"Uste" means Teacher in Darija/Moroccan Arabic

Abderrahim is the main teacher for us 12 fullbrighters as we attempt to learn how to read and write in Arabic. He is probably around his late 40's or so, very nice man and an excellent teacher. This brings me to the following: For me, the most rewarding and amazing experience thus far, was not us visiting the middle school in Fez, not the language school in Taza, or the surreal (not deserving) exclusive access to the library containing Arabic manuscripts that are hundreds of years old (WOW!)---All of which, have been fantastic experiences and a blessing in unto themselves; For me, it was actually Abderrahim admitting to us fullbrighters, that to be in the room containing these fascinating manuscripts (from historically great and admirable Islamic thinkers) and be able to read them and see them in their current conditions, made him deeply emotional. This man, Abderrahim was touched by these ancient writings, also keep in mind that he has his son and daughter with him as we are listening to the history of the particular manuscripts that are being presented to us.

That experience with Abderrahim has been the most rewarding thus far; and to think he probably would never have experienced this had it not been for these 12 Americans who arrived just 6 days ago. It is a bit sad, Abderrahim has lived here almost his entire life and would probably have gone on through life and perished not ever having seen these manuscripts which are so important, and bring such pride and honor to the Islamic world, the Moroccan culture, and most importantly, bring that sense of identity and empowerment to a person.

I almost feel like it is unfair. Do not get me wrong, I am incredibly thankful and forever grateful for this opportunity and by no means am I complaining. However, just think about the power of being born in America. Unbelievably mind-boggling right? The average Moroccan can not see what I saw, having only been in this country for less than a week. It just doesn't feel right, but at the same time that is what is amazing about this program, its taking me to places and having me experience things i never thought i would be experiencing! Praise Allah that i was there with Abderrahim (and his children) as he was able to witness something so precious and emotional about his culture, history, and people.

Day Three: School Daze Pt. 1

One of the true highlights of this trip so far has been the opportunity to visit local high schools and interact with both students and faculty. The first chance to do this came a few days after our arrival to Morocco. We were told we would be visiting a local public middle school. Never did we think, however, that the school would be in the middle of “the world’s largest living Islamic medieval city” (thanks, LP!).

Thursday was oppressively hot, so much so that the guys decided to take off a layer of clothing while Azeb and a couple others forwent lunch altogether. We hopped on the bus around 3:30 and drove to the medina (of Fes el-Bali – Old Fez). This was really exciting for the medina is the must-do activity in any Moroccan itinerary. We were dropped off near a side entrance and led through the narrow, winding pathways that characterize the Medina. Just the walk towards the school was incredible (but we’ll save that for another blog entry). A short walk through the streets and alleyways of the earth colored medina and we came upon the nondescript door of the school. Now given the size of the medina’s streets and street-side shops, I assumed that the school would be tiny, nothing but a few small classrooms in an old dilapidated structure. Again, I was totally off the mark.

I really need to check myself. I guess that given the fact that I live in Los Angeles and that our orientation included a brief discussion about rural schooling in Morocco, I assumed that schools here – inside a medina especially – were automatically going to be “a few years behind.” My notions were challenged the minute I stepped onto the beautiful, orange tree-lined courtyard at Mohammed el Fassi Middle School. An inviting group of students, teachers, and parents greeted us with a warm reception greeting us as though foreign dignitaries or celebrities had arrived and not regular, LAUSD teachers (something that has happened, and will no doubt happen again).

Chairs (the kind one would see at a wedding reception or quinceñera) were set up in four rows while the school’s teachers, parents, and students sat behind us smiling and giggling at the sight of our motley bunch. The headmaster gave a brief speech welcoming us to his school followed by a sort of open house. The first classroom we visited was an art classroom with student work proudly displayed around the room and teachers and students excitedly showing off their work. Their latest project revolved around “recycled art.” Students were to collect pieces of rubbish or discarded items and basically create works of art, something beautiful. Maaaaaan, these kids went all out. These students were so darn creative with their pieces and so thoughtful about what the assignment (and more importantly their art) meant to them. Speaking with the teacher about his commitment to art with a message (in this case, environmental conservation), I couldn’t help but think about the wonderful art teachers at my own school and the wonderful things they do with our students on a daily basis. Seriously, the art in this classroom could have easily been a lesson straight out of a page from Ms. Eck or Mrs. Barsky’s book – it was awesome! I also couldn’t help but think of the commonalities we all share and how some things, such as art, are just plain universal.

We wrapped up the day observing a math lesson and having a meet and greet session complete with mint tea, orange juice, and an assortment of pastries. The conversation was great and the exchange, valuable. We finished by taking a whole bunch of pictures and, in a symbolic gesture of mutual love and respect, took down the signage announcing our meeting and signed the banners (our Moroccan hosts signing the English version and us signing the Arabic one). Oh, and we even taught our hosts the [UCLA] 8-Clap! Uh-whuuuuut!

