Fastidious fasting

Ramadan.

One of the five main pillars of Islam, observation of the month of Ramadan occurs during the 9^th month of the Islamic calendar (which is Lunar based and therefore changes every year according to the Western calendar). From dawn until sunset, all Muslims of adult age and good health are forbidden to eat, drink, or partake in sexual activity. As a resident in a country that is 99.9% Muslim, I find that fasting is not so much a religious requirement as a social inevitability. Although we are not required to fast by any means, we are encouraged by several sources (program directors, guide books, host families, etc.) to at least attempt the fast during the first week or so to gain the experience. Now entering into day 3, I find that most of the local people with whom I have conversed ascribe a certain respect to those who choose to partake from free will. Those of you who know me well know that I love a challenge of will power, and along that line, I intend to continue the fast through the entire month (with the exception of travel, which is also granted to muslims).

The logistics of a daily fast. The premise of sunrise to sunset fasting results in the reversal of sleeping and waking patterns. During the course of the evening and night, we eat three meals to make up for the daytime. The first meal to break the fast comes during the call for prayer at sunset (around 6:30 pm here). At all times during the year, the calls to prayer of the several mosques in the medina can be heard loud and clear from anywhere in the city – particularly from the open roof of my old medina home. Once the call begins, we gather around the table to take part in the traditional ‘break-fast’ which consists of Harira, a soup mixture of vegetables and beans and the occasional meat, and an ecclectic collection of sweets, including dates, mini-croissants, and other goodies. After a serving of the traditional mint tea, the family lingers in the living room to watch some of the special Ramadan programming on television (one comedian does a special show only during Ramadan). After a while, the family disperses to go about their own business – going out for errands, reading, doing homework, or my host mother’s favorite, sit around and talk. My personal choice is to nap until the second meal around midnight. This meal usually contains the typical dinner spread with Tagine or similar main meal with bread and fruit for afterward. As soon as this is finished, we all go to sleep until the final meal just before the sunrise call to prayer at 4:30am. In talking with my fellow students, I have found that my family has the more abrupt approach to this early meal. Some students have a light breakfast of yogurt or bread placed by their bed, and they merely wake to eat. Others do not even eat this early morning snack. In my family, our mother comes into the room, flips on the light, and yells “Kuhlee, Kuhlee” (eat, eat!). We all have to wake and drag ourselves to the kitchen table for coffee, mint tea, biscuits, and occasionally yogurt-like sweets. As soon as possible after this meal, I head back to bed only to wake at 8am for my 8:30am Arabic class.

Although I have only gone through one full day of fasting in which I have classes (Ramadan started on Sunday), I find that it has not greatly affected my performance; however, I do notice slight difficulty in maintaining attention during the 3 hours of Arabic. I now use my entire lunch hour to be on the internet, rather than the last half. As much of the other businesses in the medina, the center in which we have class has adjusted its hours to Ramadan and closes at 3:30pm rather than 7pm, which means we are booted out directly after our lectures. This situation is for the best, as we all should be resting during the day since we are not eating; however, many of the locals take it upon themselves to continue an active lifestyle during the day, regardless of the fast. My sister went with some friends to a local park, and she noticed hundreds of people running and exercising in the middle of the afternoon. I admire these people, for although I welcome a challenge to my will power, I prefer to keep the games with my metabolism down to minimum. For now, I plan to work out with my sister at the local gym between the ‘break-fast’ and late-night dinner. Through it all, I find the hardest part to be abstaining from liquids, as I am prone to dehydration in everyday life. In fact, the fast, I dare say, would be quite easy were I able to drink during the day. Older children are often required to fast, but they are allowed to drink during the day on every other day. Should it come down to it, I may start this children’s fast. For now, though, I am enjoying the experience, and learning far more about the religious aspect of the culture and society during this time of reflection and prayer.

Snails and Orange Juice

A Few Observations about Daily Life in Morocco.

