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July 25th 2011

Published: July 29th 2011

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Erika

Asilah

I am very excited about dinner. I am eating a fish stew in a dish called a tagine.

I finished my six week Arabic language course in Fez, Morocco, and have since returned to Kansas. However, I finished that course more than two weeks ago and covered quite a bit of Morocco during that time, quickly followed with a rapid tour of Lisbon and a re-entry into regular routes through Northeast Kansas.

I began my post-class vacation in Asilah, a beach town along the Atlantic coast in Morocco. Jennifer and I wilted in the heat for the four-hour train ride from Fez, but were quickly revived by the ocean breeze once we exited. Once installed in our hotel, we found a decent little place down the street where we ate fish tagines, or stews, complete with mint tea proffered by the waiter. As we wandered through the old part of town, we appreciated the murals on the walls. Asilah has an annual art festival during which artists from all over paint murals of all sizes, colors, and subjects on the city’s walls. We viewed intricately detailed pieces as well as big expanses of color. One was composed of Arabic letters, though we couldn’t determine if it was calligraphy beyond our recognition or simply art with letters. Maybe it

Asilah Art

One of the many murals on the city's walls.

was poetry.

Asilah is surrounded by a sea wall that was built by the Portuguese before the French colonization. This wall was a secure standpoint to view the endless ocean. We followed it to the southernmost point, where we could see the waves crashing against the wall and the rocks that formed the coast beyond. As we meandered toward a cup of tea before returning to our hotel, we inadvertently found a cookie shop. We bought a fair amount of goodies apiece, including date-filled butter cookies and peanut butter sweets, which we enjoyed very much with our tea soon after. We not only recovered from the stultifying train ride, but had also obtained a level of calm and relaxation we certainly didn’t have in class or in Fez.

The next day’s afternoon was reserved for the beach. An easy morning of waking up slowly was followed by a cup of coffee and some fresh bread at a nearby café. We browsed through the local market and bought peanuts in the shell and some sugared ones, too, for snacks at the beach. To await the sun’s descent before our hike to the beach, we went to the local art

To the Beach!

We enjoyed many views of the Atlantic such as this one on our hour and a half hike to Paradise Beach.

museum displaying Kuwaiti history on pearl diving, prayer books, and arts and crafts. A nap was necessary before continuing toward the beach.

It was a long and hot hike, but with beautiful views of the ocean beyond the rocky shoreline. We passed many fishermen –Asilah is a fishing village most of the year, but a tourist attraction for foreigners and Moroccans alike during the summer. The beach we were hiking to was popular with the locals, as well as tourists with better guide books. The hike followed not much more than donkey trails along the coast, and finally, after a couple palm-fulls of sugared peanuts and many sips of water, we crested a bluff and saw the beautiful beach nestled between rocky cliffs. The descent from the cliffs to the sandy beach was difficult after such a dusty and sunny walk, but increased our appreciation of bathing in the cold, cold Atlantic all the more. We swam and read and napped until the sun went down.

The next day we parted ways. Jennifer returned to Fez for more classes while I travelled down the coast to Casablanca. I eventually met Jimmy at the airport. I had optimistically planned

Paradise Beach

We finally arrived! It was a steep descent to the beach itself, but by this point we were pretty much willing to jump to get to the water.

for an easy and quick exit after his flight, but re-learned a lesson I have learned many times: time schedules are for fools. I instead introduced Jimmy to Moroccan life at the height of the North African Arabian day; that is, long after the sun went down.

We caught the train to Marrakesh from Casablanca at 9pm and mostly stayed awake for the three hour voyage. This put us off the train at about 12:30am in one of the most vibrant towns in the country, which neither of us knew anything about, other than what I had read in a guide book and discussed with fellow travellers. I did know that due to the high concentration of foreign tourists, the taxi drivers rarely agreed to reasonable prices. Although I wasn’t concerned about arriving so late, or early, in the day because I had become accustomed to the late night schedule, I was concerned about finding our hotel. These two elements were relatively easily overcome –the second taxi driver we petitioned was graciously reasonable, and once we discovered the main square (which quickly became a point of amusement between us because it was so obvious) we were lead to our

Beach Buddy

Jennifer and I set up camp for the afternoon and evening.

hotel by a boy I had asked. The boy and I were both satisfied once I gave him a coin worth about $.50 for his service.

