4 Days of Funeral

After several busy weeks of school following our return from the village, I’ve been a somewhat lax blogger.  Honestly, there hasn’t been much new to report.  I had my final Arabic exam this morning, so my month of independent research will soon begin.  Otherwise, life in Morocco has continued to be filled with Turkish soap operas, cups of mint tea, and quite a few April showers.

For some time, I have been debating my next blog topic.  Then, a couple of days ago, I found bittersweet inspiration in some unusual circumstances.  Throughout my time living with my host family, I have been aware that one of our upstairs neighbors has been very ill.  Although I never met the woman, it sounded as if she had some form of dementia, along with a combination of various physical afflictions.  From the descriptions I gathered of her, I might have guessed that she was an old woman, but I found out that she was only around 65 at the time of her death on Wednesday afternoon.

Of course, our neighbor’s death is an occasion that has brought her family and many others into a state of mourning.  I have felt a pall over our household the past several days as loved ones pass in and out, and I grieve for those who have lost a dear friend.  Still, I cannot help but notice and marvel at the Moroccan treatment of death and celebrations of life.  People’s abundant hospitality has extended beyond all boundaries to reach out to this family, offering yet another example of the generosity of life here.

Although my host family has no familial relations with the woman upstairs, they immediately began making preparations for the events to remember her.  Only hours after her passing, my family and the neighbors were working together to roll tables and seating for at least 60 people into our main courtyard.  Given our home’s limited storage space, I was at first perplexed by the number of tablecloths, dishes, and silverware pieces that appeared outside my bedroom floor.  Apparently, though, local catering companies frequently prepare such occasions on short notice, so no one need worry about preparing last-minute casseroles.

Shortly after the table setup, the men had stretched a tarp over our normally open roofline to prevent rain from falling on the anticipated guests, while the woman began work on any number of traditional dishes.  I offered what help I could and tried to learn about the customs surrounding death in Islamic society.  In Morocco, at least, the family receives guests for around four days, during which time there are prayers and memories shared.  At the end of this time, the men will go to the mosque and then to the cemetery together for the burial.  Unlike most Christians, Muslims are simply wrapped in a white cloth before being placed in their casket.  Thus, they return to the earth as they came, naked.  After the burial, the official mourning period continues for around 36 more days.  Rather than donning black, wives of the deceased wear all white, and everyone else is free to choose their mourning outfits.

On the evening of the first day of mourning, men prayed together upstairs late into the night, echoed by the sounds of the Qu’ran television channel.  I fell asleep to their mournful tunes.

The next day, I intentionally returned home late, hoping to give the family space.  However, upon walking in the door, I could tell that the night was just beginning.  Men were assembled at the tables in our courtyard, in our kitchen, and in the section of our living that had formerly been my bedroom.  Again, prayers resounded from the walls as my host mother and sisters led me into my brothers’ room, where all of my things awaited me.  I was not irritated by the change, but rather impressed that my family had gone to the trouble to transport every last thing to another space.  It’s not difficult for things to accumulate over the course of three months!

At this point, it was already after 9 PM, but I climbed the stairs to the neighbor’s apartment, where at least 50 women had gathered together in various sitting rooms.  Some were crying, others laughing and sharing stories, but what struck me was the unfiltered expression of emotion.  My family has told me that Moroccans’ (sometimes dramatic) expressiveness is what keeps them out of psychology offices.  While I’m not entirely convinced that this is the case, I did admire the way that these women embraced each of the other’s range of feelings.  Squished between several older ladies on the couch, I should have felt strange, having known neither the woman nor anything of appropriate behavior in such a situation.  Nevertheless, I was just as welcomed as ever, receiving my cups of tea with many sincere shukran’s (thank you’s).

By 11:15 PM, all of the women had settled around tables and were sharing some of the largest bowls of couscous I’ve seen so far.  Babies sat in mothers’ laps despite the late hour, and ladies kept talking over the continued sounds of the men’s prayers from below.  Sitting next to my host sister, I asked whether she knew most of the people present.  In fact, she knew hardly any of them; still, she and her family had opened their home as an expression of neighborly hospitality.

Most of the guests have gone from our home by now, the third day, but our doors remain open (literally, as I haven’t had to use my key at all recently).  Seeing the flow of people through our home the past few days, I marvel at the idea that these people and many others have all been present in the life of the woman who died, just as she was to them.  It is amazing to think that when we go, we have touched and been touched by this many hearts.

