Evelyn In Morocco – An expat’s observations and commentary on life in Morocco.

Evelyn In Morocco

Here is a look at why this blog was nominated for the 2011 Bombies.

There’s the heat. It’s been a lot hotter than where I’ve been these past three months and the last few days have been really hot and muggy. But right now I’m waiting for it to rain and there have even been rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightening but no payoff with a downpour. Which is just as well because my little drain on the terrace can’t accommodate a massive amount of water in a short period of time. The water rushes under the gap at the terrace door and cascades down the steps.There was work. Practically the minute I set down my suitcases I had to pick up the school books and start teaching. But that’s all over now and I had a terrific group of students. The two weeks passed, exams were given today and the grades have been handed in.So life here is slowly returning to normal — which feels rather abnormal to me after an entire summer in the U.S. But soon what’s abnormal will feel normal again as the summer quickly becomes a distant memory and life in Fes takes gets back the its own arhythmic beat.

To nominate a blog for the Best of Morocco Blogs, just make sure it fits the criteria at this post and then let us know about it!

Life in Marrakesh – The chronicles of an American lady who grew up in Marrakesh, Morocco, has two degree, three children, speaks four languages. Laugh, cry or roll your eyes as you read her chronicles of what life is really like in Marrakesh.

Life In Marrakesh

Here is a look at why this blog was nominated for the 2011 Bombies.

Ramadan has made the transition back to Morocco, after two months in the states, very kind. Most people are being the best they can be. Those who generally “know better”, in Ramadan actually “do better”. When I walk by, I can recognize the young men who might, if they weren’t fasting, make boorish cat-calls to me and any other female. But because it’s Ramadan, they just lower their gaze (and I don’t need to puke, thank you very much).One of the Islamic teachings about Ramadan is that “demons are chained up, and the gates of heaven are thrown open”. It does seem that people are freed from their demons, because when you give up food, smoking, sex, drinking and drugs, for 14 hours a day, what demons are left? I drove through the empty streets of Marrakesh, and really that was a treat in itself. There is no other time when the driving is that pleasant.The Koutoubia mosque was built some 1000 years ago (ok, I’m a little loose with dates), by the founders of Marrakesh, the Almoravids. It was then partially destroyed and rebuilt by the Almohads around 1150 C.E. It stands at an impressive 69 m (221 ft) which was quite an architectural feat for its time. Tonight, the towering minaret is all ablaze with lights. Atop the minaret are 4 decorative golden balls, tour guides will often perpetuate the urban myth that highest ball was donated by the wife of Sultan Yaqoub el Mansour, who melted down all her gold jewelry, as penance for breaking her fast. (I find this Arabian nights-esque tale rather implausible, as there are 3 ways of atoning for a fast that is broken for no reason: either freeing a slave, or if that’s not possible, then feeding 60 poor people, or fasting 2 months back to back).

To nominate a blog for the Best of Morocco Blogs, just make sure it fits the criteria at this post and then let us know about it!

Air Arabia offers a no frills flight from Casablanca to Istanbul for just about 750 dirham each way! If you’re a Moroccan national, you don’t even need to have a visa, they stamp you on arrival. Those from the UK, US, Australia, and other countries will need to get a visa upon arrival which ends up costing about $20 U.S.

Once you arrive in Istanbul, you can visit famous sites such as the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofya in Sultanahmet and enjoy yourself in a culture that is different from Morocco’s but still familiar enough to make it a great travel destination for both first time travelers and old salts alike.

Our recommendation is to book a room at the Hotel Ayasofya. The owner Gaye Reeves has Moroccan family in Fez and comes to Morocco several times each year to visit. It’s a great place and is close enough to all of the major attractions that you can walk with ease.

So what are you waiting for? Give yourself a post Ramadan treat and visit Istanbul for a weekend or longer! The price is right and the timing is perfect!

For airline tickets go to AirArabia.com
To book a room go to http://ayasofyahotel.com/

Speaking Darija with Ambassadors and Policemen

When I first recognized the power of Moroccan Arabic (also known as Darija), I was still incapable of saying more than 5 words of it. I was working as an intern for the House Committee on International Relations on the Subcommittee on Terrorism and Nonproliferation. I had just finished a semester studying in Morocco and was only a week into my Archer Fellowship, in the fall of 2006. I had bumbled my way through language classes and a friendly homestay in Rabat, but in reality my knowledge of the language and culture of Morocco was still very nascent.

