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!

Eid and Beni Mallal

Just to preface this post, I think I have eaten more sheep in the past three days than I have up until this point in my life and likely ever will again.

Sunday was Eid al-Adha, the most important Muslim holiday. Everyone has a few days off from work and school to spend time together, the little children get new clothes and money, and most importantly each family sacrifices a sheep. On Sunday morning, we woke up and dressed in beautiful traditional clothing to eat a big breakfast all together. After our food settled, a butcher arrived at the house. He and my host father brought out the sheep that had been living in our shed for the past few days. They pulled the sheep into the middle of the garden and my host father slit the sheep's throat. I had never seen an animal that big be killed before, and it was an interesting experience especially to see my host father do it. There was a lot of thick red blood and we spent the next couple hours cleaning out the sheep's old home in the shed and washing the blood off the tiles of the garden. Next, after the butchers had skinned the sheep, we helped clean the different parts of the sheep and sort it out into different piles to be cooked. In all honesty, it felt a little like a dissection - a little gross but also very interesting. One of the funniest memories of Eid for me was looking up from my chair at the clothesline in the garden and seeing the insides of the sheep where my clothes usually hang. Even funnier was today when I went outside to hang my laundry. My host mom came running after me and she said "No!!! No!!! Sheep!!!!" Sure enough, I looked next to where I had just hung my tee shirt and the hooves and ankles of the sheep were hanging right there in the dark.

After we finished cleaning, we made a massive lunch and had a barbecue of sheep in the garden. I loved being able to hang out with my family for that whole day, and we had a lot of fun. Eid was a very strange holiday for me purely because it was so unlike any American holiday, but I loved the new experiences and the opportunity to see what Eid is like.

The next day we traveled to Beni Mallal, the small town where my host mom's family lives. The drive to Beni Mallal is stunning. As you head north, the land becomes less arid and olive farms start to spring up in patches from the dusty earth. The fields are nestled into the foothills of the Atlas Moutains, and aqueducts carrying runoff from the peaks line the roads. The country is lush and green there, a striking contrast to the dusky pink desert of Marrakesh. On Monday afternoon, I went with some of my family to the park in Beni Mallal. An ancient castle stands at the top of a small foothill, and there is a paved path leading up to a pavilion over a steep cliff. The pavilion faces due west away from the mountains, and the view is breathtaking. For miles and miles, a massive plain stretches as far as the eye can see. This is the only place (other than the ocean) that I have been where the horizon stretches so far that I cannot differentiate between land and sky. The minarets of Beni Mellal come first, rising above the thick groves of trees. Next are the scattered groves of olive trees and green farmland, with gleaming white aqueducts snaking through the fields. The green slowly fades to brown and the arid desert begins, stretching away into the distance. The pavilion was beautiful at sunset, and the drive to Beni Mallal was worth it just for that moment.

I also loved meeting my host mom's family. There were lots of little children who were very fun to play with. I am a firm believer that 6 year olds everywhere are the same, and my theory did not disappoint. Although I couldn't really talk to the kids, we spend the whole time playing together. I taught them high five tricks and the hand game Slide and how to wiggle their ears, so we all got along well. I was also the first blonde person they had met, and at first the two youngest girls called me Barbie and pretended I was a doll that they could put to sleep and feed.. so that was a little strange but at least they were cute. My host mom's siblings were also so nice, although I was largely unable to communicate with them well.  However, one of them spoke Italian (he actually played soccer in the Italian professional league for a few years!) and since I know some Latin I was able to talk to him. They were all so nice and I was really glad I got to meet them.

Tomorrow the Americans and I are going to a mountain called Ourika where there is a waterfall! Some pictures from Eid and Beni Mallal are attached below.

Family water fights and Casablanca

This week marked the beginning of our course of Modern Standard Arabic. My teacher is incredibly hard and I have been struggling to keep up all week since I'm in a class meant for people who have studied Arabic previously. However, with time I am hoping that I will be able to catch up!

