The End

Even though I've arrived back in the states, I figured I should do one last post about Morocco as a final farewell to this blog and the trip.

On Thursday, we had our final exam. There was a large paragraph to read and translate, matching, verb conjugations, and writing our own paragraph on ourselves. It was really nice to have a final display of everything we'd gone over. 

Lauren and I with henna

That afternoon, we had a "henna party" where a lady came in and did henna on everyone. I actually really enjoy henna. At some group insistence, I got corn henna on my ankle (which was somewhat ironically funny in Morocco, but has become much less ironic and funny upon returning to Iowa. It's also the darkest out of all the henna, which is exactly how I imagined things would work out for me.) But I really love how henna looks and the tradition behind it. 

Arabic 101

That evening we went to dinner with our teachers and our language partners. We took a class picture with our teacher Fadoua. One girl, Kayla, is missing from this picture, but otherwise this is our whole class.

Then Friday, we had final presentations. Everyone picked a different topic and presented about it entirely in Arabic. This seemed like a bit of a stretch for some of us who had just learned the alphabet a little more than a month ago, but I thought everyone pulled it together nicely. My presentation was on Moroccan carpets: their origins, how they're dyed, the women who weave them, how to find a quality one, etc. Translating phrases like "originating from Nothern Berber tribes" and "darker yellow requires cow urine" is why this project sucked up a lot of my time. Other kids presented on French influences in Morocco, the royal family, or Moroccan pottery. I thought all the presentations were pretty good, especially considering how little some students had come in knowing. 

Fadoua

Then we truly said final goodbyes to the language partners and teachers. I told Fadoua that she was the greatest because no other teacher would've put up with me. She replied, laughing, "I know." Then she started laughing so hard that she cried reminiscing over my 6 week run in Arabic 101. She said she was really going to miss my very unique catchphrases, such as "Frick, Fadoua," "Gosh dang it, Fadoua," or "Really? Really? Who came up with that?" Some students are just treasures.

oona-May

I said goodbye to Moona, my Darija teacher. I taught her Pig Latin two days before we left, so she wished me goodbye as "yra-Kay." Moona was fantastic as well. That whole Pig Latin thing is another story though, complete with the confusion about how to exactly explain when you use Pig Latin. That exchange went something like:

"Does everyone speak Pig Latin?"

"Well, no. But everyone kind of knows how. People just don't. Except little kids do sometimes, for fun."

"So everyone knows how to speak it, but really no one does."

"Pretty much."

She then went on to explain that in Darija, sometimes people will just start talking backwards for fun. Darija was complicated enough for me, without the knowledge that some people will speak it backwards for kicks and giggles. I did not need that knowledge right before I left. Oh my gosh.

After all of those goodbyes, we went upstairs for the final debriefing, where I found out my house was going to be the 2nd to last picked up on "The Trail of Tears." They stop at every kid's house, one by one, and pick them up. I was pretty happy that I would miss most of that.

We all then lined up to say our last goodbyes to Sarah, the greatest and sassiest group leader ever. 

I then went on a final trip through the medina. I got another carpet (I am so weak in the face of carpets). I bartered the whole thing in Arabic, including the small hiccup where I wanted a smaller carpet and in one specific color. I felt pretty accomplished. I then went to say goodbye to the beach.

I'm still convinced this is the best job in the world

I should preface this with the fact that I went to the beach by myself, which was probably not a smart idea. On the way there, a group of boys yelled something along the lines of "Little girl thinks she can dress in long clothes and not get talked to? She's very wrong. How are you, little girl? I think she's Dutch. Are you a little Dutch girl?" and kept on walking past. I thought I was so fortunate to have a very clear picture of the last time I would get harassed on the street. There it was. (I've mostly skimmed over this happening on the blog, but it is a daily occurrence.) Anyway, I walked a little quicker to get to my favorite spot on the beach. I said goodbye to that view, and the ocean, and I went home.

Our host mom, who is so incredibly sweet, made us a bunch of extra Eid treats to take home with us, and about 60 cheese sandwiches for the plane ride. Catherine, Elizabeth, and I all packed up our suitcases and waited outside until the bus came to take us to the Casablanca airport. We said  goodbye to our family. I felt so bad for Manal, I think she took it really hard. Wiam gave me a list of song recommendations (she's such a sweetheart) before we headed to the bus. We said a final goodbye and then made our way for Casablanca. 

Flying sucks. I'm going to say that right now, because I feel like I've been through enough to make that generalization. We got the the Casablanca airport and had to go through every kid as they weighed their luggage. Mine was about 1 kg over, but they let it go. One girl's was 5 kg over the limit, so I guess they're pretty lenient with checked luggage weight at 1:00 in the morning. But then, as we headed to security, a guy stopped us and told us that we all had to weigh our carry-on. A lot of weathered travelers in the group said that they had never had to weigh their carry-on before. We had been advised to out all of our heavy breakables in our carry-on, so many people weren't going to make it. What was going to kill me was my coke bottles, I had 3 in my carry-on and together they weighed about half of what the whole carry-on was allotted. If your carry-on was overweight, you were going to have to check it (which cost over 100 dollars).

I knew mine was overweight, so before it was my turn, I took the coke bottles out of my carry-on and precariously balanced them on top of my personal item. I weighed my carry-on (10.4 kg, .4 kg over the limit but still technically "10 kg" so he had to let it go.) I then rolled my carry-on behind a wall and shoved all of the coke bottles back in and continued through security. So nice try, "I'm going to weigh your carry-on" guy, better luck next time.

We barely got on that flight. After all of the necessary extra bag checking and weighing the carry-ons, we pretty much hopped on the flight and it took off. 

We flew to Frankfurt, where I had my first true hot dog in over a month. I met two Iowans, one sporting a Hawkeye shirt and the other a Cyclone shirt. Everyone from the group thought it was so funny that I had found other Iowans in Germany. I think Iowans just naturally find each other in foreign places, because it's like a magnet to both be from the coolest state in the US. 

The group with the latest flights

Then we flew to Washington DC, which was a 10 hour flight and just about the longest thing ever. I had 4 different seats during that flight (a mom wanted to switch so she could sit next to her kids, my TV didn't work, a girl from the program wanted to move). When we finally got to DC, it was like a real trail of tears. We said goodbye to the kids from DC, then we watched terminal by terminal as kids left. There were only about 8 of us left with later flights, and we all camped out together to wait for our flights. I couldn't help thinking that it felt like the 10 little Indians story as a person would stand and say "I should probably go." Everyone would stand, say goodbye, and sit back down. It ticked down one by one, until it was only me and the girl from Minnesota sitting at the original spot between the D16 and D18 terminal. We said goodbye at 4:45 and that was it.

I caught my flight to New Jersey at 4:50 (again, I was not a fan). I arrived in the Newark airport and witnessed the fire alarm go off 4 times. Each time was followed by the message that smoking wasn't allowed in the airport. Then, as a flock of birds flew over my head, indoors, I felt so justified in all of my complaining about flying through New Jersey. Not a fun time.

Wandered around in the airport, got a little lost (because it's me and it's not really an authentic experience if I don't get at least somewhat lost). I found my terminal, met some people I knew from Iowa, and waited for the flight to Des Moines. 

I finally caught the flight back to the good old DSM. I met my parents at the airport and drove through B-Bops on the way home. Apparently B-Bops is just an Iowa thing? Everyone else is missing out. I also had my corn. It was totally worth the wait.

