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!

Letter from a Belgian Airport

                 After a very rigorous 2 day orientation in DC, we are finally on the way to Morocco via Brussels. In Brussels, we have a 10 hour layover, and everyone is suffering from some serious jet lag. Belgium is 7 hours ahead of Iowa, while Morocco is 6 hours ahead. So we've actually gone over one more time zone than where we’ll end up. Basically, everyone is tired. 

Visit to the Moroccan Embassy

                

                 These orientations that we just got back from lasted 2 days in DC, with continuous session after session. They covered everyday life, health and safety, personal takeaways, and cultural aspects like Islam. It was a lot of information in a very short period of time. The part I found the most engaging was when a member of the State Department and American Councils came and talked about future opportunities in study abroad and careers abroad (www.exchanges.state.gov and www.careers.state.gov if you’re interested).

                

                At the end of the day, we walked around DC for a bit. A small group of went to see the White House and generally just meander around DC.

                 

               At the end of the next day, we were off to the DC airport to head to Brussels. Airports get worse each time, I swear. This time we had 22 kids to get approved and check their baggage, which took a very, very long time.

              

              After all of that happened, we went through a long security line, got on a tram, went over to our gate and did more waiting.

              At this point, I should explain that some kids didn’t technically had seats on the plane. Instead of having a number, they had three asterisks. This was not me, I had seat 31 B. Anyway, as kids with asterisks were called to come pick up their tickets for the plane, I discovered a girl from our program had been given my seat.  So I wondered, once again, if I was going to have an issue getting on my plane. I didn't doubt it, based on my very enjoyable experiences in airports so far. They then called my name to approach the desk and sort this all out.

             

               Two other boys who had asterisks also didn't have seats because they had overbooked the plane. We waited at the front for a half hour while the staff worked on booking a couple a separate flight that ran through Madrid. There were multiple issues and it took quite a while. Once they finished, our chaperone patiently and graciously explained that we all needed to be on the fight as we were a group. She then also explained that they had given my seat away to another student so they needed to place me somewhere. A few moments later, a man at the end of the counter called my name and gave me a different ticket to get on the plane. So, thank heavens, I would at least make it to Belgium.

             

               It turns out the only seat they had for me was in the joint first class/business class section. Which was pretty neat. They’re a lot nicer to you up there. There’s more food and they screw with the temperature of your silverware. Your chair converts into a bed of sorts. I think it was God apologizing for putting me through the O’Hare flight fiasco. The guy next to me was not as cool as Konrad, though. Also, I spent a good portion of the flight sleeping, but not before I could watch “Miracle” to see the Americans win the Olympics in hockey. Such a classic.

              

          Now we’re in the midst of a 10 hour layover in the Brussels Airport. We can’t really leave the airport because we don’t have visas, but we did walk outside a bit. I also got some Belgian chocolates, and intend on eating them all by myself. 

       

  By the way, I love the Belgian bathroom signs.

              Anyways, we’re headed to Morocco tonight. First Casablanca, then Rabat.

              I just have to stay awake until then.

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane

A journey of a thousand miles begins with at least 3 flight cancellations. Are you really taking a trip via plane if you aren’t delayed at least once? I don’t think so. More on that later.

               

                I had my last supper with my mother and sister at Noodles & Company. Elea informed me that as a good sibling, she would be commandeering my room as soon as I left. She’s actually switching our rooms. At least I don’t have to clean anything.  

                I said goodbye to my mother at 10:00 that morning at the Des Moines International Airport. I was wondering what about this airport qualifies it as “International.” No matter.

               

I got this TSA pre-screened line thing, which sounds all fancy, but all it really means is there is no line and you get to keep your shoes on. They searched my carry-on and found my 10.4 oz bottle of sunscreen. I kicked myself for forgetting to check that in my other bag. Went downstairs, called my mom about what to do, threw the sunscreen away, and went back into the line. After I made it through again, I made for the lounge.

                

                A friend’s dad told me once that “It’s either a good experience or a good story.” What fun is life if you don’t rack up a couple of good stories? There were a lot of good ones today. The first one I had was a bit like a dare: how long can my flight be delayed? It was a fun game that the illusive “dispatch” and I played. Chicago had been undergoing a couple of thunderstorms and so all flights had been grounded until 12:30. This meant the earliest I could get was one hour after I was supposed to be taking off for DC. So I got comfortable in this airport lounge and waited for what seemed like forever.

                

                Then, finally, the plane arrived and we were off. 50 minutes later, I find myself in O’Hare. Or rather, I find myself lost in O’Hare.

               

                The staff had everyone’s carry-on checked because of the size of the plane. I, of course, had no idea where to pick this up so I wandered around for 20 minutes. After finding my carry-on, I discovered my flight had been cancelled, so I went to get a new flight. I stood in the customer service line for a half hour and got my new ticket that departed at 7 for DC.  I found out that I now had 5 hours to burn in this airport rather than 45 minutes.

                

                My mother told me that I needed to find the USO, a lounge for military personnel and their dependents. I asked a staff member, who said all I had to do was make it to terminal 2. Since I was at terminal 1, I didn’t think it would be that difficult. Nope. That journey was the most confusing thing I’d encountered all day. I’ve never been so lost. But then this lovely worker walked me through the airport to find the USO, and an hour after I started walking, I found it.

               

I often under appreciate being a military kid. Sometimes it really sucks. Other times I am so incredibly grateful for it. This was one of those times. After frantically running around this massive airport, I was so thankful for an area where they took your carry-on, offered you a variety of free food, free wifi, and let you watch the World Cup in recliners. I was so relieved. Thank God for the military. As my mother always said “Lose your husband before you lose your military ID." 

     

                So I camped out at USO for 2 hours with some Navy recruits on their way to Basic Training and their commanders. While I was there, one man commented to me, "You are too young to be a Lieutenant Commander, and too happy to be a recruit. Who are you?" And I explained how I was lucky enough to hold the prestigious status of "Dependent."

After charging my phone and eating dinner, I headed back into the crazy world of the airport in a once-again desperate attempt to find my new flight that was to begin boarding at 6:25. It went much better this time. I got to the right terminal and everything.

And then it started raining.

Again. I’m sitting in the lounge one hour before my flight is supposed to leave and the lightning starts coming in and I’m wondering if I’m actually ever going to make it to DC.

Then I meet up with Colette, another student on the program who is also trying to get a flight. We put ourselves on the standby list for the last flight out for DC. If we don’t make this flight, we’re going to have to stay in a hotel for the night. We’re sitting in the airport lounge watching our names slowly get pushed down the list as other people pay to get seats. It’s nerve-wracking and one of the most stressful things I’ve ever done. It is now 9:30, and this plane that was supposed to start boarding at 8:25 finally opens the doors. Standby seats are slowly given away. Based on the ratio of available seats to people ahead of us on the standby list, we didn't think we were going to get on the plane. I already had called my dad and told him I was probably going to be in a hotel for the night. But then, somehow, Colette got a ticket. And then I, finally, got a ticket.

At last, I get on the plane. I sat next to this guy named Konrad, who was fluent in Polish, a former male gymnast, a somewhat health nut, right out of school chiropractor who offered me his bag of plantains. It was probably the most enjoyable flight I'll ever have. I had actually planned on reading my book or studying, but ended up having a two hour conversation with a guy who was on his way to a chiropractic convention. It made having the middle seat on a 2 hour flight at 10:30 not entirely awful.

So finally, I arrived at DC at 12:30 in the morning, found my luggage, waiting in a very long taxi line, and got the hotel by 1. 

Like I said before, it's either a good experience or a good story. 

And this is just the first day.