Chez Ali = Arabian Nightmare

This picture has nothing to do with this story, I just like it and wanted to share it.  

Evening: 30 June 2009

 

            So, every country has some stereotype that the people from other places think of when they think about the people there.  Morocco is no exception.  For centuries Morocco has been seen by other cultures as a nomadic, exotic culture.  Women are portrayed as sexually available and exotic beauties.  The Berbers are backward tribal groups who have their own language and folk customs.  You know… camels, flying carpets, belly dancers, and gun-bearing horsemen, all that fancy stuff.  Now that you have the visual, it must be said that I am absolutely traumatized by the experience that we had on Tuesday night.

            We pulled up to a Disneyland-esque plaster faux-finished property with Neon lights and a big flashing arrow that said “Chez Ali: Fantasia.”  Instantly, I started thinking, “Oh, God.  This is gonna suck.”  And when we pulled in and saw all the tour busses, my worst fear was affirmed.  Yes, Medieval Times on crack.  This is Morocco's way of trying to portray images consistent with Western stereotypes because that is what they think we want to see.  

            We get off the bus, and men dressed in Touraeg costumes lined the walkway mounted on beautiful Arab Barbs (about 20 or so).  You can’t take photos of them because they want money in return, but someone snuck a few, I’m sure.  Then you walk into a castle surrounded by a mote and belly dancers grab you to take photos with them, like when you walk in to Magic Mountain and someone wants to take your picture with Daffy Duck.  Then you walk through a museum where a dwarf guards the door with a sign that says “Ali Baba’s cave.”  It gets worse…

            We walked down a covered walkway that was lined with groups of people dancing, singing and playing music.  The music was cool and their costumes were beautiful, but the poor people looked miserable.  The girls dancing looked like they were going to cry or throw up, or maybe both, and they stood there while people gawked at them like they were animals in the zoo.  We got rushed to a table and served the fastest three (inedible) courses that I have ever had at a restaurant, but not in the good way.  It was the weirdest thing I have ever experienced.  While we were eating, the miserable people came by our tables like Mariachis at a Mexican restaurant and played music so loud that we couldn’t even talk to each other. 

            By the time the “show” began I was about to cry.  I’m not kidding.  It was the most horrible display of people and animals being exploited that I have ever seen.  The camel was muzzled.  Some of the horsemen were really hard on the mouth of their Barbs.  A few horses that looked like they were well treated actually put on a good spectacle with their handlers, who specialized in acrobatic displays while moving at a high speed on horseback…. Brett, think Toby Tyler.  They acted out battles between the Berbers and invading groups, and fantasias, which was interesting, but strange at the same time. Azeb explained later that the stories being reinnacted were the stories of 1001 Arabian Nights, part of Moroccan literary tradition and folklore.  She also said that it was owned and operated by a Moroccan man and his son, but that didn’t make me feel any better.  Perhaps one of the most level-headed, peaceful minded people in our group said, “This shit is ridiculous.”  I was so glad not to be alone.  Someone else said at the end, “No stereotype left behind.”  Which is the honest to God truth.   It was a weird, weird night and we were all in a pretty sour mood when we got back to the hotel. 

            That night I found myself praying for dirty little kids who will teach me to really appreciate the culture where I’m finding myself at a complete loss at times.  I really think it was one of those times on this trip where the people paying the bill in Washington would have been appalled.    

Monday… off to Marrakech.

Everything is apparently a three-hour bus ride away, and when you ask how far something is, it is three hours to some place, then three hours from there to the place that you’re going.  Perfect. 

We arrived in Marrakech after about 7 hours and only had time to eat dinner.  But, I got to i chat with Brett and Dad, so that was fun.  Mailed postcards today, so we’ll see how efficient the Moroccan post system is.  

Call to Prayer in Marrakesh

The State of Foreign Affairs

29 June 2009 

Monday, we set off for Marrakesh, and basically just got there in time for dinner, but we stayed in a really nice hotel, so we were pretty satisfied with that.  The only thing is, that I was hoping that our trip here would be more like the time I spent in Cambodia.  We travel around here and are so removed from the local people.  We have been separated from all the sights and sounds and smells of the country for the majority of the time that we have been here.  For the most part, our director has told us that it is a security issue.  There are so many of us- higher profile because we are American teachers- and traveling on Uncle Sam’s dime that all hell would break loose if something happened to us.  Our tour guides are driving me crazy because they're such flirts and they're relentless. Our bus driver, on the other hand, I trust with my life.  He is always on time, he is always in a good mood, and he talks to us in a mixture of Arabic and French.  I keep joking that he is the only Moroccan man that I trust so far… and I don’t know that that is a stretch of the imagination in any sense. 

