Matt in the Maghrib

Morocco: Unchanged by the Arab Spring?

2011-09-25T14:51:00.000-04:00

Morocco is supposed to be in a historic time. In two months Moroccans will vote in early parliamentary elections to create the government that will shape the future of their country. This new parliament will have the responsibility of implementing the historic changes brought about by the July 1 Constitutional Referendum. These representatives will be the guardians the Moroccan people's will and its guides towards a true constitutional monarchy.

Despite the historic nature of these times, life in Morocco seems quite normal. Other than some increased construction and public works, nothing seems to have changed since my departure in late July. Daily life is unchanged. The air is calm, absent of the tension caused by a collective hope for a brighter future. Is it possible that Morocco was untouched by February 20 and the Arab Spring?

In her book Policy Paradox, Deborah Stone discusses how communities act collectively to provide for the "recognized needs of their members." She goes on to say that we can see this in what she terms "mob actions", or spontaneous popular action against the status quo. Mob actions are expressions of how a community's needs are not met by current socioeconomic or political realities. Beyond this, Stone states that such actions "may be the vital force in community formation." In other words, the expression of needs through mob actions may lead to the creation of a new community or communities within a society whose collective needs are at variance with the current status quo of said society.

We can view the Arab Spring as a series of 'mob actions' that redefined the collective needs of many Arab nations. The people who participated in these uprisings sought to provide new needs for their communities, namely democracy and democratic values. By doing so, they created a new democratic community. The size of these movements indicates the degree of 'community formation' around of these movements' stated ideas and goals. The popular support gained by many of the Arab Spring movements shows the creation of new 'democratic communities.' These communities' defense of their needs (i.e. democratic ideals) will be crucial to the successful establishment of popular democracy in the region.

To this end, we can argue that nations like Libya, Tunisia and Egypt experienced tremendous change. Their popular revolutions indicated a shift in community needs. Ideas like social justice, economic opportunity and democratic government transformed from mere hopes into necessities the community went to great risks to attain. While it remains to be seen whether these community needs are successfully translated into democratic government, we can say, at least, that change has come.

What, then, can we say about Morocco?

February 20, Morocco's popular democracy movement, never gained the popular support achieved by similar groups elsewhere in the Arab world. As I've written, we can view the new constitution as monarchy's and political mainstream's successful co-option of February 20's revolutionary energy, a move that, by and large, Moroccans accepted. July's referendum was the community's opportunity to voice its opinions. Rather than refuse the status quo, Moroccans, in droves, participated in the corrupt practices the political mainstream employed to coerce support for its 'constitutional project.' When the political parties looked to buy votes, Moroccans were there to sell them.

When the opportunity presented itself, when the Moroccan community was asked to acknowledge its collective needs, it said, 'our needs are the same as they've always been.'

I'm reminded of a conversation I witnessed between a Moroccan friend and an American ex-pat this Spring. My friend suggested that Morocco could solve political corruption by electing new, more trustworthy politicians. The American disagreed, stating that until Moroccan society changes on a popular level, the political environment would remain the same. He argued that you can't expect someone who grows up in a society in which people regularly cut corners and break 'rules' to perform favors for friends and family to not do the same if they achieve political office.

In this sense, we can say that Morocco remains unchanged after the Arab Spring. Despite a very vocal minority's call, Moroccans refused to label transparency, social justice and democracy as communal needs. Until this changes, as long as Moroccans value stability over other social values, business will continue as usual in the Maghrib.

Just how organic is Morocco's agriculture?

2011-08-19T18:48:00.000-04:00

By The World Bank

Perhaps the greatest symbol of Morocco's traditions is the souk, or market. Whether you're in Rabat's medina, steps away from the tramway, or deep in the heart of Old Fes, shopping in the souk transports you back in time, far away from modernity. For tourists, a visit to the souk is, at the least, a unique and unforgettable experience. The sights, smells and sounds are dazzling and mesmerizing. And for some, these have a deeper meaning.

To the legions of Western eco-tourists who descend on Morocco every year, the souk symbolizes a way of life distant from the ills of the modern food economy. If the supermarket, with its packaged goods and processed foods symbolizes the evils of the 'food-industrial complex', the souk epitomizes 'organic': produce is piled in haphazard pyramids, as if thrown there by the farmhands who picked it. Many fruits and vegetables are speckled with clods of dirt, too 'organic' to be cleaned before sale. However, these appearances are deceiving. Despite the quaintness and charm of the souk, Morocco is far from an 'eco-gastronomy' paradise.

In his paper presented at the 2009 International Symposium on Sustainable Agricultural in Mediterranean Region, S. B. Alaoui wrote that Morocco has done little to take advantage of the country's organic farming potential. Morocco's climate is ideal for organic agriculture; its long growing season can support almost any type of crop, provided there is sufficient water. Moroccan farmers already use few chemical pesticides, herbicides and fertilizers. And manual labor is very cheap. Yet, organic farming has grown feebly and sporadically.

According to the most recent data from the World Resources Institute, the area of Morocco's cropland totals around 9,445,000 hectares, slightly less than that of California. In 2006, only 5,955 hectares were devoted to certified organic farming. More than half of these are devoted to Argan oil production which, unlike other agriculture, occurs spontaneously. Compare this with California which devoted nearly 175,000 hectares of cropland to organic farming in 2007

What has prevented Morocco from taking advantage of this potential economic growth?

Alaoui writes that organic farming not high on the government's economic agenda. Though agricultural development is a national priority, such efforts focus on increasing crop yields and water conservation. The former can encourage decidedly un-organic practices, like increased fertilizer use, and while expanding organic farming could reduce overall water consumption, there are other less resource and labor intense ways of doing so.

Additionally, Morocco has neither national standards for organic farming nor any means to certify its organic farms. Setting up a national certification system would take time and money. Guaranteeing its veracity would require significant oversight. Yet these costs are necessary if Morocco hopes to profit from its organic potential. It is the lack of such a certification system that makes it impossible for Morocco's already fledgling organic farms to export their produce to Europe.

Simply put, the Moroccan government and Moroccan farmers don't care about organic farming, and it's easy to understand why. Unlike many Western countries, Morocco is still trying to modernize its agricultural sector. The focus is on increasing efficiency, crop yield and, subsequently, profits.

While some Westerners decry the industrial food economy, Moroccans dismay not having such an infrastructure. Western tourists may view Morocco as untouched by many of the problems of a modern economy, but many Moroccans see this as a lack of economic development preventing their nation from reaching its potential.

Turning Morocco into an organic farming power may appeal to certain groups with certain ideologies. But ultimately, Morocco will pursue the actions that best serve its national interest.

Sources:
- Data on organic farming in Morocco come from Mr. Alaoui's paper: "Organic Farming in the World and a case study of Morocco"
-Data on organic farming in California comes from the USDA
-General data on Morocco's Agriculture from the World Resource Institute

Into a Traditional Islamic Education

2011-08-16T19:46:00.000-04:00

By Maymona

Since my arrival in Fes I've imagined what it would be like to enter al-Qarawiyine university. Al-Qarawiyine is why Fes is called medinat l-'ilm: 'the city of knowledge'. Constructed 1200 years ago, it was, for centuries, a great center of learning for scholars, mainly Muslim but also Jewish, from Islamic Spain, North Africa and Sub-Saharan Africa. Its prominence has declined in the past 100 years, but it is still home to a vibrant community of Islamic scholars.

Al-Qarawiyine has an imposing presence in the Old Fes. Physically it is huge. It is one of the city's largest landmarks, something you notice most when forced to navigate around its perimeter, dodging donkeys and hustlers along the way. Culturally, you notice its impact in how Fessis speak. Unlike most Moroccans, native Fessis, and especially those who live in the old Medina, converse readily in Classical Arabic, the language of Islam. Their speech emphasizes the already prominent sense of religiosity that permeates the medina's alleyways. All of this emanates from Al-Qarawiyine and its centuries of religious tradition.

As a student of Islam, I couldn't help but be drawn to such a place. The image of me sitting at the foot of some great Islamic scholar, in a halqa or study circle, frequently entered my mind this year. The experience of a traditional Islamic education appealed to me, knowing that it was something I couldn't get in America. Additionally, it would give me a new and very rich understanding of Islam, the study of which I hope to make a lifelong pursuit. So I ask a friend of mine with experience studying at al-Qarawiyine to explain exactly what a traditional Islamic education would entail.

Niaz, now living in Turkey, was an English teacher at the American center in Fes and had lived in the Old Medina for a little over 5 years. Along with teaching English, Niaz pursued studies in the classical Islamic tradition with Sheikhs in and around Fes.

One day I met with him to talk about his studies. He explained to my that in Morocco, Islamic scholars follow a particular curriculum that starts with Arabic language study and moves along to different areas of specialization, just as religious law or speculative theology. As he said, "the first step is Arabic, which is the miftah u'lum ad-din, or the key to the religious sciences. Without Arabic you have nothing."

Working within the Islamic tradition requires absolute mastery of Arabic. As a religious scholar you interpret the Qu'ran, Islam's holy text, which is written in Arabic and believed to be the word of God. In order to understand this word to the extent they are able, scholars first study books on grammar, syntax, rhetoric and logic.

Mastery of these subjects prepare yourself to understand all of the more specialized subjects. Quranic commentary and Islamic law are based on linguistics and logic. Without a solid foundation in Arabic, you can't engage with the Islamic intellectual tradition. How do you ensure mastery? Memorization.

"Your time with the sheikh is spent listening to him explain the parts the text you're working on," Niaz explained, "and then you go home and memorize it. Once you memorize a complete text you move on to its commentary, and you follow that progression: learning, understanding and then memorizing."

Memorization is looked down upon in America's education system. We try to create 'independent thinkers' and 'critical thinkers' and the we perceive 'rote memorization' as impeding these goals. If you memorize, you're not thinking and you end up merely reproducing the information you've learned rather than synthesizing it into new, fresh ideas. I witnessed this firsthand in my classroom this year. My students could repeat the previous week's lecture word for word. But when asked a critical thinking question or given a task that required them to synthesize information, they struggled immensely. The Islamic ideal falls somewhere in between.

Notice how Niaz described the learning process: "learning, understanding and then memorizing." An Islamic scholar is not expect to merely reproduce what he's learned, he's expected to apply that knowledge to new and unique intellectual situations. Memorization only comes after you understand what you're learning and how to use it. That information is then internalized so that it can be more quickly synthesized with other information, external or internal, to respond to a given intellectual situation. The Islamic scholar has the potential to be a synthesizer and critical thinker because of, not despite, his reliance on memorized information.

There's something romantic about becoming this kind of intellectual: an unmediated world of information available to you at all times. No dependence on books or computers; information and ideas fused to your very being.

Technology has made an indelible impression on our relationship with information. Are the changes it has wrought necessarily good? Am I the only person who feels ashamed by my dependence on a calculator or on Google to give me the text of the Gettysburg Address? Can I truly participate in an intellectual culture if I have to look up its fundamental and most influential ideas online or in a reference book? Does that make me an independent thinker?

Needless to say, Niaz had me hooked.

Muslims believe that certain people have the gift of light from God, a certain special charisma that not only enraptures ordinary people but also guides them towards or along the straight path. Of everyone I know, Niaz has that light. It was he who helped a friend of mine convert to Islam, and it was he who helped me decide to stay in Morocc to pursue a traditional Islamic education.

Sunday Morning Political Theater

2011-08-14T13:10:00.000-04:00

By Gage Skidmore

One thing I've missed while living in Morocco is television. I don't have a television there (much to the consternation of some of my Moroccan friends), and my Arabic isn't good enough for me to keep up with the soap operas and news programs broadcast in the cafes I frequent. Now back in states I've rekindled my relationship with television, only, as with all old flames, to be disappointed with the results.

This morning my Dad and I watched Meet the Press and This Week which were all about Michelle Bachmann's victory in the Iowa Straw Poll and Tim Pawlenty's decision to drop out of the Republican primary race. Both politicians sat for interviews and I was really shocked by how poorly both they and their interviewers performed.

I'm used to politicians speaking in talking points, but Bachman, in particular, took that to a new level dropping "Obamacare" as well as her birth town of Waterloo, IA in the most logically incongruous places. Pawlenty was laughable with his use of euphemism and childish metaphor; I felt like a little kid when he explained how his lack of success fundraising caused him to consider dropping out of the race: "You know, we just needed a little more fuel to make sure the car could get down the road..."

David Gregory and Matthew Dowd (filling in for Christine Amanpour) aided and abetted both politicians by allowing them to not answer their questions. To his credit, Gregory did get tough on whether Bachmann would allow an atheist/gay to participate in her hypothetical presidential administration. But Dowd was laughable.

I wonder about the rules of television journalism and why it seems that people, especially politicians, are able to avoid their interviewers' questions. The film Frost/Nixon made it seem all about preparation on the part of the interviewer. Through diligent research the interviewer crafts the questions that expose the dirty details that make his subject squirm. This also makes attempts to avoid answering a direct question appear obvious. Maybe reporters don't work as hard as they used to. But what do you do when someone like Bachmann attempts to explain away her description of homosexuality as 'personal bondage' by saying she has 'great respect' for homosexuals? Is it too far to say, 'that answer doesn't make any sense'?

