leaving ifrane --

for who knows where!
....well, that's kind of true. headed to al-jadida (beach town on the atlantic coast) for the weekend, then rabat (and casablanca, too, inshallah) until august 7, when i fly to ISTANBUL! (just don't ask me about september yet..)

(ps. officially graduated now, and it feels good!)

marrakech = home to the best orange juice i've ever had.

fresh-squeezed from a stand in jm'a al-fna (a main square), ice-cold, and only 3dh (about 40 cents) a glass - B'Saha!

fiesta moroccan style...

Last weekend, I had the exciting privilege of attending the Sab3a ("Seventh Day") party for the infant nephew of a friend's extended family in Rabat. The party is traditionally the announcement of the baby, where s/he is named, her/his parents are celebrated and congratulated, and, basically, as I understand it, everyone has a grand excuse to party! Logistical reasons (ie: relatives coming in from Tunisia) required that this particular party wait until the baby was three months old - generally, it is held on the seventh day (hence, the name) after the baby is born (so this little guy was already named - Melik, which means "king"), but it was no less cause for celebration!

the little man of the night

The party stretched from 7pm to late into the night and, from what Zaynab told me, was reminiscent of a Moroccan wedding, but on a smaller scale. (Generally, depending on the family's means, hundreds of people - upwards of five hundred, even - are invited to Moroccan weddings! And they often last until 5 or 6am.) The backyard was beautiful, with white tablecloths, tents, carpets on the ground, and a live band. As were all the guests very beautiful in their intricate gowns (even the little girls!) and suits (some of the ladies shoes were particularly spectacular). Z loaned me one of her family's beautiful gold gowns to wear, and I was introduced to many smiling faces as her "friend from America" (although I caught Z's Mom and the baby's mother remarking at how Moroccan I looked! I was, of course, flattered.)

dancing to the live music in traditional gowns - i'm on the far left and zaynab is next to me


z's sister being hoisted in the air!

As the night ran on, women and children were hoisted, one by one, starting with the mother of the baby, into the air in a gold chariot-throne for good luck, accompanied by loud and lively music. And, as the party continued, some unlucky guests (and exuberant children) were thrown (fancy clothes and all) into the pool! Needless to say, everyone laughed a lot... even the sopping wet adults...

kids enjoy the pool (and, later, the cake)

yummy.

anyone who knows me (and my famiglia) well will realize that it's not too weird that i keep focusing with such intensity on food...

a tagine with vegetables (unfortunately for me, i forgot to specify "...and without meat" - buuut I ate every bit [well, friends helped too], allowing no animal to go to waste on my account. and also, it was incredibly delicious.) note the delicious bowls of olives in the background!
culinary note: tagines are common fare in morocco - essentially stews of any number of ingredients - with or without meat (chicken, lamb, beef), with or without vegetables (carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, beans, etc) - slow-cooked over a burner/fire in a wide-bottomed clay pot with a conical lid on top to keep all the yummy flavors in.

a new take on the chicken tagine - fries on top! (and don't forget the artfully placed olives)
the restaurant also serves laadis, a really great hot lentil dish - and loubi, a stew of green beans and tomatoes (a little different than the lebanese way, though!)

we have found (with the guidance of another friend on campus) a delicious little dinner spot down in the marche. this lovely little spot serves a multitude of purposes - helping us avoid eating in the caf (which has, counter-intuitively, been the food that makes people ill), filling up otherwise dull campus evenings with laughter and moroccan arabic translation malfunctions, practice ordering in arabic, exploring new and ever-interesting cuisines (and creative combinations!), an excuse to go for a walk or a cause for funny in-taxi conversations, an excuse to stop for roasted sunflower seeds on the way home, a way to find new ways to get lost in the town going someplace we should know by heart by now.... etc

adventures in chefchaouen...

three of us decided to spend our one free, unplanned weekend in chefchaouen, a beautiful little town in the north, which required a 4.5hour grand taxi drive through the mountains, passing lots of livestock (like the above), small and busy towns, an occasional field full of giant spools of wire (no idea), tractors that acted like buses for local women, and lots of police stops. our hypothesis about the police checks (which were more often than usual) was that the king was spending the weekend in tetouan or someplace. it's interesting that, once we declared our affiliation to al-akhawayn university, we were always free to go without question. apparently, it helps to be affiliated with the king.
chefchaouen is a city on a hill, almost entirely awash in shades of blue. not sure why this is, but it made for some pretty photos. we also enjoyed a prevalence of terrace-restaurants, lending an incredible view of the city!


