The Holidays in Marrakesh: Thanksgiving, Agadir, and Christmas

If you ever find yourself in Marrakesh, be sure to spend an evening watching the sunset. When the sun sinks over the soft pink brick buildings, the sky turns into a tapestry of rich reds and deep blues shot through with streaks of pale pink and yellow. The red glow lingers over the city, and Marrakshis call this moment al-Hamra.  From the roof of my house, the sunset is spectacular. We live on the outskirts of the city, so there is an unimpeded view of the high peaks of the Atlas Moutains rising over the buildings in the south. The snowcapped peaks glint in the last rays of the sunlight, and the city begins to stir with the deep tones of the sunset call to prayer carrying over the city from the mosques. In the evening of the clear, cool winter days, the warmth of the mid-afternoon sunlight lingers in the air. The city is alive with children leaving school, crowds of students walking towards the universities, and the constant hum of chatter and bargaining.When the sun finally sinks behind a minaret on the western side of the city, the palm trees are silhouetted against the deep red clouds of al-Hamra. On every clear night that I arrive home before sunset, I climb the rickety ladder to the uppermost terrace of our roof and watch darkness fall over the city, sitting in silence or with Yassir by my side as the first stars come out.

The past month has been extraordinarily busy, extraordinarily amazing, and extraordinarily hard all at once. Between my Arabic finals, extracurricular work, and running, I’ve had very little free time. It has been hard missing the holidays at home, and I’ve definitely had some moments in the past month when homesickness has hit me hard. The worst part of an exchange is supposed to be the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I think that from here on out my experience in Morocco will only get better. As I write this, my family is on their way to Casablanca, and I am so excited to be reunited with them.

Since I last wrote, I have traveled quite a bit and had some wonderful experiences in Marrakesh. At the beginning of November, all the Americans and our host siblings traveled to Agadir, a coastal town in the South that is a popular vacation spot for Moroccans in the summer. Zineb and I shared a room with Isobel and her host sister Obour, and we had really nice trip. The first day, Katie, John, Seth, and I went to the beach (without any Moroccans – they all thought we were crazy for swimming in the 65 degree rain) and swam in the surf. The waves were incredible, and we spent more than an hour in the warm water bodysurfing and swimming. We got out of the ocean when we saw lightning strike far out in the distance, and as we gathered out clothes the skies opened up. We quickly bundled in our towels and ran back to the hotel as the rain turned to hail. Crowds of tourists were hurrying into shops and restaurants next to the beach, and we ran through the masses laughing and soaked. We slipped our way up the long walkway to the beach, barely able to see in the heavy blinding rain and pelted with small hail.   At the hotel, our host siblings were all sitting in the lobby, and we arrived soaking wet and barefoot, clad in dripping towels and barely able to breathe from our sprint inside and laughter.

My friend Katie and I in Agadir during the hailstorm

The rest of the vacation in Agadir was wonderful. We went to a talk about using fog nets to irrigate crops and bring water to villages in rural Morocco, a technology that I found absolutely fascinating. Seth and I went for a run one of the mornings and swam more in the incredible waves.  Zineb and I went to the zoo with two of the other host siblings, Ayoub and Yazid. It was really nice having our host siblings along on the trip, and I loved the opportunity to get to know some of them better. It is really hard to meet other Moroccans my age here, and having three days where I was eating every meal and spending all my time with all the host siblings was a great opportunity to make some new friends.

Zineb, some other Moroccan host siblings, and I on the top of a bluff overlooking Agadir on our last day there

The week after our trip to Agadir, Zineb, Oumaima, Yassir, and I celebrated Thanksgiving (in Arabic, Eid al-Shokr or عيد الشكر) at the CLC. Everyone brought food and Mama Khadija, the cook and my cooking teacher at the CLC, made an amazing turkey. All the Americans, the director of the CLC and his family, and most of our host siblings came, and we ate buffet-style in the beautiful salon. The tables were laden with traditional Thanksgiving food – we made turkey, gravy, smooth mashed potatoes, delicious cider, macaroni, and some incredible desserts. The room was full of light and laughter. After we ate, we sat in a circle and shared what we were thankful for and everyone headed out to the CLC’s basketball court for a pickup game. I was so happy that we managed to celebrate and make the day feel so festive, and I’m glad my host siblings got to experience Thanksgiving. The next day, as is tradition in the Miller family, I bought a little fake Christmas tree and some ornaments and lights, and my host siblings helped me decorate my room for Christmas. It was very cool setting up my Christmas tree with a girl wearing hijab, and it’s been very interesting, especially this holiday season, discussing religion and traditions with Zineb. She recently started wearing hijab for various reasons, and it’s been fascinating talking to her about her choice to do so and about the symbolism and misconceptions surrounding the headscarf.