There is also the viewer's responsibility to uncover a speaker's logical fallacies and determine for his or herself whether someone is trustworthy. But, as Neil Postmann argues, oftentimes our emotions overwhelm our logical faculties, and images communicate a great deal of emotion. Make them move and give them music, and you realize just how emotionally manipulative television can be. This is why The Onion and the Daily Show are so funny. They purport seriousness through the visual and aural tropes used by regular news programs and use that 'credibility' to make great satire. If by such meager means they're able to create the verisimilitude of seriousness, then how serious can the rest of the television news media really be? Based on today's performances, not very.

Beyond the interviews, it was shocking to see how superficial our political culture has become. Both programs featured roundtables which spent most of their time talking about who are the 'winners' and 'losers' of the straw poll and what it means for President Obama. While it seemed that the participants wanted to talk about the 'serious issues' surrounding this phase of the presidential election process, the talk boiled down to a discussion of appearances: an important factor for Governor Rick Perry was his 'Texas swagger' and how he will 'appear' to voters; both Republicans and Democrats 'look bad' as a result of the debt ceiling debate; Republicans are concerned that the primary with draw the party to the far right, forcing their nominee to 'lurch back to the middle' to 'appear' more mainstream for the general election. It might as well be a beauty pageant. As a politician in a television dominated society, how you look matters as much as or more than who you are. This is why we spend time discussing whether a candidate 'looks presidential'.

As we drank our coffee, my Dad looked at me and said, "What do you think about all of this now that your home?" After explaining the frustration I felt, I added, "It's all crazy and ridiculous. That's why Moroccans have a King."

What will become of February 20?

2011-08-02T15:21:00.001-04:00

Flickr.com by Magharebia

Today, the Angry Arab asked why the Western media are ignoring continued protests against the King Muhammad VI's reforms. He cites news (also here) that thousands of Moroccans protested on Sunday against the newly adopted constitutional reforms. The protests were potent in their symbolism, taking place the day after Throne Day, the anniversay of the King's coronation, and the same day Morocco's government officials renew their allegiance to the Monarch.

One reason why the West may be 'ignoring' these protests is because they are not very surprising. The February 20 movement, and other opposition groups, boycotted the constitutional referendum. It's natural they would continue to protest as the King and Morocco's political mainstream move forward with the reforms they don't approve of.

I think the bigger question in all of this is what will become of the February 20 movement?

Earlier, I wrote that the youth protesters' boycott of the constitutional referendum left them in a decidedly weaker political position. It appears that this position is only getting worse. The King's recent announcement to hold "prompt" parliamentary elections puts February 20 at a severe disadvantage. While the movement has been effective at organizing rallies, I doubt it will be able to organize itself as an effective political party in time for these new elections; the movement is unaffiliated with a political party and, moreover, is at odds with the political establishment. It stands to lose nearly everything if it is excluded from the new House of Representatives, which will ostensibly work to implement Morocco's new constitutional reforms.

Since March, Morocco's monarchy and political mainstream have orchestrated a brilliant political and social campaign aimed at marginalizing the country's true political opposition and co-opting Moroccans' revolutionary energy for their own means. With King announcing reforms, and the political mainstream standing by him, February 20 was left in an impossible situation. By accepting the reforms, they would have aligned themselves with the political status quo they oppose so fervently. By opposing them, they aligned themselves with Morocco's political fringe and also bordered on transgressing one of the country's biggest social taboos: questioning the legitimacy of the Crown. The decision to boycott allowed the group to retain it's legitimacy with its supporters, which is why it's been able to continue to protest. But it is losing its broader support.

Speaking with my Moroccan friends, it appears that the government's efforts have succeeded. One friend, a student at Al-Akhawayne University who voted 'No' in the constitutional referendum, questioned the group's objectives, stating that they "are not clear" and are difficult to stand by. She also said that the group needs to appear "more reliable" and that "they are not the only ones who want change, we all want it ... [but] they want revolutionary change, which is not easy, especially when not everyone agree[s] with them." Regardless if these opinions are true and reasonable, this is exactly what the monarchy wants Moroccans to think. With February 20 perceived in such a way, the only path to certain and stable reform is through the new constitution, which, of course, keeps political power in the same place it's always been.

It's hard to think of what February 20 could have done differently. If they had participated in the referendum, it's unlikely their voice would have been represented accurately. I doubt the government would have given 'No' voters more than 5% of the vote, thus making them look just as fringe-y as they do now. But maybe not.

If February 20 had demonstrated a willingness to work within the status quo, then charges of being 'revolutionary' would appear fanciful rather than realistic. If they had come out to vote in force, mobilizing as many supporters as possible to be as vocal as possible in the referendum, then, based on the results, they would have had an opportunity to legitimately disparage the corruption of Morocco's existing 'democratic' institutions. More so, it would have given them practice for mobilizing in the all-so-important parliamentary elections. But what's done is done.

It is easy for me to sit behind my computer and say what could have or should have been. It's not fair to the brave young Moroccans who risked their lives and livelihoods protesting on the streets for me to do so. And for that I apologize. It just saddens me to think that what may have been Morocco's 'Youth Revolution' has become the 'King's Revolution' and that weak constitutional reforms will be the only reforms Moroccans see for some time to come.

Morocco's Universities: Money Laundering 101

2011-07-29T18:17:00.000-04:00

This article from AllAfrica.com caught my eye today. It details some of the problems that have stifled higher education reform in Morocco. Here are some key points from the article:

Morocco has 15 public universities. The total number of students enrolled in 2009-2010 was 306,595. (That's 0.95% of Morocco's 32 million people. The United States has approximately 14.2 million university students or about 4.75% of the total population.)
King Hassan II enacted sweeping education reform in 1999, the year of his death, that was continued by his son and successor Mohammed VI. A major piece of this reform was granting financial and administrative autonomy to the university administrations. Another aspect of the reform was the adoption of a modular system, diving the academic year into semesters and the semesters into modules. The reforms also created Masters Degrees for the first time.
Sources quoted in the article complained about the backwardness of Morocco's teaching standards and practices. They stated how they desire "training" for the work force, not "teaching", which is all students receive now.

Not much in the article surprised me. I can vouch for bad teaching conditions, poor pedagogy, and an overall dysfunctional system. What did surprise me was that each university has control over its finances. To me this just seems like a terrible idea.

The article cites a "statement of accounts" from the Faculty of Arts and Humanities of Ben-Msik in Casablanca. It spent over $800,000 in 2010, so, as the article says, it has plenty of money. But $60,000 of this went to "catering and accommodation" which is funny because Ben-Msik "has no restaurant and no residence halls for students." At least they spent $633 on books for the library.

I understand the logic behind making your universities autonomous. It's an 'enlightened' thing to do. Having all of your universities under a large, centralized administration can be inefficient and ineffective, that's obvious. Also, the idea of having a single curriculum for the whole country (which still exists more or less) runs contrary to a 'liberal' concept of higher education. But at the same time, I can't imagine trying to enact major reforms in a country as corrupt as Morocco by reducing the accountability on the actors you depend on to enact said reforms. No wonder the situation hasn't improved in 12 years.

I always wondered why the situation seemed so stagnant at my university. Regular strikes against the poor conditions never achieved substantial changes. I had thought maybe it was a sinister plot by the Ministry of Education to keep Moroccans poorly educated so that they were easier to manipulate. That may still be true, but the simpler and more probable answer is that there's a lot of money to be made in running a dysfunctional public university in Morocco. An average professor's annual salary is about $13,500. If the Ministry of Education gives each university $800,000 every year, then the Dean probably takes $50,000, the Vice-Dean $25,000, and so on down the line until everyone gets a cut. Whatever is left goes to books.

Clearly, more accountability is the solution. I'm not an expert in education reform, but I imagine that if each university were held responsible for such things the number of books in its library, the student to faculty ratio, test scores, etc., it would bring about many positive changes. But this is hard to achieve in a place where people can be easily persuaded to overlook certain things everywhere, not just in the higher education system. Without a doubt, the biggest obstacle to Morocco's economic and social development its culture of corruption

And I always found it so strange why my department never wanted me to make copies.

Which Morocco does the American News Media See?

2011-07-27T13:37:00.000-04:00

http://www.flickr.com/photos/44866093@N05/

It's been nearly four weeks since Moroccans approved King Muhammad VI's constitutional reforms, and the American and European media remains split between praise for and skepticism of the nation's step towards democracy. Depending on who you read, watch or listen to, you can come away with radically different perspectives on Morocco's political situation. To make sense of these points of view, today I'm asking the news media, "Which Morocco do you see?"

Writing in the New York Times, columnist Nicholas Kristof presents a single-minded view of Morocco's protests and reform movement. He favors the 'fight the power' narrative, exclusively quoting street protesters and liberal political activists critical of the monarchy and desiring a change to full democracy. He portrays the monarchy as "grudgingly" moderate, citing contradictions between prior reforms and the current lack of political freedoms to illustrate the government's equivocal commitment to democratization. In the end, Kristof places Morocco at a crossroads, between real reform and a violent crackdown, a la Bahrain and Yemen, and stating that there is a "whisper of hope" that King Muhammad will do "the right thing."

We find a more balanced assessment of the political situation in Aida Alami's report on the constitutional referendum, also for the New York Times. She begins by quoting an exchange in which a taxi passenger criticizes the February 20 movement for continuing their protests: "Can’t they just leave us in peace. They wanted a new constitution. They got it. What else do they want?" The driver responds, "They are fighting for our rights. I hope they keep on marching until our health and education systems are fixed and corruption, the biggest ill of this country, is gone."

With this frame, she goes on to illustrate some of the constitutional referendum's key drawbacks: the short period of time between the announcement of the reforms and the vote itself, how the King's support for the reforms may have influenced the vote, and the reform's failure to fully address the pro-democracy movement's demands. Her article concludes by predicting that the protest movement will continue until it achieves its goals.

On the other side of the spectrum are the journalists who have joined many Western governments in praising Morocco for its peaceful and 'real' response to the protest movements. The best example of this is CNN's Fareed Zakaria whose interview with Taieb Fassi Firhi, Morocco's Foreign Minister, last Sunday gave the Moroccan government 8 minutes in the limelight to plug its take on the constitutional reforms.

Zakaria introduces Firhi, stating that Morocco, unlike other Arab Countries, "seems to be doing something right" in its response to the February 20 pro-democracy protests. Firhi comes across as harmless (undoubtedly aided by his poor English), and spends the interview explaining how the Monarchy has always supported reform ('we've been reforming for decades'), is moderate both politically and religiously, and is a "special" and "wonderful" place. You come away from the interview enamored with Morocco, the land of adorable government officials who love democracy and moderate Muslims who love Jews.

So how can we make sense of all of this?

This media coverage illustrates the convergence of two narratives: "Arab authoritarianism" and "Moroccan exceptionalism." Kristof strongly represents the former. His article rests on several assumptions: Arab autocrats abhor democracy, only enact superficial reforms that they are doubtful to implement, and pro-democracy movements are always right and deserve our sympathy. This is a pretty simple approach to a complex situation, and Kristof makes some errors.

He never questions whether 'democracy now' is the best step for Morocco. He doesn't address any of the challenges associated with a democratic transition in Morocco, namely illiteracy, corruption and economic inequality. The question of creating real democratic institutions in a country of 50% illiteracy is never addressed. He mentions corruption as one of the nation's ills under the King, but never considers what its role would be in a new Moroccan democracy. And lastly, he makes no mention of the nation's extreme economic inequality which, as we've seen in America, can have a huge effect on democratic politics. But none of these nuances matter to Kristof because they complicate his over-arching narrative.

Alami gets closer to addressing these complexities, but her reportage is incomplete. She brings attention to the shortcomings of the February 20 movement, namely their failure to generate popular support akin to the protest movements in Tunisia and Egypt, but she fails to give much attention to those who oppose them. This is because she follows Kristof in implying that opposition to democracy comes from the powers at be and is illegitimate. Pro-Democracy protesters have unquestionable moral superiority, which is a problematic quality to ascribe to a political movement. It's possible that the woman she quotes as being "fed up" with the protesters has real, morally and politically justifiable reasons for feeling that way, but we're never given the opportunity to judge for ourselves.

At the other extreme is Zakaria, who allowed Foreign Minister Firhi to blast the "Moroccan exceptionalism" narrative across the airwaves. In this story, Morocco is and has always been different from other Arab countries. Yes, it's an autocracy, but it's been reforming for decades. Yes, it's Arab, but also Berber, so Morocco embraces diversity. Yes, it's Muslim, but its extremists are "relatively moderate" and Moroccans love Jews. Implied in all of this is, "we're the nice Arabs, so if you want to go to the Middle East on vacation, come to Morocco, or if your company wants to invest in the Middle East, invest in Morroco."

This narrative is equally as simplistic as Kristof's. The statement that Morocco has been reforming for decades brushes over past oppression and the current lack of political liberties, namely freedom of the press. Assertions of cultural and religious diversity and moderation are historically accurate, but tend to be exaggerated. Fareed Zakaria mentioned how the King of Morocco sheltered 200,000 Jews during World War Two, but said nothing about how or why those Jews suddenly left Morocco in the 1950s. This is the story that Morocco's government would like everyone to hear and believe, but is grossly incomplete.

