Village Stay

This past weekend I left to spend 5 days in the small village of Beni Amir about 3 hours south of Rabat. Beni Amir is a small community of only a few hundred people. It is near the city of Fqih Ben Saleh which is a part of a trio of cities known as the “Triangle of Death.” The other two points of the triangle are Khouribga and Beni Mellal. A large percentage of people from these cities attempt to migrate to Europe and many have died trying to get there. Everyone in the village of Beni Amir knew at least one family member who has attempted to migrate to Europe so the visit was a great opportunity to learn about migration and its effects firsthand.

We arrived in Beni Amir around noon on Saturday to countless stares. Being a small community of mostly farmers, 13 American college students definitely stood out like a sore thumb. Additionally, we were only the second Americans to have visited the village so our presence was met with a good deal of curiosity. After having lunch with the president of a local association (Oulad Ghanem) at his house, we met our host families and moved in. I lived with a small family that included a mother (Fatima), a father (Falah?), a daughter (Layla, 17), and a son (Abdelhafid, 10). Although most families in the village only speak Darija, my host father spoke French and the kids were learning French in school. Communication was a challenge for me but because each host family hosted two students, and because my roommate spoke some French, we were able to have some conversation.

Our family lived on a farm that had six cows, at least one donkey, a couple horses, several chickens, a couple dogs, roughly a million flies, and a kitten that could fit in the palm of your hand. We learned that just about everything we ate was fresh from our host family’s farm. Olive trees grew on the land so we had fresh olives and olive oil with just about meal. The butter and honey were also made from scratch and tasted delicious. Bread (khobz) was made at home and cooked in an outdoor mud oven. One morning, we woke up at the crack of dawn to watch the mother milk the cows. She filled up one large bucket of milk that we later had for breakfast that morning. The rest of the milk was put in a bottle and taken to the village milk co-op. We learned that the milk co-op is a new project funded by the government as part of an initiative to support human development. Members of the community contribute milk every day to a collection tank where it is stored and cooled. The amount each family contributes is measured and recorded. The milk eventually gets taken to the city to be analyzed and then is distributed to large companies like Dannon to be used in their yoghurt and cheese products. The villagers receive about 3 dh (about $0.33)/ liter of milk and can receive more depending on the overall quality of the milk. It was very interesting to watch all the villagers come to the co-op in the morning after milking their cows to drop off their milk.

My host family lived in a fairly large house that was also fairly empty. The furniture in the main living room/salon where we slept consisted of rugs that covered the concrete floor and two small moveable tables. We ate all meals sitting on the ground around one of these tables. However, due to the abundance of rugs and movability of the tables, mealtime took place wherever seemed most convenient. Dishes were washed outside on a small concrete slab and our bathroom was an outhouse with a Turkish toilet inside.

During our stay here, we had discussions with village locals to hear their stories and ask them questions relating to migration and its effect on their community. Because life in the village is more traditional than in the city, gender roles are divided clearly. All women wear a hijab (veil to cover the hair) and are responsible for things within the private sphere of life including raising the children, taking care of household chores, and cooking. Men are responsible for financial support and things involved within the public sphere. Because of this divide, we held two sessions: one for the women of the village and one for the men. Some of the men told stories of crossing into Europe illegally. Some succeeded, others were deported. The men told us how happy they were to have Americans visit so we could tell everyone at home that the people of Morocco are kind, welcoming, and peace-loving Muslims. The women all shared a desire to do something more with their lives. Women in the village often marry as young as 14 and because of this, most have only an 8th grade education. Many shared a strong desire to go to Europe and when asked who their ideal man was, they described him as a “non-smoker, non-drinker, good Muslim man.” Migrants who had been to Europe were also seen as attractive.

This short trip was a unique and special experience that won’t soon be forgotten. Other highlights of this trip included a visit to the local preschool and kindergarten to teach the children English numbers and letters, a visit to the weekly souk where you buy or sell just about anything, and a visit to the waterfall in Beni Mellal. I will try to put up pictures soon.

One last note: For those concerned about the safety of the region following the spread of the anti-Muslim film and the subsequent riots throughout the Muslim world, there is no need to worry. Protests were held in Casablanca on Sept. 12th but were not violent. I have felt completely safe while here and I have not witnessed any hostility towards Americans.

Anyways, that’s all for now. Thanks for reading!