 

Back to the University AKA… attack of the toads.

  We came back to the university for a day of study.  What’s a Sunday without a good three-hour Arabic class???  Luckily we had two cool lectures on Moroccan Literature and Berber Culture.  Seriously, Being a “Fulbright Scholar” is a serious undertaking.  So far this trip has definitely violated all the expectations that I had coming into it.  A good coping mechanism that I have developed… as recently as yesterday, as a matter of fact… is to look at the schedule for the day and imagine what you expect the day to be like, then expect that none of the things that you expected are going to happen.  Problem solved.     Oh… and the toads, they’re massive here, and they don’t move even if you hit them or throw things at them.  Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I hate anything that jumps, so the toads in Morocco have forced me to change my chosen direction on multiple occasions.  

Built like many other Berber cities is the city outside of Volubilis built against a mountainside in the traditional manner to allow for protection from other invading tribes and a lookout to oversee the sprawling farmlands and grazing pastures.  We arrived in the city on a Saturday, the day after the obligatory Islamic Friday prayer day.  It is a huge market day, and the beginning of the wedding season, so men and women from all the surrounding villages had come to do their shopping that day.  It was very cool to walk around that day and watch people going about their business.  Here are some photos taken from the bus....

Volubilis

Volubilis

   After staying in Meknes for the day, we headed out to the ancient city of Volubilis.  Volubilis is an interesting paradox because it is built in Roman style, so the Moroccans don’t identify it as Moroccan, however historians know that Volubilis was built by Moroccans, and that it was only influenced by Roman architecture.  This is true about some other aspects about Moroccan culture; there are some aspects of Moroccan culture that Moroccans don’t appreciate because they don’t feel like it is theirs.  However, as is the case with Volubilis, there are blatant inconsistencies in the Roman-style architecture that indicate that Romans did not, in fact, build the city.  In looking just at the columns that were left standing in the city, there is a juxtaposition of Roman, Corinthian, and something Moroccan about the designs.  It was interesting to me that the guide at the archaeological site confirmed this Moroccan ideology- that Volubilis it is not Moroccan, that it is Roman, because nothing else in Morocco is like it.  I think that it is a shame that Moroccans don’t identify with this interesting aspect of their history. 

   Morocco is a cultural crossroads, and has been for thousands of years.  It serves as the passageway from Africa to Europe and from Atlantic to Mediterranean Sea.  As such the exchange of cultures, ideas and technology have been going on ever since the Roman age of exploration.  Morocco today is characterized by this richness of cultural diversity.  This is especially evident in the population that lives here.  After a short visit to Morocco, it quickly becomes evident that there are no people that are distinctly “Moroccan.”  You cannot look at someone and say that they are of Moroccan descent.  There are Berbers, Arabs, Europeans, and Sub-Saharan Africans.  Even the royal family is characterized by this ethnic diversity.  A long, long time ago, when the slave trade was prevalent in Morocco, women from Mali, seen as the most beautiful in Africa were brought to live in the Sultan’s palace.  Many sultans in Moroccan history were born to a beautiful slave woman from Mali, while their fathers were of Arab-Berber descent.

     The identity crisis that Volubilis represents has made it difficult to understand the culture and where it comes from.  But, regardless of where it comes from, one thing is certain and that is the fact that it is immensely beautiful.  

The ruins stand on top of a grassy plateau above fields of green olive groves and yellow grass fields. It was really beautiful the day of our visit, the sky was blue and there was a nice breeze.  When it got too hot, we just rested in the shadows of the arches and columns.  Although the architecture was really beautiful, the art was truly a sight to behold.  Still largely intact are floor mosaics of the Roman gods and goddesses.  Some have images of animals and people also, and all of them are truly amazing, considering their age is thousands of years old.  I could write more about it, but photos do it more justice…

