The Ancient Medina

We walk through the labyrinth that is the medina. At first I try to keep track of where we are going, but I easily forget as the narrow alleyways and streets all look the same. I see Berber windows, windows with carvings of the family name for Berber women to look out of. In the past, unmarried women were not allowed to go out of the house, only one day a week. So these windows allowed them to look out, without letting anyone look in. The markings on the window are similar to the ones that Berber women used to have tattooed on their face – with family information. It was their way of communicating where they are from when they went out.

Some of the streets are so narrow that I need to twist my shoulders sideways just to get through. So obviously cars are not allowed inside as they wouldn’t fit anyway. People have furniture etc .sent via the rooftop as that is the only way to get large items into the house. As I peek into homes with open doors, there are beautiful mosaics that line the walls. Fes, known as the home for many artisans and crafts boasts pottery, leather, bronze, and herbs. Youssef, the guy who works at the hostel took me to this awesome restaurant with a terrace that overlooks the entire medina. In all honesty I was freaked out at the thought of having to find my way back. But one thing I’ve improved on this trip is my sense of direction; which is usually horrible. I wander into the medina for a while and manage to find my way back.

I end my trip on the last night exploring the “new Fes” area, which is much more modern.

Fes

I knew that this was the oldest city in Morocco and I had to visit it. And I had to see the Ancient Medina in the city. Little did I know exactly how large the medina was until I got here. I just expected medinas in the city similar to the ones in Casablanca, Rabat and other Arab cities I’ve been to. However, the ancient medina here is home to 300,000 people and is surrounded by 25 km of defensive walls. There are 14 entrances, each gate more stunning than the next. Fes is the oldest city in Morocco and is split into 3 parts, the ancient, middle and new areas. As the ancient medina sits in a valley, there are 2 forts on the hills on either side of it. We drive outside of the ramparts to see these forts and the medina from above, just to visualize its sheer size.

Though I have a map, I am so confused and overwhelmed by the narrow alleys and streets of the medina. It reminds me of the medina we had entered in Rabat last year, and took us nearly an hour to get out as we could not see above and figure out how to get out. It’s like a labyrinth.

I stay in a riad here, an old Arab house with a few floors and a hollow center. You can look down to the bottom floor from the rooms. It reminds me of our time last year in Marrakech and enjoying time on the terrace. This one is cozier and smaller; I feel like I am inside a dollhouse. It is so surreal, especially with the intricate designs on the walls (paintings, murals, carpets and carvings) – maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be stuck in here forever..

Ramadan Continued

I am getting really sick of Pizza Hut and Mc Donalds, and KFC. I feel a personal connection with the staff and the other diners at these fine American establishments. What do they have in common other than being American fast food joints? They are the only restaurants open during the day during Ramadan. I don’t even have to tell the lady at Pizza Hut what I want anymore, she just knows. I smile at the other customers, usually French or Sub Saharan Africans, as we see each other almost daily, same time, same place, same order, for lunch. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.

I walk around Casa one weekend to check out the Hassan II mosque and I am parched. It is a sickening 88 degrees raging with humidity and I just can’t bear being outside anymore without being able to drink water. I guess if I looked more like a tourist and less Moroccan I would be less offensive. But I still do not want to drink water in front of others. So of course, like clockwork, I go to Pizza Hut, eat lunch (usually the salad bar, as the thought of eating pizza daily totally disgusts me).

Then I realize the lack of food options and further more places to eat food makes me miss home. I get annoyed that I can’t just buy similar frozen or pre-prepared items that I normally buy in the States that I also managed to find similar versions of in France and Dubai when I lived there. But this is all part of the trials and tribulations of being abroad, away from home..blah blah. A week later at work, I am doing research on the agro-industry sector of Morocco and everything clicks. There in plain text, in a thick 200 page report on the state of the Moroccan economy. Therein lays the answer to my annoyance; as to why there isn’t a demand for such products and why it is so difficult for the sector to flourish here. I find this rather amusing and subsequently forget about my annoyance, satisfied with the answers provided.

It is hard to stop things that are second nature, or subconscious to our being. For example to chew a piece of gum, or to drink from a bottle that is held in my hand. There are the cultural differences and shocks that one must get used to.

