here i've asked myself the same question many times: If I eat a piece of bread and no one sees it, did it really happen? according to my host mother, absolutely not. is she doesn't see me eat at least a loaf of bread at every meal she shakes her head and says What did you eat? Oualoo (nothing). considering this, it's been strange eating the past two days without moui telling me to Kouli (eat more). yesterday when i was with my friends at the grillade adil i kept glancing up from my plate looking for a nod of validation. for someone to pat me on the back for a stomach well filled. i left the restaurant feeling like my meal was incomplete. and it wasn't because the food lacked salt.
schedule for the rest of the week: dinner tonight with my friend and her parents visiting from the states, presentations all of tomorrow followed by henna at moui's house, goodbye dinner with the cccl on thursday followed by party time, free day friday, early saturday morning flight
since being here i've asked myself the same question many times: If I eat a piece of bread and no one sees it, did it really happen? according to my host mother, absolutely not. is she doesn't see me eat at least a loaf of bread at every meal she shakes her head and says What did you eat? Oualoo (nothing). considering this, it's been strange eating the past two days without moui telling me to Kouli (eat more). yesterday when i was with my friends at the grillade adil i kept glancing up from my plate looking for a nod of validation. for someone to pat me on the back for a stomach well filled. i left the restaurant feeling like my meal was incomplete. and it wasn't because the food lacked salt.
schedule for the rest of the week: dinner tonight with my friend and her parents visiting from the states, presentations all of tomorrow followed by henna at moui's house, goodbye dinner with the cccl on thursday followed by party time, free day friday, early saturday morning flight
Friday, May 8, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
five day weeks
I’ve been teaching my host mother how to say the days of the week in English. She says with each student she learns a few English words and hopefully after ten or twenty students have come and gone she’ll have a good grasp on the language. Insha'Allah. At the moment, she’s got down the days of the week. Well, Monday through Friday at least. When I ask her about Samedi and Dimanche she always gets this guilty smile on her face as she shrugs and says “Free-day?” And I always laugh back, “No Moui, we just did Friday.” It’s been like this for three months now and I doubt she will pick up Saturday and Sunday in the next week. Eh, meshi mushkila (no problems). The way I see it, if Moui ever decides to come to America I’ll just stick her with some overworked Wall Streeter who also forgets his weekends.
Earlier today, I watched The Fox and Hound in Arabic. Even though fox and hound were speaking in clearly dubbed over voices that were slightly hilarious, I still felt teary during the scene where fox limps out of the water. I’m pretty sure Disney is something that transcends linguistic boundaries.
Earlier today, I watched The Fox and Hound in Arabic. Even though fox and hound were speaking in clearly dubbed over voices that were slightly hilarious, I still felt teary during the scene where fox limps out of the water. I’m pretty sure Disney is something that transcends linguistic boundaries.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
architectural marvel
It’s about 12:30 a.m. and I just stress ate my way through two packs of Halls. This stress being caused not by my rather daunting independent project, but the real fat-ass elephant in the room…my little over a week departure. Yeah, it’s an African elephant. I’m playing the ignorance is bliss game and mentally avoiding all thoughts of saying goodbye. I’ll let my eating habits take the hit for now. The rest of me can catch up on the subject we shall not speak of later.
The past few days have shown me a glimpse of what a summer in Morocco might be like. Heat, the kind that makes me drag my feet (more than usual), has hit Rabat hard. I continue to dress with a style of conservatism to keep with cultural standards even though my jeans stick to my thighs. The one protection I have against this heat flash is actually the medina. Somehow the walled quarters provide a constant breeze through the narrow streets regardless of the temperature outside. The Moroccans really knew what they were doing when they built the old city. Medina = architectural marvel.
The past few days have shown me a glimpse of what a summer in Morocco might be like. Heat, the kind that makes me drag my feet (more than usual), has hit Rabat hard. I continue to dress with a style of conservatism to keep with cultural standards even though my jeans stick to my thighs. The one protection I have against this heat flash is actually the medina. Somehow the walled quarters provide a constant breeze through the narrow streets regardless of the temperature outside. The Moroccans really knew what they were doing when they built the old city. Medina = architectural marvel.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
never the right (amount of) time to say goodbye
A phone call that doesn’t end with a proper “Goodbye, I love you” gives me a chair pulled out from under type of feeling.
For the past few months my parents have kept in touch by calling my Moroccan cell phone using calling cards. This seems to be the most sensible option because telephone rates would be ridiculously expensive and calling through Skype is the type of thing that’s two steps too technologically advanced for mom and dad. The calling card, while practical, has the unfortunate problem of a minute warning: You have one minute left. Cue panic button. Like a nervous high school student taking the SATs, my parents and I rush to fill in all the bubbles before time is up… Weather? Beautiful. Studies? Going. Host family? Well. Money? Enough. News? None. Be careful? Will do. The phone cuts out, typically mid-word, and I silently mouth four words to give closure to the conversation. One of the things I look forward to most upon returning is a properly ended phone call.
I am now struggling to write a paper after spending an entire semester having done little to no work. Not that I’m complaining. Just giving you an update on Rohini in Rabat sitting at home with an open computer and blank Word document. Motivation, if you’re out there, please find your way to my fingers.
For the past few months my parents have kept in touch by calling my Moroccan cell phone using calling cards. This seems to be the most sensible option because telephone rates would be ridiculously expensive and calling through Skype is the type of thing that’s two steps too technologically advanced for mom and dad. The calling card, while practical, has the unfortunate problem of a minute warning: You have one minute left. Cue panic button. Like a nervous high school student taking the SATs, my parents and I rush to fill in all the bubbles before time is up… Weather? Beautiful. Studies? Going. Host family? Well. Money? Enough. News? None. Be careful? Will do. The phone cuts out, typically mid-word, and I silently mouth four words to give closure to the conversation. One of the things I look forward to most upon returning is a properly ended phone call.
I am now struggling to write a paper after spending an entire semester having done little to no work. Not that I’m complaining. Just giving you an update on Rohini in Rabat sitting at home with an open computer and blank Word document. Motivation, if you’re out there, please find your way to my fingers.
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