8/30 - 9/6 Week One

Hello all, you have found me in the blogosphere! This is my first foray into this new corner of cyberland, so bear with me a little as I figure it out. Hopefully it can be interesting and worth your time.

Where to begin – it’s been a week and it feels like much longer. It’s just beginning to feel real that I am staying here for a while…until today or yesterday it has felt like vacation. But things are steadily sinking in.  Still, I don’t feel very settled; I am in Fez for a 2 week orientation, and once I return to Rabat for the rest of the semester, I think I will begin to feel more rooted.

It was hard to leave Seattle. I had one of my best summers yet with all my good friends there. I think of you often, of things past and things to come. It is a great comfort when I am feeling sad/weird. I want to thank you all so much for supporting me while I was emotionally unstable and preparing to leave. Thank you for the beautiful, beautiful send-off, the notes and the gifts (many of which are here with me keeping me cozy). I felt very taken care of and I know that I have some of the best people in the world to come back to. It was perfect. And of course, thank you mom for coming to Seattle for a short while and for helping me get ready.

SO from the beginning. The journey here was completely crazy. I think I just hunkered down into survival mode, so it wasn’t the worst it could have been, but it felt completely unreal – a dreamlike state. Suspended between all that I had left behind, all that love and all that is familiar, and the total unknown of the next 4 months. Needless to say, it was a strange place to be, and a bit emotionally messy. Thankfully I was too tired most of the time to focus too much on being sad/freaked. 10 hour flight to Frankfurt, I barely slept a wink. 6 hour layover in Frankfurt; I tried to sleep during most of it on rows of chairs, and with this I had some success.  I was too out of it and overwhelmed for the usual joy I find in the anonymity of airports, putting on my observer hat, etc. Additionally, internet was $8/hour so that wasn’t happening.  Then 4 hours to Casablanca, where I met up with a very sweet and generous American man named David who my mom connected with through a friend. We took the train together to Rabat, where he also lives. 2 hour train ride which was wonderful and fascinating (Ramadan had just ended so people were very dressed up and going to meet family all over Morocco. End of Ramadan = party party). Very adorable kids were blowing me kisses...one of my initial encounters with myself as a minority in this country. Apparently I was very amusing. There would be less flattering ones to come.

The next couple days were spent getting to know program students as they trickled in. Also: finding a Moroccan phone; (they are cheap, and they have prayer time settings! The modern world.); getting Moroccan money (which are called dirham. About 8 to 1 American dollar. Awesome.); and getting WATER. They are advising we stay away from tap for first month or so we are here. Purchased water is cheap and delicious. So far however, no recycling in Morocco. Not so surprising.  That night, I couldn’t fall asleep until 4am. I thought I had avoided jet lag – I was wrong.

We left for Fez on the 2nd of September for orientation. But before that we got a small tour of Rabat, in particular, the Mausoleum:

Rabat!

From the 12th century, I think. All these pillars were holding up a mosque at one point in time.

Then, we were off. 3 hours later through the countryside, through Meknes and many fields and donkeys, we arrived in Fez. We spent the night in the most incredible place: Riad Dar Dmana. A stunning old riad, converted into a hotel (according to wiki a riad is: “a traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden or courtyard”). I would soon find out that my homestay in Fez, too, is a riad. (My jaw dropped when I walked in the door.) At the hotel we were served tejin, Moroccan-style slow cooking. The best chicken of my life, without a doubt. Fell off the bone as soon as soon as I picked it up. With apricots, prunes, the most delicious caramelized onions (they are indescribable), saffron, ginger, etc, etc.

(This will also be a food blog. Pictures to come. I will be trying my hardest to make my host mother let me into the kitchen so I can learn to cook Moroccan and teach everyone how to make this most divine food when I return. This might be difficult as I am a guest, and it could bring shame on the household for me to help out. Shame is crazy big here. Last night my host mom told me I should make pasta before I leave...I could not tell if it was a joke or not. So it goes.)

(Another note: eating with your hands is far superior to eating with a fork)

WAKHA. Okay. I am in Fez for just under 2 weeks (I leave on the 14th). While here, all of us are staying with families in the old medina, the oldest parts of which are around 1200 years old. Most of the old medina is 800 years old. There is also the "new" city, which is 700 years old, and the ville novelle, built by the French during Morocco's time as a protectorate. A fascinating city, Fez is, with this timeline built in stone. (In Rabat I will also be doing a homestay in the medina there, in particular in the old Jewish quarter. Most Moroccan Jews have left the country, many going to Israel when it came into existence. I just found out, however, that I am living with a Jewish grandmother…I am extremely excited about this, as I am sure you can all imagine. Very unexpected and wonderful. I am totally fascinated to hear what her experience is like here. The official attitude towards Jews in Morocco is tolerance…and to an extent it rings true. But I also know and have heard there is much contradiction to that rule. It seems more that contradiction IS the rule here, it is everywhere. I have been told several times by different people: Morocco is a land of contradictions and paradox. Will talk about this later.) *

This is where I study Derija in Fez. It is a breathtaking space.  4 levels of stunning tile, mosaic, woodwork, plaster carving, calligraphy, and all the detail of the traditional Moroccan style. Very similar to the hotel and my house,which is right next door. . It is possible to jump from one terrace to another.  This is a very fun thing to do.

