it's all in the little things

you might think that after travelling hundres of miles (24 pages away from boston in the atlas, a dear friend pointed out to me once), one would find themselves in a world hugely and startlingly different. the kind of difference that blows you out of the water and into culture shock - that oh-so-elusive state of...what?...denial? depression? some epehmeral thing we are warned about in orientation to be on our guard against as though it was more like one the of the stray dogs which wander about downtown ifrane rather than the relatively normal stage of human adjustment and adaptation that it is.

there have been differences here, to be sure. there are the obvious things like language and food and the more blantant aspects of culture like music and the bisou-bisou greeting and the omnipresent islam, easily found in phrases like ensha'allah (meaning "God willing") which can be tacked onto to just about any statement or 'hemdulillah (meaning "thanks be to God"), but you settle into those fairly quickly, or at least reconcile yourself to the fact that they're just that - different - and their not going anywhere, so you had best get used to them. pretty soon you don't really notice it anymore and you find yourself craving a bowl of b'sara (kind of like split pea soup but made with butter beans and lots of garlic) or tapping your foot to the beat of the chaabi music that is on in the taxis or reaching for a phrase only to find something in arabic coming out as really the only expression that quite grasps what you're trying to say.

i have taken a job as facilitator for the mandatory english conversation groups for all incoming students whose scores on the toefl placed them into the language centre in order to fully prepare them for integration into the all-english academic environment of aui. in these groups i find myself among young men and women - most only a year or so younger that me, if that even - and the forum becomes open for the airing of all sorts of inner sevles and life stories. like the young freshman who sat across from me this evening and didn't realize that i could easily discern the cracks running through his facade of tough guy/mr. independent as he shared how his life has changed in coming to school - the boy inside frozen in bewilderment upon returning home to parents who had moved on and begun a new life of sorts over his first semester of university. of the older graduate student who, in broken but earnest english, shared the agony of hearing his father claim to love his older brother - more successful in terms of profits and dividends - more than him.

i treasure these moments beyond my ability to communicate with words. it's been harder than i thought it would be, to dive beneath the surface of my moroccan peers and classmates. who are the people behind the meticulously maintained appearances - who really is that girl that comes to my 8 am class with every hair in place, make-up skillfully applied, and dressed in the latest fashions she bought in paris last fall, complete from her louis vuitton purse to her patent leather high heels, which must just naturally grow from her feet, because i've never seen anyone walk in heels so well. so i collect these moments of humanity out of my day, and these two and a half hours of english conversation every day, like picking daisies out of a field, a bit of a saving grace, reality and humanity at the center again, despite of the distance and the culture and everything.

it just goes to prove again that it's all in the little things...

one of those days...

have you ever had one of those days where you feel like there's so much potential - so many potential moments, potential things to learn, potential conversations to be had, potential moments to be lived - that you feel as though you would break out of your skin? the potential energy inside of you is stirring, and you feel the need to sing or shout or run or dance. instead, i sit and watch the sunshine stream through my window as i study arabic and political anthropology and current events and write emails and notes and letters, wishing with all of my heart that i could capture everyone in this one perfect moment, uniting them with me here and now, in this moment - transcending time and distance.

maybe this feeling is provoked by a stunningly clear blue sky after a week or so of rain and drizzle. or maybe it's the joy of getting things accomplished. or maybe it's the shot of espresso that i had an hour or so ago...

taza, tummy bugs, and truman

so, in keeping with the theme, this was an eventful weekend. after some run-around to nail down plans, eva, jason, and i headed out friday morning: destination taza, a relatively small city that's unique place in the valley between the middle atlas to the south and the rif mountains to the north have given it a rich history of essentially being trampled subsequently as various forces have invaded morocco from the east. tricked out in our hiking gear, we embarked in high spirits ready to catch a grand taxi to fez, a petit taxi to the train station, a train to taza, and a petit taxi to our hotel in the old part of the city, which sits two kilometers up a pretty steep hill from the ville nouvelle (new city) below.

upon arriving in taza, we went about settling into our room: a glaringly pink hotel that despite blinding you in the sun, had a genuinely friendly feel to it. the shuttered windows and doors opened inward to the sunny courtyard, giving everything an open and fresh feeling. fairly quickly we realized that our origional mission (mission spelunk - so named for the cave exploring we were hoping to do) had become two-fold. added now was "mission communication," as we struggled through our few words of arabic, and our handful more of words and phrases in french. here, away from the hustle and bustle of the big cities, the average person didn't really speak french, which didn't bode well for us. in the end, we didn't matter much, and survived fairly well, laughing our way through misspeakings and blunders of all kinds. although, i must say, it was really enjoyable struggling through and forcing ourselves to stretch our little language muscles.

