Isaac/AIESEC

Humanitarian Caravan Pictures Up...

2005-08-17T09:09:00.000-07:00

Girl With Her Brother
Originally uploaded by Un Enfant Terrible.

Some Pictures from the AIESEC Humanitarian Caravan are now up... Including plenty of cute kids.

The Days Are Just Packed

2005-08-16T15:11:00.000-07:00

Out of necessity, I've begun "normalizing" back to life in MN. Today started off with breakfast at the Bandbox, where I surprised myself by eating solid food a day after the wisdom teeth were forcefully yanked out of my mouth. Then, off to see the grandmother, misc errands, and a movie date with myself to finally see Crash (a little emotionally heavy-handed, but not a bad movie, if contrived).

Anyways, as I'm trying to get at, as much as I left life here, it really didn't leave me. There's still things to do, people to see, and the same old responsibilities. One of those pseudo-responsibilities now includes getting some more pics up, which is just what I've done (thanks again for the pix Souad).

Old & New Pix

They're still mostly from the Sahara, or our goodbye party.

A Berber Girl in Erfoud

2005-08-16T14:49:00.000-07:00

A Berber Girl in Erfoud
Originally uploaded by Un Enfant Terrible.

Merell Leading her Camel

2005-08-16T14:48:00.000-07:00

Merell Leading her Camel
Originally uploaded by Un Enfant Terrible.

(A Few) Pictures Online!

2005-08-14T16:12:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the wonders of MSN Messenger, I managed to get a few pictures from Souad today (thanks again!). So, I uploaded 17 random photos from our trip to the Sahara and a random little German-themed party we had at the apartment. I've already posted three, and the other 14 are on my Flickr page(photo hosting site).

Moroccan Photo Set

Enjoy.

Sun Rising Over the Sahara

2005-08-14T16:11:00.001-07:00

Sun Rising Over the Sahara
Originally uploaded by Un Enfant Terrible.

That's me in the foreground with my ridiculous foreign legion hat.

Amine, Naoufel, Youssef

2005-08-14T16:11:00.000-07:00

Amine, Naoufel, Youssef
Originally uploaded by Un Enfant Terrible.

Der German Party

2005-08-14T16:10:00.000-07:00

More German Party!
Originally uploaded by Un Enfant Terrible.

Gabe and I (I'm on the left) at natalie's german shindig

Welcome to the Truman Show

2005-08-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

This morning, my mom and I took a walk up to the local diner to get a big greasy American breakfast. As we stepped out of the house into the cool 60ºF weather, I took a look around. The sky was blue, the streets didn't smell like diesel, and there weren't any stray cats scampering across the sidewalk. In theory this would be a calming effect , but a vague sense of unease settled in. As we walked down the street lined with parked Saabs and Volvos, and said a cheery "good morning" to the new neighbors and their baby boy, I muttered out "welcome to the fucking Truman Show" (this was of course uttered out of earshot of the impressionable baby boy) under my breath.

Being back so far in the states (16 hours and counting) has been more interesting than I thought. Everything, from getting on the tram at JFK Airport, to seeing the multitude of blondes in Minneapolis, to adjusting back to speaking only English (I would like to apologize to the Sbarro employee at JFK Terminal 4 for ordering in French, and to the old asian lady named "Mickey" who took our tickets for not understanding "thank you" in Dirija) has been an adjustment.

Right now, sitting in my own room, drinking up the last bottle of Sidi Ali I have, pounding this out on my own laptop, I'm starting to grasp at how more filtered it can be here. Part of me misses the nitty-gritty, part of me doesn't. While it's nice to smell genuinely fresh air, have personal space, have domesticated cats around, and eat a big fat slab of ham, it feels somewhat surreal and even unearned. After dealing with an environment where people are so different, yet have the same goals in life, it's challenging to know that you can come back home to what you have.

One of the things that's made this part of the transition so much easier is the fact that, thanks to the wonders of the information superhighway, you can do pretty much everything except for be physically with somebody. I was lucky enough this morning to talk to somebody important to me online through MSN Messenger, and hopefully, once I get this DVD I got form Youssef working (if anybody from AIESEC Morocco is reading this - I've tried the DVD on 3 separate computers, none of them can access the data... do I need a program or something?), I can look at some of the pictures and videos taken in Morocco, and get some posted up on Flickr, inshallah.

N'Oubliez Pas Le Maroc

2005-08-12T11:43:00.000-07:00

Today, I went over for my final trip to the Reseau Maillage office in Akkari with a tub of Jif peanut butter as a present. When I showed up, we busted out a glass bottle of Coca-Cola and some pain rond and had a little going-away party. One of the last things that Youssef said to before I got in the cab was "n'oubliez pas le Maroc" (don't forget Morocco). After giving the guys the obligatory double kisses on the cheek and reassuring them that I'd do my best to come back in the spring when I'm in Paris studying abroad, I got into one of my last petit taxis and headed back to the apartment to finally start packing.

On the way back, I unwrapped the white robe the two Youssefs had given me as a going-away present, only to realize it was the same type I'd gotten "married" in a few weeks back during my spurious wedding to Elizabeth. Looking over this robe, I finally realized I was heading out. There are still a few more goodbyes to say (I'm not planning on sleeping before my 4am car to Mohammed V airport), but I'm essentially done here. Back to the states for wisdom teeth removal and miscellaneous relaxation (how dorky would it be if I took up bird watching?), then DC, Paris, then?

Although I really have no clue where I'll be a year from now (and frankly, like it that way), what the guys at the association said to me today mattered. I know I'll always have amazing friends here, and Morocco is something that will always remain a part of my life. Since this'll probably be my last post from Morocco proper (I'll write a few follow ups and try to post some images on my Flickr photo account), I just wanted to say how much this summer here has genuinely meant to me. It's pretty rare that 9 weeks makes such an impression on a person, and I'll never forget Morocco.

A Syrian Movie Set

2005-08-11T14:35:00.000-07:00

This morning was one of those where I woke up with a burst of energy that quickly dissipated. By the time I managed to make it to the local cafe around the crack of 11:00 am with my Mom and Merell, I had lost msot of my initiative, which wasn't a good thing, since I'd loaded up today with trips to the Necropolis of Chellah, the Rabat Archaelogical museum, the Royal Palace, and the grand souvenir-purchasing trip to the medina with my buddy Benaissa to help haggle.

Once my mother and I finally made it over to Chellah, we found the entrance blocked by what could best be described as 13th-Century Arab soldiers, replete with scimitars and composite bows. Thinking they were some kind of historically out of place tourist stunt, I attempted to get through the large pack of them, only to find myself walking onto what was soon described to me in hushed tones by a French man as a Syrian movie set. Looking in front of me, I saw the remnants of some medieval battle, with extras sprawled all over the inside gate of Chellah. While we were waiting for them to finish up some shots, a mercedes truck rolled up with whom were clearly the stars of the movie, these three big Syrian guys with impressively cut beards, medieval clothing, and Persol sunglasses. They soon crowded into the entrance way along with the other extras and an incredibly confused and bewildered Japanese couple. Soon, the scene broke up, and I managed to get inside the ruins to see some truly amazing gardens and some killer columns and Latin inscriptions (laugh all you want). The large number of extras milling around smoking cigarettes and playing with their swords only added to the ambience...

Budget Medical Care

2005-08-10T15:46:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, there are still what I term "absolutely ridiculous Moroccan moments" here. For example, this morning, Gabe and and I were drinking coffee outside of our hotel in Meknes (Hotel Toubkal - total crap, don't stay there) when I saw an ambulance coming up slowly past us. The reason it was moving at such an incredibly low speed was because it was being pushed along by the guy riding shotgun, with the driver half-heartedly giving the ground a few shoves with his left foot while he attempted to steer the vehicle (not much of a challenge at his speed) through the streets of Meknes. Watching them edge into the intersection (and upon noticing, thankfully, that nobody was in the back), I couldn't help but start laughing, despite my better judgement. It was really the sheer absurdity of the situation, watching an ambulance being pushed through the streets (thankfully the driver didn't take it upon himself to simulate siren noises) at a snail-like pace that prompted it.

Gabe, upon viewing the same spectactle, had an identical reaction to the whole thing. After being here in Morocco for a certain amount of time, and after passing through what one terms "culture shock," there are still plenty of moments, where despite what you know and accept about another culture, that are just plain absurd. In these cases, they're all in the details, encompassing what else you know about the culture to comprise the full effect.

For example, in this case, I know that Moroccans don't really maintain their cars as well as they should, and rely more on fixing stuff when it breaks than regular maintenance. Additionally, instead of getting a tow truck, or anything along those lines, it'd be easier to just push the car back to the hospital, or wherever it came from than to wait around for others to help you.

Anyways, now that I've totally broken down and overanalyzed a previously funny situation, I'll leave it at that.

There and Back Again

2005-08-10T15:12:00.000-07:00

Tonight, as I finished scarfing down a quarter of a chicken with fries around 9pm with the mother here in Rabat, I had one of those "I can't believe I was there today!"-type moments.

This morning, I was roaming the Roman ruins of Volubilis, situated 33km outside of Meknes. Looking out over the amazing Meditteranean countryside (Gabe, my Mom and I all swore it could have been Tuscany), I had one of the most peaceful and de-stressed times I've been able to manage here. It was something about the combination of the history of the place, the beauty of the surroundings, and the knowledge that this would be one of my final days in Morocco that added up to a surprisingly reflective experience.

It's said that when the British transported Greek ruins back to England, the poet John Keats looked at the ruins like "a sick eagle looking at the sky." Although my reaction wasn't quite so poetic, there's something about treading through ancient streets that gives one a sense of permanence and impermanence here. There's a sense of tangibility that everyone always craves - to be in what's familiar, to touch, to hold, or to be near someone. At the same time, as evidenced by the rock-strewn landscape, devoid of the original Roman Carrera marble (it was plundered by the Sultan Moulay Ismail for his grand palace in Meknes in the 18th century), in the grand scheme of things, nothing lasts forever. Be it my trip to Morocco, or even what's left of my 20s, 30s, etc. Being here has really taught me how to hold on to what I can, remember what I can't, and hopefully gain some perspective on what I should value in the future.

Marrakech by the Numbers

2005-08-09T05:41:00.000-07:00

Number of fresh Orange Juice Stands in the Djemaâ el Fna: 50
Number of Western tourists in the same area: 1000+
Number of European men wearing capri pants: 300
Number of times I was referred to as a place name in the USA by a street vendor(ie: "Hey Chicago!"): 3 (Chicago, New York, Arizona)
Number of times I was offered Hashish: 3
Cost of a horse carriage ride to the Palace Badii: 40 Dirhams
Total cost of our small, cozy, and thankfully air-conditioned hotel off the main square: 760 Dirhams
Average Temperature: around 105 Degress Fahrenheit

Overall, Marrakech was quite the experience. For the first time, I really felt like a Western tourist, which was much more unsettling than I thought it would be, given the fact that I really don't consider myself one (c'mon guys, I work in Rabat!). The best part about the city was the architecture, which felt distinctly more African (it was the Berber capital) than its western counterpart cities in the North. Everything was a clay/adobe color with well-kept gardens, winding boulevards, and random Moroccan ornamentation.

My only problem was that since I've been in Morocco for over eight weeks, I've already had what one might term the "Moroccan Experience:" I've seen plenty of decorative arts, architecture, souks, and Moroccan character over my time here, and that made Marrakech slightly less enchanting. If one was on a trip, it would be a markedly different experience, but for me, the combination of a been there, done that feeling with the obnoxious vendors and petit taxi drivers colored my experience a little.

Ye Olde Itinerary

2005-08-05T16:05:00.000-07:00

Well, since I have a full docket for the next week or so (ie: finally doing some serious traveling), I thought I'd let everyone know what's up.

Tomorrow morning (saturday), we're taking the train to the airport to pick up my mom's lost luggavge, then we're going straight to Marrakech to stay through monday. From there, we're coming back up to Rabat, then over to Meknes, Volubilis (old Roman ruins outside of Meknes), and possibly Fes. Then, back to Rabat for the last two days to say goodbyes, buy final touristy items, and drink plenty of Moroccan mint tea... Time's been flying by lately, and I'm going to be really sad to leave. Here's to hoping we get a hotel room for saturday night in Marrakech (everything is full... in theory).

The Mother Cometh

2005-08-04T14:47:00.000-07:00

Today started abruptly with me slapping the alarm clock at 3:15am, groggily wondering for a few seconds as to why the hell I was awake. As I became more lucid, I remembered I had a 4:00am train to catch to Mohammed V airport to pick up my mother, who was coming in from Montreal this morning. After somehow managing to drub up enough motor skills to put a t-shirt over my head, I quickly brushed my teeth and started the 15-min trek to the Rabat-Ville train station.

What struck me first about the walk to the station was the eerie calm of the morning - there was barely anyone on the street, and Rabat for once seemed calm, a rare feat in a bustling third-world metropolis. About ten minutes into my walk, the silence was punctuated by the almost unearthly sound of the Muezzins' call to prayer throughout the city, broadcast live from the towers of various mosques. For those of you who haven't heard the sound, it can be somewhat disconcerting at 3:35 in the morning, since it assumes a supernatural quality in its rhythm.

After finding out that the time of the train had mysteriously been altered twenty minutes forward, to 3:40am, I hurriedly grabbed a petit taxi to the next station, where I managed to literally jump onto the last car of the departing train (this one was literally the "Marrakech Express"). I finally made it into Mohammed V Airport, picked up my mother, had a rather heated conversation with the lost baggage guy from Royal Air Maroc (seriously buddy, don't talk to my mother that way), and we went on our way back to Rabat, hoping that the luggage situation would resolve itself before we leave for Marrakech on saturday.

Back at the apartment, Tima came over and spent the next several hours lovingly preparing a chicken tajine - a great intro to Moroccan cooking for my mom. The highlight of that was that we needed some dirt to put under the charcoals to elevate them so they could cook the tajine properly. So, I went on a quest in the Nouveau Ville with a plastic bag and one of our plastic kitchen cups. Soon enough, I happened upon a dirt pile right off of the main road by our apartment. Swallowing my remaining pride as a dirt scavenger, I got down on my knees and began shoveling the dirt via the plastic cup into my plastic bag. In doing so, I can safely qualify that I officially received the weirdest looks I have ever received in my life from the passing Moroccans, a family of four stared open-mouthed at me the entire time (the idea of a Westerner scooping dirt in the street into a plastic bag clearly didn't compute). Anyways, with the dirt collected, the tajine went off without a hitch.