Living with a host family is nuts. I have two parents, a 19 year old sister, and a 12 year old brother. They are all so sweet, very very attentive. Always feeding me. My sister, Hasna, speaks shwia (a little) English (shwia has shown to be an essential word, particularly relating to food), Derija (Moroccan Arabic), and French. Most everyone speaks at least some French in Morocco. My mother speaks fusHa (Modern Standard Arabic), which is what I have studied at school, which is very very helpful because I don’t know derija yet. Not that I know fusHa well at all. (I am taking derija classes every day while I am in Fez. Then in Rabat I switch back to fusHa ) It is rare for Moroccans to know fusHa well…it is almost a different language.  Communication is difficult, and exhausting, even with the small bits of English and fusHa in place.  Knowing so few words and not knowing how to fully thank someone and tell them my deep appreciation and gratitude, I am often worrying I am being impolite or offensive. I also feel wary about unintentionally communicating an American sense of entitlement. On the other hand, it is custom here for guests (of whatever nationality, color, gender) to be waited on hand and foot. The women work very hard here, very hard. I want to help, but it is considered shameful for my host mother to accept help. Her sense of dignity rides partially on her ability to make me comfortable and have me eat exorbitant amounts of food. I wish I could express my thanks as fully as she deserves.  I want to say much more than I am able to, which is frustrating. They expect this, though, and see that I am trying. And oh, when a joke comes across, or a story is told,it is golden, and we all beam at our success. Those moments are wonderful and make the painful ones better.

And thankfully, little by little, I am improving at Derija.

This is my house in Fez. It is a riad, meaning it is a traditional house with a courtyard/garden in the home.  

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am getting better at politely getting across to my host mother that I am full and could not possibly eat another bite of food. Small accomplishments feel big here.

Other notes and observations from the homestay. People here watch a lot of TV. Some popular options: Turkish soap operas dubbed in Arabic, and WWE, a favorite of Hamsa, the brother. That is a sight. In a majestic riad, the sights and sounds of American pro wrestling. My host mother and I roll our eyes together, which is a nice bonding experience for us. I have managed in derija to give a sort of apology on behalf of America for the existence of WWE in her livingroom.

I think that my family is pretty progressive. I cannot tell for sure because we cannot have a conversation about anything so complex. I am judging this by how my host mother and sister dress - at home they wear very relaxed clothing and do not cover up completely. In very conservative families, women will cover up even in their own home. And my sister, Hasna, has come out to cafes with me and does not wear a hijab.  I wish I could have these sorts of conversations with them.

When I am not in derija class or with my family, I am exploring the medina, reading, at cafes (Moroccan tea and Arabic coffee…delicious), trying to find a balance between spending time with new friends in a new and exciting place, and being by myself. In a new place with a new routine, I find it is always an adjustment finding this balance. And until I do, I feel a little weird. I am trying to be okay with the fact that I am not totally settled and at ease, and find the good things in that weirdness. I am feeling that being diligent about writing this blog will help enforce some alone time for reflection and processing.


Here are some pictures of the old medina:

The Blue Gate in Fez

Every neighborhood in the old medina has a public fountain with free water.

And a mosque

And a bakery. Moroccan bread yum yum

donkeys donkeys everywhere!!

met up with old friend/neighbor, Max, from Davis!!

A view of the city. Taken right above the big tannery in Fez. Lotsa leather in there.

beautiful garden restaurant in fez.

at a ceramics factory in Fez

The medina is incredible. You are walking along alleys and streets with very plain, old, beige-ish building faces, expecting the inside to be simple and plain like the outside. Instead you walk in and find the most beautiful houses, or a sprawling garden that you had no idea could fit within the crowded walls of the medina. It is a hidden world that you would never have imagined could be there underneath the plain and fading surface. It is a metaphor that applies to this country well.

This is getting long. There is a lot still I haven’t said. But it is late and I promised I would post this before I fell asleep tonight. I will follow up on the below themes soon, because they are important and on my mind: gender, religion/piety, Moroccan people and culture(s). Also will more about food, and the insane amount of bread and sugar I am consuming among other things. Additionally, I have yet to have a drink here. It is illegal for Muslims, so it is a bit hidden. You have to know where to find it. A cold beer sounds pretty good on these hot African days...

I almost forgot; these little ones are keeping me good company:

Long cat

Orange Cat

I hope to get better at this, and less disjointed. Thanks for reading if you made it.

I love you all and miss you so much. But I am well, excited for adventures and challenges to come, and I feel good about being here. 


love love love love.
sonya.



p.s. i am switching between my SLR and small point-and-shoot, alternating according to convenience. Sometimes big camera is too big. If you click on the picture the quality will improve.


* Jackie, I am noticing a lot of similarities. Will discuss.