Zineb, Yassir, and I in our garden on the way to Thanksgiving at the CLC -- we made green beans (my usual Thanksgiving contribution!) and a coffee-chocolate cake

Yassir and Youssef, the son of the director of the CLC, at Thanksgiving -- they are too cute

Zineb and I next to my mini Christmas tree, complete with fake snow and lights

In between Thankgiving and Christmas, my host sisters and I have gone out in the evenings together quite a bit. Since Zineb put on the hijab and gained confidence driving, she feels far more comfortable going places at night. We have gone to various rooftop cafes overlooking Djemma al-Fna to watch the people below as night falls over the bustling square.  Down below in the crowds, my sisters helped me go Christmas shopping for my friends and family. We sat on rickety stools and ate boiled snails in a steaming salty broth to ward off the chill of the desert night, and drank a red tea so spicy and rich in flavor that it warmed me to the core. There are many street food stands in the square, and whenever we go out we normally end up eating the cheap, delicious ground meat sandwiches they sell. Under brightly painted awnings strung with bare lightbulbs, vendors hawk their meals to the crowds, beckoning people in and pointing them to seats on long metal benches. Within a matter of minutes, a man piles a steaming heap of ground meat (called kefta) filled with onions and spices on an old plate in front of you. They  toss you hunks of bread and slide bowls of cold tomato sauce to you across the tabletops, providing you with all the ingredients for a delicious kefta sandwich. Everyone sitting at the stalls is usually Moroccan, since tourists usually opt for the pricier rooftop restaurants lining the square.  Although Djemma al Fna is, to an extent, a tourist trap, the square is still filled with a majority of Moroccans most nights, and I love going with my host sisters and experiencing the night there the way they do.  This month, the Marrakesh International Film Festival and the FIFA Club World Cup Tournamet were in the city, and Marrakesh was even more lively than usual in the nighttime. My sisters and I went to some of the events – we saw a Bollywood movie on the giant screen the erected in Djemma al-Fna, and on the night of the final soccer match in the tournament we went to the Fan-zone in Gueliz Plaza to watch Real Madrid play on the big screen over the fountain. All the boys in Marrakesh love soccer, and the city has never felt more exciting than it did that night. I’ve also started spending some time with Oumaima’s friends, and it’s nice being able to expand the circle of people I know here and have a crew to spend time with some weekend nights.

Zineb and I at a rooftop cafe in Djemma al-Fna

Oumaima and I outside the Marrakesh International Film Festival

Of course, not everything at night here has been fun. Harassment is still a major problem on the streets here, and when it’s dark out I often am a little nervous on the street. As one of my friends put it, I watch the shadows behind me when I walk in Marrakesh. I’ve never been overly concerned for my personal safety, but I would be lying if I said there wasn’t an element of uncertainty and fear sometimes on the street. The worst part about the situation is that as a girl, there is absolutely nothing you can do to defend yourself against any attack, no matter what level of sinister. One of the nights that I went out with Oumaima and Zineb, we asked a man to take our picture in front of the Koutoubiya mosque. It was a beautiful, clear Friday night, and we were so excited to be out of the house and in the bustling medina. However, as we smiled for the picture, a group of high school boys walked by and one of them groped Oumaima, That kind of conduct is obviously not acceptable anywhere, but especially for Oumaima, a 16-year-old Muslim girl who won’t even wear tight pants if she isn’t covered by her shirt, this was a really disturbing act. She jolted and started to cry, and Zineb stood there looking at her little sister as she processed what had happened. I saw her face turn with an anger I had never seen before, and she let out a scream of frustration so guttural and angry that I do not think I will forget the way it sounded for a long time. She threw down the water bottle she was holding in her hand, sending water spouting up into the air as the plastic crumpled on the pavement, and pursued the boys across the square next to the mosque screaming at them in rapid Arabic. The boys kept walking, completely unphased, and disappeared into an alleyway. Zineb strode off after them, and then slowly stopped and turned around ,walking back towards us defeatedly as she realized that there was truly nothing she could do. She couldn’t stop them, she couldn’t punish them, and she couldn’t even shame them. I find the harassment on the street here very annoying, but a the end of the day I am living here for 8 months. Zineb and Oumaima have lived with this their whole lives, and will continue to see it in their own lives and the lives of their daughters in the years to come. Many people in Morocco are unwilling to talk about this harassment and recognize how dangerous it is, and how it threatens to ruin the lifestyles of girls like Zineb with big dreams. That moment in front of the Koutoubiya is representative of the harassment here and its consequences, and for better or for worse remains one of my strongest memories from the fall here.

At the CLC, the last month was a busy one. I finished my first semester of Arabic with good marks, and I’m really happy with how far I’ve progressed in Darija (dialectal Arabic) and classical Arabic. I can now carry on a basic conversation, and I am usually able to convey almost anything I need to, even if not in the most eloquent of ways. I also finished my TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) training, and I am now ready to start teaching my own class of beginning students in January through a program called CLC Connect. CLC Connect offers full scholarships to underprivileged Moroccan students to study in classes taught by the NSLI-Y students. I will have a class of young teenagers with extremely limited English experience for a total of thirty hours (three hours once a week) over the next semester.

My cooking teacher and the chef for the CLC, Mama Khadija. She taught me how to cook Moroccan dishes once a week last semester and I loved getting to know her!

Last Sunday, I continued my marathon training with my longest run yet, an 18-miler. Seth ran with me for the first part around the medina walls. We ran the 10 miles around the outside of the old city, following the ancient rose-colored wall on the Circuit du Mille et Une Portes (Route of A Thousand and One Doors, referring to the numerous intricate gates through the wall in to the old city). As we rounded the corners of the medina, there were incredible views of the snowcapped mountains and sweeping plains to the south. There were pickup soccer games on every dirt patch beside the walls, and as the sun rose higher in the sky the sidewalks came alive with energetic, happy Marrakshis on their way to cafes and soccer matches. We ran on the shaded road past dog-walkers through the Agdal Gardens, an expansive walled-in garden of olive trees and flowers. I had never seen many of the parts of medina that we ran by before, and I love being able to explore Marrakesh on foot like this. The marathon is in a little less than a month, and I’m feeling good about it!

This post has been a bit long-winded and my train is pulling in to Casablanca right now, so I will write about Christmas and our amazing trip to the small beach town of Essaouira in my next post. Merry Christmas to you all!