walking through the windy streets of the old medina, we couldn't stop reaching for our cameras. something interesting around every corner - a little shop, a fruit stand, boys playing with a balloon, someone leading a donkey cart, a hidden courtyard full of flowers, a tiny kitten... finally, i think, we got used to the overwhelming beauty and the "grab the camera" guttural reaction backed off.


there were so many incredible doorways. this is only one of many, many doorway shots i took over the course of the weekend. (i later found a "doorways of chefchaouen" poster while at an artist's cooperative in rabat!)

one of the reasons we chose chefchaouen was for the awesome (and diverse!) music festival that was going on that weekend. younes not only graciously provided us with vip concert access, but also brought us to the after party, at a beautiful riad outside of town, with an incredible backyard, full of couches and alight with candelabras. with musicians and artists everywhere (a fervent drum circle in one corner of the yard, ongoing jazz improv inside...), i was perfectly content to stay until 6:30am (which we did, since our hotel didn't reopen until 7!)


this was right before hoba hoba spirit, one of morocco's most popular indigenous rock-pop-fusion groups came on - aka before the crazy jumping up and down/dancing around/avoiding the falling body-surfers and people riding shoulders

day two we took a grand taxi to akshur for a hike, which was worth it for the ride alone!

the path we took followed and then rose up above a stream, leading to a waterfall...

we encountered quite a few goats on the way...


and made some friends trying to drink tea while avoiding bees at a little tea stop at the bottom. the man at the right was literally scooping bees into his mouth to show us not to be afraid of them. we looked like complete idiots running from the bees that were invading our tea (i should mention that moroccan tea is prepared with LOTS of sugar - fresh mint, dried green tea, water, and SUGAR), but I finally struck up a conversation with these gents and they didn't think we were so weird... i think.

wandering meknes...

...

a black beetle (are there scarabs in morocco?) the size of a ping-pong ball just flew in through my screenless window, flitted around noisily for a few minutes, and knocked itself out against the wall. after which, i gently returned it to its home outside the window...


indeed, it looked just like these... only bigger...

desert reflections... and camel qualms.

on our last day in the oasis, we rose before dawn for a 4am trip to merzouga, at the edge of the sahara, along the border with algeria. we traveled off-road to the desert in the cool darkness, fantasizing that we were part of a u.n. special convoy while our driver sped a little crazier and faster than he would ever be allowed to at home. i sat shotgun, arm hanging out the open window, watching brush and rocks go by through a fuzzy haze of pre-dawn sleepiness mixed with childish excitement. the ride was kind of like being inside a video game or, rather, watching your big brother play recklessly for hours and wanting to take over the controller.

the whole adventure was a little self-mocking, overall. first-off, visiting the desert might be the single-handed most touristy activity - every foreigner keeps that orientalist desert fantasy someplace locked inside (some of us deeper than others), and most jump on the opportunity to live it out. secondly, the kind of tourism that the desert brings about is not the nicest - it seems that the drivers and guides we interacted with were used to dealing with all sorts of unpleasant foreigners and, thus, i felt a little less human (and a little more like a soulless source of cash money) in their hands. it was a very different experience from the touring we had done in the tafilalt oasis the day before - visiting a very welcoming sufi lodge, touring a small village madrassa and social center, walking through rural villages of the oasis (where we made lots of young , curious friends!) to explore new and old irrigation technologies, and wandering in ruins (which i'll post about soon!).


the silliest thing about our sunrise desert adventure? camels. it took a lot of thought, inner struggle, and debate to get me on a camel. my reservations were complicated, and my apprehension along the lines of not wanting to perpetuate the damaging orientalist fantasy that all too easily collapses culture in this part of the world. being a naturalist at heart, to me it's one thing to visit the desert in the glorious early morning (i was taken by the startling red-orange color of saharan sand, for example)... and quite another to call on stereotyped notions of what being in the desert means, needlessly employing a camel (well, 13 camels and about 16 guides in our case) for a 1km trek, just to feel like you're lawrence of arabia.
....like i said, complicated.

but, in the end, my friends convinced me to let go a little, realize that this was probably the only time i would ever have the experience, and hop aboard. (to be honest, i think "sunrise over algeria" was the thing that got me -- and was well-worth it.) will i ever ride a camel again? not unless i need to actually cross a desert (it's actually not a totally pleasant experience - camels smell really bad, poop a lot, make scary grunting noises, and really hurt your butt to ride). so check that off my list.

views from the edge of the sahara...

a day-trip to fes

Since the entire medina (old city neighborhood) of Fes is an official UNESCO World Heritage Site, motorized transportation inside the gates is prohibited. Hence, donkey, mule, horse, and push-cart courier services abound throughout the windy, narrow streets of the medina. Plastic mats, cases of Coca-Cola, bags of cement, construction materials - you name it - all clomp by on the backs of pack animals. Which makes the general lack of instances of collision miraculous!

