Meknés, Fez, and Back...

We've been extremely busy here in Morocco. So busy, that I haven't had a moment to even blog. All has been going well for the most part. Last week we had a lot of hours of class and documentary screenings, both of which are questionable uses of my time. We wrapped up four interviews here in Rabat last week, which was fun and yet tiring. Then, last Friday we hopped yet again on the bus and headed east to see Meknés and Fez for the weekend.

We stopped at the most beautiful Roman Ruins in Volubilis, and took as many photos as... well as we were allowed. (Yes, there was someone who tried to rush us around and limit the number of photos we took... No, I didn't take lightly to it.)

We walked through the Medina (main market) in both Meknés and Fez. In Fez we sat for lunch at some restaurant where I couldn't eat much (anything but mushy cooked vegetables and bread). Later we made it to this cafe where we were supposed to order things like hot chocolate and milk shakes, ... except they had a menu, ... that had food, and yes, yes they had felafel, my all time favorite food. So, since I was starving I indulged as Becca shared a slice of double chocolate cheesecake with the rest of the table. The waiters there all wore hoodies as their uniform, navy blue sweatshirts that said "CLOCK" on the front in Orange, the name of the cafe... and well you see, we had all been so cold all day that many of us all bought the sweatshirt while we were there. No regrets. Solid decision. So soft, so warm.

Quite honestly all of the tours have been so jam packed that I honestly can't think of anything else that we did. But at least the ruins stick out right?

Now here is the real story:

Over the weekend we got to spend two nights in Meknés... not in a hotel, not in a hostel, but with a host family. Three students to a family, me, Becca, and Kaitlyn. I don't even know how to start this story. We had the most amazing host family ever, that's the main point. Mom, Dad, Hamza who was 20, Omar who was 10, and Muhamed who was 5, a house of three boys welcomed us three girls beyond graciously into their home. There is just something to be said about people who open up their homes to foreign students, and all of those things are extremely positive. From Mamá in Oaxaca, Mexico, to Shila in Kathmandu, Nepal, to this glorious, beautiful, smiling, laughing, Moroccan woman, I love them all. Our host father owned a shop just underneath the house, a tailor, tried desperately to communicate with us in French, with no success I might add. Hamza got away with a few phrases in Spanish, but no english, not out of any of them. In the morning they asked us if we had been cold the night before (after they brought us 24 zillion thick heavy blankets) by putting their hands in front of their chests and pretending to shiver, then placing their palms together and tilting their head, hands under head, to signify sleeping. We were asked every night and every morning if we wanted to shower, but this was communicated through mine and Becca's knowledge of "ducharse" in Spanish, meaning to shower, similar in French and our host parents and Hamza motioning a shower of their heads. Every time we denied they looked a little disgusted, no lies.

The real best part though is little five-year-old Muhamed. Muhamed drew with Becca, ran around singing the Qur'an, (and we would clap for him after), renamed the three of us, Zineb, Salawa, and Ikram from the Qur'an, pointed at a picture from a childrens book and yelled "Satan" in Arabic and jumped away, dropped the book and pretended enthusiastically to scream, rode around on a little plastic tricycle, drew on the walls with a black marker and got in trouble, played enthusiastically with a small rattle, and never stopped rambling on in Arabic despite none of the three of us understanding a single word he said. He was a beautiful, wonderful little man. We nearly cried saying goodbye. It only took two days for that family to completely steal our hearts. I would go back in a heart beat.

So that was our weekend trip to Meknés and Fez!

Christmas in Casa

On Christmas, since we had the day off, most of us refused to work on our documentaries. So, instead of just hanging out we took the day as our one opportunity to visit Casablanca!

First though Becca and I had gifts our mom's packed for us, including full blown stockings from her mom, containing candy galore and little stuffed owls. Maybe Becca and I take them everywhere with us now... maybe we don't...