I suppose I will start this post with an explanation of the title. Based upon my experiences thus far, I do believe I will be returning to Morocco later in life for the sole purpose of drinking the orange juice. I don’t even like OJ in the States, but here, you cannot lose. It is the wonder drink. My most common source is a French Pattisserie near the hotel where we stayed the first week in Rabat. After a long day of classes, my friend Emily and I often retreat to this safe-haven (one of the few cafes that is not only male clientelle) for a nice, tall glass of heaven. Unfortunately, the other most common treat for Moroccans is served on the street outside our café around 5 – boiled snails. The odor that drifts along the sidewalk near these vendors is one of the most unique and unusual I have ever experienced. I have not yet discussed with any locals the draw of such an odd commodity, but the people come in droves to these stands to get a bowl of steaming snails, which they pick from their shells with straight pins or safety pins. The strangest part of this all is that the same vendors that sell orange juice during the day switch over to selling snails at night. I can honestly say I will never get orange juice from said vendors. For now, I rejoice in the refreshing glass of OJ I find in my little niche in the big city of Rabat.

Harassment. During the orientation week, while explaining what we have to look forward to this semester, our academic directors cited only one negative experience that is unavoidable and most irritating – street harassment. Apparently, in this society, it is acceptable for men to call out to women in the streets, or even follow them. Granted, the cliché American construction worker can occasionally be a bother, they couldn’t hold a candle to these Moroccan men. I have seen a man walking in a manner that indicates a determination to reach his destination – until he spots a foreign woman or a woman in less clothing than full cover. At which point, the man turns a full 180 and seems to have no other business than to follow this woman. Because we’re easily identified as foreigners, the girls in our program are particularly victimized. Now, I have personally not experience a moment when I felt threatened, but I have had several occasions where I had to change my course or plans because of the irritation of men following me or trying to get me to speak to them. Some of them go so far as to come up beside us and talk right into our face. The problem here lies in the fact that if we respond, we grant them the permission to continue heckling us. The only advice the program advisors could offer was to ignore them unless they physically touched us, which they will rarely do. Now that I have become comfortable with the city, I find that the harassment is not a huge issue. In fact, a few of my girlfriends and I have made a game to see who gets the most creative responses. These guys will try every language and every catchy phrase they can (although their language skills in general are so limited that they are not quite like American pick-up phrases.) One of my personal favorites was when an older guy, perhaps in his late 60s, passed by Emily and me and responded with “Alhamdillilah” (meaning “praise be to God”) in quite a skeezy voice. Although this does contribute to one of the few frustrations I have with my lack of independence here in Morocco, I find that I am not phased by the harassment as long as I am not alone.

Traffic. In the past three weeks, I’d like to think that I have re-mastered the art of crossing the road. Unlike the States, where we usually wait for both sides to clear completely before making our way across the street, in Morocco, one doesn’t have that much time. The locals here do what we call “halfsies” in which they go halfway once the traffic from the left clears then wait in the middle until traffic from the right clears. Often, to achieve this in adequate time, one has to step out nearly into a car. Should said car decide to veer a little to the right at just that second, one’s foot could very well be run over. In addition to the peril of crossing the road, navigating the roads in a vehicle is equally dangerous, and the drivers here are quite creative. Most of the cars here are tiny little Fiats or something of the like. On the main roads, traffic is just thick and drivers impatient. There seem to be no rules regarding passing or maintaining lanes. In the small alleys in the medina, in which most of my life here is centered, cars are allowed to come, although most cannot fit. The few that do have the guts to enter the medina often come with little regard of the people walking around the area. As an alternative to the cars in the medina, many people have motor bikes. These guys are dangerous. They really do come winding around corners and shooting through straightways without hesitations at major crossings. In honesty, if I am to obtain an injury while here in Morocco, it will probably come from a motorbike. Our program guidelines require that we do not ride motorbikes while here, a guideline which I am thankful to obey. For now, I am happy wandering the streets of the medina and dodging the traffic.

Mint Tea. Moroccans love mint tea. And by love, I mean they have it whenever they get an opportunity. Every afternoon, when I come home from school, we have tea. And it’s not your standard hot tea—it’s sweet, sweet, sweet hot mint tea. They like sugar here, which is nice, until you have it constantly every day. When guests come, we have lots of mint tea. When we go to cafes, the most ordered drink is mint tea. When we eat out, the meal ends with mint tea. Throughout the suqs, vendors sell the trappings of tea – several varieties of mints, multi-packs of beautifully decorated tea cups, stacks upon stacks of tea kettles. Although I may get sick of the tea while I am here, I do believe it is one of the habits that I will try to apply to my life at home. Tea after classes? I think so.