Anyway, now I'm home and I desperately need to unpack so I can pack everything back up again for college. Since my summer is basically over and I'm not longer in Morocco, I suppose it's natural that this is where this blog ends.

Although, fair warning, I found 200 dh in a pocket soon upon arriving home, and I've decided that this is a sign that I'll be back someday. But until then, thanks for reading about my summer in Morocco. I hope you liked my little collection of stories and experiences. I certainly learned a lot from them, and I hope you enjoyed reading about them. Until next time!

Tetouan, Chefchaouen, and Eid

Eid Mubarak! Ramadan is over and I can finally eat Magnum Double Chocolate bars in broad daylight. Alhamdulillah.

This week, one of the Yes Abroad alumni that I met took me to the “Mega-Mall” in Rabat. When I heard “Mega-Mall” I was assuming some kind of mall that would be somewhat bigger than just a normal mall. I was wrong, the mall was painfully small. A lot of kids on the program talked about how comforting being in a mall was, but I disagree. Some sweet corn is comforting, being in a mall was just about the same as being in the McDonalds. It’s cool to see, but doesn’t have the same feel. I also got some frozen yogurt there (add this to the list of foods I miss). It left something to be desired.

Our group project this week was a trip to the Sale medina. It’s a much more practical medina than ours in Rabat, in that most items are being sold for daily usage rather than for tourists. It felt more like a legitimate medina, but I also don’t really need household item so there wasn’t a lot of shopping to be done. However, I finally found a gift for my father, so I suppose it was all worth it.

Last Friday we made our departure up to Tetouan and Chefchaouen. I was really excited about this trip. Northern Morocco is incredibly close to Spain and so many citizens up there speak Spanish. My Spanish is just a couple skips over survivalist, but I have a much better grasp on it than I do on Arabic. It was nice to be a little more comfortable communication-wise than I've been in the past 6 weeks.  

Anyway, we first made our way up to Tetouan, where we stayed at a resort right off the Mediterranean. I was pretty pumped about seeing the Mediterranean, and I wasn’t disappointed. It was really beautiful. My Tetouan roommates and I walked along the beach and picked up shells (which were huge, by the way), and sort of went swimming. The water was really cold, so the whole group lasted about 7 minutes before evacuating to the heated hotel pool.

We then went to the medina in Tetouan. It was very large and crowded, and I didn’t really get that much. It’s cool to compare the medinas though. The more “authentic” medinas I visit, the more I realize just how much Rabat caters to tourists.

But something happened in the Tetouan medina that made my night. Like I’ve said before, the kids in the group poke fun at how much I love Iowa. This means that we end up talking about Iowa a lot. The more we discuss it, the more I really miss things from Iowa. Namely, sweet corn. Anyway, my group is meandering around the medina, when suddenly I see two little girls walking around gnawing on some corn. I now know it’s out there.  We run around quite a bit until I see it- my corn. I ask the guy, in Spanish (PTL for Spanish) if I could just take a picture with his corn. He looked very confused. But he says yes, and I finally get a reunion picture with my corn. The guy was hardcore judging me in the picture, and I don't even care. Alhamdulillah for corn. I didn't get any though. My mom says that she has a bunch waiting for me at home, and I wouldn’t want to adulterate my memory of sweet corn.

Anyway, after the medina we all headed back for the hotel. I really wanted to look at the stars from the beach, so I dragged my Tetouan roommates (Charlotte and Jenny) down to the beach. We just kind of stayed out there for a really long time. At about 2:30 in the morning, I went back to the hotel room to get at least some sleep. I woke back up at 4:00 and went out to see the sun rise over the sea. It was completely and totally worth the sleep deprivation. At 6:30 we all headed back to the hotel room.

The next morning we had the option to stay at the beach or head out with Sarah to a souq. Of course, I like making things hard for myself, so at 8:00 I got up to go with about 9 others to go see this weekly souq that was about an hour away from Tetouan. The souq was very crowded because Eid was approaching. A group of us just walked straight through the souq and headed for this huge gravel farm. They had these giant gravel piles that we climbed up. It was really cool to see how this town was just encased by these huge mountains. Never has the panoramic function on an iPhone been more relevant.

After climbing down and reuniting as a group, we took a very scenic drive to Chefchaouen.

Chefchaouen has got to be my favorite city that we visited this whole trip, and we’ve seen a lot of pretty cool cities. I would go back in a second, right now if I could. The big tourist pull for Chefchaouen is that the whole city is painted blue. We got there that night and just walked around the medina. The different blues painted on doorways and on streets was breathtaking. Everything was just so picturesque. We walked down all of these different alleys, stumbled upon little girls practicing a dance routine, and bought trinkets at these stores tucked away in the walls. I loved it.

However, after all of that, I was operating on very little sleep and so I went to bed at like 11.

A problem that I’ve been encountering a lot recently is that I can’t sleep when it’s light out. I’m like that little girl from Frozen with the “When the sky’s awake, I’m awake” thing. In Iowa, I apparently have shades that prevent this problem. In Morocco, I don’t have that luxury. So every morning, like clockwork, I’m up at 6:30. So, when I woke up at 6:30 in Chefchaouen, I figured I should get stuff done. I went down to the pool and swam around, by myself, until the sun rose. It was maybe one of my favorite parts of the whole weekend trip. I was the only one in the pool, or awake at all for that matter, and I just got to watch the sun come up over these mountains and slowly light up the city. It was pretty awesome. I then packed my suitcase, talked with a friend for 30 minutes on her birthday, read part of a book, wandered around (and got lost in) the city, and ate breakfast all before my roommates even woke up. On the city note though, I got lost in that city for an hour and a half. I started out and somewhere along the way realized that I had no idea where I was. It’s very hard to remember landmarks when literally every landmark is blue.

During that walk though, I saw a lot of really adorable cats, so I feel like it was worth it.

After everyone woke up, we wandered around the medina a little more and then got packed up to go home.

That night, I had ftour at Charlotte’s house. Because I live with vegetarians, I had yet to try the harira with meat. It was really cool to see how another family functioned- they had bucket showers and also bucket toilets of a sort. They also watched TV during dinner, something we were told at PDO that happens frequently in Morocco, although my family never has.

I’ve been kind of scrambling to put my final project together and study for the last test on Thursday, so that’s what I did during the last day of Ramadan.

Then we had the first day of Eid. Our host mom made a variety of insanely good Moroccan treats and she and my host dad dressed up in their traditional garb. Eid is a day when friends and relatives come and visit. Guess who came to our house? You guessed it- Marwan. He looked adorable as ever in his little traditional outfit and tiny hat. I died.

Manal, Catherine, Elizabeth, and I

We spent the whole day talking on the couch, looking at pictures, and eating the treats. Eid is seen as a day set aside for family, so we hung out all day.

That night I went out with Chloe and Kayla. We were just going to walk down Mohammed V Avenue, but we stumbled upon what was, as best as I could tell, some kind of Moroccan military marching band show. There were elaborate routines and entire bands riding on horses through the streets. It was pretty incredible, but even more so because we had just found it by chance. It was like an equivalent 4^th of July. Everyone seemed pretty happy that Eid had come.

Anyway, we're going to be leaving in about 2 days. I had the scary realization last night that I have more gifts to get and a suitcase to pack. I also have a test to study for and a project to do. I'm not even going to think about actually leaving until it's absolutely necessary. I mean, I love my corn, but I'm not sure I want to leave yet.