The failure to address complexity and nuance is commonplace in today's journalism. Readers and viewers expect a complete story in 1000 or 1500 words or 5-10 minutes or less. This puts extreme limits on a journalist's ability to convey a complete, multifaceted story. As a result, some, like Kristof and Zakaria, forego any attempts to balance their narratives. Others, like Alami, try, but for whatever reason, fail to do so.

With Morocco as an example, we can see that it is difficult to find complete coverage of complex world events in any one media source. It is a reader's and viewer's responsibility to read and watch widely. But even then, it's hard to find intelligent, nuanced analysis in today's media environment.

Thoughts on Morocco's new Constitution

2011-07-26T19:30:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, I wrote that despite the energy of the Arab Spring, serious change wouldn't come to Morocco. I said that a mentality of stability permeates Moroccan society from the top down. The King wants stability for the benefit of his country's economy and society (and his political fortunes). Morocco's political elites want stability because they benefit from the status quo. The average Moroccan, as dire as his or her situation may be, also values stability because drastic change is so disruptive and often does not produce the desired outcome.

And yet protests came. The February 20 movement formed as a small but vocal opposition, calling for democratic reforms and claiming to represent the collective interests of Morocco's youth, by far the most disenfranchised section of the population. As the demonstrations continued, the King decided to respond, calling for constitutional reforms in March that were announced in late June and then put to a vote on July 1st.

What does it mean that these reforms, at best a small step towards real democracy, passed with 98% approval? Why did the monarchy choose reform in the first place? And what is the future of the February 20 and other opposition movements?

The result of Morocco's constitutional referendum was never in doubt. The whole process conflated the issue of constitutional reform with supporting the King. Holding the referendum a mere two weeks after Muhammad VI announced the reforms and declared "I'm voting yes" never allowed the question "will you vote yes in the referendum?" to take on any meaning other than "will you vote yes to the King?" Which is why the 98% approval of the reforms is neither surprising nor probably inaccurate. Morocco's monarchy is sacred, it is not questioned.

These are all reasons why the pro-democracy opposition - February 20 and others - boycotted the referendum. A boycott was the most politically viable way for these groups to express their displeasure with the constitutional reforms. An organized 'vote No' campaign would have failed on many fronts: if February 20 had been able to garner significant voter support, without appearing to oppose the King, it's unlikely the Interior Ministry would have let it show in the final results. February 20 can also claim the 25% of Moroccans who didn't participate in the referendum did so as an act of opposition, strengthening their political position. But will these tactics prove effective?

I think no matter how you look at it, February 20 came out of the referendum in a decidedly weaker position. It appears now that their strength was exaggerated. The moderate success of nationwide protests, several few high profile incidents (self-immolations, police beatings, etc.) and the energy of the region gave them sympathy both in Morocco and abroad. But the failure to impact the referendum, by choice and circumstance, diminishes that prestige. Now more than ever do they appear to represent the political margin, one that refuses to cooperate with the powers at be.

So what will the future bring?

I believe, the Monarchy and political mainstream will put increasing pressure on February 20 for their lack of participation in the referendum. You can already see the Moroccan media marginalizing the movement. This will stifle a real discussion about the Morocco's direction as the opposition loses its relevance and legitimacy. Moroccans are stuck with what they were given, and will have to make due.

To many, both in and out of Morocco, the constitutional reforms represented the monarchy's superficial concession to calls for democratic reform. Some changes did occur, and some of them even good. Whether those changes become manifest and Morocco takes a real step towards a democracy, remains to be seen. Nonetheless, Morocco has had its change, at least for now.

Osama bin Laden, September 11, Cafe Argana and my Students

2011-05-09T15:07:00.000-04:00

A week ago I was traveling through Morocco with my brothers. This was my brothers' first visit to an Arab, Muslim country. I was anxious to introduce them to Moroccans so they could replace their American media derived notions of Arabs and Muslims with real interactions and experiences. We had mint tea with a leather craftsmen. We listened to gnawa music. My brothers saw me teach and met my students. But when Cafe Argana was bombed in Marrakech, those memories disappeared to be replaced with turbans, beards and 'Death to America'.

We were in El Jedida when the bombing occurred. I worked hard to reassure my brothers that they had nothing to worry about. "This is a very un-Moroccan thing", I told them, "Moroccans are warm, open people. They are peaceful and not violent."

We traveled to Marrakech a few days after the attack. The seemingly untouched wreckage of Cafe Argana imbued the Jama'a l-Ifna, Marrakech's main square, with tension. Combined with cool temperatures and rain, the whole city seemed caught in a mournful stupor. It was an awkward place to be. With the news of Osama bin Laden's death, and the potential for retribution, we decided to leave Marrakech a day early.

In light of these events, I decided that I would address terrorism in my next U.S. Culture class. I knew that at some point I would have to address September 11, the defining event in America's contemporary history. The Marrakech bombing and Bin Laden's death made such a discussion all the more pertinent. I wanted to deal with terrorism from a 'human' perspective, helping my students to understand the universal nature of the fear and insecurity that such wanton acts of violence create. I was also curious to how my students would feel about these three events. To my brothers I had defended Moroccans as peaceful, so wouldn't they share my sadness about Cafe Argana and Americans' despair over September 11? Wouldn't they understand why we killed Bin Laden?

My class met this morning. Below are the questions I asked and some of the responses they garnered:

What did you feel when you heard about the Marrakech bombing?

I was shocked and I was sad for all of the people who died.
I was disappointed because of what it means for Morocco. All of the unrest in the Middle East has brought terrorists to Morocco and they are trying to unsettle the country. The bombing in Marrakech is disappointing because it destroys our hope of a peaceful transition to democracy.

What did you feel when you heard about Osama bin Laden's death?

I do not believe he is dead. Where is his body? I must see his body.
I felt sad to lose him. Osama bin Laden was a great Muslim leader and did great things for Islam.
I was shocked and I don't believe he died.
Americans said they killed the snake, but remember that snakes lay eggs.
I was happy he died because he was a bad man who killed many people and distorted the image of Islam in the world.

What did you feel when you heard about the September 11 attacks?

I was happy because it was a great blow to America, the supporter of Israel who occupies Palestine and kills innocent Palestinian men, women and children.
I was happy, I thought it was a gift to Islam.
I was sad because the people who worked there were innocent and not bad people.

Some of you probably guessed where this post was heading.

I have lived in Morocco for a total of nine months. I've never been seriously concerned for my well being or safety. My experiences with Moroccans have, for the great part, been positive. Before today I had never heard a Moroccan voice such 'extreme' views. But this was a bit of a reality check. The moment one of my students said, "I was sad when Osama bin Laden died, he was a great Muslim leader", my head fell out of the clouds.

I love Morocco, and to a certain extent I idealize it. I won't say that what I heard today surprised me, but I had never interacted with Moroccans in such a before. These opinions are not entirely outrageous. There is no denying that America has done a lot of harm to the Middle East and the Muslim world. But I was not expecting this type of frustration and anger to show in place of the kindness and compassion that I've come to expect from Moroccans.

Similarly, I was caught off guard. Until today I didn't realize all that I represent in my position. I've been conscious of my unique role as an American teacher at the university since arriving. I knew that as the only American teacher at my university, my presence stood for certain things. As a native speaker I embody the language my students desire to learn. As a young teacher I demonstrate the possibility to be successful through hard work and dedication. As an American I represent a society and culture they aspire to create for themselves. But I also represent a government that many of them would label as 'terrorist'. Because of this, do I cease to represent these other things?

Does thinking September 11 was a 'gift' invalidate a person's kindness and generosity towards me?

I don't think so. But I do think it is sad that such bright young people can hold such callous beliefs.

The Call to Prayer: How Time Moves You in Morocco

2011-03-30T18:46:00.000-04:00

The adhan, or call to prayer, is a unique facet of life in a Muslim country. In the Fes medina, where there's always a mosque around the corner, the adhan is unavoidable.

At home or in the streets at prayer time you hear a soft hum in the distance that crescendos steadily until a hearty "Allahu Akbar" blares from the nearest minaret. At first it is disarming, especially to Westerners unaccustomed to or unaware of prayer's central role in Islam. But after a few days or weeks, it, like everything else in Morocco, it assimilates into your life and you either respect it as an expression of Muslim piety, scorn it as an unwelcome early morning wake up call, or simply ignore it.

The call to prayer preludes each of the daily prayers that are included among the 'pillars' of Islam. There are five in total spread throughout the day: fajr occurs in the early morning before sunrise, dhuhur at midday, 'asr in the mid-afternoon, maghrib at sunset, and 'isha at night. The call is recited by a muezzin, literally an 'announcer', who traditionally would shout the adhan from the top of his mosque's minaret or in the streets. Today, most mosques are equipped with loud speakers.

In traditional Muslim societies, prayer times used to demarcate the different phases of the day. The phrase 'ba'd dhuhur' in classical Arabic translates to the English word 'afternoon', and literally means 'after dhuhur prayer'. In this sense, the 'afternoon' did not begin until dhuhur prayer was performed. The classical Arabic word for 'dinner' shares its root with 'isha, the last prayer of the day. Remnants of this influence on daily life can still be seen in the old medina. During the week, many shops close between dhuhur and 'asr prayers, and on Fridays, the Muslim holy day, a vast majority of businesses are closed as Moroccans take the afternoon off after their communal dhuhur prayers.

In many ways, this role of the adhan represents a different psychology about time, and our relationship to it. Last night at dinner my roommates, our guests and I had a conversation about the differences between religious time and the secular time. My roommate Chris explained how in the 19th century, governments in Europe began to use churches to signal the official beginnings and ends of the workday.

In that period, church bells were the most effective means of communicating information, especially in the agrarian countryside where farms and farmers were scattered over miles. Before these initiatives, churches used their bells for purely religious purposes, signaling religious holidays such as Christmas and Easter, as well as the hours for daily prayers. Much like prayer in Islam, Christian prayers determined the pace of daily life. By secularizing church bells, these governments not only stripped them of their sacred functions but also initiated a shift in the human relationship with time.

The key issue here is control.

Who controls time? In the religious sense, God controls it. When time is sacred, it cannot be controlled by people because then it ceases to be sacred. As a result, time is something we must obey. During Ramadan, Muslims cannot eat or drink between the pre-dawn (fajr) and sunset (maghrib) prayers. Because Islam uses a lunar calendar, this means that some years Ramadan falls during winter, and others it falls in the summer. The length of the Ramadan fast may be longer or shorter from year to year, but the rules do not change.

By secularizing time, people gained control over it. A day's length was standardized; the length of an eight hour work day does not change depending on the season. To regulate something is to control it. People now 'made' time instead of yielding to it.

I think we can see the influence of these points of view when we compare cultural conceptions of time in Morocco and the United States. In Morocco, time is view neither as rigid nor controllable. People arrive at their appointments when they arrive. Shops open when they open and close when they close. This morning I asked my dairy guy when he will have cheese. He said, "we'll have it when the cheese guys make it."

In the United States, and other Western countries, most people view time differently. Because we control time we possess it, and so we can 'make use' of it. If you do not 'make use' of 'your' time then you are 'wasting it.' We emphasize punctuality as well, so that we don't 'waste' the time of our friends or colleagues. If we are busy we can always 'make' time to see someone. And we mustn't let time 'slip away.'

At dinner, one of our guests asked Chris and I if we thought the adhan would ever change to announce secular time just as church bells had changed two centuries ago. We both said no. As Chris pointed out, it's easier to appropriate an object like a bell and change it's purpose than it is to change the purpose of a whole class of people. Additionally, I said that I didn't think such a shift could be justified in a Muslim context.

Thinking more broadly, the secularization of time has broad cosmological implications. If man controls time then he, to some extent, controls the universe. Or he at least considers the universe to be controllable (I think contemporary views about science's potential to tame nature are sufficient evidence of this point). To a Muslim, God controls the universe, and anything otherwise is unacceptable. That's not to say that Islam and rationalism are mutually exclusive, but rationalism to the point of replacing God with man is.

I can't imagine the Fes medina without the traditional adhan. If it were to change, and the blaring "Allahu Akbar" were to change to a cacophonous "It's now 12:00pm", it would lose all of it's meaning. What was once a rich symbol of Morocco's religious heritage and maintenance of tradition, would, essentially, become a talking clock.

Don't go to school unless you want to get beat up

2011-03-16T12:30:00.000-04:00

Monday, I published a blog post where I lamented the current strike at my university. At the end of the it, I agreed with the notion that 'people' (read: some Moroccans) don't take school seriously, that this was just an instance of political grandstanding to masquerade the strikers' desire to shirk their studies.

While it is true that some of the Riffaqis and Ikhwanis, and even more of their supporters, are looking for a way to avoid their responsibilities as students, it is unfair to cast their motivations as entirely trivial. These strikes are taken very seriously. Organizers use intimidation to keep students out of class. I witnessed this last October. Fights are common. Strikers also threaten violence against students who challenge their motives and tactics.

Last night I witnessed this exchange* on a Facebook group created by my university students:

Ahmed: tomorrow you must back to study ...