Going Off the Grid

Yesterday, I stepped back into Rabat’s bright lights and blaring sounds after a week living off the grid in a rural Moroccan village called Ait Ouahi.  Although it is only located about three hours southeast of Rabat, the village seems worlds away.  To provide some context, the nearest town to Ait Ouahi, a little outpost called Oulmes, has a population of under 10,000 people, many of whom work either in agriculture or at the local water-bottling factory.  About 15 minutes away from this tiny town’s center begins a windy dirt road and the entrance to village life.  For six nights, our group lived with families in Ait Ouahi, joining in their daily exercises and learning about rural issues.

Unlike our homestay arrangements in Rabat, where each Moroccan family hosts only one student, we were placed in groups of two or three for our week in the countryside.  Since many of the families spoke only Darija or Tamazight (a Berber dialect), having more students per household was helpful for communication and general support.  Throughout the week, I shared a family and many unforgettable experiences with my friends, Alex B. and Alex V. 

Chickens in our yard

Our father, Ahmed, had worked briefly at the bottling plant but preferred the freedom of farming to the factory’s strict rules.  Although he had only attended school through the 6^th grade, he spoke four languages, including French, fluently.  His wife, Zahara, was more difficult to communicate with using words; still, I felt a certain connection with her.  Growing up, she had two mothers and one father.  She didn’t know her birthday because at the time, no one in the village kept such detailed track of time.  She had a fantastic sense of humor and made some of the best bread I’ve ever tasted.  We had two host brothers, Durees and Murad.  Both of them were in their late 20’s and worked long days as taxi drivers in Oulmes.  One of our host sisters, Mena, was 21 and engaged, waiting to move to Tangiers with her husband-to-be.  The other, Maryam, was 18 and finishing her schooling near home.  She said that the most frustrating thing about living in the village is the lack of access to university education, and she hoped to live with her aunt in Italy in the future.  I feel very fortunate to have again been placed with such a fun, easy-going, caring family, and I know that my interactions with them shaped my village experience in a positive way.

Casual goat herding

Mostly, we spent our time in the village not doing, but being.  With the exception of some organized conversations with the local people, our time was our own to spend observing and interacting with our families.  When it was sunny, which was unfortunately not the norm, Maryam took us to explore the countryside.  Situated near the Middle Atlas Mountains, Ait Ouahi is a sight to behold, filled with sloped pastures, secret waterfalls, and far-off peaks.  Our family’s garden was reminiscent of Eden, possessing dozens of forms of life, including apricots, almonds, cherries, apples, oranges, eucalyptus, figs, olives, beans, and a variety of herbs.  Outside of the gate roamed their chickens, sheep, goats, cows, donkeys, and turkeys.  Further in the distance, crumbling ruins of abandoned homes made perfect places for exploration.  These old homes were signs of the past decades’ exodus of people to the cities.  Ahmed and Zahara’s daughters are among many youth seeking a different life, a trend that makes me wonder what the future of such villages will be.

A little patch of our family's garden

On the rainy days, we had plenty of time to relax.  Huddled by the fireplace, I completed more pleasure reading than I have in many semesters.  We made Moroccan-style pancakes, called bahrain, and then ate them with butter directly from the family’s cows.  When we felt stir-crazy, we walked with Mena and Maryam through the misty, muddy land and down to a river that had formed following over 24 hours of steady dampness.

Rainy day snacks

I don’t want to make village life sound too ideal.  The week that I spent in Ait Ouahi was one of my favorites so far this semester, and I could have easily lingered for the simplicity of it all.  However, people’s lives there are challenging in many ways, and it is not a place in which I would like to permanently live.  As with any other agricultural society, the economy depends on the weather, which makes each person’s livelihood unpredictable.  As Maryam mentioned to me, access to education is limited.  When we asked a group of local women what they thought about the new Moroccan constitution, which went into effect in 2011, none of them had even heard of it.  Traditional mindsets change at a slower pace.  Most households consider it shameful for women to engage in physical exercise or be outside after dark.  It’s a very different world, yet it exists only hours from where I sit now, typing this post with access to CNN, Facebook, and the rest of the outside world.