And then, a week after arriving in DC, I was summoned to meet a coalition from the office of the Moroccan Ambassador to the US. From my tiny office of three, way out in the neglected Ford Building, we heard that the chairman of our little subcommittee was about to have an impromptu meeting with the leaders of a Moroccan political wing dealing with the Western Sahara. Somehow, with my extremely limited knowledge of the country and its dynamic political atmosphere, I was pegged as the resident expert on this sensitive and complicated issue. I was asked to attend the private meeting and to receive the Ambassador and his colleagues.

When I greeted the bevy of thirteen in their native tongue, they were more than delighted to hear the familiar tones of their dialect ringing through Rayburn’s cool halls. Although I could say little more than “How are you” and “Welcome to the office”, the change in their sentiments was palpable. I realized that simply using Darija instead of English of French made them take my welcome to heart. No major strides were made during the meeting, but I felt like everyone was put at ease and, at the very least, the Moroccan representatives came out feeling amused and intrigued by the surprising phrases coming from the new intern. What if I had known more Darija and could have really conversed with these people?

Now, after a year living in Rabat as a Fulbright Fellow, that day on the Hill seems anecdotal and far away. I’m conversant in Darija and Moroccan issues to a degree I couldn’t imagine back in 2006. But that brief event helped to shape my motivation in a way I couldn’t pinpoint at the time. It made clear to me just how influential my time abroad could be later in my career.

My Archer experiences inspired me to pursue a little-known and narrowly used language that is very dear to my hear. Moroccan Darija is unlike any other form of Arabic. Moroccans can understand people from all over the Middle East and North Africa, but the rest of the Arab world rarely understands Moroccans unless they speak in the formal manifestation (classical Arabic, called Fus’ha). Particularly as a foreigner, it makes an enormous impact that I speak the local language instead of French or Fus’ha. Within the strict hierarchy of languages in Morocco, it is almost inconceivable that a native English-speaker would take the time and effort to learn the “dirty” language of the streets instead of operating in French. But everyone loves that I speak Darija.

One of my interactions that exemplifies this phenomenon was with Said the policeman. I was in a rental car with some visitors from Dallas, and we didn’t exactly know our route. We made a couple wrong turns and were looking for signs when a very stern looking police officer flagged us down, blowing his whistle adamently, and instructed us to pull over. He approached the window and I greeted him before he started his tirade in French. I responded in French, politely explaining that the driver couldn’t understand, and I asked him if he wouldn’t mind conversing with me instead. He agreed, and continued on his rant about our double infraction and the large sums of money would have to forfeit. At this point, I turned to the irate man in uniform and I asked him in Darija if he wouldn’t mind speaking with me in Arabic, claiming not to understand French very well. The tone and color of his eyes changed immediately and he warmed to me completely, in a single instant. We chatted about where I was from, how I learned Darija, and in the end Said told us that we were always welcome in his city. He advised us on the best route to our destination and even leapt over a median to stop traffic and assist us in making an illegal u-turn to continue on our way.

I can’t help but wonder what kind of exceptions and u-turns we can make in other international interactions just by showing that we’ve made the effort to connect with the other person’s culture. I think back to that day in Rayburn and wonder: if my two phrases of Darija at the time could set that coalition at ease, how would they have responded if I could have had a full conversation with them? More importantly, I’m inspired to posit that peace and stability, at the most elementary level, stem not from grandiose theories and convoluted formulas but from the individual efforts made to understand and connect with other people. Very basic yet symbolic endeavors- like choosing to speak the language of the people rather than the language of the powerful- can make a major difference on the world stage.