However, I didn’t entirely appreciate Jimmy’s straight-off-the-plane point of view of this experience. I benefitted by having lived in Fez long enough to acclimate to the late hours and the ambience of the old city streets. To Jimmy, though, we were wandering through a large city filled with people in the midst of all kinds of unidentifiable activities, while carrying our luggage that made us obvious targets, and then lead by a street ruffian through narrow, dark alleys that followed no apparent plan, all in the intimidating environment of multiple foreign languages –Arabic, French, and Tashelheit (a Berber dialect). The steady guy didn’t say anything about it until later, but on the positive side of this impressionable introduction, he wanit scared of nothin’ for the rest of the trip.

Jimmy and I enjoyed Marrakesh. My country girl heart was a bit intimidated by the city, but was assuaged by the ability to walk to all the places we desired to go. We found a breakfast of coffee and hot Moroccan crêpes, called

Exploring

There were many creatures around the rocks on the beach, but this guy was one of my favorites.

malowi, around the corner, and then wandered through the markets. Most of the markets were filled with artisan goods destined for tourists: leather bags, jackets, shoes, seat cushions, and bracelets, as well as beads and jewelry, pottery, brass works, and hand-woven rugs. We wound our way to the set of museums housed within a renovated palace, madrasa, and an excavated tomb, all displaying a geometer’s dream of design. A long lunch of plum and meat stew was followed by a walk to the cultivated gardens near the Koutoubia, the oldest tower with the specific minaret ratio of 5:1. It was, and still is, very tall, and getting older.

The professional hustle by the Marrakeshi vendors and entertainers was beyond anything either of us had ever seen in our travels. The vendors can speak any language well enough to sell something. I spoke my book-like Arabic, which pleased them, but because of the region’s predominant Almalzigh, or Berber, ethnicity, my Arabic was responded to in French and even English. We encountered the most impressive hustling in the Djam’a el Fna square, the incessantly active heart of the city, and the main source for entertainment (hence our amusement that we at

Looking West(ish)

Jennifer enjoys the view.

first had to ask for directions to find it). I don’t believe that there is ever, ever, an empty moment on that wide expanse of pavement. Throughout the day it fills with vendors of fresh squeezed orange juice, dried dates, figs, apricots, and many other nuts and fruits, spiced tea and complimenting spiced sweets, rows of food stalls selling hot kebabs of chicken, meat, hearts, and veggies accompanied with fried veggies or fresh salads, and snake charmers, story-tellers, musicians, and whoever else wants to contribute to the energetic, thriving mass of people. After a couple of passes through the middle of this madness, I decided we should eat at a food stall just for the experience. We aimed for one on the edge to avoid the grabbing and bartering between stands, and succeeded in enjoying some heart kebabs, fried eggplant slices, tomato-cucumber salad, and bread. To regain our sanity, we had a cup of tea and coffee at one of the restaurants bordering the square, where a bit of space and significantly less human interaction reigned.

The next few days we joined my Benin Peace Corps buddy Felicie, who is now a Volunteer in Morocco, placed near Marrakesh. We

Ben Youssef Madrasa

We toured this renovated madrasa, much like a dormitory for a mosque where students lived while studying the Koran and life of Mohammed. This room displays what students lived with: a desk, a tea pot, a tagine, and some candles. That's all you need.

joined her at her site for a couple of days and swam, played spades and Bananagrams, enjoyed wine and tarte à la moutarde, and hiked through the low hills and along the stream and irrigation ditches that surround the village. The visit was too short, of course, but provided a glimpse of a Volunteer’s life in Morocco. The distinct separation between the sexes in general society is perhaps the most difficult difference from Benin. Although the sub-Saharan, non-Arab nation also had defined roles for men and women, the society was more open and thus more available to people like Peace Corps Volunteers to partake in. The North African, Muslim society in Morocco was of course welcoming, but not in the same way as Benin. I enjoyed my host family in Fez, and Felicie is enjoying her life in village, but there are differences between the nations, of course.

