Today is Friday and my last day in Morocco. Tomorrow morning my journey back across the ocean to home will begin as will the rest of my life that has been on hold while I have been away. In reality. Morocco really has been another world within my life for the past six weeks. Even though I still have contact with home, everything else is thousands of miles away and is of little consequence or thought here. I will be leaving new friends, new family, a different neighborhood, different school, a different culture, and a different world behind as I pick up where I left off. I will still stay in contact with the connections I have made but soon enough life will resume as normal as I adjust to life back in these United States. The memories and even some friends will stick with me for a lifetime whether I return to Morocco or not. I have made friends here from Morocco, Germany, Italy, England, Russia, students from Florida, Virginia, VMI, Harvard, Princeton, Yale, Columbia, Wake Forest, NYU, Cambridge, Oxford, and also one other Aggie, Vernon, class of '04. And all of them have been great people and I have enjoyed sharing my time here with them. This has been the greatest single learning experience I have had in my life. In context, six weeks is not long, but it is long enough to take in and understand a culture and its people. It is long enough to greatly enhance language skills and communicate with a variety of people. All these experiences I will bring back with me to America and hopefully put them to use. Otherwise, what is the point? I have been blesses to see amazing places here in Morocco. Remembering the beauty of the Sahara, the sheer awe of the high Atlas, the paradise of Asilah, the enchantment of an ancient city, and sights, sounds, and smells in between. Returning home to my daily life in the states I will recall the people in my own daily life here. Whether it be the taxi driver, the dirham ice cream vendor, the Malawi man, the shopkeeper next door to home, or the homeless man at Batha, they will still be present in my mind. With so many thoughts and experiences and things to share, I can only capture a snapshot of my time here through writing. I hope I have been able to illustrate and convey the things I have seen and done here, and most of all give a sense of Morocco to you without having been. It truly is a world apart from my own and one not many Americans are familiar with, so I think documenting my time here is important. The end of this adventure draws to a close as one final chapter remains to unfold: the journey home.
~Andrew
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The Cast
It's Thursday and I leave Morocco to return home early Saturday morning. I fininshed my final exam this morning and now have a day or two of time left at the end to relax. Today being Thursday also means I get my cast off in four days. After six weeks of being connected to something, or it to you, you kind of become attatched. Whether it is inanimate or not. Doing things with a cast has become the new way of doing things and it might take a little adjustment to get used to having to arms again. I do miss being able to do a lot of things that I can't do without a wrist. On Monday I will say goodbye to this cast forever and hopefuly will not be saying hello to a new one. Thinking back, me and my black piece of fiberglass have been through a lot together. It has probably been more places than some people have been in their entire lives. It has traveled up through New York City, across the Atlantic Ocean to Morocco, in the streets and alleys of an ancient city, over the dunes of the Sahara, been dipped in the waters of the Atlantic and Mediterranean Sea, and to the highest point in North Africa, Mt. Toubkal. Quite a list for a temporary, six week, device of healing. On Monday will I be sad? Probably not, in fact I will be ecstatic until I realize the rehab neede for my wrist. I will be free of a companion and emergency weapon but also of a much unwanted burden. For the first time in seven weeks, I will be one step closer to being, once again, completely healthy and normal. At least I rest assured in the fact this cast had a more exciting and adventurous six weeks than the one next to it in the waiting room on Monday.
~Andrew
~Andrew
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
le Tour
As you may or may not know the Tour de France began this past Saturday. Most likely you didn't know unless I told you. So far its looking like it will be a good tour for U.S. teams. So far going into stage five both American teams, Team Columbia and Garmin-Chipotle are in first and second. My favorite, a team new to the tour is Garmin-Chipotle. They have the cleanest group of riders and have a majority of riders from the US. So far they are in the lead and have some riders that could contend for yellow if they have a good year. I can't wait to get back and watch the tour, and hopefully get back on my own bike. For those of you that haven't been watching. Check it out. Of course its not on ESPN so you'll have to turn on OLN. But its pretty much straight cycling on OLN for the next few weeks.