We hope this site will rev back up in the new year since we haven’t seen a new post in a few months now…

http://beachbuggysafari.blogspot.com/

In the recent BBC news article, “Christian hotelier ‘abused’ Muslim guest” a court case is being heard regarding two Christian Hoteliers who verbally abused a Muslim woman. The Muslim woman claims it was because she was wearing a hijab head covering and gown. Outside the courtroom, members of campaign group “The Christian Institute” demonstrated in support of the Christian couple. “It’s absolutely ludicrous, that in this day and age, a woman covers her hair up for religious purposes. It’s sickening. It’s a form of bondage,” one Christian is reported to have said. Below are some pictures of women covering their heads, showing just how wrong, disgusting, and inappropriate it is in today’s day and age to oppress women and destroy their self esteem.”

Of course, we like this blog. It has great pictures, interesting thoughts of a n expat living in Morocco, and well, let’s just say, that we have an intimate connection with it. We think you’ll like it too. Not to mention you can download what we think is a pretty great book for free: Liminal Travel by Vago Damitio.

Vagobond.com

I woke up on al-Eid and the Oued Aggai was running red with the blood of all the sheep that had already been killed upstream and we had to get ready to go to Hanane’s parents place where I met her two older brothers for the first time. To my surprise, I liked them both. Driss and Isau are nice guys and it’s hard to mesh that with the stories of Hanane’s youth where they stole her money, stole her phone, and beat her.

http://www.fezguide.blogspot.com/

Now check out this bit about bargaining in Fez.

With the exception of the supermarkets and the modern western shops that we find most comontly in the Ville Nouvelle, bargaining is still the way of buying goods in Fez. Traditionally is also a way of making conversation that may lead to a friendship. In an environment like the medina with very little reglamentation it is furthermore a way of finding the real value of an object. Oscar Wilde used to say that nowadays the people know the price of everything and the value of nothing. Well, good news is that in Fez you will be challenged constantly to review your abilities and inner truths about how much to pay for something, and you will find that without guiding you are lost. Gatsby has been there and has trained widely on that domain, but experience cannot be wrapped and given, so the first step you will make is being honest to yourself, and then pay whatever you feel. Note that bargaining is an elegant game highly codified and should be practice with manners but firmly. Accept that cup of tea or coffee and do business with them, but remember this quote from the Godfather:

Michael Corleone: C’mon Frankie… my father did business with Hyman Roth, he respected Hyman Roth.
Frank Pentangeli: Your father did business with Hyman Roth, he respected Hyman Roth… but he never *trusted* Hyman Roth!

http://marrakechemma.blogspot.com/

I like this blog because it has a certain simplicity to it that you don’t find in a lot of blogs. While at first it seems that maybe the ZamZam retreat is being hyped a little too much, when you take a moment to go deeper, what you find is that here are people who are following their dreams, they are creating their bliss, and even better, they are sharing their journey with the world.

Salam Aleikum
Hi, i’m writing this blog page to share information with all you wanderlust souls out there. Living in Morocco comes with lots of bizarre and unexpected events, which i thought you may enjoy reading about and sharing in the laughter.

My family and I moved to Marrakech 3 years ago from London. The beginning of a huge adventure for us. Choosing which country was right for us to live in had been an extremely long and tiring process. Having made a choice to move to Marrakech, was in itself a big box ticked. We had two criteria lists, one for our business (opening and running a guesthouse) and one for personal. On top of this it had to feel right at a soul level for my husband and I, both who are from very different backgrounds.

Phase two of our journey then began. Setting up home in Morocco, also a non English speaking country with a very different culture to ours. Marrakech is a real melting pot of; languages, tribes, rich, poor, city slickers, country peasants. It sometimes reminds me of that place Luke Skywalker went to, to buy that space ship, with all those different intergalactic aliens. (Any one know what it was called?) After months of beauroctratic paperwork, rendez vous with people who don’t turn up and renting from an unpleasant woman for a large amount of money, we have bought ourselves a villa. This was not on the plan as we didn’t want to tie up our capital in a home. I now realise it is one of the best things we could have done. When you’ve had a really difficult day here to be able to close the door and relax in your own place really balances you.