I feel overwhelmed with reflection after such a packed day in what was our first big-city experience here in Morocco. Throughout the day, the city’s vibrancy, its beauty and historical importance, and its overwhelming poverty struck me. As we wandered the souqs, we saw evidence of the 45% city-wide unemployment rate – men and women with children squatting and sitting in the narrow streets with their palms up, looking for change; young men trying their best to assert their importance as guides or helpers; others trying to lure us towards their shops, hotels, or restaurants; and children, always seemingly away from direct adult supervision, running alongside asking for a few dirham.

we tourists wander the souq (marketplace)

Wandering as a group of twelve, donning foreign clothing, backpacks, and expensive cameras around our necks, we were clear targets of “western wealth” and I couldn’t really blame any of the people who approached us. I am always interested in the way people approach groups of tourists and the tactics they try. Linguistically, we heard strings of “bonjour, salut, hello, hola,” and even, sometimes, “konichiwa!” While there was little gender-based harassment, I heard a man sitting with a friend at a café call out “eh, spice girl!” in my direction, which was an annoying (yet nostalgic) reminder of the way shopkeepers often approached Western women in Turkey (which happened a lot, traveling around in a group of ten females). It’s interesting that foreigners, despite the individualities of their appearance, resonate with culturally conflated themes (ie: I look nothing like any of the spice girls, nor do my Singaporean friends on the trip have any Japonese heritage). More depressing evidence that people have a tendency to generalize.

scarves hanging in the souq, along a rare uncrowded patch

fes is a city well-known for its pottery

While most people in the souq kept their physical distance and shoulder-brushing happened rarely despite the cramped quarters of the narrow streets, a few men grabbed an arm of someone in the group and some attention tactics superseded the usual following and verged on verbal harassment. Our professor had a merchant following him, asking (in English) if he needed a guide for about twenty minutes until he finally ended up having to pay him off in order to get him to leave. Some of us asked people if we could take photos of them, or paid a few dirham in exchange – especially in the case of children. This brought on what I imagine is a common ethical dilemma....

Touristic photography is something I have mixed feelings about. Many of us felt the urge to constantly snap photos throughout the day – of buildings, trinkets, people, signs, streets, animals, entryways, anything and everything we came across. This urge seems normal and human to me, but at the same time I can’t help but question what exactly it is about a situation that makes me want to photograph it. Is it the assurance that, with a visual reminder, I will remember it later (I do have an awful memory)? The promise of a cultural catalogue of the many places I visit? The allure of situations I have not been in before and the desire to capture them on film? Or is it simply the desire to monumentalize the beauty that I see? A friend on the trip mentioned that most American amateur photographers set out and, in urban settings, end up taking countless photographs of the homeless people they encounter. He attributed this partly to the allure of the “other,” the perception that there is “depth” in poverty, and the simple fact that, often times, people living on the street are surrounded by interesting colors and textures that entice an artistically-inclined eye. This can be compared, I think, to the tourist-photographer.

The danger of photography, to me, is its invasiveness. When done thoughtfully, photography can be an inspirational and aesthetic mode of sharing an intimate experience. When done unthinkingly, it can be an unkind, invasive, and otherizing practice. So my unease continues....

Moral dilemma: to take or not take the photo? These children were studying (they were all singing a song when we saw them) at a very small Quranic primary school in the middle of the souq (Literally no bigger than a standard, American walk-in closet, with three desks, six students, two female teachers, a chalk board full of Quranic verses, a couple religious posters, and "Ahlan bikum" (Welcome) written on the concrete wall under a bright yellow painting of the Disney character Goofy). Teachers encourage tourists to peek in, take photos, and leave money in exchange (one of the ways the school is funded, I'm sure). The circumstances + the incredible smile on the little girl(in the center - who I had been waving to and smiling at throughout my entire "peek")'s face at the sight of my camera convinced me to take this one photo. Even so, after snapping, I felt like I had lost a piece of my soul...

A man sells sweets outside the Sufi shrine of Moulay Idris II, which are meant to bring sanctity and prosperity to the recipient who consumes them. Idris II was Idrisid king from 803-828 CE and his shrine was constructed many years later, upon the accidental encounter (during reconstructions/renovations), it is told, of his fully preserved body. People still venerate the shrine of the once-king and salah (pious person who has "befriended God," which is often evidenced even posthumously, as in cases of the body being found intact).

