It’s couscous Friday!
(Every Friday, we go home for lunch instead of eating at the CCCL and most of the families here prepare couscous for Friday lunchtime)
Tomorrow we take off for our southern excursion, the part of this entire trip I am most excited for. During the next week, I will ride a camel, hike up sand dunes, ride in a land rover, spend the night at a girl’s hostel, drive through the Atlas Mountains, listen to Gnawa music, eat lots of bread and dates, explore Marrakesh and chill in Essaouira. I hope I’m making you very jealous right now. :-P
Peace out for the next week or so.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
all in good time
so i lied...
i made the decision a couple of days ago that i'm not going to put up pictures from here until after i get home. some might say lame (which i would have had someone told me), but i do have my reasons:
1) the internet connection here is mad slow so posting would take a ridiculously long time
2) i already have 500 photos and am sure i will be well into the thousands by the time i leave...if i post pictures now people will be sick of seeing morocco by the end of it
3) i'm trying to get on facebook as little as possible because every minute i spend there is one less minute i spend experiencing the culture here. in general, i'm trying to use the internet minimally, just for talking to my parents and a few friends. if you couldn't tell i write a lot of my blog entries beforehand and just spend the necessary five minutes it might take to post.
so, ok, i'm pretty lame, but i've made my decision and i think i should stick with it. in the meantime, there are a few pictures other people have tagged of me in case you need proof that i'm actually here and not pulling a jayson blair. :-P
ok, that's all for now.
i made the decision a couple of days ago that i'm not going to put up pictures from here until after i get home. some might say lame (which i would have had someone told me), but i do have my reasons:
1) the internet connection here is mad slow so posting would take a ridiculously long time
2) i already have 500 photos and am sure i will be well into the thousands by the time i leave...if i post pictures now people will be sick of seeing morocco by the end of it
3) i'm trying to get on facebook as little as possible because every minute i spend there is one less minute i spend experiencing the culture here. in general, i'm trying to use the internet minimally, just for talking to my parents and a few friends. if you couldn't tell i write a lot of my blog entries beforehand and just spend the necessary five minutes it might take to post.
so, ok, i'm pretty lame, but i've made my decision and i think i should stick with it. in the meantime, there are a few pictures other people have tagged of me in case you need proof that i'm actually here and not pulling a jayson blair. :-P
ok, that's all for now.
return to infancy
The idea that showering everyday is a prerequisite for cleanliness is very much a Western one I’ve discovered. Here, it’s not so much a question of how often you shower, but rather how hard you scrub. How I learned this concept…well that’s an interesting story.
During our orientation week, the public baths, or hammams, were mentioned quite a few times as one of those Moroccan experiences we would have to try out. My initial impression was of a less glamorous spa with a large hot tub and bathing suits, but what our academic directors described was more like a nude exhibition in a sauna. A couple of weeks passed by after that first week and various girls came to school with stories of their hammam experiences with sisters, mothers, cousins. I got a little curious and finally this past Sunday I decided I would check it out myself and see these public baths firsthand. I should add that we’re doing a project on the hammam culture as part of our field study class and so my expedition had academic undertones as well. ;)
Unlike the other girls in my group, neither my mother nor my sister could accompany me on my trip to the hammam. My mom was on her period and my sister was in the middle of watching a Bollywood film I bought for her. So, I decided to brave it alone…sort of. Before getting there, my mom assured me that everything would be alright because one of the women at the hammam would show me the ropes and make sure that I was taken care of. I would just have to give her fifty dirhams afterwards as a thank you. Once we got there, all my impressions of bathing suits seemed like a not too funny joke. My mother told me to strip down to my underwear (no bra) and then, clutching a towel tightly against my naked body I entered the world of the hammam.