The rest of the say consisted of more mint tea, a trip to the casbah, and a quick jaunt through the medina. For the coup de grace of the evening, I showed my mom the best street food combination in Rabat - 2.50DH fresh-squeezed orange juice (aptly referred to by the mother as the best she's ever had) and 1DH warm coconut macaroons.

One of the most surprising parts of the day has been how regular everything still seems here. I'm really looking forward to showing her more around Rabat and the rest of Morocco, and for the chance to finally be a bona-fide Western tourist for a bit (albeit, one who hopefully has decent haggling skills by now).

Reflections on ESL

2005-08-03T04:12:00.000-07:00

One of the biggest parts of my experience here on the Salaam Program was the two english classes that I taught everyday. Comprising a revolving list of characters, from 13 year-old girls to 33 year-old former soccer players, it was one of the most rewarding and exhausting parts of being here.

The most difficult part about teaching ESL is that it throws everything you've taken for granted about your language into disarray. All of a sudden, you find yourself analyzing the way you talk, your grammar, verb forms, etc. I've probably made more mistakes with English here now that I've started to think about what I say - instead of throwing a switch in my brain between present and past tense, I've become more conscious of the difference between all the different tenses and such. Often, students will ask me a question, and my mind will race, trying to formulate some sort of grammatical rule out of the nonsense that is a language taken for granted.

On the more positive side, there's been a fair share of interesting and downright funny experiences; I've had to do three closed-door sessions with my older classes where I explained in great detail how important the words cook, sheet, and beach were to pronounce correctly (I'm pretty sure the mis-pronunciations speak for themselves)... The worst part was that as I've already mentioned, I work right by the Akkari "Beach," so consequently, it's a frequent topic of conversation. Hearing about "beautiful beaches" from my students reduced me to tears of laughter more than once. Also, thanks to some of the grammatical irregularities you're bound to encounter in beginning english speakers, the word "cook" caused a few problems. While discussing hobbies, I had three girls in a row express their love for cooking by saying "I like cook." Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one to catch on, as some of the 16 year-old 50 Cent fans figured out why I was trying to stifle my laughter.

Another interesting angle on ESL has been the textbooks and workbooks we've managed to scrounge up. A lot of times, these books contain interesting lessons or grammatical errors. My favorite is a reading excerpt from the "Move Up" series of workbooks comparing my home state of Minnesota with New York City:

After New York, Minnesota didn't seem American at all. People walked slowly and purposefully, wearing yesterday's clothing, They sat for hours in cafes drinking lemonade and eating mountains of popcorn. They didn't argue about unimportant things. They arrived at church early on Sunday morning. They didn't have meetings. They didn't worry about investments. They didn't talk on car phones. They drove slowly, mostly in Chevrolets and old pick-up trucks and they parked carefully. The women all looked like someone's mother or daughter. It was like long ago. But this was America. And I wanted the noisy street life, crowds hurrying, people shouting noisily, taxis honking their horns...

This antebellum dystopian vision of Minnesota (which made me choke on my popcorn and lemonade) was followed up by a few questions, such as "Write down 4 things that people do in Minnesota. 1) They walk slowly and purposefully..." It also includes the same question on NYC, with response #1 already filled in as "They have meetings."

Overall, the best part of the ESL Classes were the students. They functioned as an amazing gateway to meeting people in Morocco I wouldn't have otherwise had any way of meeting. Out of those classes, I've met some of my best friends here, and have established contacts that hopefully one day, when I take my kids to Morocco, they'll be able to meet too.

Obscure Message # 782 (ie: it's just a song)

2005-08-02T03:20:00.000-07:00

Iron & Wine : A Passing Afternoon

There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms

There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe in the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from the piles of fallen leaves

There are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children til she lets them go at last
And she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds

There are things we can't recall, blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls
But my hands remember hers, rolling around the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned

There are names across the sea, only now I do believe
Sometimes, with the windows closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes and they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone

cheers

An Ever-Growing List (Subject to Heavy Updating)

2005-07-31T12:17:00.000-07:00

What I'm most looking forward to about America:

1. Going up to my place on Lake Superior
2. Pork...
3. An Oreo Milkshake
4. Chinese food
5. My Car
6. Functional Sidewalks
7. My own bedroom (I've been living with 10-14 people since I've been here)
8. A big fat juicy American Hamburger
9. Putting new songs on my iPod (who ever thought 3150 songs could get old?)
10. A Johnny Walker Black on the rocks

Identity

2005-07-31T11:10:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, I'm lucky enough to go hang out at my buddy Youssef's apartment in Agdal, which is the ritziest quarter in Rabat(ie: most Western, since the bourgeoisie here is completely Westernized). While I'm there, besides enjoying enjoying the seemingly futuristic un-potholed sidewalks as I check out all of he cafes and western stores - everything from Diesel to McDonalds represents - I always take some time to engage in some cultural anth by watching "Hit Music Black" on Youssef's pirated satellite. Hit Music Black is beamed out of France, so in addition to all of the damn Akon, 50 Cent, and Destiny's Child, there's a fair amount of what I've termed "really angry French music."

This music, largely hip-hop, including everything from Kool Shen to MC Solaar to Wallen (right sp?) has become a really interesting parallel to my experience here in Morocco. It's pretty common for Youssef or one of the other Moroccan AIESECers to point out that the next clip up is from a Moroccan living in Paris.

These songs deal with intense issues, with some complaining about the lack of employment, such as the laid-back but serious "donne-moi un SMIC" (give me a job, SMIC = french term for minimum wage), while others, such as the French native Kool Shen, with his North African rapper compadres literally rap about throwing over the French Government, with deliberately incisive and violent scenes in their video for "sortez dans les rues" portraying the overthrow of a police raiding force (there are literally areas of Paris where the police do not go because it's too dangerous).

A lot of these problems involving Moroccans and other North Africans extend from the lack of ability (or attempt) of European Governments' assimilation models. These immigrants are thrown into housing in the outskirts of cities such as Paris, given no jobs (or shit jobs), no opportunity, and are separated from their mother country, often splintering their own perceived national identity. For example, if you're a Moroccan who lives in Paris, you're not living in your "home" country, the French don't really want you there, so what recourse do you have? Often, it's anger. These people are no longer North African, not quite European, and are left with this black hole of personal identity.

These suburbs have given rise to this new, angry, economically deprived group of immigrants. Through my time here in Morocco, I've been lucky enough to meet 7 or 8 Moroccans here who were born and live in Paris, but are back in Rabat on summer vacation. The consensus has been pretty much unanimous - they're not too thrilled with their situation in France, resent the French assimilation model, but have trouble reconciling that with the tangible benefits of a European wage, especially when almost every Moroccan I've met her has some family in Europe.

Another case comes from somebody I've met here who I've become very close with, an ethnic Moroccan who was born in Copenhagen, Denmark. She speaks Dirija at home with her family, Danish with her friends, and speaks impeccable American English thanks to the massive influx of American media into Europe (she even gets every one of our stupid expressions - one recent text message from her said: "where you at?"). However, the question of national identity is a slightly more sticky one - she doesn't really term herself Danish, even though she was born and grew up in Copenhagen. Instead, she might classify herself as a Moroccan living in Denmark, but that's not wholly accurate - her accent makes it clear that she's not Moroccan when she speaks Dirija to people. In truth, searching for a national identity in a situation such as hers can be difficult - what do you define as home?

I'm bringing this all up because before coming to North Africa, I'd had a few less-than-savory experiences with North Africans in Paris, and had experienced the French viewpoint on them - which is alarmingly negative even among the educated and more liberal people that I've met. For example, when my buddy Andrew was beaten up after a soccer game in Paris, and I mentioned that to one of my French friends while I was over there at the same time, his first question was "were they Arabs?"

This all has been weighing on me because I intend to study in France Spring 2006, possibly in Paris. Even just keeping into account recent situations, such as Oprah Winfrey being blocked from the Hermes store in Paris because they were recently "having problems with North Africans," I've tried to fit together as many pieces of the puzzle as I can here. What I've emerged with has been nothing sort of labyrinthine and incomplete jigsaw puzzle, with many pieces still missing. One thing I do know is that when I'm in Paris next spring, I'll have to seek out some Moroccans just to say "salaam aleykoom", or even to toss in an "insh'allah." I consider myself incredibly lucky that I've been able to glean something out of this experience that will hopefully help me in the future - now here's hoping for more dialogue...

One Day in the Life

2005-07-29T04:44:00.000-07:00

Up until this point, I realized I have yet to describe a moderately typical day at work here in Rabat, so I figured I'd describe one of the most "Moroccan" (read: leisurely) days I've had here yet.

Yesterday (28 July), I got up at the crack of 8:45. After rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and sleepwalking into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I put on my clothes and Twins baseball cap and headed out to the local cafe with some of my fellow Americans. I got the "usual," a pain au chocolat and a cafe au lait with one lump. After relaxing at the cafe for a good 45 minutes, talking with Elizabeth, we took a petit taxi out to Akkari for work (with work winding down, we've stopped taking the bus, since it only saves you about 4 dirhams each way...). I got into the office around 10-ish, checked my email on the Association's computers, and did the morning greetings, catching up with some of the people that were hanging out there. At 10:30, I taught an ESL class for my intermediate students, we worked on business introductions and follow-up questions, then reviewed some grammar and had a discussion on American media in Morocco.

After that, we met up with one of our students, Hind, who took us back to her place in Akkari for an amazing lunch. We ate this delicious chicken dish served with a bread-like pasta, drank plenty of Mint Tea, and ate lots of fresh fruit for dessert, which included figs, grapes with seeds, and these curious fruits called "hindos" (?? on sp). I got to chat with Hind's dad, an old guy at 71, who had been in the Gaullist Army in the 1950s, stationed in Germany and Morocco. He brought out his old identity cards and service records, and being a total history buff, I loved looking through all of it.

Getting back about 2 1/2 hours later, I showed up just in time for class, only to be invited by the few students who were there yesterday to go hang out with them. Since class was kind of a bust, thanks to the combination of vacationing students and the lure of the nearby Akkari beach, I ended up hanging out with Youssef and Youssef, my Moroccan brothers here. Since one of the Youssefs is reputably the greatest soccer player to come out of Rabat (he's now 33), I went with the two down to the beach, tracing a slow and steady path to the soccer field the next quartier over. On the way, we stopped at an animal hospital, looked at some dogs, cats, horses, and donkeys.

Finally arriving at the Reseau Maillage field, I stuck around to watch a game of fast-paced and well-played soccer by kids around the age of 12. Youssef's team took on the challengers on a small, 40m long concrete field, staffed on either end by goalies guarding small goals. After hanging out there for a while, watching the kids literally head the ball around the field for 40 min, I took a petit taxi to head back to the apartment for the aforementioned Dutch Party...

"This is too Much Party!"

2005-07-29T03:54:00.000-07:00

Ok, first off, imagine the title of this post being exclamed in a heavy (and annoyed/frustrated) German accent, repeated several times, followed by "we have a concert tuesday, party wednesday, Dutch party thursday, and bye-bye party friday! This is too much party!" If you've never met an upset German speaking English, this might not have the same resonance, but for the members of the Real World: Rabat, it's become golden.

This aforementioned statement, made by a rather perturbed German, who doesn't like this degree of craziness and lack of order, was in response to this week's busy social calendar. Several things, such as the Rabat Music Festival, and the fact that many of us are heading out within a week and half has created no dearth of social engagements.

Last night, for example, was the Dutch party, resplendent with Dutch and French flags (if the Dutch can't tell the difference when they buy them, how am I supposed to?) and a nice heavy dish of carrots, meat, potatoes, and milk, all mashed together. Served for twenty people, the whole meal went over well, and paved the way for a Dutch dessert, aka tea, chocolate, and small tea biscuits.

The highlight of the night came with the serving of the tea. For those of you that don't know, Moroccans love sweet beverages, from their hot milk with a drop of coffee and 3 sugar cubes, to their ridiculously sweet Mint Tea, they know how to up the sugar quotient. Imagine their surprise at being served weak Dutch black tea with no sugar. After a few nasty faces made by the Moroccans, I sat down next to them, watching them gingerly sip the tea with faces askew, or nibble gingerly at the biscuits, turning them over in their hands as they did so. One or two were enterprising enough to actually dip the biscuits in the weak tea.

Realizing this was an exploitable situation, I sat down next to a few of my Moroccan buddies and informed them that this was actually "Dutch Chocolate Tea," and that you had to add some of the provided little dutch chocolates to the liquid. After doing it myself, most of the others warily did the same, pausing for a few seconds with the chocolate bar dangling over the tea, much to the confusion of the Dutch girls, who had just returned from the kitchen. After adding in the Dutch chocolate, a few of them cautiously sipped the surprisingly decent tea. Proclaiming it not quite ready for consumption, they brought out the sugar jar, with each person adding spoonfulls of granulated sugar to their respective small mugs. At this point, Ryan, Gabe, and I were laughing so hard that the jig was clearly up, but we ended up getting a few thank-you's from the attending Moroccans, who now happily sipped their noticeably sweeter Dutch Chocolate Tea.

PS - I know that I've already mentioned in my "Candy Shop" entry about the lack of diversity in music, but I'd like to note that I have now heard Celina Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," followed by THREE repeats of Akon's "Mr. Lonely," thankfully sung along to by the tone-deaf Moroccan internet cafe operator. I want to put a power drill in my ears.

Dispatches from the Front

2005-07-27T05:56:00.000-07:00

A while ago, back when I moved into the apartment here in Rabat with 8 other Americans, I jokingly named it "The Real World: Rabat." Little did I know, my prediction wouldn't be wholly accurate. Instead, we've managed to trump any season of Real World with the sheer absurdity of our goings-on.

Ever since the Americans arrived, and started their whirlwind tour through themselves and other Moroccans, things have been getting and more complicated. Adding to this has been the addition of three new trainees: Merell and Bernadette from the Netherlands, and Nathalie from Dusseldorf, Germany. Add in frequent houseguests: Khan from Mali, three ladies from the south of France, Souad from Denmark, plus the omnipresent AIESEC members, and you'll come away with some interesting stories...

Without being as annoyingly vague as I've already managed to become, this traineeship in Morocco has been a lot more than a work experience, it's been an experience in drama, coping, women, cultural sensitivy (I swear one day I'll stop making fun of Germans...), and pretty much everything in between. As time begins to wind down (I'm out of here the 13th of August), and as I wait for my mom to come in on the 4th, I'm left with some time to think about everything that's happened here, good and bad.

At the risk of being cliche, the best thing I've learned here is not to sweat the small stuff, and keep the (imagined) big stuff in perspective. I've slowed down a bit, lightened up, calmed down, and have hopefully changed for the better.