Learning Amazighi dances

With the village stay now finished, our group does not have any organized travel planned for the rest of the semester.  However, I expect to go with friends to Fes within the next couple of weeks, and I would also like to do some hiking outside of Marrakech.  Since I am officially at the halfway point of my semester in Morocco, I am also planning more seriously for my final month-long independent research project.  Once that time begins, the rest of the term will really fly, so I’m trying to take advantage of every minute!

The Everyday

Because I have stayed so busy with formal excursions and experiences, most of my posts on Morocco so far have dealt with specific happenings.  However, one of the richest parts of the journey has been the everyday joy and intrigue of being in the heart of Moroccan life.  As someone staying for an extended period, I have the opportunity to immerse myself in a way that would be impossible for a tourist.  Much of this privilege is thanks to my host family’s generosity in welcoming me into their daily life, but I have also noticed things on my own that beg me to keep exploring.

Take, for example, my walk to and from school.  At first, it was daunting because my house is at least seven minutes and five windy turns into the fringes of the medina.  Many other students live closer to school, just off the main road, where the route is familiar and direct.  Given my lackluster sense of direction, the closer proximity would have been easier, but I have come to appreciate my winding path home. 

Each day, I pass through one of the medina’s largest vegetable and meat markets on my way to school.  In the morning, the shopkeepers are already wide awake and arranging their stands.  Many sell oranges, lettuce, beets, and other fresh produce.  There are some stands for spices and dried fruit, others for candy bars.  Behind three different counters are shelves full of chickens (still clucking), which will likely be eaten within the day.  Different smells waft from each stand.  Walking down this souk road is an experience that requires all of my senses, but it’s distinctly Moroccan.

Coming home, life maintains its Moroccan flavor.  Sometimes, the language barrier and lack of privacy requires some flexibility, but the rewards are rich.  Apart from the communication and, of course, the delicious food, there are some other little quirks that distinguish my home arrangements.  For example, a large portion of our central courtyard is uncovered, which means that when it rains, it reaches all the way to our tiled floors.  This week alone, we’ve had several thunderstorms, which have meant lots of moisture on my walk to the kitchen and bathroom.  It’s something that’s mildly inconvenient, but it’s also not anything that would ever happen at home.  The charm still hasn’t faded, nor do I expect that it will.

Here’s another snapshot: an afternoon at the hammam.  In Rabat, everyone is convinced that temperatures below 50 degrees are freezing, consequently making the quick bucket showers less appealing.  Instead of taking their daily 10 minutes in the shower, as most Americans do, Moroccans go instead to the hammam.  A hammam is a public bath open to men and women at alternate times each day.  There are three rooms in each hammam, one sauna-hot, another warm, and the last slightly cooler.  Each invites guests to sit, decompress, and be clean.

The hammam process is just that, a process, one that I’ve enjoyed around five times now.  You must bring a stool for seating in the steam room, a giant bucket to fill with water, and a scooper to ladle the water over yourself.  Upon arrival, you pay a small fee (around $1) and strip down to everything but your underwear.  Then, you choose a room, sit down, and spend up to three hours enjoying the longest, most satisfying shower of your life.  The end goal is to scrub hard enough to remove sheets of dead skin, and if your host mother doesn’t help you with this task, as mine does, then you can pay another naked person to give you a full body scrub.  Admittedly, this experience was a bit of an adjustment for me, but it’s one that I’ve come to enjoy with my host family, on my own, and with friends from school.  Walking to and from the hammam with my giant bucket in tow, I’m bound to hear one of Morocco’s favorite phrases, “B’SaHa wa raHa,” meaning “To your health and happiness.”  How can I help but feel relaxed after an experience like that?

To be sure, my everyday experiences in Morocco are very different, serving as a constant reminder that I’ve ventured outside of my American comfort zone.  But this is why I travel, and it’s why I’ve chosen to spend a semester in such a distinctly different place.  Being in Morocco reminds me that life exists in many different forms and that I am one piece of this complicated, beautiful, exciting mosaic of a world.

Headed Down South

I’m on the bus home from our first excursion, and my head is spinning from all we’ve done.  In the past seven days, I have stopped in around a dozen villages, towns, and cities in the southern part of Morocco.  Considering the country’s small size, our trip has required a surprising amount of time in transit, probably around 30 hours total, but the long trips have provided time to absorb the surrounding scenery.  Morocco’s size doesn’t limit its topography; in fact, the range of landscapes likely surpasses that of the U.S.  We’ve journeyed from the ocean-side capitol city to the Saharan dunes in under 48 hours, and from there to deep river gorges, snow-capped mountain ranges, and verdant agricultural valleys. 