Marrakech

I have found the only hebebe I care about. His name is Marwan, he is five years old, and his parents are the caretakers for the building I live in. Every time I pass him on my way out the door, I’ll ask him “Lebes?” and he’ll reply “Lebes.” We’ve been doing this for about 4 weeks now. I eventually worked up to asking him for his name and his age. Then I met his brother, who seems to be about as old as me. He speaks English very well, and I told him that his little brother was absolutely adorable. He then called Marwan out of his room and into the hallway, and told him to give me a kiss on the cheek. I died. I have found the only hebebe I need. He’s one of those five year olds who rides a plastic tricycle around the lobby and makes the car noises while he does it. Or he will throw the ball at the wall as hard as he can and chase it around until he catches it. What a cute kid. I asked his brother if I could take him home with me and he said “my mother probably wouldn’t like that.” I definitely couldn’t fit him in my suitcase anyway. Oh well.

I’m getting the point of have a daily example of how klutzy I am. We live on the 2^nd floor of a 4 story building, where the ground floor is considered the 0 floor. One morning, the caretaker of our building was mopping 1^st floor, (one floor below mine but one before I get to the ground floor.) I stepped off the stairs and slid a little. I did the windmill arms to keep myself upright. He looked very concerned and did the stop-sign hand that’s kind of double as a “do you have your balance” and I gave him the “I’m good” wave, the “thanks for being so concerned but I totally got this.” I painstakingly walked over the incredibly wet floor, and got to the next set of stairs. I was unaware he had mopped these as well. I put one foot on the stair, and watched in slow motion as my foot swung vertically into the air. I smashed backwards into the top stair. It was not fun. I now have five very colorful bruises because of it. When I got home that night my host family had a good laugh over how all of these accidents seem to happen to me. It's just a gift that I have.

Our Arabic class during break

We've still been hitting the Arabic grind hard. Next week we have Eid so there won't be class until Thursday, meaning that we've have about 2 days of class left. We've been speeding through rather quickly. One of my favorite language disparities that happened this week had to do with my host family and some glass coke bottles. In the Oudayas there’s a café that serves Coke in glass bottles with the words “Coca-Cola” written in Arabic on the side. I thought that was the coolest thing in the world, so I down a coke just to have the souvenir. I asked some of the other members of the group for their bottles as well. Anyway, I brought these bottles home with me, and they sat on my shelf for about a week. When we returned from Marrakech, I asked my host father where they were. He said something along the lines of “Sellway” and I thought he was saying “Sale,” like the city right next door. I figured this meant he had thrown them away and there was some kind of dump in Sale. I later asked a Moroccan friend and he said that “Sellway” is the word for garbage. Incidentally, the city of Sale is sometimes called “Sellway” by outsiders because they think it’s a dump. Either way my coke bottles are gone so I’m going to have to go back and down some more Coca-Cola. Ugh.

On my 3rd glass of orange juice

We went to Marrakech this week, and I really enjoyed it. We only went to the medina and the Majorelle gardens, so we didn’t get an extensive view of the city, but I did enjoy the parts we visited. I spent like 8 hours in that medina. The shopkeepers there are incredibly impressive- they can converse in multiple different languages on the turn of a pin. Although it’s kind of disheartening when someone immediately begins the conversation in English because then you just know that you reek tourist. Great. I also had like three glasses of orange juice there. There have got to be 50 orange juice shops, all selling 4 dirham glasses of orange juice. It was amazing. I’m also almost done with gifts, alhamdulilah. I think I have something for every family member, except my father, because he is impossible to shop for.

Marrakech at night

I wore a new jellaba in Marrakech, and I got 27 comments on it (a boy in our group counted). Random shop owners would be like “beautiful jellaba, Fatima.” I have no idea if they were trying to lure me into their shop, or if they were just mocking me, but I thanked every single one who said something. I felt so good about that jellaba when I left. Like, according to the shopkeepers in the Marrakech medina, I pretty much had the most beautiful jellaba known to man. Yeah, the more I think about it, the comments probably weren’t genuine. Ah, whatever,

 We went back to the medina at night, and it was incredibly cool. There were snake charmers and monkeys, contortionists and thousands of lamps. It had totally transformed since that afternoon. The change was amazing.

One stairway leading to the house

             The next day we went to the Marjorelle gardens. It had been the former home of the Yves Saint Laurent. There was a whole garden segment with extensive trees and flowers and sharp contrasts of blue and yellow. It was absolutely beautiful. There was also a large blue house in the center of the garden. He patented this specific shade of blue and used it throughout the garden. It was such a gorgeous shade of blue. I can't get over how absolutely stunning it was.

Anyway, we’ve got exactly one week left before we head back to America. I would like to take the next few lines to question why on God’s green Earth I am being flown back through New Jersey. Why am I not going to Chicago? That makes no sense to me. We have a boy here from New Jersey, and I was explaining that there is probably only one flight to Iowa because Iowans don’t tend to go to New Jersey, so if I missed it I was screwed. We got into this whole tizzy about New Jersey, where I learned that no one says “New Joisey” and that only one member of the “Jersey Shore” cast is from New Jersey. He also tried to claim Billy Joel, but I firmly believe that New York gets to lay claim to Billy Joel. But still, why not Chicago? If I get stuck at an airport, I do not want it to be in New Jersey. At least if I was in Chicago, I would know exactly where to go if I got stuck.

I’ve also started to put together a list of food that I really need to eat in the 14 days I have before I head out for college. Mom, this section is specifically for you. My list of foods that I miss: sweet corn, raspberries, bacon, ham balls, actually just anything made with pork, sesame chicken, sweet corn, Qdoba, pad thai, cheesecake, and sweet corn. The repetition of sweet corn was intentional. I need to get my hands on some sweet corn. Really badly. We talk about it a lot on this program due to my love of Iowa, a

nd the more I talk about it, the more I realize I would really like some good old Iowa sweet corn. A boy from upstate New York said that they had pretty good sweet corn, and I told him he had no idea how good sweet corn could get unless he went to Iowa. I also need some Dr. Pepper, because I haven’t had that for 5 weeks. That’s longer than when I gave it up for Lent this year, and it was willingly when it was for Lent.

When we started this program, they told us that we were citizen ambassadors for the United States. I feel like I am doing a much better job acting as a citizen ambassador for Iowa. Because I can rave about Iowa for hours. Is there a state that has nicer people, cuter towns, and better sweet corn? No, there isn't. I've had four people tell me that they would like to visit Iowa after hearing me talk about it. I never thought I’d be sitting on a bus preaching about how much I love corn mazes, but that has happened more than once. I get a bit of crap about my enthusiasm, but I feel like it is my sole duty to promote Iowa’s tourism industry. So far, I’m doing a pretty good job, If I do say so myself. It’s not like a have a lot of work to do though, Iowa pretty much promote itself.

Now the group is headed up North for the weekend. I’m pretty pumped about finally getting to use some Spanish, and also seeing the Mediterranean. Hopefully I won’t trip over too much while I’m there.

I also apologize if the blog posts are pushed together in the coming days. Due to a lack of wi-fi this weekend, I'm going to have to push a couple of events together that happened quite a few days apart. Just pretend along with me.

An Abundance of Hebebes

In the past 7 days I’ve gained 1 carpet, 2 books, 5 hebebes, and multiple band-aids.  It’s just been one of those weeks.

