A Recap: Winter in Marrakesh

To catch you up on my winter, I’ll try to recap the last couple months here! After my parents and Cordelia left, I fell back into my usual routine with my host family. After a bout of illness, I recovered slowly and was ready to start my second semester of Arabic as the New Year began. The day before my classes started, I went on a wonderful walk with my host family at Le Palmerie, the golf resort next to my house. It is the original oasis that Marrakesh was founded around, and there are rolling gentle green hills, pools of water, and great flocks of migratory birds enjoying the clear air outside the city. We walked around for a few hour, enjoying the warm breeze blowing in from the Sahara and sunshine in the crisp winter air.

My Arabic classes started that Monday with two weeks of Darija, the local dialect. Originally, my class switched to a new teacher, an amazing Moroccan woman named Raja who was finishing her Fulbright requirements by teaching at the CLC. Due to a long and convoluted series of events, Oustada Lamia, my teacher from last semester, actually ended up returning to our class to teach us this semester. Her teaching method is very strict and very tough, but I really grew to like her last semester. Her pedagogy clicks with me, and she makes me work harder than I’ve ever worked for a single class in my life. At the beginning of the year, I was absolutely terrified of her. She used to make us get up in front of the class and recite our new vocabulary lists, and if we made mistakes, she would have us do push-ups in front of everyone. She has maintained the same levels of expectations over the year, and has also started to open up more to us. With time, I’ve grown to really admire her. She is deeply intellectual and incredibly hard-working, and her work ethic inspires us to act similarly. I think she is the best teacher I could have had this year, and I’m so happy I got to know her.  At this point, I feel like I am really improving in my spoken and written classical Arabic skills (although my Darija -- the local dialect -- is pretty bad), and I’m excited for my last five weeks in class. I’m currently writing a 6-page research paper in Arabic about the effects of children’s books and textbooks on gender stereotypes in Morocco, and I think it will be a great chance to put together the skills I’ve been working on.

In January, a group from Lewis and Clark College was also studying at the CLC. It was really wonderful to have some fresh blood around, and I loved getting to know some of the other students. They were all very nice and outgoing, and they brought a vitality to the CLC that was much-needed in the “depths of winter” here (60 and sunny most days). One of them went to a boarding school near my house and actually knew a couple of my friends, which was such a coincidence. We ran into them on our trip this past week completely by coincidence, and I hope that I get to see some of them again before they leave Morocco.

A few weekends into second semester, Oumaima and I organized a trip with some of the other CLC students to go to a place in the mountains called Oukaimden. About two hours outside of the city, Oukaimden is a small-scale imitation of a ski village where Marrakshis go when they want to see snow. Seth, Mohamed, John, and his host brother came with us, and we took a cab up into the snowy peaks. There was a roadblock about 5 kilometers from Oukaimden, so we actually ended up leaving the taxi in the massive line of cars stuck on the winding mountain pass. A huge crowd of Marrakshis were doing the same around us, slamming car doors and laughing as we began the trek up the rugged mountainside. The Moroccans weren’t exactly dressed for the outdoors, but the crowd brought festivity and laugher. Women in ballet flats and handbags picked their way over the craggy rocks, slipping and grabbing onto each other for support and falling over in laughter. Groups of boys carried drums and tambourines, and they wove through the crowds shouting and spreading an infectious energy. We squeezed between cars and buses packed bumper to bumper on the road, climbing all the way up into the snow-capped peaks. Once we got there, we ate a delicious picnic complemented with piping hot tea.

 John, Seth, and I rented skis, and it was a pretty unreal experience to ski two hours away from the red desert atmosphere of Marrakesh. The snow was powdery and beautiful, and the mountains were shining in the sunshine under the deep slate blue of the winter sky. We cut up to the top of a high ridge and skied down through the sunshine and powder. It was an incredible day, improved even more by the sudden snow flurry that hit as we left. I didn’t think I was going to see falling snow this year, and that was a wonderful surprise. When we returned to Marrakesh, we headed to the heart of Djemma al Fna and drank steaming red spiced tea that warmed my whole body. Oumaima and I finished up an amazing day by going to a girls’ movie night at Shivonne’s house, where we ate delicious pasta with the other girls and their host siblings, did each others’ nails, and talked late into the night. I met an interesting girl there who was about to graduate from Lewis and Clark and was finishing her thesis in Marrakesh. We had a wonderful evening that was the perfect end to an amazing day.