My companion, the one who would show me the ropes, turned out to be a short-haired, large-breasted, big tummy woman who snatched the towel from my death grip and told me to sit down. I obliged. I made the mistake of fidgeting with my underwear and she ordered me to remove them as well. So, yeah…I was completely nude. She then proceeded to soap every part of my body leaving out only the really private one which I gladly took care of myself. Using a black glove that’s anything but gentle, she scrubbed off every ounce of dirt and dead skin from my body (I’m not exaggerating, the dead skin was falling off in clumps). When she wanted to get my back, I curled up into the fetal position and clenched my teeth while she scraped down my rear side (yes, all of it) with the sandpaper glove. Then, with scalding hot water she rinsed me off. Following my lather, scrub, rinse session I sat in a steam room, to nab a few relaxation minutes before I left. As a final departing note, the woman grabbed one of the large tubs filled with water and dumped the entire thing over my head. I’d say I definitely got my fifty dirhams worth.
My thoughts and notes about the experience:
-The nudity’s not so bad. After the initial shock I realized I was in a room with all kinds of naked women and got over my own exposure.
-Everyone watches everyone. It’s very much a part of the culture here to observe other people.
-As one of the few place meant exclusively for women (they have separate ones for men), the hammam is sort of a sacred female space. It’s where they come to hang out with their friends, chat about the latest gossip and spend some time on themselves.
-Being scrubbed down by another person (once you get over the awkwardness of it) is actually quite nice. My hammam buddy got the spots I might normally have missed and the whole bathing experience felt like a comfortable return to infancy.
Overall, I give it two thumbs up. If you’re ever in Morocco, try out the public baths.
During our orientation week, the public baths, or hammams, were mentioned quite a few times as one of those Moroccan experiences we would have to try out. My initial impression was of a less glamorous spa with a large hot tub and bathing suits, but what our academic directors described was more like a nude exhibition in a sauna. A couple of weeks passed by after that first week and various girls came to school with stories of their hammam experiences with sisters, mothers, cousins. I got a little curious and finally this past Sunday I decided I would check it out myself and see these public baths firsthand. I should add that we’re doing a project on the hammam culture as part of our field study class and so my expedition had academic undertones as well. ;)
Unlike the other girls in my group, neither my mother nor my sister could accompany me on my trip to the hammam. My mom was on her period and my sister was in the middle of watching a Bollywood film I bought for her. So, I decided to brave it alone…sort of. Before getting there, my mom assured me that everything would be alright because one of the women at the hammam would show me the ropes and make sure that I was taken care of. I would just have to give her fifty dirhams afterwards as a thank you. Once we got there, all my impressions of bathing suits seemed like a not too funny joke. My mother told me to strip down to my underwear (no bra) and then, clutching a towel tightly against my naked body I entered the world of the hammam.
My companion, the one who would show me the ropes, turned out to be a short-haired, large-breasted, big tummy woman who snatched the towel from my death grip and told me to sit down. I obliged. I made the mistake of fidgeting with my underwear and she ordered me to remove them as well. So, yeah…I was completely nude. She then proceeded to soap every part of my body leaving out only the really private one which I gladly took care of myself. Using a black glove that’s anything but gentle, she scrubbed off every ounce of dirt and dead skin from my body (I’m not exaggerating, the dead skin was falling off in clumps). When she wanted to get my back, I curled up into the fetal position and clenched my teeth while she scraped down my rear side (yes, all of it) with the sandpaper glove. Then, with scalding hot water she rinsed me off. Following my lather, scrub, rinse session I sat in a steam room, to nab a few relaxation minutes before I left. As a final departing note, the woman grabbed one of the large tubs filled with water and dumped the entire thing over my head. I’d say I definitely got my fifty dirhams worth.
My thoughts and notes about the experience:
-The nudity’s not so bad. After the initial shock I realized I was in a room with all kinds of naked women and got over my own exposure.
-Everyone watches everyone. It’s very much a part of the culture here to observe other people.
-As one of the few place meant exclusively for women (they have separate ones for men), the hammam is sort of a sacred female space. It’s where they come to hang out with their friends, chat about the latest gossip and spend some time on themselves.
-Being scrubbed down by another person (once you get over the awkwardness of it) is actually quite nice. My hammam buddy got the spots I might normally have missed and the whole bathing experience felt like a comfortable return to infancy.
Overall, I give it two thumbs up. If you’re ever in Morocco, try out the public baths.
Monday, February 23, 2009
el jadida
This past weekend was one of those rare occasions when we did not have a scheduled excursion nor did we have any obligations to stay at home. So, a group of four of us took off Saturday morning for a tiny city about three and a half hours south of Rabat called El Jadida (“The New”).
