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.

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.