Our group excursion this past Tuesday was to Khemisset, a small village with a famous weekly carpet souk. I really wanted a rug. I asked the group leader for her book on traditional Moroccan carpets because I find them so fascinating. I read the whole thing. I love carpets. The way in which they make each of the dyes, create each carpets to reflect the region it originated from, and how the whole lifestyle of those who weave carpets play out is so incredibly interesting. So I was really pumped about finding a rug.

The problem was that my mother also told me that if I found a rug for the house, I should get it.

I couldn't handle that kind of pressure. I found a rug for myself, but I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. It neither fits my bedroom or my dorm, I just loved it. I didn't, however, see a rug I liked for the house. I needed like a dark green, or maybe a light purple of some kind. These bold reds and oranges didn't match and it tore me apart on the inside. I was disappointed that I didn't find anything, but there’s always Marrakech (this is becoming my new catch-phrase).

Our familial trip this week was when our host mother took us to a city nicknamed “The City of Beautiful Art.” All of these artisans had gathered into a city and put all of their works on display: paintings, woodwork, metal work, and every item you can think of in clay form. These clay pots were everywhere, drying on roofs and swallowing the entrances of their respective stores in huge piles. It was quite impressive to see the amount of artisans in this city in one concentrated location. It was also neat to see all the stages of the clay posts- from the shaping to the drying to the finished product.

I feel like an uncultured swine at my house. Elizabeth and Catherine are constantly reading books with lofty titles like “The General’s Daughter” or “Dune.” I love reading, don’t get me wrong, but I also love binge-watching Netflix. They actually make me feel bad with how little TV they've even heard of. (“No M*A*S*H*? No ‘I Love Lucy’? No ‘The Office’? Or ‘Andy Griffith Show’ or ‘Community’ or ‘Breaking Bad’ or ‘Monk’? Guys?)

So since they don’t have that much TV under their belt, we talk a lot about their books. Whenever we talk about books, they’re all about these left-wing utopias they just read while my latest contribution is Mindy Kaling’s “Is Everyone Hanging out without Me? (And Other Concerns)”. While Kaling’s book was hilarious and I highly recommend it, by no means did this book serve as a parallel metaphor to Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. So I've resolved to fix this problem. I asked our group leader, Sarah, for a book from her traveling collection. I now intend to actually march around the house carrying James Joyce’s “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” (You may have heard of James Joyce because of, oh, you know, Ulysses). Whenever someone asks me what I’m reading, I also intended to introduce it that way. “I’m reading James Joyce’s ‘A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.’ James Joyce, as you know, wrote Ulysses. Yes, Ulysses. No, I have no idea how I got to be so cultured.” Maybe then I’ll stop feeling so bad that I have some episodes of the Cosby show down by heart.

This week could only be described by the term “an abundance of hebebes.” Hebebe, as I have chosen to transliterate it, is technically “one true love” in Arabic. On this trip however, we’re choosing to use it to describe a person who has expressed interest in a girl in the program. Certain female members have many, others have few. I didn't really enter the hebebe game until this week. A group of us decided to go down to the beach where we met some Moroccans sitting around in a circle strumming guitars. Eventually we joined them in singing some American songs.

Truth be told, I was a little mystified by what is popular here. Songs like “All of Me” and “One More Night” have hit it big, and I understand that. What I don’t get is The Dixie Chicks and John Mayer being huge name artists with the young population. These kids at the beach did “Daughters,” which I knew, but after that I was pretty much done for a while. They also played some Stromae and I discovered, years behind everyone else, that I really like Stromae. I've played a cycle of “Papaoutai,” “Tous Les Memes” and “Alors On Danse” all of this week.

I absolutely loved hearing how they mixed these genres of songs together. It was a testament through song to how Rabat melts so many cultures together. They played some more traditional sounding songs for us as well, the most popular being “Zina,” which I’ve heard quite a few times since being here.

It was a fantastic experience and I loved it. But I know what you’re thinking- where do the hebebes tie into this? What a good question.

My family shuts off the wi-fi every night anywhere from 12:30 to 2:00, so the first opportunity I had to check Facebook was the next morning. I should preface this with saying that they only knew that my name was pronounced “Kyra.” Not how to spell it, not my last name, my age, my state, really not very much to go on. I woke up with 3 friend requests and various messages about how they had loved that night. I immediately sent screenshots to my father because of our ongoing gag that I am going to get married in Morocco. I just wanted to let him know that his joke might be realized here shortly. Anyway, I’ve racked up about 2 more hebebes now. We went back to the beach later that week and strummed and sang again. The beach is my absolute favorite spot in Rabat. The vast beauty truly is astonishing, and I love the people there.

In other news, I bit the dust pretty hard this week. One night, on the way back from the beach (not a night we were singing with the Moroccan group though), I had a slight problem crossing the road. To get home, I have to cross over a highway of sorts. There are 6 lanes and they are divided into three sections by two lane meridians. On my way across, I tripped over the first lane meridian. While tripping, I slammed my toe on one side of the meridian. I then crashed over the top and skidded into the middle of this busy road. I stumbled across the rest of the highway with one suddenly very slick shoe. I didn’t get hit by a car, but I had taken off a lot of the skin on my toe. It was actually looked pretty awful, and happened at a really inconvenient time (about 20 minutes before my curfew, and I was across town). I called Elizabeth and said something along the lines of “I don’t want to say my foot is gushing blood, but it’s a pretty steady stream so I’m probably going to be late.” I don’t want to freak my mom out though, so full disclosure, I’m fine. But anyway, I limped to the tram stop to discover that I had missed the last tram and there were no more coming until morning. So then I dragged myself down Mohammed V Avenue until I found where the late-night taxi drivers wait for customers to come over. I got home, just around 40 minutes late, so it took me over and hour to make a normally 20 minute trip. My whole host family was sitting in the main room waiting for me. They said it was no problem and introduced me to the cousin from Tokyo who was visiting like nothing had happened. So yeah, I quickly depleted my band-aid supply, so alhamdulilah for hanoots.

One thing we learned this week in Arabic 101 was how to talk about specializations, like “sociology” and “anthropology.” I took Spanish for 3 years and never learned those words. The way our textbook is organized is that you learn things like “to work” in the same vocab sheet as “United Nations.” Not that this is bad, now I can tell people my brother is specializing in engineering, but I also really need to learn how to tell my host mom that I will actually explode if I eat any more food. Usually we have this fun “Coolie” (Eat), “Sbat” (I’m full), “Kyra, Coolie,” “Sbat,” “Coolie!” “Sbat!” exchange, so I need some more graphic terms to use. They always go after me because I am such an easy target. I am so weak in the face of Moroccan food. I have gained like 20 pounds through cheese and bread alone. Not to mention our host mom has started putting Nutella out at every single meal, so I’m pretty much a lost cause.

This week, a group from the program also went to visit the second-hand souk in Sale (spelled with a accented "e" at the end). Sale is the sister city to Rabat known for its cheap cost of living. Many live in Sale and will commute in Rabat. The point of this being that Sale is a 20 minute tram ride away. When we got to this souk though, the whole feel was different. When they show you pictures of the poverty in Africa, they take pictures of places that look like Sale. Huge piles of trash, some dilapidated houses, and these small crowded markets. I was with a group who was not about a second-hand souk in the least bit, so we walked through the whole thing rather quickly. The souk was like a Goodwill if everything had been laid out on tables under colored tents. It was old shirts, bags, books, and games. I thought it was really interesting that we see so many pictures of cities like Sale and so few pictures of places like Rabat. Not that Sale is a bad city by any means. It felt much more cultural, and I know a lot of people who are in love with Sale. It was just interesting that this was 20 minutes away and yet it was a whole different world.