On Wednesday, we went to Casablanca to listen to a briefing about security from an official from the consulate there. The talk was fairly informative, but what I really took away from the presentation was an unintentional explanation for why the NSLI program exists. The man who presented to us was in a fairly high-up position in the American foreign service in Morocco. However, he told us that he only understood 20-30% of what people say to him in Darija. Some of the information he gave us was presented in a very aloof (almost superior and patronizing) way. For example, he told us that we should not take the bus because too many Moroccans take the bus. Although he was able to give us some good tips, I couldn't help but to wonder if he really understood the situations we were in as well as my teachers at school because he doesn't speak Darija. I was a little shocked, perhaps naively, that an educated American who was selected to be an expert on Morocco by our government was unable to understand the majority of things people said to him on the street. This man's lack of language skills, and (I would assume) a similar lack in other countries with NSLI target languages was a first-hand example of why programs like NSLI are so important.

Other than the security briefing, the little we saw of Casablanca was really amazing! We visited the Hassan II mosque, which is a fascinating building built on an incredible scale. The mosque rises almost directly from the seawall on the coast. Its tiled blue minaret towers over the massive structure underneath. The mosque was built in the 1980s by a French architect, and the French influence really shows inside. The interior seemed like a mix between a Catholic church and the other Andalusian/Moroccan mosques I have seen. There is carved wood in rich colors on the ceiling, chandeliers dripping with Venetian glass beads, and dark wooden screens separating the different sectors. However, the arches, prayer rugs, and the general atmosphere make the building feel distinctly like a mosque.  There are pictures of the mosque below -- it is a truly stunning place that apparently took $800 million on paper and probably more like $2,400,000,000 in reality to build.

On Thursday we visited the Amal Center, a non-profit restaurant started by Nora Fitzgerald, the daughter of the director of the CLC. The Amal Center trains impoverished women to cook and gives them the vocational skills needed to get jobs outside informal housework. Nora seems like an incredible woman, and I have been talking to her about trying to teach some of the Amal Center women and their children how to swim. Hopefully after Eid we will be able to start figuring out details.

Today was the last day of classes before the Eid al-Adha holiday, one of the biggest Muslim holidays. We currently have a sheep living with us until it is sacrificed on Sunday. I helped my host family clean the house today, and one of the best chores was washing the courtyard in the garden with Zineb. The weather has been unseasonably hot the past few days, and the hot wind from the Sahara was still heating the air while we were cleaning at sunset. Our chores turned into a spontaneous waterfight with Yassir after my host mom and dad went out, and when we tricked Oumaima into coming outside and threw an entire bucket on her things really escalated. We ran around the garden in the steamy night air with hoses and buckets, slipping on soap and shrieking at the top of our lungs and falling over each other laughing. I really love my host family and especially after nights like tonight I am so happy I am living with them.

Some pictures from the week are attached!

Ouirgain and the Marrakesh International 10K

I'm writing from the salon of the CLC after my first day of Modern Standard Arabic and cooking! Classes were incredibly hard today since I moved up a level and I feel a little overwhelmed, but I hope I will catch up eventually.

This weekend was packed full with activities. On Saturday, all the NSLI students and many of our host siblings (including Oumaima and Zineb) left early from the CLC and traveled to the Atlas Mountains about three hours outside of Marrakesh. We drove up from the sprawling foothills onto narrow mountain roads that wound around the sparse ridges and valleys. The Atlas Mountains are unlike any other landscape I have ever seen. They remind me of aspects of the American Southwest, with red clay and desert dust, but also are partially covered in low trees and green brush. Throughout the valleys and slopes, the Berber people who inhabit this region have terraced the land to grow olive trees. The landscape is a sweeping expanse of snowcapped peaks and river valleys, the dusty earth and shrubbery periodically broken by giant staircases built into the sides of the mountains. 

We traveled to a very rural Berber village called Ouirgain. After some small towns in Latin America, Ouirgain is one of the most rural places I have ever been. When we walked in, women were washing their clothes on washboards in the river. The houses are made of earth, and half of each house is a place for the family's animals. We had a delicious breakfast of msimmon at a house in the village and then embarked on a beautiful hike along the mountainsides. We visited several different Berber villages, stopping to enjoy the view and drink water from a spigot that ran directly from the river. It was a gorgeous hike and I was glad that I got to see yet another side of Morocco in the villages. When I got home, I talked to my host father about the trip and he told me that he grew up in a similar rural Berber village at the top of a mountain in the north of Morocco. He is now a professor at a university here in Marrakesh. Listening to his stories about his childhood provides a very interesting contrast to what I have seen of life in Marrakesh, and also shows that there is a significant element of social mobility here for people who work hard.  