Our trip to Fes was colored primarily by its markets (souqs) and the bustle that enveloped us throughout the city. A group of us had the opportunity to visit the “new city,” the Madinat al-Jedida, which developed in the 13^th century. An important part of this side of town is the milleh, what was once a flourishing Jewish neighborhood. Much of Fes’ once-large and fully integrated Jewish community left after the 1967 Israeli war, after Jewish-Muslim tensions heightened and many families no longer felt comfortable in the country. The AUI professor guiding us emphasized that the Moroccan government had never upheld a persecution or expulsion policy (Judaism had been prevalent and incorporated throughout distant regional history), but that as the religio-political climate shifted, Jewish families opted to move elsewhere (many to Canada and, later, Israel). Today, the government stresses its history of “tolerance”, citing especially the policy of embracing large numbers of Jews (and Muslims) who had been expelled from Spain in the late 15^th century. Dr. S (our professor-guide) mentioned that some of his students collected research on empirical sentiment towards Jews and found that it was aligned generationally – those who were old enough to remember living amongst Jewish communities spoke of them with warmth, and those youngest generations (with very little direct contact to Jewish communities) spoke with disdain and often hate towards Moroccan Jews. He mentioned that these younger perspectives were colored by sentiment towards Israel and Israeli policy more than any deep understanding of Judaism or Moroccan jewishness.

remnants of the milleh - the French-inspired homes of Jewish families, most of them distinguishable by their outside, open balconies -- apparently, the Jewish neighborhood was once marked by the distinctive light blue paint everywhere - on shutters around windows, walls, etc..

the view of the synagogue's interior from the women's prayer balcony

The caretaker of the small, restored Orthodox Synagogue Aben Danen greeted us warmly upon entry, seeing us into the space through a slightly mismatched door. It was clear that he had been sleeping on a bench nearby, a small pillow for his head and a light blanket covering the wooden surface. While we wandered and toured the space with Dr. S, he stood nearby, listening and occasionally chiming in with welcoming bits as he saw fit – “come, sit sit,” “watch your head,” “torah here” – trying to, I assumed, enhance our understanding and enjoyment of the space. The synagogue has been recently (1993, I think) renovated per private initiative and it is rarely used, since the community has shrunk so significantly (only about 100 Jewish families still live in Fes, and the total national community is about 5,000 families), except as a historical site and museum. Inside, there is a beautiful torah, a women’s gallery, an underground space for the traditional bathing of the bride before wedding ceremonies, and a series of framed, modern photographs of sites of Jewish religious importance around Morocco.

posing on the roof of the synagogue

On the roof of the synagogue we found a spectacular view of the Jewish cemetery below and different parts of Fes. Above the cemetery is the so-called “Sanitary Zone,” planted by the French colonizers as a way to physically separate the older, autochthonous Moroccan city spaces from the new, “civilized” French-initiated spaces. Looking at it, I wondered why it still stands – a reminder of French colonial perceived-superiority – empty except for scattered trees, instead of having been destroyed or developed. It is still militarized, a government zone, and an interesting historical symbol.

view on the roof - the "Sanitary Zone" above and Jewish cemetery, with its distinctive graves, in the foreground

Our day in Fes, overall, continued in me a curiosity in the politics of space – the way it is organized, compartmentalized, occupied and re-occupied, and the many symbols (intentional and unintentional) within.

Coca-Cola delivery might seem a little out of place here in the old city...

One of the many "Taxi Sghir" whizzing around the city. In Morocco, each city has its own Petit Taxi color scheme. We took one back up to meet the group at the end of the day - our driver was extremely nice and told me all about the Fesi weather patterns (very hot in the summer, but not too much humidity - when it's humid, you feel disgusting, like you're bathing in sweat and can't get clean. The heat, unusually, took a while to set in and just started in early June this year.)

I posted many of my photos (and more explanation!) on my Flickr site (the link is to the left), and will continue to do so - feel free to explore...

culinary qualms...

this would be nice for breakfast!!

Okey, here's a secret: I haven't been eating very well here so far...
Now, I'm not sure whether it's that Moroccan food doesn't appeal to me (probably not this option, since I can't even claim to have chipped the iceberg of "Moroccan cuisine"), that it's harder to avoid meat here, or that the campus just doesn't provide a wide range of offerings (I'm 99% confident in this explanation), but I have been essentially subsisting on breads, coffee, tea, sweet yogurt drinks, stews with unidentifiable mish-mashes of vegetables and potatoes, missbon coffee & cream chocolate-filled bonbons (yum!), and the occasional salad with vaguely familiar fixin's (think iceberg lettuce, shredded beats, carrots, and cabbage, halved boiled eggs, sometimes cucumbers and a few slices of tomatoes, and sometimes something mustardy and pleasant whose name I don't know). So, yes Mom, feeling pretty low on the proteins... (but I'm taking my vitamins!)