Currently listening to: Scientist - Scientist Rids the World of the Evil Curse of the Vampires

Day One: Introduction & First Impressions

Day one began with breakfast in the mezzanine café. Standard fare, I suppose, an assortment of croissants, yogurt, eggs (I’ve eaten sooo many eggs on this trip!), juice, and this one hard, pancake-y-type flat thing that, served with honey, was the bomb! Shortly after 8:30 am we were on the bus for a quick, 10-minute ride to Université Sidi Mohamed Ben Abdellah, Fez. The university sits atop a small hill right outside of the ville-nouvelle (the newer, more modern part of Fez). Walled off from the main street, the university’s entrance is located on the side of a small parking lot. At a good five or six stories high, the yellow angular school doesn’t look like much from the outside – a large concrete/drywall peninsula with a fairly large courtyard and a fountain in the shape of an eight pointed star. Otherwise, the school was pretty uninspiring – door after square door that made the place look more like a tenement than a prestigious university (and one that reminded me terribly of my own high school). What was impressive, however, was the sheer energy of the campus. The school was teeming with university students everywhere it seemed and on every floor. Hundreds of men and women hanging out in the shade under the cover of the floor above to avoid the oppressive morning sun. Men and women engaged in deep conversation and trivial gossip greeting each other and laughing as professors lounged around or spoke with interested pupils. It was here that Morocco’s paradoxes and contradictions began to reveal themselves to me. A mixture of old and new, religious and secular, traditional and modern seemed to merge in this marketplace of ideas. Men and women sauntered the open halls, some in traditional jellabas and others in skinny jeans and flaunting the hippest styles. Heavily bearded and clean shaven men walking side-by-side while more conservative and covered women crossed the quad passing their trendy, exposed classmates.

We settled in the teacher’s lounge where we were promptly served mint tea and where my addiction to the stuff would start. After a short welcome by the dean, we headed towards our classroom and began our Arabic language instruction.

We left campus around 1 pm and went to grab some lunch. We ended up at this really nice restaurant full of business types on their lunch breaks. I ordered a piping hot lamb tajine with caramelized sweet plums and vegetables. The food was absolutely spectacular – una gran mezcla de sabores attacking my palette at every turn. This was the first of many amazing meals yet to come. (Our program director, Azeb, claims that we will probably lose about 10 lbs. before the trip is over… not going to happen.)

Two hours later we were back in class though everybody would have preferred to be back in bed. Our afternoon session consisted of two lectures by distinguished professors, one about Moroccan history, the other about the future of the Moroccan educational system, pedagogy, and politics/philosophy. Amazing stuff! It had been a while since I was involved in the kind of high level, passionate discussion we were having and I was loving it. Issues about race, capitalism, the role of school as institution for societal progress were all brought up and it was great to listen to the Moroccan perspective as well as those from my colleagues.

We returned to our digs and had a lovely chicken couscous for dinner. After a meal spent recapping our first day, we retired back to our rooms exhausted, bellies full, and looking forward to doing it all over again.

Currently listening to: Sea Wolf - Get to the River Before It Runs Too Low

The Flight and the Fatigue

When I received the invitation to participate in the GPA Morocco program, I remember a flurry of emotions, assumptions, expectations, and questions hitting me at once. This was nothing unusual. I feel blessed to have had opportunities to travel. Whether independently or through different programs, I’ve seen parts of the world that I never imagined I’d ever see growing up as a child in Los Angeles and each of these experiences have been absolutely priceless. But there was something different about Morocco, something mysterious, intriguing, and even alien about the place. For one, Morocco would be the first African country I had ever visited (not to mention the warmest!). It would also be the first Muslim nation I had ever visited and a country that seemed a world away – geographically, culturally, linguistically – from that of my own.


Our journey to Morocco was pretty gnarly. I’ll spare everyone the details, but in short, 32 long hours from the point of arrival at LAX to stepping foot into our hotel at Fes: Los Angeles to Amsterdam, five-hour layover in Holland, Amsterdam to Casablanca, two hours to collect luggage and pass through customs, and, unexpectedly, a four-hour drive to Fes… whew! Exhausted, we checked into our hotel, “ooohhh’d” at the sight of our accommodations, and fell asleep only to wake up a meager four hours later. (Ironically enough, however, falling asleep was a challenge for some – like when you’re so tired that you can’t sleep? Yup, like that.)

Currently listening to: The Arcade Fire - Neon Bible

Gnaoua Music

I loved discovering the Gnaoua musicians that who would pop up as we traveled around Morocco. The first time that we met the Gnaoua, the whole rhythm of our group changed. From that first encounter, the trajectory of our journey tilted. The rest, as they say, is history...

