What can I say? What a difference 7 days can make! Upon arriving here in Fes I was in a state of wonder and disbelief that I was actually here. I was initially shocked by the amount of poverty, the crowdedness, the smells, the noise and the heat but quickly after my focus turned on the beautiful architecture, the rich, green landscape and the warm people. Classes began promptly last Monday and right away we jumped into the sometimes confusing and intricate rules of third-year Arabic grammar. That same day we received our schedules for the first half of the semester and later that night we were to be paired up and meet our new Moroccan families! I honestly felt a little overwhelmed by the rapid pace and compounded set of events that fell upon me! All of this in the course of little more than a day! My first class of the day is Arabic (of course) with a fantastic professor ( Zahrawui) from 10am to Noon. After that, we have a lunch break that lasts until our next set of classes begin at 4pm, and which end at 6pm. My afternoon Arabic Professor ( Hamid) is just absolutely amazing. He does not allow himself or any of us to speak in English ( only for an emergency explanation of something!) and his knowledge of American and just Global Cultures in general is astounding! He tries and succeeds to explain everything and anything in Arabic solely, even if he as to pantomime, role-play etc. At the same time, he introduces new concepts, vocabulary, etc. by referencing American culture, history, pop culture...you name it, I swear he knows it! When the subject of Spanish Literature came up somehow, he knew about Carlos Fuentes, Julio Cortázar, Jorge Luis Borges, Garcia Márquez etc.! When I asked him how to say "magical realism" in Arabic, he didn't hesitate for a second to translate it or discuss it.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays I have an Arabic Culture through film class that starts at 2 until 4 and which definitely cuts into a significant chunk of the day. Do I love the schedule? Not completely; I am a morning person and really wish that I had consecutive classes rather than have the day broken into two big chunks, but lunch time is sacred here in morocco. From noon to about 330pm, almost all the stores close and students and workers return home to spend time with the family, rest and of course, EAT! This reminds me of the siesta taken in Latin American countries. I remember quite well in Cartagena when I would run errands with my aunt not to show up at a doctor's office (for example) an hour or half an hour in advance ( as typically done in America) because everyone would be eating or the doctor would go home and I would have to sit outside the office because on occasion the receptionist wouldn't want to even up the door and share her sacred time with customers!
On the first day of classes, when my partner-in-crime and roommate, Nora and I met our new family, we were extremely nervous. In a large garden at the ALIF institute ( my school here) the families stood on one side and the feeble and exhausted students waiting to be paired stood on the other. It was just like being back in elementary school waiting to be picked for a dodgeball team. When we were called, we walked over and greeted our beautiful new "sister." She was to take us back with her to her mother's house where we would live for the next 9 weeks.She speaks French and is the only person in our new family that understands and speaks a little bit of English! She has been married for a year now, she is my age (20) and she is happily pregnant. She comes to visit us/sleep over about 2 times a week. We are fortunate to live in a spacious, clean and impeccably decorated home in the Old Medina. The Old Medina ( medina qadima) is the traditional quarters of the medieval city. Our room alone is the size of a typical American living room with high ceilings, Moorish tiles on the floor and part of the walls, traditional couches and the doors to our room look like the doors of a palace! They reach the ceiling and are made of sturdy dark wood with delicate designs layed on the frame- just gorgeous. Because our house is in the old city, we ran the risk of not having a home with a modern toilet, but we lucked out when we saw that our family had renovated the bathroom to include a toilet. In our shower area, we still have the trace of where the Old "Turkish squat toilet" was present. I can't imagine being able to place your feet on a slab of marble and do what mother nature intended you to over a tiny hole in the ground. I just don't have the lower body strength to do that, especially considering that I had knee surgery less than a year ago. I'll be sure though, to check out some of my friends' calves in a couple of weeks to see if they're getting a workout from the daily squatting :) All in all, my home is wonderful. Communicating with my family has been another adventure, however. When my new "sister" isn't home, I have reverted back to exaggerated facial expressions, miming, role-playing and working on tone and delivery of simple phrases to convey larger meaning. I think I should be cast in a Mexican soap-opera after my stint here in Fes. ( speaking of Mexican soap operas: they have them here! a lot of families watch them at night! how amazing!) I speak to them in Classical Arabic ( "Fus-Ha") and they most of the time will understand, but largely, the locals and my family speak the moroccan dialect of arabic "darija" that is basically very different from what I speak. There's a difference between the classical Arabic and each Arab country's dialect..but its far worse than the differences in Spanish dialects in Latin American countries and Spain. I know that I can chat with a Mexican, Argentinean and a Cuban and we'll all be able to carry on a conversation pretty much clearly and perfectly on all sides. Classical Arabic is relegated to the media, press and school..it's not the language of "the streets." So I am learning two different Arabic(s)! When I can't understand the family's dialect, French is always a safety. Who knew taking four years of french in high school would pay off?! I really wish I could speak to someone in Spanish, but I just haven't been able to find my spanish-speakers yet! I'm waiting for the day one taxi driver will know a little bit! That's another story, when I get in the taxis many times they ask if I'm from Syria, Lebanon or Jordan, and I surprise them when I say Colombia. They, in turn, surprise me when they say " ahhhhh Colombia? Like Shakira?" HAHAHAHA. *sigh* Yes sir, like Shakira.