During the week we also interacted with some kids who were going with YES Abroad to America next year. I met a girl who just returned from Davenport and one girl who was headed to Ames. I have the small problem of being in love with my state, so I kind of flipped out when they let me talk to her and tell her about Iowa. Everyone seems to think it’s really funny that someone could love Iowa, but it’s not my fault that it’s the best state in the nation. I can’t help that. Now I’ll get the occasional “Hey Kyra, are you from Iowa? Do you like it there? I couldn’t tell,” and some have started calling me “Iowa.” Sorry about it, I don’t even mind. You wish your state was this cool. I did accidentally tell the girl to go to Hickory Park and get pulled pork. Oops.

In other news, we are currently headed to Marrakech, where I am planning on getting everyone souvenirs. Everyone basically told me to wait to get souvenirs in Marrakech, so that’s what I’m doing. I would like to point out that I am a pretty fantastic daughter for planning to get my family things even when they’re on vacation right now without me. Thanks, guys.

Anyway, I have to go back to reading “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” by James Joyce. You may have heard of James Joyce because of, oh, I don’t know, “Ulysses”?  Yeah, that’s right, “Ulysses.”  I am so gosh darn cultured.

Fes

View of Fes from the tannery

This weekend we had our excursion to Fes, a city two hours away from Rabat via bus. Our host dad told us that Fes was the cultural center of Morocco. Our program leader described it as being more conservative than Rabat with a more traditional approach to life. So, with our duffel bags and very modest clothing, we set out for Fes on Saturday morning.

We didn’t have loads of time to meander around the city itself, but we did spend a long time in the Old Medina. The Old Medina is like our medina in Rabat, only pushed to an insane level. It’s bigger and more like a maze than the medina in Rabat. This medina tries to get tourists lost so they spend more time and money.  Speaking from the perspective of someone who is directionally challenged, I would’ve been in there for weeks if we didn’t have a guide. I mean, we had a guide and I still got lost 3 times. I’m not kidding.

Our first stop in the medina was at a restaurant near the Blue Gate of Fes. We ate on the roof of the building after climbing up a 4 story narrow staircase. I still don’t know how they managed to bring us our food. I ordered the camel burger. That’s right, I had a camel in burger format. Contrary to what I’d heard, it tasted nothing like chicken. It was a little tougher than normal hamburger meat but I can’t really describe the taste. It had a very unique tint to it. It was good, for sure. It's not lost on me that I've eaten a camel here before I've ridden one.

My camel burger

After lunch we trekked around the old medina. It was disorienting, but completely worth it. We visited the tannery (Fes is known for its leather), the old mental institute that sits in the center of the medina, and a large conglomeration of copper-workings with a lot of smaller stores in-between. Not to snitch on gifts, but I got Evan the one present he asked for, so older sister mission accomplished. The best part about the medina was probably how people would walk through the narrow streets with their donkeys just about every five minutes. It made you feel pretty cultural.

After we all made it through the medina, (why yes, the group did have to wait for me to find my way yet another time), we went back to the hotel and had iftar. My host mom does it better. Just saying. After dinner the group went to the hammams in Moulay Yacoub, a city known for the healing power of its sulfur water.

The next day our group visited Volubilis, a ruin of an ancient Roman settlement. Gaius Octavius extended the Roman Empire into Morocco during the Pax Romana, and that’s how we got Volubilis. Lauren, one of the girls on this trip, is very into Roman history and she was running me through the elaborate past of the ruins while we visited. She pointed out the aqueducts, would say whether the tile had Islamic or Roman origins, and she actually cried when she saw the bath houses. I was not that well-informed about Volubilis before going, nor am I incredibly passionate about Roman History, but I definitely could appreciate how gorgeous it was. What was even more impressive was how magnificent it was on such a massive scale. It was pretty amazing.

This week has been a pretty intense week language-wise. They really push through the material. One week ago we were going over simple nouns and now this week we’re doing irregular plurals, possessives, and verb conjugations. In fact, I have a test tomorrow over all of this. As you can imagine, I’m slightly less prepared than I want to be.

One thing that we did this week to work on our Darija (regional dialect) was a facilitated language learning activity. We had to find around 6 locations by asking different civilians where things were.The problem is that Morocco has a certain custom about directions. Basically, if you ask where something is and the person doesn’t know, they make it up. So we got quite a few detailed directions to absolutely nowhere. Our Language Learning Partner was being very obedient to the rule that he shouldn't help us, so we pretty much trekked across the whole city. We walked past one building five times before we realized it had been what we were looking for. Such a fun time.

The secrets of mint tea

In other news, I have seen two semi-riots and four fights in the past couple of days. It was explained to me that this happens during Ramadan because people are reacting to the lack of nicotine. It’s a little nerve-wracking to see, but the police are on high patrol during the month so I've never seen it get to an intense level.

But by far the most important thing that happened this week was that my host mom showed me step by step how to make mint tea. My life is absolutely complete. There is nothing more I need to do here. Well, except learn how to make all of this food. That might take a while.

I Wasn't Good at Fasting

Ramadan has begun.

I thought I knew this city. Since Ramadan hit, everything has changed. Not exactly in a bad way, but in a “is there a restaurant still open where I can eat lunch” kind of way. The city completely shuts down during the day. There’s very little honking, the streets are quiet, and it’s incredibly hard to find an open store. The stores that are open have turned all of their lights off. The will leave the door slightly ajar, so as not to draw attention, and then those exempt from Ramadan know that it's open. Then at night, everything wakes up. I didn’t know that there were so many teenagers here. Masses of them emerge at night and fill the restaurants and parks. The honking that was blissfully absent during the day returns with a vengeance, and the community comes together to celebrate their successful day of fasting. It’s pretty awesome.

                I did try fasting and made it all of two days. The first day I tried the traditional Ramadan fast that everyone does. No food, no water. At first, it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be. I don’t generally drink that much in the first place, and I just had to wait a little later for dinner. But around 5, I was really starting to feel it. Iftar starts at 7:45 or right after the call to prayer. I was skyping my brother at the time when our host dad called us to dinner. I stopped Joshua in the middle of a sentence, told him that I was far too hungry to delay dinner any longer, slammed the computer shut and pretty much bolted to the table. Our host mom had 2 tables set up with all of this gorgeous food out. I recognized only the dates, everything else was something I’d never seen before.

               

                My host sister, Manal, told me that since I had been fasting, the first food I needed to eat was a date. In Muslim culture, dates are considered to be the healthiest food you can eat, which is why you use them to break the fast on a day when you had no nutrients, I’ve got to say, I’m not a huge fan of dates. I thought they would be another Moroccan food that vastly improves overseas, but it wasn’t the case. I just don’t like dates. Everything else was absolutely amazing. Everything was very new to me, but it was still incredibly good. Completely worth the wait.

                Anyway, fasting wore me out so I went to bed at 9:00 and was woken up at 2:30 am for suhoor. This is the last meal that can be eaten before the sun rises. At 3:36 the canon goes off which signals the end of eating and the beginning of the fast. The suhoor consisted of beef and cauliflower plus the ever-present Danon. Neither of my roommates wanted to try fasting, so it was just me and my host family. It was a really lovely meal but it was far too early in the morning. I went back to bed around 3.

