Visiting versus Living

Ok, when it comes to abroad/traveling experiences, one thing you should know about me is that I am a snob. I have been fortunate and blessed enough to have been able to live in West Africa for an extensive amount of time, on top of being exposed to my parent’s childhood experiences in the rural areas of Mexico.

My time in Morocco, North Africa has been an incredible experience. Throughout this entire trip, however, I couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied. You see to me visiting a place and living in a place are almost entirely different; almost polar opposites. I loved that I got to experience Morocco for a whopping 5 weeks! But this is still not enough…for me! I kept fantasizing about what it would be like to speak conversational Darija (which is the Moroccan dialect of Arabic) with the locals. How would locals view me as result of speaking their language?

In Niger I learned to speak Zarma/Djerma which is dialect of Songhai. Zarma was my language for 2 years. I bargained, haggled, greeted, joked, cheered, expressed condolences, excitement, sadness, had intellectual conversations, and in some cases flirted and cursed in Zarma. I was almost, literally fluent. I also began to THINK in Zarma, once you begin to think in another language that is not your original 2 languages, you know you are truly living in this place and adapting and assimilating pretty well. Even Nigeriens would get confused about my origins. On a consistent basis Nigeriens would think I was Arabic, Lebanese, or Taureg, whom are closely related to the Tamazighr people of Morocco. In fact, the biggest compliment I ever received in Niger was being told by Nigeriens that I myself was Nigerien! They said this because of the level I had reached speaking Zarma. What a compliment right? I never knew how to respond to that compliment, it always humbled me, and I would simply respond with… fofo… thank you.

Living abroad has been by far one of the most life changing & powerful experiences of my life, and visiting foreign places provided that desire. This brings me to the next topic:

This has always been my gripe with Americans and Angelinos who say, feel, and believe that America is the only place for them. How would individuals know this to be a fact when they haven’t even gone outside their comfort zone to see and experience other places that they actually might like? Plus many, who do decide to move, move to another state, which is obviously still within the US, so I cannot count that as an abroad experience.

How can we be certain that life in the US is better? I guess it comes down to what you value personally. Personally I do not value the fast pace living where social life is limited to just your immediate family. Seeing your close friends 2 or 3 times a month because of our hectic lifestyles seems like an injustice. We have given our selves-up to the grind or money in order to pay off the bills, make ends meet, and as a result humanity is lost within all these growth industries and the supply and demand side of economics/capitalism.

This is our lifestyle here in America the Beautiful. Go into debt for College (not including Grad school). Purchase various vehicles and pay them off in the incoming years. Get a loan for the ‘dream home’, and further inundate yourself with debt. Maybe, perhaps you get sick, now start paying those bills, and if you didn’t have insurance, sell your home because getting sick in America can be one of the most expensive things you purchase (forget all the hard work throughout your life).

Walk into the grocery store and pick from an abundance of ‘choices,’ various cereals, cheeses, wines, snacks, etc, but yet we as Americans, we can still only ‘choose’ from 2 political party systems; Cheech and Chong… oops! I meant to say Republicans and Democrats. Plus there is all the bureaucracy for the most trivial things, and not to mention a political system that wants us to vote for candidates who will get into office so they can keep raising money for the next campaign! It is always about getting re-elected, and beginning their next campaign (raise-money, campaign, win, and perpetuate this cycle); meanwhile nothing gets done for the common folk (especially minorities).

It is tough to swallow all of this. Still not sure if I want this for my life.

Transitioning back to Morocco, sorry for the rant. It was those moments outside of the group where I felt the need to live in another place again. On a random night when Ben, Joel, and I wanted to go out and see the night life, Joel asked a pretty well dressed looking dude where we could go to just enjoy a drink or 2 (I dared Joel to ask him). His name was Moulay and he responded with, “I’ll take you guys to a great spot.” We got in his car, and it was a great lounge with nothing but Moroccans! On another occasion we visited a small town market which was different from all the medina’s we had visited. There I got lost with Ben and found Abderrahim chillin’ having some meat and tea. He asked us to join him, we did. Just sitting there watching men preparing the meat, tea, wetting the dirt so the dust would not fly up and get on their product, that in itself was very tranquilizing and a great break from the constant moving around with our group. Lastly, our day visit with a host family! Abdul hosted us, he was great, he fed us like Kings, we met his kind and friendly family, and then we walked around his neighborhood and met his friends. I also got to use the Turkish style toilet again, which convinced me to design my own restroom once I have a home; a bidet with a Turkish style toilet! Awesome can only do so much to that experience, but it also stirred memories from living in Niger. Those experiences that were unplanned and spontaneous were perhaps the most memorable for me, and provided glimpses of what it could be like to live in Morocco.