However, I digress! Finally, I'll talk a little about now about bus culture here since I am attempting to keep this post confined to a discussion of early life and school and since the bus is an integral part of my life here. My family suggested to us the evening we met them that we get to school by taking the local buses. Our school is in the New City and we live in the Old City and taking taxis back and forth could prove a hassle and pain. ( and boy, did it!) On Tuesday morning, our new "father" walked us down to the bus stop next to our house and we paid 3dirhams for a ticket. It was a precious moment! Like the first day of school where your mom or dad wants to make sure they meet the bus driver and make sure you're on the bus safely and that you remember your stop. I was excited! But at the same time, I had heard buses where the hotspots where you could be harrased, pick-pocketed etc., so I had my reservations about relying on the service. After 10 minutes of waiting, the bus came around the corner. Sweet Baby Jesus....it was survival of the fittest at its finest! Hoards of people that weren't at the stop earlier appeared from thin air and were now crowding the stop and spilling over into the street as well. The Bus driver honked angrily for the people to move out the streets but he still kept his slow pace until he reached a spot he found to his liking- all the while the people were running/walking with the bus. Suddenly, the gates of heaven opened. Everyone began to push, nudge,elbow, step on you and do all kinds of contortions with their bodies to make sure they got on that bus! I was beyond shocked...but I was also mesmerized. I made it my business to learn exactly how people were behaving and do the same next time around. The front of the bus has seats that seem to be the women's area and after that is a wide and long space where the suckers that couldn't fight with a grandma for a chair, stand up for the whole ride. ( that's most of us!)The back of the bus seems seedy and grimy and its where the people that didn't previously purchase tickets can buy them at the same time. I was not fortunate enough that first day to sit down and I had to stand in the middle section nervously clutching by backpack and simultaneously putting on an air of confidence. We got lost that morning. Apparently we made it onto the wrong bus and in our best Arabic we went up to a young girl and the driver to explain that we had no idea where we were, that it was our first day and we needed help! I thought, 'great, now our vulnerability has been displayed!' But sure enough, a whole crowd of youths began deciding on the best route for us and telling the driver where to drop us off and then from where to walk to get to school. I was so thankful! The next couple of days we learned to master the morning bus rides. I shed my fear of having to nudge strangers in odd places, of slightly pushing elderly women and of clutching my backpack like a foreigner. I started carrying a side-swept bag, walking up to the ticket counter with confidence, exchanging Salams with the ticket-seller and of making sure I was on the right bus. When the bus reached the corner, I set out from the ticket counter, past the stop and into the street just like the rest of people. When the doors opened, I pushed and nudged and put my foot in the bus and hoisted myself in with intent! One morning I pushed someone out of the way and the woman behind me patted me on the back! I decided against sitting in the women's section because it seemed like mothers with children and the elderly relied on that area so I would stand right behind them, clutching the metal bars that run alongside the bus and I began blending in. Over the course of the next couple of days I made 'friends' with several young girls who were also on their way to classes and they made sure I stood next to their 'area of safety' on the bus. One one woman I had spoken to before getting on the bus actually saved me a seat when I got on after her. Men that have tried to sit in the women's area and allowed elderly grandmothers to stand have been insulted, hit and yelled at until they get up in shame! I never thought I'd be praised for/ proud of pushing and being determined...but there's a first time for everything...all I can say is that Bus Culture is incredibly unique!