The next weekend was my birthday! My friends at the CLC took me out to lunch and gave me a beautiful scarf, and my host family had a wonderful surprise party for me. I came home from meeting my speaking partner and was greeted by Margaret, my entire host family, some of my Moroccan friends, my host mom’s friends, and their daughters. We ate delicious cake, talked, and danced until late, and it was a wonderful way to spend my birthday. Between the party and a very long birthday phone call with a friend, I went to bed exhausted with a big smile on my face. A couple of my friends from the States also sent gifts over, and that really touched me and made me so happy that they remembered.

The next day, I taught my first English class. The other students on my program and I became certified English teachers last semester, and this semester we are volunteering for three hours every Sunday teaching for a program called CLC Connect. My school offers scholarships for underprivileged Moroccans who are unable to afford CLC tuition and who speak very little English, and my group volunteers as their teachers. I teach the class with the highest level of proficiency. I’m lucky they know so much, because it is much easier to grow closer to them when we have more of a common language. There are 9 girls and one boy in my class ranging from age 14 to 17, and all of them work incredibly hard. I’ve gotten to know them fairly well over the past seven weeks, and I think I’ve managed to connect with each one of them. I love the feeling of being in front of a class and I love seeing how exciting these kids are to learn English. They surprise me every week with their work ethic, new vocabulary, grasp of grammatical concepts, and their positive energy in class. Both of my parents are teachers, and I’ve always thought that I might like to follow in their footsteps. This semester has reaffirmed that possibility for me. I feel really comfortable in my class and I have loved my experience so far.

I’ve continued running recess for the Kid’s Program, and I love playing with the students. The sense of community I get from volunteering with them, both from the teachers and the little kids, is amazing. Last week, we played Red Light Green Light, incorporating their new vocabulary about the rooms of the house. My Wednesdays continue to be one of the highlights of my week, and I am excited to see the kids this week.

In addition to teaching, the other new elements of my Arabic curriculum this semester are my speaking partner, an intercultural dialogue group, a Darija class, and a religious studies class. My speaking partner is a really cool, really smart girl named Nouhaila. She has amazing English and Fusha, and has big dreams. We meet every Saturday on the terrace at the CLC, alternating talking in classical Arabic and hanging out with the groups of students on the terrace. It’s a great way to practice my Arabic and get closer to some of the Moroccan students at the CLC. On Monday afternoons before my cooking class, I go to a class on the fundamental principles of Islam and their application on life on Morocco. A graduate student from California who is studying at the CLC agreed to teach us, and it is fascinating to learn about the history of Islam, how it affects life here, and how intertwined its beliefs are with Christianity and Judaism. I wasn’t raised religious and I feel that I have a huge knowledge gap in regards to religions, especially religions of “the book”. I’m happy that I have the chance to learn more at Islam, especially in a place where I can see the amazing applications all around me in contrast to the horrifying and biased news you hear at home.