Once again, visiting another place in this beautiful earth has inspired me to strongly consider leaving America again, and live in place where the lifestyle isn’t so fast pace, money is not glorified as much, and hopefully I get to spend the majority of my time with those I love...

Merzouga

We arrived at Merzouga in very good humor, albeit punchy from hours on the road. The sun was a bit warm, but the day was winding down so we had the good fortune to miss the most intense heat of the day. We rushed to check in so that we could catch the sunset while sitting high in the camel (dromedary - one hump) saddles, in the Sahara desert no less.

The Kasbah Tombouctou sports two camels kissing by the entrance. Hmmm, suggestive? Once I stepped beyond the lobby though, I felt I had entered a more ethereal place. Something was very different about this place, and it wasn't just the fine sand creeping into every crevice. Maybe, I'm just a sucker for an astoundingly beautiful landscape, but even in the rush to the camels, I felt like I was gliding over the path. The mood at the Tombouctou, however mercurial - because the mood is different depending on the time of day, or night, was energetic at the anticipated sunset camel ride. We would go through several moods before we left Tombouctou, none of them unpleasant, at least for me.

My camel, I think Jimi Hendrix was his name - they were all named either Jimi Hendrix or Bob Marley, was pleasant enough. He lowered himself obediently, and I climbed on and we were off. Paulette was in front of me, and Ben was behind me. The camel saddle has an interesting attribute that I've never noticed on a horse saddle, maybe it's because the camel lowers and raises himself - very different from mounting a horse. My eyes struggled to take in the scenery. It's as if I couldn't physically see everything at once. Too much to possibly take in with mere human eyes. The sun was setting, and we were all glad to be taking the sunset ride rather than the sunrise ride. The weather was perfect, the group was in excellent spirits, it was all quite perfect. We left our camels and climbed a sand dune, and stood around, reduced to few words - unusual for our group. Youssef, Paulette's and my camel handler, buried me in warm sand up to my waist. The sun sank behind the dunes slowly, and photo and video opps presented themselves, and we just stared at where we were, and marveled over what we were doing. Finally, some of us ran down the dunes to the waiting camels, some slid, some walked, we all came down in one way or another.

When we returned, and walked from the camels resting place to Tombouctou, we gathered our things from the lobby and started to our rooms. I had room 11, a single, for the night, and Eddie and Daniel had room 12 right beside me. We couldn't find our rooms at first because they were the only two rooms that were not included on the signs. So we decided to go for the numbers that were at least close to ours. The entrance to the hallways was fanciful and we were fairly enchanted right away. However, when we entered, it was so dark that we couldn't find our way at all. Eddie and I went ahead, feeling the walls to try and find a light switch, but to no avail. We were walking carefully, and climbed a couple of stairs which Daniel couldn't see as he was a distance behind us. He said, "Oh, my god, it's so dark, it looks like you guys are floating above me." We found our dreamy rooms, turned on the air immediately, and started the settling-in process.

Later, we went to dinner - the most succulent, incredibly sweet apricots that have ever passed my lips . . . We were in an incredible setting, the desert beyond us, and great conversations, including a particularly memorable bit of talk about movies with Eddie and Youness, this stands out as one of my favorite dinners of the entire trip. Afterwards, as we all lounged around savoring the atmosphere, company, and drinks, the drummers came. Everyone took turns drumming, but I just wanted to listen and savor, so I lay on one of the benches off to the side and stared at the stars and, okay, sublime may be the right word for those particular moments.

Later, after everyone had gone to bed, I took a walk out to where the camels were resting. The beauty is almost too ephemeral to hang on to, much less describe. Looking up at the milky way, and seeing the desert meet the sky, the camels here and there - I think I'll struggle my entire life to keep that image accessible, and not to let it diminish with passing time. Even now, I can't write about it without getting teary.