We got up and got on a train. First, we stopped at the Hassan II Mosque which is HUGE and beautiful and RIGHT on the water. We spent forever taking photos and sitting on the rocks on the water. Next we walked to Rick's Cafe, but unfortunately it was closed until dinner and we weren't going to be in Casa all day. We took taxi's to the strip of cafes that line the water front. Being the American's we are we all settled on a cheaper, safer, and guaranteed delicious meal of Burger King. We got barbeque and Heinz ketchup packets with our meals and I think that was all it took for us to shed a few tears. We headed outside to watch the sunset then met up back at the train station. I bought a Starbucks and my heart melted a little. It was great to get out of the Capital and see a city we otherwise wouldn't have, and to get away from the constant tours and schedules and being told where to go and when. The independence was a huge bonus.

A quick train back to Rabat and we had dinner with the whole group including our favorite IES worker, Majid. We exchanged Secret Santa gifts we'd all bought in Rabat, which was more fun than I think it sounds. People dispersed to Skype home and a few people watched The Grinch in the lounge and that was that!

Christmas full of Christmas music, friends, gifts, good food, travel, adventure, photos, sunshine, the coast, and Starbucks. What more can a girl ask for? As sad as it was to be away from family, I wouldn't change a thing about my first Christmas away from home.

A Very Merry Christmas Eve

Moroccan Witchcraft is kind of a heavy topic. It's extremely secretive and hidden, its sometimes considered shameful and against God. Moroccan Witchcraft and the research of the culture surrounding it has brought Becca and I to many frustrating and confused moments. Why is it so hidden, why is it such a secret? How on God's green earth are we going to find Moroccans willing to talk with us, let alone be recorded, let alone be photographed talking about this subject? On top of that how were we going to find a practitioner of Moroccan Witchcraft, something that is considered illegal against the state and the Islamic faith, to talk to us?

We started interviews a few days ago. The first people we found willing to talk to us about this were academics. Professors of culture, sociology, and Islamic studies filled us in on both their professional knowledge as well as their own stories they've heard and been told throughout life.

... blah blah blah, cool, interesting, but not that interesting. Until...

This morning Becca and I rolled out of bed, checked every piece of equipment we possibly could. Lenses, batteries, charging everything, clearing space on SD cards, CF cards, so on. We walked down to the ocean near the cemeteries, where we met our translator. We waited. Waited. Our translator made a few calls. Then two women across the street waved to the three of us. And across we went. Words were exchanged in Arabic, we shook the women's hands. Salam Alaykum. Wa Alaykum Salam. Finally we asked our translator what was going on, what was the plan, what were they talking about. "Okay you can stay here, take photos, they will try to get a Shawafa to come out of the cemetery," he told us. (Non Muslims are not allowed in Muslim cemeteries, so we needed to get the Shawafa to come out to meet us.) We stood from the top of the hill looking down shooting photos with our telephoto lenses. We now understood the Shawafas are sometimes just women who sit in these cemeteries, waiting for people to stop by and "talk."

We watched as one of the women we met went down to talk to her. We watched as she called our translator from inside to tell him the verdict. She was refusing to come out. So a beautiful Moroccan woman adorned in hijab and all began to look like she was deep in thought. She spoke in Arabic with our translator. Finally, "have you showered today? Are you clean?" we were asked. "Uhm, well last night, like I showered and then slept," Becca lied. "And you?" our translator looked at me. Oh crap, if anyone knows me at all you know that me and lying do not go well together. "Uhm, yeah, same." To which the Moroccan woman rambled again to our translator. Then, "are you clean though?" "Yeah, I mean we're clean..." Becca said. For a solid thirty seconds I thought perhaps the woman was just offended by us, maybe I stunk, oh Jesus, I stink don't I, oh Lord. I swear if I don't get to talk with this Shawafa because I stink, I will pray to deodorant and never miss another shower the rest of my life as long as I live. Then, our translator just turned to us and said... "you aren't going to get it, you aren't going to understand." Becca and I just looked at each other until Becca said "ohhhh that kind of clean." To which our translator said something about a certain type of cleaning related to after women have intercourse. Yes this does go on my top list of awkward things that have had to be translated to me through a male Muslim in a foreign country... Poor guy was very uncomfortable, but credit to him he really stepped up today from being so reserved and came through for us, helping us out every step of the way.