Mohammed: really !!!

Ahmed: yes. we have to talk with the strikers and tell them we want to study

Mohammed: who said? i have just heard that classes will start next week.

Ahmed: yes, that is why.

Mohammed: but we will just waste time with that fucking people there. we should be patient this year.

Ahmed: we are going trough hell!

Mohammed: yeah !!! but what shall we do this is Morocco

Ahmed: no, no

Mohammed: yes !! mate. this is Morocco everywhere u go u will find same drama  Ahmed: the strike yes, but not in the time of studying. we need our right yes but there are some duties

Mohammed: what duties are you talking about?

Ahmed: tomorrow i will go to tha fucking university and i will tell them to stop that that's enough. lets us start the semester, there is time for doing this out of study. Our duties?studying and geting very good mark and trying to produce some thing for our beloved country

Mohammed: u cant' do it only by urself we need all students attend but unfortunately u can't collect them all we have over 300 students in our class and when u want to talk about problems which they suffer from u will find just 5 students or maybe just 2 so i advise u bro to keep away

Ahmed: thx

Mohammed: cuz if they saw u only who speaks about that they will do something bad to you . plzzzz don't speak alone

Ahmed: ok thx, brother  

Mohammed: i still remember last time when you talked during the class at infor...  fortunately you found support for ur words then  

Ahmed: yes , i did  

Mohammed: if you go tomorrow and they are not brave students like you, u will find urself out of university

I mentioned the strike to a colleague of mine today. He told me: "You are witnessing a crumbling system." The causes of such are varied and disparate. You can't blame the Ministry of Education. Some universities are more functional than others. The educational reforms are good and well-intended, but so far exist only on paper. You can't blame individual administrations either; the system they're asked to implement is a far-fetched ideal. To compound an already complex problem, the day-to-day operations of the university are impeded by the student unions. Yet, they are only asking for what the law promises them.

In the middle of these competing interests are the students. What if I never teach again this semester? The government and administrations would blame the student unions. The student unions would blame the government and administrations. Would they recognize the damage they caused by setting students back? How do you make up a lost semester?

For over a decade, Morocco has struggled to improve it's higher education system. What will the results of these efforts be? A generation of young minds lost, their futures forfeited for what? A brighter but more distant future? How will this lost generation participate in it?

Previously, I labeled Morocco's higher education system as dysfunctional. But now, after seeing how it schemes to subvert even the best students' desire to study, I can only call it a disaster.

*Edited for content and to preserve the anonymity of the conversation's participants

Back to school (almost)

2011-03-14T12:30:00.000-04:00

This morning I returned to the university to begin the Spring semester. Last night I was busy preparing my notes, trying to tap into the teaching mojo I built up in the Fall. It's been a long time since my last class. I last taught on December 21st, 2010, and this wasn't a 'true' class, I only listened to students deliver oral presentations. I delivered my last lecture the first week of December. So this morning, on my way to campus, I was a little nervous. It's amazing how much we can forget after three months.

To a certain extent, my nerves got the best of me. My lecture was rigid, I found myself explaining information that I could have evoked from my students, the questions I asked were poorly worded, either too obvious or too abstract. I could sense my struggles, so I reverted to my natural defense mechanism: sarcasm. The only problem is that sarcasm doesn't work with first year university students with only a few semesters of English study under their belts. So with every joke that fell flat I grew increasingly anxious. The notes I had prepared evaded my memory, and I just kept stumbling along, worried about how I would fill the remaining 2.5 hours of class.

Thankfully, I was saved. 45 minutes into my lecture, my class welcomed some very special visitors. My good friends, the Riffaqis (the Comrades, or the Socialist Students Union), had returned to liberate my students from their oppressed states.

The moment they walked in I knew what they wanted. I let their leader speak to my class. My students listened attentively to him explain the purpose behind the protests and demonstrations. But they kept their notebooks open, pens at the ready. They seemed bored by a speech they've probably heard dozens of times. For a moment, I felt like they wanted him to shut up quickly so we could get back to class. And then he said the magic words (which I didn't understand), flicked his wrist, and my students, smiles beaming, packed up their bags and left class. I guess they didn't want to study after all.

---

Morocco has not been immune to the unrest affecting the entire Middle East and North Africa region. February 20th was the nation's 'day of anger', and many Moroccans took to the streets in protest of government corruption and socioeconomic stagnation. To be true, these demonstrations were much smaller and less energetic than those that initiated the revolutions in Egypt, Tunisia and Libya, and there has been little unrest since February 20th. Nonetheless, the concerns voiced by Moroccans on that day are legitimate, so much so that King Mohammed VI delivered an historic speech last week initiating major political and social reforms, including a "deep revision" of the constitution and a reduction of his executive powers.

What does this have to do with the university? Moroccan universities, like those in most countries, are centers of political activism. Two student groups, the Ikhwanis (Islamists) and the Riffaqis, dominate campuses all across the country, organizing protests and demonstrations whenever they see fit. These are not "student groups" like the chess club or the dance team, they are more like labor unions of old. Violence is common (there was a knife fight between the Ikhwanis and Riffaqis during final exams at my university) and it's not uncommon for the government to call in their Pinkertons (aka the police) to break up prolonged student strikes.

There is no doubt these student groups have been anxiously awaiting their opportunity to capitalize on the February 20th protests. Starting a general strike on the first day of the new term sends one message to the Ministry of Education: promises are great, but we want what is ours now.

I knew the strike was coming. Yesterday I met with a student who told me I shouldn't get too excited to teach this week. But I didn't want to believe it. For all intents and purposes, I've been on a three month vacation. At this point in the year, I've spent more time out of school than in, and maybe that will continue. And while vacation is nice, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to try my damnedest to be an English teacher. I also crave the routine. It feels good to wake up in the morning with a sense of purpose, to go to class and return with a sense of accomplishment, however minor it may be. For now, I must wait to get back to that.

As I left the university this morning, a friend of mine passed a long a pearl of wisdom he heard from one of his teachers. It describes the school year in Morocco: "In Morocco, the school year is comprised of vacation which is cut off my intermittent time in class." When I described what happened this morning to a different friend of mine, she quipped, "who doesn't want a day off?"

From what I've seen so far this year, I can't help but agree.

Reflections on a Revolution

2011-02-17T20:23:00.000-05:00

I was sitting on the upstairs patio of Cafe Imilchil in Errachidia, enjoying a cafe niss-niss, when the waiter came upstairs to turn on Al-Jazeera. Something was different this time. Rather than frantic desperation, the announcer spoke with a sense of joy. The TV showed the same crowds as it had for the past two weeks, but mixed in with the shouts and chants was the sound of singing. The ticker read: "People throughout the Arab world, from the Atlantic to the Gulf, celebrate the fall of Mubarak's regime." My Arabic is not good enough for me to trust it at first glance, so I read it again and then asked a Moroccan nearby to confirm the news. My friend, a fellow Fulbright ETA, said this to me: "We'll always remember where we were when we heard this news."

The Egyptian Revolution was an undeniable turning point in history. While it remains in its nascent stages and the outcome is unclear at best, there is no way to ignore its importance to the Middle East and to the world.

Since September, I've lived and worked in a country similar to Egypt. Morocco is poor, Arab, Muslim, and not really a democracy. In many ways the Egyptians who protested are no different than the men and women I work with, see on the street, and sit next to in cafes. They have similar backgrounds and aspirations. And though I believe Morocco will remain a stable country and not experience any major change in government, it would be wrong to think that Moroccans are disconnected from the events that happened in Tunisia and Egypt. Everywhere you go people are watching Al Jazeera, listening to the news on the radio, or reading a newspaper.

One night during the first week of protests I went to a cafe near my house to have a coffee and watch the news. Even then, I felt a tangible energy in the place, as if at any moment Mubarak could fall. More than that, I knew everyone else, in Egypt, on television and in the cafe was feeling and thinking the very same thing.

During that night's coverage, they showed a video of a large SUV driving through a crowd of protesters near the American and British embassies in Cairo. The men in the cafe threw up their hands, shouting at the television. On each replay they would nudge their neighbors, wide-eyed, furious. They, like I, were disgusted by such a wanton and violent act against those people, no longer mere protesters. It was a powerful and essentially human moment.

This intense humanity drew me back to the television and newspaper throughout the protests. I was familiar with the various political implications, especially to America's foreign policy. I was interested in pundits' opinions and prognostications, but more so I read and I watched because of the drama. This was human drama to its fullest extent playing out on television: a poor, down trodden people set aside their social, political and religious differences in a united act of revolution; humanity pushed to its extreme pouring in through the television screen.

Media has played a huge role in all of this. And while it's popular to boast about the role of Facebook and Twitter in organizing these uprisings, I doubt their impact. Americans inflate social media's role in society because it plays such a big one in ours. There are about 150 million active Facebook users in the United States, or around 50% of the population. In the Middle East/North Africa region there are 15 million Facebook users, or less then 4% of the population. While I believe that Facebook and Twitter are revolutionary in the way they connect people, I can't buy their purported revolutionary influence on the Middle East. Then what is the revolutionary medium? In my opinion it is satellite television, and more specifically Al Jazeera.

Al-Jazeera has broadcast footage of the uprisings from Sidi Bouzid onwards. These images are the most powerful illustrations of the will and determination of the Tunisian and Egyptian people. Revolutions need logistics, organization and planning, but most importantly, they need energy. That energy comes from the pain, suffering, triumph and victory that plays out every night on television. I know this because I've felt it and seen it, and it is infectious. When Mubarak announced his resignation, a friend reported that it sounded like a crazy soccer match; she was listening to the crowds gathered in a cafe watching Al Jazeera.

As the events unfolded, and Egypt got closer to winning its freedom, I kept thinking, "Why don't Americans love this? This is the beauty of democracy: people rising up against oppression to make their voices heard. Shouldn't we love this?"

But America's reaction has been ambivalent at best.

It's well known that the Egyptian Revolution put America in an awkward political position. Sadly, we chose to view these events as such: a radical change to the factors that comprise our desired geopolitical reality. By fretting over "stability", oil prices, and "national security", we've lost the sense of human drama and triumph. We forget that this is a great human accomplishment. We're missing the point. Egyptians fought and died in the streets. They risked their lives to achieve a dream, a collective hope they've been denied their entire lives. What comes of this bloodshed when we we look past it?

These days, our national empathy has enough difficulty transcending party lines, let alone cultural, religious, and socioeconomic differences. And what happens when we increasingly view the world as a series of factors that comprise our "national interest"? Is it easier to empathize when we value abstract principles over ourselves and others?

Will protests happen in Morocco?

2011-01-30T11:42:00.000-05:00

Many Western commentators have written how the revolution in Tunisia sent a "shockwave" through the Arab world. It was the first time an Arab dictator has been removed from power through popular revolt. One article which explained that the ouster of Ben Ali, unlike that of Saddam Hussein in 2003, was something Arabs could "be proud of." Recent protests in Algeria, Jordan and especially Egypt speak to the influence of Tunisia's uprising. And while some are comparing Tunisia to Poland in 1989, and this moment to the beginning of the fall of the Soviet Union, it's a stretch to think we will see the collapse of every authoritarian regime in the Arab world.

It's been strange to be in Morocco during all of this. There's no lack of information. When you walk into a cafe, people are watching coverage of Egyptian protesters burning police vehicles or tearing down posters of Hosni Mubarak. But these images and ideas don't seem to be penetrating. A glance through two of the biggest newspapers, As-Sabah and Al-Masa', lead you to believe that the protests are only tangentially relevant to Moroccans. There are no attempts to apply Tunisians' and Egyptians' grievances to a Moroccan context. On Facebook, my students have posted pictures of the Egyptian protesters along with words of support and solidarity, and then proclaim their love for Morocco's King Muhammad VI. How can you identify with the protesters of two revolutions against authoritarian governments and still support the authoritarian government that governs you?

Why have the events in Tunisia and Egypt failed to generate the same reaction in Morocco as they have elsewhere in the Arab world?

Reading reports from the past weeks has made it clear to me that life for the average Moroccan is very different than that of a Tunisian or an Egyptian. Yes, Morocco is a poor country with high unemployment. The GDP per capita is significantly lower than Egypt's and nearly half that of Tunisia. Yet, the poverty is not oppressive. Life necessities are cheap in Morocco. People are poor but do not starve. The Moroccan government also tolerates "underground economic activities" which provide money and support for many young, uneducated Moroccans. The most notable of these is the drug trade, which according to WikiLeaks, generates more money than Tourism, the largest sector of the Moroccan economy.

A second, key difference, concerns education. As one commentator pointed out, Tunisia is an exception in the Arab world in that it has a large, educated middle class. The middle class' dissatisfaction with the country's economic prospects fueled the protests that eventually led to Ben Ali's downfall. Egyptians, while not nearly as wealthy as Tunisians, are similarly educated. Both countries post literacy rates in the 70s and both protests movements have utilized social (especially Tunisia) and print media (especially Egypt) for organizational purposes. Morocco is a completely different story.