Though I may talk a lot about my frustrations, I have enjoyed the time here as well. As I am not fasting, I treat Ramadan as a time for reflection. A friend of mine that had worked with me in Dubai last summer decided to give up sweets during this time, thus being my inspiration to use it as a reflection period. Sharing iftar with my Moroccan host family every day is something phenomenal. The typical meal consists of dates, harira (lentil soup), chabekia (something to the effect of jalebi), eggs, bread, etc. 

To just feel as I am part of this whole month and see how the city is transformed is quite wonderful. After iftar, the streets are flooded, the malls are open and the city of Casablanca is alive. I am confused to see malls open at midnite, and people shopping for clothes. As I sit in a taxi at 11pm to meet a friend, I see people getting their hair cut. I am perplexed and astonished, but that is life here, and now. People really don’t sleep at all. Perhaps the one time every year that Arab cities around the world resemble the city that never sleeps.

Rabat

Rabat is the complete opposite of Casablanca; the capital of Morocco, it is much quieter than the frenzied essence of Casa. The streets are wider, less people, very clean (of course since the King resides there) and calm. I go to visit some new friends and instantly feel the difference. As we drive along the Corniche, I notice the hazy sun shining on the water. It is just like the hazy sun on the beach I had imagined in Camus’  L’Etranger. The hot Algerian sun, which I assume looks the same all across the Maghreb. The waterfront is not your typical beach as there are cliffs and rocks that line the water, with patches of green (seaweed perhaps).  

Once in a while, it is nice to escape the craziness that is the life of Casa.

India

tbd

We’re Not Dead

“We’re not dead”..says a friend, ever so casually as we had just crossed over the train tracks.

“In fact, someone died just last week while trying to cross the tracks”. 

So why did this simple phrase strike such a nerve. I wonder. That’s right. We aren’t dead. But we could have been. It sends a shiver down my spine. The Colorado shootings that recently took place and other instances surrounding mortality in the recent few days have got me thinking.

I recall questions posed by two of my friends about my wandering nature. 

Why are you always wandering?

I guess I like the adventure and challenge. 

You realize you can find the same thing just at home.

I guess so.

Why do you want to deal with developing world challenges when you can deal with bigger challenges elsewhere?

 I don’t know.

 I start to think about these things more deeply. Why am I always wandering, what exactly am I looking for? Why do I want to forever been in this ambiguous and unrealistic phase of wandering and wondering what will happen next? Why here? Why not my own country. Every minute of being here in Morocco forces me to think of India, whether I want to or not. From the garbage lining the streets, to the smells, to the yells of the vegetable vendor on the street. The utter chaos that is life here, is that of India. So then why didn’t I go there, make a difference there. Why here, not there?

This entire city reeks of India, in the most endearing terms of course. And now I’m off to India for one week. I think it will be a good time to reflect on my time in Morocco by completely removing myself from the country for some time. Perhaps I will have a more objective view.

At least I have been spared one more chance to figure it out.

Ramadan 2012

Honestly I was scared. I didn’t know what to expect. Are they are strict as Dubai when it comes to foreigners drinking and eating? Will I starve? Even worse, what if I have to eat at Mc Donald’s everyday for lunch, I don’t want be like a dude from Supersize Me. I know a bit extreme..but I can’t help it.

It is nice to see everyone praying together in the streets – even if the reason being for lack of space elsewhere. I feel the sense of community. The first day it is dead –I go to the beach, dead. The mall has decent amount of people, but both places mainly have families with children.  Though like a ghost town during the day – the city comes alive at night with everyone is out and about after iftar. After, people hang out on the Corniche, the mall, or go sit in cafes and people watch. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing a lot of. Sitting in cafes and watching people as I sip on mint tea. 

As the hear the call to prayer around 7:35, I know once it is done, it is time to eat. I also hear it at 4am one day as I could not sleep well. But in all honestly, though I am truly enjoying the environment here during Ramadan, I do miss the culture at home. Being able to grab a drink with friends, or just drink whenever I want in general. Partially it is the fact that there is a restriction in place, mainly due to my surroundings and circle of friends that have led to these circumstances.