friday afternoon and evening were spent pretty much bumming around the city, wandering in the markets, and having random conversations with people. i quickly learned the immeasurable value of the phrase, enshah'allah, which - loosely translated - means "god willing." as random residents of taza encouraged us to come back later and visit their restaurant or stay at their hotel or have lunch with their family living in a village only a few kilometers away, enshah'allah, a common phrase to be spoken here, quickly found its way into my vocabulary.

after being joined by tony late friday evening, we headed for bed in order to get up early saturday morning to tackly our main mission: mission spelunk.

saturday was a really enjoyable day, although it was also the day that turned abruptly downhill for me at the end. after grabbing a quick breakfast of harcha, a cornbread-type food served with honey, jam, or laughing cow cheese, and a cup of coffee, we headed out via grand taxi to the gouffre de friouato (frewato, as it's also known). by the time we arrived at the caves, i wasn't feeling the hottest, but after sitting for a bit while the bartering was underway for our admission and our guide, i was feeling better. so into the earth we went. 520 steps down (a kilometer of steps, we were told) and another kilometer or so into the earth - a magically different universe. damp, cold, and completely blac save for the few sqare feets illuminated by our torches (flashlights). i had to laugh to myself at the thought of what this cave would be like in the hands of a western tourist board: brightly lit, carefully partitioned off with a constructed walkway guarded by shiny silver railings double and triple certified to bear a certain amount of weight, neatly laid out with informative signs that offered the latest research on how stalactites and stalagmites were formed with gentle admonitions on the impact of humanity on this earth followed by a friendly reminder to recycle or global warming will get you!

instead i found myself crawling around on hands and knees as our billy-goat of a guide ran back and forth in front of us, laughingly encouraging us along, spouting of randon facts in his cheerful mixture of arabic, french, spanish, and english. my favorite part was at the salle des draperies, a point about a quarter of the way through the known part of the cave and our turning-back point. it was a big, empty, echo-ey chamber whose true granduer was carefully hidden by the inky blackness only penetrated by our weak pin-points of light as we crossed and crisscrossed the stony vault with our beams. at one point we shut off our lights, and sang into the dark, struck by the beauty of our returning echoes as if the cave itself joined in the song, adding undertones of centuries of age and wisdom. the moment was broken a few seconds later by the erruption of beat-boxing from jason and tony and a strobe-light effect from the torch of our guide. we all laughed together and then turned around to face the 520 steps back up.

the rest of the day was spent journeying back to taza, a mixture of walking, hitch-hiking, chatting with people, picture-taking, with a brief off-road hiking adventure as we ventured to explore the cascades, waterfall, in that area.

upon returning to our hotel, to make a long story short, i started feeling worse and worse, generally exhausted, nauseous, headachy, and as though some small creature was alternatively performing somersaults in my stomach and tying it into a series of small knots. not the best feeling ever, to say the least! i essentially crashed for the night, surrounded by my phone, water, and some various foods to tempt my appetite, curled up in my sleeping bag. everyone was so great about it - really considerate - and i was so touched when they came back early after dinner, and chose to chill with me in the room, playing cards and drinking a few beers, while i dozed in and out of sleep, alternatively getting up to throw up. thankfully, i stopped throwing up half-way through the night, managed to catch some genuine hours of sleep, as was back to 85 or 90% in time to travel back to campus sunday morning.

sunday itself was fairly uneventful - a rainy, cold day that made you wish for a fireplace, a good book, and a cup of tea. the only special thing to note, is that, upon returning to my computer and checking in with the rest of the world, i found an email congratulating me on moving on to the next round of competition for the truman scholarship - a u.s. federal aid competition that provides a scholarship for graduate studies. so stay tuned as i sort out everything with that...

midelt

wow. where do you even begin? do you start with the four hour bus ride/adventure from azrou to midelt? or do you describe the absolutely breathtaking image of the eastern atlas colored hues of purple and gold by the setting sun as you pulled into town? or how about the feeling of being accosted as you stepped off of the bus into the frigid night air - "please, please! english? francais? i know a verry nice 'otel - fameelee run!" - and the overwhelming relief of encountering a lovely police officer/angel in uniform.