~Andrew
~Andrew
Asilah
My last weekend to travel in Morocco was spent in the coastal town of Asilah situated on the Mediterranean Sea an hour east of Tangier. This was the last weekend a lot of us from ALIF would have to hang out together, so we decided to all spend a relaxing few days at the beach. On Friday morning our group of fifteen boarded the train to Asilah for our three days away from the world. We friends and classmates from Florida, Harvard, Virginia, England, myself from Texas and our good friend Mohammed. I like the group. We all got along well and were all good friends. A couple hours journey landed us in the small railway stop of Sidi Kacem. We would wait in the city that was essentially supported by the large oil refinery and chemical plant across from the train station. Our final train to Asilah arrived after an hour's wait and we took off once again for the coast. Jumping out the door and onto the station platform my face was met by a refreshing gust of cool, salty wind. Across the road from the station lay an expanse of sand and beyond it was the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The train station was on the edge of the city and it would be a half hour walk past the beach front hotels and restaurants to the walls of the medina. Our plan for the weekend was to find a house or apartment to rent since we would all be together and it would hopefully be cheaper than a hotel. It was early afternoon when we entered the medina of Asilah under a cloudless, blue sky. the walls surrounding the old city were of ancient stone and had old fortifications every so often for defense. Upon walking through the main gate into the city the street opened up into a wide street leading to a small square with a mosque, kasbah, and a cafe. Everyone was hungry so we headed for the cafe to eat lunch. During our meal Mohammed took off to see if he could find us a place to stay in the medina. After twenty minutes or so he returned smiling saying he found something that he thought we would like. Our crew finished lunch and walked a few minutes into the medina to what would be our apartment for the nest couple days. The medina in Asilah was bright and had a relaxing air about it. The white walls trimmed in ocean blue gave a vibrant coastal atmosphere beneath the spotless aqua sky. We had rented two apartments for the weekend. One on the first floor of our building and the second on the third floor. Each had a kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, and living area. We also had our own roof, just like every Moroccan housing unit. The place was perfect and only cost each person less than twenty US dollars for the weekend. After settling in everyone was eager to get a taste of the beach that afternoon before night came. The air was warm but offset by a cool breeze that blew off the water. This was my first time to a beach in years, if you exclude Rabat. The sand and the water on the Mediterranean was much better than anything on the Gulf of Mexico. Following the beach was dinner beneath the old city walls, and then rest for our day at Paradise Beach on Saturday.
We took the morning slow and gathered everyone together after to breakfast to catch transportation to the beach. Paradise beach was a few kilometers past the southern edge of Asilah. It would be too far to walk and we needed something with wheels to get us there. Our wheels for the trip happened to be horse-powered. One horse power that is. We rounded up three flat-topped carts pulled by horses to take us to the beach. Five of us piled onto what was nothing more than a flat wooden cart covered by a thin rug. No sides, nothing to hold onto. I hopped on with my feet dangling over the edge and our small caravan took off for the beach. Exiting the paved city streets into the outskirts of town began our wilder portion of the ride. The poorer sections of the the city and areas under construction made for a bumpy and very uneven road. Once past all this we reached the smooth asphalt highway that would take us the next few kilometers to the beach. The ride was much smoother, but that was the only improvement. Once on open road the horse took off and accelerated to a more than comfortable pace with a cart full of people in tow. Our cart was probably speeding along at around 40 mph while being passed by trucks and cars going 60 mph. I couldn't help but think about what would happen if the right screw came undone on our jalopy of a horse-cart. Soon enough we turned onto a dirt road from which I could now see the Mediterranean below us about a kilometer away. As we rolled through the pastel colored landscape towards the turquoise expanse of water I could have been anywhere in Spain, southern France, or italy. We finally were dropped off and descended the cliffs to the sand below. Paradise beach was a large expanse of pristine sand met by a foaming blue sea. This now topped my list of nicest beaches I had visited. It was not crowded and was secluded from any hints of civilization beyond the cliffs behind us. My afternoon was an enjoyable one filled with soccer, swimming, and once again sunburns. I managed to get sunburned everywhere I normally do not. Which may or may not be attributed to my apathy with sunscreen. Our afternoon was followed by a dinner at the top of the cliffs overlooking the water. We finished off the day with cool drinks and fish tajine.