                The next morning I felt very dehydrated and sick. I was contemplating calling the program coordinator and asking to stay home. However, with the amount of Arabic we go over in a day, I didn’t think I could afford to lose any class time. I was really determined to make it through fasting for a week though, so I did a water fast that day, where you can drink water but not eat. My roommates and I went to see the Mausoleum where Mohammed V and his two sons are buried. There were men on horses guarding the grounds, a lot pillars in rows, and these white and green buildings that held Mohammed V and his sons. I thought the most interesting part was the Koran reader in the corner. Multiple things in Rabat are named after Mohammed V (a tram stop, a university, the airport), so it was interesting to see another way Moroccans commemorated his life.

                That evening I told my host mom over (a once again delicious) iftar that I have gotten sick this morning. Apparently, if you get sick you aren’t supposed to fast. So it was kind of decided for me that I had been kicked out of the fasting program. I didn’t really know that I had been removed until I woke up at six the next morning and realized no one had knocked for suhoor. So that was that. I felt ill again anyway, so maybe it was better to stop fasting altogether. Consistently being sick in a foreign nation is not my idea of a fun time.

                So I ate breakfast which my daily dose of Laughing Cow Cheese. There is an obsession with Laughing Cow Cheese over here. I have yet to see another kind of cheese. I’m a little obsessed with it, mainly because we eat it every day at almost every meal. I think at college I’m going to stock my dorm room with Laughing Cow Cheese and mint tea. I don’t think that I could live without them at this point. Anyways, after breakfast my roommates and I headed off to school.

                So I lasted 2 whole days of Ramadan and I feel like such a weakling. I was going for a week and just didn’t get close at all. I thought I gave it a nice effort, but it turns out that I'm not all that great at fasting.

                In other news, I finally found Balghas in my size. Yes, in order to do so I did have to get the men’s shoes. They are incredibly comfortable. The best way to describe them is that they are like slippers that have a harder flat bottom so they double well for walking. I told Manal that they looked kind of life elf shoes. She didn’t know what an elf was, but once I looked it up and showed her, she laughed and agreed.

 

The World Cup is still going strong. I watched Algeria’s painful loss to Germany and the US losing to Belgium. Not a good week in terms of teams I was rooting for. I love watching the games with my host father. In the US versus Belgium game, it was a lot of "USA" chanting and the return of the good old Washington DC hat. I also took some photographic evidence of how much of a community affair each game is. 

Paris and I at the ruins

              Our group trip during this week was to the Chellah ruins. I’m not the best at Roman history, but it was explained to me it’s the ruins of an ancient Roman settlement. There was some kind of earthquake and the city was abandoned in favor of its neighbor, Sale. The ruins were pretty amazing. There were no posted rules anywhere, so people were walking wherever they wanted and climbing down into the crevices. It was so different that the strict reinforcement the US has on many historical items. I was just beginning to think that there wasn't any enforcement of policy at all, but then, the security system emerged. It was a guy with a whistle. What a fun country. The Chellah ruins get a thumbs up from me.

               But the best part of my week was definitely when I went to a Moroccan TGI Friday’s. Because it's Ramadan, the crowd started to appear around 9:30/10:00. I went with Lauren, who is another girl in the program who had just been to the restaurant the night before. The Moroccan TGI Friday’s is a party. The music is blaring, every chair is full, and there is this huge Karaoke screen taking up the front wall.

               

Lauren, my karaoke buddy 

                I never really had a dream of one specific thing I needed to do in Morocco. I didn't have one overarching experience I had hoped for going into the program, but I discovered it on a Wednesday at 9 pm in a packed restaurant.

                Singing karaoke in a Moroccan TGI Friday’s was and is my dream. I couldn't keep still once I realized how much I needed to be a part. Lauren, who had sung the night before, went and got the karaoke book. There was a section for Arabic songs and a section for English songs. Flipping through, I noted the vast amount of Billy Joel tunes. I picked “Only the Good Die Young." It's one of my favorites and it was the last song he sang on his recent tour stop in St. Louis (which was the first time I ever saw him sing live). It all came together so nicely. Although the song isn't really in the best place for me range-wise (I have to shift octaves every once in a while) I had to do it.

               

                The DJ handed me the mic and I got up and stood in between two tables packed with Moroccan guys. One guy asked “What are you singing, America?” I told him, and he replied “Interesting, America, interesting.” Then the DJ actually told the crowd that I was “America” and the song started.
                 It was the most positive karaoke environment I've ever experienced. There was constant commentary and yelling and shouts of "America!" I have found my place in Morocco. It was amazing. I was followed by a man singing the most flamboyant version of “Don’t Stop Me Now” that I’ve ever heard. It's my place.
            
                Anyway, that's what's been happening recently in Rabat, Morocco. Tomorrow is America's birthday and then we depart for Fes. No one here really considers America's birthday to be a big deal (we have our first test on Independence day, for goodness sake). I'm planning on walking around in red, white, and blue and singing every patriotic song I know. 

Prelude to Ramadan

The past few days have been spent anticipating and preparing for Ramadan. Houses have been intensely cleaned, lots of cooking has been done, the medina has been especially packed with people buying the immense amounts of food they will need for iftar. Everyone made their final hurrahs at the beach, and Ramadan will soon be upon us. So here is, effectively, what has happened in the final days before the city shuts down.

             If there’s one thing that brings people together, it’s the World Cup. Everyone here is very invested in it. I've asked around, and the consensus seems to be that people believe Brazil will win, but are also silently rooting for their buddy Algeria. As someone who has never really watched any sports team or event religiously, it's very strange to see a country consumed with this soccer tournament. My host father and I still watch the games together. When the US played Germany, my host dad put on a Washington DC hat and chanted "USA" with me. But it's not just my host family. One day, I was walking home, and heard very loud cheering at infrequent intervals coming from restaurants on both sides of the street. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was watching the World Cup. If the restaurant has a TV, it's going to be showing the World Cup. It's ridiculous.

Before Ramadan, a lot of activity happened in the streets. I had a fight outside my room two nights ago. Amidst the completely unnecessary but very frequent honking, I heard some shouting outside my room. There was quite a commotion until the police arrived. They arrested around 3 people and then the night moved on. A lot of the problems with crime in Morocco are solved with civilian intervention (if your wallet is stolen, many will jump in to stop the perpetrator) and I was told that we really wouldn't see the police, so it was very unique that they came. Yesterday however, it was no longer a novelty to see the police. The day before Ramadan began they were everywhere. 

Good old American fast food

Before Ramadan started, I made it a goal to visit as many restaurants as possible as many of them shut down during the fasting period. In doing so, I've now found perhaps the most American restaurant in Morocco, “Faceburger.” The only difference between here and your average burger joint is that we were told we needed to order quickly so the workers could make it down to the mosque in time to pray. However, this was the most American tasting meal I’d had since arriving. A lot of restaurants claim to be American, but they can’t get the fries right. I was very impressed with Faceburger’s quality of fry. The container the fries were in couldn't handle how American the fries were.