This has been an incredibly long post...but it's not over!....The next post deserves a space of its own: my adventures in a traditional women's bathhouse ( Hammam)
On Tuesdays and Thursdays I have an Arabic Culture through film class that starts at 2 until 4 and which definitely cuts into a significant chunk of the day. Do I love the schedule? Not completely; I am a morning person and really wish that I had consecutive classes rather than have the day broken into two big chunks, but lunch time is sacred here in morocco. From noon to about 330pm, almost all the stores close and students and workers return home to spend time with the family, rest and of course, EAT! This reminds me of the siesta taken in Latin American countries. I remember quite well in Cartagena when I would run errands with my aunt not to show up at a doctor's office (for example) an hour or half an hour in advance ( as typically done in America) because everyone would be eating or the doctor would go home and I would have to sit outside the office because on occasion the receptionist wouldn't want to even up the door and share her sacred time with customers!
On the first day of classes, when my partner-in-crime and roommate, Nora and I met our new family, we were extremely nervous. In a large garden at the ALIF institute ( my school here) the families stood on one side and the feeble and exhausted students waiting to be paired stood on the other. It was just like being back in elementary school waiting to be picked for a dodgeball team. When we were called, we walked over and greeted our beautiful new "sister." She was to take us back with her to her mother's house where we would live for the next 9 weeks.She speaks French and is the only person in our new family that understands and speaks a little bit of English! She has been married for a year now, she is my age (20) and she is happily pregnant. She comes to visit us/sleep over about 2 times a week. We are fortunate to live in a spacious, clean and impeccably decorated home in the Old Medina. The Old Medina ( medina qadima) is the traditional quarters of the medieval city. Our room alone is the size of a typical American living room with high ceilings, Moorish tiles on the floor and part of the walls, traditional couches and the doors to our room look like the doors of a palace! They reach the ceiling and are made of sturdy dark wood with delicate designs layed on the frame- just gorgeous. Because our house is in the old city, we ran the risk of not having a home with a modern toilet, but we lucked out when we saw that our family had renovated the bathroom to include a toilet. In our shower area, we still have the trace of where the Old "Turkish squat toilet" was present. I can't imagine being able to place your feet on a slab of marble and do what mother nature intended you to over a tiny hole in the ground. I just don't have the lower body strength to do that, especially considering that I had knee surgery less than a year ago. I'll be sure though, to check out some of my friends' calves in a couple of weeks to see if they're getting a workout from the daily squatting :) All in all, my home is wonderful. Communicating with my family has been another adventure, however. When my new "sister" isn't home, I have reverted back to exaggerated facial expressions, miming, role-playing and working on tone and delivery of simple phrases to convey larger meaning. I think I should be cast in a Mexican soap-opera after my stint here in Fes. ( speaking of Mexican soap operas: they have them here! a lot of families watch them at night! how amazing!) I speak to them in Classical Arabic ( "Fus-Ha") and they most of the time will understand, but largely, the locals and my family speak the moroccan dialect of arabic "darija" that is basically very different from what I speak. There's a difference between the classical Arabic and each Arab country's dialect..but its far worse than the differences in Spanish dialects in Latin American countries and Spain. I know that I can chat with a Mexican, Argentinean and a Cuban and we'll all be able to carry on a conversation pretty much clearly and perfectly on all sides. Classical Arabic is relegated to the media, press and school..it's not the language of "the streets." So I am learning two different Arabic(s)! When I can't understand the family's dialect, French is always a safety. Who knew taking four years of french in high school would pay off?! I really wish I could speak to someone in Spanish, but I just haven't been able to find my spanish-speakers yet! I'm waiting for the day one taxi driver will know a little bit! That's another story, when I get in the taxis many times they ask if I'm from Syria, Lebanon or Jordan, and I surprise them when I say Colombia. They, in turn, surprise me when they say " ahhhhh Colombia? Like Shakira?" HAHAHAHA. *sigh* Yes sir, like Shakira.