French Architecture

Many of the buildings in Casablanca were architected by the French, with the intentions of making it look like Marseille. What a coincidence that this city (which I’m loving more and more as the days go by) was designed based on my other favorite city. I vaguely remember reading about this before I came here, but honesty did not see anything that resembled French streets, or buildings for that matter. I met a Kellogg alum last week and he mentioned it again. This time I made more of an effort as I’d walk through the street to take a moment and look at the buildings, and not assume they are all the same off white now (due to the dust) boxy looking buildings. As I walk through a shopping square, I see a French style building right in front of me. They are everywhere, you just have to look at little more intently and use a little bit of imagination as they are kind of run down and old. Translating this to my experience here, makes me realize that I need to spend more time just observing and watching before make any sort of judgments. Not to mention that my opinions are ever changing and constantly fluid, taking different shapes and forms as quickly as the winds change. To be honest, this is the first time this has happened to me in all my adventures and travels. I do not know how I handle and manage all of these contradictions and hypocrisies. Perhaps it’s time to stop thinking so much.

Men in Morocco

This topic really bothers me. I don’t know what is wrong with the men here. Or actually many of the men in the Arab world as I recall from my past travels. If I knew how to yell at them in Arabic, I would. Do they not know how to treat women? Are they this delusional about the role of women in society and how they can treat us? They act as though they never have seen a woman in their life. Cat calls, hissing sounds, making obscene comments. It’s disgusting. Do they not have mothers and sisters that they would think of and be ashamed of their behavior towards women?

So this was my first impression of men here. So to better understand this mysterious social phenomenon plaguing the Arab world, I asked a diverse group of people.  One girl says it is just part of the culture and just to ignore them. And to say something back is like fighting with a dog, and to not stoop to their level. One guy says they just learn by example, being on the streets, and not everyone does this. Even he doesn’t understand it at times. Another friend says to just take it as a compliment and not take them too seriously.

For now I will keep my mouth shut now.

But let’s see how long that will last…

Arabic 101

I haven’t yet been able to find a place to learn it and my Rosetta Stone, I can’t install it. But Moroccan Arabic is different than Classical and has a lot of French mixed into it. I realize my difficulty with Arabic is my complete inability to pronounce 90% of the words as they have those nasal and deep sounds such as “Hra” and “khra”. At least I provide a sense of comic relief to the family who always get a few laughs from my horrible pronunciation of some French words and even worse elocution of Arabic words.  But I hear a lot of these words daily, so I am slowly building up my vocabulary (words such as, hello, how are you, yes, no, etc), even if I can’t speak at all properly. Something is better than nothing at all.

This is the frustration of not knowing the language. It has been hard for me to find Arabic classes and let alone the time. I will learn some day, adding it to the bucket list now. There is nothing more infuriating and more of a blow to your ego than not knowing the local language. You can add zero value to any conversation and feel rather helpless at times. Though many people speak French, Arabic is the main language. 

Culture

It is surprising how similar Moroccan and Indian culture are. The people are hospitable. Casablanca itself reminds me in many ways of large Indian city. The streets, the people, the smells, the traffic, the vegetable vendor in the morning all remind me of India. So in a sense, it makes me feel at home,as I have a little piece of home here. And what’s even more funny is that Moroccans love Indian culture and Bollywood movies. They love Shah Rukh Khan and loves the colorful outfits and songs in the movies. One night, I was watching an India movie in Hindi, with Arabic subtitles in the home with women – how random. I stay with a family of another intern at SCA, and I was quite nervous at first of being plunged into a Moroccan family, hoping I will somehow fit into their lives. So far it has been fabulous, they are so hospitable and nice. Hanging out with the family and others I have met here – I have learnt a lot about Moroccan culture. From the food to the furniture and how they live daily. I even got to listen to some typical Moroccan and Berber music. Many people here are either only Berber or mixed Arab and Berber. I just remember these distinctions from a famous book called Nedjma by Kateb Yacine – an illustration of the bloody history of Algeria.  The family members say they will speak to me only in French as to help me learn. The aunt only Speaks French – so I teach her English and I learn French from her. They also teach me some words in Arabic.