Later that evening . . . soon to be sobered up from the intoxicating desert experience, I was lying in bed reading with my door unlocked when Eddie burst into the room dressed for bed. He raised his arms to the air conditioner and said, "Yes! it's cool in here!" Daniel, also dressed for bed, followed and I invited them to climb into the spare bed in my room. (I didn't realize that the beds were two different sizes and poor Eddie and Daniel shared the double, while just I was in the queen.) They tried to have their air conditioner fixed, but to no avail that evening. We spent the first night in Merzouga roomies: Daniel chatting in his sleep, me - restless, going out for a later-night walk, Eddie sleeping without moving a muscle. My restlessness began that night in Merzouga and hasn't quieted since.

Now, watching one of the world cup games the next day in the warm, sultry tv room after an extraordinary experience on the 4 x 4s in the desert was an excellent afternoon as well. Both those things would have been fabulous on their own merits just because we all had so much fun. The singing of "Buffalo Soldier" with Sherri, Eddie, Joel, Youness, and our awesome driver at top volume while jumping over sand dunes was perfection, and watching the match with everyone sprawled around talking smack was so completely comfortable and yummy - and was sort of the icing on the Merzouga cake.

I'm not going to say Merzouga was magical, because that seems too easy. Also, it doesn't quite work - there's so much more. Maybe it's where we all were, physically and emotionally, that made it so incredible. Whatever aligned to make it what it was, memories of Merzouga conjures something in me that I hope never goes away.

A Close Tie with Paradise

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 tourist.” 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.”

Marrakech

Marrakech

Located in the southern region of Morocco nestled inland, is the popular city of Marrakech. Marrakech was at one time one of the four capitals of Morocco. The main streets resemble a combination of Phoenix (because of the reddish earth tones of the original structures), Miami (because of the thick, stalky palms that line the streets), and perhaps Vegas (because of the luxurious nightlife). It seems that someone is aware of the resemblance because many nightclubs have “Miami” somewhere in the name. I even saw a “Café California” in Fes, which is a far-reaching stretch of the imagination.

The most intriguing part of Marrakech is the medina of course. We spent hours weaving through sweltering alleyways shopping and negotiating prices, walking space for scooters (pedestrians beware), and language. It was a true experience of the senses; rows of colorful fabrics, jewelry, leather products, fragrant spices, incense, and soaps. The sound of lively music, and persistent merchants, who can spot a “sucker” a mile away keep you on guard. The rancid smell of mules, fish, urine, trash, and sewage all crashed together in my nose. When you first enter the ancient red gates, you will notice the king’s (presently King Mohammed VI) Kasbah and a mosque (a famous name of which I can’t remember at the moment) with a huge minaret to call out the daily prayers. As you pass a couple of streets lined with horse-drawn carriages, you will enter an enormous square, called Djemaa el Fna that radiates the most excruciating heat known to man.

The day we explored Marrakech, it was about 114 degrees Fahrenheit. During the day, the square, or grand plaza, as it was commonly referred, is wide open. A few vendors (who I think must be nuts) bake in the unrelenting heat peddling henna art, monkey handlers looking for “victims” to swindle a few dirham by setting a monkey on your shoulder, some musicians, storytellers, and snake charmers. Nighttime is another story. The square transforms into a lively beehive of families, entertainers, and of course tourists. Carriages are converted into fresh juice stands; along with fresh nuts, fruit, sweets, and other delectables…Did I mention the snail cart?

Traversing Worlds

 Casablanca is the perfect place to end our stay in Morocco. Already I feel as though I have left behind the small towns, the farms, the donkey carts, even the smaller (maybe more Moroccan?) cities. Casablanca is a major metropolitan area that feels, at times, much more like LA or New York than any other place we have been in Morocco. But a walk around the downtown reveals a city that is quite Moroccan, just also a city of contradictions and what I will call different “worlds.” In one afternoon of walking Joel and I passed through several these “worlds.” We were largely on foot, but even when we jumped in a taxi we stayed within a radius of a few miles. We started out from our hotel, right downtown near the old Medina. We started walking up one of the main streets, Avenue Muhammad II. Joel wanted to see the commercial district so we headed that way. We passed a huge church, a rarity in Morocco. Oddly it looked like a mosque, much less ornate than most large churches. We strolled through a park and had some afternoon tea and coffee at an outdoor café. We soon arrived at the business district in Casablanca. Really, it could have been LA. There were busy intersections, bustling crowds, streets lined with shops, and high-rise buildings. The shops were not what we had seen in Morocco. They included Dolce Gabbana, Mango, and Adidis, all corporate, all upscale. The fashion, the styles, as well as the prices, were the same as in the US. At first I didn’t notice, but then it dawned on me that the advertising, the billboards were quite familiar. Often the models were white, and much of the text was in English. Globalization, and Americanization at it’s best. At this point in the day we could have been anywhere. I had to remind myself that I was in Morocco.