At best, 50% of Moroccans are literate and many well-educated Moroccans are ex-pats living in Europe or North America. While this may seem insignificant, I think it's a huge factor. Moroccans' illiteracy hampers the spread of information in general, and would definitely impede the organization of any type of protest movement. Additionally, the Moroccans who identify the most with Tunisia and Egypt don't live in Morocco. They've already exercised their discontent by leaving the country. This last point deserves some elaboration.

There is a class of Moroccans who are wealthy and educated and unhappy with the current political system, but their influence on average Moroccan life is unclear. Many comments at English language sites catering Moroccan ex pats living in North America are critical of the political status quo, and since the Tunisian protests has been quite vocal about the need for some sort of change in Morocco. Whether these views are valid or not, they only represent a tiny, and, honestly, insignificant portion of the Moroccan citizenry. These people are both literate and English speakers, which alienates them from about 98% of Moroccans. Additionally, they're ex pats. As one Egyptian commentator wrote, "people remember those who abandoned them in their quest for democracy." In other words, I don't think being centered in North America or Europe helps this opposition's credibility with the Moroccan people.

And this brings me to my last point: there is no credible opposition to the King.

Morocco is a parliamentary monarchy that has a prime minister, political parties and elections. But in reality, it's more like an absolute monarchy. Parliament and the lesser bodies of government are where corrupt officials take bribes and appoint their sons- and daughters-in-law to influential posts. This corruption is obvious and know and derided by the Moroccan people. It's not uncommon for a Moroccan to say that the best way to make money in the country is to get into politics, but that you can only do that if you know the right people.

The King is seen as the only credible member of government despite his overwhelming and unquestionable political powers. And there's good reason for this. Royal initiatives, like infrastructure development and some social reforms, are completed on time and relatively efficiently. In other words, he gets things done when other Moroccan politicians don't. Combine that with the legacy of the Alaouite Dynasty, which has ruled Morocco for nearly four hundred years, and Muhammad VI is seen less as a despot and more as a benevolent and beloved monarch.

Now it's true that the King has the power to end the corruption that plagues parliament, the police and the military. But that serves him no purpose. Allowing his political opponents to profit in their subordinate positions decreases their desire for change. Additionally, their corruption draws the ire and attention of the people, making him look better. So while his policies may leave something to be desired in the eyes of some Moroccans, the alternatives are much much worse.

The commentator who describe Tunisia as an exception in the Middle East may be eating his words in the next few days depending on Egypt's outcome. I may as well when I say that protests will not happen in Morocco. This doesn't mean Moroccans are happy with the state of affairs in their country. Poverty, unemployment, education, and political freedom are just a few issues that Moroccans feel must be addressed. But for now, the situation does not seem dire.

More than anything, Moroccans love stability. This is why they love the King. They tolerate the political and social status quo because it still meets their needs and because they don't have to worry about what tomorrow will bring. Because of this mindset, I don't think radical change is anything many Moroccans feel is necessary. Speaking to a Moroccan friend he said that while things here are not good, they are getting better. "Maybe five or ten years from now, but not now," he added. As long as this attitude persists, Morocco will stay stable.

Eid al-Adha: Photo Diary

2010-11-21T19:20:00.000-05:00

On Eid morning, we woke around 7:30am to get ready to go to the musalla for prayer. A musalla is a field or large open space used for congregational prayer on the two Eids. Any town or city will have at least one, possibly more depending on need. On Eid morning, men and women go there to pray together (women behind the men), and listen to a topical sermon. In Tahala the event lasted about 30 minutes. Afterward everyone goes home to commence their celebration.

Not everyone goes to pray, and I was surprised there wasn't more pressure to do so. For those I was around on Eid, the more captivating event was the sacrifice.

My host and me dressed to go to the musalla

Tahalaoui's praying in the musalla

After prayer, we waited for the gazzar, or butcher. Only a man trained in halal butchery can sacrifice a sheep on Eid.

Halal is Islam's equivalent to Judaism's kosher. For meat to be halal it must be slaughtered facing Eastward, the direction of Mecca and the butcher must bless the animal:

In the name of God,
God is the greatest,
Halal is most important,
[to] He who Hears All and Knows All.

After this he must slit the animal's throat in one sudden and smooth motion. Then the animal is left alone for several minutes to allow "the spirit to leave the body." My host said that if the spirit does not leave the body, then the sheep suffers as it is skinned and butchered. Animals are not supposed to suffer during halal butchery. My host told me that the butcher will hide the knife from the sheep, so as to not frighten it. And though Islam prohibits the use of anesthetics for halal animals, it is believed that once the animal's throat is slit, it does not suffer. Once the sheep is dead and it's spirit vacated, the gazzar proceeds to skin and butcher the animal, preparing it for cooking.

My hosts slaughtered their sheep on their roof. They were generous enough to let me photograph the process. The photos below illustrate the Eid sacrifice from start to finish:

Preparing the sheep for the sacrifice. I can't say that the butcher (my host's Uncle) went out of his way to hide the knife from the sheep. As you can see, it took a professional butcher and his assistant to hold the sheep down. However, this varies.

Slitting the sheep's throat. According to halal guidelines, the throat must be slit just below the jaw bone, which, it is believed, will kill the animal instantly.

Allowing the sheep to bleed out and it's spirit to leave the body. There was a bit of thrashing around prior to this shot.

Cleaning the neck wound once the animal has died.

The skinning starts with the hindquarters. Here we can see the butcher inserting a sharpened reed into the skin just above the back left knee of the sheep. This reed puncture the skin, allowing the butcher to inflate the hindquarters, separating the skin from the meat and easing the skinning process.

The butcher's assistant orally inflates the hindquarters as the butcher strikes the lower abdomen to ensure equal air distribution.

The butcher makes his first incision behind the sheep's genitals.

Once the incisions are made the butcher breaks and removes the forelimbs of the sheep's hindquarters, so he can hang the sheep to skin it.

The butcher skinning the sheep. He works down, from the hindquarters to the front limbs.

Removing the skin from the front limbs and neck is a delicate process. A knife isn't used to avoid cutting into the meat. Instead, an incision is made near the sheep's shoulder. The butcher places his foot there and pulls the skin off with it.

Once the skin is removed, they begin to gut the animal. Here we see the butcher and his assistant removing the large instestine, which is not eaten, and the stomach.

Removing the small intestine, which is gathered together like rope.


The butcher standing next to the finished product.

The sheep goes immediately from the butcher's knife to the grill. Cooking and eating comprise most of the Eid holiday activities, and my host said that they celebrate until all of the meat is gone.

The first body parts to be prepared are the head and legs which are scorched over open flame as the sheep is skinned and butchered:

This scorching is only preparatory. My host father tended to the grill and scraped off the sheep's hair once it was burnt. Once clean, the head and legs are slow roasted overnight. We ate them the morning of the second day.

On the first day, the priority is to eat what will spoil quickest: the intestines and internal organs. My first delicacy was boulfaf: pieces of liver and/or kidney wrapped in fat and grilled on skewers. These were seasoned only with salt and cumin and were quite delicious. Next, we ate some small intestine, which was flavorless and mushy and not very appetizing. Last we ate heart, also seasoned only with salt and cumin.


Preparing the fat for boulfaf.

Liver and kidney, pre-boulfaf

My host's father, preparing boulfaf

Boulfaf on the grill.

Grilling the small intestine.


Heart.

On the afternoon of Eid we traveled to my host's granfather's farm in 'l-Khizanah. There we feasted on mutton tagine and mechoui, Berber barbecue. It was nice to move away from organs to real meat.

My Eid al-Adha experience was eye-opening and incredibly impressive. Before last Wednesday, I had never seen a live animal slaughtered. It was intense. I'm not a very squeamish person, so I wasn't upset by the blood (even when some splattered on me). I didn't find it disturbing, but it was very real. It is one thing to buy a steak wrapped in cellophane from the supermarket and another to watch a sheep get gutted a few feet in front of you.

I don't think I will ever have a comparable culinary experience in my life. I ate meat so fresh that it was warm when it the fire. I ate liver for lunch and sheep face for breakfast. I was stuffed with mechoui, prune and mutton tagine, and mufawwur: roasted neck and leg meat with no sauce. In between meals there was kefta and an endless supply of harsha, a Moroccan cornmeal pancake, and olive oil. I will never eat so much meat in such a short period of time again. And it was all for the sake of family and friends.

On my last night, after a three course dinner left me stuffed beyond belief, I wondered aloud about why I continued to be plied with food. My host told me, "It's not about the eating. It's about the talking. Everyone has a sheep and it gets eaten whether you're here or not. But we do this because we want to spend time with you."

Eid al-Adha in Morocco

2010-11-20T09:13:00.000-05:00

I just got back from three days in Tahala where I celebrated Eid al-Adha with one of my students. It was an incredible experience that I will never forget. To put all of what happened into one post would be impossible, so I've decided to divide my description and thoughts of Eid into three separate ones. The first will describe the lead-up and preparation to the holiday. The second will take you step-by-step through the day of Eid, including pictures of the sacrifice. Some of these are graphic. The last will describe my impressions of the holiday.

What is Eid al-Adha? There are two official, major holidays on the Muslim calendar: Eid al-Fitr, which ends the month-long fast of Ramadan, and Eid al-Adha, also know as Eid al-Kabir, or the Big Eid. In Arabic, its name means the Celebration of the Sacrifice. The purpose of the holiday is to commemorate and reenact Abraham's near-sacrifice of his son Ishmael. Islam identifies with the traditions of Judaism and Christianity, so this is the same Abraham in the Old Testament, and the same event Jews and Christians know as the Binding of Isaac. In Islam, Ishmael replaces Isaac as Abraham's favorite son.

This is how it reads in the Qur'an:

So We gave him the good news of a boy ready to suffer and forbear. (101) Then when (the son) reached (the age of) (serious) work with him, he said: "O my son! I see in vision that I offer thee in sacrifice: now see what is thy view!" (The son) said: "O my father! do as thou art commanded: thou will find me if Allah so wills one practicing Patience and Constancy!" (102) So when they had both submitted (to Allah), and He had laid Him prostrate on his forehead (for sacrifice) (103) We called out to him "O Abraham! (104) "Thou hast already fulfilled the dream!"― thus indeed do We reward those who do right. (105) For this was obviously a trial― (106) And We ransomed him with a momentous sacrifice: (107) And We left (this blessing) for him among generations (to come) in later times: (108) "Peace and salutation to Abraham!" (109) Thus indeed do We reward those who do right. (110) For he was one of Our believing Servants.

This is the religious context that justifies Eid al-Adha, and most importantly, justifies the sacrifice of a live sheep. A lot has been written about whether such an act is humane. Seeing it firsthand, I can say that it is a pretty gruesome. But it is not senseless. This sacrifice is central to the whole celebration. Through it, Muslims participate in Abraham's sacrifice, they embolden their faith by mimicking his. The sacrifice reaffirms God's mercy as well. Abraham's sacrifice was just a test, and Muslims are rewarded for their participation in the ritual just as Abraham was. The immediate reward is abundant food to enjoy with family and friends, as well as hasanat, credit for good deeds, that cancel out sins. In the long run, these help ensure a Muslim's place in Heaven.

We may all have our opinions about this act, whether it is truly justified or justifiable, but we cannot overlook its tremendous meaning to Muslims.

Like any major holiday, you can sense Eid's coming. Last weekend I went with my roommate and some other Fulbrighters to Sebta, a Spanish enclave on Morocco's northern coast, to renew our tourist visas. The train back to Fes was packed with Eid season travelers. My roommate returned a day later and reported he couldn't find a seat for one portion of his journey. He counted 17 people standing, packed like sardines, in the space between two of the railroad cars. In other words, this is a big deal. Moroccans travel back to their familial homes from all over the country. The train service provides extra trains. Bus companies and grand taxis work overtime to bring people from the country to the cities and vice versa. It's like traveling on Thanksgiving Day everyday during the week leading up to and after the holiday, but with a developing country's infrastructure.

The second sign of Eid is shopping. The most important purchase is, of course, the sheep, or hawli in Moroccan Arabic. Beyond the religious significance, the Eid sacrifice provides a family with a tremendous amount of fresh meat that is eaten almost immediately. As you will see, no part of the sheep goes untouched. The type of sheep and the manner in which it is purchased and cared for varies.

There are six varieties of sheep in Morocco, all of which vary in size and price. The best, according to my hosts and other Moroccans, is the hawli ahmar, or 'red sheep', from the Atlas Mountains. A good one is about a year to a year and a half old. You can tell this by the size and color of the teeth. My host explained that you want a sheep with short, white teeth. In Arabic these are called sanan al-haleeb, literally 'milk teeth'. If the sheep doesn't have a full set of teeth, it is too young. And if they are yellow, then it is too old.

A good hawli ahmar costs around 2500 DH ($315.50), which is a big purchase. The Morocco's monthly per capita GDP is about 1850 DH ($232), and the average middle class monthly income is 6000 DH ($750). Some families buy sheep on credit or save up for one throughout the year. But others purchase only what they can afford. Smaller sheep, kbsh, and goats, 'anzi, are cheaper alternatives. Those who can't afford to purchase one of these can purchase meat from a butcher in advance or accept meat as charity from their neighbors. Religiously speaking, it doesn't matter that these people don't sacrifice a sheep. They get credit for the sacrifice. If they could afford to do so they would, and in Islam, intent is what matters. Large and/or wealthy families will sacrifice multiple sheep or even a cow. The latter is excessive. Beyond it being unnecessary, it seems difficult enough to me for a family to finish one 50kg sheep. How do you finish off a whole cow?