Meknes

I couldn't leave you hanging with that bit on my desire to get out of this University. Yesterday we went to Meknes, the old, old, old Royal city that was founded three-four thousand years ago by mainly Berber people. When the Moroccan empire was founded, the king came to Meknes and made it the capital city. After that point, it became a center of Moroccan culture and learning. It is one of the oldest imperial cities in the country, and has a large (for Morocco) Jewish presence, reminiscent of the Roman occupation.
A few people asked me before I left, and I didn't know enough to clarify, but since I have been learning alot about Morocco, I have learned alot about the Berbers and who they are. So, here's the answer to the question that someone asked about who the "Berber" people are. Berbers are the indigenous people of Morocco, but hardly anyone can call themselves 100% Berber anymore because Morocco has become so diverse after such a long period, that peoples ancestories are all over the map. But, the people who were born in rurual areas speaking local dialects, in my experience have called themselves "Berbers."
So, we arrived in Meknes with a huge desire to explore and experience the city, and we hopped on a bus to the city shortly after arriving. I must have been really excited because I was one of the first ones to drop my bags and run downstairs. In the hussle, I forgot my camera. As soon as we got to the gate, I was sooooo bummed and it must have been evident, because our travel coordinator asked me what was wrong. I told him and before I knew it, I was being whisked in a taxi through the city to get my camera from the hotel. After less than ten minutes, we found the rest of the group and visited the mausoleum  in the city. It was truly beautiful, so we got out to take some photos and get this... my camera battery died. Perfect. After all that. God was for sure laughing at me that afternoon. Bretty Lou... guess what??? I got you a prize and it is amazing.

Please click on the video to enjoy some shots of the beautiful city of Meknes, one of the four imperial cities of Morocco.

Washing your hair with a bar of soap...

...isn't all that bad, but it is definitely less than ideal. We still don't have our bags, but they're on their way. I want to shave my legs so badly it's crazy, but again... "it's in my bag" is becoming the manifesto for this trip. Too tired to write, and off to Arabic and 6 hours of class. Our books are supposed to arrive tonight, and that 40 pages of HW just turned into 80. Yesssssss!


I think the lesson of the day is pretty self-explanatory.

College Life and Moroccan Architecture

Al-Akhawayn Univeristy is our "home base" for the next five weeks (and has been for the last week). It is nestled in the Atlas mountain and is nicknamed "little Siwtzerland" among locals because of its dominantly Swiss-French architecture. It was originally built as a French military base, and they chose this location because it is much more mild than the low-lying Medeterranian surrounds. It is very different from the architecture that you see in the rest of the country.
Traditional Moroccan architecture is like what you see in the Medinas like Marakesh and Fez. When the cities were originally constructed, they had walls (ramparts) built around them. They were a mixture of limestone and concrete. Homes were built in the same style, with tile zelijj and mosaic designs on the floors and walls to decorate them, and cedar woodwork in the form of beautifully carved doors, screens and ceilings that served to keep the warmth in in winter time. All of the materials they put in to the architecture of the region serve a purpose. The limestone/cement mixture keeps the homes very cool in the hot months, and the wooden ceiling keep the warmth in in the cool months, the carved doors and zelijj make them some of the most beautiful buildings I've ever seen. Carved screens and holes in the walls let in fresh air, so that air is always circulating in Moroccan homes.
In middle class and upper class homes, there is usually a courtyard with a fountain or trees, and sometimes both. It is open at the top to create a solarioum, with natural light sneaking into the rooms situated around the main courtyard (although some Moroccans have taken to putting up screens so that the sparrows that nest in the holes in the walls of the ancient cities don't take over their homes). Poorer familes wouldn't enjoy the sprawling rooms that the middle and upper classes enjoy, they live in more humble housing, often with one family occupying a room, five families in one home.
So needless to say at the university, being a "Modern" campus means sacrificing all that beautiful custom architecture and putting students up in sterile French-Swiss accomodations.
After five days stuck on a totally Americanized Campus, eating bootleg American food sitting in four hour lectures here and there, I was screaming inside. I was really just dying to get out and experience some real Moroccan culture.