So that was one world—corporate, global, consumption oriented. But we were about to go to our next “world.” We hopped a cab to the Habous district in the area called the New Median. I was expecting a bit more. The Lonely Planet guide had referred to the Habous district as a Disneyland type of medina. The French built it and there were no twists and turns and endless alleys like in the usual medina in Morocco. But it was hardly Disneyland. It was pretty much a run of the mill tourist medina with nice artisanal goods from Morocco. The new medina lacked the tennis shoes, the suitcases, and the kid’s toys in the medinas for locals. I did pick up a dressy pair of babouches since I knew we were going out on the town that evening. The new medina was nevertheless quite different for the last neighborhood. The medina had no cars, no highrises, and the goods were not global. Perhaps all that was shared was shopping, just for very different goods.

Simply by accident we entered out next “world.” At the end of the new medina there seemed to be a street market set up. I wondered if Saturday was market day in Casablanca. So we started wandering through the stands of the street vendors. Here we did get to the local goods: shoes, used clothes, herbs, whatever one wanted to buy. The artisanal crafts gave way to more practical goods, the goods people needed to buy on a daily basis in Casa. The styles and the prices were much different from the high-end stuff in the business district. The goods and wares did reflect a type of globalization, a flea market globalization, a street globalization, with lower priced goods, name brand knock offs, and stuff made in China. At one point we saw a doorway that looked interesting, and inside was a whole food market! There were luscious tables of fruits and vegetables. The olive tables were spectacular. The were so many colorful varieties, many more than we had seen at restaurants. They glistened on the tables. The herb tables were colorful and fragrant as well. We finally passed into the meat market section. I noticed a table full of lamb’s heads and that was as much as I wanted to see. And the vendors did not want thier pictures taken, so we left. The food at this market was far removed for the corporate food we eat. It was probably mostly local produce and there was virtually no packaging. Worlds apart from our corporate grocery stores.

Outside the food market once again the street market continued as far as the eye could see. The streets were packed with people, wall to wall in every direction. No market we had seen in Morocco even came close to the size of the one in Casablanca. I couldn’t take the crowds anymore and I wanted to turn back and return to a vendor I had seen earlier. He was an old man wearing the blue robes of the desert. He actually looked a bit out of place there in Casablanca. His goods were spread out on a blanket in front of him. At first I thought it was food, but then I realized it was mostly beads and herbs. I had passed it by the first time, but wanted to return and buy a few of the beads. Each time we had seen him there was no one buying his wares. I picked out a few red beads then went for the amber ones. We were having trouble communicating the price; my Arabic letters little help at this point. He called someone over to tell us the price, and slowly a crowd gathered. We had already stopped a couple of times to buy things but for some reason this time we were a spectacle. We were not really sure what happed. The crowd made me want to leave, but the price seemed too high and I put some of the beads back. The whole interaction seemed strange. We wondered if the beads had some spiritual significance. Hmm. For that moment we had crossed into another world—but not so seamlessly. As we headed back to the hotel, my mind was full of the colors, smells, and images from another full day in Morocco.

Appreciation for those learning Languages

Oh, these Moroccan days…

As part of the Fulbright Fellowship we were expected to take Arabic classes, which totaled to 40 hours of instruction in ten days. At first most of my fellow Fulbrighters struggled with trying to properly pronounce all 28 letters of the alphabet. As time progressed, learning Arabic came naturally to some or perhaps it was also due to people’s studious nature of completing daily homework assignments, in either case, I was not one of the aforementioned. Instead, I struggled to learn the independent, initial, medial, and final position of each letter. On the days where I did do the homework, I still found myself catching up with the rest of the group. I began feeling disappointed with myself at those moments in class because everyone else seemed to be able to decipher the language. I could not help but think, while sitting in a classroom at the Universite Sidi Mohammed Ben Abdellah, in Fes, about the English Language Learners (ELL) I teach.

