The First Day

Day One (September 3 & 4)

Touched down in Casablanca yesterday. Coming in over sandy, tree-spotted mountains fills me with anticipation, yet still not so much I as think it should. As we board the plane a girl sitting across the isle from me leans back and over at me and makes the strangest silly face I have ever seen. Though highly unusual, I simply smile back, not knowing what to make of it or what else to do. She just fainted. The stewardesses arrive as she regains consciousness, embarrassed and a little concerned I’m sure. She makes it through the rest of the flight at least. On the ground I meet a couple kids in my program who were on the same flight. This is nice and together we pass through customs and find the baggage claim. On the way we joke about losing our luggage, secretly praying we haven’t. Relief consumes me when my suitcase comes round the conveyer. Shane finds his too, but Jessie keeps looking. Hers is gone. Finally we ask the desk and the say it was held up in London because it didn’t have markings for Casablanca. Always check your baggage tags.
We find our connection waiting by the exit, a man with an empty shopping bag on which is printed AmidEast. He directs us outside, palm trees and masses of brown people of every shape and walk, all covered in bright reds, blues, greens and yellows. A man who only speaks Arabic converses with Shane as we climb in his old, small white Mercedes. Our seatbelts don’t work and Shane’s window won’t roll down. We are all deadly tired; consciousness is beyond my control at this point. Insane ride; our driver honks at every light and his ring tone, a car horn, sounds off ever few minutes to be received with yells of Arabic. I can’t tell the nature of the conversation, probably friendly; that’s not what it sounds like. We make it to the hotel, Hotel Mercure (I thought we wanted the Oumlil) and the driver dips out. We enter and I expect to be greeted by a program manager or at least some kids. The lobby’s empty, save for the hotel manager. He only speaks Arabic and is oblivious of AmidEast. We are at the wrong hotel. Call the program; say they’ll call us back. Play some Egyptian Rat’s Crew. They call back; they’re sending someone else over. It’s the same guy. We drive a good twenty minutes. Shane asks me if we went in a circle. I can’t tell. Yep, now we’re back at Mercure that is. We keep going, he stops to yell some more, asking directions. Finally, a good hour later, we arrive at the Oumlil. Go in and instantly meet some cuties in our program. They tell us a tour is about to start. I get a second wind. We’re in Rabat! Check out the room. It’s a sweet three-bed gig complete with flat screen, big window, running water, even a boudet. Aaron, the third roomie, is passed out on his bed. We miss the tour but we meet up with girls and hit the town.
Through the Four Doors—four large arches cut out of the city wall to accommodate cars and people—we roam the streets, breath the Moroccan air (tasty at times, foul at others) and can’t believe we’re really here. Doesn’t feel like Africa at all, probably because it’s so urban. Lots of cafes, but the girls don’t think they are allowed in. In fact, I’ve yet to see a girl in one. After a bit we start looking for a restaurant. It’s almost six. Everywhere looks closed. Finally Emily talks to someone in French. They don’t open until seven. We keep walking; head towards the row of palm trees where it looks like people are congregated. Find a nice French café with outdoor seating under trees so dense the leaves block the sky. Now is my chance to put my French into action. It’s rusty, but with the help of the menu and my finger order a beef Panini and French fries. I order some water as well, no bubbles, but I don’t think he understood because he never brings it out. The food is delicious and afterwards we have mint tea. It is fantastic. The sun sets and the weather is absolutely perfect. There is no way we are in Africa right now! It’s a little after seven and we head back to the hotel to regroup. There we meet more AmidEasterners. Chill out and type a quick email to the family and we are ready to hit it again. This time it’s dark and we have more people—one person even knows something about Rabat. Walk back down to the palm trees, turns out there’s a huge souk, a long strip of side kiosks selling the coolest things you can imagine, right past the palms. One shop has lizards, birds and turtles; a man throws his cane down in front of us, apparently how you barter. The narrow street is jammed packed. I don’t even know which way to look but my attention mainly stays focused directly in front and below me. We keep moving. A man sells cactus fruit on one side. There is a butcher shop and all kinds of spices. A side street and we follow it to more shops and people. Around 9:30 PM places begin shutting down for the night. We trudge back. I am completely exhausted—a three-hour plane nap and brief faints in the backseat of a car will only go so far.
Meet at AmidEast at 10 AM. That’s all we know; we don’t know where or how. Make it down for breakfast a little after 9:30 AM. See no one from our group. Eat, ask directions and begin walking. Get about a block and it’s already ten ‘til so we hail a cab. Arrive precisely at one after. Everyone is already there and all the seats are taken. Don’t worry about it; we are about to take a tour. Tour the building; it hosts all our classrooms as well as program offices, a computer lab, and a room and balcony specifically for us to hang out on. They serve mint tea—it’s delicious—and we intermingle then go over program logistics for a few hours. Break for lunch. A guy who’s been here before takes us to a nice little smoothie place. I get the equivalent of a gyro on a platter with French fries. Good stuff. Back at the place, go over some more things than load up for a bus tour.
First stop, the Roman ruins. Islam settlers coming to Morocco built a city on top of an even older Roman settlement. It’s enclosed within a massive red clay wall. Now it feels like we are somewhere. You can see the city of Sale on a great hill in the distance. We load up but are missing a few. I go back with Shino to find them. Kelly and Shane and some others take they’re time, Kelly takes around 500 pictures.
Next a row of shops selling the stuff you get in America that looks like it’s from Africa but you know it’s not. But this time, it is. The coolest pots and bowls, laced in original patterns and vibrant yellows, blues, greens, and oranges, deep purples, light yellows and colorful browns. A store filled to the brim with clay figures in all poses. The stores divide into specialties: carved and polished wood; clay and ceramics; rugs; herbs, including a magical potion found only in Morocco made from special olive seeds digested by goats then squeezed into an oil good both in your hair and in your food. After making the rounds we go outside. The view is incredible; palms and shanties abound and this feels like Africa. In another store an old Moroccan man offers me some bread to dip in a pot of something. I’m not hungry but I gladly take some. He gives me the whole loaf.
After this we go to the Kasbah. It’s a walled off community straight out of Nation Geographic. Of all the days to forget my camera! I promise to make this up; I’ve still got plenty of time. The Kasbah is a maze of cobblestone paths and the first five feet of all the walls are painted blue, to distinguish it as a Jewish neighborhood (a long time ago). Patios overlook the sea. This is the coolest place I will ever be. You can’t take a bad picture in the Kasbah—I promise. I want to live here. I’m bringing my camera next time; you’ll see.
To top off the night we grab a few bottles of wine from the hotel lobby and kick back in my room. This is the first day and it’s not real. The people in this program are fantastic. I’m making the most out of every single day I have in Rabat and I already have plenty of stories. I miss home and my friends and family dearly but this magical land offers a handsome compensation.