Blogs from Morocco, Africa - page 221

It only takes about a day for me to get Essaouira’s appeal. If you ignore the postcard racks and the paint-by-numbers galleries and the ruddy tourists banging away on their souvenir drums in the Place Moulay Hassan, what you get isn’t too different from any other beach town. Kids play pick-up games of soccer in the sand. A few lanky, disinterested teens watch the waves and scratch at their board shorts. Men in jlabas squat over bloody chickens on the side of the road. Breathing the salt spray of the air while the call of the muezzin wails behind me, it’s all I can do to wonder if the Jersey Shore hasn’t somehow made the long trip overseas with me. I spend an afternoon reading at a beachside café: really, this isn’t a bad way ... read more

Gabriela’s flown down from Porto for the week. She’s been meaning to visit Morocco for years, long put off by reports of woman travelers getting harassed, groped and - in at least one dubious story - whisked off into the desert, never to be heard from again. To have a friend - a pure heap of masculinity, at that - waiting for her at the airport makes no small difference on her first visit. I’m here as a physical and emotional buffer, the calming presence who steers her through the souqs, chases off the aggressive shopkeeps, and assures her that what a particular man just did was to offer a polite, respectful bow of the head - not blatantly check out her tits. Marrakech is certainly an easier introduction into the country than a place ... read more

My stomach has suddenly taken a turn for the precarious after an iron-clad week. What began as a care-free, what-me-worry attitude toward food has evolved into a painful ballet of menu navigation - tip-toeing my way around strong spices, most meats, and the ubiquitous, dreaded tajine. It’s an eight-hour train ride to Marrakech from Fes, and because of certain not-unwarranted fears I have regarding: a) the likelihood of food running through my digestive tract; and b) the dubious standards of public toilets aboard a Moroccan train, I’ve decided to avoid eating altogether on the day of my trip. After just a few hours a numb sort of anti-hunger sets in - a complete loss of appetite, no doubt owing to the fact that I digested most of my stomach somewhere outside El-Jadida. By the time ... read more

Hello Ms. Burge’s class and all of Holden, Wisconsin! Salamu alaykum! I have recently begun corresponding with a second grade classroom at Viking Elementary School in Holden. It’s a lot of fun for me and I like having a new audience to tell all my stories to. Writing is fun for me and a good way for me to reflect on the experiences I am having here. Peace Corps organizes a correspondence exchange through their Coverdell World Wise Schools Program. I put my name in to be matched with a teacher in the States and after a long wait (all last year!) I finally got Ms. Burge’s class. I want to thank all of them for writing to me on Thanksgiving. Some volunteers got to get together and have an American dinner, but I had too ... read more

You come to Fes’ medina - one of the largest medieval cities in the world - expecting to be hopelessly lost at the very least, trampled by donkeys and sharp-elbowed old women at the very worst. What you don’t expect, descending into it for the first time, is to start bumping into people you know. After a few hours among the cluttered stalls and relentless touts - ducking past men hauling sacks of figs and cheap leather belts over their shoulders - I cross paths with a girl I’d met at Saturday’s Thanksgiving party. Proving that the world is an even smaller place than you might think, she’s a student at my alma mater - a coincidence that, try as it might, doesn’t give us much to talk about. About 10 minutes after we go ... read more