On Sunday Tammy, Seth, John, and I ran the Marrakesh International 10K. I love the atmosphere of road races, and the cheer and festivity at the start and finish line did not disappoint. John, in his typical friendly fashion, even made friends with other Moroccan runners during the race, and we all loved the experience. Tammy is a veteran marathon runner, and she wants me to train with her to run the Marrakesh marathon in January. I have no idea if we will actually be able to pull that off, but we are going to start a first-time marathoner training plan next week and go from there!

I am definitely not liking certain aspects of Morocco (i.e. getting harassed on the street -- the stares and calls literally never stop here). For example, today while waiting for the bus a man in his young 20s who used to live in California struck up a conversation with me about what I was doing in Marrakesh and how I was liking studying here and the city. We talked about California and I was so thrilled that I was finally having an interaction with a male on the street where I was treated as a person, not a woman to be catcalled at or followed. However, as soon as my bus was pulling up his friend asked me if I had a husband in a really creepy way. That interaction bothered me more than the stares and being followed because it really emphasized that unknown women and girls here are, to most men, just seen as objects. 

However, my incredible host family and amazing school more than make up for all of that. I love this city and almost every aspect of life here so far, and I'm excited for the coming week and the upcoming holidays here!

Pictures of Ouirgain and the 10K are attached below.

Feminism, Swimming Armies, and the Medina

Today marks two weeks since I left home! This week in Marrakesh has been exhausting but so interesting and exciting. On Monday and Wednesday morning, I ran with my American friends before school to the Menara Gardens. Menara is one of the most beautiful sites in Marrakesh. A giant reflecting pool of white stone stretches the length of a football field, surrounded by lush gardens with hanging tangles of purple flowers. At one end, a weatherbeaten building arches over the pool. The garden does not have the well-kept, clean atmosphere of an American park -- it is a strangely beautiful mix of old and new. At a well-timed history lesson at school that afternoon, I learned that the Menara pool was built to teach Muslim soldiers how to swim. During the Moorish occupation of Spain, unrest prompted Muslim armies to cross the strait of Gibraltar and restore order in Andalusia. However, since the boat ride across the strait was often dangerous due to tempestuous weather and currents, the commanders wanted their troops to learn how to swim before sailing over.  They built Menara and it has been an important site in Marrakesh ever since!

On Tuesday morning we went on a historical tour of the medina. The old city of Marrakesh is walled in by a giant wall of rose stone that matches the hue of the ancient buildings inside. The old neighborhoods inside are beautiful, and some still maintain their traditional function in Moroccan society as small gated communities within a city. We visited a primary school, a wood-worker (who gave me a wooden necklace as a gift!), and a sub-Saharan immigrant who worked in a crumbling stone edifice stoking the fires of the hammam next door and practicing traditional tribal instruments. Seeing these small parts of Moroccan life that are usually hidden behind closed doors to Westerners was an incredibly interesting and wonderful experience for all of us. 

Today, a professor named Fatima Iflahen came to speak with the NSLI group at the CLC. Professor Iflahen is a well-respected member of the elite urban female academia in Marrakesh and she had a very interesting perspective on how traditional Moroccan values influence gender roles today. Since Morocco is a patriarchal society, historically there was a public sphere for men and a private sphere for women. The streets and politics and markets were the man's domain, while the house was the woman's. Today, although the integration of women into the workforce has steadily changed this perception, the traditional cultural stereotypes and practices remain ingrained, consciously or subconsciously, in the psyche of Moroccans. This attitude creates a culture where women are harassed on the street, a practice "justified" in the subconsciousness since traditionally women are entering and invading the "man's" public domain. As an American girl who has never felt truly limited by gender, I find the harassment on the street to be completely offensive and a pure example of men being disgusting. However, although I obviously still do not support the harassment, I feel that I have a better perspective after Professor Iflahen's talk about why this occurs. It is very interesting to understand the deeper societal motives and implications that drive this behavior, and I hope that the Moroccan culture continues to shift away from the street harassment as it has begun to do. 