The city is supposedly well known for its fish dishes and while I myself did not indulge in this regional delicacy, I did accompany my friends to Restaurant Tchikito a place described in the guide book as “an authentic experience.” Likewise, upon arriving at Tchikito the first thing we saw was the kitchen, set up right near the entrance with full fish (head, eyes and tail included) fried in batter and hung in plain view as if to warn “Leave your squeamish stomach at the door.” Luckily, after three weeks in Morocco, particularly after witnessing a chopped off camel’s head in the markets of Fes, squeamishness is not a word my stomach concedes. My friend signaled to the waiter with three fingers and he returned with three plates of fried goods. For myself, I ordered my latest drink of choice, a Fanta Citron, and pulled out the bottle of DanUp vanilla yogurt I had secretly stashed in my purse. While three hungry faces polished off the entire cast of Finding Nemo, I too finished my shake in a matter of minutes. The aftermath of lunchtime: three plates of piled up fish bones and one empty yogurt bottle.
Following lunch we wandered through the older part of the city which was formerly inhabited by the Portuguese. The guide book really only recommended one monument and we just so happened to stumble upon it while walking through one of the smaller markets. The Portuguese Cistern is an underground chamber with a vaulted ceiling that reflects a mirror image onto a thin layer of water that is constantly on the ground. An opening in the center of the room lets in just enough light to make the pillars, arches and reflections perfectly visible. The vault had such a sense of both mystery and architectural history I felt like Indiana Jones uncovering a dreamy archaeological find. I took what must have been hundreds of pictures until my friends insisted we see the rest of the town.
We walked along the beach for that unknown, doesn’t matter period of time that you might associate with beach walking. El Jadida’s cafés warmly greeted us on the right while crashing waves beckoned to us from the left. I opted to keep my dry clothes and turned right. Out on the café’s terrace we sat sipping overly sugary coffees and watching groups of men play soccer on the beach.
After a large pizza dinner, two scoops of gelato, and a few glasses of wine, I polished off the weekend with a long and heavy Sunday sleep.
And that is the story of a simple weekend in El Jadida.
The city is supposedly well known for its fish dishes and while I myself did not indulge in this regional delicacy, I did accompany my friends to Restaurant Tchikito a place described in the guide book as “an authentic experience.” Likewise, upon arriving at Tchikito the first thing we saw was the kitchen, set up right near the entrance with full fish (head, eyes and tail included) fried in batter and hung in plain view as if to warn “Leave your squeamish stomach at the door.” Luckily, after three weeks in Morocco, particularly after witnessing a chopped off camel’s head in the markets of Fes, squeamishness is not a word my stomach concedes. My friend signaled to the waiter with three fingers and he returned with three plates of fried goods. For myself, I ordered my latest drink of choice, a Fanta Citron, and pulled out the bottle of DanUp vanilla yogurt I had secretly stashed in my purse. While three hungry faces polished off the entire cast of Finding Nemo, I too finished my shake in a matter of minutes. The aftermath of lunchtime: three plates of piled up fish bones and one empty yogurt bottle.
Following lunch we wandered through the older part of the city which was formerly inhabited by the Portuguese. The guide book really only recommended one monument and we just so happened to stumble upon it while walking through one of the smaller markets. The Portuguese Cistern is an underground chamber with a vaulted ceiling that reflects a mirror image onto a thin layer of water that is constantly on the ground. An opening in the center of the room lets in just enough light to make the pillars, arches and reflections perfectly visible. The vault had such a sense of both mystery and architectural history I felt like Indiana Jones uncovering a dreamy archaeological find. I took what must have been hundreds of pictures until my friends insisted we see the rest of the town.
We walked along the beach for that unknown, doesn’t matter period of time that you might associate with beach walking. El Jadida’s cafés warmly greeted us on the right while crashing waves beckoned to us from the left. I opted to keep my dry clothes and turned right. Out on the café’s terrace we sat sipping overly sugary coffees and watching groups of men play soccer on the beach.
After a large pizza dinner, two scoops of gelato, and a few glasses of wine, I polished off the weekend with a long and heavy Sunday sleep.
And that is the story of a simple weekend in El Jadida.