The Heart of a Stranger

What amazed me most about being in Morocco were the times when we met people who just captured my heart. One extraordinarily hot day, we stopped at a restaurant hear the desert. Standing at the entrance was a Gnaoua man. He stood majestically. When he flashed his toothless smile, he lit up the world. This man seemed familiar, like he could have been an relative or family friend that I remember from my days as a boy in Georgia. As we ate, I heard amazing music and looked to see that the light filled man was responsible. Gnaoua music pulls from melodies and rhythms from the sub-Saharan countries, mixed with the indigenous music of Morocco and Arabic. The fusion of sounds grabs me. Not only was this man a master at mixing the sounds, he also mixed the things he could do at one time. He strummed the African banjo like stringed instrument called a hajhuj, while at the same time, he rattled the little cymbals that were attached to the neck of his instrument. He sang melodies that reminded me of something familiar. Maybe because the melodic progressions can be heard in American Blues. What impressed me the most was when he started spinning the tassel on his fez studded with cowry shells.

I made eye contact with the singer and soon we had a smiling session between us. I went over and made my offering to him. I tried to spin the tassel but just couldn't get the rhythm. He kept saying, "Sudan, Sudan," and I kept responding, "no." I did not know if he was asking me if I was from Sudan or if he was telling me that he was from Sudan. After we left, I learned that he was trying to me me we were related, that he had come from a place from the South. When we finally left, my new found relative bowed his head and did a double gesture with his hands. Next to his heart, he placed his hands on top of each other and then flipped them. Youness told me that he was honoring me by saying that he submitted his heart to me. How cool was that! How cool would it be if we always saw some kind of light in the eyes of people we met and we submitted our hearts to the hearts of strangers. That day, I felt, maybe for only a short time, that I had passed through the limitations of time and space and hitch to the heart of a stranger.

Jelani

A King in Fez

The crossroads of cultural diversity, both historically and currently, struck me in Morocco. The time where this recognition struck me the most happened one night in a little disco in Fez. That night marked a turning point for me on our five-week peregrination. Some of us decided to go dancing after being together for a couple of weeks at that point. There is nothing like watching the people that you know, or think you know, finally let their hair down on the dance floor. For me, seeing these pedagogues turn into terpsichoreans was a sight to behold, and a joyous one, too!

When we first entered the disco, the dance floor was empty except for the reflections on the floor from the giant disco ball above flashing cascading lights across the floor. Being the bold Americans that we were, the empty floor was quickly filled with our bopping, twisting and gyrating bodies. When we started dancing, we captivated an audience. Like most places around the world where I’ve traveled, Americans are easily recognized. The locals, excited to know who we were, joined and danced with us. Throughout the night, they would imitate our dance moves and thrill their companions as well as astonish themselves their own newly found choreography. As the night progressed, the passing of Michael Jackson pressed heavy on the hearts of some of my colleagues. Periodically, someone in the group was deployed to the DJ booth with Michael Jackson requests. The DJ resisted. All was not lost. We had a great time dancing, anyway.

Towards the end of the night, the Moroccans would get bolder and bolder about talking to us. Some of the “women of the night” would stop by to give us a hug and joyous say, “I love you.” What a welcoming energy! The disco consisted of two rooms. We situated ourselves around a table in the first room. During the night, I ventured a few times into the other room, which seemed to be the home base of some of the people from other parts of Africa. As Last Call approached, several of the Moroccans gave us their business cards and asked us to call on them the following day. It was thrilling to be so welcomed by the people.

Finally! The DJ honored the requests for Michael Jackson. Almost like choreography, everyone in the two rooms spontaneously gathered in a giant circle in the main room. The Moroccans, all the people from the other countries, the “women of the night” and the American teachers, all joined hands. A brilliant spotlight beamed from the ceiling into the center of the circle and onto the floor. That light became Michael, the King of Pop. People would call out to the light on the floor, “Michael, Michael! We love you Michael!” Several of the Moroccans would step into the light and attempt the Moon Walk or other moves of the King. That light was alive and real. I can’t even remember the songs that played but I remember dropping my head and sobbing. I was overwhelmed with joy, sadness and surprise. What came rushing to my mind were all the songs I had sung and danced to as a little boy in Georgia. Michael Jackson was everything to me. Over the years, I had forgotten the spirit of “We Are the World” and “Heal the World.” That night I SAW that spirit and I remembered. That the songs of a gentle little man could bring people together, from so many places, amazed me. The sweet message in the music from the King created a space that few others have achieved, certainly not some of our “leaders” in the world today or of any time.

After that night, I often thought about the cultural crossings in Morocco. Historically, Morocco served as one of the great crossroads and doorways of the world. From the many intersections of languages, music, foods, ethnic groups, and religions, so much can be traced back through European and American history. That night in that little disco, when the King came alive, I got to bear witness to one way that cultural intersections work. I will always give thanks to that moment in time where music brought so many people together. I should not have been surprised because in the days before that night, I met some people on the street who knew I was American who would simply say, “Michael” and give a sweet nod. I also give thanks that night to Shondale, Azeb, Carol, Sylvia, Maceo, Youness, Jenny, Jennifer, and Angela for dancing with me.