Ashora, Art, and Closed Doors

It's been a busy few weeks in Marrakesh, and now that that the Moroccan Independence Day has arrived I finally have some time to sit down and write. As winter sets in at home in Massachusetts, the mild rainy season has arrived in the city. The days are cool and sunny for the most part, and on my walk to school in the mornings through the fresh air I can see the peaks of the Atlas Mountains covered in the recent snowfall. The leaves have begun to fall from some of the trees and there are intermittent periods of bone-chilling rain, but there are still flowers blooming across the city and days of bright sunshine and warmth. As Thanksgiving and the holidays approach, I do find myself feeling homesick for the New England winter and all my friends and family together at home. However, life here is full to the brim of exciting new activities, hard work, and fun times with the Ibarkis. It is hard to feel lonely or homesick when Yassir is running into my room to play, Oumaima and Zineb are calling me to come join them studying, and my host parents are sending a constant stream of support and warmth. I am so lucky to be living with such an amazing family, and having the Ibarkis has gone so far towards making up for the fact that I am not living with my mom and dad, don't have my friends here with me, and don't have the same wide network of people that I usually do at home.

Over the past couple weeks, my host sisters and I have had a lot of fun times together.  The holiday of Ashora was two weeks ago, and we went to my host mom's friend Fatima's house for delicious couscous. Afterwards, Zineb and I donned jelabas and went out into the chill of the night in search of the Ashora fires. Every year, the boys of each neighborhood gather brush and sticks and light an enormous bonfire. We found them preparing to light the fire next to my gym, and we watched with Yassir and the dry straw and sticks went up in flames. Some boys had brought drums, and they beat a deep rhythm as their friends grabbed pieces of flaming straw and spun to trace pictures of whirling sparks in the air. We watched the celebrations with Yassir from beside the warmth of the flames, taking in the heat and the music. The next day, as is traditional on Ashora, my host mom doled out portions of candied nuts, small cookies (the croichlets I talked about in my last post), and dried fruit to each member of the family. We each have a small bag of treats called feccia that we will eat as snacks in the days to come. I love the small celebrations and traditions like this that are so characteristic of each Moroccan holiday, and I'm glad I was able to see Ashora.

Last weekend, Oumaima and I traveled with the other Americans to the town of Ait Tourir and painted a mural at a private school that doubles as an orphanage. The school is part of the international organization SOS Children's Villages, and it works to provide about 100 Moroccan orphans with an incredible standard of living and a great education. The walls of the private school are covered with murals that volunteers have painted to brighten the red walls and make the beautiful complex even more welcoming. As we walked up to the site we were going to paint, lines of schoolchildren passed us and I received the most enthusiastic welcome I have ever seen in my life. About 50 little girls broke out of their line to come over and talk to us, kissing our cheeks and spouting the only English words they knew to clamoring for our attention.  We had an impromtu competition to see which one of the girls could roll their "r"'s the best, and we watched them walk back through the winding buildings laughing and trilling high "r"'s out over the lines. While the children were in class, Oumaima and I worked with two girls from the town to paint the French alphabet on one of the walls of the school. After we were finished, we got into a spontaneous face-paint war with Mohamed and John, and we ended up with some true masterpieces on our faces. After an official tour of the orphanage, we returned to Marrakesh. Oumaima and I decided to walk to hour and a half home from the bus station, and we ended up walking through the giant central square Djemma al Fna with John and Seth. Djemma a Fna comes alive at night with dancers and snake charmers and the frenetic music of performers, and we wandered through the thick crowds taking in the atmosphere until we reached the street food vendors. We sat on rickety stools and ate snails from their shells. They are cooked in a flavorful briney broth that is almost overpowering, and the hot steam rising from the bowls warmed us in the cooling desert night. Afterwards, we continued on through the rows of stalls to a vendor who sold a deep red tea mixed with spices. The tea was steaming hot and tasted of cinnamon and peppermint laced with an infusion of exotic flavors that I could not put my finger on. The heat of the liquid and the spices warmed me to my core, and Oumaima and I walked home through the lively streets of the city in good spirits.

Later that week, I had a small run-in with an artist that was one of the most interesting interactions I've had yet in Morocco. I was walking down the street with two of my friends John and Tanner, and a man walked by us and asked us if we spoke English. He proceeded, bursting with enthusiasm, to tell us that he was just coming from the hospital from the birth of his first child. He said luck comes in threes, and he asked us to come to his shop in the market across from our school to have tea and paint. We said yes and entered the crowded market, weaving through the narrow alleyways around vendors and carts. His store was a small oasis from the chaos of the market, and we sat and drank tea with him while he told us about his wife and baby Sarah. After we had tea, he gave me an apron and told me to come stand by him next to a blank canvas on the wall. He blended colors and guided my hand across the pallet in a blur of dripping blues and yellows and reds until I had painted a softly lit desert on the canvas. I stepped back and he approached the painting. With deft strokes, he outlined two palm trees arching together in the middle of the desert and added contours to the dunes and sky. All throughout his work, he kept up a stream of steady commentary about the symbols in the painting and how his lines and colors reflected love in life. His English was a soft flow of broken sentences spelling out all the truths he held universal. It was amazing to hear him speak and watch him paint, and he told us to come back any time we wanted for a painting lesson in exchange for the chance for him to practice his English. He wrote my name on the desert painting in Arabic calligraphy and gave me a rose from the market on the way out.