In doing all of this soul-searching, I've been helped along by the Moroccan emphasis on people and warm personal interaction. I know I've already talked about hospitality/touching and things along those lines, but I just want to reiterate how great it's been to be able to get into a petit taxi, and by the end of the ride, come out as good friends with the driver... time after time.

A Weekend in the Sahara

2005-07-25T06:11:00.000-07:00

Since it's now early Monday afternoon, and I'm in a semi-lucid state after one of the craziest and busiest weekends of my life, I thought I'd try to reconstitute some of what happened this past weekend on our whirlwind trip to Erfoud and the Sahara Desert...

The trip started out on Friday night with a 10pm overnight CTM Bus to Errichidia. Seventeen upbeat Westerners and Moroccans (including our recently arrived, and understandably bewildered Dutch trainee, Bernadette) slogged our way through the bus lines to appropriate the back few rows of the bus. The trip started off un-eventfully - given the fact that I can't fall asleep in moving vehicles, I witnessed a lot of hair-rising and beautiful sights on our 8-hour overnight journey. The initial part of the trip took us past Meknes and Fes, before we entered the passes through the Atlas mountains. At this point, the ride became increasingly like a rollercoaster, and less and less like a jaunt through the Moroccan countryside. Adding to the ride was the beautiful Moroccan sunrise, which illuminated the mountain passes (a little bit too much for my tastes, sometimes you just shouldn't look down).

After a sleepless night, we arrived in Errichidia early in the morning and took a grand taxi (an old, 1970s-era Mercedes - used as a shared-ride taxi for 6 passengers) on an hour trip to the desert town of Erfoud. The population of 7000 was composed almost exclusively of Berbers - the "more" indigenous people of Morocco - in comparison to the Arabs. Tensions were clear, when I got out of the Taxi and was beset by two young men hawking local necklaces, I responded with a perfunctory but clear "La" - Dirija for "No." The older of the two guys looked at me blankly, and responded in English: "what is this word, 'la?' I don't understand this word." After briefly flailing to explain myself in French, he responded further: "'La' is not our language, I don't speak it."

Basically, there are 3 popular Berber dialects in Morocco, and while they're almost unheard in the coastal cities, they enjoy a strong ethnic role in Berber Morocco. The reason that this man was able to respond to me in English - which was somewhat startling - is that, as was explained by Moroccans to me, ethnic Berbers resent Arabic being imposed upon them, and also resent French. It's not uncommon to find Berbers who know their local dialect and another language such as English instead of Dirija or French.

Anyways, once we decamped in Erfoud, we quickly found refuge from the absolutely stifling dry heat in our local friend's apartment. After laying down for a few hours, we ate a lunch of couscous and drank some local "fresh" sour milk before heading off to our three waiting Land Rovers. From there, we took the land rovers (with our professional guides behind the wheel, unfortunately) on the hour trip to base camp by the Sahara. Forgoing traditional roads, we made the arid and flat land our highway, rolling along at suicidal speeds through some incredibly rough and varied terrain. As a side note, seeing a Land Rover cutting up a swath of dust in its wake as it travels over the open land with the dunes of the Sahara in the background is one of those images I'll have with me forever.

At base camp, we unpacked our things and gathered a few provisions for our night in the Desert. Taking the guides' advice, I packed lightly - two large bottles of water, sunglass clips, and this foreign-legion-style hat that I'd picked up at REI back in Minnesota. From there, it was onto the Camels for a two-hour ride straight into the Sahara.

I'd like to take a moment to express my feelings on the subject of camels. Firstly, up close and personal, Camels are really fucking ugly. Possessed with random spots of fur, and smelling of God knows what, I found my enthusiasm slightly dampened before boarding. Once up on my vantage point, I took off my poor Havainas and stashed them in the saddle's rigging, bare feet hanging down. As we began our steady ride into desert, I found out several more things about camels: They are absolutely prodigious shitters. 50% of the time, there is something coming out of a camel's ass. This fact was reinforced by the steady trail of dried camel dung along our trail, marking the way better than the windswept tracks. Another thing is that camels require what can be described as a certain amount of testicular fortitude to ride. In plain terms, they reduce your crotch to mincemeat if you don't know how to lean back correctly (and by "you," I mean me). The quilts on top of the hump did little to quell my chafing, as I found myself disembarking an hour and a half into the ride out of sheer necessity to walk barefoot through the desert for the last 40 minutes (by the way, I lost track in the dark of how many pieces of camel dung I marched over).

We rounded the last dune to sight of three small lights far off, marking our campsite - a small encampment staffed by one incredibly nice old Berber man and a veritable army of scorpion-killing cats. Situated at the base of a 200 ft sand dune, we unfurled our blankets and laid down to watch the stars. The stars materialized as we finished our food - a local Berber dish of onions and "meat." And by materialized, I mean popped out all over the sky, visible thanks to the total absence of light pollution. After doing the whole "Holy shit! We're in the Sahara!" thing for the next two or three hours, we settled down and stayed up most of the night (for those of you keeping track of my sleep tally, through the second night, I had a measly cumulative three hours) watching the amazing night sky.

The next morning, we were up at 4:30 to watch the sunrise. Scaling the 200 ft sand dune to reach our vantage point turned out to be exhausting (climbing up almost-vertical sand is worse than one might imagine for the legs), but after a fair amount of cursing, we straddled the skinny peak of the dune, with legs over each side to watch the sun enter. And what a sunrise it was, as the light raced across the sand, signaling that it was indeed time to head back to the camels before it became blisteringly hot.

We rode back through the dunes (I don't think many people realize how varied the terrain is in the desert - it's almost mountainous with all of the dunes, with no real open spaces of flat sand). From there, a mercifully cold shower at base camp, and back to the waiting Land Rovers for a rather painful ride for my rear back into Efroud. After spending a few hours at one of the local pools, all 17 of us boarded ONE (the number one rule of third-world transportation is cram, cram, cram) four-wheeled horse cart for a 5 klick dirt road voyage to a small Berber farm outside of the town, where we quickly unloaded, at some local dishes of sheep, and sprawled out under palm trees in the still-oppressive heat. From there, we took the horse cart back, then a grand taxi to Errichidea (the different types of transportation I had this past weekend was mind-boggling: buses, land rovers, camels, horse carts, grand taxis, petit taxis). After pulling some strings - "we are all Americans from the US Embassy and need to get on this bus to Rabat or we will call your supervisor" - we all managed to get back to Rabat in one piece monday morning.

Apologies for the length of the post, but the sheer amount of stuff we did this weekend hopefully necessitated it. Suffice to say, one of the craziest weekends of my life (man, I'm just chalking up crazy experiences over here), and despite functioning on a grand total of six hours of sleep for friday, saturday, and sunday nights, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Wait, No Hummus?!

2005-07-20T07:01:00.000-07:00

After a conversation with Andrew on AIM yesterday, I realized I should probably talk a little bit more about some misconceptions about Moroccan food. First off, I have yet to find hummus or falafel here. None. Pita bread is similarly scarce - I can purchase it in the supermarket, but I have yet to find it on the street or anything. You're much more likely to find either pain rond or baguettes. Normally, when Moroccans serve bread here in Rabat, you'll get a pain rond and some sort of tomato-based dipping sauce. Often, the bread functions as the silverware - you'll use a piece of bread like a pincer to grab food from a communal plate, such as one used for tajine or couscous.

Another thing. Couscous is really only served on fridays. Everybody loves it, etc, but it's a special dish for friday, which is a Muslim holy day (people often pray for several hours, or something along those lines). Additionally, it's normally at lunchtime, not dinner, which becomes the big meal of the day.

It's pretty common to find pizza, sandwiches, burgers, rotisserie chicken, chickpeas, tajine, and stuff along those lines in most sidewalk restaurants. The most common accessory is french fries - which I eat about twice a day... Most sandwiches come with a sack of french fries, or a street vendor will just throw them on top of the sandwich before he wraps it up. I think this is largely a remnant of french colonization, as are the ubiquitous sidewalk cafes.

I literally go to a cafe here every morning. It's not uncommon to find as many as two on one block, all with basically the same schtick: old guys outside sipping cafe noir, cafe au lait, or misc cold drinks. Inside, there's normally one or two overworked waiters, who sell various drinks and juices and normally a small selection of largely french pastries - croissants, pain au chocolat, apple tarts, and other local stuff. It's totally french, and I love it. The only annoying part for me is that it's hard to separate Morocco from France in that regard. While these cafe goings-on are uniquely Moroccan, I almost feel like I'm in some random French city.

An Afternoon with Al-Jazeera

2005-07-20T03:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we had a reporter from Al-Jazeera visit our apartment to ostensibly give a presentation on the Arab World after 9/11. After this guy opened with Huntington's Clash of Civilizations, a theory with so many holes in, it's not even worth addressing, I knew the presentation would go nowhere. Soon afterwards, I *found out* that the Jews had left their holy land a long time ago because they wanted to make money because that's all they cared about. After this comment left a third of the Moroccans in the room nodding their heads (admirably, not the AIESECers), I figured it was time to leave. Knowing that A: this guy's english was poor, and B: he wouldn't answer any of my questions directly, I decided to put on the Johnny Cash and lie down for about two hours, all the while hearing loud voices in the main room of the apartment.

After the session, I talked to the rest of the Americans, who came out rather frustrated because the directness of their questions was not reciprocated with direct and clear answers. As the rest went to lay down, I thought more about what this guy had been saying. And once again, I'm ot trying to be Tom Friedman...

The way I see it is this - there needs to be a paradigm shift in regards to how we communicate cross-culturally. One of the big limiters to this ideal state of open discourse is open minds and open education. Any Arab who comes into a conversation on the West and the East with such strongly preconceived notions (don't worry, I'm not only picking on Arabs, everybody needs to be more open) about the enemy, the opposition, or whatever one will term it will never come away with anything positive.

The problem with this prevalent victim mentality in the Middle East is that when you're a victim, you're owed redress. Everything else is tertiary until your the wrongs against you have been righted. The proliferation of this victim mentality on both sides, and the accompanying stereotypes and falsehoods about one another makes the necessary discourse literally impossible.

Possibly because I come from an academic background, where I believe strongly in information (I don't even want to tally how many books I've had to read as a history major), I hold this view. Whatever the reason, I don't really know how to effect change in this type of circumstance. All I can hope for is that people get a chance to talk with other people, no matter what preconceived notions there are (ie: I maybe should have stuck around for the discussion, despite the headache it would have caused...). I was going to end with that immortal, ahem, Rodney King quote, but instead, I'm just going to think about this more. I think misinformation is the greatest sin in this new age of information.

Pour La Sante

2005-07-19T06:39:00.000-07:00

Although it's been temperate ever since I've been in Rabat - normally in the 80s and 90s, and sometimes even dipping to the 70s - I've been interested in why people literally don't drink water here. For example, being an American and all, with our 8 glasses a day, I'm always lugging around my oversized Nalgene bottle (with my 89.3: The Current sticker representing). When I'm at the apartment, you'll normally find me with a glass of water, or something along those lines by me (Arab Coke = less sugary + more drinkable). At meals, I can pound down four or five glasses of water (waiters hate me) on a light day. This extends to most of the other members of room, such as my fellow Nalgene-carrier, Mr. Ryan Burbach.

This has only compounded my surprise at the lack of water people drink here. Part of this was recently explained to me by some of my Moroccan friends, who I've found out, are kind of like Europeans in their weird health habits. For instance, Moroccans believe that drinking water during a meal is bad for your health. For some reason, they believe it'll expand your stomach too much and make you sick. This was backed up by the newly arrived dutch trainee, Merrell, who, gasp, agreed with them (by the way, if you're counting, that's now 11 people in one apartment). As a counter to this, I drink exorbitant amounts of water during meals to show them they're wrong, no negative effects yet, besides bloating...

These weird health principles also extend to vitamins, or vitamines en francais. Moroccans love to talk about how many vitamins things have, especially things like fish, which they extoll for their vitamins, and various fruits. However, for digestive reasons, it's a good idea here to eat fruit by itself (so the vitamins don't get diluted?), and at an isolated time during the day. My friend Ziad eats fruits every day around 5pm, so that he can fully benefit from the vitamins... I tried introducing my Centrum Chewables to some of the locals, but they hate that chalky texture (eating a Tums almost sparked a health crisis for one - lots of sputtering and gagging noises).

Doesn't Anybody Understand the Prisoner's Dilemma?!

2005-07-18T03:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was quite possibly one of the most exhausting days I've had here in Morocco. Waking up at the crack of 7:45 on a sunday, I grabbed a quick shower and headed down to the far side of the Rabat Medina to board the first of two buses that would ferry us all out from Rabat to one of the poorest areas ringing the city.

Once we were there, we encountered pure chaos. AIESEC and several other organizations had banded together to create basically a large-scale free medical clinic on the site of a school. Expecting around 600 Moroccans, we were deluged with over 900. This influx of people was a recipe for chaos, as people rushed the tents to register (where I happened to be working). For the next 5 or so hours, I worked as literally desperate people (who have no other access to health care) tried to get their children and themselves to the front of every line.

The experience was made more challenging by the fact that nobody understood French - it was definitely strictly Dirija. I used what I knew - salaam aleykoom, labas, and stuff along those lines, but the best form of cultural communication was definitely being warm and having a smile on your face. I understood where they were coming from, and what this meant to them, so it definitely diluted any frustration I had - it's difficult to get angry at someone who needs something so bad.

Anyways, definitely a moving experience, felt like I was more on the Peace Corps than an AIESEC Traineeship for one day. Also put city life in perspective for me - I work in what would be described as the most "popular" of popular quarters (to use the french lingo that they use here), but it doesn't compare in poverty to the rural poor I encountered up close and personal on Sunday. Honestly, anybody who can do work like that for their career, I salute - it's some of the most draining and frustrating (but also rewarding) work one can do.

A Moroccan Wedding... Mine

2005-07-16T10:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was capped by a party out in Akkari with the guys from Reseau Maillage (the boyz). After giving a presentation on Politics, Economics, and Consumer Culture to the local english-language university and attending two yawn-inducing information sessions, I was ready to cut loose.

Unfortunately, my ability to cut loose was curtailed as soon as I showed up at the office for the party. I was quickly shuffled into a back room, where I was instructed to remove my shirt. Before I knew it, I was decked out in the traditional male ceremonial robes - something you might see around Fez. After being transported to yet another room, where I found my teaching partner, Elizabeth, resplendent in the traditional female dress, I was informed of our impending nuptials. Following male instinct, I tried to escape the ceremony, only to find out there was no way out. My exits were blocked and I felt like I was witnessing the end of my ahem, illustrious, bachelorhood.