On Wednesday nights, my group and I have started participating in intercultural dialogues with a really incredible group of Moroccan students. There are a lot of touchy, uncomfortable, or fascinating topics that come up between Moroccans and Americans – for example, atheism, Judaism, healthcare, education systems, wearing hijab, money, tourism, and Islam, to name a few – and the club seeks to give us a safe forum to discuss these tough themes. Our first topic is education, and to prepare for our dialogue next week about educational opportunities and differing systems we visited two schools in Marrakesh last week. In Morocco, people who have enough money often send their children to private school to give them a higher quality education, but the vast majority of kids go to public school. The public schools seem to deliver a great education if you can support yourself, understand everything, and are motivated, but also seem to leave a lot of kids behind since there are so few teachers, so many students, and so few resources. We went to a pubic school in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Marrakesh and visited a math class. The visit was a sharp contrast to the AP Calculus class we visited two days later at the American School of Marrakesh, a school founded by ex-pats to deliver an American-style education to rich Moroccan and ex-pat children. The trips definitely raised some uncomfortable questions and highlighted some interesting points. For example, at the Moroccan school when the teacher asked a question to his class of 50, almost every student had their hand in the air clamoring for their teacher’s selection to give the answer. At the American school, in a class of 9 not a single student raised their hand when their teacher asked them a question. That scenario is pretty similar to many American classrooms, and I thought the contrast between the two attitudes was very interesting. However, it’s obvious that the support that the American school is able to provide and the caliber of their teachers provides a better education than most public schools here. My group leader asked the students at the American school, and also to those of us educated in America, an interesting question. Since we had the privilege to receive an education like that, whether or not we optimized our opportunity, do we feel that we therefore have a responsibility to use it well? I’ve always just assumed that my high school education was a right, not a privilege, since it was never presented to me in any other way. After thinking about what my director said, I’ve realized more and more how lucky I was to be in a position to think that way, and how untrue that belief is for the vast majority of the world, including many parts of America. I also think he is absolutely right – if I have the resources to receive an education like the one I am going to get, I feel that I do have a responsibility, and I think it is so important to be aware of that. My weeks here are packed full right now between these activities, my Darija class, my daily Arabic, my homework and my research paper, and I think I’m going to leave here with a lot more inside my head than when I came.

My running regime also changed this semester after culminating in the Marrakech Marathon in mid-January. I continued my training with Seth in the mornings before the race (he ran the half-marathon), and on January 25^th three months of hard work paid off. The morning was clear and cold, and my host family dropped me off at the bottom of the hotel district early. 

They cheered me on as the race started, and I suddenly found myself in the middle of a mass of hundreds of runners pressing out of the starting gate. Loud music pumped though the chill of the morning air, and the atmosphere was festive and jovial.  I chatted with an American woman living in Rabat for the first few miles, and everyone fell into a focused silence as we rounded the north corner of the city. We ran through the Menara gardens next to the giant basin built by Moorish invaders in the 12^th century, and I could see the glittering snowy peaks of the Atlas rising above the other runners in the distance. Some families came out to cheer us on in the early morning air, and I loved the encouragement. We continued onwards on the long main street where I usually run, and the familiarity of well-known footsteps carried me through the next 5 kilometers. 

Water and sponging stations were set up along the route. As the day grew hotter, I made sure to stay hydrated. We cut up along the walls of the old city and ran through the Agdal Gardens, a beautiful shaded route that was full of cheering Marrakshis. I was wearing a shirt from a Marrakesh road race earlier in the year, and lots of people watching gave me a thumbs-up and an extra smile. I had been a little worried about the men here and the harassment making the marathon an uncomfortable experience, but I didn’t have problems. There weren’t that many women running, but I dressed modestly and I think the local tee-shirt helped me out. When we left Agdal, we continued along the walls of the old city. An Englishman who was a veteran marathon runner gave me some good tips, and he was fun to talk to. Since the marathon pace has to be maintained for 26.2 miles, I was running slowly enough that the first 15 miles were actually enjoyable and it was easy to sustain a conversation. At this point, the streets had filled with fans. Little kids lined the sidewalks stretching out their hands for high-fives – I think I gave and received more high-fives that day than I ever have in my life. Their encouragement got me through the middle of the race, and we reached the empty outskirts of the city at about mile 18. We ran through Le Palmerie, the palm grove I wrote about earlier, and I was able to settle into a focused rhythm in the peace of the oasis. We retuned into the city near my house and headed back towards the finish line on two of the biggest roads in the city. I got very tired around mile 23, but I was able to maintain a pretty steady pace. I stopped three times to walk for 30 seconds in the last 5K, but other than that I ran for the entire race. The last kilometer was on the largest avenue in the city, and cheering people lined the streets. I was so tired, but once I saw the familiar street and heard the noise I got an amazing second wind. I turned onto the last straightaway and sprinted for the finish line, finishing just under 3:56:00. I had run without a watch and had no idea what my time was until the finish. The lower end of my goal time had been 4 hours, so I was absolutely thrilled. Seth and Mohamed and my host family met me at the finish line, and it was such an amazing feeling to achieve my goal. I don’t know if I’ll ever run another marathon – the training was exhausting and little too all-consuming for me—but running my first marathon in Marrakesh, Morocco was a pretty surreal and amazing experience and was well worth all the early mornings of training.