Speaking of American things in Morocco, another element of America that has infiltrated Morocco is our music. I have heard maybe 2 cultural songs since arriving here. Restaurants play our music, people blast our music in their cars, our host family talks about our artists. My room is somewhat close to this restaurant (across the street and 3 floors up from it) and I hear people driving in with some American pop song blaring. It’s Adele, Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, Macklemore, etc. Our host sister loves “Al Staircase” and even saw her in concert (it took me about 4 repetitions before I understood “Alicia Keys” from that pronunciation). American music has definitely hit the streets of Morocco.

The garden down the street from us

Yesterday morning I took a walk about Rabat with my roommates, Catherine and Elizabeth. We found the classiest Burger King I’d seen in my entire life. I’m not a Burger King kind of person, but the building itself really made me want to eat there. However, I was hanging with two vegetarians so it just wasn’t going to happen. As we continued walking, I was almost hit with a flood of questionable liquid falling from some window four stories up. I’m sorry to admit, I yelled rather loudly and jumped out of the way (before it could hit me, thank goodness. I don't even want to know what it was) A Moroccan guy sitting in his car absolutely lost it and laughed, much louder than what I think was necessary.

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag

One of the more interesting things that I saw was the guy whose job it is to make sure these pigeons in a park by my house have food. While I was waiting on some people for lunch, I sat down and watched him wet down their food and put their water in bowls. It’s someone’s job to feed these pigeons. After I thought that, I couldn’t get the “Feed the Birds” song from Mary Poppins out of my head.

Afterwards, we spent the afternoon at the ocean. While in the water with about 8 members of the group, this random Moroccan dude started motioning towards us and pointing at his surfboard. A couple of the kids freaked out because we have sat through so many lectures about not making eye contact, not saying hello and so on so they swam back. But he seemed well-meaning and we had quite a few boys from the program with us, so I went with the group that decided to swim over. He motioned for me to get on his surfboard, so I did.

I’ve never been on a surfboard before. According to that Wii fit board, my balancing skills are sub-par at best, so I fell off multiple times. But then I eventually stood up on the board, and paddled around a bit on it. Then everyone in the group tried doing the same.

This guy and his friends shook all of our hands afterwards, and I asked him, in Darija, what his name was. His name sounded something like Bee-lah. I was very proud of this successful communication. Then he spoke something rapidly to me and I just nodded and said yes, and him and his buddies started cheering and pumping their fists in the air. We said thank you and good-bye, and as we were swimming away, I was informed that I had just told the man that I was Muslim. I was thinking later that it could’ve been a marriage proposal and I would’ve just gone along with it. So I’m clearly not very good at this language yet.

 

Then, I found the most beautiful part of Morocco, I swear. I walked up all these rocks in bare feet, which absolutely killed, but it was worth it. The view was gorgeous. Ugh. What a beautiful country. 

However, I did go and sit in one of those pools of water before the cliff drop-off into the Atlantic. This huge wave hit the side, rushed over the top towards me, and knocked me backwards. So I got kind of cut up on the rocks. It was still worth it.

So now, today, Ramadan has officially started. I've been up for 5 hours and I've yet to hear a horn, which is absurd considering the incredible amounts of honking in the past week. It's very quiet out today. I've got to say, I'm incredibly excited for dinner tonight. Because fasting is hard and I'm hungry. 

Rabat

Our final plane ride

After 13 hours of travelling and over 20 hours of waiting around in airports, we finally flew into Morocco. Upon arrival, we made the journey from Casablanca to Rabat and stayed in a hotel for the night. They brought us Moroccan Dominos which had cool specialties like cheese pizza with chunks of goat cheese. Welcome to Morocco, I guess. But really, that pizza was fantastic. The goat cheese really pulled the ensemble together.

The next day, after various seminars, we met our host families. My host family lives in Agdal, one of the community segments of Rabat. Their apartment is very spacious and has gorgeous decorating. I have two host sisters, Wiam and Manal, and my host parents are Ali and Saida. I’m also living with two girls from the NSLI-Y program: Catherine and Elizabeth, both from Tennessee. There is a bit of a language barrier around the house. Manal is very good at English and does a lot of the translating for us. Her parents, fluent in both French and Arabic, speak mainly French around the home. Both parents are working on their English and are very cute when they find the word they’re looking for. They’re also eager to help us with our Arabic, which is a nice way to study outside of the classroom.

When we arrived at the house, the family relayed that they hadn't found out until recently that they would have 3 girls rather than 2. Because I was the last one up on the elevator, they asked me to stay in their study room. Most homes in Morocco have extra couches all over that can act as beds. It’s so multiple family  members can come over and have a place to sleep. I love staying in the study, it’s nice take a breather from the interaction all day. They also have an interesting book collection (half French half Arabic) and a neat window that looks right onto an  incredibly active street. I'll admit  that the street noise took some getting used to. I usually proclaim to have a hard time sleeping with noise, but when you have little choice, it just happens. Moroccans drive in a very aggressive manner and I've heard more horns in the past 4 days than I've heard my entire life in Des Moines. Of course, all of this horn blaring happens right outside my window, as well as the blasting of music from car radios. It's just something the citizens here are used to, and I'm trying to get to that point as well. But I'll get to the driving later.

Anyway, as soon as we arrived I noted the language barrier, and tried to find something to do with the sisters. The study had a couple of board games stacked on a shelf, and I thought that’d be a good way to hang out. The only game I saw that was in English was Monopoly. I've only ever tried to play Monopoly once and I’m really not all that familiar with the set-up. I had no idea what I was getting into as Catherine, Elizabeth, and I sat down to play with Wiam and Manal.

We finished 2.5 hours later by just seeing who had the most money. It was Wiam. They were far too polite to tell us that the game was incredibly boring, but I apologized for it multiple times during game play. I asked Manal later, and she said that her uncle had given it to her as a present and that was the first time she’d played the actual game. Normally, they make up the rules and it becomes a lot more interesting and fun. Whoops. Since then we've channeled time into more interesting activities, like the World Cup. Everyone is really into soccer and the World Cup and they're cheering on their neighbor, Algeria. My host family watches the games with German commentators and German subtitles on, and I think it's the funniest thing because no one speaks a lick of German in their family. They just turn them on. I don't get it at all. They're just adorable. Anyway.

Breakfast has quite a bit of bread

The final activity of the day was dinner. Cuisine was not the first thing that came to mind when I justified wanting to go to Morocco. However, in PDO everyone mentioned how excited they were so I went into this first meal with positive expectations. I was not disappointed.

The food our host mom makes is fantastic. The first night we had some kind of greenish soup and green beans with beef, every kind of bread imaginable, fresh fruit, mint tea, orange juice, and pastries. My two housemates are vegetarians, so when my host mom put the green beans and beef dish on the table she told me, “It’s all up to you.” I tried to clarify what some of these dishes are called, but no one really understands the specifics I’m looking for. (“What is this?” “Soup.” “What kind of soup?” “It’s just soup. There is no meat.” “No, no, I’m not the vegetarian, I was just wondering what’s in this.” “I don’t understand, it’s just soup” and so on.)

Every night since then it’s been some kind of new dish that always tastes excellent. Bread is a holy food in Morocco, and every meal here is very bread-intensive. I don't know what half of the rolls are called, but I'm not complaining. I've yet to taste a food I didn't like.