It was a truly unexpected and amazing experience that was made all the more important because Tanner ended up leaving Marrakesh the next day due to family matters. I'm glad he got one last incredible interaction with this man in Morocco before he left, and I know everyone he touched in Marrakesh will be praying for him in the days to come.


On a happier note, yesterday was Oumaima and Yassir's birthday, and we had a nice celebration at home with their aunt Raja from Benimallal. She lives with their grandmother who I met earlier this year, and their grandmother sent me a beautiful scarf as a present! Apparently she liked meeting "the American", and I was really touched that she thought of me. I hope I get to see her in person later this year to thank her. During the celebration, I gave Oumaima and Yassir their gifts and we played games. We danced to traditional shabbi music and ate delicious Moroccan helwah (sweets/cake). My host dad bought a sparkler candle, and the celebration culminated when he lit the candle. The sparkler lit up, and I could see Yassir and Oumaima's laughing faces as they prepared to blow out the candle. We had a great night all together, and I can't wait for more birthdays together this year.

Yesterday, I continued my training for the Marrakesh Marathon (10 weeks to go!). I did a 14.5 mile run all the way down the beautiful avenue that stretches from the CLC to the outskirts of the city and then ran around the Menara basin with Seth. I'm glad I have someone to keep me company, and I really love the long, relaxed Sunday runs. My new shoes came in the mail last week, and I'm very hopeful about my prospects for completing the marathon.

On that note, I had some very interesting experiences with the post office here when I tried to pick up my shoes. At first, I approached all the complications (having to present multiple forms of ID and being asked to pay a ridiculous amount of customs duties) with a generally annoyed attitude, and I tried to deal the problem by being assertive. There are two men who work as customs officers at the office, and they generally are very hard on people who are obviously foreigners in terms of how much money they ask from them. They were going to charge me $70 dollars to collect my small package. However, I very quickly realized that my assertive attitude and arguing in English was getting me nowhere with these men. I returned a couple days later and spoke solely in Arabic to them, smiled a lot, told them I was a student about to run in the Marrakesh marathon, and eventually ended up getting the "latifa" (nice) price of about $30. My experience in the post office really underscored my observations about the importance of interpersonal relationships here. Although most people I've talked to have advised me to be strong and assertive in my dealings here so as to not get cheated, I have found for the most part that the most effective primary approach is to get on the person's good side. If you approach most people here and begin to speak assertively in English or French, there is an initial withdrawal and the person tends to close off. Instead, saying a cheerful hello in Arabic and slowly working towards what you want is a far superior approach. I was struck by how different the men at the post office were between the two days I spoke with them. They changed from rude, closed-off employees to kind men laughing and chatting with me as they helped me out.

My experience with these men is a perfect example of how deeply layered Moroccan society can be. Behind the closed doors in the narrow winding streets of the medina, there are expansive palaces and secret gardens hidden from the eye of the casual viewer. The insides of houses can be drastically different from their outer traditional appearance. Many of these places are easy to overlook or misjudge, much like many of the people you meet on the streets here in Morocco. In the months to come, I hope to be able to delve more deeply into society here and discover what is really behind more of these closed doors, whether physical wooden ones or the seemingly blank face of a Moroccan acquaintance.

This week, I am traveling with Zineb and the Americans to Agadir, a town in the south on the ocean. I'm looking forward to a fun trip and I will update soon!

Halloween in Morocco and Slip 'n' Slides

After a week back in Marrakesh after our Sahara trip, I'm glad to be back in my daily routines. Last week was a typical week of running, studying, struggling with Arabic, and general normalcy in this amazing city. However, I added something new to my schedule on Wednesday afternoons since I am now the recess teacher for the kid's classes at the CLC.

On Wednesday afternoon, I went down to the courtyard at the CLC and was greeted by an influx of small children during their recess periods. There were 10-15 students in every class, and I led games for 7 classes for 15 minutes each. The English of the students varied from absolute beginner to advanced beginner, which made explaining some of the games more difficult that I was expecting. I had to very carefully simplify my instructions so that everyone would understand what was happening. I am used to working with young American children who understand these instructions, so this new aspect to leading games is an interesting and slightly daunting challenge.

In the first few classes of beginners, I had a tough time conveying the directions to the students and I found the task slightly frustrating. However, as the afternoon passed, I hit my stride. Using analogies with cartoons like Tom and Jerry and a lot of acting, I was able to explain the rules of the parachute game Cat and Mouse. In each class, we played Cat and Mouse with the parachute and incorporated vocabulary words into the game. For example, the Level One students were learning the names of school supplies, so I assigned the person underneath the parachute the name of "Paper" and the student above trying to catch them "Pen". Then, everyone in the circle had to chant "Go pen, get paper!" while the students played tag. Afterwards, we made a tent with the parachute and the students had to say as many vocabulary words as they could remember before the tent fell down. After they understood what we were doing, the kids all seemed to really enjoy the games and I loved how enthusiastic they were. In Morocco, all students call their teachers "Oustad(a)", and the direct translation to English is "Teacher". Therefore, all the students referred to me as "Teacher". It was very odd being called by a title, because no one else has ever given me a title of respect in a position of authority like that. Being called "Teacher" and adjusting my English to the level of the students will definitely take some getting used to, but I really loved the two hours we spend at recess and I'm looking forward to planning more games each Wednesday for these children.