MMMmmm Good

Now that things have once again fallen into routine, I thought it a good time to update on the general life in Rabat, Morocco. From the daily meals to the market experience, life here is drastically different from that in the States and far less Westernized than I had expected.

Food. The first questions I have received from most people regards the food. What do we eat? When do we eat? How do we eat? Usually I am tempted to respond as such – I eat food at meal times. But of course that does nothing to satiate your curiousity, does it? The typical Moroccan family eats 3 – 5 times a day (except Ramadan which I will address at in later post). This typical family also eats around a table in the living room or family room from a large common bowl. Islamic tradition dictates the use of the right hand only when dipping into the common bowl or platter. Using bread as a utensil, one dips into the main dish, commonly called Tagine (after the large clay conical ‘crock pot’ used to cook the food). Usually, tagine is made with chicken or veal and potatoes. This meal is the ‘typical Moroccan meal.’ Throughout this past description, I emphasize the words ‘typical’ because as most of you know, ‘typical’ doesn’t typically apply. In my home, dinner is usually far lighter than Tagine with familiar meals as pasta and sauce, flavored rice, or meatballs (my favorite).

My day is typically as follows. Every morning, my mother wakes with me to fix breakfast (against my insistance that she rest) which consists of coffee and milk and some bread item—a roll, some french bread, or Hasha (a biscuit very similar to corn bread, only better!) My walk to the center where we have our classes takes about five minutes, and I go every morning with one of my fellow students who lives with the family downstairs. From 8:30 – 12:00, I have my Fus’ha class (Modern Standard Arabic). We have only 5 students in my class, and our teacher does not speak English – only Arabic and French. Luckily, two of the girls in my class speak French and aid in translation from time to time. Although I am starting to pick up on some French, it is quite difficult to actively learn three languages at one time. In general, my Fus’ha is proficient enough to get the point across with my teacher (thanks to my lovely summer class with Usteth Nasser). After Arabic, we have lunch at the center, which is cooked by the most wonderful of people, Brahim. He is truly a great cook. We usually have Tagine or some other equally delicious meal. After lunch, we have our seminar. The topic of this changes daily, but the two generic types are Cultural Studies and Field Study Techniques. We have FSS once a week and the other days are CSS. We have just completed the unit on Women and Religion and are moving on to Cultural Representation in Morocco. Usually, we finish class around 3 or 4. The center, where I find my wireless, is open until 6, so I typically stay there until I finish up my emails. Then, it’s all up to me what I do. Today (Thursday) I went to Marjane with my American Moroccan sister and my friend Emily. This expanse of Westernization is very much like a super Walmart combined with a mini-mall. Truly an experience. At home, I study or read until dinner around 9:30pm. Pretty soon after we eat, it is typically time for sleep.

The late dinners derive from the tradition for stores and workplaces to close for up to 2 hours during lunch to allow for a large meal and ‘siesta’ (pardon the cultural transfer). Even though this traditional no longer continues, the Moroccan people as a whole have yet to adjust and continue to dine quite late comparatively.

For now, I will leave this post, but I will post again soon about Ramadan, as I know you are all wondering how that works in a country that is 99.9% muslim.

Into the Mountains...

Greetings from the wanderer! As of this weekend, I am a travelled Moroccan. After an exhausting 48 hours of touring, I have experienced my first time returning to Rabat as ‘home.’ Our first excursion, “The Four Dynasty Tour,” took us through Meknes, Mouley Idriss, Volubilis, and finally Fes.

After a two hour bus ride from Rabat, we arrived in Meknes, one of the four Imperial cities (along with Rabat, Marrakesh, and Fes). Unlike Rabat, the city appeared more spread out and intertwined with neighboring fields and farms. Our first stop was in the Moulay Ismael Granery and Stables. The granery, with its domed ceilings and three-foot-thick walls was still in good condition (even after a severe earthquake many years ago). The stables did not fare so well because the roofs were flat and thus not earthquake-sustainable. The design of the stables, however, was flawyless in practicality. Built as rows upon rows of large, wide columns, the perspective allowed the slaves in charge of the thousands of horses to view hundreds of them easily from a single point. From an aesthetic perception, the stables were singularly phenomenal. Along the tour of Meknes, we also viewed the tomb of Mouley Ismael and the Bab Mansour, the most famous gate of the many walls.

