Hello again! It has been too long since we last met my dears! So much has unfolded since the stories of henna and that unforgettable trip to the hamman-the least of which is a complete transformation of life in Morocco! Whereas the days here once meant hunger, bad-tempered drivers, and quieter streets, daylight is now synonymous with the buzz of people shopping, going to work and school, and finally savoring all that yummy street food. The welcome return to normalcy arrived with the celebration of Eid Al-Fitr, the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan. My Eid Al-Fitr was a day characterized by a large midday meal, delicious sweets, and endless visits by family and friends. For the first time since my arrival in the home stay, I was able to see my family enjoy breakfast, lunch, and a slew of snacking in between. I particularly enjoyed watching my little sister reintroduce herself to the joys of an ice cream beneath the rays of the afternoon sun.
I should mention that when I say family, I mean the thirty or so mothers, husbands, fathers, brothers, toddlers, etc. that are somehow related to Mama Hafida. The house was packed with happy Moroccans encouraging me to eat and eat and eat. I jokingly reminded them in broken French that during Ramadan, I had eaten enough to make up for all of their fasting-all this to no avail-Mama Hafida insisted I have yet another cookie…and more of that incredibly sweet mint tea. At first my western mind-set attempted to calculate the caloric intake-but I soon gave up as I heard echoes of the advice of my wise big brother back home-“enjoy the food while your there Katherine!” I know he loves Moroccan cookies…so I symbolically ate a few in honor of him…and then a few more. Oh well, when in Rome!
As a result of the holiday, I got Monday through Wednesday off. Monday was Eid, so I spent the whole day at home with family. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I explored a bit of Rabat with friends-we spent some time at the beach, drank coffee (and of course, reviewed Arabic vocab), and relaxed in the park. I managed to get a run in along the shoreline-its beauty is a hazard-I’m prone to tripping while distracted by the sparkle of the ocean. Oh, and I have to tell you, when I run in my basketball shorts here, I usually receive a couple marriage proposals per mile. They usually come from the window of a car of from men by the side of the road. I’m touched really because Lord knows I am not a pretty sight when fighting the heat and pain to get up a hill! Oh the silliness of those men! On both days, lunch was a bit of a guilty pleasure. We felt a bit sheepish about this in light of the generosity of our families, but as we were a bit overwhelmed by the Moroccan cuisine, we sought out pizza, Chinese, and anything that reminded our little tummies of home! Although a bit pricey, the westernized food was worth every bite and every exclamation about our favorite dishes back home. All in all, it was a glorious holiday spent lazing in the sun and basking in the relief that the strenuous schedule of Ramadan was a thing of the past!
On that Friday, the BU group hopped on an afternoon train and headed to Casablanca. The train we took was surprisingly modern and actually made the Boston Commuter Rail look a bit shabby! An hour long journey that exposed us to a bit more of Morocco, the trip to Casa was spent reviewing Arabic flashcards while surrounded by Moroccans eager to help with translation and pronunciation. In exchange for help with our words, we offered them English equivalents and A LOT of laughter. Good times. I always seem to end up talking to people here, even though I don’t know much of the Moroccan dialect-funny how the importance of words fades into oblivion when you consider the power of your eyes and smile.
So, to put it plainly, Casa was crazy-an expensive type of crazy. Referred to as the NYC of Morocco, it is a bustling metropolis seemingly intent on mimicking the culture and pace of a western city. Relieved to have a bit of freedom, the group checked in at the hotel and set about trying to find a fun place to get some dinner and unwind. We found just what we were looking for in a Spanish restaurant/club called Bodega. Delicious chicken quesadilla, sangria, and a hefty bill-Casa caters to wealthy Moroccans and westerners…not really to students. I do have to tell you that the Moroccan businessmen sitting next to our group of girls in the restaurant wasted no time in buying us a round of drinks and some pretty exotic shots (they were on fire when the waiter brought them to us…total craziness) …we were students on a budget-of course we accepted. A bit pleased with ourselves, we headed to the club downstairs and danced till the wee hours-refreshing after the past few weeks of a lot of family and taxing Arabic lessons. When we eventually woke up on Saturday, we headed to the gigantic Hassan II mosque. It is the third largest in the world…incredible and unfortunately, deemed by yours truly as beyond description. Hopefully the picture will it sum it up! My favorite part of the trip came later in the day-a visit to an old cathedral famous for the view offered by a trip to the top. Not only did we climb the tower, but we walked on the roof and saw the sun set over the gigantic city below. A freeing feeling to say the least. That night, we hit the swanky beach clubs and did out best to find the cheapest seaside bar willing to serve up some cold beers and perhaps a decent G&T for one of us…hehe. Other than acquiring flea bites on my legs that I am just now getting rid of and being accosted by annoying Moroccan males, the night was good. I will say, however, that by the end, I was ready to head home to Rabat for a free bed and meal. Thank God for Mama Hafida, her wonderful home, and her delicious cooking!
The past week has been spent learning A LOT of Arabic, further exploring women’s rights in Morocco, and analyzing Moroccan poetry. Although Arabic lessons dominate my schedule, there is much to compliment my slow progress with the tricky language. Quite simply, I am falling in love with the work I am doing here; reading about Moroccan history and the unique forms in which it is expressed. Poetry, prose and song reveal the struggles of the nation’s people across the pre- and post-colonial history. Abstract writings by remarkable Moroccan women perfectly communicate their feelings of hopelessness, frustration, and in occasional cases, their triumph. Late into the night, despite knowing I must wake up at seven to take breakfast with my family, I can’t resist turning the next page, drinking in the words, becoming enthused by a single nation’s narrative and realizing that I am here, now, living the present chapter alongside the very people I continue to marvel over.