A snowy drive through the Middle Atlas Mountains

The cultural range has been equally as diverse.  Through stops at various NGOs along the road, we’ve had a chance to interact with some of the advocates for women’s rights and education and learn more about change in the region.  As our route has taken us through some of the country’s least populated areas, we’ve also seen some of the poorest villages and their people.  Then, only hours later, we would arrive in cities like Marrakech and Essaouira, where we blended with the other Western tourists being wooed by insistent shopkeepers.  As one of our academic directors aptly noted, Morocco is a country of contrasts, both geographically and economically, and our excursion served its purpose in reinforcing that idea.

Rainy marketplaces of Marrakech

With so much time on the go, it has been difficult to process all that I’ve seen.  Gazing upon the rural villages, I have to wonder what the lives of those who live there are like.  On the edge of the Sahara, we drove through one section of sandy homes where women and men perched on their doorsteps, seeming to wait for the day to pass.  There can’t be any agricultural profit here, so it begs to question what people do all day.  Apparently, the lucky ones own camels, which they can rent to tour companies like the one that led us on our sunset ride through the dunes.  Schools exist, but they are scarce, and parents are often reluctant to send children who might contribute to the household.  Apart from the obvious socioeconomic difference between these country people and city dwellers, there is also a distinctive cultural divide.  Often, rural people are of Berber, not Arab, background, which means that they speak a different language and share separate customs from people like my host family.  I wish that I had more time to interact with the people in places like this, but we seemed to move on as quickly as we had arrived.  In several weeks, we will have an opportunity to spend a week in a rural village in the north, which I hope will provide more insight into the lives of these Moroccans.

The harbor in the beach town of Essaouira

Apart from the subsistence lifestyles we saw in the rural areas, it also seemed that urban poverty had a more conspicuous presence.  Of course, you don’t have to travel far in any city to notice hardship, and our home base of Rabat is no exception.  More so than in the U.S., it seems that physical disabilities contribute to people’s destitution, and it’s difficult to say what the government is doing in response.  Maybe it was because I spent so much of this trip as a tourist that the people on the street weighed heavier on me.  It feels difficult to approach this issue from my position of privilege.  Morocco’s overall economic condition isn’t as dismal as that of many developing countries, but seeing the people who live in need has reminded me of my place as a global citizen, related to each person I encounter through our mutual humanity.

Sunrise over the Sahara

Like many other experiences in this region, this trip had its challenging aspects, and I’m sure that I will continue to reflect on them as we learn about Morocco.  It also carried moments of immense awe—7 AM sunrises over Saharan sand, strolls through the late Yves St. Laurent’s vibrant gardens, rain-filled journeys through Marrakech’s winding souk (and the resulting 30-minute bartering exchange for my new Berber carpet), and cups of mint tea shared over growing friendships.  Already, nearly a third of my time in Morocco is over, and I can only imagine how quickly the remainder will fly.  I’m just trying to absorb all that I can, and I have a lot to look forward to in the next few weeks, including a class segment on religion in Morocco and another excursion.

Here's Looking at You, Kid!

Last weekend, a group of 25 students from my program ventured outside of Rabat for the first time.  Although our directors have organized several trips for later in the semester, this one was entirely student-planned.  Luckily, we were going to Casablanca, which is only about a one-hour, $4 train ride from Rabat, so the trip was easy to put together. 

Hassan II Mosque's minaret

Since the most common response to my plans to study here was to ask when I would visit Casablanca, this blog entry was essential, but be advised that the city might not be what you’re imagining from the classic film.  Although Casa (as Moroccans call it) has its charming parts, it mostly serves as the country’s economic hub and consequently is filled with busy streets and tall buildings.

An exterior hallway at the mosque

The tallest building of all (in fact, in all of the country) is the Hassan II Mosque.  Occupying several acres of space along the Atlantic coastline, this mosque is the 3^rd largest in the world, smaller only than others in the heart of Mecca.  Its minaret reaches 210 meters and is equipped with a laser beam pointing towards Islam’s holiest city.  The mosque must host millions of worshippers each year, and there is plenty of space for them all.  At its most crowded, the mosque can contain 25,000 people (20,000 of whom are men) indoors and 80,000 in its outdoor courtyards.  To give you an idea of the scale, it would be possible to fit Paris’ Notre Dame or Rome’s St. Peters inside.  During busy times like Ramadan, people arrive up to four hours early to claim a space in the prayer hall, and to keep the place cool, the roof retracts in under 3 minutes.  Part holy space, part sports stadium—but then again, I know some SEC fans might argue that they aren’t very different at all!