Another 45 minutes brought us to Mouley Idriss and Volubilis. Perched atop a prominent mountain range that grows out of nowhere in the Moroccan plains sits the small town of Mouley Idriss. Named after the first prominent Islamic ruler and home to his tomb, this small community seems to have been arbitrarily placed in the mountain scenery. Most of the people move goods with the help of load-barren mules because of the narrow and steep alleys that wind about the medina. Our group received lunch at a traditional house overlooking the city, and after the traditional Moroccan tea, we had to leave this lovely village. A seemingly misplaced relic of Roman times, Volubilis was once a substantial city a few miles from Mouley Idriss. Shook by the same earthquake that destroyed the stable roofs in Meknes, the entirety of Volubilis crumbled years ago. Archaeologists have since reestablished parts of the temple of Apollo, the Forum, the city Gates, and other sites. We decided to extract at least 3 facts from the tour of Volubilis, and the 5 that I recall are as follows:

1. Olives upon Olives – Olives are differentiated according to age, not species. Green olives are the youngest, followed by red and black olives. The blackest of the black are used to create olive oil.
2. The origins of “horny” – In one of the exquisitely designed mosaics that remained almost wholly preserved, Diana is depicted bathing with her nymphs. A stranger, Action, is spying on her in a corner of the mural. When she learns of his dishonorable actions, she condemns him to a life as a deer. Therefore, in the mosaic, Action is depicted with horns and perceived as a ‘horny’ man!
3. Selfish about their Art – The mosaics in the homes of the Romans were always upside down from the entrance, because they believed that the viewing of their artwork was a privilege only allowed to those who are invited inside the room.
4. “Ass Backwards” – A common form of entertainment and also torture as depicted in another of the mosaics involved a blindfold, a donkey, and one unlucky fellow. In the depiction, a man is shown with his eyes covered riding a donkey backwards, which is apparently an unfortunate experience.
5. Smelly Socials – The latrines present in the Roman ruins are meant to allow for several people to be seated at the same time, and archaeologists speculate that the latrines were quite a social experience.

Just before sunset, we had to leave the ruins for Fes, where we enjoyed a lovely dinner in the most tourist-y restaurant I have ever entered. The entertainment provided a melting pot of Moroccan and Arabian entertainment from musicians to belly dancers to a magician. Although the intentions were innocent, I could not help feeling as though I were witnessing a mockery of the culture – an imitation of the reality in which I had been immersed for two weeks. After a restful evening in a swanky hotel, we embarked on an extended tour of the medina in Fes—and by extended, I mean 4 hours followed by lunch and another 2 hours. Features along the way included the Royal Palace, the Jewish Quarter, the southern fortress, a traditional plaza (with hammam, ferran, fountain, and mosque), the Qarawiyine Mosque and University, the blacksmithing area, the tanneries, Moulay Idriss (son) Mausoleum, and the caravanserai (weaver’s market). Quite an exhausting experience, this tour took us through the labyrinthe that is the Fes medina. Over 9,000 streets twist and turn through covered and open markets and homes.

The people in the medina were far more aggressive than those in Rabat, and at times, I found myself overwhelmed by the tenacity of the merchants and harassers. Apparently, I have “the look of an American, but the face of a Berber – the eyes of a Berber” – just one of the many creative lines thrown to me while walking through the medina. Lunch brought a relaxing moment and a blood sugar boost. After lunch, we went to the Bouananiya – the most amazing of the Fes sites and one of the lesser known. This madrassa (school) was originally an Islamic school. As you enter into the main courtyard, your gaze is pulled upward to the open sky by the myriad designs on the walls, gates and pillars. Within the courtyard, there is not a blank, untextured surface. Every door and wooden support is intricately carved with patterns, and every wall is either carved plaster or tiled mosaic. The sheer workmanship in the room took my breath away.

After a few pensive moments, we were whisked away from the medina and granted an evening free to collect our thoughts and enjoy the city as we pleased. As presented to us by our program directors, this weekend was intended to enlighten us to the tourist experience in Morocco. I personally hate being a tourist. I have never felt more uncomfortable and stressed as I did walking the narrow streets of a crowded city as a group of 14 to 28. After this experience, I opted to return to the hotel and relax at a café with friends – a most pleasant experience. After a light dinner at the hotel with the group, my friends and I wandered in search of a taste of America – pizza. We succeeded in finding a restaurant just before closing and were most graciously received by the waiters, for whom I am sure we provided much entertainment. After a taste of home, we returned to rest for our voyage back to our new home – Rabat.