We were going to be taken inside. Inside the Muslim cemetery to meet the Shawafa.

"Could you cover your hair, it'd be best." Becca and I were so prepared for this moment. The moment in this Muslim country we'd be asked to cover our hair. Yet here we were fiddling with secretive, hidden camera equipment and setting audio recordings to the right levels and walking into this holy land that was not our own, and now we are whipping out scarves and desperately panicking to throw them on. Hold on hold on. We're in a frenzy as I try to explain to our translator this isn't something we do everyday, we aren't good at this... The beautiful Moroccan Woman looks over, and says, "that's good, no problem, no problem, it looks good." And bless her soul, was that all the English she knew in the world it was just enough to set me at ease and let me realize this group of three Moroccans surrounding the two American girls were there to help, support, and protect us, none of them had to be there, but they welcomed us not just in their country, their culture, but on their holy land to explore a secretive, hidden, part of their culture. Her few words of English pushed me forward.

There she was. All dressed in red. A friend next to her, our translator, these other two women helping us, and me and Becca. It was quite the scene. I felt like such a journalist, like a local team had been developed around us to help us tell this woman's story. And to do it with my best friend, it was a really special moment. We were invited to sit down. Our equipment was welcomed, but no photographs of her face were allowed. I had a man next to me, her friend, and the two women helping us behind me, who after my first shot tapped me from behind to see it, and they approved. I shot her feet, her hands, as much of her body as I could from my one angle. We ran an audio recorder, meanwhile the group behind me chatted away in LOUD Arabic just over my shoulder, Becca, and our translator worked hard to hear the conversation with the Shawafa and plan what question would follow. Question after question we learned so much, so much we'd been seeking to hear first hand.

We did it. We made our way to a Shawafa. After months of planning, contacting, researching, calling, reading, discussing, presenting on Moroccan Witchcraft, here was one form, a Shawafa, sitting right before our very eyes. If accomplishment could be an emotion I was experiencing it in that moment.

We were so nervous sitting down we sat uncomfortably until Becca, our translator, and my feet were all asleep. The beautiful Moroccan woman offered to take our photograph with the Shawafa; the Shawafa faced us in the photograph so you can only see the back of her head, still so worth it.

And that is the story of the day I met a Shawafa.

I'm just radiating with journalism happiness now.

So, at this same time, today is Christmas Eve and it's my first Christmas away from home, and family. If anyone knows me even an inkling you know that home is my holy land and my sacred place. Nothing is better than being in the Mitten, Otis and Oliver on each side of me. Being away today was hard. Having not heard my dad's voice in over a week is beyond what I can typically handle, again if anyone knows me even at all you know that nothing can get between my *practically, (and sometimes literally)* hourly phone calls to my dad.

But here is the thing people: we are talking the most awesome combination of photojournalism and anthropology and world travel and foreign language and religion and cultural exchange possible, that I sacrificed home for. And me, being about one of the most dorky humans on this planet, if I could've wished for any gift this Christmas, it would've most definitely been to meet a Shawafa here in Morocco. Today on Christmas Eve, I met a Shawafa, interviewed her about her life and photographed her. I'm going to go ahead and say even in Africa, in a country where Christmas isn't celebrated, far from home, far from my family, far from the food I'm craving and my own bed and my dogs and my big sister and my everything I had the most Merry Christmas Eve I possibly could have ever dreamed of.

And let's be real, what is more Christmas-y than the Facebook group we have between all the students on the trip (appropriately titled "Shawafas and S#%!) sharing Christmas themed YouTube videos and laughing our butts off? Can't beat that.