From Marrakesh, Jimmy and I took a bus toward the Atlas Mountains, stopping mid-way between Marrakesh and Fez at the town of Beni Mellal. I was initially intimidated by this town because it was apparent that it was not frequented by tourists, despite being an important junction between routes and growing

Market

One of many stalls selling beautiful displays of almonds, figs, dates, apricots, raisins, and many other dried goods.

quickly. Our brief stop was sufficient to hike through the beautiful Cascades d’Ouzoud nearby, and warm up to the people of Beni Mellal. Generally, the Moroccans with whom I interacted had two initial obstacles: first, that I am a white girl not speaking French or English or any other ‘Western’ language; and second, that the language I attempted to speak was Arabic, but rather than quotidian dialect, I speak Arabic like one would read a text book. Once they overcame those hurdles, I was met with a smile and appreciating amusement.

Once returned to Fez, I mostly lead us in a hurried manner. I had saved all my shopping for the end, and also needed to say goodbye, once again, to my host family. Maman fed us couscous despite it being a Thursday (Friday is the typical couscous day), and sent us with a package of her best cookies for my American mother. We squeezed each other’s faces and kissed cheeks once again. Shéma, my younger host sister, had already travelled north to Tangiers for her own vacation. They were a very good host family and I appreciate them very much.

We left Fez a day before our

Snake Charmer

Snakes are putty in Jimmy's hands.

flight from Casablanca and again suffered through a sweltering train ride until we reached the coast. The morning before our flight we toured the third largest mosque in the world, Hassan the Second, built on the Atlantic Ocean and completed in the late ‘90s. St. Peter’s in Rome would easily fit inside this ornate and impressive display of the essential elements of Moroccan Islam: the detailed geometric designs that cover any exposed space inside and out of the building, the carved and painted cedar from the Atlas Mountains, the similarly designed plaster, and the beautiful marble from the south-east of the country, near Ouzarzate (where films such as Ben Hur were filmed). Moroccan artisans performed all of the work. The only non-Moroccan element is the Venetian glass in the windows and lights. Our guide indicated the 11-ton roof that slides open, the one-ton door that slides up, and the surrealistic height of the minaret’s tower that contains an elevator for the muezzin for the call to prayer. He also led us through the hammam and the ablutions room beneath the magnificent prayer hall. I can only compare the ambience of the place to any other deeply sacred space, in my

Koutoubia

We enjoyed the cultivated gardens near this minaret tower to relax after the long day in the market.

world a cathedral. It was mollifying, and beautiful.

I have determined my summer in Morocco, in Fez especially, to be a success. I learned quite a bit more Arabic rules, grammar, and vocabulary in the classroom, but also learned, outside the classroom, how and why I choose to study this language. Although I knew that Arabic would open many more doors to working in West Africa, this summer I have a more defined context of how; that is, many of the cities I toured in Morocco highlighted public gardens, their significance reinforced by Felicie’s observations, as well. My motivation for graduate studies begins with my experience in Beninese sacred forests, which I can compare in many ways to public parks in the States. Morocco, too, has sacred ground where Muslim saints are buried, but I can also explore the use of public parks in a similar manner to Beninese sacred forests.

I think I spent just the right amount of time abroad. I always miss speaking other languages and the corner shops where I can generally buy anything I need, from cookies, to peanuts, to a roll of toilet paper, but I equally enjoy my life in Kansas.

Rooftop

We played Bananagrams on the roof, enjoying the breeze and the distant thrum of Djam'a el Fna. (photo from Jimmy)

I will particularly miss the resonating call to prayer in Fez, which I heard daily. I deeply enjoy being near my American family though, made all the nearer with my neat little truck with good speakers. The humidity is perhaps the hardest selling point for Kansas, but I can hardly complain about that. I can sit on the porch with the fan as long as I like, but I always have some air conditioned space to which I can retreat. I guess I don’t miss living abroad; I think I am well on my way to making myself capable of returning. It’s a matter of how and when.

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