Since the marathon, I’ve slowly started running again. My training is much more relaxed now. I run in my neighborhood before school or in the afternoon most days, and I’ve started running a lot more with Oumaima or Zineb in the evenings. Oumaima and I will meet up with her friends to run at sunset, or Zineb and I will walk to the beautiful track complex at her dad’s university to work out.

Over the last couple months, I’ve also really started to build a social network in Marrakesh. I’ve been frustrated this year about how hard it is for me, with the language barrier and cultural differences, to build genuine friendships with Moroccans, but this semester the pieces have really started to come together for me. My host family is still, as they should be, the most important part of my experience here. I cook with my host mom a lot and eat breakfast with her every morning, and I’ve grown really close with her. As I’m writing this, I’m on my way home from a trip, and I’m so excited to see her – I miss my second mom! I know enough Darija now to have real conversation with my host father, and I often find myself sitting with him for a long time after meals discussing some element of life in Morocco. He has a fascinating life story and a really unique perspective on Moroccan culture, about everything from Islam to women to pork to education, and I love talking to him. Yassir is as hilarious and crazy as always, and I’ve gotten even closer to him in the last few months. We watch movies cuddled up in my bed together a lot, and at least two afternoons a week we go up to the roof to hang out and look at the view and play. 

He jumps on me to get a piggy back at any given moment at home, and he always sneaks up on me when I’m studying to tickle me. He’s the perfect little brother, at times annoying (of course!) but always hilarious, exciting, and fun. His favorite thing to do to mess with me is to hide in my room whenever he hears me come home and jump out to scare me. I don’t think he realizes that I always know he is there, and I’ve definitely had to work on my acting skills to make him think he still scares me. It’s a hilarious routine that we share, and I think my life here would be a lot less joyful without him. More than half of the times I’ve cracked up laughing here have involved him, and I am going to miss him so much. I hang out with my host sisters more than anyone else here, and I get to see two very different sides of being a young person in Morocco through them. 

Zineb is a hijabi and takes her modesty and rules very seriously. She doesn’t have a job and isn’t studying this year, and I think she feels a little directionless. On the plus side, this means she has a lot of free time to spend with me. We go to cafes together a lot, explore the medina, or walk around at night together in our neighborhood. Last Sunday, we went to an all-night hammam (Turkish bath) together, and we were the last ones there. We had a water fight at one in the morning in the empty cavernous bath chamber, our laughter echoing off the walls in the steam. 

Oumaima and I hang out a lot after her classes on Saturdays at the CLC, and we love to walk around by ourselves or with her friends going to cafes and other young teen hangout spots. At home, I’m with the two of them fairly constantly, whether studying together in the kitchen or hanging out in their rooms together. We love to joke around together, and they’ve met all my friends and family over Skype. The other night, I heard screams and loud music coming from the salon. Oumaima and Zineb had discovered Beyonce on Youtube and were both dancing and doubled over laughing to Single Ladies. They are so joyful and amazing, and I love having sisters in my house. I’m so lucky to be living with such an incredible family, and I'm so glad I get a couple more months with them.

