The Oasis

The drive from Merzouga to Dades proved to be another treat. Between the Atlas Mountains is Tineghir; a wonderful oasis.  It was difficult to fathom miles and miles of lush, green vegetation blossoming right in the middle of what had seemed to be a barren, God-forsaken desert!  Our driver stopped the bus along a steep cliff to allow us to take pictures.  Wow, how can I describe this paradox?  It looked as if God took Her finger and carved her name into the hard, rocky, earth forming deep, winding canyons (much like we’ve all done on a much smaller scale in the sand at the beach). Except, everywhere Her finger touched, produced a thick blanket of palm trees.  If this vision I see before me were in a competition, it would run a close tie with “paradise.”

Said

Shortly after, we met our guide, Said (pronounced Sah-eed), which is Arabic for “happy.”  I found his name very appropriate for his disposition. He greeted us alongside the road with his camels.  I remembered that one’s name was Jimi Hendrix, and he suspiciously stared at me from the corner of his eye as if to say, “Come a little closer so that I can show you how accurately I can spit on tourists.” I moved in a little closer to take a picture, but quickly recognized the hint for him to maintain his space.  As we descended with Said into the canyon, I noticed how the temperature comfortably dropped to provide relief.  Among the rich foliage were alfalfa plants used to feed the animals, fresh mint for the tea that has been our staple beverage, rows of cabbage, corn stalks, and peach and pomegranate trees. We walked carefully along the narrow dirt path that was accompanied by the serene sounds of the irrigation stream that nourished the crops.  While we walked, Said would occasionally stop to pull fronds from trees in between jokes, songs, and chat to weave the ladies in our group flowers or snakes, which we proudly adorned our heads.  I was so impressed to learn that he spoke several languages:  Tamazight, Arabic, French, Spanish, as well as a little Italian and Japanese.  It made me wonder why I had spent so much time in school, but never bothered to acquire another language.  Here he was in the middle of “nowhere” and could communicate easily with people from all over the world, while I have accented my wall at home with college degrees and pray most of the time somebody speaks English. Hell, my own students can linguistically “leave me in the dust.”

The Ice Cream Man

Anyway, I was totally immersed in the sounds, fragrances, and light-hearted conversation.  From a distance, I could hear a man cry out on a loud speaker to the surrounding homes embedded in the sides of the cliffs.  We asked Said if it was a call for prayer, as is customary in all of the cities we visited.  His response was cute.  “No, he is asking the women to shop at his store,” he replied.  I’m pretty sure he was serious, but it would have been great sarcasm if he wasn’t.   I thought to myself, “The Loud-Speaker Man functions like the Ice Cream Man without the annoying muffled Disney show tunes.”   It brought back memories of scurrying around the house to find an adult to take me to the ice cream truck.  I wonder if that experience was happening in a similar way in one of those cliff side houses.  I imagine that it probably does.  Perhaps in a small, beautiful village in the middle of a Moroccan oasis, a child is running to meet “The Ice Cream Man.”

The Transformers

It is interesting to see someone change right before your eyes. As I watched Suzie gallop on a horse along the beach in Essaouira and as we conversed about our lives while drinking Sangria and watching the sunset, I thought to myself, “who is this girl?” She is not the same person I met 4 weeks ago. However, during our Moroccan wedding adventure I finally saw her. I did not have to ask who she was anymore. She had a smile so big that it most certainly was the biggest and brightest in the room. She let go and allowed herself to be swept up in the moment, enjoying the culture and the experience that is too breathtaking for me to even explain. I knew in that moment she was transformed into a new Suzie. Not completely different, but different enough that she seemed new in my eyes.

The funny thing is that while you watch everyone else transform you don’t realize when you are being changed by your experiences. As I spoke about Suzie’s transformation, Jelani reminded me that my new vision of Suzie is a transformation for myself. I realized that in order for me to see Suzie, I mean really see her; I needed to let go of my preconceived notions about people and allow myself to see her and accept her. In doing so, I was able to see her change and say “wow”. So, we have both transformed in different ways. I appreciate her making the shift and Jelani for pointing out my transformation.

Cool Breeze

We arrived in Essaouira, a beautiful beach town. Quite windy. It was a pleasure to be in the sun after over two weeks of hot miserable, drenchingly sweaty weather -without searching for the next shady spot. On our way, we stopped at the argon cooperative. We were given a quick overview of the process of making argon oil. It is done in the traditional way of women breaking seeds with stones, kneading with hands and grinding with mortar looking untensils. I over heard our guide telling one of the fellows that the women rotate positions along the assembly line process every fifteen minutes. The ladies doing the laborous work were all ederly while the ladies in the fashionable display show room were all young and attractive. I bought peanutbutter and honey for David, argon oil and soap for Alex for his face and shampoo and lotion for me. The young ladies in the store were much fun and friendly. The girl who was assisting me wrote the names of the items I bought in Arabic and tried to help me pronounce the names. It was an arduous task for both of us. I am certainly tone and or language sound deaf. I am happy I provided some entertaiment for them because they certainly laughed out loud as they listened to me trying to sound out the words.