Soon, the door was thrown open to reveal thirty clapping and loudly laughing Moroccans. After my embarassment/surprise was thoroughly entered into the photographic record, I watched as a speech was given, and refreshments were served. Resisting the urge to get bombed at my wedding (not to mention the lack of alcohol), I made the acquaintance of one of the local men who worked as a clown. After spending thirty minutes in a conversation with him composed exclusively of pantomiming and weird clown pantomimes, I extricated myself so I could put back on some less oppressing clothing (don't get me wrong, the robes were comfortable, but definitely toasty. Couldn't imagine going through a whole real ceremony in them). Back into my "could you point me towards Connecticut?" outfit of seersucker shorts and a polo, I finished up the party, figuring out ways to avoid my new bride to be to limit any more compromising photo ops.

Anyways, after another day of conferences and heavy eating, I'm sitting in my buddy Youssef's apartment (yet another one), watching "Hit Music Black" on the telly. Tomorrow I have a humanitarian medicine caravan thing at 9am, and so goes another weekend. Next weekend is going to be the Sahara though, so always stuff to look forward to...

Shit Happens

2005-07-14T06:35:00.000-07:00

The beach near Akkari, where I work, is to say the least, treacherous. Lacking any sort of sand, it's more a collection of cliffs, small pools, and craggy rocks, beset by a rather nasty Atlantic Ocean that frequently whips waves at the shore. Given that, I was somewhat surprised to find out that it was also a popular local swimming destination for primarily the male residents of Akkari.

Local activities include wave dodging on the craggy rocks, taking dips in the low pools, and balls-out swimming in the roiling ocean. Admittedly, they don't throw people unprepared into the sea, but no matter how you swing it, it's one dangerous pasttime. Last time I was down there with some buddies, I managed to scratch up my leg dodging a ridiculously large wave, while Badre received a nasty cut all the way down his right forearm that'll leave a serious scar.

Given all of this, and other behavior I've seen here that one might file under Culture Shock, I've been reevaluting what's important. After seeing how people cross streets/highways, drive, eat medina food, and regard life, I've hopefully come away with a modicum of perspective on the subject.

Americans are undoubtedly concerned with personal security - one might even argue to such an extent that it can actually inhibit enjoying life. I've already talked about my toning down of my squeamishness quotient - to what extent can one enjoy life without regard for the possibility of negative consequences. Should I jump off that cliff into the ocean, should I climb onto the back of Ahmed's rickety Peugeot moped without a helmet, should I try running across the street before the bus gets there? These types of questions have come to permeate every day here, and the longer I stay, the more I've been apt to err on the dangerous side (don't worry Mom).

I guess there's a way to do things safely, there's a way to do things without regard for consequences, and there's a middle road where sometimes shit can happen. Now I just have to figure out how to walk the line.

Gettin' Friendly

2005-07-14T05:27:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been reading An Army At Dawn by Rick Atkinson. It's an exceptionally well-written account (even won the Pulitzer) of the US Army in North Africa. One of the things that Atkinson touches on is cultural preparation for American GIs in North Africa - ie: what to expect, and how to deal with it. One of the most prominent parts of the training is this: if you see two guys walking down the street, holding hands, they are not, I repeat, are not, gay. They're merely friends showing friendship.

Coming from America, where I've always felt we're way too uptight about physical touching - especially between male friends - this has been a not-too-difficult adjustment for me. Just now, as Youssef (a different one than Youssef 1/2) was showing me some new english software he got for the internet cafe here in the office, he put his arm on my back. It wasn't creepy, sexual, or anything with suspicious intent, it was merely a way to show that we're friends and that we're close. When I cross the street to go to lunch, it's not uncommon for Kamal to grab my hand, and even back at the apartment we've managed to tone down some of the squeamishness if somebody puts their arm around you.

This even extends to the French practice of kissing on the cheek - which is very common here in Morocco, even among men. You don't normally (of course, there are always exceptions) plant a big wet sloppy kiss on somebody's cheek, it's more of either an air-kiss or a little peck. Obviously, this contrasts strongly with the American high-five, or distant handshake (maybe a hand on the shoulder if you've known the guy ten years...).

While I understand and remain very sensitive of inappropriateness - especially in regards to male/female goings-on - this has honestly been a breath of fresh air. It's not that I've discovered a heretofore unknown side of myself, ahem, but more that things are just more comfortable this way. You have friends, you have warm relationships with them, and there is touching or kissing on the cheek, but there's nothing about it that's sexual or inappropriate.

That Time When I Fished for Comments

2005-07-13T06:56:00.000-07:00

Since I'm over here and all, if anybody has any questions about Morocco, or anything they want to hear about in regards to culture, religion, how good the hashish is (kidding) drop me a line in a comment or send me an email.

Football

2005-07-13T06:33:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd get away from the geology metaphors after the last post and talk about the most popular activity in Morocco. Football is, without a doubt, the national pastime of Morocco. People don't "play" football, they do football. It's incorporated into everything to such an extent that I have yet to hang out with "the boys" without seeing a football around (by the way, for us Americans, fotball = soccer). You walk down the street juggling a ball, you practice goalkeeping on the beach (and then get yelled at by mounted police) and just plain do whatever you can with a football whenever it's available.

For kids, it's a way of life. One of the surest sights every day when I walk around Akkari in the morning is kids playing football. They'll play with whatever's available - tennis balls, little bouncy balls, or, if they're lucky enough to have one, a real ball. Kids form up quick teams, designate goalkeepers, and play in side streets all day.

Part of the reason for this, I've found, is how freaking simple it is to organize soccer, compared to any other sport. All you need is a ball, any ball, and you've got a rudimentary game going. No field? Use a street. No football? Use a tennis ball.

One of my heretofore private shames here in Morocco has been my lack of skill with the ol' kicking bag. In layman's terms, I can't play soccer worth shit. The few years of rec soccer as a young one haven't been as helpful as I've hoped, and normally I've relegated myself to the sidelines with the pathetic declaration, "pardon! je joue le tennis." Never before have I been so conscious of how damn bourgeois playing tennis is. Watching these kids play the game with such ebullience definitely gives me that whole "if I had to do it again" feeling.

Plate Tectonics

2005-07-13T03:14:00.000-07:00

Morocco, as does any culture/society, has certain parts of its culture which I've termed the groundwork, or bedrock of society (and without attempting to become Tom Friedman, I'll try to go into it now).

For example, if you were to go up to an American and tell him/her that freedom of religion, or freedom of speech were not inalienable rights, and that you didn't agree with them - you'd encounter a rather hostile or confused person. Just as we regard certain parts of our society as so integral that changing them would amount to a tectonic shift, the same is true of Moroccans.

Islam, heterosexuality, the King Mohammed VI, and several other ideas form the bedrock of Moroccan society here. Religion is not part of the culture, religion is the culture - even explaining the concept of Atheism (depending on what day you ask me, I might classify myself as one) is so bizarre and foreign that most people that I've even talked to about it literally don't understand it. For example, my friend Badre believes that if I read the Koran, I will become Muslim because it will move me so much.

As far as sexual identity is concerned, you ARE heterosexual. Outside of some liberal enclaves like Marrakech, homosexuality just is not even on the table, not an option, not even to be spoken about. My cabbie on the way home last night, after inquiring if Elizabeth and I were married (sorry bud, we're just teaching partners), told us this story about a lesbian couple that got into his cab, getting quite animated in the process. It was literally something incomprehensible to this cabbie.

For Moroccans also, the king is the state and the state is the king. This guy is a descendant of Mohammed himself - you don't talk bad about descendants of Mohammed unless you want to get a tajine smashed over your head.

What's made this so interesting for me, is that, coming from a place where there is such free discourse, I've essentially had to reign myself in (don't worry, no big blunders yet). Moroccans are an incredibly warm people, but it can be difficult having certain subjects off the table. Luckily, some of them are so common-sense (israel and palestine, anyone?) that the margin for error is pretty small.

Octupi Please

2005-07-12T13:51:00.000-07:00

I was making an exit from work today when I was stopped by some of "the Boys," including the two Youssefs, Taoufik, and Khalid. We BS'ed for a few minutes before one of the Youssefs handed me something wrapped in tinfoil. Looking at the strange and bulging package, I inquired as to what was in it. Youssef happily grabbed it back to me, and unrolled the aluminum foil to reveal two dead squid, both about half the length of my forearm. Smiling from ear to ear (quite like my first fish fry experience), I thanked him and the others profusely before asking about what exactly I was supposed to do with it (they got a good laugh out of my asking where I could buy a fish bowl). Turns out, that Octupi can be eaten raw, but it was captured yesterday so ostensibly it wasn't fresh enough - a theory I am not willing to test. So, the best way to cook these squid is just in a skillet with "jus natural" as they informed me.

I did get a big kick out of bringing the squids home and sticking them in the fridge with the aluminum foil on, only to inform various residents of the apartment that we got this "absolutely amazing" food from work today that they have to come and take a look at. Melissa didn't take the *reveal* moment so well, there was shrieking and cursing.

I guess the moral of this whole deal is that I'm becoming less and less squeamish - the only way that's been happening is by being repeatedly put in uncomfortable situations... c'est la vie.

A Ten Dirham Sandwich and a Street Brawl

2005-07-12T05:24:00.000-07:00

Last night, Ryan, Melissa, Tima and I went down to the medina on a quest for our new favorite ten dirham sandwich. You must understand, this thing is ridiculously finger-licking good, full of turkey w/ spices, potatoes, rice, mayo, spicy sauce, and olives, all crammed into half of a pain rond.

As we entered the medina, we were confronted with the traditional sights and sounds of this crazy gathering place. Shops angled out onto the streets, vendors had rolled out blankets with pottery, kitchen supplies, and everything else one can imagine. In addition, there was the street food - some of which I've already talked about: fresh-squeezed jus d'orange (made with these amazingly sweet local oranges), grilled meats, tajines, sandwiches, fresh fish, and anything else that somebody has been enterprising enough to sell.

On our way to what we now term "the sandwich place," we ran into a mob of people, from the middle we heard some angry yelling in Dirija. All of a sudden, three men burst through the side of the mob towards us, yelling, pushing, and partaking in the obligatory removal of shirts. Soon, things got more physical, as they started fighting right in the middle of the street, much to the consternation/curiousity of onlookers (I just want to state that this is not some sort of common occurence). We had to push through the other side of the mob to evade the brawl, which took a few minutes because of how tightly packed everyone was. As we were on our way, I looked back and saw one of the guy's heads hit the ground hard, hopefully he wasn't concussed. Just as that happened, the police showed up and broke up the whole thing - I assume the guys were hauled off to jail.

London

2005-07-11T06:47:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the tardiness on this post, but I thought I'd talk a little bit about the London terrorist attacks in terms of what I've experienced here in Morocco, a Muslim country. Firstly, thanks to the wonders of the internet, information here was pretty easy to find - by cobbling together AP Reports, stuff from Al-Jazeera, Google News, etc, I was able to get a decent picture of what was going on.

When I first heard about what happened, I got goosebumps and immediately started checking information on the internet. Of course, all I heard from my friend Badre was "did you hear about the bombings in London?" Reactions from my friends here were incredibly uniform - contrary to a misinformed public perception, people were greatly saddened and angered by it. Nobody that I've talked to in any way expressed anything but that to me.

Furthermore, the people here are greatly angered by the misuse of their religion, their life, as a tool for violence. One of the most commonly equated terms for terrorists here have been the "Mafia," or criminals. These terrorists are not regarded as brothers in arms, but people who sully the name of a beautiful and many-layered religion that I am only beginning to understand.

I really do extend my greatest sympathies to London and to the UK, as do all of my friends here in Morocco, who share in my outrage and sadness for these abhorrent attacks on humanity.

Masculine Cultural Anthropology... Otherwise Known as a Day with the Boys

2005-07-11T03:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I got to hang out with Youssef 1, Youssef 2, Taoufik, Khalid, and Simo, all guys from Akkari who are either in one of my english classes, or are somehow involved with administration here. I've tentatively (for lack of a better name) termed us "The Boys," or if you will, "Da Boyz."
These guys are all in their late twenties and thirties, and a total blast to hang out with. We started off the day by buying a ridiculous amount of viande hache (ground "meat," not, mind you, ground "beef") from a local vendor. We paid some local guys to fry it up on their grill in the center of Akkari while we pulled up some chairs, BS'ed with some local residents, etc. Then, we ate some kefta - think small seasoned hamburger patties you eat with onions, olives, and pieces of bread.
After that, it was off to the beach, where I broke out my Xtreme Water Sportz camera. After posing for a ridiculous amount of pictures - including pseudo-Hawaiian Leis we fashioned out of kelp - we hit the water, where I tried their favorite thing, surfing without a board. Since the waves were coming in rather hard, you could kind of ride the crest of a wave all the way into the beach from rather far out, definitely a fun time. We then chilled on the beach, played some soccer, were informed we could not play soccer on the beach by mounted policemen, and engaged in other types of male bonding.

It's been nice here to establish relationships with some of the local people, will definitely be the most rewarding part of being here. Anyways, I'm late for class, so I gotta roll. Cheers.

Where the Last Type of Transportation System Fails

2005-07-10T05:24:00.000-07:00

Well, since I've already talked about my problems with planes, buses, and cars, I guess it was only a matter of time before I had a problem with the Moroccan rail system. Namely, on the way back from Casa yesterday, 1km outside of the Rabat-Agdal train station, our train... stopped. Of course, this wasn't some sort of casual, "ok folks, we've got another five minutes because the train in front of us is behind schedule," kind of stop. Instead, it was a rail-screeching, lights going out, things falling out of the overhead bins kind of stop.

After the confusion died down, a moderate chaos settled in, as some people ran for the exits, while I just sat there dumbfounded. Soon, from the windows we could see a slow and steady exodus of passengers from other cars making their way to the upcoming train station (shining like some sort of electrified Oasis, 1km away). So, we all got off the train and began the march to the station. Of course, the tracks and area were littered with sharp rocks, glass, etc, so it was kind of like being in a minefield of sharp pointy things. In the dark.

Anyways, we eventually reached the train station, a bedraggled and much more humble crowd than when we started our return to Casa. Luckily there was some Tajine waiting at the apartment, so we got to eat, etc.

PS- I'll try to get some pictures online at some point. I don't have a digital camera, but some other people around do, so at some point I'll get them online and hosted on Flickr so I can make them viewable on the blog. Cheers.

If I Hear "Candy Shop" One More Time...

