Reflections on the First Week

How to describe where I am now in relation to just one week ago? Flying in seems like a dream. Arriving at the wrong hotel belongs to my first impression of Rabat. Finding the right hotel, much nicer, making the first acquaintances of the program, missing the bus tour so wandering around instead and stopping for our first Moroccan dinner in a French café on Mohammad V Street, already reduced to memory, yet one I will cherish forever. Stumbling into the souk (which would be my future home) and quickly become engulfed in chaos of everydayness. Hike the long walk back, my second wind exhausted by this point. Feel old and young. See you tomorrow, Rabat!
Sit in a blue room on the first floor of our building, past Godfather and Pulp Fiction posters and meet the other students and some of the staff. Everyone excited to be here, the room full of energy and wonder. Break for mint tea and socializing. Cover some ground rules and take a field trip without my camera where we see Ancient Roman ruins and Roman script in stone on which is built ancient Arab ruins. Birds’ nests dominate background treetops and we are in Africa. The market we go to next furnishes household objects of the most beautiful variety and the land calls to mind Sher Kahn. After that, a great door takes us through massive orange walls and we are in the ancient Kasbah, and to some of the most breathtaking sights of my life. The azure of the African Atlantic brightly shines over rustic clay balconies and a cool breeze grazes our faces. We lose the group and want to get lost forever in the beautiful alleys. But can’t; the gates close at nine, so we backtrack and somehow meet back with our group. A few bottles of wine in the room at the end of the night and we are in Rabat and we are happy.
Another early morning greets my restless sleep. More discussions, tea, lunch at cafes, and people taking Arabic placement tests that I don’t have to, so instead I get destroyed at Egyptian Rat’s Crew by Aaron from Oberlin who is hands down the best player ever to slap a sandwich. That night Shino takes us on the town. First to the German bar, then the sketchy hotel that runs out of Heineken and we sit on the patio that closes and a drunk falls off a stack of chairs, and finally to an authentic African club where plays an African band that covers No Woman No Cry and my buzz starts picking up and we are in a real African club because we are actually in Africa and we dance, a bunch of America students, to the amusement, or annoyance, of the locals (the former, I’m sure) and then a drunken walk home in which we split from the group and take a taxi that turns off it’s taxi light to accommodate too many people, and we arrive at McDol’s and I order a chickenburger for 11 DH but the don’t have or don’t know what Ranch dressing is, and Kelly says she’s only had Ranch dressing once (here they call it creamy deluxe, I learn too late), and after all of this I still don’t sleep.
The next day comes entirely too soon. Torture all day as we start Darija, or Moroccan Arabic. Last night in the hotel tonight but everyone is tired. I left a load in the wash too long back home and all my clothes smell sour. I wash a few shirts in the sink and hang them up in the bathroom—they’re wet in the morning. I wear my ultimate jersey because it’s the driest and I stuff the others in a paper AmidEast bag and jam them in my backpack. At school we learn some more Darija and everyone is excited about our housing profiles. Shane and I get the medina with a mother and four kids, the youngest of whom, a girl, is a year younger than Shane.
The parents wait in the blue room and we file in. One by one we are paired up. No way it’s not awkward but everyone is smiles and excitement fills the room once more. Shane and I are near the end. The sister has come: she’s attractive. Our bags and we follow her to the taxi stand and wait because no one will take our luggage. Chit-chat on the curb until a small blue cab agrees to take us. Trail behind in the souk finagling my roller inbetween children, mopeds, stands, and more people. A short walk and Mama greets us at the door. She is the sweetest lady ever and Shane and I marvel at our fortune over a steamy tray of cooked turkey, potatoes and onions, olives, bread, and fruit. Hamdu Allah (praise be to God)! The afternoon is free so we explore a bit then come back for tea over Arabian dubbed Spanish soap operas.