On Friday afternoon, a couple of my friends and I went around to the little children's classrooms here and talked to them about Halloween. We briefly explained the American traditions surrounding the holiday and taught the students how to say "trick-or-treat" when we handed out candy. I went home that night with some of the leftover candy and had a small Halloween with Yassir. He dressed up in a really cute sailor costume and then trick-or-treated at the front door of our house. This is the first holiday I've felt really homesick during since I have so many good memories with my friends and family at home during Halloween. However, I was happy that I got to celebrate at least a little bit and share Halloween with some Moroccan children.

Over the weekend, I spent a lot of time with my host family and we had a wonderful couple days. On Saturday night, I made mozzarella and tomato paninis with homemade pesto for dinner. They were a huge hit with my host family and I hope I get to cook again for them soon!

On Sunday, I went for my long run with my friend Seth. We ran all the way down the long street Mohamed VI, which has a beautiful median full of trees, benches, flowers, and fountains. Since these Sunday morning runs are becoming a routine, we have begun to see the same people on our route, and we always wave and cheer each other on. All throughout the avenue, there are Moroccans working out with their friends and family. It's great to be a part of the active, fun atmosphere in the mornings here, and I'm glad that I get to see yet another aspect of this city. On the way back, we ran by the jam-packed soccer fields to Menara Gardens, a beautiful park with a giant reflecting pool that is definitely one of my favorite places in Marrakesh. Our run was about 13 miles, and we are currently still on track with the training to run the marathon in January.

After I went home, I made sfaa, my favorite Moroccan dish, with my host mom. Sfaa is made up of tiny, almost rice-sized noodles carefully steamed and covered in olive oil that surround richly flavored chicken. On top, we spread chopped almonds, cinnamon, raisons, and powdered sugar. I loved cooking with my host mom, and we chatted as we worked in our strange mixture of Darija and Spanish. After a huge meal and a long nap, I woke up and made crocheits (tiny almost cookies) with my host siblings and host mom. Outside, the leaves rustled and the air grew colder. The hot summer season in Marrakesh has lasted longer than usual this year, and everyone has been eagerly anticipating the rains that come in the fall and winter. Just as we finished the cookies, the skies opened and rain started pouring down into the dusty garden. Yassir and I ran outside in old tee shirts and started sliding around on the slick tiles of the garden in the downpour. As the rain subsided, the garden was full of slippery pools of water. Oumaima and Zineb came outside, and they were incredibly surprised when they saw Yassir and I start to run and slide around on our stomachs on the tile. We made a makeshift slip n' slide in the garden and sprinted through the puddles, launching ourselves onto the slippery tiles and sliding all the way to the opposite walls. My host mom came outside and almost fell over laughing watching us. We played in the rain until we were soaked and cold, and then came inside and dried off to drink tea and eat freshly baked cookies. Afterwards, Zineb and I curled up in the salon with Yassir and watched Maid in Manhattan. We had a really wonderful day all together and I'm looking forwards to more of those in the future.

Some pictures from the last week are attached!

Halloween with Captain Yassir!

Making sfaa -- this is my host mom Oum Kaltoum

Making croichets with Oumaima before we went out in the garden!

The Atlas Mountains and the Sahara

As I sit down to write about my group's recent trip, I can safely say that the last few days have been the most interesting of my entire life. This post is probably going to be very long since so many incredible things happened, so feel free to skim!

Early on Wednesday morning while the stars were still out, we left Marrakesh behind and headed south high into the Atlas Mountains. We drove through winding mountain passes and river valleys, stopping to picnic and explore the sweeping expanses of open slope. Late in the afternoon, we arrived But Ghrar, a small village nestled into the foothills of the southern slopes of the mountains. Seth, John, Tanner, Tammy and I dropped our bags at the small riad we were staying at and walked in the shadow of a towering rock face to a small outcropping over the river. We sat and watched the darkness settle over the mountains, slowly covering the terraced slopes and the lush valley. The low rush of the river below and the distant barking of dogs were the only sounds that broke through the stillness of the night. There were very few lights in the village behind us, and when we looked up we could see the sky turn into a shimmering sea of lights. The Milky Way shone brightly overhead, and the constellations I knew so well took on a whole new life and vitality away from the light pollution of the cities. We walked through the darkness back to the village, stopping beside the rocky outcroppings of the stream bed to breathe in the cool night air and gaze at the sky. 

The hotel was a small traditional Moroccan home with a few other local patrons. We ate a delicious tagine and lay on the roof in silence looking at the stars. The next morning, Katie, Margaret, and I woke up at five o'clock and returned to the roof. We lay down mattresses and bundled up in blankets to warm ourselves in the chill of the predawn air. The stars were clear and distant overhead, and we saw six shooting stars streak across the sky. We lay in silence as the sky lightened and the stars slowly faded into the soft pinks and blues of dawn. 

As the sun rose higher, we left the riad and went on an incredible hike through the neighboring villages and gorges. The villages sit in the shadows of the High Atlas mountains and are inhabited by the Berber (indigenous Moroccan) people. Although Berbers and Arabs cohabit Morocco very peacefully, there is a strong sense of Berber nationality. Many schoolchildren has the Amazigh (Berber) symbol written on their backpacks, and the sense of identity was strong in the villages. Most people there are still subsistence farmers, and the village is surrounded by lush green fields irrigated by the mountain springs. We walked though the wakening villages as the sun warmed the land, and we passed through a narrow gorge alongside traders traveling from village to village with their pack-laden donkeys. On the other side of the pass, we visited a tiny one-room schoolhouse that serves as an elementary school for the village. A major problem in rural Morocco is access to education. Although a middle school education is compulsory, this law is nearly impossible to enforce in rural areas. School in Morocco is conducted in Arabic, but many children in these mountain communities only speak a Berber language. This situation leads many students to drop out of school at a young age because they have no idea what is happening. Furthermore, most villages do not have communal transportation to school. Many middle and high schools are designated for a large region of land since these areas are sparsely populated, and some students are unable to walk the many miles to and from school every day. Recently, the Moroccan government has made a huge push to improve educational opportunities, and they have been incredibly successful increasing the literacy rate. However, there are still many problems facing Moroccan education and it was very interesting to see some of the manifestations of the government programs in this village. There were about 30 children in this tiny one-room schoolhouse, but out in the fields and on the mountainsides there were many children herding sheep and farming who clearly were not enrolled in school. 