Studies in Arabic

We had our first Arabic class this morning... ummmmmm..... it's so friggin overwhelming. But, I listened and payed attention so I got a50% on my first test. Having never encountered the language on a formal basis before, I was pretty darn impressed with myself. I can actually read most of the words and pronounce them in Arabic, but I have no idea what the heck they mean. hahahahahahah. But, I can read it and I can write my name, Joey's name and the word "chicken," so that's fun. We were supposed to have like 40 pages of homework tonight, but they didnt have our books today, so we got outof it. FYI... we are cramming a whole year of intense languageinstruction into 20 days, so I hope I can at least read in Arabic before I come home.
Tonight... research in the library, although I feel like the more helpful research will be done off-campus on our visits to the cities.
This weekend we will be going to Meknes and Volubilis (a Roman-Style Moroccan city), that were built thousands of years ago when Morocco was a part of the Roman Empire. Back then the kingdom of Morocco inclulded most of Northwestern Africa: Senegal, Mauritania, Mali, Algeria, Lybia and Moroccan (Western) Sahara. Studying the history of this place is really interesting. It has been touched by most other countries in this hemisphere because of its position between Europe and Africa, and it is soooo diverse. The architecture is beautiful and as soon as I get my stupid camera in my stupid bag I will take pictures and upload them. For now, back to research. Ma'assalaam.

Lesson of the day: Earplugs would have been a great thing to pack in a room full of teachers while learning Arabic. They all want to teach!!! ...yikes.

Moroccan Time

Casablanca --> Fez/ Ifrane June 23rd

Woke up in Casablanca this morning to the unmistakable sound of traffic that seems to be a common thread that all growing urban centers share. 18 out of 20 of us are still in the same clothes we traveled in, and everyone is a little grouchy. I have a change of clothes, but a mystery bug bite directly on my spine that is an uncomfortable reminder not to sleep with the windows open again.

Angela and I decided to head out of the hotel and see if we can get her a t-shirt and me some sandals because my tennis shoes were making my body temperature rise incredibly. I was just looking for plain rubber slippers, which were out of the question in Casablanca. It is the tourist center of Morocco, so a cheap pair of flip-flops were non-existent. We were relegated to the tourist-y, over-priced (although beautifully hand-made) Moroccan sandals. At a little under 200 dirhams, or about 18 USD, I have no doubt that we were severely ripped off, but after 20 minutes of walking around in the sticky heat, bartering was out of the question. We probably made that merchant's day.

After returning to the hotel, we hopped on a bus to Fez (air-conditioned, thank God 'Alhamdu Allah') and four hours later, arrived at the University. After being crammed in close quarters with the added drama of lost baggage and jet-lagged teachers, it was nice to check into our own rooms and shower. (PS- I've been dubbed the sleepy one because I slept the entire plane ride- both actually- and the whole bus ride too... but I was still tired when we got here.)

Not wanting to nap, although it is what my body desperately wanted to do, I went with a group of people to the local town to but some items that were still in their bags (still nowhere to be found).



Now, the good part....



The ride to town was beautiful, like Napa in the summer. Sprawling grass fields sprinkled with sheep, cows, and donkeys, groups of women sitting huddled in the shade under the trees and the occasional small Moroccan farm house spread out to the left and right of the bus. Although it was late afternoon (around five thirty), the sun was still high and hot in the sky when we arrived in town. Men found shade in the cafes that lined the streets (no women allowed in cafes in this town), little boys played soccer on the sidewalks, and taxi drivers shouted over one another to try to catch a fare. (Petite taxis were red in Casablanca, and are green here.)