Friday, February 20, 2009
:) = :)
As an international relations student, Samuel Huntington’s “Clash of Civilizations” is one of those arguments that I know by heart. I’ve discussed and debated it in too many classes and honestly I could do without seeing Huntington’s thesis for a while. So, when I saw that my reading assignment for yesterday was none other than my fave Huntington, I wanted to scream a little. What was interesting about yesterday, however, was the format in which the discussion would take place. As a teacher at Mohammed V University, my professor invited us to join one of his classes and discuss the article with his students. For those of you who may not know about Huntington’s clash, here’s a brief summary:
Since the end of the Cold War, a new world order has emerged in which the fault lines of conflict are culturally tied as opposed to the political and economic motivations of the past. What Huntington eventually comes to describe is a clash between the Western civilization and the Islamic civilization in which the differences between these two cultures stand in opposition to one another. This opposition is the new source of tension and conflict.
Now, imagine a room with American exchange students sitting on one side and Moroccan graduate students sitting on the other. A visual representation of Huntington’s clash? Maybe the tensions were a bit high in the beginning as they naturally would be when two groups are set at odds with one another. But then, somewhere in the middle of our discussion, a Mohammed V student raised his hand and offered his own take on the supposed rift between us and them. He described two children playing with two different toys, one expensive, and the other cheap. Then he said, “Even if the toys are different, the smile is the same. We all sleep the same way, and we all love the same way.”
I can’t say that I’m idealistic enough to fully believe this myself, but his thought did make me smile. a lot.
Since the end of the Cold War, a new world order has emerged in which the fault lines of conflict are culturally tied as opposed to the political and economic motivations of the past. What Huntington eventually comes to describe is a clash between the Western civilization and the Islamic civilization in which the differences between these two cultures stand in opposition to one another. This opposition is the new source of tension and conflict.
Now, imagine a room with American exchange students sitting on one side and Moroccan graduate students sitting on the other. A visual representation of Huntington’s clash? Maybe the tensions were a bit high in the beginning as they naturally would be when two groups are set at odds with one another. But then, somewhere in the middle of our discussion, a Mohammed V student raised his hand and offered his own take on the supposed rift between us and them. He described two children playing with two different toys, one expensive, and the other cheap. Then he said, “Even if the toys are different, the smile is the same. We all sleep the same way, and we all love the same way.”
I can’t say that I’m idealistic enough to fully believe this myself, but his thought did make me smile. a lot.
Monday, February 16, 2009
why i have no pictures of fes
to have forgotten my camera would have been a rookie mistake. no, i decided that i wanted my battery to be fully charged (as opposed to just 3/4 charged) so i left it at home plugged into a socket in the wall and didn't realize until we were halfway to meknes (our first stop). sad face. it took me a while but i eventually came to terms with the fact that i will have no pictures of fes. that didn't stop me from continuously thinking, wow my camera would have taken an amazing picture of that, but hey no point crying over battery chargers in wall sockets.
while i was busy not taking pictures of fes, here are a few things i did do (presented especially for you in list form)
-we took a guided bus tour of meknes, one of the four imperial cities in morocco
-i walked through the roman ruins in volubulis and sat in the orgy room of what used to be a brothel (probably the most painful portion of my camera-less weekend)
-a mute/deaf man tried to walk us back to our bus despite many refusals and then asked for money
-the guys in our group were pulled on stage during dinner and forced to bellydance
-we saw the tanneries in fes, which smell pretty bad, but are amazing...if i recommend one sight to see in fes, this would be it (this was the second most painful camera moment)
-i was almost run over by a donkey in a very narrow street
-i haggled with a man over some fes caps
-a man on the street offered to give us all his camels (a really twisted moroccan fantasy?)