Outside of my family, I’ve slowly but surely developed a social network here. Social interactions and time with friends is very different in Morocco than it is in America in terms of time and activity, but after some adjustment I’ve learned to like social life here. All Moroccans are obviously different, and I don’t want to generalize, but many people here, especially girls, seem to have smaller social networks and spend far less time with their friends outside of school. Indeed, time built around classes and activities are really the only chances that my host sisters take to hang out with their friends. Coming from my life at home, which was always full of a wide variety of people, I felt really lonely sometimes when I first arrived. However, as the months have gone by I have adjusted to this new way of life and also made a lot of connections with people here. The girl who rents the top floor of our house, Afaf, goes to the same gym as me, and we go to the gym together three times a week. She made me start going to dance and aerobics classes with her and all the other women at the gym instead of working out alone on the machines, and I slowly have become a part of the gym community. After we shower or during breaks in the classes, Afaf confides in me about her life and her romances. I love hearing yet another unique and amazing woman’s story, and my gym nights are a wonderful addition to my routine here. 

On my walk home from school every day, I have another routine and wonderful interaction. An elderly, poor niqabi woman sits under the shade of a palm tree on one of the main city roads selling popcorn. For about a month, I walked past her without interacting with her. I’ve never personally known a woman who wore niqab, and the veil is almost dehumanizing on a stranger. I never gave her a second thought until I stopped to buy popcorn from her one afternoon and was astounded by her warmth. When I started talking to her in Arabic, her eyes lit up and crinkled, and she responded enthusiastically. I still couldn’t see her face, but the anonymity of the niqab was broken. The next day, I passed her on the way home and tried to give her a dirham to buy popcorn. She told me that the batch was not good today and that I should keep my money. When I tried to just leave the coin with her, she wouldn’t allow me to give her my money without buying something. Most people struggling to make a living sitting on the street would have accepted my money one way or the other, but she refused. Every day on my way home now, I stop to talk to her. Sometimes I buy her popcorn and some days we just chat. She always impresses me with how vivacious she seems, and also with her honesty and pride. My interactions with her are always a highlight of my walk home.

In terms of “hanging out with friends” in the sense I know of, I spend a lot of time with my resident director Margaret and with friends I’ve met at the CLC. Margaret comes over for lunch a lot and my family and I love having her in the house. For about a month when she was living closer to us with her old host family, she was a fairly regular guest at our house. She and Zineb have the same birthday, and we celebrated with a wonderful lunch together before she returned to her host family and Zineb and I went out into Gueliz for the evening.  

A couple weeks ago, my friend Hajar invited me over to her house for some typical girl time – we hung out with her mom, sat on her bed, tried on her clothes, and gossiped. A girl who lives close to me named Hiba also studies at the CLC, and I chat with her often at school. She’s started giving me rides home when we are there at night, and I love getting to know her and her friends a little better. I went to another host sibling Yazid’s a birthday party last Sunday and met a lot of really cool university students there. I also went to an AISEC celebration at the Royal Theater with other kids from the CLC. It was fun to meet a lot of international students, but there was one little problem. We had been told to bring some American food, but when we walked in, we saw that everyone else was dressed in traditional clothing and had ornate dishes prepared. All the countries were supposed to get up and present their outfits and food, and we had absolutely nothing good to present. We had made the children’s dish Dirt and Worms (chocolate pudding and gummy worms) and we were all dressed in jeans. We had to stand up in front of everyone – following two Ukranian girls with a sophisticated-sounding dish and beautiful dresses – and present our jeans and “Dirt and Worms”. It was a pretty hilarious experience that definitely did not help to change the stereotype that Americans have no culture. 

Earlier that week, a boy named Brahim (a friend of mine from the CLC) and Zineb taught me how to ride his motorbike in the empty lot behind our house. We hung out in the street for about an hour in the warm, mild evening air and talked. 

I gave Yassir a ride on the back of my normal bike as Zineb and Brahim talked and laughed, and everything about the day felt comfortable, easy, and happy. These are all small but very telling examples of what my social life is like here. They may seem insignificant, but after adjusting to Moroccan social life I really do feel that I have built a good network of people around me.

I hope that this very long-winded post helps provide a picture of what my life was like this winter. I just got back from an absolutely incredible trip to the north of Morocco, and I plan on writing about both that trip and my earlier trips to Beni Mallal and Fez soon. Tonight, I have to continue work on my research paper – wish me luck!