Just how organic is Morocco's agriculture?

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

Morocco's Universities: Money Laundering 101

 
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.

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

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

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.

Reflections on a Revolution

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?

When it Rains in the Sahara

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.