-a couple of friends and i decided to wander through the medina and then walk all the way back to the hotel, but were luckily stopped by a woman who spoke english and informed us that it would take over two hours to walk back to our hotel...we ended up taking a cab
-i ate spaghetti for dinner which sounds so unauthentic, but was my first dinner that wasn't steamed vegetables
a few other thoughts about fes...the vendors are SO much more aggressive than in rabat. even glancing at one of their products means to them that you're interest. and pointing? forget about it...you're a prime sales target. the medina (or old city) in fes is also the largest in north africa and it's very easy to get lost in the narrow, winding streets. some of the streets are so tiny that we could only walk through one at a time and even then it was a tight squeeze. obesity is simply not an option for the citizens of fes.
i'm back to the daily rabat routine now which means it's time for lunch at home.
while i was busy not taking pictures of fes, here are a few things i did do (presented especially for you in list form)
-we took a guided bus tour of meknes, one of the four imperial cities in morocco
-i walked through the roman ruins in volubulis and sat in the orgy room of what used to be a brothel (probably the most painful portion of my camera-less weekend)
-a mute/deaf man tried to walk us back to our bus despite many refusals and then asked for money
-the guys in our group were pulled on stage during dinner and forced to bellydance
-we saw the tanneries in fes, which smell pretty bad, but are amazing...if i recommend one sight to see in fes, this would be it (this was the second most painful camera moment)
-i was almost run over by a donkey in a very narrow street
-i haggled with a man over some fes caps
-a man on the street offered to give us all his camels (a really twisted moroccan fantasy?)
-a couple of friends and i decided to wander through the medina and then walk all the way back to the hotel, but were luckily stopped by a woman who spoke english and informed us that it would take over two hours to walk back to our hotel...we ended up taking a cab
-i ate spaghetti for dinner which sounds so unauthentic, but was my first dinner that wasn't steamed vegetables
a few other thoughts about fes...the vendors are SO much more aggressive than in rabat. even glancing at one of their products means to them that you're interest. and pointing? forget about it...you're a prime sales target. the medina (or old city) in fes is also the largest in north africa and it's very easy to get lost in the narrow, winding streets. some of the streets are so tiny that we could only walk through one at a time and even then it was a tight squeeze. obesity is simply not an option for the citizens of fes.
i'm back to the daily rabat routine now which means it's time for lunch at home.
i forgot to post these before i left...oops
Thursday, February 12th
This weekend we leave for our first excursion to Fes, Meknes, and two other cities (I forget their names). It seems unreal that I’ve only been here for two weeks. I already know my way around the medina, for the most part, I’ve taken over three hundred pictures and my companions feel like old familiar faces. Apparently people who did this program in the past said that time flies by and the three months were over before they knew it. I’ll have to spare judgment on that until my time here is up, but here are my sentiments on time in Morocco so far. Right now, it feels as though the days are both too long and too short at the same time. I cover a lot of ground each both literally and figuratively, but the end always seems to come too soon. I know it sounds impossible, but I swear it’s true.
Today, our lecture focused upon the hijab and its cultural/religious history here in Morocco. A few facts about the hijab that I didn’t know before and will now share with you.
-The term hijab was not popularly used until the 1970s when the Iranian Revolution took place.
-During the 1980s many in Morocco considered the hijab unacceptable because the women who wore were associated with plots to overthrow the regime.
-Women see the head covering as their own interpretation of the Koran making it a symbol of female empowerment.
Our lecturer, Farah, expressed a few concerns about recent trends in the reasons why women will wear hijab. She told us that she has spoken with women who hold atheist beliefs, but wear the hijab as a form of legitimacy because they feel they will attract less attention and be taken more seriously. During this discussion, I thought back to my first day at home here. The first time I saw my sister, she was wearing hijab. Then, the next day when we left the house to buy bread, her head was not covered. In response to my confused looks Mi explained that Amal does not usually wear the hijab, but the day before she hadn’t washed her hair and didn’t want anyone to see it. I know that a majority of women still wear because of religious reasons, but I do wonder about what exactly the hijab has come to mean for the women who wear it. Is it an expression of religious belief? A fashion statement? A protection against harassment? A way to gain legitimacy? A symbol for independence? A form of separation? A cover-up for bad hair days? I’m not sure, but I get the impression that no two women would answer the same way.
Friday, February 13th
Friday night movie! We went for a Moroccan film that’s caused quite a stir here. It’s called Amours Voiles (Loose translation…Love and the Veil) and tells the somewhat racy story of a woman who has sexual relations with a man out of wedlock. There were a couple of nude scenes which made the entire male audience go wild. I wouldn’t say it’s the best acting, but I think it’s a worthwhile watch particularly if you know the cultural context. Doubt any of you would be able to find it, but if you can, check it out.