Groups of women hustled here and there running errands wearing the traditional caftans, while little girls chased after them (all in American dress). Older women sat on the curb sides in entryways and storefronts scrutinizing people passing by and striking up conversation (usually in French, a clear residual impact of their former colonization), with anyone who seemed interested (or interesting) enough. Their caftans are floor-length, long sleeved and often hooded dresses of bright colors, beautifully woven with embroidered designs down the front middle and the face in the hood. It is the traditional Islamic dress here, but it is not uncommon to see a younger woman, my age walking alongside an older female relative wearing skinny jeans, a tank top and high heels. Although, doing so is sure to solicit some unwanted male attention. Here, it is not rude for people to stare and make comments about you, so they often do.
Also reminiscent of their former French colonization is the architecture, city layout and the ubiquitous cafes in the cities. Azure reminded me a lot of Montmarte, the city overlooking Paris. "An excellent comparison," noted one of my colleagues, "it's artistic but a bit edgy." As we went about our business of replacing lost things and acquiring Moroccan cell phones ( for about 280 MAD or 30 USD), some Moroccan men came up and struck up conversations with some of the men in our group. They would not usually speak to the women because men usually do not engage with women outside of their own families in public spaces. It's seen as improper to do so, unless she is traveling with a male relative. There is also a clear and distinct cultural expectation for women also to abstain from conversing with a man she hasn't previously met.
One of the men who came up to us became friendly with David (who I've nicknamed the "Ambassador" because of his uncanny ability to make friends with anyone, anywhere). The man, Aziz, invited us to his studio in the old medina where his female relatives make rugs and other tapestries. The women were shy and quiet a first, but gradually became more social and began talking to us in a mixture of French and Arabic. Although the women were in a private space, they were dressed very modestly. The youngest of the three sat behind the loom that was affixed to the wall, creating the beginning of what would be a beautiful woven blanket or rug. After a while, the oldest woman made us tea, a flattering offer because of the offer of friendship it encompasses.
The ritual of tea is a very standard custom for Moroccans. It is a ritualistic sign of appreciation for whomever you are serving the tea to, and as such, it is impolite to refuse when it was offered to you. Our driver was growing impatient and wanted to get back to the bus, but became more relaxed when the tea came around because he realized we weren't going anywhere at that point. I have no problem accepting it when offered to me, aside from the fact that it would be very rude if I did. I've quickly come to appreciate the sacred ritual for the sole reason that it is the best thing I've tasted since I've been here. The tea Moroccans serve is a mixture of Mint and green tea, mixed with an overwhelming amount of sugar (dental health is a huge issue here, as you can probably guess). The tea is fortunately served in small quantities, as drinking excessive amounts would surely send someone into some sort of sugar overload or diabetic shock. We sat and enjoyed the tea in Aziz's studio which was piled high with pottery, leather slippers, woven mats and leather cushion covers (which I have become completely obsessed and enamored with) and other ancient-looking trinkets. When we had finished, we made our way back through the old medina, the bustling downtown, and to the bus and headed back to the university.
On the way back to the university, the sun had settled to a lower spot in the sky and cast a warm yellow glow over the valley. Women gathered outdoors, more than were out before, as dusk is a very common time to walk around in Morocco (being that the day is so hot). There was a group of women huddled together in the valley, conducting some sort of business, I'm not sure what kind. It was beautiful though, in stark contrast to the yellow valley was a mass of moving bodies, their bright caftans blending together in a sea of color. Two little girls rode a donkey through the yard adjacent to their home while their father tended to their yard. A mother and her two children sat in the shade under the trees on a stairway leading down to a cool, picturesque pool of water in the middle of the park. While quiet and peaceful, the countryside is still so vibrant and full of life and movement at this time of day. Truly beautiful and enchanting to behold.
Just before we arrived back to campus, I heard someone say to Azeb, "I hope we get our bags tonight!" She responded, "We won't, but maybe tomorrow." Whoever posed the question grumbled and I giggled to myself... "Maybe never," I thought... Inshallah... Welcome to Moroccan time.

Lesson of the day... expect the unexpected in Morocco, where time is relative and the people here have nothing but time. Bon Nuit.

Inshallah

Airport-->Casablanca June 22nd

We were off to a good start after waiting 6 hours at LAX (hahahah, it was less than fun). The worst part was that Joey got in from Detroit 20 minutes after we left at the terminal right next to ours, which was a weird, annoying twist of fate. Then 10 hours to Amsterdam, running through the airport for our flight that was boarding, and a three hour flight on bug-infested Air Maroc. @ the Casablanca Airport we realized that our bags were not in the country. It was unclear whether there were in Amsterdam, or some other God-forsaken place in between. No one has any idea. 3 hours later (because only one agent spoke English, the other didn't... and she refused to make eye contact with us... and she spoke to every other Moroccan person instead of us) we gathered that they may still be in Asmterdam, but no one will commit to nor speculate on their current location. Great. All we know is that they might arrive in Fez tomorrow... Inshallah.
1st night in Casablanca, we had dinner at the hotel. We knew that there would be no alcohol, but a beer sounded so good after 24 hours of traveling. We asked the doorman at the hotel where the nearest bar was and fortunately, it was across the street. Unfortunately, there are no women allowed in bars, unless they are of the working variety. The boys were allowed to go, but there was no way under any circumstances that we were allowed to go. We had tea and went off to bed instead, leaving the guys to fend for themselves in Casasblanca at nght.
Ifrane in the AM, we'll see if our luggage meets us there.

Lesson of the day: Inshallah is something that we are getting used to already, after only a few hours here. It means "if God wills it," a religious manifesto that means both "maybe" and "I'm not responsible for what happens." I'm wondering how things get done around here. ;)