The split in the roof is where is opens on sunny days

What inspired such grandeur?  The mosque was completed in 1993, just in time to commemorate the 60^th birthday of its namesake king.  It took 6,000 workers six years of nonstop work in order to complete it, and the fruits of their handiwork are evident in every corner.  With the exception of some Italian marble and glass and Russian titanium, all of the materials are from Morocco.  Cedar from the forested countryside resists saltwater erosion and termite damage, while granite from the Atlas Mountains forms solid walls.  The overall impression is impossible to capture in words or photographs.  Of all the places I’ve seen, this was one of the most remarkable ones yet.

Windows that look out on the Atlantic

For those of you who are fans of the film, know that I tried my best to eat at Rick’s Café.  Unfortunately, we arrived between lunch and dinner, which meant that it was closed, but I did get to peek through the windows.  In the long run, it probably benefitted me to walk away.  I’m sure the place would have been way overpriced!

Daily life keeps passing at a non-stop pace.  We’re in our second week of formal class, and we’ll leave this Saturday for our first big trip.  As a group, we will go to the south for a week, which means I’ll finally get to ride a camel!  Every day is filled with so many new experiences, and I wish that I could fit more of them in these posts.  More updates later!

Outside Rick's Cafe

My Address(es)

If you would like to write to me from afar, I would love to hear from you, and I promise to respond with a postcard from this neck of the woods!

Here's my address while in Rabat:

Julia Watkins
Center for Cross-Cultural Learning
PO Box 6291
Rabat Instituts
Rabat 10101
Morocco

And, if you are so inclined as to send a package, there's a separate address for that:

Julia Watkins
CCCL c/o Abdelkarim Taek
Avenue Laalou, Derb Jirari
Zankat Elhassani, #11
Rabat Medina
Morocco 10000

However, I think that packages are quite expensive and take around a month to arrive, although we have heard that FedEx and UPS are slightly more efficient.

Love from al-Maghreb...

I've Been Adopted!

It’s really difficult for me to believe that I’ve only been here for a week.  Thanks largely to my host family, who I met and moved in with on Thursday, I’m beginning to feel settled.  I hardly know how to begin describing all of the sounds, smells, and sights that have inundated my surroundings since moving my bags from our sheltered haven of a hotel.   Our academic directors at the CCCL have emphasized that while the homestay experience is not always the easiest element of this semester in Morocco, students often cite it as the most enriching, important parts.  Living with a family enables students to partake in the Moroccan culture not as a guest, but as a member.  So far, this journey has been one action-packed, eye-opening minute after another, and my first days as a host student have been no exception.

In many ways, the move from American student in orientation to Moroccan family member was a plunge.  One minute, we were taking a bus tour of Rabat (talk about feeling like a tourist!), and the next we were weaving our way through throngs of local families, who were anticipating our arrival.  I was lucky to hear my name from one corner of the crowded room, and I turned to find my host mother, Fouzia, and my two brothers, Yassine and Chemsaddine.  Not knowing what language they would speak, I greeted them with a combination of salaam, salut, and hello.  As it turns out, most everyone speaks primarily Moroccan Arabic, with the exception of Yassine, who is learning French, and his aunt Jamila, who knows fus’Ha (the same Arabic I speak in class), French, and some English.

Fouzia, my mother, is in fact only 9 years older than I am, and her husband, Abdellatif, is roughly the same age.  Abdellatif works nearly all day, 6 days a week, so I have only met him a few times.  They have two sons, Yassine (age 9) and Chemsaddine (age 6), who are beyond adorable.  Two of Fazia’s sisters, Jamila (age 23) and Rashida (age 21) also live with us.  Because the father is so often at work, the dynamic centers around a house of women in their 20’s taking care of two little boys.  It’s nice to have some people near my age.