Her talk serves as an interesting framework to understand the various parts of Moroccan life that I encounter every day. Professor Iflahen described Moroccan culture as "schizophrenic" -- a great example of that is my Arabic teacher Abdullkebir. He is 40, very friendly, dresses in Western clothing, and is very well-educated. On the outside, he appears very Westernized and makes jokes about aspects of American culture that many Moroccans would not talk about. However, he told us today that when he wanted a wife he asked his mother to find him a good wife from a good family. His mother chose a girl, he met her once at a cafe for 20 minutes and they got married a week later! They've been married for 16 years and have 2 kids. Stories like this constantly remind me how different Morocco is from home, and I hope that I will be able to continue to understand the different facets of Moroccan life without judging them through the lens of American culture.

Djemma al Fna and my First Moroccan Weekend

I am writing from my bed right now in my newly decorated room! This weekend was my first weekend in Marrakesh and also the first real down time I have had thus far, so I took some time to do my laundry and fully unpack. The walls are no longer bare, but covered with pictures of my friends and family. My favorite part about my room are the glow in the dark stars that I brought to put on my ceiling. Before I left home, I gave a set of stars to my four best friends. We are all thousands of miles apart this year, so we decided to all put them up on our ceilings so that we can sleep under the same stars no matter where we are. Looking up right now with the lights off, I can see the constellation of the Big Dipper that I constructed and it makes me feel so at home.

I had a great first weekend in Marrakesh. On Friday afternoon my resident director Margaret came home from school with me to eat couscous, a Moroccan tradition at the week's end. The couscous was delicious, and we ate so much. After we finished eating, a contented hush fell over the house and we all slept and relaxed together for the rest of the afternoon. Numerous guests came in and out of the house to eat and talk, and I realized that the famous "Moroccan hospitality" I had heard about was not an exaggeration. We spent the evening in the garden and talked late into the night in the cooling air.

On Saturday, I woke up early and took my first solo taxi ride to the CLC. The cab driver was so nice, as all the drivers I have encountered in Marrakesh have been, and he helped me practice my Arabic once he realized I was a student and not just a tourist. From 9 to 12:30, the NSLI-y students and about 30 Moroccan students at the CLC split into teams and ran around the city collecting objects and taking pictures for a scavenger hunt. I loved the Moroccans on my team and have been texting with some of them! It was a great opportunity to get to know people, and I really liked getting to see more of the city. Some of the tasks were impossible (for example, to bring back a live sheep in a taxi), but we had so much fun. One of my favorite memories from my trip so far happened that morning as we were trying to get back to the CLC on time.  A really nice Moroccan named Zakaria led Seth and I through the winding streets of the medina. We sprinted through narrow alleyways of rose-colored stone and small shops, weaving around donkeys and carts. Everyone around us was smiling at us slightly bemusedly, and I was carrying a love potion, a used novel, and a live turtle in my hands and laughing so hard I could barely run.

That night, Zineb and I went to the first Debate Club meeting at the CLC. I liked meeting lots of Moroccans there, and I think the club will be a good way to improve my public speaking and make more friends here. Afterwards, we went to a beautiful rooftop cafe overlooking Djemma al Fna to drink coffee and enjoy the view. At night the frenetic music of street performers rises over the square in a strange harmony, mixing with the constant low undertone of bargaining and laughter and chatter. The lights from the stalls mix in a bright blur, illuminating the sea of people below. The glowing minaret of the Koutoubiya appears on the skyline high above the square in the distance.

Today, after a wonderful breakfast and morning of studying with my damily, I returned to Djemma al Fna to walk around to souk. I went back to the rooftop cafe with some American friends, their host siblings, and Oumaima. The square is so beautiful during the day, but it is even more incredible at night.  I'm excited to spend a lot of my time there in the coming months.

Some pictures from my weekend are attached!