2005-07-09T07:28:00.000-07:00

Since we have a break in the AIESEC conference here, I thought I'd talk a little bit more about the Sports Club. One of the most obnoxious things was the constant, blasting pop music. Gwen Stefani, 50 Cent, Usher, all being played at ear-splitting decibels by these ridiculously loud speakers at an otherwise calm pool. While I'll be the first to admit the merits of hearing "Get Low" when I was down 1-3 in my tennis game there, all the recycled music is too much.

As far as 50 Cent is concerned, all the kids love him here. Seriously. Also, Celine Dion enjoys a status here that one might have found in the states circa Titanic. I can't go into the fucking internet cafe without hearing "My Heart Will Go On." To follow that, here it's perfectly masculine and normal for a man to name Celine Dion as his favorite singer. Hard rock also semi-represents - while Metallica is popular, watered-down posers like Linkin Park are also occasionally heard. Anyways, it's probably time for some AIESEC dances here :/ so I'll get rolling. Cheers.

Le Sport Club

2005-07-09T03:02:00.000-07:00

Up to this point, my experience in Morocco has revolved around two polar opposites - working in a quartier populaire such as Akkari, or doing the high class thang with more privileged members of Moroccan society.

Yesterday, for example, I spent a day, at the invite of Youssef, VP of Reseau Maillage, at the Bank al-Maghrib (=Maghreb, the collective term for North Africa) Sports Club. Played some rusty tennis on nice clay courts, lounged by the pool, worked on my, ahem, "jump shot," and ate plenty of burgers and fries - plus the obligatory "Whiskey Marocain," otherwise known as Mint Tea or The a la Menthe.

It was a good time, I got to spend some chummy time with Youssef talk about his plans to travel and buy a Mercedes SLK in Germany next year, etc. What makes these experiences valuable, besides getting both ends of the spectrum of life in Morocco, is that the people here that I've met, who are more upper-class, are genuinely concerned with the people in Morocco and their greater community. Of course, I dislike amking blanket statements - and this is also a byproduct of me meeting people that are in contact with the NGO I work with, but it's definitely reassuring to see.

Anyways, I'm revisiting Casablanca for the day - I'm in a lab in a school here right now. We're working with the new Casa chapter of AIESEC, so we'll get to play some AIESEC Orientation games, etc... should be a good time. The unfortunate part is, I definitely still dislike Casa - wipe all romanticized Humphrey Bogart images from your head. This is a thrid-world metropolis founded by the French in the early 20th Century - it has very little culture and identity that I can see, and is definitely just too much for my tastes. Cheers for now.

So Much For a Day Off...

2005-07-07T13:13:00.000-07:00

My favorite thing about being here is the unceasing, and genuine hospitality of the Moroccan people. If you reciprocate with warmth (stop laughing, I've somehow managed to turn on the charm), it pays dividends, since there are so many amazing people here. Take for example what's just happened within the last few days... Today for example, before walking into class, I mentioned to one of the guys who works at reseau, Badre, that I hadn't been getting much sleep lately (partly due to Drama in the Real World: Rabat house - although nothing directly involving me, thankfully). Before the end of the day, everybody at the office had asked me how I was doing, etc, if I needed a break or whatnot.
One of my students also walked in today after my last class got out at 4pm, with a friend, who had a very firm grip when I shook her hand. Turns out that the reason why was that this girl's friend did Henna - a type of impermanent tattoo. So, got some free Henna on my arm, a very masculine and understated, ahem, floral design (at least it's not pink...).
Friday I'm going to go to a local sports club to play tennis with one of the VPs of the Reseau Maillage Organization, a great guy named Youssef. After that, got a hot date ;)
Saturday, I'm going fishing with a bunch of the guys from one of my classes. On a sidenote, squeamishness definitely has a shelf life in Morocco, I've become a lot more accustomed to fish/really gross animal carcasses hanging out of boucheries.
Oh, and this is the part that I still get a huge kick out of. I don't think I've mentioned it before, but two of my students are world-class thai boxers who live in Akkari. The bigger one, Ahmed, is this muscular and lean mass of a guy who's the Moroccan kickbxing champion. The other, and slightly smaller one, Anouar, is the world champion in his weight class. Next weekend, I'm invited to Casablanca for a gala to celebrate him... won't miss it for the world...

Can I Help You With That?

2005-07-07T05:20:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm about as settled as can be (and without gushing, having an absolutely amazing time here in so many different ways), I thought I'd talk a little bit more about my initial reactions to Morocco.

Firstly, my reactions were pretty much grouped into three categories:
The first was," Oh, that's reallly amazing/exotic/different (in a good way). The second was, "jesus christ! Is that guy really trying to cross a six-lane highway with his 3 year old son!" Otherwise known as the "I can't believe they just did that" reaction. The third type was more of a humorous reaction, either at the sheer ridiculousness of what was happening, or the perceived humor of the situation.

For example, with the third one, it's common here in Morocco to see people carrying duffel bags or beach bags around. However, this is not a one-person job, in Morocco, it's one person, one handle. It's pretty normal to see people walking down the street, carrying a duffel between them, or even shopping bags and smaller things.

For another example, liquor in Morocco is really only supposed to be sold to foreigners, but in practice, there will typically be large number of moroccans in the liquor section of our local supermarche. For example, we were making some Gin and Tonics at the apartment last saturday night. Having quickly ran out of Gin, Gabe foudn himself making a run back to the supermarche. At the supermarket, he encountered literally a swarm of inexperienced Moroccans in the liquor section. While Gabe went in to buy one bottle of Gin, two different Moroccans managed to drop two bottles of wine on the ground at separate times, leaving shattered glass and wine all over the floor... this only added to the chaos (as people really don't like to hang out in a liquor store in the first place here), as people rushed for the exit. So... for us Americans, it seemed pretty damn funny (maybe you had to be there) to see all of these crazy, inexperienced Moroccans swarming a liquor store on saturday night, knocking over bottles and freaking out.

A Minor Altercation...

2005-07-06T07:21:00.000-07:00

Just got back from Lunch with Kamal and Elizabeth - we ate at this place that served skewers and fried fish. On the way back, we ran into a friend of Kamal's, who was by two other guys, one of whom appeared pretty damn drunk. As Kamal was talking to his friend, the guy who had clearly been drinking, after three attempts, managed to slur out "comment-t'appele tu?" I said my name back... three times, before he managed to get some idea of what I was saying. Then, he started asking me about my nationality and started to move towards me, Kamal grabbed him by the arm as he started yelling at me, before I started becoming visibly mad. Kamal dragged the guy back over to the stoop where he was sitting and delivered a few harsh open-faced slaps at the guy, and he managed to be quiet for long enough to say our goodbyes... First time I've been in a situation where I've actually felt the threat of bodily harm (not including crossing the street, driving in cars, etc...).

Pictures From Essaouira

2005-07-05T07:13:00.000-07:00

My buddy Naoufel has some pictures up on his blog from our trip to Essaouira for the world music festival. His address is: http://naoufel.nomadlife.org/
Enjoy

German in Morocco

2005-07-05T03:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked my first German class in Morocco. In said class, I found out that I have zero clue how to pronounce the German language, so we'll see where this whole flight of fancy thing goes.
The one thing that seems nice about German is that there are some clear phonetic similarities in the language - since English came from German - and the grammatical system does not seem ridiculously hard. I think I'll stick it out for another few classes so I can talk to Ben in German when I get back to GWU.

The Stray Cat Flophouse

2005-07-05T03:10:00.000-07:00

Without having this post descend into overly infantile animal sex jokes, I just want everyone to know that I sleep no more than 15ft away from what can accurately be described as a seedy stray cat, pay-by-the-hour motel. Last night, these cats were at it until 2:30am, sans cesse. For those of you who haven't experienced the copulation noises of a female cat in heat, let me put it this way, it doesn't sound like an altogether pleasant time for the female. Basically, it's this constant screeching, followed by one huge yowl after a few minutes. Admittedly, some of us found it funny at first, in a whole, "dude! those cats are totally having sex!" kind of way. However, you'd be surprised at how fast the noises get irritating.

Speaking of noises, as we were leaving the apartment sunday morning, we were beset by two Moroccan men outside of our apartment who played some rather obnoxiously loud music for us on their drum and metal hand clappers. After giving them a dirham to leave us alone, we were left wondering aloud why that type of a tourist trap would find its way into a residential neighborhood in Rabat at 9:00am on a Sunday. Turns out... that these guys make their living by playing their obnoxiously loud instruments outside peoples' apartments until the residents throw down a few dirhams to make them leave.

Recapping the Project

2005-07-04T05:51:00.000-07:00

As I've already stated, my project over here is rather large, and if anybody knows anybody in the sports/sportswear industry, I'd love to talk to them. It's a great cause, and any contacts in the US or elsewhere would be greatly appreciated.
Here's some info:
There are two teams of thirty (already with a coach and all the players chosen, ie: they have everything but the materiel) who need jerseys, shorts, and shoes (and possibly warmup suits, although that's of tertiary consideration). Additionally, the team needs some money, around USD 1000 for transportation of the players, since they will be in a real national league.
These two teams are all made up of local kids in Akkari, a local neighborhood I work in. These kids are not affluent, or even middle class, and are unable to finance the uniforms etc.
Also, they have a "terrain" for a soccer field, although it needs to be leveled, etc, even goals put in. To put it in perspective, the only open land they have is a thin stretch between a busy motorway they have to cross and the rocky beach of the Atlantic.

Score One for Me

2005-07-04T03:31:00.000-07:00

Totally stared down a pickpocketer today as he was edging toward Elizabeth's bag. Feels nice to be aware, not a neck-craning tourist.

Weekender Edition®

2005-07-03T11:08:00.000-07:00

Since this was such an amazing weekend - so amazing that I literally didn't have time to get on this blogger thing since last thursday, I figured I'd do a quick wrap-up.

Friday started off with couscous, ridiculously good couscous made at the office by one of the guys with more culinary experience (by the way, everybody who works in reseau is a guy, as far as I know, despite the fact that my classes are 50% women). Contrary to popular notion, Moroccans ONLY eat couscous on friday, so it's pretty normal to be invited over for couscous by people you meet - sometimes you have to choose between multiple invites. After the couscous, we got down to talking about my big project here in Rabat (besides teaching english and doing cultural stuff at the center). And, suffice to say, it's pretty big, but I think it'll be manageable. To sum it up succintly, the local reseau office that I work in - Nouvelle Rencontre - is starting two soccer teams with all the best players from Akkari that'll be in a national league, in total, 60 kids. These kids, aged 12-14 and 14-16 are going to need shorts, shoes, jerseys, money for transportation to away games (around USD 1500). In addition, they have a piece of land that they want to turn into a soccer field (read: an arid peace of dusty and incredibly uneven land by the ocean). So, I'm going to be getting into contact with the US and German embassy to talk about funding - I am going to contact various sports companies, Nike, Adidas, Umbro, etc also. If anyone has any hints or leads, don't hesitate at all to drop me an email or leave a comment here.

On saturday, we made burgers. Big fat juicy american hamburgers grilled by moi for the Moroccan AIESECers at the apartment to celebrate an early July 4th. Later, we went out to, get this, "El Ranchero," to party (I never thought I'd be in a tex-mex dance place in Morocco...). I rolled with my Johnny Walker Black, and even partook in some dancing, definitely an amazing night, one of those days where you can't wipe that stupid grin off your face.

Today was on par with yesterday, as we went to the Moroccan version of a beach-side barbeque. We swam, made merry, ate fish (the same type as in my previous fish entry) and ate these amazing fish tajines. It was held by my local chapter of reseau, so I got to see a lot of my students - who quickly found out (and exploited) the fact that I am terrified of crabs and little octopi (as another side note, these are the "jumpy" crabs, so you never know what the hell they'll do next). I watched in shame as everybody played soccer ten times better than me, worked on the ol' farmer's tan (still there...) and talked with some amazing people.

Last Time I Make Fun of the German Language (this week)

2005-07-03T11:02:00.000-07:00

I was in a cafe with Tima and Nathalie on friday when for some reason Nathalie referenced her gums (ie that stuff by the teeth). However, instead of saying "gums," she said "teeth meat." Turns out, that in German, the word for gums is literally "teeth meat."
On a related note, I start German classes tomorrow - Nathalie's teaching them 2x a week at our location in Akkari, so I'm just going to stick around after project time (more on that later) and take some intro German... why not?

Where I Find Out I am an American After All

2005-07-01T05:53:00.000-07:00

I'm going to start this one out with a story: My friend Nick, who went to high school in Alaska had a German foreign exchange student come to his high school for a year. This guy, Max, was sitting in math class one day when a fellow American student of Nick's, Janice, turned around to ask him for some Chapstick. Max looked up with a quizzical look on his face and said, "pardon?"
Janice repeated slightly slower, "Chapstick."
Once again, Max looked at her funnily and said, "I don't know what that is."
Janice, once again, this time louder, said "Chapstick!"
However, she didn't stop there, she managed to further enunciate and slow down the word, repeating it three more times, so it became "CHAP STICK!" At this point, she was almost yelling.
Annoyed, Nick turned over to Janice and said, "maybe they don't have Chapstick in Germany, Janice?"
Turns out, Chaptick in Germany, or lip balm, as you will, is called by their local brand name, Labello.

Basically, Americans have a tendency to do two things with languages. The first is the aforementioned "slower and louder" concept, where they merely repeat the word slowly and loudly, impervious to the idea that people don't know that specific word.

The second tendency involves making fun of other languages. Now, this was something I've always thought I've done a reasonably good job of avoiding. There have been certain instances such as the "Sexisme" (sexism in french) poster in middle school french class that was turned into "Sex is me," and maybe once or twice I've chuckled at the perceived ridiculousness of pronouncing certain languages, but I thought I was pretty much ok on that front.
That all changed about three days ago, soon after Natalie came. I went into the bathroom, and lo and behold, in front of me, was a tube of something titled "ROT WEISS." After laughing and showing it to the other members of the apartment, I was informed that rot weiss actually means "red white," by a slightly perturbed German. The sheer ridiculousness of naming a toothpaste Rot Weiss overshadowed my cultural sensitivity. This soon extended to other facets of the German language, as Nick and I attempted, much to Natalie's delight, to read the German language. Soon after that, given how imperious-sounding German sounds, we were asking her to say all sorts of crazy things in German, such as "I will break you," or "how many sausages can you fit in your mouth?"
Anyways, now that I kind of recognize it, and have admitted my American-ness, I'm still going to continue thinking Rot Weiss is the most ridiculous name for any sort of hygienic product. ever.