Tomorrow we have the day off and most of us our headed by train to Casablanca for the day. Should be a relaxing and fun day trip, followed by dinner with everyone back in Rabat, and our Secret Santa exchange at night. Becca's mom packed us Christmas stockings to open up in the morning, and when I remembered that we finally get to open them earlier today I nearly cried tears of joy.

Merry Christmas Eve everyone! Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, Feliz Navidad, Happy Day, Happy Night, Happy Holidays, Seasons Greetings to all feeling festive this time of year! From Morocco to wherever you may be!

Marrakech and Beyond

It's been a crazy time here in Marrakech! The streets are filled with soccer fans from around the world, and the tourism is bopping around here. We stayed at a nice hotel and have eaten all of our meals here buffet style. Moroccan traditional salads like tomatoes and cucumbers and beets galore, along with bread, always bread. I even had a joyful run in with some meat, even after asking, and asking if the pasta contained meat. Well, after a plate full or so I found some. My stomach was less than pleased with me. 

We went through this insanely busy square that had real live snakes and their charmers, like cobra like scary, terrifying snakes just relaxing just feet away from where I stood, in my sandals mind you. They also had men with monkeys on chains dressed in diapers and children's clothes doing tricks. Horses drive people around on carriages through the streets, right next to the modern cars and clean motorcycles. Little shops sell glass lanterns and Moroccan Tea cups, jewelry, and leather bags. We stopped and bought fresh squeezed orange juice from a stand, 'twas amazing. 

Late at night we went to this horse show like bizarre possible reinactment possible bizarre entertainment show like type thing. They shot weird guns and rode on horses and played really loud live traditional Moroccan music. Let's just say it was late and we'd had a long day.

Today we woke up fed some fish, pet some cats, and dogs, and then we rode camels. Becca and I shared a camel, our camel was a female and a little testy. Getting on and off a camel is quite a smooth experience actually, their joints bend slowly and while it's slightly scary somehow the main word I'd use to describe it would be smooth. After, we pet our camel and she was soft. Moody, but soft. 

We then went to an Aragon oil cooperative and got to test out all sorts of oils and fun stuff! We came back to the hotel for lunch and now we're all pretty much just asleep on the lobby couches, Fredrick our program director included. 

Fun Arabic phrases I've learned-

Yala shabeb: let's go

Habibi: my love

Salam alaykum: greeting

Wa alaykum Salam: response to greeting

Shookran: thank you

Afek: please

Le bes: another greeting of some sort

Momkin photo?: can I take your photo?

French I've learned-

Frites: fries

Fromage: cheese

Verd: green

Rouge: red

Merci: thank you

De solay: I'm sorry

Pardon: excuse me

Poulet: chicken

Thon: tuna

Not to mention my Spanish has found itself useful in times here as well, when they don't speak English sometimes just sometimes they speak Spanish of which we can survive with.

Time for a lecture on Islam! 

Maa Salama 

2nd Stop: Marrakesh

Tomorrow morning, bright and early we are headed to Marrakesh for the next two days. I'm sure it will be filled with all sorts of adventures!

Today Becca and I went to class, and met with someone for our research. Also very successfully rode the city tram for the first time. I'd say a productive day!

Sorry to be so short but desperately needing sleep! Hopefully I'll be able to write more soon!