I teach at Theodore Roosevelt High School in East Los Angeles. Roosevelt has 4,100 students and two years ago was one of the most populated high schools in the nation at 5,100 students. My school has a large immigrant population predominantly from Mexico and a few Central American countries. I have taught bilingual world history in the past and continue to have ELL students in my classroom. Sitting in the classroom in Fes learning a new language reminded me of the experience my students must be going through. For many immigrants, at the high school level, coming to the U.S. is not a choice it is a necessity. I have had numerous students tell me at first they did not want to come to this country but were forced by their parents who came looking for a better life for them. To think of the many obstacles they face in their lives, adapting to a new culture, being a teenager, and learning a new language, I developed a deeper respect for my students. Often, I feel teachers tend to forget the personal struggles students have to deal with outside the classroom especially when classrooms are 30 students or more and the attention/pressure is to cover all academic standards in preparation for high-stake state tests. Sometimes teachers forget they are teaching human beings with emotional concerns outside academia. It is refreshing to be a student in Morocco learning Arabic because it puts things into perspective. This experience has made me cognizant of the fact that I need to do a better job differentiating my instructions for ELL learners and affirming their journeys in mastering the English language.

Also I noticed being a student of Arabic, how at the very least, almost everyone in Morocco is bilingual and speaking three or four languages is common. The state of California or the United States, for that matter, is behind the rest of the world when it comes to teaching languages in the public school system. Students are expected to take two or three years of a foreign language in high schools throughout California, which in reality is a travesty when compared to the amount of years other countries expect their youth to learn a foreign language. In the U.S., we need to move away from the xenophobic monolingual movement. In Fes, a local Professor responded to a question on the U.S.’ movement to eradicate bilingualism in the public education system with, “Why would you deprive a society of its many cultures?” Instead of seeing people who speak other languages negatively we should learn to appreciate our differences as part of the beautiful diversity that makes the U.S. unique. To see my fellow Fulbrigthers in Morocco appreciate a society where everyone speaks more than one language was a comforting feeling and I truly feel the vast majority of American society is due for a strong dosage of how global societies should be, multilingual. On returning to the States, I do plan to continue learning either Arabic or another language because I admire multi-linguists.              

“The Garden”- by Cut Chemist

Oh, what a smile can do!

Oh, these Moroccan days…

I began writing this blog a week into the trip in Merzouga and it started something like this … As we leave our desert hotel “Timbouktu” and traverse through what appears to look like the surface of Mars’ rocky terrain I can’t help but look back at the Saharan sand dunes at a distance. As I peer out the window of a charter bus, the bright shining sun forces me to close my eyes and I think about the past two days in this majestic place. The Sahara has given me a deeper appreciation of life. In a place where my existence feels insignificant compared to the sheer size of the desert, where I realize how quickly I can disappear from existence if I lose my point of reference camel riding from dune to dune, then feeling a sense of relief when I look down at a friendly smile from an Amazigh named Mustafa guiding my camel on foot brings value back to my life.

I knew people throughout history passed through the Sahara on trade routes, but I never expected to see nomadic tents and homes along the edge of the desert. As we raced by tent homes in 4x4 Jeeps with nothing else in sight for many kilometers it was the children who came out of these homes running toward our cars that brightened my day the children would smile and wave as we whizzed by their world…. Now fast forward to a month into the program and I noticed a strong recurrence as I went from city to city having similar experiences as in Merzouga. On a daily basis I was greeted by friends and strangers with a bright smile and I began to think how nice a good smile makes me feel. Smiles are contagious and powerful. Research shows smiles makes things happier, relieves stress, lowers blood pressure, and helps you stay positive.

It was a comment from Azeddine, our Moroccan director, sitting in a discussion at the African Studies Department in Rabat that drove home this point on smiles. After answering countless questions on the differences between Morocco and the United States, he stressed how even when trying to fish for differences we have many commonalities as humans. To summarize his overall message in a nutshell, “people are pretty much the same throughout the world we all smile the same and we all have teeth, for the most part”. Although, I can only communicate in a few words in Arabic its beautiful to be able to express such genuine emotions with a nonverbal universal gesture like a bright smile. There have been many times where I struggled to speak to someone so I used hand signals and at the end we both smiled when I was able to communicate something as simple as asking for water. Also, I began to think of all the wonderful people I felt I made a connection with while in Morocco and for each person Youness, Abderrahim (bus driver), Abderrahim (language professor), Wissal, Mohammed, and others - their smiles are the first thing I think of when I picture them in my head. I guess it’s the simple things in life that give greater value to life. For as vast as the world is, I feel a sense of satisfaction in knowing there are human qualities we all share no matter what country anyone is from and it all begins with a smile!

Listening to

“Cellphone’s Dead”- Beck