When we returned to the city a few of us accompanied by Mohammed decided to go to the hammam to wash. A hammam is an Arabic bathhouse. This was my first hammam trip and was interested to experience a new part of Arab and Moroccan culture. You walk in a stow everything but your shorts and soap on a shelf in what would be considered the hammam lobby. From there we entered into the hammam through a door on the far side of the room. I had just entered into a series of three large rooms filled with hot air, steam, and about 200% humidity. In the last tiled room were two basins of water and a stack of buckets. One basin is full of hot water and another full of cold water. We lined up our buckets, two each, and mixed the water until each reached the right temperature. We took our buckets into the middle room and began our washing process. First you rinse off and you then help your friend clean himself. After finishing washing with soap you rinse off and then fill your buckets up at a set of spouts in the room. The last step was to wash yourself and rinse off. By this point I was going back for for buckets of cold water to cool myself off. The heat was relaxing and helped my muscles loosen up but tended to get overbearing after awhile. While in the hammam I noticed Moroccan men stretching and using the heat to work on sore muscles. Usually the stretching was a team event. Some stretched alone, but others worked together inventing painful new ways of contorting each other in the name of feeling better. Once thoroughly cleansed we headed out into the relatively cooler, refreshing air of the lobby to dry off and get dressed. At this point I'm not sure if I had ever felt cleaner in my life. Overall it was a good experience, and I felt quite good once we were done.
That evening we spent our time at a cafe and relaxing on the roof. Before bed, Yamez and myself went out to by supplies for the following morning's breakfast. Almost everyone in our group by this time had become addicted to Malawi. Malawi is a flatbread that I can only best describe as a thick, layered crepe. I thought fried apples sounded like a good companion to the bread and knew Yamez liked to cook as well, so I convinced him to help me. The next morning we woke up as the first morning risers were getting up. I grabbed the three kilo bag of apples out of the fridge and we started slicing. By the time the first batch of apples were cooking in the pot most people were up. The simple mixture of apples, butter, sugar, cinnamon, and heat created an amazing aroma that reminded me of the south and Cracker Barrel. Needless to say the combo of Malawi and fried apples was delicious. Others had bought fruit and juice for breakfast and we had quite the array of foods that morning. After breakfast it was time to pack up and make the walk to the Asilah train station for our eleven o'clock departure. The train ride was warm as usual but wasn't extremely long, as Asilah is only four hours from Fes. For half the train ride the main across the aisle from my row decided to use his cell phone as his own personal juke box, like most Moroccans. For two hours I spent my time listening to a bald Moroccan man with a mustache reminiscent of Saddam Hussein jam out to Celine Dion and Rod Stewart. I had to try not to laugh at first. The sight was a little comical when you watch his unemotional composure coupled with his music selection.
~Andrew
We took the morning slow and gathered everyone together after to breakfast to catch transportation to the beach. Paradise beach was a few kilometers past the southern edge of Asilah. It would be too far to walk and we needed something with wheels to get us there. Our wheels for the trip happened to be horse-powered. One horse power that is. We rounded up three flat-topped carts pulled by horses to take us to the beach. Five of us piled onto what was nothing more than a flat wooden cart covered by a thin rug. No sides, nothing to hold onto. I hopped on with my feet dangling over the edge and our small caravan took off for the beach. Exiting the paved city streets into the outskirts of town began our wilder portion of the ride. The poorer sections of the the city and areas under construction made for a bumpy and very uneven road. Once past all this we reached the smooth asphalt highway that would take us the next few kilometers to the beach. The ride was much smoother, but that was the only improvement. Once on open road the horse took off and accelerated to a more than comfortable pace with a cart full of people in tow. Our cart was probably speeding along at around 40 mph while being passed by trucks and cars going 60 mph. I couldn't help but think about what would happen if the right screw came undone on our jalopy of a horse-cart. Soon enough we turned onto a dirt road from which I could now see the Mediterranean below us about a kilometer away. As we rolled through the pastel colored landscape towards the turquoise expanse of water I could have been anywhere in Spain, southern France, or italy. We finally were dropped off and descended the cliffs to the sand below. Paradise beach was a large expanse of pristine sand met by a foaming blue sea. This now topped my list of nicest beaches I had visited. It was not crowded and was secluded from any hints of civilization beyond the cliffs behind us. My afternoon was an enjoyable one filled with soccer, swimming, and once again sunburns. I managed to get sunburned everywhere I normally do not. Which may or may not be attributed to my apathy with sunscreen. Our afternoon was followed by a dinner at the top of the cliffs overlooking the water. We finished off the day with cool drinks and fish tajine.