The teacher in the village was part of the Moroccan government's initiatives to improve education by sending all certified teachers to an assigned location through a lottery system. She was from outside Casablanca, but she now lives in the village. She spoke English and was able to explain the basic workings of her classroom to us. The students were sitting in rows of desks studying math when we came inside, and she taught from the front using recitation techniques and a blackboard. Our group gave the students a short English lesson, and it was wonderful how enthusiastic all the students were. There was one girl in the front row wearing a headscarf with a pen stuck behind her ear who was literally jumping out of her seat to try to answer a question. When we left the building, we could hear a chanting noise behind us that sounded like "st-st-st". We asked our guide what the students were saying, and he said they were all saying "OuSTada" (teacher) to clamor for her attention and offer up an answer. For many of these children, education is not an assumed right the way it is for most people in the United States. Their enthusiasm to be in school was incredible. However, it made me very sad to think that a girl like the girl in the front row might not be able to continue her education since the nearest high school is many miles away. 

We continued down the Ouad Draa into a small village called Zagora that is commonly known as the "Door to the Sahara". On Friday afternoon, we left the beautiful patio of our hotel and drove through a barren stretch of desert to a small outpost an hour into the desert. The town is built around the tourist trade in the region and is comprised of a single minaret surrounded by a few compounds of low earthen buildings. A decaying palm grove rising out of sand dunes borders the settlement on three sides.  Although the date industry in this town has clearly faltered due to this climate change, the tourist industry is what sustains the people here. Our group was fairly alone out in the desert, but in December and March European tourists flock to the Sahara for the holidays.
As the sun fell lower in the sky and the air cooled, we mounted our camels on the outskirts of the village. Four men from the town guided our trains of camels, and they helped us navigate the tricky task of clambering aboard. Saharan camels are called dromedaries (single-humped) and are incredibly interesting animals. Their faces appear very regal and aloof, with large brown eyes and a long graceful neck. Their legs have two joints, one at the very top and one midway down the leg. This anatomy makes for a very choppy gait that is incredibly distinct from that of a horse. My first camel was a beautiful tan color, and I named him Jamil (the word for beautiful in Arabic).  A guide named Marhabeb led Tanner and I through the desert, and throughout the excursion we were able to use our rudimentary Arabic to talk with him about the desert. He was very kind and taught us some new vocabulary about the Sahara. He and his partners spend their days ferrying tourists from the town out to the camps in the desert and then back in the mornings. One of the best things about the tour for me was how much the guides genuinely seemed to enjoy giving the tour. In many of the places we have traveled, there seems to be a certain resentment towards work done for tourists. However, these men seemed very content to be out walking through the desert and sitting under the stars by the campfire for the night. I really enjoyed their company throughout the trip and I was happy that I was able to talk, albeit a little, with those men.
We spend an hour and a half riding away from the town towards distant sand dunes. The landscape gradually changed from barren cracked earth to sweeping hills of fine reddish sand as we trekked further. From the swaying back of my camel, I could see the distant plains of Algeria and the mountains of Morocco through breaks in the dunes. The heat was beginning to abate, and the evening wind was gentle and warm on my skin. As the sun sank lower in the sky, the clouds began to take on an unearthly soft red glow reflected in the sand below. The shadows of the dunes contoured the desert evening. On the sides of the dunes, the breeze had created long patterned ripples of sand that bore a striking resemblance to the ocean floor.
Just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, coloring the world in soft red and gold, we arrived at the campsite. The guides have a very nice setup complete with bathrooms, a campfire pit, a large communal tent for meals, and very clean living spaces. The tents ring a common area with soft mats laid over the sand, pillows to sit on, and a large fire pit surrounded by stools.
We dropped our backpacks in our tents and immediately headed out into the desert to enjoy the last few moments of daylight. I took off my shoes, and when I stepped out into the dunes I was amazed by the feeling of the fine warm desert sand. Directly to the west of the campsite, a massive sand dune rises high above all the surrounding hills. We clambered up to the top, slipping and laughing in the fine sand, and sat on the peaked top taking in the view. To the east, we could make out the foothills of the Atlas Mountains rising in the distance over miles of barren desert. To the west, the desert stretched as far as the eye could see into Algeria. Every direction, there was a sweeping expanse of rocky plains interspersed by sand dunes and small gnarled trees.
After a few minutes, Katie, John, Seth, and I decided to explore the desert. We ran down the steep side of the sand dune, sliding barefoot with every step and completely unable to stop. The speed and the blurring view and the warm desert wind blowing in our hair was exhilarating, and Katie and I just collapsed at the bottom and laughed. John and Seth led us through the desert towards a high dune in the distance, and we sat there and talked as the stars came out. For a while, we lay in silence on the flat top of the dune watching more and more stars appear in the gathering dusk. I was struck by the sheer immensity of the silence in the desert. There was no animal sound, no rustling leaves, and no human activity. I do not think I have ever been in complete and total silence like the silence of the Sahara, and it was interesting the compare the total absence of noise with what I normally think of as silence.
After darkness had fallen fully over the desert, we made our way back to the main campsite. At the top of the large sand dune next to the tents, we could see the campfires starting up below illuminating the sleeping camels and ring of texts. We decided to roll down the slope, and we threw ourselves onto the sand at the top. I picked up speed quickly, and soon I was spinning down the slope through the warm sand surrounded by a blur of stars and firelight and laughter. We stumbled between the camels back to camp, dizzy and light.
Back at the campsite, we shook out the sand from our hair. Katie, Isobel and I changed into traditional Moroccan jelabas, and we sat down in the communal tent for a wonderful dinner of harira (soup) and tagine.
As the fire faded to embers and the music slowed, we all left the warm fireside and walked up the tall dune beside the campsite. We lay in silence on the dunes under the vast expanse of sky, our feet buried in cooling sand that enveloped our skin like wet porcelain. Katie, John, Seth, and I went "star-tipping", a dizzying and slightly juvenile process where you spin fast in a circle staring at a star overhead. Once you are fairly dizzy, someone shines a flashlight into your eyes. The disorientation and light change makes it physically impossible to control your body, and you fall into a heap on the ground. As you can probably imagine, this was a pretty unreal experience at the top of a sand dune in the Sahara, and we had a lot of fun.
That night, we sat on the roof looking at the stars and heard the noises of a loud party below. Seven of us went downstairs to ask the hotel owner what was happening, and he told us that his cousin was getting married in a traditional Berber wedding. Since celebrations are very large and open in Morocco, he told us to go put on jelebas and come with him. The festivities were solely the woman's side of the family (her future husband was from Ourzazate and his family was celebrating there), and the bride was not actually in attendance. She sits in a room with her close family and friends and celebrates, and her extended family has a massive celebration for her outside. Women dressed in ornate jelabas ringed a group of men in white robes with drums. The celebrations was, as the hotel owner described, "a soccer match" between the male and female relatives to see who could give the best performances. We sat on colorful benches on the outskirts of the circle and watched the women dance in a slow circular shuffle singing in a high lovely wail to the beat of the drums. Periodically, they would stop and the men would chime in, their low bass tones resonating down into the earth. We sat and watched the celebration for almost two hours, taking in the colors and music and dancing. A traditional Berber wedding is not something most foreigners will ever get to see in their lives, and we were so lucky to be able to have that experience.
The next morning, we woke up early to watch the sun rise from the top of the ancient fortified city across the river (as an aside, I would like to point out to everyone who knows my living schedules at home that shockingly enough, I woke up before sunrise every day for five days).  The view from the top faces southeast into the the plains stretching down into the Sahara. We sat in silence at the top leaning against the walls of the ancient castle and watched the sun edge over the horizon in the distance.
A few hours later, we drove back through the beautiful winding passes of the Atlas Mountains back to Marrakesh. When our bus pulled in to the CLC, I was so happy to find Yassir and Zineb waiting at the door to welcome me back. They are so amazing and I am really happy to be home hanging out with my host family again. This week, we are back in the full swing of school, TEFL training, and our normal routines. I'm resuming my training for the Marrakesh road race tomorrow, and I'm excited to have a few weeks to resume a normal routine and be with my family here!