how about how we whiled away the hours of the night sitting in the parlor/restaurant of the little pension we found with our berber family-proprietors and played endless rounds of scum (the card game) over a grand thiere full to the top with steaming mint tea goodness. or perhaps i should describe the little hostel itself, tiled from floor to ceiling in various shades of blue - cheerful, clean, cool, and best of all, very cheap - a mental note for future expiditions.

or should i start with our saturday adventure. the morning spent with the trappist monks who inhabit the only contemplative monastery in all of north africa, how we met one of the two monks that survived the abduction and killing of seven brothers from a now-closed monastery of the same order in algeria in 1996 - the most precious of old men, with stunning blue eyes, a thick, grey wool sweater covering his cassock and giving him a positively grandpa-like appearance. frere jean-pierre is his name, and perhaps it is enough to say that i feel as though i have spent a few moments in the company of a living saint.

or maybe you would be more interested to hear about the french sisters whose company we graced for several hours as we waited for the taxi to take us to tatouine. sisters monique (the veiled one who was full of life and funny quips about herself and those around her), theresa (the quite one who came in last and simply smiled), marie (the one who lives in tatouine and gave us the names of hassna and cherif who we should meet), and lucille (who welcomed us in, and particularly encouraged me on my profession of nurse - being one herself in past years). showing up at their door unannounced, these little ones of god welcomed us in with open arms, providing tea and coffee and cookies, a clean restroom, a comfortable place to sit and talk, and endless perspective about morocco (all in french - quite good practice for my comprehension), given the fact that the majority of them had been in the country for twenty years or more. needless to say, i didn't want to leave...

or perhaps the best bit of all is the stories of haddu and hassna - the berber women who welcomed us with open arms and showed us the meaning of true berber hospitality.

haddu was, for all intents and purposes, a mistake. our driver didn't exactly know where tatouine was, so he ended up dropping us off quite in the middle of nowhere. we noticed a small earthen home not too far away, so we headed in that direction to get directions. it seemed to be deserted, but after standing outside for a little bit, wondering (outloud) what we were to do, a woman surrounded by four little children, suddenly appeared. 'aji, 'aji! "come, come!" she called out, waving us into her dimly lit home. we found ourselves being led down an open corridor of sorts connected on both ends to the bright outdoors with several rooms attached forming the square building we had noted from outside. ushering us into one of the rooms, we found a cookpot, a squat, round table, and several flat woven carpets on the floor. before we knew it (literally) we were face to face with the family meal - honestly, probably their only meal for the day - and we were guests. i think we all reddened simultaneously, as we were floored by the generosity of this little housewife. it didn't matter that the tagine was mostly broth, or that the little bits of meat that she picked out and offered to us were mostly fat - i was utterly overwhelmed by the generosity of the woman across from me. we could barely communicate, by the way. she spoke berber, only a little bit of derija arabic (the moroccan colloquial dialect), and essentially no french. but her smile said a thousand words, and hopefully our offerings of bread, cheese, and clementines (our picnic lunch) sufficed to tell of our endless gratitude.

not much further down the road, we encountered hassna, the woman sister marie had told us about. in her home, too, we were keeled over by the warmth extended to us. we shared a second lunch of sorts: mint tea, bread, peanuts, almonds, cookies, and fried egg. i couldn't believe it, and was more than embarrassed to be taking so much from someone who obviously had so little. but in morocco, personal pride and dignity - especially among the berbers - is not something to be toyed with. so we dug-in, and hopefully ate enough not to offend while still leaving plenty for the rest of the household.

hassna spoke french, so we communicated mostly through camille (one of the exchange students here who is french herself). hassna regaled us with stories about the sisters, their contribution to the village, the dam, and their hope for electricity to power the little tv that they had set up in the corner as well as the bare light bulb that hung by a thin wire from the center of the ceiling. her small, ruddy face had the appearance of tanned leather, with several well-worn creases - laugh lines which fanned out from the corners of her eyes, creating a stunning appearance of both wisdom and beauty. when it came time for us to leave, she walked with us awhile (on her way to collect the cow for the evening), and demanded to know why in the world we had thought to get a hotel room in midelt for the weekend, when we should have known that we were more than welcome at her home. we smiled and thanked her profusely, appeasing her maternal nature with promises of le prochain - next time. i certainly hope that there will be...

after a few weekends of bumming about big and semi-big cities, wandering through markets and feeling as though money was simply draining out of my pocket with no real purpose and with no real enriching return, i treasure my jewel of a weekend. several students, when hearing about my plans to go to midelt, turned up their noses a bit at the prospect. "there's nothing in midelt," was their reply. i agree - the town itself is merely a crossroads and a pit stop for buses on their way south to er-rachidia or marrekesh. but just outside the city there are gorgeous mountains, and the heart of morocco - its beautiful people, both by adoption and by birth.