Traditionally, sheep are purchased off the street or in a market. Farmers and grazers bring their sheep to cities or souqs, either selling them directly or through agents. In Tahala we visited a large sheep market where many merchants were selling hundreds of sheep. Out in Fes this past Monday, I was harried by streams of men pushing their sheep down the street in carts. Shoppers would flag one down, negotiate a price and then drag or carry their future mutton home. This was last minute shopping, with a dash of Moroccan insanity. The flurry of handcarts, the bleating sheep, the haggling; it all makes arguing over the last Butterball in the supermarket on Thanksgiving Eve sound pretty tame.

Sheep are not all that is bought last minute. In Morocco, it is tradition to wear new clothes on Eid. Monday night, before leaving Fes I went shopping for a jalaba, a traditional Moroccan robe, to wear on Eid. I also bought new belgha, slippers. The streets were again packed with people doing the exact same thing. In this way, consumerism is an almost institutionalized feature of Eid. However, I did not sense it being similar to American Christmas. Granted, I don't have a television, so I don't know if or how Moroccan TV commercializes the holiday. Elsewhere there is evidence of commercialization: Morocco's national train company offers and advertises a sheep purchasing service. It's entirely possible that Eid's consumer culture is identical or similar to that of Christmas. But I doubt that. Eid is not a gift giving holiday. Moroccans do buy new clothes, but not in excess. Only my host's brothers wore new clothes and they were limited to one outfit or accessory. This may differ elsewhere, but in general, I think Eid's consumer culture drastically differs from what we're used to being associated with American holidays.

In preparation for my Eid in Tahala, I only formed a few expectations. Not having experience Eid before, I really didn't know what to think, and my host deliberately kept me "in suspense". But from what I knew of its role in Islam I expected the day to be very religious, especially the sacrifice. Looking back, while religion is an important feature of the celebration, to reduce Eid to a solemn religious expression is both inaccurate and does the holiday and its participants a great disservice. As you will soon see, the meaning of Eid is much deeper and richer.

Medina Life: The Public Bath

2010-11-04T16:14:00.000-04:00

Last Friday, I went to the hammam, the public bath. I got a massage. It was great.

The hammam is a ubiquitous feature of Morocco's medinas. Every neighborhood has one, and you would be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn't ever visited one, or even doesn't use one regularly. Yet, despite its prominence, I feel like the hammam is very difficult to describe. Yes, it is a public bath, but you don't go there just to bathe. Yes, you can get a steam and a massage, but it is not a spa or luxury retreat. There is a purpose to going to the hammam, but its function is not purely utilitarian. Hammams were once centers of neighborhood society, especially for women, who were able to enjoy themselves in the freedom and comfort of gender homogeneity. There is even a hammam economy: the shops and street dealers who sell soaps, cosmetics and bathing accessories in the alleyways surrounding the baths. But before going too deep into the social and cultural subtleties surrounding the hammam, let's get an idea about the public bath experience.

I visited the hammam Moulay Idriss, which dates back to the reign of its eponym, the first emperor of Morocco who founded Fes in the 8th century. All traditional hammams share the same design. You first walk into a dressing room where you pay the entrance fee (around 10DH, $1.50). In exchange you receive two water buckets and a secure place to store your clothes. The next step is to disrobe down to your underwear (bathers are not completely naked), and to enter the bath itself.

The hammam is comprised of three chambers of succeeding levels of heat and humidity. The first chamber is the coolest, somewhere around 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The second chamber is around 100 degrees, and the third is hotter, seemingly infinitely so. Water comes from this room. An attendant fills your buckets, mixing water from a hot tap and a cold tap in the ratio of your choosing. Most patrons aim for a 50/50 mix of scalding hot and cold water. The result is something slightly warmer than what I like for a hot bath, but not unbearable. Where does the heat come from? Giant stoves built below the hammam's third chamber provide its and the water's intense heat. Traditionally these are shared with community bakeries, usually built next to hammams, in order to use efficiently use this energy. Once your buckets are filled, you stretch out and settle in.

The process of bathing at the hammam reflects its structure. While you can wash yourself in any room, traditionally the hottest room is used first, for a nice, long 'preparatory' steam. You lay on the tile floor - hot, but not to the point of discomfort. Sanitation takes care of itself: a bucket of scalding water is used to wash away anything the previous users left behind. The heat around you is oppressive. Sweat doesn't just stream down your face, it runs out of your pores at an incredible rate. Before you know it, you're covered in it, but it's ok; by this point the heat and steam has lulled you into a somewhat sleepy delirium. Your worries and inhibitions wash away. Your bones soften to puddy and muscles to jelly, and that's when you take a deep sigh of relief and let go of everything that you had on your mind.

That night, as I laid in the hottest room, my brain starting to melt, I couldn't help but wonder about the thousands upon thousands of men who had laid in the same spot as I over the centuries. Who were they? What was their business? Did they, like me, come to the hammam to escape the concerns of everyday life? I felt connected to them, united by a shared purpose, a purpose unchanged for over 1000 years.

The steam portion lasts anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes. Any longer is unsafe and uncomfortable. Afterwards you enter the middle chamber, which, at this point, feels quite refreshingly cool. This is where the serious bathing takes place. To do so, you first rub yourself down with what is called a kis (kees). The kis is like a loufa, but slightly rougher, and is worn on the hand like a glove. You usually use it without soap to remove dirt and dead skin (and a lot of it at that) prior to lathering up. Also it is too thin to retain soap on its own. After some serious exfoliation, you lather up and shampoo just like normal, using the water from your buckets to rinse off. In addition, the middle chamber is also where you can get a massage, which was the highlight of my hammam visit. After bathing, you go to the last chamber to lower your body temperature a bit before leaving the bath altogether.

Prior to my night at Moulay Idriss, I had heard of the legendary/notorious hammam massage. So I knew going into it that this wasn't your white linen, pool side rub down. This was a serious, utilitarian, relaxing of the muscles and stretching of the body (emphasis on stretching).

My masseuse, Muhammad Massage, was a pudgy, balding, middle-aged Moroccan man. Identifying me as a foreigner, he communicated to me with polite "monsieurs" and exaggerated gesticulations: pointing, clapping of hands and the occassional smacking of the tile floor to get me to turn over.

He began by rubbing me down to loosen me up. He then proceeded to put my body through a serious of contortions that I previously didn't know were possible. These included stretching all of my joints to the limit of comfort and a stretching of the spinal column that resulted in an equally significant compression of my nose cartilage. Afterwards he massaged the muscle in my back, and then flipped me over and massaged my chest. Every time he pressed down against me, he let out a quick "SSSS-AH", much like a weight lifter doing squats. That's the type of force he employed. I've never had a deep tissue massage, but I imagine what I experienced Friday night was similar.

As Muhammad Massage stood over me, grunting, sweat streaming down his face, I couldn't help but smile. To him I was a pliable mass of bone, tissue and tendon, and one of many he had kneaded that day. I had ceded control, and by doing so I was able to withdraw. I didn't care about what he was doing because I trusted him. Why? Because so did everyone else who came here. And so I felt deeply content. I had achieved total relaxation.

The next night, I went to a going-away/Halloween party with the other Fulbright students studying in Fez. Towards the end of the party, a group of us starting to discuss the possibility of introducing hammams to the United States. To one of my companion's chagrin, I questioned whether that would be possible. In my opinion, it would not be enough to merely construct a Moroccan hammam and open it for business. As we established above, the hammam is not merely a place that provides a service. It is a social and cultural symbol that has strong influence and multiple connotations. I think America could adjust to the hammam as a place, but not to hammam culture.

Socially speaking, the greatest challenge would be getting the 'correct' Americans to use the hammams in the 'correct' way. What do I mean by this? In America, the practice of going to a spa to enjoy the steam room and get a massage exists, but only among the upper class. The same is true in Morocco, but those people don't go to hammams in the medina, they go to spas in the new parts of town. The people who use the hammam are everyday, average Moroccans. It is cheap. It is simple. And most importantly, it is not a luxury. The experience is certainly luxurious, especially for someone who is new to it, but it is not seen that way. As we said, a trip to the hammam has a utilitarian purpose. It is for bathing. It is also for relaxation, but this, as my bathing companion Driss told me, is "very good for the health". So could you have a public bath in the United States that not-upper-class people used daily for utilitarian reasons? I don't think so, at least not anytime soon.

An additional challenge is cultural, and it mainly relates to our perceptions of modesty and hygiene. It may be shocking for me to say this, but I think Moroccans are much less squeamish about bathing with each other than Americans. In other words, a Muslim country is more liberal in a very very specific way than the United States. The "gym-class embarrassment" that one American mentioned has kept him from going to the hammam doesn't exist in Morocco. Now keep in mind, we're talking about same-sex hammams. The idea of men and women sharing a hammam is considered shameful, but for men to sit in a steam room together and bathe is completely acceptable and normal. No one bats an eyelash at it. In America I'm not sure this would be the case.

There are a lot of qualifications to this assertion, but I think it is accurate. The key point is that the bathing experience at the hammam is completely asexual, and therefore there is no shame. In the United States, I think the experience would be sexualized (think of our perception of Turkish baths), and only superficially, but just enough to make it awkward. Because Moroccans keep both homo- and heterosexuality almost completely private, that's not the case here.

Another consideration is American culture's view of hygiene. This appeared in hammam discussion with the other Fulbrighters. I mentioned how I doubted many Americans would feel that a traditional hammam was 'clean', and one of my interlocutors agreed. He felt that the heat of the hammam and the near-boiling temperature water used to clean the floors when they're not occupied is not really enough to ensure 'proper' hygiene. And from a typical American point of view, I think he's right. We use Purell before touching food and believe that our children will get poisoned if they don't eat Halloween candy that is prepackaged in plastic. So, from this perspective, hammams are filthy. And I'm sure some are, but the key point is that Moroccans don't think so. As I told my companion, I feel that if Moroccans kept getting sick at the hammam the practice would have died out a long time ago.

I'm glad it hasn't; I'm planning to revisit the hammam tomorrow night.

Medina Life: Buying Furniture

2010-10-28T19:29:00.000-04:00

In my first post from Fes I expressed my desire to live in the Medina, Fes' old city. I also gave a brief description of what I imagined life there would be like:

I will work in new Fes, but hope to live in old Fes. Fes's medina, also called Fes al-Bali, is the world's largest car-free urban zone. It is the pre-colonial Islamic city, and houses several hundred thousands Fessis (people who live in Fes). Living in the medina is a little like going back in time. Its streets are really serpentine alleyways that seldom follow a straight line. Without cars, people use donkeys to transport goods, much like was done centuries ago, except today they carry mini-fridges and flat screen televisions as well as rugs, spices, and anything else a person can't carry him or herself.

A month later, now a settled resident of the medina, I can definitely say that life here is different from any other lifestyle I've experienced in my life.

Fes' medina has 'enchanted' many many writers, especially Westerners. I definitely fall into that crowd. There are so many moments where I'll being walking down the street - to work, to shop, to grab a bite to eat - and I'll see something that reminds me of how incredibly fascinating, intriguing, and mystifying my new home can be. But what I've learned is that the experience of living in the medina, and probably anywhere, is impossible to generalize. I think that when you reduce the medina to a place "back in time," through which "serpentine alleyways" weave, you lose the fact that this is a living city, where hundreds of thousands of people pass their daily lives, performing normal, everyday tasks. To play into the mystery and enchantment of this place is to forget that it is real.

So in contrast, I'm going to present scenes of medina life as I experience them and without placing them within some greater narrative. Once this year is over, we can look back an figure out just what makes Fes the place that it is.

Since moving to the medina I've been on the lookout for furniture. Traditional Moroccan homes are not equipped with much storage space. Space is designed to be used actively and to be lived in, so even a room like the kitchen, which is not livable, is usually small and tucked away. Storage comes in the form of furniture, and though my room in my new house came with a small shelf unit, it didn't meet my needs. What I really wanted was a dresser or armoire to store my clothes, and other items.

So, I set out on a mission. I discussed options with my friends and colleagues, and decided to look for something antique or used. I could have purchased pre-fab, factory direct furnishing from Marjane (Morocco's Wal-Mart), but felt I needed something nicer to accompany my surroundings. I visited the antique market in the mellah, the old Jewish quarter. The quality of the furniture and craftsmanship amazed be, but I could neither afford it nor honor it with dutiful service. I wanted something permanent, not eternal. As a result I shifted my focus closer to home.

As it turns out, my neighborhood is home to a small furniture joutiyya. A joutiyya is a used goods market, and where many Moroccans purchase clothes, furniture and home goods. My friend and neighbor David informed me that mere blocks away from my house, on Derb Belhaj, is where men sell used furniture to the neighborhood. The men are brothers Hasan, the salesman, and Said, the workman, and they have since become friends. I had passed by them, and made conversation, but had never noticed or understood their business.