Later that afternoon, we left the riad and traveled away from the mountains towards the desert. We drove through the Ouad Draa, a valley that winds through the mountains and opens up out into the Sahara desert. As we approached the desert, the effects of global warming and the resulting desertification became increasingly apparent and increasingly devastating for the villages. Coupled with political clashes over water rights, global warming has made it impossible for these populations to obtain the water that they need to farm. In many communities, water is so rationed that it is only available in the mornings and after dark. We visited a town that is a main producer of dates in Morocco and discussed this with a local man. He said that when he was a child he could play in the pools of water in the palm groves  and feel mud between his toes, but that over the past decades the mud has increasingly turned to sand. Now, there is barely enough water for the palms to survive. In the village, small children came up to us and asked for the water bottles we were carrying. It was eye-opening and sobering to see the manifestations of global warming, especially because as a New Englander the concept of not having enough water is very abstract. We hear about global warming and we know that it is a problem, but we never have to experience the day-to-day impact like the people who live near the Sahara and fear the relentless progression of the desert sand.

After dinner, we sat around the campfire with the camel drivers and the other workers at the camp. The men brought out traditional instruments, and they sang us the songs of their villages. The music was a wild mix of drum beats and powerful melodies from deep within the mens' throats. They sang traditional songs and improvised together under the shimmering desert sky, and we all sat next to the fire with warm skin and faces upturned to the music and distant starlight. Margaret brought s'mores makings, and eating food reminiscent of childhood campouts and long summer nights in my backyard just enhanced the experience. We roasted marshmallows and listened to the steady beat of the drums rise up with the smoke into the cooling desert night.

Back at the campsite, Katie, Isobel, Shivonne, Seth, and I dragged our mattresses out into the middle of the campground and slept under the canopy of stars. I woke up before a hint of light had tinged the sky and watched the sunrise slowly erase the constellations. As it got lighter, we all climbed to the top of the sand dune wrapped in blankets to ward off the chill of the desert. We sat in silence facing east and watched the glowing orange orb slide over the distant horizon, slowly illuminating the vast expanses of dunes and desert. After the sky brightened to a beautiful powder blue with hints of pink clouds, Katie and I lay our blankets out on the desert sand and did some yoga. The color of the clay-red sand on our skin and highlighted against the post-dawn sky in the distance was striking and so beautiful. 