When we returned to the city a few of us accompanied by Mohammed decided to go to the hammam to wash. A hammam is an Arabic bathhouse. This was my first hammam trip and was interested to experience a new part of Arab and Moroccan culture. You walk in a stow everything but your shorts and soap on a shelf in what would be considered the hammam lobby. From there we entered into the hammam through a door on the far side of the room. I had just entered into a series of three large rooms filled with hot air, steam, and about 200% humidity. In the last tiled room were two basins of water and a stack of buckets. One basin is full of hot water and another full of cold water. We lined up our buckets, two each, and mixed the water until each reached the right temperature. We took our buckets into the middle room and began our washing process. First you rinse off and you then help your friend clean himself. After finishing washing with soap you rinse off and then fill your buckets up at a set of spouts in the room. The last step was to wash yourself and rinse off. By this point I was going back for for buckets of cold water to cool myself off. The heat was relaxing and helped my muscles loosen up but tended to get overbearing after awhile. While in the hammam I noticed Moroccan men stretching and using the heat to work on sore muscles. Usually the stretching was a team event. Some stretched alone, but others worked together inventing painful new ways of contorting each other in the name of feeling better. Once thoroughly cleansed we headed out into the relatively cooler, refreshing air of the lobby to dry off and get dressed. At this point I'm not sure if I had ever felt cleaner in my life. Overall it was a good experience, and I felt quite good once we were done.
That evening we spent our time at a cafe and relaxing on the roof. Before bed, Yamez and myself went out to by supplies for the following morning's breakfast. Almost everyone in our group by this time had become addicted to Malawi. Malawi is a flatbread that I can only best describe as a thick, layered crepe. I thought fried apples sounded like a good companion to the bread and knew Yamez liked to cook as well, so I convinced him to help me. The next morning we woke up as the first morning risers were getting up. I grabbed the three kilo bag of apples out of the fridge and we started slicing. By the time the first batch of apples were cooking in the pot most people were up. The simple mixture of apples, butter, sugar, cinnamon, and heat created an amazing aroma that reminded me of the south and Cracker Barrel. Needless to say the combo of Malawi and fried apples was delicious. Others had bought fruit and juice for breakfast and we had quite the array of foods that morning. After breakfast it was time to pack up and make the walk to the Asilah train station for our eleven o'clock departure. The train ride was warm as usual but wasn't extremely long, as Asilah is only four hours from Fes. For half the train ride the main across the aisle from my row decided to use his cell phone as his own personal juke box, like most Moroccans. For two hours I spent my time listening to a bald Moroccan man with a mustache reminiscent of Saddam Hussein jam out to Celine Dion and Rod Stewart. I had to try not to laugh at first. The sight was a little comical when you watch his unemotional composure coupled with his music selection.
~Andrew
Monday, July 7, 2008
Toubkal (part 4)
My hotel was a small, clean establishment sandwiched between a cafe and the taxi station. Dar Imrouk had only about eight rooms, but it also had a rooftop with tables and chairs that allowed guests to relax and take in the views of the high alpine valley. I dropped my things in my room and took my book up to read while the sun allowed me the time. My room still held the lingering heat of the day and the cool mountain air made sitting outside pleasant and relaxing. The sun descended below the mountain tops for the night and I retired to my room to get some much earned sleep. Four o'clock in the morning the first call to prayer of the day sounded off, waking me from my sleep. I was rather annoyed and figured that the 4 am prayer at the Mosque must have been a loophole for a guaranteed ticket to paradise. Anyone showing up at that hour in the morning either knows what's up or has a sleeping condition. I fell back asleep and woke up to my alarm at seven. Someone yesterday told me that eight o'clock was the best time to catch a taxi to Marrakesh at the station. I had tea on the roof before walking down to the small lot where a couple of the white Mercedes had already begun to congregate. I sat until three men walked up and said they were going to Marrakesh. I hopped in with the group and we grabbed a taxi and loaded up our luggage. I was in the back between two of the men and the other sat up front with the driver. The man in front was a well-to-do looking middle aged Moroccan man whose head was going bald. To my left was a man about the same age with dark hair, a beard, and glasses. To my right was the oldest of the group whose black hair was speckled with gray and had bushy eyebrows to match his mustache. We talked about Toubkal since they had climbed it the day before. The older man was very talkative. He asked me about what I was doing in Morocco and we discussed the basics of where we were from. I found out that the man in the front and the older gentleman next to me were also going to Fes. The man next to me lived in Sefrou, a small mountain town outside of Fes, and the man in the front lived in the Nouvelle. Halfway to Marrakesh I tuned out and listened while the rest of the cab talked. They were a lively bunch and topics of conversation ranged from debate over which geographical landscapes were more grand, to talk about Toubkal, to arguments over pointless and random topics in general.