The layout of all of the homes in Rabat’s old medina, where I am staying, is basically the same.  All the homes are attached along narrow alleyways.  If you were to look at one from the outside, it would be very difficult to guess what the inside was like, as there are no visible windows.  Instead, all of the windows face an interior courtyard, which may be partially or fully covered on top.  Our home’s courtyard is about 25% uncovered, which means that the occasional bird flies into the living room, and the tile floor becomes damp when it rains.  Around the courtyard are a number of rooms, including the kitchen, bathroom (complete with one Turkish toilet… Google it.), Fouzia’s room, the boys’ room, and one long space that serves as living room, dining room, and bedroom for the aunts and me.  How is this possible?  Well, the room is lined with low couches.  There is a table and television on one side, and at night, we shift the pillows and cover the couches in blankets to make them beds.  At the risk of sounding stereotypical, I think my room looks like a place where Aladdin’s Princess Jasmine could sleep.  My home is even more different than I could have predicted, but I think that I will feel truly comfortable here.

As a family, we’ve already done activities bzef (this is a Moroccan Arabic word used nonstop to mean a whole, whole lot or really).  My first night here, we took the bus (an experience in itself) to the nearby city of Sale to visit with other family members.  I spent much of the time feeling pretty confused as I was shuffled from one space to another, but everyone was very welcoming.  I think I might have even received an offer to go see the grandfather’s camels in Essaouira!  I’ve also been down to the beach along the Atlantic Ocean with Jamila and Rashida.  Due to a misunderstanding in language, I didn’t bring my camera, but I can tell you that it was one of the most awe-inspiring sights I’ve ever seen.  The waves were enormous, and we arrived just in time for sunset.  Simply beautiful.  Yesterday, Fouzia took me on another adventure through the souq to buy groceries and then home to make tagine.  As I am eager to develop a set of strong Moroccan cooking skills, I was thrilled by the chance to receive some personal instruction.  She says she will teach me more as the semester progresses.

I know that a homestay family can make or break an experience like this, and I feel very fortunate to have been paired with mine.  I feel warmly accepted and comfortable, and I look forward to seeing what the remainder of my time as a Moroccan daughter and sister brings.  Apparently, as I was told after watching three hours (literally) of Moroccan wedding home videos, there may even be a chance for me to attend the wedding of one of my family’s friends.  Hooray!

More photos to come soon, but for now here's one of some of the fam...

(From L to R): Chemsaddine, Fouzia, me, Jamila, and Yassine.  One big, happy family!

Finding My Way

It's been three days since I left, and I've hit the ground running.  It's hard to believe that only a short while ago, I was en route to the Atlanta's new international terminal.  The afternoon leading up to my departure was naturally emotional, as this is the longest time I have ever been away from home, but it was also an exciting beginning to the next 15 weeks.  Having checked in without problems several hours early, my parents and I decided to share a celebratory Varsity frosted orange (Atlanta natives know what I'm talking about) before saying goodbye.

Last American food for a few months.

From Atlanta, an easy flight to Paris sitting next to a soldier returning to his year-long deployment in Bahrain after spending the weekend at home for his father's funeral.  We talked college football for a while, and I was reminded of how fortunate I am to immerse myself in a culture by choice.  We landed after an uneventful 7 hours and 15 minutes, and I set out for my gate to Rabat, where nearly a dozen participants from my program were already waiting.  With several hours to kill before leaving, we had time to get to know one another a bit and relax.  I've never met so many people from the West Coast in my life (hey, hey, Gracie!), but the majority are still from the Northeast.  With at least three UNC students, I'm not alone as a Southerner.

Goodbye, Atlanta!

First impressions of Rabat: green, ocean, GREEN!!!  After spending the summer in a near-desert climate, I was both surprised and relieved to see all of Rabat's lush surroundings.  Driving through the city, we saw several parks, and the Atlantic oceanfront is only a few blocks from the neighborhood where I'll stay.  Our first night was a blur filled with a tour of our school, a walk through the marketplace, and a welcome dinner.

We'll be attending classes at the Center for Cross-Cultural Learning (CCCL), which was established in the early 1990's and has hosted a variety of students aged 3-97, all of whom wish to learn more about Moroccan culture.  The CCCL is housed in a mid-19th century building in the middle of Rabat's old city medina.  With ornate tile work, a towering center courtyard, and stunning rooftop views of the Atlantic Ocean, I only hope this space will allow me to focus!  As much as I love Davidson's campus, I must admit that this is hard to beat.

The central courtyard at the CCCL.