Le Mega Mall

2005-06-30T12:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was invited by one of the local hottie Moroccan AIESECers, Tima, to go ice skating (yep, ice skating in Morocco) today. So, today when I got off work around 4:30 I gave her a call to meet up. She instructed me to tell the petit taxi driver to take me to "le mega mall." After getting in the taxi and rolling on over to le mega mall, I was surprised to see a modern suburban mall set back from the street in a clearly affluent neighborhood.
I called Tima, and she came from her English-language University across the street so we could check out the mall... First off, before even entering, the most conspicuous sight was the lack of adults and the sheer number of teens and pre-teens everywhere, in some sort of pseudo-American alter-universe. These kids really do go to the mall to hang out. Tima explained to me that since school was out for the summer, the parents would drop them off for a few hours as a sort of de facto day care.
We walked past the security guards and into the mall, full of western-style stores and the obligatory food court and glass-walled elevator. Tima insisted we do the full circuit before going to check out the ice skating (they also offer bowling, it's like some sort of weird midwestern transplant). Stores such as Diesel, Geox, along with many European chains dotted the mall, there was even a, get this, Domino's Pizza. Packs of conspicuous-consumption Moroccan teenagers roamed the mall, from the age of 12 and up, resplendent in Diesel and Tommy Hilfiger (which is also very popular here).
Unfortunately, the ice-skating didn't work out (Tima had forgotten her socks), so we just ended up getting coffee and watching the hormonal feeding frenzy that is the mall food court.

Music Saves Me

2005-06-30T11:54:00.000-07:00

Probably the smartest thing I brought to Morocco has been my iPod. Although Apple charges a ridiculous amuont for their world adapter kit, I'd be lost without some way to listen to music. Besides listening to the entire Pulp Fiction soundtrack way too much, these are my favorite songs here right now.

Little Triggers - Elvis Costello
E-Pro - Beck
Pro Defunctus - Chet Baker
Galang - MIA
New Partner - Palace Music
Holy Names - Pretty Girls Make Graves
Cram, Cockle, Crab, Cowrie - Joanna Newsom
Don't This Look Like the Dark (live) - Magnolia Electric Co.
Melissa - Allman Brothers
Fast Cars - Aesop Rock
Stay With Me - The Faces
I Luv the Valley OH! - Xiu Xiu
Muddy Hymnal (live @ KCRW) - Iron and Wine
and finally... Long Distance Call - Muddy Waters

If I mention the iPod here, I get mostly blank looks, but pretty much everybody knows what an MP3 player is. After my first experience on the train with the security guard who only spoke Arabic, I've kind of figured out that music is always a great way to relate to people. It's too bad that what I term the American Cultural Filter has only allowed crap like 50 Cent (by the way, I've done a little grammar lesson in all of my classes on how it should be "fifty cents," as a way to introduce plurals), Linkin Park, and slag such as that to be popular over here for the kiddos.
This has led me to do little music lessons in all of my classes where we go over genres and learn to talk about what we like, etc. Today, one of my students who's in his thirties professed his unabashed love for Phil Collins and easy listening music...

Not Quite the Tower of Babel...

2005-06-30T05:05:00.000-07:00

The official language of Morocco is Arabic - namely Moroccan Arabic, or Dirija. Dirija has the dubious distinction of being radically different from Modern Standard or Classical Arabic. The Americans with me who spoke some Classical before have found themselves up a creek without a paddle, since Dirija is basically a different language, although it uses the same script. Every Moroccans' first language is Dirija. They speak it at home and among themselves, and it's very common to find only Arabic-language signs and ads in the less affluent urban areas.
French is the de-facto second language of Morocco, and is the sole reason I can function here. Most people in urban areas speak french, since it's the first language that's taught in school, and by the end of their high school, or Bac, they can pretty much speak fluent french. Most other people speak functional french, or at the very least know a few phrases and numbers. It's been difficult for me, because I'm always conscious that French is not the people's first language - it's essentially the language of the ex-colonial French, with a North African accent. In a sense, I've felt that I'm forcing French on people because I can't speak Dirija.
With that in mind, I've tried picking up some Arabic, but have been stuck at some basic numbers, "praise god," "god wills it (my favorite, because it's basically "it'll happen if it's supposed to" - a hallmark of Moroccan time)," and a smattering of useful curse words...
However, the languages sure as hell don't stop there. Complimenting Arabic is Berber - 3 dialects to be exact - that is the native language of the native (and predominant) ethnic group in Morocco (Moroccans are not entirely Arab). However, it's found more in rural areas, although people in the cities often know a few words.
Further complicating that is the addition of Nathalie, the German AIESEC trainee who works with me here at reseau - ostensibly to teach German, although classes have yet to start. Nathalie speaks German, Romanian, Norwegian, Mongolian, Russian, English, and some French. The thing is, for reasons involving study abroad, German is somewhat popular here, we've met two people here at the office who speak German quite well... which leads to situations like what happened yesterday, where Nathalie and I were in the room with two students and a reseau volunteer working on some difficult english grammar. I was talking to the students in french and Nathalie in English. Nathalie was speaking German with the volunteer, and the volunteer and the students were speaking Dirija among themselves... basically it turns into this huge jumble of languages.
Further complicating that is the addition of Spanish. Since Morocco is so close to Spain, Spanish, especially in the Meditteranean part, is more popular than French. And of course, we have two Americans with us who speak fluent Spanish (I'm not even going to get into the one that speaks Japanese fluently, or Ryan, who speaks Thai and Swahili), so sometimes we run into Moroccans in Rabat who speak Spanish...
Anyways, that's what it's like to be here... definitely makes me wish I spoke more than I do.

The Third World Stomach

2005-06-29T03:04:00.000-07:00

One of the phrases we've been tossing around the most at the Real World Rabat house is the term "third world stomach." Basically, eating and drinking here in Morocco requires a certain amount of gastronomical fortitude. You have to get used to local Moroccan water, with its little specks of who knows what, local yogurt, and numerous other types of food.
One of the worst we've encountered was a type of Moroccan milk. The first time couscous was served in the apartment by the Moroccan AIESECers, it was accompanied by a milk that the described as "skimmmed." After a sip or two of the interesting-smelling milk, I inquired a little bit more fully - it tasted like a mix of yogurt and milk. Turns out, I wasn't quite right, it had previously been milk - milk that had been left out for a few days at normal temperatures.
Another part of Moroccan cuisine involves the level of cleanliness that goes into some preparations. Last week, my stomach was feeling kind of off - as it does all the time - so I decided it'd be a good idea to just get a basic pain rond with some cheese and meat, no fixins. Kamal took me to a local street vendor that sold fresh bread etc, and I picked out some meat and some cheese, expecting to put it together myself. To my surprise, the glove-less (and moderately greasy) street seller took the bread in his hands, broke it in half, ripped out all the bread in the middle, and then proceeded to roughly stuff my cheese and meat into the center. Giving me a smile that was a few teeth too little, I smiled back and quickly grabbed my sandwich.
Relatively speaking, I've probably had less stomach problems than some of the other members, nothing that a little Imodium and Tums couldn't help with. As a side note, I've been popping Tums EX like it's my job. However, there has yet to be a time that my stomach hasn't been... kind of off. Several of the Americans have gotten really sick to their stomach, and at least one has had food poisoning.
We've learned to avoid anything actively made on the street (except for Jus d'Orange), such as the chicken stir-fried on what could be called hibachis in the middle of the medina. Also, "fresh" yogurt that isn't factory-sealed is definitely off-limits.
Part of the problem has come from this kind of macho complex us American guys have picked up here. It almost becomes a battle over who can/will eat what. That first night that the sour milk was served, Ryan took it upon himself to take down 4 glasses, shot-style, of the aged liquid. This has even extended to meat, with the size of your cojones being based on what you'll eat( pigeon anyone?) and which parts of the animal you'll eat. The butcher's shops are a sight in and of themselves, with whole carcasses hanging out in the sun, and every animal from cow to sheep to rabbit being actively on display. With whole sheeps' heads being common here, we shall see what happens next...

A Moroccan Fish Fry

2005-06-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

As I was finishing up my lesson around noon today, I looked outside and saw Kamal, one of the guys who volunteers at Reseau Maillage, starting up some charcoal in a low clay pot. I didn't really think much of it until after class, when one of the older gentlemen who worked there informed me that there would be no need to go out for lunch - he'd be making it. He took me into their makeshift kitchen and proudly held up a black bag and unwrapped its contents. The beady eyes of forty six-inch long "sardines" stared at me, fresh from the market.
First off, a little background. Anybody who has spent any time with me is aware of two contradictory facts about my eating habits. First off, I love food. I go out to eat a lot, love checking out new places, and I'm slowly starting to cook for myself. Secondly, I can be a ridiculously picky and squeamish eater. You won't catch me eating fish or many veggies, and sure as hell not peeling shrimp or cracking lobster. Any meat that looks like where it came from is off-limits in my book.
That being said, as I stared at fish, I managed to make make the biggest, toothiest smiles I possibly could, telling the man in French how much I was looking forward to this amazing-looking fish... there was really no other option, he was being incredibly hospitable. The second thing out of my mouth was "je vais acheter un boisson froid pour le dejeuner" - I'm going to go and buy a cold drink... ostensibly. My alterior motive was stuffing myself with bread at a local food shop so that I wouldn't go hungry after doing my best to get through some fish.
Fast-forward ten minutes later, as I'm standing in the middle of Akkari, attracting my fair share of stares, scarfing down a petit pain rond, when Simo, another reseau volunteer, happens upon me. We get to talking, and as often happens in Morocco, he has enough time to walk me back to the office, all the while I'm frantically finishing up my bread and making sure my t-shirt is crumbless.
They had been cooking the fish in these hand-held grills that you'd put the fish in the middle of. Cautiously hoping they'd removed the eyes, or something along those lines to make the fish... less alive, I waited. Unfortunately, the fish arrived, eyes and all on a big clay plate right in front of me. Soon after, one of the guys picked one of the fish and dropped it at my place, skin and all. I gingerly scraped off the metallic skin with my fingers, dipped a piece in some salt they'd sprinkled on my section of paper, and took a little bite. Surprisingly, not bad. The fish was really mild and very fresh, didn't have that nasty fishy taste. After innumerable fish bones in my teeth later, I stared at a rather messy pile of dessicated fish in front of me. Coupled with the spicy olives, it was quite a meal.
The only long-lasting downside was the fish smell, which after four hand-washings and copious amounts of Purell, is finally subsiding. Here's one to adventurous eating...

Cue "It's a Small World"

2005-06-27T07:03:00.000-07:00

Down in Essaouira over the weekend I was having breakfast with all of the AIESECers at this surf joint-type place on the beach. As I was finishing up my cafe au lait, Nick poked me and said "check out the alcoholics over there." Looking over, I saw two American-looking men finishing up their second round of beer at around ten in the morning. Soon, one of the guys got up and walked by us. About five minutes later, he walked back by, stopped, turned around and said, "Hey, are you from Minnesota?" Turns out, I'd been wearing my Twins cap, and this guy was originally from Northfield and had even went to St. Olaf. I forgot his name, but he was with an American friend who was working in Rabat - the Minnesotan was actually working in Ghana. They had just driven all the way up from Ghana, across the desert to Essaouira on their way to Rabat.

Second one: This one is really fucking classic. First off, I know there's probably no way that anybody from my AP European history class with Dr. Jacobson, sophomore year of Breck is reading this. That being said, I should probably facebook message all of you. Anyways, as I've mentioned before, there's a rather interesting girl staying with us named Laura, who goes to Yale. I don't really talk to her all that much, but I knew her dad was a professor there. Turns out her name is Laura Merriman, and her dad is none other than John Merriman, the guy who not only wrote our AP Euro textbook, but was a mentor extraordinaire to the esteemed Dr. Andrew Jacobson. This is really one of those more inside jokes, but Dr. J was a really bizarre guy, and he'd talk about John Merriman, and how they played squash together, etc all the time. We'd always speculate on the mysterious Merriman, I guess we have our answer now...

Satellite Rides

2005-06-27T06:42:00.000-07:00

I was lucky enough last night to have dinner with Naoufel, the head of AIESEC Morocco. He spends a lot of time over at the apartment, and even accompanied us to Essaouira, but this was one of the first times that I was able to get a Moroccan alone, over dinner and of course, tea.
The conversation shifted pretty quickly to the weekend, I told him some of my reservations about how some of my traveling companions were being treated, etc. He managed to put it this way:
Basically, everything in Morocco is pirated - CDs, Music, Clothing, Software, and especially satellite television. One of the most curious sights in Morocco is seeing these absolutely dirt poor slums with satellites sticking out all over the place. If you took a panorama of Casablanca, the landscape would be filled with them. These are not your average Direct TV satellites, they're frankly rather junky-looking, with no discernible markings on them.
These satellites are all hacked. Basically, you buy a box for around 1500 Dirhams, and then you have to buy a card with codes on it. Then, you connect the Satellite to all of this, etc, and you literally get thousands of channels from all over the world. Every language, from HBO to ESPN to Egyptian Soap Operas. You can sit in front of your tv all day and just consume this ridiculous amount of media, especially western/american media.
Anyways, with that out of the way, there is an amazingly high consumption of American media, Naoufel asked me if I knew of American Pie, American Beauty, etc. Part of what's disseminated through these satellites, besides an often incredibly overblown view of drugs, sleazy politicians, violence and such in America is the liberated and free American woman. This is a woman who makes her own choices. For Moroccan men, and many non-western men, this perception fuses with sexual freedom - what results is basically a view of Western women as promiscuous and slutty, by virtue of their liberated nature. Based on that, there is this idea that if you talk to a western woman, and spend enough time with her (keeping in mind that they have little clue as to how to interact with these western women appropriately), then you'll be able to sleep with her.
It was good to hear this from Naoufel, because even as I mentioned in my last post, I'd previously had enough experience with Meditteranean, especially Italian, men to know how sleazy and overt they can be about declaring affection. While I hope this post doesn't in anyway imply some sort of tacit or stated acceptance of Moroccans' behavior towards Western women, at least hearing it from Naoufel helped clarify why.