Moroccan Adventures

So after two interviews fell through for the day, Becca and I hit the streets of Rabat to take as many "B-roll" photos for our "documentary" as we could! We stopped and had a lot of fun, the fun included:

•  A race to breakfast before it closed
• Playing Shakira's "Waka Waka, This Time for Africa" (as we do every morning)
• A walk to the beach
• Taking photos of a dead cow's body washed up on shore
• A walk through a cemetary
• An attempted walk through Oudaya... limited by an overly friendly man (we were looking to get lost on our own and fake tour guides of the neighborhood really limit that opportunity)
• Pictures of an adorable cat asleep in a planter
• "Breaking" into two cemetery doors
• Going into the main entrance to the cemetery and having one of the most confusing conversations with an elderly man you most definitely did not speak either languages that Becca and I speak...
• Becca being asked on a date in the middle of the street
• Giving two hard boiled eggs and croissants to a little girl and her mom
• Walking to find the gosh darn Panini place we've heard so much about
• THE BEST MANGO JUICE TO EVER EXIST
• Eating Paninis... we thinkkkkk Becca's was chicken... no promises
• We both officially decided it might actually be more fun not speaking French or Arabic here...
• Photos
• Revisit to Hassan Tower and the Mosque next to it for some photos for our project.
• Getting extremely ripped off for Henna, but we've come to terms with the loss of our money (that would take me about a four and a half hour shift at Bird Arena to work off)... or have we?
• Trying to figure out the Tram system
• Walking home
• Sitting outside our hotel to peel off the rest of our Henna peelings
• Being approached by teenage Moroccans... speaking German... Yeah we were confused too...
• Watching a protest in front of The Parliament building
• Becca pinning me down and putting eye drops in my eyes, putting allergy pills down my throat, and "helping me out" with some minor (pretty major) blister issues on the bottom of my feet!
• Currently getting ready for dinner near the beach!

Have I mentioned I love Morocco?...

Hopefully tomorrow is a touch more productive than today, ... before we start to fall too far behind...

Exhaustion and Tea

Okay here is the truth, there are a ton of great stories to tell, and by the end of the day, no energy with which to tell them.

Yesterday we toured the entire city and went all over and ate local food at a woman's home and walked through markets and saw ruins and mosques and it was so fun and so beautiful.

Today we had class pretty much all day. It was entertaining.

Fun facts:
We can walk about 20 minutes and get to the ocean.
Cats are good luck in Islam, dogs, bad.
Cats roam the streets... a lot of cats.
I've seen one dog my entire three days in the country.
It rains in Africa.
It is cold in Africa... Brrrrr......
I don't speak Arabic... or French.
Not speaking Arabic or French in Morocco leaves one virtually worthless.
Bread in Morocco is eaten as often as rice in China (or so we were told).
Moroccan tea is the best thing in the entire world ever known to mankind and I never want to leave this country if it means I can't have Moroccan tea.

Two New Continents, No Sleep, and a Market

So, I left home around 3:30 pm ish on December 13th, with my flight leaving at 6:30 pm. I ran in slow motion when I saw my roommate Becca waiting for me at our gate in Detroit. (Today I learned it was her first time in Michigan, ... I know, shock and awe, same here).

She was exhausted and had already been on one flight and in two air ports, but I was freshly ready to go. We boarded the plane, and fortunately were able to sit next to each other for the seven hour plane ride to Paris. I watched "Finding Vivian Maier" a documentary I've been dying to see for a few years now on the plane and that helped pass the time. We ate some pasta and flew and flew and flew until finally, after 20 years, I touched Europe for the very first time.

Paris! It was so exciting to get go to Paris, and yet, there was fog. Not a little bit, a lotta bit, as in standing at the gate I could barely make out the shape of the plane through the fog let alone see any buildings or a sky line or I don't know say the Eiffel Tower. -- but folks, let's think of the important things here-- I did get my photograph taken by the sign for where they sold "foie gras" which as many now know, is the only French words I know. (While living with someone from France this past summer in Nepal, I asked him to teach me how to say something in French, he taught me "foie gras", which I can't pronounce no matter how hard I try. It wasn't until about three days later that I asked what it even meant... "fatty duck liver". Needless to say, it is an inside joke that brought me immense joy to see today on my first mini adventure in the Paris air port).

