The Mike Snyder Blog

Over a week in Morocco, and Ive already decided to conform. Not to local customs and traditions--come on, would I ever do that? But to the masses of students who study abroad each year and spill their guts into diaries, field journals, and the blogoshpere. So welcome, "marhababik," to the first entry of The Mike Snyder Blog, not from Metcalf Hall, but from Morocco.

A quick note: I dont intend for this blog to be especially emotional, with inspirational accounts of personal hope, self-discovery, or cross-cultural bonding. Ill try to avoid statements like "I cant believe Im really here!" or "My time abroad has changed my life forever!" Really, I hope my time here wont be too life-changing, because that would mean I didnt know very much about myself or the host culture to begin with.

Click for photo: View from the old Medina of Rabat.

Click for photo: Same place, different time of day and facing North towards the Kasbah.

Click for photo: A scenic view from the Kasbah, overlooking the river, the Hassan Tower, and the Mausoleum of Mohammed V.

Click for photo: At sunset overlooking the old medina--where I live--in the distance. Look for the mosque!

Study abroad is so interesting because no matter how much homework you do on the host country beforehand, some things can only be fully realized directly. A Turkish toilet, for example, is not one of those things. There’s nothing experiential about a 6-inch wide hole in the ground with no flushing mechanism. It’s better just to Google it.

On the other end of the spectrum is privacy. The lack of privacy in my Rabat neighborhood can be unnerving and is probably the thing about Morocco that is most immediately different from life in suburban Los Angeles. The main pedestrian streets are crowded at all hours of the day; there’s rarely a side street or obscure alleyway that is devoid of kids playing soccer or teenagers chatting. Many homes in the old medina, like mine, consist of a single large room, a kitchen, and a “water room.” There are no separate rooms for the parents and children, nor functioning doors from which to shut out the world on bad days. If someone burps, farts, snores, or sniffles, everyone else knows. My house even lacks a roof over much of it: it’s an open-air atrium, and sounds rush in from all corners of the neighborhood.

Click for photo: Rue Mohammed V at peak hours, a major street in the Rabat Medina and right by my house.

Click for photo: Two kids on a bicycle is a common site though motorpeds smog up most of the old city. Donkey transportation is nowhere to be seen in metropolitan Rabat.

Click for photo: The only wide roads, public squares, and parks in the city were constructed by the French and feature colonial fountains, lampposts, etc.

One afternoon, I ran into a good-looking girl right outside the building where I take my Arabic classes. She had Moroccan facial features, but wore tight jeans with a tank top and had a chic, Western haircut. Half-curious, half-amused, I went up to her and asked Wesh unti Marakeniya? Are you American? Her face lit up and she giggled with her friends—she spoke some English and told me how she liked being called American.

I paid the same compliment to my 20-year-old host brother, Abdul Huq, who now jokes that he’s more American than I am because his knowledge of American (and Arabic) Hip-Hop is pretty extensive and he wears Hawaii-style board shorts. (When he said this to me, I replied, ‘I’m not American, I’m Californian!”)

Despite what CNN would have us believe about the rise of anti-Americanism in Morocco—especially after the terrorist attack outside the US Embassy in Casablanca last May—America is still considered a cool place, especially among the youth and the middle-class in urban and commercial centers. Of course the older generation thinks otherwise, but I’ve met nobody of any age who is outright hostile towards it. Everybody is anti-Bush and pro-Palestine, but they choose their words carefully and never say they’re “anti-American” or even “anti-America.”

Click for photo: Even the poorest and most remote apartment has a dish hooked up to it, as television is practically another member of the family.

Click for photo: In the French quarters of cities, department stores and other development projects are becoming more common--their advertisements feature very Americanized images of men with six-packs and veil-less business women.

Click for photo: Here it's pronounced Cooca-Coola, and by the way, there's nothing like breaking a Ramadan fast at Pizza Hut.

You know, I didn’t realize there was so much decision-making involved in being in a foreign country. I thought my days here would be pretty regulated, taken up with classes, homework, and excursions. Not really—there’s lots of free time and how one uses that time is perhaps as important as deciding to go abroad at all.

Figure these ones out and let me know. Is it better to travel around the country with my American friends—seeing all the sites and taking lots of pictures—or try to make friends with the locals, who hang out in the same streets day after day? What about language? Is it better to practice and improve my pathetic language skills, or seek out English-speakers and have a real conversation that goes beyond, “Do you have any hobbies?”

Then if I decide to speak the language, do I try for Modern Standard Arabic, the local Darija dialect, or French? I’m best at French naturally because it’s so much like English, but the classes I take here are in Modern Standard, which is good for reading the newspaper or working at the U.N. but sounds like Shakespeare if spoken on the streets. Darija’s a smart bet, but it’s the hardest of the Arabic dialects to pick up and worse, the most distinct from Modern Standard.

Click for photo: Me posing in typical tourist fashion in front of the unfinished Hassan Tower in Rabat, constructed in 1199.

Click for photo: Another local touristy site in Rabat, the Kasbah--or old fortress--which overlooks the ocean and stands adjacent to the old medina.

Click for photo: Some local Moroccan college and high school kids, plus my American friend at far left, to whom with shoddy Arabic and a phrasebook we managed to have a fun but mostly empty 20 minute conversation.

Assuming one gets the appropriate Rabies and Typhoid vaccines, Morocco is probably no more dangerous than the States from a statistical standpoint. No past student in my SIT study abroad program has ever died, been the victim of rape, or as far as I know, sustained serious injury. Similarly, fewer people in Morocco have been the victims of terrorism in the past decade than in the United States, Spain, or England—although amazingly the country has still become synonymous with Islamic fundamentalism and terrorism, as if it were another Saudi Arabia or Iran.

“Common sense” and “vigilance” (as the State Department puts it) really do go a long way and a lack of either could lead to trouble whether it’s in Casablanca or Los Angeles. Most of the examples I’m about to share are 1) not life-threatening, 2) more the result of stupidity and carelessness than actual hazard, and 3) can occur anywhere in America or Europe. (It’s worth mentioning that about the most dangerous thing in Morocco is the huge number of conmen and faux guides who constantly target tourists and their money. For women: aggressive catcalling is endemic.) Keep this in mind before you cancel your study abroad plans in North Africa, or worse, worry about my safety all semester. Got that, Mom?

Click for photo: Some donkeys. They are really nothing special.

Click for photo: This is what happens to kids who play with matches.