Rockin' the Kasbah

Let me begin by apologizing for the lack of communication this past week. Because of the design of the orientation week, I was not able to access a reliable connection to the internet that did not involve a French keyboard and un-airconditioned attic. For now, I have wireless from 12 to 6 here (8am to 2pm EST), but between 1 and 3 I usually have lecture. Point being, I will be trying to be on skype or AIM (carolinacutiekt for both) during those times.

Enough of logistics. Morocco. I am in Morocco. Incredibly, I made it here alive and with all of my belongings (although 23 of us were stranded in Paris on the first night thanks to a 2 hour taxi out of JFK). From the very second we began our descent onto the tarmac at Rabat airport and I caught a glimpse of Arabic script on the landing signs, I felt an intense twinge of excitement and anticipation. Immediately, we were shuttled into the city and fully immersed in all things Rabat. From a tour of the center where we will have classes to the trek from the center to the hotel through the crowded marketplaces on Avenue Mohammad V, the program leaders made sure we knew we were in Rabat. On Day two, they prepared us for ‘the drop off.’ Up to this point, the only information that we were given regarding the ‘drop off,’ aside from the ominous title, was a subject which we were to research during our experience. When the time comes to board the bus, we all grow a little tense. Soon, we learn the reality of the ‘drop off’ as the first victim was literally dropped off at a rolling stop at least a mile from the center. The bus continued to drive around the city, winding through the many unfamiliar neighborhoods and streets of the medina. My less directionally-challenged tried to keep track of the turns and swerves of the streets in hopes of having a general direction. As we all lack in language skills, the fear of needing directions once alone was terrifying. Did I mention we were alone? We were not to speak to anyone from the program should we cross paths. Completely alone in a foreign city with limited language skills – such is an experience into which one does not ordinarily walk. Although I had rehearsed the general question scenarios in my head before jumping off the bus, I found my little knowledge of standard Arabic to be completely useless, as most people in the older medina do not understand anything but Moroccan dialect or perhaps limited French. So I made it back to the center with the help of one storekeeper who understood when I gave the name of our hotel. Although terrifying and intimidating, this experience will no doubt be one of the most unique and exhilarating of my life.

So the rest of the week consisted of acclimating to the city and life as study abroad students. Then came the move-in. This past Thursday, I met my host mother during a small reception at the Center. She did not speak English, but one of her daughter’s friends was there to greet her student and helped us to communicate. On Friday, we moved in. Which brings me to my host family. My father is the cutest old man alive. He has a history of illness that limits his diet and he doesn't really move around much—he just watches tv all day. But every couple of hours he comes and finds me whereever I am "Katie Katie Labas? (how are you?)Bikheir?" *thumbs up* then he'll wander away. He's so precious. My host mom is precious. She doesn't really ever stop talking and she seems determined to make me learn French. I have one brother who is 19. I don't think he knows English and he seems a little shy as well so it is a strain to communicate. He'll acknowledge me in the street, but that is about it. I also have two sisters, Meryem 23 and Chawla 20, who are interestingly different. Meryem rarely leaves the house and when she does, she veils. Chawla usually goes out at night and wears very western clothing. It is an interesting dynamic. So far, my experience in the house is a light regard by the parents, but generally, they go about their own business and I keep to mine. Just yesterday, I found out that I have another American student living with us. She did the summer program a few years ago and has returned to do more research. Charismatic and charming, she is quite an addition, not to mention a helpful buffer with the whole language barrier issue. Although I was worried at first, I do not believe it will hurt my learning experience at all.

I think that basically catches us up. I apologize for the lack of quality in my writing, but I do not always have time to wait for a muse. As we have begun Standard Arabic classes (3 hours every morning) as well as the lecture series, I am inundated with studying and reading every day. In addition, I am trying my best to keep up a journal and contact my family every once in a while, so if I am delayed in responding to messages please excuse me. And along that note, I would love to hear from everyone about how life is going for the rest of the world!

Masalaama!