In Paris, they speak French, and they mean business with their French. I don't know French, and when I finally figured out what "merci" meant (thank you), I almost let a "de nada" (you're welcome, in Spanish) slip out of my mouth. That being said, we made our way to Rabat.

We landed in Rabat, Morocco, in rainy, overcast, and quite honestly cold weather. Not exactly how I thought my first trip to Africa would be, rainy, cold, cloudy, but hey. After, a flight with an adorable old French woman muttering to me the whole flight I was prepared for anything. Went through customs, got an awesome stamp on my passport with some lovely Arabic writing. Got my luggage, exchanged some money, and off we went to the hotel. We had a lovely greeting by some of the staff leading our study abroad here, and quickly learned the word "shoukran" means "thank you." Got keys to our room, unpacked, took a bunch of photos, videos, and snapchats from our mini, extremely sketchy "balcony" and emailed some contacts for our project. Finally we took to the streets, just Becca and I, in the rain, walked and walked until we found a market, eerily similar to the Asson Market in Kathmandu, Nepal. Beautiful things for sale, beautiful, beautiful people in the streets, interesting smells, clothing, colors, foods, languages, everything. Found our way back to the hotel, stopped at the corner store, bought two large waters, and headed in to freeze our butts off in our room all night.

So we did it, day one, check! Only 29 left! Yikes! So much to do, so little time!
Two new continents, no sleep, and a market, all in one day.


au revoir

And We're Off!

Well, in less than 30 minutes I will be leaving my sweet, sweet home and heading to the air port! Becca has already flown from Cleveland this morning and I'll be meeting up with her for our first flight to Paris! Can't believe this trip is here already! Then on to Rabat, Morocco for the trip of a life time! Watch out world, the two of us together, doing international journalism, we may just prove to the world that dreams do come true!

So excited! Can't wait to blog from Morocco and upload some photos!

Until then,

auvoir...

Before I Know It

Before I know it I'm going to be in Rabat, Morocco, taking photos, exploring new streets, eating weird food, speaking words from languages I don't know just to get by. Before I know it Morocco will feel normal and I will have a semi permanent daily routine there, and I can't wait.

From getting home from my summer in Nepal in August, to moving back to school, life has been a whirlwind, and quite honestly a blur. I knew this semester would be busy but... even I didn't see this level of craziness coming.

Preparing for my trip to Morocco has been happening every Sunday though, and every Sunday has been an exciting day. I will be in Morocco for one month, with an Ohio University Study Abroad trip for Documentary Scriptwriting. We have to take two classes, one in scriptwriting, the other titled Media in the Muslim World. The rest of the time is all our own as we work with one other partner to produce a final documentary script, as well as a photo story to support the script. I will be working on my project with my partner for the trip, (and beautiful roommate) Becca. We were given the liberty to choose whatever topic we wished, and with some interesting research I stumbled on the controversial topic of Moroccan Witchcraft.

I'm sure I'll be writing more on the topic while I'm there, but, to start- witchcraft in Morocco is a tense subject for Moroccans to discuss. Visiting a witchdoctor is against Islamic faith, Morocco is made up of about 90% Muslims... making it in many peoples' views "illegal". Being that the state of Morocco is not a theocracy, and the research we have done we have not found witchcraft, the practice of, the participation in, the knowledge of, or the inquiry of to be formally illegal by the laws of the state of Morocco. That being said... it is more on the side of risky business than not, as far as we can tell. The shocking statistic that my brain keeps going back to is that 78% of Moroccans believe in witchcraft and sorcery. The gist we have been getting from our contacts and many articles we've found is that witchcraft is believed in, and practiced, often, in secrecy.

The point here people? I'm about to have a crazy four week exploration of one of the countries I've always dreamed of  traveling to. Before I know it, I'll be searching the streets for shawafas (Moroccan witch doctors) and [cross our fingers] felafel (my absolute favorite food, ever).

Before I know it I'll be on a plane out of Detroit, headed first to Paris, then to Rabat.

But first... finals week...