After our two hour ride we arrived at the train station and bought our tickets to Fes. Marrakesh is a much more modern city than Fes. Driving through, you can tell that tourism has taken hold of the popular European vacation spot. My train left at eleven and I had a little over an hour till I needed to be in the station ready to leave, so I decided to walk around the streets a little bit. As I walked out of the station and across the street I remembered passing a KFC not far from the station a couple days earlier. Like any good American, what did I do? I set off to find it of course. A ten minute walk into the center of the city put the smiling Colonel's face in view. I walked into the restaurant and asked an employee if they were open. It was only ten and he informed me that they didn't open till noon. Things get started later in Morocco and unfortunately it looked like I wouldn't be getting a taste of home. Even though the country cooked tastes of the Colonel wouldn't be gracing my taste buds today I still got amusement from finding a KFC in Morocco of all places. Disappointed I turned around and walked back to the station to wait for my train.
Eleven o'clock rolled around and my newest Moroccan friends and I boarded the train and found a compartment. The more I traveled with the pair, the more they reminded me of the two brothers from the movie "Secondhanad Lions". They had their quirks, which amused me, but they were nice and an amiable pair. The older man, Mohammed, was very insistent on teaching me Arabic and was keen on helping me learn as long as he was around. I also found out he was in the process learning Berber himself. He pulled out a piece of paper from his wallet with the Arabic and Berber alphabets on it. I had never seen the Berber language written, I had only heard it spoken. The letters resembled hieroglyphs and were written left to right. He showed me his name and my name in Berber. I don't remember exactly what it looked like but it included an upside-down 'V', a letter resembling a 'Q', and some circles and rectangular symbols. Mohammed told me his wife was Berber and he wanted to learn so that he could communicate with her in Arabic and Berber, the language of her family. After my short introduction to Berber and a quiz on Arabic pronunciation I decided to take a nap. A while later I was woken up by Mohammed tapping me on the arm. He told me that in order to learn Arabic I listen to him and Melameh talk. We conversed a little and Mohammed broke out the day's newspaper. We went through the headlines as I read and translated with Mohammed communicating the words I didn't know. I read about "kif", marijuana, in the Rift mountains, a dog that had attacked a girl in Casablanca, and the American presidential election. He told me that Obama was better than McCain and would win. He asked me what I thought about the race and who would win. I told him I didn't necessarily like either candidate. I explained that both wanted bigger government and that big government was bad. I wasn't at the point to debate policy, but he understood what I meant and seemed to agree. After learning to add and subtract our lesson was over and I decided to finish the book Mohammed had lent me to read on the trip. The book was called The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell by John Crawford. It is an easy read about a soldier's experiences in Iraq during the first year of the war. The viewpoint was a bit pessimistic about the Army, but overall it did a good a good job of relaying an infantryman's story on the ground from the day of the invasion till the year after. At around six o'clock in the evening our train rolled into Fes. The hot, crowded, eight hour ride was over.
Looking back, this trip was probably the most adventurous thing I have ever done. I took off solo, halfway across Morocco to climb the countries tallest peak. Armed with my knowledge of Arabic and less than ideally equipped I tackled the journey and it proved to be an exciting and enjoyable weekend. I really felt I had experienced the essence of Morocco on the trip through my interactions with a wide array of people and my witnessing of some of North Africa's most dramatic scenery.
~Andrew
After our two hour ride we arrived at the train station and bought our tickets to Fes. Marrakesh is a much more modern city than Fes. Driving through, you can tell that tourism has taken hold of the popular European vacation spot. My train left at eleven and I had a little over an hour till I needed to be in the station ready to leave, so I decided to walk around the streets a little bit. As I walked out of the station and across the street I remembered passing a KFC not far from the station a couple days earlier. Like any good American, what did I do? I set off to find it of course. A ten minute walk into the center of the city put the smiling Colonel's face in view. I walked into the restaurant and asked an employee if they were open. It was only ten and he informed me that they didn't open till noon. Things get started later in Morocco and unfortunately it looked like I wouldn't be getting a taste of home. Even though the country cooked tastes of the Colonel wouldn't be gracing my taste buds today I still got amusement from finding a KFC in Morocco of all places. Disappointed I turned around and walked back to the station to wait for my train.