ashes to ashes

white-washed walls enclose the tiny space, illumined by four wrought iron sconces and one lone candle. music is reverberating about these walls, sent from the jet black piano, bouncing about, before settling on the ears of all those contained here. those that slowly but surely, one by one, file to the front of the room (only a few steps away) to bow their heads and receive this sign of human humility.

the small woman on my left catches my eye, we share a glance - a smile. the myriad of fine lines which crease her rosy face close together like a chorus of clapping hands, celebrating the clear blue eyes which shine from her face with overwhelming joy. she's french and speaks very little english. i'm english and speak practically no french, yet somehow, in that moment - we speak volumes. i see in her face the love and joy of god that i hope to reflect in my own. the excitement of this holy season, the anticipation of the lessons we will learn and the ways in which our lives will grow and be enriched by this coming time of self-sacrifice, penance, and simplicity. but more than that we share the joy of each other's company. two souls sitting side by side, no words between them, yet in perfect communion within the structure of the mass being said by that little white-headed fransiscan brother only a yard or so away, just beyond that row of people right in front of us. in morocco.

i wonder if, when she was my age, forty or fifty years ago, if she would ever have thought that she would be in this place, sharing this space at this point in time with a young, american girl and all of the other dozen or so people. i doubt it - but i have a feeling that in her mind there was no where else she would rather be. at least that's how i felt...

meknes and mountain air

it's the 3rd of february, and i can't believe that i have been here in morocco for a little over two weeks. the sheer difference of so many aspects of my life here draws me into that all-too-common feeling of "i've always been here." i'm beginning to find myself in the rhythm of morccan life here on campus: the two-kiss greeting, which by the way, i apologize in advance for when i return because it's already become habit after only two weeks!, the food, the language - words are slowly starting to creep into my vocabulary.

this weekend i went to meknes with tony, eva, jason, and sanae. we headed there on friday, early in the afternoon, checked into a budget hotel in the ville nouvelle, and then headed off to the medina to get lost in the old market and little alleyways. we came upon the place el-hadim as the sun was beginning to dip behind the old adobe walls turning everything various shades of rose and dusty gold. the little stands selling freshly sqeezed juice and roasted-meat sandwiches were busy as families turned out in droves to stoll up and down the avenues, make some last minute purchases, and watch their kids kick footballs around in the square.

we sat for a while with a cup of tea soaking up the last rays of sun, and i realized how absolutely fortunate i am to be in such a place - both physically, socially, economically, whatever - where i am able to have the experiences that i'm having. especially as i saw all of the people (the ones who weren't leisurely strolling) rushing from place to place. i wondered how hard they must have to work in order to just make it from day to day. it's probably the most uncomfortable part of being a "tourist" - essentially taking leisure at someone else's expense, even if you compensate them with money. it's just...weird.

anyway, we toured around for a bit, and then headed back to the ville nouvelle where we ended up camping out, so to speak, at a really lovely little restaurant called "le pub" where we sampled a local wine (meknes is the wine-producing capital of morocco, by the way). it was really lovely, and altogether just a really enjoyable evening: sitting, talking, accompanied by friends, laughing, and just enjoying life in general. particularly the dutch couple that joined us halfway through the evening, and the fact that around 11 pm we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by women that, by all likelihood, were hookers. well, that part was actually a bit depressing - but definitely a side i haven't seen much of in ifrane, although i'm told it exists here, too.

the next morning we got a slow and later start, stopping off at a cafe for a croissant washed down by thick espresso - delightful. then it was back to the medina where we repeatedly set off with the best intentions of making it someplace, repeatedly got lost, and repeatedly enjoyed it. each attempt interspersed with either a short sit and cup of tea in the plaza, a bite to eat, or a trip over to the mausoleum of moulay ismail - a moroccan historical figure who was the one that made meknes the imperial city it is today.

after a little bit we headed back, quite satisfied with our conquest of that little ancient town. one thing, though, is that it was so remarkable the difference of being down in the valley, breathing in the smog and dust which clogged the air and then getting out of the grand taxi back in ifrane. i could finally take a good, deep breath - and it felt so good. i definitely feel blessed, in a way then, to be studying here as opposed to in casa or rabat, despite ifrane being such a small town.

anyways, just random notes from the journey. i'm off in a bit to church over at the chaplain's home, and then tomorrow homework and reading and getting ready for the week. next weekend...who knows?!