After an incredible camel ride out of the desert, we drove back to our hotel and rested. That afternoon, we visited an ancient library in Zagora with a collection of books from all over world. The man and his son who founded the library and the corresponding madrasa (Quranic school) traveled all over the Middle East a thousand years ago on long journeys to bring back books. They brought vellom copies of the Qur'an and hadiths (the sayings of the prophet) from Iraq and Syria, and books about science and history from Alexandria. There was an incredible collection of ancient literature and research. However, the most fascinating thing about the library was the accessibility of the language. Since Modern Standard Arabic (fusha) is the language of the Qur'an, not a spoken dialect, it has not evolved linguistically over time the way that English has. These books were written even before works like Beowulf were written in Old English, which is barely (if at all) comprehensible for modern English speakers. However, since fusha has not evolved in the same way these texts are written in the same linguistic way as most formal Arabic texts today. I found that aspect of the library absolutely fascinating, and I can only imagine how wonderful that is for Arab historians and researchers. 

That night, we traveled to Ait Ben Haddou, a beautiful village with ancient buildings where many movies (ex. Indiana Jones, Gladiator) have been filmed. The owner of the small hotel we stayed at is called "Action" by most people in town because when people come to film he often is designated as the person to call out instructions on set. He has been an extra in more that 60 movies and had a lot of information about how the movie industry had impacted the economy of the town. 

Waterfalls and a Safe Place

Last Wednesday, the NSLI group traveled to a town called Ourika. A short drive into the Atlas Mountains, Ourika is a spot frequented by Marrakshis seeking a day out of the hustle of the city.The town is built around a small river bed, and paths climb upwards into the mountains following the path of the stream and it's seven waterfalls.

We began our day by walking up out of the town on a winding path along the riverbed. After a short climb, we reached the first waterfall. An easy walk from town, the pool was packed with Moroccans enjoying the holiday and wading in the frigid waters of the falls. Half of our group stopped at a cafe next to the first pool that clung to the sides of a steep cliff covered in flowering vines. The rest of us continued upwards up a narrow path carved into the side of the ravine. The mountainside was dusty, but down below lush groves of trees and bushes followed the stream cutting through the gorge. As we ascended to each pool, more and more hikers stopped to enjoy the water and picnic on the slopes. By the time we reached the seventh pool, we were only accompanied by a few other Moroccans. Three of the boys and I stripped off a few layers of clothing and ran into the tumbling waters of the waterfall. The water streams down from the snow melt of the high Atlas and was so cold that it knocked my breath out. I stood under the crashing falls and could just make out my friends laughing through the thick sheets of water and the incredible backdrop of the Atlas foothills behind them. Afterwards, we lay on the warm rocks in our wet clothes and soaked in the Moroccan sun. We passed a wonderful day in the ice-cold pools of the waterfall and the restaurants beneath, and I hope to return to Ourika before my time here comes to an end.

On Thursday, something equally as momentous although not quite as quantifiable happened after school in Marrakesh. I have been trying to spend more time outside here, since I often feel that I am wasting away my days here in the beautiful weather sitting inside. After class, I decided to go walk around Gueliz to try to find a post office and I ended up walking through a beautiful park. There is lush green grass, tiled walkways, a small arboretum and flowering trees. In the middle of the park, I stopped to listen and I realized I was in a place completely removed from the hustle of the city. The melodies of birdsongs and the low splashing of the mosaic fountains completely obscured the nearby car horns of Gueliz. I spread out my towel under the shade of a palm tree and decided to study there for the afternoon. The park is next to a high school, and there were groups of students were studying on the grass. Furthermore, since dating is forbidden in Islam I haven't seen many young couples on the street.  It was a refreshing change to see boys and girls from the high school sitting on benches together and getting to know each other.

The location was beautiful, but even more important for me was the atmosphere in the park. As an American girl on my own here, I often feel hassled and harassed on the street -- it is rare for me to feel comfortable around strangers here. If you respond with friendliness to any kind of advance from a boy on the street, even a hello, you have to accept that he might start to follow you. Furthermore, if you respond at all, any consequence that occurs from your interactions will be seen by many people here as your fault since you are "playing along". This is an attitude that I have had trouble dealing with in my time here so far. As someone who knows me well put it when I talked with him about this,
"You usually walk down the street smiling and think that it is natural to say good morning to anyone who passes you." Here, I have to walk with headphones in, stare at the horizon or the ground, and take care not to make eye contact with a man on the street so that he will not take any extra interest in me. Although I never feel physically threatened by the men here, there is a pervasive power imbalance between men and women that constantly reminds me that I have to be closed off and cold in public. I've gotten accustomed to flat-out ignoring the men on the street, but in certain situations -- when you can't walk away, in a taxi, or at a cafe in a less threatening atmosphere -- I do need to engage in conversation. In these conversations, I usually pretend that I am from Paris and tell them "Je m'appelle Marie". I then proceed to say "Wi" and "No" to all their questions, using the fact that I honestly have no idea what they are saying to preclude a conversation I shouldn't have. This approach is very much against my nature, and I hate that I have to act this way here.

In the park, some groups of students came up and tried to talk to me. I was initially very cautious because I was afraid of a negative outcome from our interaction, so I introduced myself as Marie. However, as the conversation went on, I realized that this was the first time in Morocco when I didn't feel like I had to be Marie. I hope to frequent this park in the future to study with my American friends and meet more Moroccan students!