Día Dos en Marruecos

(The Medina in Rabat, Morocco)

I volunteered to wake up first (I don't know why I do these things) so I stumbled on up to the bathroom. Apparently the hot water was not turned on yet, because I enjoyed a frigid shower/bath/avoid-the-water-dance. Lizzie and Christine got to sleep later and had warm showers. Humph. But then we all ate breakfast together (bread, rolls, apricot jam, this brown-sugar-almond dough, and tea) while watching "Friends" in English with Arabic subtitles, (the TV was on the entire time we were there).

We then had to run to meet the rest of the group and headed off in our bus to a language school in Rabat. Here, we had a discussion about Islamic and Western images of each other with a professor from the school. It was interesting to hear the professor's points of view about the importance of both modern and traditional education and the way in which she was raised by her mother and the way in which she raises her own daughters.

Then we got back on the bus and headed towards the Roman ruins of Chellah. En route, we were provided cookies and fruit (Arnd was really good about keeping us fed, and we all got really excited when we heard, "I have cookies!" from the front seat). We got to Chellah, which is the ruins of an ancient Roman fortress and city. There were gardens and the ruins of a mosque. While in Morocco, we weren't allowed to take pictures of Moroccan people without their permission or mosques and government buildings because of tradition and security issues. But because Chellah was a ruin, pictures were allowed. There was also a fountain to which women prayed for fertility (the fountain houses eels - I think you can figure out the symbolism there). Also near the fountain were about 25 stray cats that all live together. I was really excited about the cats, and some of my friends have pictures of me playing with the cats while everyone else was looking at the fountain.

We then got back on the bus and headed to the Mausoleum of King Mohammad V, which is really ornate and huge. We got there just as the Friday afternoon prayer was letting out (the most important of the week) and got to walk around while all the Moroccans were heading home for the traditional Friday afternoon couscous. Right near the Mausoleum was the half-finished remains of what would have been a huge mosque and tower. An earthquake way back when prevented it's completion, but you can tell how huge the place would have been. We were also told the three subjects that are taboo in Morocco: criticism of the current king, criticism of Islam, and the sub-sahara issue. We weren't allowed to mention any of these things so that we wouldn't insult anyone, but between taboo subjects and not taking pictures of things, I felt like I was going to slip up.

We then headed back to our homestays for our own lunch of couscous. Lizzie, Christine, Isabel, and I had the traditional chicken and vegetable couscous, which comes out in one huge communal bowl. The aunt and grandmother ate with their hands as is usually done, but the rest of us had spoons. There was so much couscous when we started that I didn't think we would make a dent, but I should have known better. The bowl was pretty much clean by the time we were done. Then they brought out a fruit platter, what they call milk (which I would call liquified sour cream), and more Moroccan tea.

We then headed back to our meeting point and our group walked to the Medina where we were scheduled to meet some Moroccan university students who would showing us around. I think we were all surprised that they were all guys. Two of the Peace Corps ex-volunteers we were traveling with (they're training to be the program's tour guides) turned to Lizzie and I and told us that Moroccan men are very forward and that we had to refuse any dates the guys offered us. This just made me nervous, per usual, but it was still a fun afternoon. We wandered around the town and the Medina and I was chatting with Ahmed (one of the guys who was a recent grad and had just started his own language school in Casablanca). He broached the boyfriend subject within the first half hour, so that was awkward, but I veered the conversation away from that topic pretty quickly. Too bad, though - he was tall, dark, and handsome, and both older and taller than me.

Our group consisted of Lizzie, Christine, Don (my Korean posse - you'll see the pictures) and I. The students took us to an outdoor cafe where we had tea and Hawaii sodas, although mine was infested by bees as soon as it was opened. There were more Moroccan students that joined us at the cafe, and by this point, it was about 3 or 4 Moroccan guys to each of us girls. I felt special. We chilled for a good 2 hours and just talked about Morocco and whatever else came up (I had a 45 minute conversation about cats with Brahim - I'm a crazy cat lady, but he likes cats, too, so it's okay). We also met this lady, Debbie, who is an American who recently decided to make a life change and just up and moved to Morocco without a house or job. She's since established herself, but I thought it was really cool that she had the guts to do that.

After a sketchy bathroom break, we all headed back to meet the whole group and after exchanging e-mails, our BC group headed to one of the homestays with two of the Peace Corps ex-volunteers, who spoke about their experiences. Both were stationed in rural Morocco, and had a lot of insight into the county. One of the girls mentioned that it's common to see men hanging out with their friends during the day while the women are at home. But she says that she thinks this is often misinterpreted by Westerners. While we see this as a women's rights issue, it's actually that the men are kicked out of the house during the day so that the women can finish all the housework without interruption. I thought it was an interesting perspective. The volunteers, Katie and Ana, also talked about their personal experiences, and Katie said for the first 9 months, she woke up every morning wondering if she could live with herself if she went home. After two years, they both consider themselves only proficient in their rural languages, but say that the Peace Corps was the most rewarding experience of their lives. Since hearing them talk, I've been through the Peace Corps' website, but it might be too intense for me. That's a life decision right there. Debbie also joined us at this talk, as did a study-abroad student who was living with the family for the semester. He was awkward, as he made comments that were both vague and somewhat insulting towards the Moroccan family and our BC group. Arnd had to pick up the mood after each thing this kid said, but he was successful, as everything he said with his German accent put most of us in a good mood.

So then on the schedule was the Hammam Baths. Moroccan people bath once a week at these public baths which are these huge, steaming, shower rooms (separate for men and women). Both parties wear only bottoms and you pay extra to have a professional scrub you down with a sandpaper-like cloth until you've rid yourself of the top few layers of skin (who needs those anyway?) Unfortunately, when our pack of American girls showed up, the price for that experience shot up to 50 Dirhams each. We all agreed that we could scrub ourselves. Now, I had put a great deal of thought into this process. Our tour guides said we could wear bathing suits, but recommended just bras and panties, and suggested that to fit in, we wear just panties. Well, I was sweating bullets over this all day, but when we got there, we all figured, "no regrets!" I'll let you guess what happened - I'll just say it was definitely liberating and that you come out of a Hammam Bath squeaky clean!

We went back in our small groups to dinner with the homestay families - at our place we had chickpea soup, bread, tea, and cookies (one kind that I thought was coffee flavored, but was actually black sesame seed dough balls - Lizzie and Christine recognized it from Korean cuisine). We gave the family some chocolate bars we had bought on the way back from the Hammam, and then stayed up and talked to Zenip (the 18-year-old teenage daughter who was our English-speaking contact in the family). We talked about boys, and she said, "of course I've had a boyfriend! The students at school will think you're weird if you don't." Christine has similarly never had a boyfriend either, so we comforted each other after hearing this cultural tidbit. It seems Arabic and Western cultures are maybe more similar than we thought. After a good hour of talking - Zenip was really curious about American dating, too - we all went to bed and slept like rocks.