The CCCL is also equipped with a small cafeteria, where we are eating most of our meals during orientation week and will continue eating lunch throughout the semester.  So far, the food has been fantastic, with lots of tagines (which can, essentially,  consist of any food cooked in a tagine to seal in moisture... Google may be a helpful reference on this one) and plenty of vegetables and fresh-from-the tree fruits.  I'm sure I'll need to dedicate a post to Moroccan food at some point, but for now, know that I'm enjoying it.

The view from the roof of the CCCL, where I'm attending classes.  That's the Atlantic Ocean in the distance.  Look hard enough, and maybe I'll see North Carolina!

Since our first day, we've continued orientation with various talks on safety, health, and cultural differences in Morocco.  We also took our Arabic class placement tests, and I was both surprised and pleased to be placed in the highest level, along with three other students.  Since the Moroccan Arabic dialect differs so much from the standard classroom version, I've been relying on my French around the city.  It's amazing what a difference communication skills can make in an unfamiliar culture.  Several times, I've served as a translator for friends, and I feel much more confident than I did navigating the streets of Amman.  Although the Arab influence is evident in Rabat, it's clear that we aren't in the heart of the Middle East. French and other European influence lend the city a more metropolitan feel, and nearly everyone I've spoken to is bilingual.

Today's highlight was our city "dropoff."  All of the students on my program boarded a bus, rode into an unexplored part of the city, and debarked in groups of three in various areas.  The goal was to navigate our way back to the CCCL.  Knowing my terrible sense of direction, I was a bit anxious going into the experience, but my group was fortunate to be the first one off the bus.  As such, we weren't too far from our destination, and we even had a few extra hours to explore some of Rabat's major landmarks (below)!

King Hassan tower.  Stumbled upon this gem on our drop-off.

The rest of the week will be filled with more orientation sessions, including time to practice bargaining and begin learning "survival" darija.  Then, on Thursday, we'll be introduced to our host families and will move in with them this weekend.  A busy week, to be sure, but I'm loving every minute so far and look forward to seeing what the next several days hold.  For now, b'salaama!

 Sunset views from the balcony of my school.  Not a bad study spot, huh?

Adventure Time, Pt II

There are only about 18 hours remaining until I leave American soil for the next 3 and 1/2 months.  After 5 weeks of winter break and many more months of anticipation, my readiness is at its peak.  My suitcase, which I am proud to announce weighs well under the 50 lb. limit, has been packed for at least 2 weeks, and today I will check the final items off of my to-do list.  All of these figures lead me to one unbelievable realization: tomorrow, I leave for Morocco!

Over 5 months have passed since I returned from Jordan, and since then, I have been as busy as ever.  Between a hectic academic semester and a host of summer internship applications, it was a challenging semester, but it was also one filled with joy.  As one of 8 members of Davidson's Eco-House, I learned the arts of crock-pot cooking, late-night yoga, and laughing until I cry.  Being a part of that special community was one of my most valued college experiences so far, and I will surely miss it.  Last semester also allowed me time to reflect on my summer experience in the Middle East, which I remember now as a challenging, but invaluable journey.

Now, I am preparing for the months to come.  Although there were 5 Davidson students in Morocco last semester, I will be the only one in the spring.  With 33 students from all over the U.S. participating in my program, there will be many new faces!  The program is based in Morocco's capital, Rabat, but we will be travelling to a variety of other cities, including Marrakech, Essaouira, and Chefchaouen. 

I've had several people ask whether I'm taking classes during this grand trip of mine, so rest assured, it is a study abroad program.  With a Multiculturalism and Human Rights theme, I will be learning about a variety of topics (i.e. women's rights, ethnicity, religion, etc.) as they relate to Morocco.  I'll also be taking a field research class in anticipation of a final independent study project, which I will complete on my own over the course of a month.  

As for the language, I will continue taking Arabic courses, and I hope to learn some of the Moroccan dialect, called darija, as well.  Fortunately for me, many Moroccans also speak French, which will simplify communication to a degree.  As I did over the summer, I will be staying with a host family, and I don't yet know what language they will speak.  My hope is for as little English as possible!

As I begin my final countdown to this next great adventure, I feel excited, curious, anxious, and open.  I realize that this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I look forward to savoring every moment of it.  I am so grateful for the ongoing support, prayers, and good vibes from family, friends, and mentors.  Best wishes to you all for a peaceful and content semester, and please keep in touch!