I must leave you now-tomorrow I embark on an excursion across Morocco with my fellow students. I am most excited as I am told the trip includes a camel ride in the desert and a night at the million-star hotel! I can’t wait to tell you all about it. For now, there is shopping and packing to do, more of Mama Hafida’s food to consume, and a skype date with my dear family! If you see my mum, give her a hug for me…miss that lovely lady. Biselama!
I should mention that when I say family, I mean the thirty or so mothers, husbands, fathers, brothers, toddlers, etc. that are somehow related to Mama Hafida. The house was packed with happy Moroccans encouraging me to eat and eat and eat. I jokingly reminded them in broken French that during Ramadan, I had eaten enough to make up for all of their fasting-all this to no avail-Mama Hafida insisted I have yet another cookie…and more of that incredibly sweet mint tea. At first my western mind-set attempted to calculate the caloric intake-but I soon gave up as I heard echoes of the advice of my wise big brother back home-“enjoy the food while your there Katherine!” I know he loves Moroccan cookies…so I symbolically ate a few in honor of him…and then a few more. Oh well, when in Rome!
As a result of the holiday, I got Monday through Wednesday off. Monday was Eid, so I spent the whole day at home with family. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I explored a bit of Rabat with friends-we spent some time at the beach, drank coffee (and of course, reviewed Arabic vocab), and relaxed in the park. I managed to get a run in along the shoreline-its beauty is a hazard-I’m prone to tripping while distracted by the sparkle of the ocean. Oh, and I have to tell you, when I run in my basketball shorts here, I usually receive a couple marriage proposals per mile. They usually come from the window of a car of from men by the side of the road. I’m touched really because Lord knows I am not a pretty sight when fighting the heat and pain to get up a hill! Oh the silliness of those men! On both days, lunch was a bit of a guilty pleasure. We felt a bit sheepish about this in light of the generosity of our families, but as we were a bit overwhelmed by the Moroccan cuisine, we sought out pizza, Chinese, and anything that reminded our little tummies of home! Although a bit pricey, the westernized food was worth every bite and every exclamation about our favorite dishes back home. All in all, it was a glorious holiday spent lazing in the sun and basking in the relief that the strenuous schedule of Ramadan was a thing of the past!
On that Friday, the BU group hopped on an afternoon train and headed to Casablanca. The train we took was surprisingly modern and actually made the Boston Commuter Rail look a bit shabby! An hour long journey that exposed us to a bit more of Morocco, the trip to Casa was spent reviewing Arabic flashcards while surrounded by Moroccans eager to help with translation and pronunciation. In exchange for help with our words, we offered them English equivalents and A LOT of laughter. Good times. I always seem to end up talking to people here, even though I don’t know much of the Moroccan dialect-funny how the importance of words fades into oblivion when you consider the power of your eyes and smile.
So, to put it plainly, Casa was crazy-an expensive type of crazy. Referred to as the NYC of Morocco, it is a bustling metropolis seemingly intent on mimicking the culture and pace of a western city. Relieved to have a bit of freedom, the group checked in at the hotel and set about trying to find a fun place to get some dinner and unwind. We found just what we were looking for in a Spanish restaurant/club called Bodega. Delicious chicken quesadilla, sangria, and a hefty bill-Casa caters to wealthy Moroccans and westerners…not really to students. I do have to tell you that the Moroccan businessmen sitting next to our group of girls in the restaurant wasted no time in buying us a round of drinks and some pretty exotic shots (they were on fire when the waiter brought them to us…total craziness) …we were students on a budget-of course we accepted. A bit pleased with ourselves, we headed to the club downstairs and danced till the wee hours-refreshing after the past few weeks of a lot of family and taxing Arabic lessons. When we eventually woke up on Saturday, we headed to the gigantic Hassan II mosque. It is the third largest in the world…incredible and unfortunately, deemed by yours truly as beyond description. Hopefully the picture will it sum it up! My favorite part of the trip came later in the day-a visit to an old cathedral famous for the view offered by a trip to the top. Not only did we climb the tower, but we walked on the roof and saw the sun set over the gigantic city below. A freeing feeling to say the least. That night, we hit the swanky beach clubs and did out best to find the cheapest seaside bar willing to serve up some cold beers and perhaps a decent G&T for one of us…hehe. Other than acquiring flea bites on my legs that I am just now getting rid of and being accosted by annoying Moroccan males, the night was good. I will say, however, that by the end, I was ready to head home to Rabat for a free bed and meal. Thank God for Mama Hafida, her wonderful home, and her delicious cooking!
The past week has been spent learning A LOT of Arabic, further exploring women’s rights in Morocco, and analyzing Moroccan poetry. Although Arabic lessons dominate my schedule, there is much to compliment my slow progress with the tricky language. Quite simply, I am falling in love with the work I am doing here; reading about Moroccan history and the unique forms in which it is expressed. Poetry, prose and song reveal the struggles of the nation’s people across the pre- and post-colonial history. Abstract writings by remarkable Moroccan women perfectly communicate their feelings of hopelessness, frustration, and in occasional cases, their triumph. Late into the night, despite knowing I must wake up at seven to take breakfast with my family, I can’t resist turning the next page, drinking in the words, becoming enthused by a single nation’s narrative and realizing that I am here, now, living the present chapter alongside the very people I continue to marvel over.
I must leave you now-tomorrow I embark on an excursion across Morocco with my fellow students. I am most excited as I am told the trip includes a camel ride in the desert and a night at the million-star hotel! I can’t wait to tell you all about it. For now, there is shopping and packing to do, more of Mama Hafida’s food to consume, and a skype date with my dear family! If you see my mum, give her a hug for me…miss that lovely lady. Biselama!
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