Two staples thus far have been m'semmen - a greasy, flat crepe-like concoction which has its savory and sweet varieties. Savory (with sauteed peppers, onions, and tomato) is my favorite, although the gooey, honey-dripping m'semmen is also quite the tasty occasional treat. And the second is an avocado, almond, and yogurt drink that's sold in cute little single-serving cartons. It doesn't taste too much like avocado (which is fine by me because, while fresh avocados are one of my absolute faves, I'm still kind of scarred from experiencing [and then re-experiencing] them + dates in smoothie form a year and a half ago in Marrakesh), but it's yummy. And one of the less processed snacks I've been able to find thus far. Mmm, also the peaches have been remarkably good. When they're around.

Bottled water is all the rage for us microbe-free immune weaklings, and I must admit I'm pretty satisfied with "Sidi Ali," the most popular water brand. I'm no water snob - my enjoyment has little to do with the water's taste - I just really like the name. It's just a generic dude's name "Mr. Ali" or "Ali sir"... it would be like if there was a really unpretentious brand of water in the States called "Mr. Smith" or "Mr. Jones" with an unassuming lil' blue and green label.
I'm tempted to go for the tap, to immerse my system and immunize.... buuuut I probably shouldn't. My body has done pretty darn well with the adjustments thus far I think (It even can do the salad here, thank goodness! All those years of organics have served me well), and pushing it might cause some - err - unpleasantries...

al-manzara min Ifrane

(on the road from fez to ifrane)

Here goes, first post in a long while... must admit, it's a little intimidating! BUT I'm on the road again and sharing is caring, right? sooo...Yallah!

lilac-lined walkway on campus

So the campus... feels more like a ski resort than a university, but ma'alish, it's pretty (albeit really out of place).

One thing's for sure - this is summer school. It's the end of a long night of reading, hunkering down with a dark chocolate dove bar (thanks, Andrew) and a heck of a lot of early Muslim religio-political history. We all felt a little bit tricked, I think, after comprehending the course load after our first day of classes. They're really squeezing a whole semester into these four weeks. In. tense. I'm pretty exhausted, but happy to be here, to be living here in Morocco....a place I spent so much of my high school and early college years dreaming about. Although being here makes me feel more like studying Arabic literature and language + Moroccan cultural geography than politics, development, and democracy. It all meshes together, though and, as always, I make what I want of it. I expect that my classmates in "Development in Theory and Practice" will tire of my cynical, contrarian commentary pretty soon, though. Yes, the development field has its issues. And I can't help but point them out. But I also love the debate that ensues, which to me is essentially the whole point.

Spent some time getting lost downtown (off-campus) yesterday, looking for the souq/marche. Must have stopped about seven people for directions, all to not much avail (well, mainly since they all insistently responded to my Arabic pleas for help in French - it seems that people automatically assume that, if your Moroccan Arabic isn't flawless, you'll be more likely to comprehend francais...unfortunately for me... but when I'm insistent, most humor me with Arabic.), but they were all really kind. And eventually we found the souq - a medium-sized, winding market, half covered, half open-air - and accidentally strolled down the butcher's section on our way to the telephone shop. After chatting with Fatima, the nice woman who sold me my SIM card, my friend and I plopped down at an outdoor cafe nearby with some homework. We sipped tea and read alongside lots of middle aged men who, actually, seemed pretty used to random, foreign student-types (both of us women), and paid us no mind. Then it was a quick taxi back up to campus. I have had really good luck with taxi drivers in town - all have been willing to help me practice my newly developing Moroccan Arabic with meaningless banter (this one , after inquiring after my heritage, spent most of the time talking about how Rome is a rip-off and Morocco is heaven in financial comparison) and none have tried to rip me off (Turkish taxicis should take lessons from the drivers of Ifrane!)! Woohoo! I'll post a transcript of the funniest of my taxi adventures some day - the conversations are generally worth sharing...

"it is forbidden to stop in front of the wall"

Looking forward to spending Wednesday in Fez and this weekend's trip to the Tafilalt Oasis! Better photos to come! (Must force myself to take some. Have been in a photo lull lately..)

one of my roommates (my hand for scale)

another one