Road Trippin'

2005-06-26T05:03:00.000-07:00

The other half of the weekend was the crazy road trip down to Essaouira, which took us across the agricultural belt of Morocco. We ( 9 Americans, 1 German, 2 Moroccans) made this trip in two, count 'em, two Fiat Palios of a circa-twentieth century vintage. In case you're wondering what a Fiat Palio is like - sounds exotic after all, right? - wipe away images of burl wood dashes and leather-appointed interiors, for this is not that kind of car. In fact, if you want to do word association, think of the crippling disease Polio.
Even getting the cars out of Rabat was an ordeal. First off, we had one Palio and one other, slightly larger Fiat. Unfortunately, that Fiat broke on the way from the renter's lot to the apartment. Worried about liability, we brought back the slightly larger Fiat slightly sheepishly, hoping that it wouldn't turn into a big issue, etc. When we told the man at the auto rental, he simply crossed off that car on his sheet and made a small notation - in retrospect, he was incredibly casual about it. Soon, we had another Fiat Palio which had a cute little flaw- the gas tank was punctured, but, only at the top. So, as long as we didn't put in more than half a tank at a time, it shouldn't be a problem. Despite the fact that both shifter knobs came off the cars by the time they were at the apartment, we remained cautiously optimistic.
Soon, another problem reared its head. As we prepared to leave, two more cute flaws were discovered. Firstly, one of the Fiat's hoods wouldn't close. Secondly, the back right door on the other fiat had some... spacing, and you could see the road in between the door frame. So, on our way out of Rabat, we stopped by a "Mechanic." By Mechanic, I mean that this guy expertly wielded two tools: a small sledgehammer and a brick. Within twenty minutes' hammering on the poor Palio's hood, he had the hood latched.
By this point, we were understandably itching to be out of the starting gate and begin what turned into an 8-hour journey. As I previously mentioned, there were 6 people in each Fiat. Four people do not fit in the backseat of a Fiat Palio... or do they? Well, suffice to say, it was a jumble of limbs back there, circulation was lost, words were said that weren't meant, etc. I just want to clarify at this point that these were two old, dumpy Fiat hatchbacks- no wagon model for us.
This trip was my first real initiation with the Moroccan highway system. I'd experienced the white knuckle "holy shit!" city driving enough to be apprehensive about higher speeds and less witnesses. After getting out of Casa, an hour or so down the coast from Rabat, we transitioned to a more bucolic setting, replete with thousands of donkey carts (they even have their own crossing signs) and a landscape most closely identifiable with rural Mexico (admittedly my only frame of reference is the movie Y Tu Mama Tambien, but I was assured by other Americans that it was pretty spot-on). Pastoral settings transitioned into charming hills, as the lanes narrowed to one and half through the winding roads up and through the hills. There were several close calls with big trucks coming around corners towards us. Unfortunately, or thrillingly - depending on your life outlook - guard rails were not abundant.
There was a respite as we found this quasi-river oasis in the hills. We stopped to swim, posed for pictures, etc. Another six or so hours later, we made it into Essaouira for the night's festivities.
Another hitch was that A: there were no hotels, and B: there was no shelter, ie: tents to rent. So, we roughed it for the weekend, sleeping in the Palios and on the beach, which got down to the forties (fahrenheit) at night. Luckily, we all made it through in one piece.

The Essaouira Music Festival

2005-06-26T04:25:00.000-07:00

Just got back from what turned out to be an insane weekend down in Essaouira in southern Morocco (ie: 13-hr round trip).
Essaouira itself was amazing - it's become popular within the last few years as a tourist destination for good reason. Situated basically within an old Portuguese fort on the Atlantic, the town has a great Meditteranean feeling and is totally walkable. The old town doesn't even allow cars, and is painted in bright moroccan colors. What really makes Essaouira tick is the beach outside the town, where you can swim, play soccer on the beach, go kite-surfing or wind-surfing, or dig sand trenches (such as I did) to escape the ridiculously fast wind off the Atlantic. There were a fair amount of tourists there - one of the first times I've really seen concentrated groups of Westerners - and plenty of local people in town for the Gnaoua music festival. Despite the goddamn Euro-Hippies and their german techno, I pretty much co-existed peacefully with all the tourists.
The Moroccans, on the other hand, were a mixed bag. I'm not sure if this is a Meditteranean thing or not, but we were traveling with a few Western women (who dressed respectfully, etc)who kept on being put in very unfortunate situations by Moroccan men. Often, it was as little as a man being overly friendly, talking to one of them, etc, before things got out of hand. The men there were insistent with personal questions, and often figured that introducing themself - or sometimes not - to a woman, allowed him to touch the woman. Others would just follow closely, or invite themselves to smoke hookah with us. In another situation, we caught one guy with his hand inside Nathalie's - the new German trainee - bag. Luckily, he didn't make off with anything, but that, coupled with being offered spray paint to huff, etc, amounted to enough to keep me jaded all weekend.
That last part is really unfortunate, because besides some incidents, the music festival was amazing. All the music that I heard was from Africa or Spain, and ran the gamut, from aging Spanish hippies to these Algerians who played ridiculously good celtic music. There were three stages, and there was always something going on until early in the morning.
I also had some amazing food, some of the best Tajines I've had here, great coffee, and a mixed bag on the street food, from chewing-gum textured chicken in these Chawarmas we had, to some killer spicy sausage "Moroccan" sandwiches.
All in all, it was definitely an experience. Sometimes, with up and down ones like this, I remind myself that at the very least I'll grow from them, and at least come out with some stories...

Socks and Sandals

2005-06-23T07:08:00.000-07:00

While nothing compares to the sight of British Pensioners traveling around Morocco with their socks and sandal combo, I've managed to come pretty close in terms of dorky attire. First of all, I've embraced the bandana, which is always tied around my neck with the knot under the neck of my t-shirt in a quasi-ascot. Secondly, I brought a red Minnesota Twins hat, only to find out I probably own the sole red hat (outside of those Fes hats, of course) in Morocco. Factor in my brightly colored t-shirts, sunglass clips (which I snap on over my normal glasses - admittedly very practical), $7.50 watch from Target, man purse - or "murse," if you will - and my high rise socks with shorts, and you hopefully have a prettty vivid image of me sitting in front of this computer in Akkari right now...
While nothing is egregiously dorky, and hopefully I pull it all off okay, I've hit at least one snag. Have you ever tried flirting with someone while wearing sunglass clips and a bandana around your neck? Take my word for it and don't even bother.

ps - http://www.sandalandsoxer.co.uk/

Essaouira for the Weekend

2005-06-23T05:54:00.000-07:00

I'm off for the weekend to Essaouira, in the south of Morocco, for a weekend music festival - I'll fill in the details when I get back. Should be an amazing show, Youssou N'Dour is going to be there on sunday afternoon. Here's some more info: http://www.festival-gnaoua.co.ma/eng/programm-details.cfm

Akkari

2005-06-22T09:31:00.000-07:00

Akkari, a quartier populaire, has become my second home in Rabat after our ridiculously overcrowded apartment in the nouveau ville. Akkari is situated outside the imperial walls of Rabat, and is termed a quartier populaire because of its smaller winding streets, and general character. The population is less well-off, and you don't see nearly as many cars off the main thoroughfare. You wouldn't exactly define Akkari as touristy in a western sense - ie: it doesn't fit into our romanticized image of Fez, Marrakesh, etc - but it definitely has a character of its own. As I've been spending more and more time here, I've managed to meet lots of the local kids through the reseau office, and it's a really great feeling to be able to walk down the main street and run into a kid that you worked with the day before. The shops are still pretty traditional, you have your average shops that specialize in odd individual products, like motors of dubious quality, or the cushion/pillow shop, which makes them while you wait. There's also plenty of hole in the wall places that sell pretty much the same things - bread, yogurt, bottled water, candy, and other relatively basic food (no supermarket by a long shot).
The best part about Akkari's less-than central location is that I am ridiculously close to the Atlantic, it's literally out the door, to the left, and down about 60-70 meters. There isn't a beach, it's more cliffs and craggy rocks, but it's quite the sight nonetheless. Nothing beats the guy with the snorkel and the scuba suit who tromps by the office everyday with his spear and his day's catch. One of these days, I'm going to venture down there and attempt to swim without being dashed on the rocks... wish me luck :/

Dirhams

2005-06-22T09:16:00.000-07:00

The standard unit of currency in Morocco is the Dirham. It's not on any currency markets (as far as I know), and is controlled by the Moroccan government, ie: they set the exchange rate, you can't remove Dirhams from the country, etc. The exchange rate isn't bad at all, we're talking a little under 9 Dirhams to a dollar. It's pretty easy to get a meal for a buck or two - most round loaves of bread - although not huge, are only around 1.20 Dirhams. I just bought breakfast this morning for 8 Dirhams, which included a cafe au lait and a fresh croissaint. Lunch was closer to twenty, since I had a Moroccan-style Cheese Burger (read: small quantity of mystery meat, more veggies) with a small salad and fries, plus a bottle of Coke.
There are a large amount of western-style goods, from Gilette Mach 3 Razors to Pringles, and they're appropriately more expensive, pretty much on par with western prices, which seem astronomical here. This even extends to the lone McDonald's I've seen in Rabat, which is actually somewhat of a luxury dining establishment, given that McDonald's is about the same price - if not slightly more - here. It's pretty damn odd refer to McDonald's as any sort of upscale dining establishment, but here it fits the bill.

My First (attempted) Pick-Pocketing

2005-06-21T07:07:00.000-07:00

I was taking the bus to Akkari yesterday, when I ran into a few snags - most notably a full-court press attempted pickpocketing by three unsavory guys on the bus. I had stupidly decided to carry my victorinox bag with the handy-dandy zippers that open extra-easy on the bus when I noticed that my front pocket was unzipped when I sat down. Looking around, i looked at the guy behind me who had brushed by me just a moment ago. Giving him a stern look, I closed up my bag and held it close to me. Just moments later, a guy sits down next to me, and starts fumbling with the window to the left of me. Soon, his "friend" stops by to help him out... all the while, i'm sitting there with tourist confusion written all over my face. Not realizing these guys were in on it too, I started to help them with the window after their prompting (keep in mind I'm on a bus alone in the heat, and slightly out of it). Soon, i felt pressure on my bag, and grabbed it towards me, hard. Although it was in front of me, they had somehow managed to unzip all the zippers sans sound and proceeded to rifle their greasy little no-good fingers in my stuff. Luckily, my stuff was arranged in my bag so that they hit a hat and a bandana when they opened up a main pocket. Same was for the side pocket, where I was stupidly keeping my Visa card. However, they managed to make off with nothing. After getting up and starting to make a scene, they left- a little too casually for my tastes, which left me going through my bag for the next hour, double- and triple-checking all my stuff.
Basically, it happened really fast, and noiselessly. These guys had been hanging out at the bus stop looking for targets, and, given my pale skin, I guess I made a ridiculously tempting target. Let's just say at this point, my vigilance has gone up tenfold. The biggest problem is that it's kind of shattered a lot of the artificial, or perceived security I've been building up over the last week and a half. I now case out the guys that board the bus, wondering if they could indeed have sticky fingers. I'm going to head off to the medina after reseau today and get a little purse that I can wear around my neck - and underneath my t-shirt - and carry less, just some dirhams and a copy of my passport.

Parking Attendants

2005-06-19T11:38:00.000-07:00

One of the most visible parts of the large informal sector in Morocco are parking attendants. Clad in blue coats, they work on street corners where they provide unsoliticed parking help to anybody pulling in. With an air of imperiousity they wave the parker into the spot and tell them when to stop next to the curb. For this assistance, they expect a dirham or two. They also function as a quasi-enforcer for the neighborhood. Cafes often pay them a small stipend to keep the ever-present beggars away from patrons. They'll often shoo off stray cats and keep the neighborhood's gears greased.
The best part is that despite their official attitude, they operate entirely on their own enterprise. The blue coats are often bought in the medina, and carry no real significance. They'll often pick a street corner and even go so far as to set up a small plastic chair, while keeping a steady eye on the goings-on.

Moroccan Time

2005-06-18T14:36:00.000-07:00

One of the most difficult things to get used to, culturally, has been Moroccan time - more appropriately described as an oxymoron. Imagine a world where time is only a guideline at best, and 4pm actually means around 5 or 6pm. maybe. We spent 45 minutes in a sidewalk cafe today waiting for some people from reseau maillage to show up. Right before that, we waited 30 minutes at a bus stop for my friend Moonya, who told us she'd be at the station in five minutes. In addition, the standard workday in Morocco is 9am - 12, and 2:30pm-6. This gives them over two hours to eat lunch, even the kids come home.
Part of this comes from a much more relaxed attitude about time in general, Moroccans seem to rely often on fate, and remark "God willing," when referring to time. Concerns such as family matters and friends are more important than being on time, and if a Moroccan runs into someone on the street, they might very well end up being twenty minutes late to lunch... or an hour or two.
This has some benefits. For once in my life, I'm not wearing a watch constantly, and... I've just relaxed in general. Men seem to spend an inordinate amount of time at cafes, sipping the a la menthe or coffee, reading their papers and conversiing with friends. It's really not a bad life. However, it's still incredibly difficult to adjust to. I've started getting up earlier, going out to get bread in the morning, take a break, then spend the afternoon ambling around the medina, and there's definitely an appeal to the lifestyle.
The problem is, and this has been echoed most recently by the Moroccan's western-educated king, is that not a lot, at least on the surface, seems to get done. Most buildings are constantly "under renovation," sometimes with people working, sometimes not. There are many half-finished construction projects by the beach, and on the surface, you really don't see the same sort of goal-oriented hustle and bustle that you see in America, everything is much more casual. It's kind of a double-edged sword for me, because I love the opportunity to just act more casually, I mean, it is summer after all. However, I also get the nagging feeling that... more can be happening. Part of it is this American culture ingrained in me that's so highly competitive and time-oriented, and I can't quite seem to escape it. Not to sound overly paternal, but I wonder if a little more... acceptance of concrete time would help Morocco.

La Plage

2005-06-18T14:04:00.000-07:00

Today we took a bus way out of Rabat to one of the many public beaches dotting the moroccan atlantic coastline. It was pretty funny, because the bus we had to catch was kind of across town, ie: we had to walk through a fair amount of rabat in beach gear, we all looked pretty ridiculous, towels around us, i had my nose white with all the sunscreen lathered on, etc. By the time we made it all the way across the medina, we must've had a considerable crowd of onlookers (by the way, i've had to get used to being stared at. by EVERYBODY. all the time). I kind of made light of the situation by acting like a stupid american, going "ou est la piscine?" ( where is the swimming pool).
The actual beach was pretty damn nice, minus the sands of hellfire that have charred my feet brownish-black. There were mostly men down by the water, but several women too, although many of them stayed behind in the umbrellas. The exception were these little tarts (who couldn't have been legal) who wore bikinis and seemed enamored with our pale american bodies? Of course, a moroccan location could not be complete without the vendors. A few guys walked around with plates piled high with american doughnuts, selling them for a measly dirham - or around 11 cents. Other men sold random *frozen* goods, which had been turned to mush by the cardboard boxes they carried them in.
Afterwards, i went over to my new office/community center area and met with the people I'd be working with on monday. They're all incredibly passionate and really care about these kids, and their passion definitely makes the extremely committing work worthwhile. I'm going to be involved in a range of stuff, from fundraising, to teaching intermediate english, to doing large and small-scale projects, ranging from painting the walls of the community center, to organizing soccer tournaments and computer info sessions. Suffice to say, it's going to be busy.