Eleven o'clock rolled around and my newest Moroccan friends and I boarded the train and found a compartment. The more I traveled with the pair, the more they reminded me of the two brothers from the movie "Secondhanad Lions". They had their quirks, which amused me, but they were nice and an amiable pair. The older man, Mohammed, was very insistent on teaching me Arabic and was keen on helping me learn as long as he was around. I also found out he was in the process learning Berber himself. He pulled out a piece of paper from his wallet with the Arabic and Berber alphabets on it. I had never seen the Berber language written, I had only heard it spoken. The letters resembled hieroglyphs and were written left to right. He showed me his name and my name in Berber. I don't remember exactly what it looked like but it included an upside-down 'V', a letter resembling a 'Q', and some circles and rectangular symbols. Mohammed told me his wife was Berber and he wanted to learn so that he could communicate with her in Arabic and Berber, the language of her family. After my short introduction to Berber and a quiz on Arabic pronunciation I decided to take a nap. A while later I was woken up by Mohammed tapping me on the arm. He told me that in order to learn Arabic I listen to him and Melameh talk. We conversed a little and Mohammed broke out the day's newspaper. We went through the headlines as I read and translated with Mohammed communicating the words I didn't know. I read about "kif", marijuana, in the Rift mountains, a dog that had attacked a girl in Casablanca, and the American presidential election. He told me that Obama was better than McCain and would win. He asked me what I thought about the race and who would win. I told him I didn't necessarily like either candidate. I explained that both wanted bigger government and that big government was bad. I wasn't at the point to debate policy, but he understood what I meant and seemed to agree. After learning to add and subtract our lesson was over and I decided to finish the book Mohammed had lent me to read on the trip. The book was called The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell by John Crawford. It is an easy read about a soldier's experiences in Iraq during the first year of the war. The viewpoint was a bit pessimistic about the Army, but overall it did a good a good job of relaying an infantryman's story on the ground from the day of the invasion till the year after. At around six o'clock in the evening our train rolled into Fes. The hot, crowded, eight hour ride was over.
Looking back, this trip was probably the most adventurous thing I have ever done. I took off solo, halfway across Morocco to climb the countries tallest peak. Armed with my knowledge of Arabic and less than ideally equipped I tackled the journey and it proved to be an exciting and enjoyable weekend. I really felt I had experienced the essence of Morocco on the trip through my interactions with a wide array of people and my witnessing of some of North Africa's most dramatic scenery.
~Andrew
Heat Never Takes a Holiday
Even though I am from Texas, I can say that Morocco in the summer is hot. Most days the high temperatures will climb up to around 100 Fahrenheit and hover there until the sun begins its evening retreat. The one aspect of the weather I do enjoy here is the low humidity. The mugginess of the South would only make the current summer climate unbearable. The difference between Fes and Houston isn't the heat but the fact that air conditioning is rare in Fes. In the U.S. refuge is around every corner as A/C offers an escape from the heat. Here it is a twenty-four hour battle. There is little respite from the heat and it is something you must learn to live with. It doesn't necessarily mean you will be comfortable, but you adjust. During mid-day the sun is so intense no one ventures outside. There is nothing much you can do in the early afternoon. Just being outside, or even inside is enough to make sweat roll down your back. The American obsession with always being clean, dry, and smelling wonderful is put behind and as long as you don't mind being hot or a little less than comfortable it isn't bad. At night a cold shower is welcomed and wears away as you sweat yourself to sleep in the still warmth. During the day the heat can build up inside our apartment at the top of the three story building. Our one break from the lingering hot air can be found in the breezes that sweep across the roof, especially at night. I walk down the street during the day and watch men in pants, long-sleeves, and a djelleba on walk by in the heat without breaking a sweat. Somehow people can dress as Texans would in November and still appear comfortable. I do know that I will be returning to similar weather in less than a week, but now the glory of A/C will be a pleasure that won't soon grow old or be taken for granted.