Before we entered Essaouria, we stopped at a look out point to take pictures of the town and the coast. There was a camel there and I became interested in it’s poop. Its poop is dark brown with slight green and compact. It has an oval, cylindrical shape. Actually, I was not able to discern the smell. I am glad it is not an awful odorous scent. Susan gave me a sandwich bag to put it in since she did not want to smell it. I am hoping to find a sample of donkey and horses’ poop. I think I will have a difficult time collecting the horse’s poop since there is a bag / catchment under the tail that is attached to the carriage. The poop are in this container. I guess they have to save the poop. My grandfather always said that horse’s poop is priceless manure. Anyway, who wants to walk the streets and clean up after the horses. I can do a lesson on different animal poop by reading the book, Everyone Poops. I know the first graders would enjoy a lesson on poops. They talk about bodily functions all the time. I hope I will be able to take home the poop without crushing it. I guess I’ll have to wrap it gently in some soft clothing.

In Essaouira, we ate lunch at the sea side cafe called the Fanatic. It was an ejoyable meal of fish combination - whiting, calamarie/squids, sole, and shrimp - and of course bread dipped in olive oil. It was a refreshing change from the tangines. I noticed that fish is prepared with the bones as in Jamaica -unlike the US where it is filet before cooking and serving. It was fun watching the fellows clearing the flesh of the fish from the bones before eating. They searched each bit of flesh for bones and once they put the fish in their mouths they chewed slowly to make sure the forkful was boneless.

Sherri, Susan and I strolled down to the boardwalk. The headwind made us use a few extra muscles to increase our stamina. We had tea at a little cafe and then we gaily walked on the shore like three litle girls experiencing the ocean for the first time.

“It took me fifty years to get to the other side of the Atlantic,” Sherrie muttered.

“Took me much longer,” I replied.

“I have to take a picture in the water.” responded Susan.

We talked about how low the tide was. We looked at all the footprints and shoe prints that were deeply embedded in the sand. The sand that was covered by the ocean before the water ebbed was moist and compact. It was easy to walk on. We took off our sandals and made our own footprints. I thought of the stanza in the poem, “A Psalm of Life” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow that states:

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And departing leave behind us

Footprints on the sand of time,

Sherri thought of Jimmy Hendrik’s “Castles Made of Sand.” We heard that Essaouira was Jimmy Hendrick’s favorite place. Maybe that’s why so many camels are called Jimmy Hendricks. I wonder why he would write such a melancholic song while sitting on these shores- A girl getting rid of a drunken, wayward lover. An indian boy being killed in his sleep. A cripple girl and her wheelchair. The refrain states:

And so castles made of sand fall in the sea, eventually.

And so castles made of sand melts in the sea, eventually.

And so castles made of sand slips in the sea, eventually.

We took out our cameras and the snapping began. Sherrie’s picture had the island in the background. Susan’s picture had every concievable detail. Well, mine had to show that I actually touched the water in some way.

Sherri and I snapped some pictures of some camels on the beach. I would never have put the two together- camel and beach. I collected some dry beach sand so the children can compare and contrast desert and coastal sands and do some artwork such as sand painting. It was much more difficult to walk on the dry beach sand because It is much looser and finer than the wet sand and the sand I collected from the desert.

Yes, Essaouira made me think of Longfellow so I will close with the last two stanzas of the poem:

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing

With a heart to every fate

Still acheiving, still pursuing

Learn to labor and to wait.

I wonder was Jimmy Hendriks a socially “shipwrecked brother” who found solace on the shores of Essaouira!!

Day Nineteen: We Can Dance If We Want To

The official name of our Fulbright program is “Multicultural Morocco: Lessons From Africa.” What an appropriate title. For one, the first part of the name – Multicultural Morocco – not only captures the very essence of the different cultures coexisting in Morocco, but I think also encapsulates the general spirit of the country – a rich and complex “dance” of intertwined, symbiotic histories, languages, peoples, and experiences that make all of these elements somewhat distinct in their singular parts, yet each fully Moroccan. The second part of the title also resonates with me as I really do feel as though I am learning so much from this place. What has struck me the most over the past few weeks is this dance I keep alluding to. I call it a dance because I can find no better way to describe the different intersections and interactions of Morocco’s various elements.

We’re currently on the road on an eight-hour ride from Essaouira to the capital, Rabat (or as I keep calling it, “Robot”). As we drive down the highway I am reminded of the dance – old and new, traditional and modern, African, European, and Middle Eastern, first world and third world. Our coach zips past kids on rusty bicycles, horse drawn carriages, new Renaults, Volkswagens, and Mercedes, and entire families on mules – all sharing the same road. I expected this. After all, Morocco has historically been an important crossroads between different “dances” and “dancers.” Guidebooks and literature on the country will no doubt emphasize this point, but there is nothing like experiencing it firsthand. My first encounter with the dance was during my first day of language instruction (see: Day One: Introduction & First Impressions) observing the university kids walk around school, some dressed traditionally and conservatively, others hip and chic (and still others mixing the two). Some days later, another (more subtle) example of the dance caught my eye. On the narrow side table that doubled as a desk and affixed to the wall in my hotel room was a sticker carefully positioned so that it pointed towards Mecca. Next to the touch-tone phone and under a window overlooking Spaniards in two-piece bikinis rested this sea green on white sticker proudly directing the faithful towards the holiest of Islamic sites (complete with the hotel’s insignia on the bottom – the same company that owns Motel 6). Fascinating.

