Hotel Majestic September 4. 12:30am (so really it’s September 5)

Today was the best day yet. For the first time since I’ve been in Morocco, I felt not only well, but happy. I laughed for the first time, and it felt good. Refreshing. I felt like myself again.

I haven’t yet described my “normal” day here in Morocco, so I think this an apt time to do so, before the schedule changes on Saturday, when I move in with my host family.

7:00am Wake-up
8:00am Breakfast (and a little nap afterwards)
9:00am Leave hotel and walk to CCCL

Anecdote:
The walk from the hotel to school in the morning and back again at night is a great plunge into the life of the medina. Shops line the streets; Avenue Mohammad V—the last leg of the walk— is especially busy, and especially at night. In the morning, the shopkeepers begin baking or cooking or sewing or hammering, while others take large brooms and sweep the trash away from the front of their shop. Stray cats roam the streets looking for food, and little boys play games of tag in the street. Girls lead their younger siblings through the streets, or watch them as they play. We pass the bakers, the butchers, the wool sellers, the souvenir shops, the djellaba shops, the Western clothing shops. We see people in Western clothes and djellabas, in fez hats and high-heels, in burqas, peasant tops, jeans, and hijabs, soccer jerseys, football jerseys, screen print t-shirts, and everything else imaginable. This is definitely a progressive Muslim society; as many women cover themselves as those who choose not to. It is generally the older women who cover their entire bodies, save their toes, hands, and faces, but many younger women can be seen wearing the hijab as well. Moroccans don’t all look the same, either. There is no cookie-cutter look for a Moroccan. There are Moroccans you might mistake for Italians, Moroccans with sub-Saharan features, Moroccans who look Middle Eastern, Moroccans who are pale, Moroccans who have the skin color of Central Americans and the facial features of Arabs.
Possibly the best — albeit the most challenging as well — part of being in Morocco is trying to communicate in a half dozen languages. Spanish, French, Amazigh (Berber), Darija (Moroccan Colloquial Arabic), Fus’ha (Standard Arabic), and English are all spoken, all the time. I was at a cell phone vendor this evening and when my French failed me, I reverted to Spanish, and as I left, thanked the shopkeeper in Darija. I order coffee in French, but tomorrow I’m going to test my new Darija skills in the café (in Darija, the kawwa). I hope to come home speaking more French, conversational in Darija, literate in Fus’ha, and better at my Spanish. All good possibilities.

9:30-12:30 Orientation talks (i.e. Safety, Policies, Schedule, Homestay, Moroccan Culture, Islam, preparing for Ramadan, health, etc).
12:30-1:30 Lunch (which may include cucumber and tomato salad, saffron potatoes or carrots, lentils, pasta with seasoning, couscous, chicken with saffron, beef with amazing seasonings I can’t name, bread, fresh fruit (fresh fruit in America doesn’t compare), water, mint tea, etc.)
1:30-3:00 Intense Arabic: Survival Darija
(3:00- ??? My head hurts from Darija)
3:30-4:30 Another presentation
4:30-6:30 or 7:00 Free time until dinner

During free time, my new soul twin, Carly, and I post notes to our blogs, post pictures, use Skype, and get all the “staying connected to home” stuff done. Then we take off to “find soda”, which is really just a great excuse to get lost in the medina. The medina is the centuries-old walled city and is mostly residential. People walk in the medina, generally, but every once in a while you’ll hear the buzz of a motorcycle and then the driver will rip past you at speeds that would be illegal in residential America. Beggar women sit in the street mumbling in darija; their eyes are sunken into their faces and they are lucky if they have teeth. Today I gave one of the woman my change from buying soda, and she held my hand as we exchanged the “Salaam aleikum” “wa aleikum salaam”. Then she mumbled more words, including Al-Ahzar (I believe it was), which I think is a name of God, though I do not know which.

6:30 Dinner. (See food list above)
7:30 Walk back to hotel
Life begins at night in Rabat. By now Avenue Mohammad V is full of people, and the center of the street is full of vendors selling fruit, orange juice (squeezed for you on the spot), purses, backpacks, CD’s, t-shirts, and necklaces. Our group gets split up by the crowds, which is fun, because now we know how to get from the hotel to school, so being free of our 45-person brigade is a relief. It’s nice to walk in small groups of two or three, where you can walk at your own pace, look at the shops and watch the people.
Tonight as we were standing in a parking lot across from our hotel, a young girl, probably 14 or 15, came up to us, trying to sell us flags. She spoke in quiet darija, and kept motioning to her mouth, to indicate she was hungry, that selling these flags would allow her to feed herself for the night. The students responded alternatively with “La” (darija for no) or “Non”, but she was persistent. For some reason, I made eye contact with her, and she posed her questions to me, demonstrating the number of flags she had. “Je ne comprends pas”, I said. “No, merci”. She motioned to her mouth again, then looked at my hand. She gestured to her own finger, making a sign of a ring, then she pointed at my hand. She wanted my silver spiral ring, which is the only nice piece of jewelry that I own, and I would never part with it. I quickly gave her my mood ring, which I also like very much, but it was free. There’s no huge sentimental value attached to it. She seemed very pleased by the gift. She smiled and said “merci” and walked away. That was that.