The Infusion of Religion
Religion in Arab countries, more than anywhere else permeates into the culture and everyday life of its people. Morocco is 99% Muslim, and Islam doesn't stick to the religious sector of life, it overflows into the social component of society of everyone living here. The same pattern is found in every Arab country across North Africa and the Middle East. Everyday you cannot help but hear the five prayer calls that fill the air throughout the day and night. Not everyone goes to prayer at the Mosque when the "salaat" is sounded, but many pray at home or work. There are different levels of dedication. Just like every religion, Islam has its devout and its identifiers. Some people may go to the Mosque five times daily, and others may go only on Friday, the holy day of the week Islam. Whether someone is a faithful and a "good" Muslim, obeying all the laws of the Koran, they consider themselves Muslim. In taxis you can find scripture or religious paraphernalia on the dashboard or windows, "Sufi", or religious, music playing on the radio. Walking through the streets in Fes you can find a variety of dress, ranging from traditional garments dating back a thousand years to the latest Moroccan, westernized fashion. Younger women, for the most part, dress similar to those in Europe or the U.S.. You will never see a girl wearing shorts though or clothes that are immodest. Some wear the traditional dress, but you find that almost all married and older women wear robes and the hijab. The hijab is a headscarf that covers all but the woman's face, and most older women wear a veil as well. I have seen some women with full length robes, black gloves, head covering, and a black veil that completely covers the face.
It is hard to tell sometimes whether women see their role and submission to Islam as devout or oppressive. In most families, westernized or not, the women of the house do all the cleaning and cooking. In my homestay, my host father, Jamal, will help out with house chores and cook when Fatwa is not home. Other students have told me of their families. One husband told my friend that his wife loved the kitchen and never wanted to leave. Many Moroccan men do nothing at home and are waited on by their wives. For many wives, the absence of men in the house is a time to relax and rest. On the whole, women are very submissive and men and women take very traditional roles. As globalization continues, progressivism does has an effect on society. An effect in some cities, like Fes, that is actually being somewhat turned back and has become more traditional in places like the old medina. Men also dominate the job market. Women can be found in certain shops in the Nouvelle or working in the medina. But 90% of workers I have observed are men. Being an independent working women doesn't hold the same approval and prestige as in America. It is reputable to have a husband and take care of the family and raise children.
As for men, most dress similar to Europeans, but conservative. Moroccan men, especially young men, take pride in always looking trendy and fashionable. Occasionally you might see a man in his twenties wearing a djelleba and a full beard, but this is rare. Many older men dress traditionally and look no different than they would have hundreds of years ago.
A taxi driver this past week explained to John and I how Islam was about peace and embraced harmony. The theme of peace is prevalent in the religion, but I haven't been able to help but notice how aggressive Arab men are. My observations of boys and men have formed an image of a majority of non-passive personalities. Young boys are quick to fight and I see commonplace arguments and behavior that would be considered quite a scene or deemed disgraceful in the U.S.. This isn't the case for all Moroccan men as I have met some that are very friendly and passive people that embrace their teachings, but on the whole I have seen a society that in general doesn't practice what it preaches. I am not referring to anything about extremism which is very much a minority and many Muslims will tell you that terrorism in the name of Islam is a disgrace to their religion. But many have no problem with any harm coming to Israel or American troops.
Another example of how the religion of Islam is a part of everyday life in Morocco is the language. In Arabic, references to god are prevalent in greetings and references to the deceased or the prophet Mohammed. The traditional and most widely used greeting for hello is "salaam alaikum" meaning literally, "peace be upon you". The greeting is followed by the response " wa'alaikum a'salaam", meaning "and peace be upon you as well". A widely spoken phrase, used for almost any occasion is "alhamdu'allah", usually pronounced "hamdulillah". It means "praise or thanks be to god". Whether you are Muslim or not, the everyday greetings and phrases contain references to religion or god. When saying the name Mohammed in reference to the prophet it is always followed by "prayers be upon him", and a similar phrase is mentioned after the name of anyone who is deceased.
One thing that has impressed me here in Morocco is the abundance of patterns and structure in Islam. The pattern and number of five is extremely prevalent. The five prayers a day, the five pillars, the number five is even apparent in mosaics in the architecture. Many tiles in building have octagonal patterns for the eight doorways to heaven. Patterns are everywhere in the Arabic language. The root of a verb can be changed into one of ten different patterns to have a different meaning. The language and aspects of the religion are all very structured. It is no surprise that the Arabs were pioneers in math and science.