Homestay, Moroccan Culture, and School

Salam wa alaikum! I have now completed my first week in Morocco and I must admit that I’m even more excited now for the rest of the semester than I was before I left. I moved into my homestay on Thursday and I really love the experience. I live with a mother named Amina, her mother (still not sure what her name is), and two host brothers, Ahtah (6) and Achraf (21). We live in an apartment-like dwelling in the old medina. There is quite a language barrier but the family is patient and eager to teach me Darija. Achraf took English in high school but has trouble recalling it. The grandmother only speaks Darija and Amina speaks French at work and Darija at home. Ahtah started school on Friday is learning the English alphabet. He loves to show me that he can say A, B, C, and D correctly. I practice my numbers in Arabic with him. Ahtah also likes to pretend to be Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk with me. Luckily, the language barrier disappears during playtime.

In Morocco, there are four meals. Usually a light breakfast consisting of bread (called Khobz) and butter with coffee or tea. Lunch is eaten around 1 pm and varies but always includes Khobz. A light snack is served around 6 or 7 pm that always includes tea with sweet breads and flatbread, sometimes with honey. The main dinner meal is served later, anytime between 9:30 and midnight. Meals are traditionally served on one big platter and the family all eats off the same plate. Everyone stays in their “zone” and then the middle is up for grabs. Moroccans eat with their hands, but only the thumb and first two fingers of the right hand are used to pick up food to put in your mouth. The Khobz is served with every meal and it often acts as a way to soak up sauce and pick up rice and beans.

Hot water and western toilets are amenities that only some families in the medina have. Many families have Turkish toilets (squatty potties) with a water bucket in lieu of toilet paper. However, some families (like mine) do have Western toilets. Daily showers are uncommon and most Moroccans only bathe once a week at the local hammam (public bathhouse). My host family has hot water but it is expensive so it is greatly conserved. I haven’t experienced the hammam yet but I’ve been told it’s a large steam room and that the process is very cleansing.

School started on Monday and I have already learned so much. Arabic classes are 3 hours and 15 minutes long every day so I have a wealth of new vocabulary to try on my family every time I come home from school. My Migration seminar has started as well. We’re learning about Sub-Saharan migrants in Morocco and their impact on society. On Friday, we will visit and meet with local NGOs who work with migrants and refugees in Morocco. We also have plans to meet with Malian migrants and Young Moroccan activists. Next weekend we will take our first excursion to the villages of Beni Mellal and Fqih Ben Saleh, two cities in a trio of cities known as the “Triangle of Death.” We will stay in Fqih Ben Saleh with host families for 5 days to learn about the extent of migration from this region, as well as local development and traditional rural societies in Morocco. I’m really looking forward to it!

Well that’s enough writing for today, gotta get working on some homework. Beslama!

First Day in Morocco

Well after a long and sleepless journey, I’ve officially landed in Morocco. My first experience with local Moroccans however occurred on the plane before arriving. I sat next to a very nice Moroccan couple returning from vacation in Canada and Paris, who spoke only broken English. I ended up chatting with the wife, a French teacher in Rabat, the entire flight and managed to discuss American and Moroccan politics, the Arab Spring, women’s rights in Arab nations, the Arab-Israeli conflict, and her utter dislike of Mitt Romney with her. I also asked her about Islam and why she chose not to wear a hijab. She informed me that hijabs are a new thing to Moroccan Islamic culture that was imported to Morocco during the Iranian Revolution. She told me that her mother and grandmother never wore hijabs but now many younger Moroccan women do, she just doesn’t care to. She was also very proud to share that she felt that she had many freedoms as a woman in an Arab country. She did stress however that they were not enough. In addition to sharing with me the local hotspots I should check out, her husband offered me his services as an ear, nose, and throat doctor. I guess if my throat’s sore I will ask around for Khadij.

After arriving at the hotel and carrying our luggage up four flights, I immediately became aware of the unrelenting heat here. There is no air conditioning and it is very humid. I decided to take a walk a few blocks around town and see the sights. There is a constant bustle and personal space does not exist here. Street vendors line the streets and the sidewalks alternate between concrete and dirt pathways. As I type this, the call to prayer can be heard throughout the city. It’s quite an assault on the senses.

Later we were led through the old medina to the cultural center. After a 20-minute walk through narrow, crowded streets and winding alleyways, we arrived at the center. The center was built in the 19^th century and still retains some original tile. It has four levels and the top is a terrace with one of the best panoramic views in the city. The Atlantic coast is one block from the center and you can see to Casablanca and Salé, Rabat’s sister city. We learned here that not only is the center the only place in the area for college-level learning but also one of the only schools for American students in the area. Here on the terrace is also where we had our first homemade Moroccan meal. Wasn’t sure what most of it was but it all tasted great.

Our orientation week is jam-packed so I probably won’t post again until I move in with my host family. As always, feel free to ask questions and thanks for reading!