One day on my way back from work, I saw them selling an old, gigantic, slightly beat up armoire. Perfect for my needs, and cheap. Yet, the realities of medina life seemed to stand in the way of our union: how would I transport it to my house through those "serpentine alleyways"? How would I get such a huge thing into my house? I thought for a day, but decided that possible or not, I needed the furniture, so I might as well buy it and see what would happen.

I voiced my concerns to Hasan, the salesman, and he gave me the very Moroccan answer of "no problem;" he would carry the armoire in a karrousa, push cart, and deliver to my doorstep. Just to make sure, I walked him to my house and he looked at our entry and repeated "no problem". I returned with him to the joutiyya and met his brother Said, the workman. Said told me he would "fix up" the armoire before delivery, which designated for Wednesday, one of my days off. I didn't quite know what he meant, but I appreciated the thought, paid, and waited.

Wednesday morning, as I turned onto Belhaj, I met my new armoire, freshly varnished, its new brass hinges gleaming in the sunlight. I was overjoyed. I found Hasan, told him I was ready for the delivery, and he said, "excellent," that he needed to find his brother and that I should go home and he would come shortly:

My wardrobe, before and after.

What I had failed to realize was the solution to the problem that Hasan had told me was "no problem": getting a 6 foot tall, 4 foot wide wardrobe through a small doorway, around a hairpin turn, and up a narrow, windy staircase into my courtyard. My brain, which is not good with 'logic' and sometimes still stuck in America, figured if he said it could be done it could be done by artful navigation and manipulation of the wardrobe as a whole. So I was surprised when I opened the door for Hasan and found my wardrobe in pieces. After I helped carry the parts in, Hasan got to work and told me Said would come later to reassemble the wardrobe. And as happens frequently, the obvious sense of this process struck me quite suddenly and bluntly.

I am grateful to Hasan and Said for letting me photograph their handiwork:


The first stages of reconstruction


Hasan adding varnish to the bottom of the wardrobe


Said carrying one of the wardrobe's doors into my room


Said with the finishing touches

The experience of purchasing a wardrobe, having it delivered in pieces and watching it be reconstructed my bedroom, made me realize in the medina life is carried out in ways that are very obscure to Westerners. Perhaps this is why it is so mystifying. To get past the mystery and wonder of this place, you have to meet it on its terms. But sometimes that's easier said than done, and even then, an outsider can only penetrate so far.

That time I taught 200 students and half of them walked out

2010-10-21T15:23:00.000-04:00

Today, the students' union organized a walk out during my class to protest the quiz I had scheduled. The quiz was five questions long: define four terms and a short answer comprehension question. It covered the material I had taught the previous class. I told my students it would be easy and was an important in assessing their note-taking abilities. I managed to convince many of my students the quiz was a good idea, but the union persuaded more to walk out. There was a stand-off. Eventually, I relented.

While this experience was frustrating, I think it's really illustrative of the problems facing Moroccan higher education. The system is at best dysfunctional. Issues as basic as the inability to distribute course materials and as complex as the political relationship between the Ministry of Education and Morocco's public universities impede learning on a daily basis. Students and faculty struggle everyday to perform what appears to some as an exercise in perpetual futility. It is a situation that breeds discontent and frustration to the point where a simple review quiz can be seen as a tool of oppression.

Why are things this way? There are many ways to answer this question, but in my opinion a significant factor is the gap between ideal and reality.

Every Moroccan recognizes that the education system needs improvement, and there is a great and nearly universal desire to do so. In the past decade, the government has enacted three consecutive education reforms, each of them attempting to compensate for the shortcomings of its predecessor. These initiatives aim to move Moroccan schools towards a more modern educational philosophy; they emphasize active and collaborative learning and make curricula more flexible so they can meet students' needs. The will to improve and the ideas to do so are present, but at every level the system lacks the necessary resources to realize these goals.

The most fundamental resource gap is between the rich and the poor. Many many Moroccans are poor, some Moroccans are wealthy. Rich Moroccans send their children to private school, poor Moroccans can't. At the tertiary level, only very few Moroccan families can afford private universities or to send their children abroad. The government recognizes this, so public universities are free and open to any Moroccan who passes High School. So, Moroccan university students come from mixed socioeconomic and educational backgrounds. Those who attended private primary or secondary schools tend to perform much much better.

Continuing with this theme, Moroccan university professors, while earning enough money to qualify as middle class (roughly $750-1100 a month), are underpaid. Without tuition, public university budgets are small, which means professors make only enough money as is necessary. Many of them work two jobs, teaching full time at the university and part- or full-time at private schools or language centers.

These two realities converge to create a critical situation. A vast majority of eligible university students attend public universities. There, they sit in classes taught by overextended, underpaid professors. Add to this the reality that most universities are desperately understaffed, and you have serious problems. My department has 12 professors and 1000 students; overworked faculty members don't teach classes of 30-40, they teach classes of 100-200+.

Add to this the resource deficiencies at the macro level. Universities lack good libraries, accessible audiovisual aids, and study areas for students. Students wait in line everyday to get course materials from the small campus copy center. Break downs in communication are frequent. Students often arrive hours late to class due to unreliable public transportation. In this situation it is practically impossible to realize any type of educational ideal. Students and faculty get frustrated. Educational quality deteriorates to the point of desperation.

Professors stretched between multiple jobs will often augment their class schedules, with or without informing students. I've heard stories of Moroccan professors who work at American universities and only teach here over Winter or Fall vacation, compressing a semester's worth of classes into two or three weeks. Homework and quizzes, which take time to grade, are often omitted in preference for midterm and final exams. Sometimes professors allow students to skip class and only sit for major exams. Many students fail in these cirumstances, but that's what is expected. Moroccan professors may be stretched between jobs, but Moroccan students are equally pressure by their course schedules.

Moroccan universities operate under the French system, so students complete the License (equivalent to a BA) after three years or six semesters. Semesters are divided into modules which are divided into classes. In those three years they must complete nearly 300 hours of class. If students fail any of their modules, an average failing grade in that module's classes, they have to retake the failed module before they can pass their semester. Because failure is so common, this leads to students taking multiple modules at the same time in order to pass. Many of my students cannot attend my classes because they have other classes from other modules scheduled at the same time.

This is a complex situation that defines educational dysfunction. Failure is expected, with many department anticipating a 50% drop out or fail-out rate among first year students. This is certainly accepted, and perhaps condoned as a means of alleviating the tremendous burden of overcrowding. And this is the environment where I work twice a week, trying to do my best to teach well and support my students in any way I can.

I started teaching three weeks ago. I have two classes: Comprehension and Spoken English and Mythologies of the West. Both have over 100 students. My Comprehension class averages 200-250 and the Myth class around 150.

I came into this experience thinking I was prepared. I had applied to be an "English Teaching Assistant" and I had taught two student taught courses at Rice. I had written lectures and syllabi, organized group projects and even a field trip. I had imagined my responsibilities would be light: assisting English teachers in instruction or course design, giving presentations about American culture and maybe providing tutoring to students outside of class. Obviously, turned out to be very different, but that's pretty inconsequential at this point. Now, all that matters is doing my best to help as many students as possible in the time that I have.

I am lucky for many reasons. First, I am American. This is important because my students, like many Moroccan students, have never had a native speaker teach them English. They recognize this, and view the opportunity to learn from me as a great and fortunate privilege. And while I feel that I'm not a great teacher, I know that my students are motivated to attend and to participate in class by this fact alone. Second, I only teach two classes, and though they are large, I'm able to focus on my students and give them as much individual attention as possible. Third, many of my students love learning English. They see English as a language of freedom and liberty, not politically, but culturally and economically. They listen to American music, watch American movies and television, and aspire to work in multinational corporations or in any of the hundreds of countries in the world that speak English or value English speakers.

So between my status as a native speaker, my students' passion and motivation, my ability to give them time and attention, and my motivation to work with them as much as possible, I see great potential in my time as an English teacher in Morocco. And for the most part, my work has gone well and I've been successful. But as today illustrates, the system, with its problems and frustrations, can oppose good intentions.

I understand the union's complaints. When students are overworked and overstressed, being held accountable through constant assessment can be a huge burden. In an environment where professors are often unfair, capricious and exacting, a review quiz is not merely a review quiz, it is a measure of control or punishment. Unfortunately, they consider me and my methods to be part of the problem rather than the solution. And that may be true, I may be asking too much. But rather than setting impossible expectations, I see myself as challenging my students. And unlike the professors who choose to not or cannot pay attention to their students' needs, I've committed myself to meeting them as best as I can. So we'll see what happens in the future as that becomes more apparent.

What encouraged me today is that when I resisted the walk out, about half of my class supported me. Many of my students wanted the quiz, but too many did not.

Today, I decided to give in rather than lose the entire class period. Maybe next time things will go the other way.

Into the Imperial City

2010-09-25T16:11:00.000-04:00

This morning I left Rabat for Fes, the city I will call home for the next ten months. The first stage of my Morocco experience has come to an end. Orientation is over. Now it's time to get to work.

Since arriving here, we've been busy. After our trip to the desert, we started intensive Moroccan Arabic classes at Qalam wa Lawh, an Arabic language center in Rabat. On top of that, we attended about a half dozen lectures about the linguistic and educational situations in Morocco. I also shared a homestay weekend with Monica in Casablanca.

After this intense orientation, I feel equally prepared and unprepared for my job as an English teacher. I know more Arabic and more about Moroccan culture and society than I did prior, but I still don't know the details of my work and we only received pointers as to how we should manage a classroom that could hold anywhere from 50-150 students. Despite some anxiety over my job, I am extremely excited to begin teaching. I am also excited to begin my life in Fes, a city rich in culture, tradition and history.

Fes al-Bali. My new home?

Last weekend I learned that most good things in Morocco come from the former Imperial capital. Fes is home to some of Morocco's best artisans and handicrafts. If you want to buy an excellent pair of babouches, traditional slippers, you go to Fes. If you want to buy the best pottery, you go to Fes. If you want to dine in Morocco's best restaurants, you go to Fes. If you want to experience the world's largest car-free urban zone, you go to Fes. All the city lacks is a coastline. This means no seafood, hot summers, and frigid winters.

Leather is one of Fes' main handicrafts. Tanneries, like this one, are found all over the old city. Their smell is very recognizable (and foul) because of the use of bird poop as a softening agent. Disgusting, but very effective.

Fes is also known as 'the city of 'ilm', or knowledge, particularly religious knowledge. It is home to Al-Qarawiyin University, one of the oldest in the world, and still operating within Morocco's public university system. Al-Qarawiyin, was once a great center of learning not only for Muslims, but people of all faiths. Famous Islamic scholars, like Ibn Khaldun and the Sufi master Ibn Arabi studied there. So did the great Jewish mystic Maimonides. This religious diversity extended beyond the university. Fes al-Bali, or the old city, houses many historically Jewish neighborhoods. After the Spanish Reconquista and subsequent Inquisition cleared the Iberian peninsula of both Muslims and Jews, many of both faiths made Fes their new home. Until this century, the Jewish community of Fes, and Morocco as a whole, thrived within the nation's Muslim society.

A close-up of Al-Qarawiyin's main doorway. Moroccan Islamic architecture features geometric designs carved or painted onto plaster and wood surfaces, as well as geometric tile work, which is not featured here.

The politics of colonization and independence greatly affected Fes' prestige. The city was Morocco's capital until 1912 when the country became a French protectorate. The French chose Rabat to be the new capital, a decision maintained after Independence in 1956. And though King Muhammad VI has taken more interest in Fes than his father or grand-father, it is unlikely the once Imperial city will regain its due status anytime soon.

As I begin my life here I hope to bridge Fes's new and old worlds. I will work at Sidi Mohammed ben Abdellah University, teaching English to university students. The university is located on the edge of town, surrounded by the newest areas of urban growth. During orientation, the speakers we heard described Morocco's universities as very similar to Western universities, except for overcrowding. As I mentioned earlier, I may very soon teach classes of up to 150-200 students. The lack of qualified teachers was a common theme in the lectures we heard about Morocco's education system, which is one reason why we're here. However, most universities are equipped with modern facilities and technological resources.

I will work in new Fes, but hope to live in old Fes. Fes's medina, also called Fes al-Bali, is the world's largest car-free urban zone. It is the pre-colonial Islamic city, and houses several hundred thousands Fessis (people who live in Fes). Living in the medina is a little like going back in time. Its streets are really serpentine alleyways that seldom follow a straight line. Without cars, people use donkeys to transport goods, much like was done centuries ago, except today they carry mini-fridges and flat screen televisions as well as rugs, spices, and anything else a person can't carry him or herself.

I have a lead on an apartment in a riad very near to Al-Qarawiyin University in the medina. A riad is a house with a courtyard, which typically houses a garden. This design is a Moroccan tradition, and while my potential home lacks a garden and is not as fancy as what you'd see if you enter 'riad morocco' into Google Image Search, living there would immerse me in a culture and environment that has changed relatively slightly in hundreds of years. We'll see what happens in this department.