For me, the greetings are awkward. As an American, I like my space. I don’t like to kiss random strangers that I don’t know. The standard greeting is 3 kisses on the cheek.  As a Moroccan friend said of his visit to the US, people in America are so cold. I feel the exact opposite of the people here. They are too warm –  too close for comfort. I have tried many a time to just shake hands, but that doesn’t work all too well all the time. I will try, but I really don’t think this is something I will get used to.

Boiling Point

Frustrations…

…of not knowing the language and in turn, not understanding people. And of not knowing what to do...

I realize it’s not so easy to work in different languages – not being to do simple things or struggling through the simplest of things that you would never think about in real life – ie how do I get to work- how do order food when I’m not understood – how do I get around when I don’t know where I’m going – men and really pissing me off– AHHHHHH – but then I remind myself , this is what I signed up for. 

The challenge of all these things ..you have good days, you have bad days, it’s a giant roller coaster, with the hopes of self-discovery and improvement in the end. As when you are stuck in a rut, you must look for different paths, truer answers. So what do I do when I feel homesick – missing the ease of life in the US and my family and friends? I watch sappy Indian movies for comfort and to learn Hindi :).

Adventures in Spanish Morocco

Tanger. Tetouan. Martil. Cabo Negro. M’Diq. Fnideq. Tanger Med.  I think that just about covers it all. Four days and somehow I found myself in all of these cities on our adventure to Northern Morocco aka Spanish Morocco. Let me say one thing, traveling around this country without a car it a complete pain in the ass. I am on this trip with a co-worker and miss our train to Assilah, so we end up taking another train to Tanger 2 hours later and the train overall takes 6 hours. 11 people crammed in a compartment made for 8 people. The sun is blaring into the compartment and I wonder if the AC is even on. Fun times. I can’t breathe. So what else can I do but try to sleep the entire time. We finally make it to Tanger and I am ready to see the town. As we drive through the town on our way to the Kasbah, with the famous lookout point to Spain, I see how beautiful the city is. Right on the waters, the buildings are all painted white and different shades of blue. Reminds me of Mykonos. The lookout point affords a nice view of Spain in the horizon, a mere 20 miles across the Straits of Gibraltar.

I realize here that I am screwed. I don’t speak Arabic or Spanish. And most folks here don’t really speak French or English. Once colonized by Spain, this city has a lot of Spanish influence. Reading the signs causes total confusion as they are in a mixture of Arabic, French, Spanish, and English. We ask a women on the street how to get out of the Kasbah to the city center and she is so friendly, walks with us and in those 15 minutes, proceeds to tell my friend her entire life story. Apparently many men marry like to marry women from the North (like Tanger) because they are very beautiful, yet she is unmarried. It’s funny how sometimes people are so friendly and open here. As we take a scenic taxi ride from Tanger to Tetouan, the roads are filled with Moroccan flags. If the King is in the area, the streets are decorated with tons of flags, so as the taxi driver said, the King is here, somewhere in the North. The contrast of the red flags with the blue sky, green land, white houses, and blue houses makes a remarkable color combination.

At the beach at Cabo Negro, I see a strip of rocks similar to one I used to frequent in Marseille. The last time I was there, I couldn’t get myself to walk all the way to the end, something I was rather disappointed in myself for not being able to do. Why? Not being able to walk to the end translates to a lack of independence, freedom, courage, and the right amount of risk. So this time, when I saw it, I knew nothing was stopping me. I see young boys jumping from boulder to boulder with such ease. But for me it wasn’t so. Stay focused. 15 minutes later, I made it to the end. Success.

Another city here that I really liked is Fnideq. Right on the water, there has been a lot of investment into the beautiful city. There is a pristine white and blue mosque in the center of the city.

Random Things I’ve Noticed

The Hot Mess that is Casablanca

They are building a tramway and metro system in Casablanca, scheduled to be completed by the end of 2013. But what does this mean for its residents now? Complete chaos and construction everywhere. I walk through construction sites daily on my way to work, taking different detours daily depending on where the new construction is. The traffic is also horrendous at times due to this project. It is faster for me to walk to work, than to take a taxi, which could be stuck in traffic for over 30 minutes.