From speech, to dress, to gender roles, there is no separation between society and religion in Islam. The culture us filled with aspects of the religion. It can even be seen in the patterns in architecture that permeate even the smallest details of buildings in the medina. This culture holds views and values very similar and very different to ours. Being here makes me realize the amount of freedom we have in America. Not everyone in this country holds the same liberties. This is especially true for women, but also applies to men as well. As globalization and secularism spreads this will change some, but Islam will make sure its people hold on to there values and will not compromise their beliefs. There is a meeting between the Near East and the West, some will embrace it, but others will not and may hold tighter on tighter than before. One thing is for sure. Islam has its place in this society and this culture, and government cannot take it away. To be Arab is to be Muslim, and to be Muslim is to be a part of society.
~Andrew
It is hard to tell sometimes whether women see their role and submission to Islam as devout or oppressive. In most families, westernized or not, the women of the house do all the cleaning and cooking. In my homestay, my host father, Jamal, will help out with house chores and cook when Fatwa is not home. Other students have told me of their families. One husband told my friend that his wife loved the kitchen and never wanted to leave. Many Moroccan men do nothing at home and are waited on by their wives. For many wives, the absence of men in the house is a time to relax and rest. On the whole, women are very submissive and men and women take very traditional roles. As globalization continues, progressivism does has an effect on society. An effect in some cities, like Fes, that is actually being somewhat turned back and has become more traditional in places like the old medina. Men also dominate the job market. Women can be found in certain shops in the Nouvelle or working in the medina. But 90% of workers I have observed are men. Being an independent working women doesn't hold the same approval and prestige as in America. It is reputable to have a husband and take care of the family and raise children.
As for men, most dress similar to Europeans, but conservative. Moroccan men, especially young men, take pride in always looking trendy and fashionable. Occasionally you might see a man in his twenties wearing a djelleba and a full beard, but this is rare. Many older men dress traditionally and look no different than they would have hundreds of years ago.
A taxi driver this past week explained to John and I how Islam was about peace and embraced harmony. The theme of peace is prevalent in the religion, but I haven't been able to help but notice how aggressive Arab men are. My observations of boys and men have formed an image of a majority of non-passive personalities. Young boys are quick to fight and I see commonplace arguments and behavior that would be considered quite a scene or deemed disgraceful in the U.S.. This isn't the case for all Moroccan men as I have met some that are very friendly and passive people that embrace their teachings, but on the whole I have seen a society that in general doesn't practice what it preaches. I am not referring to anything about extremism which is very much a minority and many Muslims will tell you that terrorism in the name of Islam is a disgrace to their religion. But many have no problem with any harm coming to Israel or American troops.
Another example of how the religion of Islam is a part of everyday life in Morocco is the language. In Arabic, references to god are prevalent in greetings and references to the deceased or the prophet Mohammed. The traditional and most widely used greeting for hello is "salaam alaikum" meaning literally, "peace be upon you". The greeting is followed by the response " wa'alaikum a'salaam", meaning "and peace be upon you as well". A widely spoken phrase, used for almost any occasion is "alhamdu'allah", usually pronounced "hamdulillah". It means "praise or thanks be to god". Whether you are Muslim or not, the everyday greetings and phrases contain references to religion or god. When saying the name Mohammed in reference to the prophet it is always followed by "prayers be upon him", and a similar phrase is mentioned after the name of anyone who is deceased.
One thing that has impressed me here in Morocco is the abundance of patterns and structure in Islam. The pattern and number of five is extremely prevalent. The five prayers a day, the five pillars, the number five is even apparent in mosaics in the architecture. Many tiles in building have octagonal patterns for the eight doorways to heaven. Patterns are everywhere in the Arabic language. The root of a verb can be changed into one of ten different patterns to have a different meaning. The language and aspects of the religion are all very structured. It is no surprise that the Arabs were pioneers in math and science.
From speech, to dress, to gender roles, there is no separation between society and religion in Islam. The culture us filled with aspects of the religion. It can even be seen in the patterns in architecture that permeate even the smallest details of buildings in the medina. This culture holds views and values very similar and very different to ours. Being here makes me realize the amount of freedom we have in America. Not everyone in this country holds the same liberties. This is especially true for women, but also applies to men as well. As globalization and secularism spreads this will change some, but Islam will make sure its people hold on to there values and will not compromise their beliefs. There is a meeting between the Near East and the West, some will embrace it, but others will not and may hold tighter on tighter than before. One thing is for sure. Islam has its place in this society and this culture, and government cannot take it away. To be Arab is to be Muslim, and to be Muslim is to be a part of society.
~Andrew
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