What else is there to look forward to? Well, as you've noticed, I haven't been writing much lately. That will change, hopefully, as such has been the case due to a lack of time, not of ideas or experiences. I have much to say about Morocco's language situation, food culture, shopping culture, and general society. But the bigger thing to watch for is my gradual Moroccanization. As I seek to integrate myself into my work and living environments, I will surely change. I will become less American and more Morrocan. To what degree that will happen and how it will manifest itself remains to be seen...

When it Rains in the Sahara

2010-09-15T18:06:00.000-04:00

There is a saying here: come to Morocco and be surprised. Another way to say this is that nothing happens like it’s expected to. This weekend we went to the Sahara and it rained.

After a long week of orientation, all of the English Teaching Assistants traveled together to Arfoud, a city in southeastern Morocco, very near to the Algerian border and the Sahara desert. The trip began with a big surprise. Our leader, Dr. Jim Miller, the head of the Moroccan Fulbright commission, was supposed to travel with us. However, his office forgot to tell the travel company he was coming, so when the bus arrived there was no run for him, and off we went, on our own, into the Moroccan wilderness. That was the moment I realized that for much of these 10 months I will be on my own and fending for myself. It was a bit of a shock, but a good realization.

Arfoud, our destination, stands about 600 km southeast of Rabat, our temporary home. Without stops, it's about an 8 hour car ride. We stretched it to 12. Normally, such a long ride in a crowded bus would be torture, but we came together as a group and had a really fun time. Those of you reading this from Rice may be surprised that for some reason people in the Fulbright ETA group think I’m funny. We told stories and sang along to such great 1990s artists as Bryan Adams, Toni Braxton and Celine Dion. Moroccans love their Celine Dion and Dolly Parton. Both drives turned into great bonding experiences.

Our hotel in Arfoud was unreal in many ways. Built on the outskirts of town, it resembled a palace. The interior featured zellij, traditional Moroccan geometric tile work and a marble fountain. As you walk in, you're greeted by the smiling portrait of King Muhammad VI. Remember, Morocco is a monarchy. Along the way we saw many 'billboards' (words written using piles of rocks on a mountainside) stating the unofficial national motto: "God, Nation, King." This is Morocco's holy trinity. Hotels like the one we stayed at are monuments to the vision of the King and his government. Tradition mixed with modernity, all designed to appeal to the sensibilities of Western tourists.

Tourism is Morocco's second largest industry, and I'd like to share some thoughts on the subject. Along the way to the dunes Friday evening, we stopped at a Berber family's tent for tea. This was obviously set up by our tour company and some of our group decided not to participate in the stop because they felt it was too exploitative. It is true that commercializing a lifestyle is a form of exploitation, but I think that it is too simple to look at the situation in such a way. Westerners come to Morocco looking for an 'authentically oriental' experience. This is what we had over the weekend: we rode camels, we saw the dunes, we played drums and sang songs with Berbers. Those experiences are contrived and not 'authentic', per se. But on the flip side, Moroccans also look to Westerners as sources of income in an otherwise poor and economically depressed country. Touristic exploitation is not one sided in this case, it is symbiotic. When we signed up for our desert tour, we sought our 'authentic' experience. We also provided every Moroccan we interacted with an income. This is not to say that exploitation does not occur, nor that tourism is not exploitative, but I think it's important to realize that the Moroccans in this situation are not passive participants. They want tourist dollars and try hard to get them because they don't have many other options.

One form of tourism that is exploitative, as well as damaging to a 'native' culture, is sexual tourism. Morocco and much of the Middle East is a prime destination for sexual tourism. Many Europeans, and some Americans, travel to these countries explicitly to have sex. We saw this firsthand. When we arrived at our Saharan camp Friday night we were greeted by two Swiss women who explained they were there as guests of one of the guides. As the night progressed, it became obvious the were there for a specific reason. As we went to bed, they disappeared. There was some rustling in the bushes and then in the morning, they woke up next to the Berbers.

This is the definition of exploitation. Westerners who engage in sexual tourism view their hosts purely as sexual objects. This also works both ways. Any Western woman who has been to the Middle East will tell you that harassment is a big problem. Men on the streets frequently cat-call or approach Western women, whispering 'Gazelle' or other things in an attempt to 'woo' them. On the surface this seems a result of a sexually repressed society and a lascivious image of Western women. While these play a role, a huge factor is that such behavior works. These men know that many Western women are in their countries to have sex with the locals, so they try to find them. The result is harassment. The presence of the Swiss women definitely changed the attitudes of our guides. All but one of them tried hard to work their magic on the girls in our group. Hyperbole is valued over subtlety. As we went to bed, one of the guides told Grecia that he would build her a hotel where they could live and run their own Saharan tourism business. Other were offered camels for their hands in marriage.

While that night was uncomfortable, nothing could dampen the effect of being in the Saharan dunes. As we rode into them as the sun set behind us, I felt very similarly to how I feel sometimes in the Rocky Mountains. Nature everywhere possesses a certain majesty, but certain natural phenomena impress that majesty on you in and overwhelming way. You feel submerged in this sense of connection with something much greater than yourself; an immersion into a realm of great power and permanence. I’ve felt this way staring up at a peak from the shore of a high mountain lake. I felt it again riding into the dunes, surrounded by mountains of sand. On our drive we passed through the Middle Atlas mountains. The dunes we saw exceeded these mountains in every description. It was truly an amazing sight and an amazing feeling. It permeated the whole experience.

As a closing note, I would like to mention that last Friday was my birthday. Thank you to everyone awho wished me well on Facebook and e-mail. But especially thank you to my fellow Morocco Fulbright ETAs who made that day one I will never forget. That afternoon they surprised me with pastries and sang me happy birthday. I was completely surprised and flabbergasted. Going forward in this experience, I am comforted knowing that though I will be alone, I have a community of 8 peers who are caring people whom I trust and who I know I can rely on for any type of support. I feel fortunate to be here in any case, but I am especially grateful to be in Morocco with such great people.

Greetings from the other side

2010-09-06T07:53:00.000-04:00

We landed in Casablanca at 7:30AM Morocco time this morning. That was 2:30AM Eastern time. I didn't sleep on the plane, so I'm running on pure adrenaline and hope at this point. So far so good.

Even in my first hours here I've gotten a preview for what this experience will be like. All of the people in my program took the same Royal Air Maroc flight direct from JFK to Casablanca. Because it is the national airline and because Morocco is a multilingual nation, all of the crew instructions to the passengers were made three times once in Arabic, in French and then in English. In the cabin were TV screens that displayed a map of our progress. These too came in three different languages. Interestingly there were several discrepancies between them. As we taxied at JFK, the English map of North America displayed all the usual major U.S. cities: Houston, Chicago, Miami, and New York. When it changed to French, the emphasis shifted northwards to Canada, the map showing Ontario, Montreal and Quebec City. Strangely, the Arabic map featured New York, Miami and Abilene, Texas. I wonder what Moroccans have to do with Abilene. Or, rather, how would an Abilene Texan feel about being left off the English map and featured on the Arabic map?

Multilingualism is a fact of Moroccan life. Before the French arrived in the late 19th century, most Moroccans spoke Arabic or Berber or both. Colonization introduced the French language, and it has persisted since the country's independence in the 1950s. Two summers ago I remember listening to my Moroccan host mother talk to her friend over tea, her sentences a jumble of French, Arabic and Berber.

This will be a busy week, we have orientation and then a trip to the south of Morocco to visit the Sahara. I'm excited to get started!

PS: spell check just highlighted all of the words in the post because it's in English and not French

American Food Bucket List

2010-09-01T00:01:00.000-04:00

Last night my Mom asked me what I would like to eat for the five dinners I have left in America. After getting past the fact that I only have so few meals left before I go, I started to think: what are the foods I will miss the most while in Morocco?

Don't be misled: Moroccan food is excellent. This is the land of couscous, tajine, stews cooked in conical clay pots, and pastilla. There's no doubt I'm going to eat really well over the next 10 months. But as anyone who has traveled outside of the United States know, there are certain things you either can't get abroad or just aren't done right.

So below is my American Food Bucket List. These are things I've eaten, or want to eat, before my departure.

Barbecue. Fortunately for me I spent the last few weeks in Houston. Texas barbecue is hard to beat, and I made my ritual migration to Goode and Company. There is nothing like their brisket and jalapeno cheese bread. Though barbecue refers to anything cooked over open flame, American, and particularly Texan, barbecue is special.
Sushi. While not an 'American' food, I'm not expecting to find many sushi restaurants in Morocco. I didn't encounter any in Rabat two years ago, and living in Fez, which is not on the coast, I feel like my exposure to any seafood will be minimal. While in Houston I visited Hokkaido, my favorite sushi spot, twice and literally gorged myself.
Pizza. I love good, Italian-American pizza. Ridgefield is chock full of pizza restaurants, some of them better than others, but all of them better than Moroccan pizza.
Mom's Chocolate Chip Cookies. This is my sentimental pick. Everyone loves his or her mom's chocolate chip cookies, and since I won't be getting any for awhile I asked her to whip up a batch for me before I leave.
Burgers. I love burgers. To me a burger is the perfect version of the perfect food: the sandwich. There are burgers in Morocco, but they aren't the same. The patties are uninspiring. They are dressed with a salad. Worst of all, it is very hard to find American ketchup. Almost all restaurants, except those aimed at tourists, have watery and sweet European ketchup. A burger without rich, Heinz ketchup might as well not be called a burger. I had burgers twice in Houston and plan to eat one as often as I can before Sunday.

What would you miss if you were away from American food for a long time?

First Things First

2010-08-08T14:27:00.000-04:00

To begin I'd like to welcome all of you to this blog. Thank you for stopping by and continuing to read about my Moroccan adventures!

Beginning in September I will be an English teaching assistant at Sidi Mohammed ben Abdellah University in Fez, Morocco. I arrive September 6 and will work until June 30, the end of the Moroccan academic year. My teaching responsibilities are part-time, and I'm hoping to do plenty of travel and exploring all over the country.

Below I talk about some of my expectations for this coming year. Here I'll tell you what you can expect from this blog.

Morocco is a strange place. Literally. The Arabic name for Morocco, Maghrib, is linguistically related to words describing 'unusual', 'peculiar', 'amazement', 'perplexity', and 'odd'. This is a place where donkeys help transport new flat screen televisions. This is a place where rural communities lack running water, but have satellite TV. This is a place where anything, from the price of beans to your monthly rent is negotiable, and bargaining is a way of life. I am planning to record Morocco's cultural eccentricities right here. I guarantee they will be strange, if not entertaining.

This is also where I'll record my trials and tribulations in the classroom. I guarantee I will embarrass myself at some point (most likely at many points), which is all the better for y'all's enjoyment.

I am bringing my camera along with me, so I'll be posting pictures to illustrate my words.

I expect to update 2-3 times per week. We'll see if I'm able to keep up with that as the year grows busier...

Thank you for reading my words and letting me share my experiences with you!

Thoughts and Expectations

2010-08-08T14:04:00.000-04:00

I have some thoughts going into this experience that I'd like to share.

English plays an interesting role in Morocco. Most Moroccans are bi- or trilingual, speaking Arabic and Berber and/or French. Each of these have played a role in Morocco's history. Berber is the indigenous tongue of the region, Arabic arrived with Islam in the 8th Century, and French was implanted by Morocco's colonizers in the 20th century. English has infiltrated the country more organically, a product of economic and cultural globalization. And despite its minority status, English represents freedom for many Moroccans. This is not because it is the 'language of democracy' or the 'language of America' but because proficiency in English allows Moroccans to participate in the global community. Berber and Moroccan Arabic are 'small' languages - very few outside of Morocco can speak them, let alone understand them. French, while a 'big' language, is directly connected with the country's occupied past. This article by Said Bellari explains its cultural significance. Additionally, it connects Morocco only with the small, Francophone global community. The French language does not enhance Moroccans' connections with the world at all.

Helping Moroccans to realize a culturally and personally significant goal excites me a lot. For me, one of the most rewarding aspects of teaching is helping to empower your students both with knowledge and the confidence that comes with it. And while I will only be a teaching assistant, and my role in the classroom limited, I can't help but feel that I'm playing a role in something much larger, and that feels pretty cool.

My professional obligations are quite limited. The teaching position is part-time (10-15 hrs/week), which means I will have a lot of free time. This also translates into a lot of alone time. I've been mentally preparing myself for the experience of living alone in a foreign country where I'll only be able to partially communicate with my neighbors and co-workers. At least for the first few weeks, this is going to be a very solitary experience. As challenging as it will be, I welcome it. Almost every recent graduate will go through experiences similar to mine, but very few have the fortune to do so in such a unique and exotic environment. Though I have my hesitations, I know that I'm very lucky to be in the position that I am.

Along similar lines, I'm looking forward to making the most of this time abroad. I studied in Morocco two summers ago and left feeling that I could have tried harder to explore and integrate myself in the local community. As I look forward to this year, I really have no excuse to not fully explore Morocco and create meaningful connections in my community. My teaching post and free time give me an excellent opportunity to do both. I want Morocco to become like my home.

These are a few of the things that have bounced around my head the past few weeks. However, I know that no matter my mental preparation, nothing can prepare me for the exhilaration I will feel when we touch down in Casablanca on September 6.

This year is going to be the adventure of a lifetime, and I can't wait to get started.