Grand vs Petit Taxis

So I think I’ve finally figured out how the taxi system works here. There are two types of taxis “grand” and “petit”. The grand taxis charge a fixed rate and can take a max for 6 people. Which means 2 people in the front passenger seat. The first time I did this, I was rather hesitant; holding onto the car door for dear life hoping it doesn’t pop open as the driver hugs the curves as though he is the a participant on the the Monaco Grand Prix. The petit taxis can only take 4 people and run on a meter. One interesting thing, both taxis just pick up and drop off people as they go so you already ways crammed into the taxi.  And I’ve figured the easiest way to get around is by just giving them landmarks.

Religion

I meet people with different ideas on religion. I learn a lot about Islam, a lot that I don’t know about it, especially. They comment on the similiartiy bt Islam and Hinduism, though I teach them about my religion as well. One theme seems to resonate – Islam and Arab culture are very different things and sometimes the two get mixed, causing a misperception of the religion in the public eye. Especially in the Western World. 

Cuisine
Fresh fruit juice is my new thing here. I’ve pretty much tried all of them – from OJ to apple, banana, and pear juice.  This sounds weird, but avocado juice with dried fruits is to die for. It is so thick and full of flavor. Yum. This is also the first time I’ve tried prickly pears – in the mid day’s heat, a cool pear is very refreshing. Lastly, behrer, I probably completely jacked up the spelling, but it is a Moroccan pancake/crepe that you fill with butter and honey. Then roll it up and eat it. Deelish.

The Trains..or the Sauna of Death

It took a couple of train rides for me to understand how it works…or in this case doesn’t. The first train I took to Tanger was 6 hours, in the heat, the AC wasn’t really working and tons of people cramped into the compartment. Then I realize I should buy a first class ticket. I do this, and it works out well for my train to Rabat which is just one hour away. I think this is the answer to all of my problems, just buy a first class ticket. On the way back from Fes (a 4 hour ride to Casa), I had secured a seat in first class. Little did I know, this doesn’t matter either. The sun was glaring and I was hot. The train AC was working, but no enough. Then within half an hour, it starts spewing out warm air. Is this a joke? I try to open the window, it’s stuck. I walk out of the compartment, and it’s even hotter out there. The doors of the train are also closed. Welcome to the sauna of death. I frantically start pouring water on myself as I feel like I’m dying. It looks like nobody else is breaking a sweat. Is there something wrong with me? No, the Moroccans are just used to it. I effectively just took a bath in my own sweat. And lucky for me it was also scalding hot in Casa and it took me all day just to feel like I had cooled down. When I tell my friends the story, they just laugh at me, knowing all too well how it works.

 

A Day in the Life at Sister Cities Africa

The trials of working for an NGO, especially in a developing country is somewhat of an adjustment. It is like “bootstrapping” in entrepreneurship. You just kind of go with the flow, don’t know where things are, don’t have all the supplies, there are slow connections, sometimes no internet.  But either way it is still fascinating. I get the chance to work with an organization that is doing really amazing work and I can make an impact. Not to mention all the personal challenges of working in a multilingual environment. Conversations take place in Arabic, French, and English. My mind spins in meetings as I hear words from all 3 languages thrown around. I find myself having to translate French documents and speak in French to do my work. Working in French is no joke, but I am glad at least I get a shot at it. 

I meet with the head of the organization in his office to discuss on projects and what to do. I will head up a trade mission in order to attract American businesses to North Africa. How will I do this? I have a no idea, but am not too worried. In the midst of the buzz in his office, he starts spewing out random names and cell phone numbers of government officials and ministries that I should contact and meet with to discuss the project. We get interrupted by a phone call – there is a problem in the slums and they ask for his help. He then calls a news station so that they can get some footage of the issue. We continue discussing the project, then he discusses his radio spot this evening to confirm which language he will be conducting the interview in.  

The next morning I walk into the office to see a camera crew shooting video of the boss and folks in the office. This is awesome. The staff in the office is super friendly and are all working on really interesting initiatives from the Cultural Center, Global Youth Festival, Health Center, to promoting partnerships with U.S. Cities. I can see myself changing the world, one day at a time, here, while sipping on the famous Moroccan mint tea.