760 Days in Morocco

For an example consider this sad looking sheep in the photo above and then read this about the first day of winter:

And, I’ll tell you why I deem it to be so. Last year, at this time, I had just returned from the United States (Massachusetts specifically) which was well on its way to real winter. I expected to come back to a warm Morocco having never spent a winter there and assuming it would be warm, not hot, but sunny with a few days of rain here and there. What I came back to was a cold house, the need for a warm robe and a winter jacket, a lot of rain and the highest humidity levels I’d ever known in cold weather. The women were wearing heavy djellabas with thick pashminas covering their shoulders and arms. The men wore thick navy wool djellabas over their normal clothes. Others, wore winter weight jackets and boots. Until I got my winter coat, I piled on the layers to go outside.

The first week I was able to shower in the house, but it became very clear that it wasn’t a good idea so double trips to the hammam each week became a regular occurence- one for the weekly scrub down, and the second of a soap and shampoo. The rain was incessant and it made getting laundry done impossible. Not only did it rain nearly every other day, but the high humidity meant it took up to 4 days for the clothes to dry on the roof. Even still, I’d often run over them with a dry iron to release the last bit of moisture in them. We piled three winter blankets on the bed, which I rarely got out of except to eat, use the bathroom or leave the house. After about a month, we finally bought a small space heater which didn’t do much for the overall temperature in the room, but at least we could sit in front of it to feel warmth.

A lot of friends asked me about winter in Morocco last year, and much of my response was what I described above. I also wrote this blog post in my personal blog, which I know is a repeat of much of what I said, but let’s reflect anyway.

Winter is here… how do I know? It’s evident in the pashminas worn as hijabs instead of the gauzy veils women normally adorn during the warmer months. Their djellebas are made of heavier fabrics and they drape warmly patterned wraps on top of that. Others are wearing boots and pea coats and even the men are wearing djellebas over their everyday wear. Now, its in the 60’s on most days, a little less when it rains, but people here are bundled up like its February in Canada. But, I have to admit, it is cold and I have proof…my little digital thermometer that is currently reading 59 with 79% humidity in the house! It’s super damp which is what really makes the air so cool. I’m sure you’ve already answered your own question…why don’t they just turn on the heat? Well, if you remember any of the conversations we had about how it is here, you’ve figured out we don’t have any. We wear lots of layers, pile on the blankets and eat lots of harira. I am most dismayed because I didn’t expect that 64 degrees could be cold, and because I’m not sure when winter is actually over around here. I hear late January, or maybe not until March. Sometimes we go out for a walk, because when the sun is shining, it’s warmer outside than in the house. A space heater might be in order soon!

That’s the weird thing about winter here. It is often cold and damp in the house, but when the sun is shining outside its often warmer out there, and even though you need that winter jacket, you can still sit outside for a lunch or tea at one of the cafes. But, even after a long walk to Al Manal Mall, you’re still cool to the touch on your face and hands.

So, getting to why I’m deeming yesterday the first day of winter. Well, I woke up to the thermometer reading below 70 degrees for the third day in a row, the humidity was higher than the temp for the first time, by about 5 points (of course, it’s warmer outside). I couldn’t fathom eating anything cold. I made a huge pot of beans for my lunch and ate two bowls. We bought hot chocolate which I now want every night before bed, and we had our first trip to the hammam for the second time this week for just shampoo and soap. I also wanted to sit in the warmer room this time, which I haven’t preferred all summer. I wear long sleeves and socks in the house at all times too.

Another sign of winter is the approaching Festival of the Sacrifice or Eid al-Adha, though signs of it’s coming have not noticeably appeared yet. It’s a little more than two weeks away, so I’m surprised I have not seen the long knives and barbeque supplies in the markets yet. Again, last year at this time these special supplies were sold at least a month before hand and even a few special souks were set up specifically for the holiday. And, last night when I arrived at the hammam, one of the ticket money bag ladies I don’t usually see because she doesn’t work on Saturday started asking me about the sheep. Now, of course I didn’t understand half of what she said, but I did understand her going “baaaaaa” (quite well I might add), slicing her neck with her thumb and making the appropriate accompanying noise (who knew it was universal), and finally motioned her arm barbecuing and saying “brochette”. We all laughed at her way of helping me understand what she was asking as I nodded wildly that yes, indeed it was coming soon and we are getting ready (if you call planning a trip to El Jadida getting ready).