However, I digress! Finally, I'll talk a little about now about bus culture here since I am attempting to keep this post confined to a discussion of early life and school and since the bus is an integral part of my life here. My family suggested to us the evening we met them that we get to school by taking the local buses. Our school is in the New City and we live in the Old City and taking taxis back and forth could prove a hassle and pain. ( and boy, did it!) On Tuesday morning, our new "father" walked us down to the bus stop next to our house and we paid 3dirhams for a ticket. It was a precious moment! Like the first day of school where your mom or dad wants to make sure they meet the bus driver and make sure you're on the bus safely and that you remember your stop. I was excited! But at the same time, I had heard buses where the hotspots where you could be harrased, pick-pocketed etc., so I had my reservations about relying on the service. After 10 minutes of waiting, the bus came around the corner. Sweet Baby Jesus....it was survival of the fittest at its finest! Hoards of people that weren't at the stop earlier appeared from thin air and were now crowding the stop and spilling over into the street as well. The Bus driver honked angrily for the people to move out the streets but he still kept his slow pace until he reached a spot he found to his liking- all the while the people were running/walking with the bus. Suddenly, the gates of heaven opened. Everyone began to push, nudge,elbow, step on you and do all kinds of contortions with their bodies to make sure they got on that bus! I was beyond shocked...but I was also mesmerized. I made it my business to learn exactly how people were behaving and do the same next time around. The front of the bus has seats that seem to be the women's area and after that is a wide and long space where the suckers that couldn't fight with a grandma for a chair, stand up for the whole ride. ( that's most of us!)The back of the bus seems seedy and grimy and its where the people that didn't previously purchase tickets can buy them at the same time. I was not fortunate enough that first day to sit down and I had to stand in the middle section nervously clutching by backpack and simultaneously putting on an air of confidence. We got lost that morning. Apparently we made it onto the wrong bus and in our best Arabic we went up to a young girl and the driver to explain that we had no idea where we were, that it was our first day and we needed help! I thought, 'great, now our vulnerability has been displayed!' But sure enough, a whole crowd of youths began deciding on the best route for us and telling the driver where to drop us off and then from where to walk to get to school. I was so thankful! The next couple of days we learned to master the morning bus rides. I shed my fear of having to nudge strangers in odd places, of slightly pushing elderly women and of clutching my backpack like a foreigner. I started carrying a side-swept bag, walking up to the ticket counter with confidence, exchanging Salams with the ticket-seller and of making sure I was on the right bus. When the bus reached the corner, I set out from the ticket counter, past the stop and into the street just like the rest of people. When the doors opened, I pushed and nudged and put my foot in the bus and hoisted myself in with intent! One morning I pushed someone out of the way and the woman behind me patted me on the back! I decided against sitting in the women's section because it seemed like mothers with children and the elderly relied on that area so I would stand right behind them, clutching the metal bars that run alongside the bus and I began blending in. Over the course of the next couple of days I made 'friends' with several young girls who were also on their way to classes and they made sure I stood next to their 'area of safety' on the bus. One one woman I had spoken to before getting on the bus actually saved me a seat when I got on after her. Men that have tried to sit in the women's area and allowed elderly grandmothers to stand have been insulted, hit and yelled at until they get up in shame! I never thought I'd be praised for/ proud of pushing and being determined...but there's a first time for everything...all I can say is that Bus Culture is incredibly unique!
This has been an incredibly long post...but it's not over!....The next post deserves a space of its own: my adventures in a traditional women's bathhouse ( Hammam)
omfg. I love you. You're hilarious and you know how to write! So proud!
ReplyDeleteNow, what about the family members who don't speak english? want me to translate it for you? ( I assume you're busy fighting on the bus :) )
Yeah I know I have to translate it soon and I appreciate the help! Thanks for your feedback! I love you!
ReplyDeleteyou're amazing! everything you write here is amazing! keep it up and if you don't post any pictures, boy will i be upset at you!
ReplyDelete