No moment on this trip has more accurately captured the dance, however, than what happened at lunch yesterday. After a morning walk through Essaouira’s laid-back medina and touring the Skala du Port (the fort at the harbor’s edge) our group stopped for lunch at a small café between the harbor and the medina’s entrance. An inviting spot along a small stretch of picturesque sidewalk cafés, it stood out for the American funk and soul blaring from the speakers and its servers in bright yellow t-shirts with musical notes on them. Ecstatic to find pizza on the menu, we sat down and ordered. Essaouira being on the coast, the temperature was near perfect and the sun happily shined on us as we lounged under the shade of bright parasols.

As we sat in complete relaxation, it was just a matter of time before many of us broke into song. Between a James Brown set of “I Got You (I Feel Good)” and “It's A Man's, Man's, Man's World,” our group sang along, instantly becoming the center of attention. How American of us, right? Imagine the scene, 14 Americans of different ages, colors, and ethnicities singing and gyrating in their seats while local Moroccans smile at us curiously and European tourists stare stoically. Food served and feet still tapping, we proceeded to nosh when right in the middle of “Sex Machine,” (Yes! Of all songs, “Sex Machine”!) the music came to an abrupt halt replaced by the daily call to prayer. All along the stretch, it seemed, cafés muted their stereo systems to pay respect to the adhān. Not immediately realizing why the music had stopped, it took our brains a second or two to catch up with the sound trickling in and focus on the muezzin’s voice off in the distance. I was floored.

It’s as if even the heavens purposely planned out the climate and topography in such a way. One minute you’re in one of the driest, most brutal areas on earth and right in the middle of it, quiet and unsuspecting, will lie the most wonderful oasis stretching for what seems forever – lush, verdant, and life-giving. We’ve seen this time and time again: a couple days’ journey can take you through the majestic passes of the Middle and High Atlas mountains, to the doorway of the Sahara, and to the temperate beaches of the Atlantic coast.

Like I’ve said before, Morocco is obviously a land of contrasts and linkages. Bold tajines paired with sweet, caramelized apricots and raisins, a medieval medina a skip away from the ville nouvelle, snowcapped mountains visible from arid lowlands, different generations listening to the same song – one the classic tune, the other a dance version – the organized chaos that is driving on the streets of Morocco. This is a remarkable country characterized by the dance, the complementary nature of its vivid dichotomies. It’s a heck of a dance and one I enjoy participating in every day.

Currently listening to: Major Lazer & La Roux - Lazerproof

A Day in Fez

The Sahara

One of the most enchanting moments of our journey was riding camels in the desert and witnessing the excitement of the group.

On a Personal Note

We have been on a tremendous journey. Today, we are headed to a wedding in Rabat. I am sure we will be amazed and in awe, yet again, of the experience we are undertaking. Along with the wonderful experiences we are all living each day, I finally began to feel homesick for the first time. Yes, it has been three weeks and it has just hit me; I miss my family. The funny thing is that it took me three weeks to get to this point. Personally, I have made such great connections with my colleagues that I started thinking of them as an extended family. They make me laugh, at times say off the wall things that make me wonder what the xo??xo?, keep me up when I am feeling emotional, and most of all they readjust when times are difficult.

The personal connections that I have created during this trip make it ok to miss my family for the moment. Cause the reality is that when I say good-by to this group I will feel the same way I feel about my family; missing their laughter, smiles, support and crazy comments.

I have realized some new things about myself over the past three weeks. First, I have found a new voice. I feel much more confidant about expressing my feelings and not worrying about how others might take the comment. That is not to say that I don’t care about others feelings. I have just learned to express myself without making others feel their comments or feelings are not as important or reasonable a mine(even if they are not…lol!) Second, I have realized that I can let go and let it “be what it be”. Having control of situations also means at time letting go of rigid thoughts, anger, and resentment. My motto is “it is what it is”. Last, being here has helped me focus more on the words I use when speaking with others. Words matter, so it matters what I say and how I use them. That is hard for me because I am such a spontaneous person and many times I am off the cuff with comments and expressions.

Everyone has grown from an experience like the one we are all undertaking. It has opened my eyes to love new languages, understand Africa in a new way, and to accept people in my circle that I normally would shun away. This experience has provided me the opportunity to view the next chapter of my life differently. Hopefully, many of the folks I met here will continue to be a part of my life and we can share again and again as we all continue our personal journey through life.