The most surprising thing I've tasted was the cantaloupe. I hate cantaloupe in the States. It’s hard and bitter and has a watery taste. In Morocco, it more follows the consistency of a pear and is much sweeter. I had 5 pieces, and told my host mom that my mother would never believe I had touched a cantaloupe, let alone had 5 pieces. I was also told Coca-Cola was better overseas than in the US. Sadly, this is not the case. I thought I would magically enjoy it, like the cantaloupe situation. It just wasn't meant to be. However, I did discover that I love mint tea.

In Moroccan culture, mint tea is served all the time, everywhere. We have it for breakfast and dinner, and throughout the evenings. Mint tea is everywhere in Morocco. It’s symbolic of welcoming guests and friendship. I didn't expect it would be as popular as it was, and went in with negative conceptions about tea. When I was told I’d be served tea all the time every day, I was going through strategies in my head to make it look like I was drinking it without consuming anything. That would've been a mistake. Mint tea is fantastic. I am determined to learn how to make it before I go.

The streets of the Kasbah

Our Arabic classes began the next day, and started with Arabic 101 reviewing the alphabet and the numbers. Our teacher goes through every letter very carefully with us, as she believes pronunciation is vital in Arabic. It’s funny though, after we go through this very specific pronunciation, she has us sing this song that blunders all of the specifics, but is catchy nonetheless.(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xYy3D6zYgY). It easily gets stuck in your head, so be careful.

Roommates at the Chellah gardens

It was very short first day as we cut class short to have a briefing from a man from the Moroccan Consulate who warned against things we’d already been told not to do. After that, a group when down to visit the Chellah gardens and wandered through the Kasbah of the Udayas. The Kasbah has these half white and half blue residences that are quite well known. They’re very different from the tone of the rest of the city, and are quite beautiful in a distinct way. We also went down and touched the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. It was funny to go to a beach and see no one swimming. I was told it had something to do with the fish.

Overlooking the Kesbah into Agdal

The next day we continued with class and went over short vowels and long vowels and listening activities where we write the full form of words we hear. After 4 hours of morning class, we get an hour break for lunch. We went to a small sandwich shop and I ordered completely in French. Yes, this program is supposed to teach Arabic, but I love the idea of having to pick up all these different languages to get by in day to day life here.

After lunch, we have Darija class. In Morocco, everyone understands MSA for religious reasons, business reasons, and communication across regional boundaries. But everyone here actually speaks to each other in Darija. Rather, everyone speaks a strange combination of Darija, Fusa (MSA), and French. Darija class has kids from each level of Arabic classes thrown together, and this teacher gives rapid-fire vocab.

After class, we went on a scavenger hunt around Rabat, called the “Rabat City Challenge.” We started in the Medina, the “old town” of Rabat that has these traditional shops. Our first assignment was to find a Hand of Fatima key chain, which is an Islamic symbolic of protection. As everyone on this program is currently learning Arabic but is not necessarily ready to accurately communicate with locals in that language, the most valuable skill to have is proficiency in French. In our group, we had only one member with any knowledge of French, and it was very minimal. We looked for anyone who had an idea where to find the hand of Fatima, but no one understood the word “keychain” in English, and we didn’t know the French translation.

A sight on the Rabat Challenge

Eventually we ran into some shopkeepers who really wanted to help us, but couldn’t understand a word we were saying. One of them asked “Espanol?” Absolutely relieved that I had finally found some way to communicate, I yelled, perhaps too loudly, “Donde esta la mano de Fatima!?” and he began walking quickly the other direction, signaling us to follow. We trailed him halfway around the Medina until we arrived at a shop with the cook serving out sausages. The Spanish-speaking Moroccan beamed and pointed and said “Fatima!” I was confused, until Fatima waved and said “Fatima!” I realized this guy had taken us all the way around the Medina to find the one person here named “Fatima." We shook our heads and eventually got pointed in the direction of someone who spoke English. He then sent us through the center of the Medina, until we found someone else who spoke English, who helped us find the keychain. Our success was definitely a group effort, thanks to the wonderful English-speaking shop owners in the Medina.

Later that night, I went back to the Medina with some girls from the program with the goal of finding Jellabas (traditional Moroccan hooded dresses) and Balghas (traditional Moroccan slippers). The Medina gets increasingly crowded at night. Swarms of people come to shop, as it is Moroccan tradition to buy only what you need for each day on that day. I’ve seen my host parents go buy food for dinner around 6 o’clock multiple times, come back and cook it, and be ready by 9. This means that around 7:00 in the Medina, it’s very packed.

One entrance to the Medina

Jellaba shopping is much more complicated than I thought. Apparently, if the starting price is less than 200 dirhams, then it isn’t a good Jellaba and the price is meant to trap the tourists. I eventually found a Jellaba that I liked and had Paris, a girl in the program who is fluent in French, argue the price down. It was a very intense bargaining situation. After they wouldn’t take the price down more than 50 dirhams, Paris had me take off the Jellaba and told them we were leaving. They then asked what price she wanted, so she typed the our price in a calculator. They shook their heads so we began to leave. Then, they grabbed her arm and entered a lower number in the calculator. She accepted, and I gave them 2 bills and needed 40 dirhams in change. They only gave me 20. Paris told them they needed to give me the correct change. One shook his head and told her that they agreed on a price 20 dirhams higher than what he had typed in the calculator. She then told him to give me my money back and we would return the Jellaba. The other store clerk slapped another 20 dirhams in my hand and they shooed us out of the store. And that’s the Medina.

Unfortunately on the Balghas side, size 9 is too large for any girl shoe in the Medina, so I’m going to have to order them. Oh well.

Today after class, we met our language partners. The language partner is a recently graduated Moroccan student who will help you say whatever you want to know or will help with your homework. Mine is named Nora and she was incredibly positive and friendly. Which is a polar opposite from how people drive.

Moroccan stop sign

            This is my one major problem with this city. Everyone drives like a crazy person. They tell you that pedestrians don't have the right of way, but what they mean is no one ever truly has the right of way. There are no lanes. Many stoplights are taken as suggestions. You can drive in whatever part of the road you want, and it is more common to park on the sidewalks than in the street. I've ridden in quite a few taxis, and it's very difficult to find a seat belt . Worst of all, everyone honks all the time. They honk when the light doesn't turn green as fast as they want. They honk when someone is driving too slowly. They honk when someone gets into their hypothetical lane. I've never heard so much car noise. I'm also terrified of getting run over. Des Moines gives the ultimate right of way to pedestrians. I've had two lanes of traffic stop to let a person cross the street even when they're not at a crosswalk. Here, you could have the green signal to walk and still not be able to cross the street. A popular way to get around this is to walk in the middle of the street, stand on the lane divider, and wait for the other lane to clear before walking the rest of the way. I've tried it, it's terrifying, I'm going to get hit. I am not a fan of this traffic.

Ramadan is coming up soon, and you can tell how excited everyone is getting. During Ramadan you reunite with your family, share in big celebrations after dark, sleep in late and work less hours. I've decided to fast at least a part of Ramadan (when in Rome…) because this may be my only chance to experience this practice which is someone else's livelong reality. When I told my host mother, she broke into the widest grin. We were told in a lecture that Muslims love Ramadan, or at least the idea of it. They said that people get pretty grumpy in the middle of the fasting, but the practice Ramadan is near and dear to their hearts and essential to their religion. But that's a topic for another day.

So that’s where I’m at in Morocco right now. More things, I’m sure, to come.

By the way, if you’re having a bad day, at least you didn't accidentally ask your host sister if the call to prayer was the sound of a Moroccan fire engine siren.