Thursday brings the Rabat Challenge. I’m paired with Jessie, the girl from my flight, and Mimoun, who’s father is Moroccan and who speaks perfect Darija and knows his way around. He plans our mission, talks to everyone, and basically takes care of all our other objectives while I enjoy the large lunch Mama packed me. Explore Agdal (the section where AmidEast is and where Mimoun and Jessie live) then head to the medina. For my gift I find a delicious CD entitled “Cocktail Oriental.” Show them our place and introduce them to Mama. That night Shane and I bargin down a pair of gelibas from 600 DH each to 200. Geliba Friday is on!
Geliba Friday is a success! As soon as we walk out the front door we start getting compliments. Everyone is a fan—girls, guys, Moroccans, Americans—it’s good universally. Couscous Friday! A huge bowl that we barely dent, but it’s so delicious. Try eating with my hands but opt for speed and go with the spoon. It’s Shino’s last night so we hit the town. First a bar called Upstairs where a motley crowd fills the tables and bar. Feels a bit rough around the edges but not so bad and it’s a cool place full of interesting looking characters. Some people in the peace core, expatriates, prostitutes at the bar, and hip Moroccans rolling cigarettes at the table next to us. I have a beer, but then the tap’s messed up and not long after we are apparently leaving. Calling it a night already? Well; get a jump-start tomorrow at least, I’m so exhausted. But no, pass AmidEast and hit up another club—Le Presidential, or something similar. So! Large pink chairs cram tight four-tops and Kelly and I grab a one in front of the band. It’s a four piece: piano, bongos, guitar, and an Arabian singer. They enjoy themselves in front of a large statue of the Buddha. I have a Casablanca beer. Flat screens on the wall play MTV, muted, and we watch Lady Gaga and Nikki Ménage dance from all the way across the Atlantic. Club music replaces the band and I soberly join our American dance floor. It’s a good time and Shino is making the most of it. A few songs in I realize there’s actually a DJ. We are definitely coming back; call it a night for now.
Saturday takes us to a beach about twenty minutes south of town. A man hops on and sits in front of us. He’s twenty-two, friendly, and asks us how we like Morocco. It’s great. Asks if we’ve smoked anything yet? We have not. Tells us we must. Gives me his number. He’s on his way to rides horses. Says lighting one up then riding horses is amazing. Well, there you have it. Bid farewell and we hit the African coast, and it’s simply amazing. Run into the water and headfirst into the first decent wave. The water is cold and refreshing. The sun shines brightly. Join a game of volleyball then bust out the Frisbee. Can’t tell if the locals have played before, but they’re pretty familiar. Toss a good bit, quit and join a game of futbol. The goals are piles of sand about three feet apart, the game often running around and behind people and children playing in the sand. Play for a good couple hours; it feels great. Head back to our camp and people are packing up. The night is free but after a fantastic dinner of fish and beans served at 10 PM we are spent.
After the first week I couldn’t be happier. My home stay is wonderful. I couldn’t ask for a better motherly figure away from home and I love everyone in the program. Two more exchange students grace our house: Max, from Portland, OR, who is super chill and might resemble Harry Potter; and Richard, a Dutchman who, keeping with the same analogy, takes after Ron, and has a single red dread stemming from middle of his head—typical Dutch style fashion. The city of Rabat, Morocco’s capital, is entrenched in mystery; ancient history and curious traditions abound while the rich and diverse culture miraculously absorbs western culture. The people here are absolutely wonderful and everyone is so welcoming. Mama cooks traditional dishes using fresh ingredients purchased at the local markets next door and absolutely delights in stuffing our bellies. Her favorite word is kul—eat! Finally, that’s my middle name!
Lastly, after one week in Morocco I cannot even begin to comprehend or explain what I’ve learned and experienced. I’m so grateful for the gift of four months of study here—though fully understanding Moroccan culture would take a lifetime! I miss everyone at home dearly and you are all in my thoughts! I cannot wait to see you again and here all about what I’ve been missing! I’m faring wonderful and never want to leave, but I know the only thing that could top this trip might just be returning home!