MacGyver

2005-06-17T06:06:00.000-07:00

We've christened the man who runs a small store across the street as "MacGyver." this guy's shop includes everything from charcoals for shisha and tobacco, to shampoo, to candy bars, to cameras (!). Given the space, it's pretty damn amazing, he even sold us a garbage can and some toilet paper recently. Nick's watch managed to break last week, so we went over to MacGyver to see if he could point us in the direction of a watch repair shop. Instead, he took the watch, opened it up, fixed it, put in a new battery, and charged us like 12 dirhams ($1.35 or so) for the whole thing. All this guy has to do now is construct us some sort of cd player (which we are in dire need of) out of toothpicks, a pen, and a stick of bubblegum, and he'll surpass the legend of the TV one.

A Day at the Medina

2005-06-16T14:08:00.000-07:00

I spent a good few hours today strolling around the medina with some friends. It's pretty much the oldest part of Rabat, and definitely a central gathering point for the local population. It's lined with a ridiculous number of stalls, selling innumerable amounts of random stuff. The best part is the sheer number of knockoff goods. All the t-shirts are of 3 varieties: diesel, dolce and gabbana, or some sort of english expression you'd find on engrish.com There's also lots of knockoff Puma and Nike hats and shoes. The funniest thing i saw were these knockoff havainas sandals. They had the brazilian flag, etc on them (since they are brazilian), and on the heel they say "designed in italy."
Besides the designer knockoffs, there's misc pottery, electronics, traditional clothing, and lots of different food. The most colorful shops are the spice shops, which, for once, literally look like the pictures in the lonely planet guidebook - we're talking mountains of spices of different colors. I also found a store that sold live turtles - not as pets, mind you.
There was also a lot more begging in the medina. Literally, i would see beggars from far off, and we'd make eye contact, and then they'd close their eyes and pretend to be blind and wave their sticks at us.

Stray Cats

2005-06-16T05:17:00.000-07:00

One thing that I've had to get used to is the unbelievable number of stray cats in Rabat. They travel in groups around the neighborhood, picking at trash and causing general mayhem - storekeepers spend some time every day shooing them down the street away from their food. The tricky part for me is, as evidenced by my profile picture, i'm a cat lover, got three of them at home (and two dogs). So, especially at first it was difficult, now i've gotten to a point where if I see them, i'll leave out a bit of food, but that's about as much as I can do for them.
Laura, our most... interesting roommate in what we now term "The Real World: Rabat," decided to bring home a stray dog to the apartment. Unfortunately, I wasn't around for it, but supposedly she showed up one day last week with a rather mangy stray dog - that she named Lola. From what I've gathered from the other aiesecers, Lola had fleas, and was rather "aggressive and barky." Lola even went so far as to gnaw on my friend Gabe's leg during one dinner, and even bit Laura rather hard... and she never bothered to check herself for rabies. Anyways, when the moroccan aiesecers discovered the dog, they managed to achieve the impossible - to get Laura to do something she didn't want to do- to get rid of the stray dog.

Thé a la menthe

2005-06-16T04:51:00.000-07:00

Another amazing, and sweet, moroccan drink is the mint tea. When i first read guidebooks on morocco, one of the common themes was that social interactions were built around tea. If somebody visits you, or if you even do business with someone, there is normally mint tea involved... It's basically brewed green tea with a large amount of mint leaves and a generous helping of sugar, served hot. It tastes pretty damn good, and the mint leaves (which you can buy in bulk at many stores), give it a
fresh kick.
There's a quasi-ceremony that accompanies the serving of mint tea. First off, you drink the tea in small glasses, normally with moroccan designs etched on them, served from a small teapot where the tea was brewed. The technical part comes in pretty quickly: after pouring a small amount of mint tea into a glass, you put the tea back into the pot to mix up the tea and keep all the parts equal, so the sugar doesn't fall to the bottom of the pot before you even serve it. After doing that, you pour glasses of tea from ridiculously high heights. I've seen moroccan people that do it 2 feet in the air, or more - and considering that the glasses are nothing huge, it's quite the feat. Additionally, the goal is to do it without splashing any of the hot tea on the guests, so it takes a fair amount of practice.

Jus d'orange

2005-06-16T04:38:00.000-07:00

one of the best parts about tooling around rabat is the street food, especially the fresh-squeezed OJ over by the grand-taxi stand. This vendor has huge piles of Oranges around his stand, and a juice presser and some glasses of questionable cleanliness. However, this stuff is the fruit of the gods, ridiculously fresh, and sweeter than your average tropicana carton. And for only 2 dirhams, I can get 4 glasses for a buck...
All of the produce her has been amazing, one out of 3 street stores specializes in produce, and there's everything from avocados to bananas. Keep in mind, this is coming from a guy who's not incredibly fruit/vegetable-friendly.
Another thing i tried with the produce was a drink called a "panache" at a shop that sold "chesseburgers." I was used to the french drink, which is half lemonade and half beer, and this had neither... it was basically every fruit they had in stock + some yogurt, all blended together. Also worth trying again.
One thing about moroccan food that i've had to get used to is how sweet everything is, even the ketchup that they serve w/ frites is much sweeter than any heinz ketchup. I've kind of been getting used to it, i even had nutella for breakfast with some local pain rond that all the local street sellers have.

Rabat

2005-06-14T04:49:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in an internet cafe in Rabat, Morocco right now. Suffice to say, i've found out where i'm working, and i'm now staying in an apartment... without going into details on my interesting day on monday, involving talking to half of the municipal employees at two prefecture buildings in casa, i managed to find the director of reseau maillage in casa, who has NO idea that the salaam program is going on this year. Luckily though, he knew the people in Rabat, and i got in touch with them. The director in Casa, Mr. Ghaita, had this pseudo-security guard come with me to the train station. This guy, whose name i don't remember, came on the train with me (kind of against my wishes), where he proceeded to make me promise to call his brother, who spoke english... he rode with me to rabat. i passed the mildly awkward time by pulling out the ipod and having us share the earbuds. He liked bob dylan and the allman brothers, but had mixed opinions on broken social scene. keep in mind that this guy spoke no french at all, so all of our communication was pantomiming.
once in rabat, i met up with the moroccan aiesecers and the other 8 or so people i'll be working with here. we have this huge apartment, and but no real furniture or anything, and i didn't even bother asking about the lack of a/c. luckily, we can see the atlantic (far off) from our window and get some decent ocean breeze.
some people from one branch of reseau maillage came over last night, and we talked more about the options for helping out. reseau is a big umbrella org that deals with kids, and their education in practical matters, computers, english, etc, with the goal of changing morocco for future generations by giving these kids guidance and real work skills. education in morocco can get expensive, and without programs like reseau, there's really no way for these kids to get ahead. the other part of the work, or even the sole part for some of us, involves projects, such as raising money, or getting donations in kind. There's a lot of more straightforward ones, but some are distinctly cultural, and go beyond getting a dentist to go around and give kids checkups in the quartiers populaires. for example, in morocco, it's muslim custom to be circumcised around the age of five, but even that costs money. So, one of the past projects involved a "circumcision wagon" (so to speak), that traveled around and gave circumcisions to kids and young adults.
we also went down to one of the reseau offices qnd talked about other opportunities, such as organizing concert and sporting events... i talked to a lot of the guys who ran it (my french is getting pretty damn good at this point) and they all seemed really motivated and passionate.
cheers for now. when i get a chance, i'll talk more about rabat, and the food and cultural part, etc

now for the positive part

2005-06-12T06:43:00.000-07:00

as a side-product of sitting where i am, i can see lots of casablanca, including the gorgeous and gigantic Hassan II mosque, the biggest behind mecca.
I've met some amazingly cool moroccan people - i talked to the moroccan young lady next to me on the flight for a good solid 3 hours, all en francais! two very helpful moroccans aided me at the airport, and even offered for me to crash at their place. the helper guys at the train station were awesome, and i BSed with them in this arabic-french mix for a good hour or so. besides the goddamn cheating cabbies, all the people have been amazingly nice, and despite the rather "negative" tone of my last post ( sorry, i REALLY needed to vent), i've been nice in return, and its really made what's happened so far bearable. i'll post a lot more observations later once i get more grounded/showered ( another perk of this ridiculously expensive hotel - hot showers!)

jesus

2005-06-12T06:13:00.000-07:00

wanna hear a story? well i have got a fucking story (btw any sp mistakes are courtesy of french-language keyboards).

i am currently in the hyatt regency in casablanca, why, you ask, is isaac here? great question. amazing question. have now been up for a RIDICULOUSLY long period of time, and will now give all of you the "short" version.

flashback to friday the 10th of june. i board a plane for jfk airport, from there i will head to casa from nyc. in theory. unfortunately, after 5 diff excuses ivolving weather in diff locations, problems with the planes weight, and then fuel, our flight is cancelled after sitting on the runway for two and a half hours. As are many other flights due to inclement weather. so, i get shipped back to the minneapolis airport. fast forward 5 hours later, after two diff ticket counters and managing to lose my tickets (thanks again maria from delta!)I get a flight for sat the 11th, going from minneapolis to montreal, and then straight to casablanca. during this whole process, i had been emailing aiesec in morocco informing them of the changes via my sister.
ok, saturday the 11th. after taking 50 min to verify my changed tickets when I arrived, i was finally clared for a boarding pass. after deciding to change the gate to LITERALLY the opposite end of the airport last-minute, i managed to go out and pick smething up from my mom, re-enter the airport, and make it just in time for the flight. whew. At montreal, i managed to clear canadian customs without getting my cheched bags. silly me, i naively assumed they were checked to my final destination, forgetting that you must re-check. after a tense forty minutes trying to re-enter customs, i was able to get a sympathetic northwest employee to get my bags, saying; and i quote "gosh, this happens all the time here because they don't tell people you have to pick them up." after another 35 minutes spent trying to find the royal air maroc gate, thanks to some incredibly unhelpful quebecois, i got my tickets and got on the flight to casa. arriving in casa was nice at first, until i realized two things: nobody was there to pick me up for some inexplicable reason, and i had no clue where i was staying( or if i was in casa or rabat, because aiesec hates the concept of concrete information) or how to contact anyone, since i had left my folder at home after the first cancellation thingy. fast forward three hours at the casa airport, still nobody. so, i blindly make my way to the train station, and manage to then get a taxi that takes me to a cyber cafe with internet that doesn't allow for outgoing email messages?!an hour after that, i say "fuck it, where's the nicest hotel?"
this brings me to my present, still-ambiguous situation. thanks to the concierge ' and my rapidly improving french skills, i now have a number i can call tomorrow so i can be connected to this guy who works for reseau maillage ( keep in mind this is all happening ona sunday, so anything important is closed). i also have a street on which there is a reseau maillage office, just a street, not an address. which brings me back to now...

update

2005-06-08T22:25:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of updates. I get into casablanca saturday morning @ 6:30am. So, once I get settled, etc, i'll try and drag my lazy ass into a cyber cafe to write down some solid stuff. I attended the Salaam prep in DC on may 27-29, where I met the other people i'd be working with, and I got some great info on what i'll actually be doing over there. Cheers for now
-Isaac

Snap!

2005-05-05T10:15:00.000-07:00

I now officially have a job. I'm going to be working for this group called "Reseau Maillage" in either Rabat or Casablanca in Morocco. Here's part of the e-mail:

Réseau Maillage a young, energetic, and motivated network organization that works at the heart of Morocco's communities. Comprised of young activists, the 30-plus Maillage-affiliated associations concentrate on improving their own neighborhoods and the life of youth, the future leaders of Moroccan society. Especially where youth are most vulnerable to common negative influences of urban society, the actors in the Maillage network are always on-hand to improve lives.

Job Description:

I taught English to Moroccan students ranging in age from 15- 25. There was no program in place, but I set roots for an English program in several associations. My students were hopeful and willing learners who were always excited to come to meet each day. In addition to teaching, I helped the group extend its relations with other organizations in the Rabat area. As it is the capital city, there are many international groups and international student exchanges, providing further opportunity for contact with Americans. I designed several programs in partnership with these organizations and bodies, including the U.S. Embassy, AMIDEAST and the regional administration of Morocco.

I'll find out w/in the next week whether I'll be in Rabat or Casablanca... I'd be content with either! I'm working from June 13-August 5. Hopefully, I'll be able to get over there earlier and do some exploring. I still really want to go to Istanbul and go spend some time in Egypt - so maybe before-hand or after? Shit, my brain's running a mile a minute.

Shotz/Medical Info

2005-05-04T22:21:00.000-07:00

Excerpted from the CDC Website

CDC recommends the following vaccines (as appropriate for age):

See your doctor at least 4–6 weeks before your trip to allow time for shots to take effect.

Hepatitis A or immune globulin (IG).
Hepatitis B if you might be exposed to blood (for example, health-care workers), have sexual contact with the local population, stay longer than 6 months in the region, or be exposed through medical treatment.
Rabies, if you might be exposed to wild or domestic animals through your work or recreation.
Typhoid, particularly if you are visiting developing countries in this region.
As needed, booster doses for tetanus-diphtheria, measles, and a one-time dose of polio vaccine for adults. Hepatitis B vaccine is now recommended for all infants and for children ages 11–12 years who did not complete the series as infants.

Plus, I supposedly need an AIDS test. Oh wait, there's more:

Diseases carried by insects

Dengue
Malaria
- Frequently asked questions
- Prescription drugs
Plague

Diseases carried in food or water

Diseases from person-to-person contact

Hepatitis B
HIV/AIDS
- Prevention
- HIV-infected travelers

OK, so here's the deal...

2005-05-04T21:58:00.000-07:00

1. Joined an organization called AIESEC - check out our local DC site here
2. Decided to apply to this program called the salaam program
3. Actually got in to the program
4. Am now waiting to hear what type of traineeship I'm doing - and where. The four options are Morocco, Tunisia, the UAE and Egypt. Hopefully I'll end up Tunisia or Morocco so I can work on my meager/grammatically shitty french skillz

Hey All

2005-05-04T21:19:00.000-07:00

Just getting this off the ground - this is going to be a blog of my job in North Africa this summer. I'll fill in the details when I actually know what the hell I'm doing.
Cheers