On the way back from the movie tonight, we watched as a homeless man tried to steal a blanket from a homeless woman. The woman was screaming phrases in Arabic that I didn’t really understand, but all I could do was feel sorry for her and keep walking by. As we passed the scene, a second man, completely unrelated to the entire dispute, tackled (I’m talking a full out takedown) the thief, returned the blanket to the woman and started beating the crap out of the first man. If we were in the United States I feel like a good many people would have seen an old woman being robbed, sympathized for her and then passed by not considering it their responsibility to help. My friend’s host brother told us that what we saw was a mild case compared to what usually happens. It is not unlikely to see groups of ten or more men beating someone up for a sin they committed against Allah. The words duty and responsibility really mean something here. I somehow feel safer knowing that. I feel like if I really needed it, I’d have a gang of ten Moroccan men looking out for me.
This weekend we leave for our first excursion to Fes, Meknes, and two other cities (I forget their names). It seems unreal that I’ve only been here for two weeks. I already know my way around the medina, for the most part, I’ve taken over three hundred pictures and my companions feel like old familiar faces. Apparently people who did this program in the past said that time flies by and the three months were over before they knew it. I’ll have to spare judgment on that until my time here is up, but here are my sentiments on time in Morocco so far. Right now, it feels as though the days are both too long and too short at the same time. I cover a lot of ground each both literally and figuratively, but the end always seems to come too soon. I know it sounds impossible, but I swear it’s true.
Today, our lecture focused upon the hijab and its cultural/religious history here in Morocco. A few facts about the hijab that I didn’t know before and will now share with you.
-The term hijab was not popularly used until the 1970s when the Iranian Revolution took place.
-During the 1980s many in Morocco considered the hijab unacceptable because the women who wore were associated with plots to overthrow the regime.
-Women see the head covering as their own interpretation of the Koran making it a symbol of female empowerment.
Our lecturer, Farah, expressed a few concerns about recent trends in the reasons why women will wear hijab. She told us that she has spoken with women who hold atheist beliefs, but wear the hijab as a form of legitimacy because they feel they will attract less attention and be taken more seriously. During this discussion, I thought back to my first day at home here. The first time I saw my sister, she was wearing hijab. Then, the next day when we left the house to buy bread, her head was not covered. In response to my confused looks Mi explained that Amal does not usually wear the hijab, but the day before she hadn’t washed her hair and didn’t want anyone to see it. I know that a majority of women still wear because of religious reasons, but I do wonder about what exactly the hijab has come to mean for the women who wear it. Is it an expression of religious belief? A fashion statement? A protection against harassment? A way to gain legitimacy? A symbol for independence? A form of separation? A cover-up for bad hair days? I’m not sure, but I get the impression that no two women would answer the same way.
Friday, February 13th
Friday night movie! We went for a Moroccan film that’s caused quite a stir here. It’s called Amours Voiles (Loose translation…Love and the Veil) and tells the somewhat racy story of a woman who has sexual relations with a man out of wedlock. There were a couple of nude scenes which made the entire male audience go wild. I wouldn’t say it’s the best acting, but I think it’s a worthwhile watch particularly if you know the cultural context. Doubt any of you would be able to find it, but if you can, check it out.
On the way back from the movie tonight, we watched as a homeless man tried to steal a blanket from a homeless woman. The woman was screaming phrases in Arabic that I didn’t really understand, but all I could do was feel sorry for her and keep walking by. As we passed the scene, a second man, completely unrelated to the entire dispute, tackled (I’m talking a full out takedown) the thief, returned the blanket to the woman and started beating the crap out of the first man. If we were in the United States I feel like a good many people would have seen an old woman being robbed, sympathized for her and then passed by not considering it their responsibility to help. My friend’s host brother told us that what we saw was a mild case compared to what usually happens. It is not unlikely to see groups of ten or more men beating someone up for a sin they committed against Allah. The words duty and responsibility really mean something here. I somehow feel safer knowing that. I feel like if I really needed it, I’d have a gang of ten Moroccan men looking out for me.
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