tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2008:/snyderblog//3 2007-11-26T19:14:50Z Movable Type 3.33 tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1483 2007-11-26T19:07:44Z 2007-11-26T19:14:50Z

Women and Romance – The female character in Kingdom of Heaven, Sybila, is a woman of European descent who has adopted Middle Eastern culture, and she flaunts it well. She mentions to her lover, Balian, that she has two faces,...

Mike Snyder Women and Romance – The female character in Kingdom of Heaven, Sybila, is a woman of European descent who has adopted Middle Eastern culture, and she flaunts it well. She mentions to her lover, Balian, that she has two faces, "one for the world, and one which she wears in private." To a Western audience, that may sound ridiculous, but Sybila does offer a somewhat accurate portrayal of many women in Morocco. In the street, women are robotic in expressions and emotions, walking arm-in-arm with other women from destination to destination and rarely stopping to talk to or even glance at men (flirtation is a thing for prostitutes, not college kids). Conversing with women (and men as well) is incredibly round-about, never direct, usually full of wit and humour, and makes American conversations seem dull, fast, and even, well, dumb, by comparison. But, as my American friends will attest, as soon as they enter the home, the women strip off their hijabs and become energetic chatterboxes. Additionally, the public bath (Hammam) is perhaps the most private place in the city for women, who will spend up to three hours naked in a hot sauna, not necessarily in order to clean themselves, but to be in a safe space where they can show their true faces. It’s worth noting that among women the adjective “crazy” (as in, “She’s crazy!”) is in fact a term of endearment. Other things to note: arranged marriages (among family friends) are not uncommon and the regional music and films are corny and Bollywood-esque, obsessed with romance, marriage, and relationships. Wit and Games – In Kingdom of Heaven, clever remarks made among the characters are viewed as admirable and demonstrative of deeper intellect. Nasir is the go-ahead man here—from the very beginning, pulling a clever “prank” on Balian by lying about his status as an elite general. Even his inflections are reproduced in Morocco in eerie fashion, like when he says to Balien, “Then you must give him the horse!” or at the end of the film, “It is not a very good horse. I will not keep it.” It took me a long time to realize that the reason I was having trouble (and still am) interacting with many Moroccans is because these sort of conversations go straight over my head. My family indulges in them, and I notice how pulling a semi-witty—sometimes sarcastic, sometimes biting—joke, aimed at another member of the family, makes them laugh for minutes (simple things, like when offering my little brother a candy bar, asking him “How much will you give me?” or blithely telling my family not to listen to my pushy, math whiz older brother because he’s “not very logical”). Bargaining is itself all about wit—pointing out flaws in the product (humorously), asking shopkeepers to lower the price because you’re a “poor student,” etc. Even dinner becomes a game, where you’re forced to eat everything on the plate unless you can provide smart excuses. A light-heart helps. “Eat, eat, Michael—have this piece of chicken.” “I’ll eat half, you eat half.” “No, no, I only eat full parts.” My older brother actually enjoys being called a “smart-ass.” When I let him into the house one afternoon and asked him where he went, he said, “Outside, of course.” When I showed him something I bought at a local shop, he looked at it and said, “It’s not very good quality. I don’t like it.” I replied (to his pleasure), “Of course. It’s made in Morocco.” In general, though, I’m still bad at this whole wit-thing, and I should have taken a cue from comedy programs in Morocco, which involve playing pranks and gags on other people (think Candid Camera, not Jackass). My more Americanized Moroccan friends, on the other hand, resort to more crude forms of humor, of which I’m sure need no explanation—let’s just say they know the female anatomy very well, in English. Ibelin – Other bits of cultural nuance in Kingdom of Heaven involve Ibelin, the name given to Balian’s land and real estate. When I first viewed the film in 2005, I remember thinking how phony Ibelin appeared: groups of young children running after knights on horse-back, the incredible hospitality of the servant who shows Balian his home, greenery and trees sprouting out of nowhere shortly after the discovery of water. Yet these scenes, also, have proved to be extraordinarily genuine and unadulterated. In the streets of the medina, groups of young children run to greet you, shouting your name (as long as you’ve introduced yourself beforehand); the people are extraordinarily hospitable and my American colleagues are regularly invited into stranger’s homes for dinner (one time, a nine year-old girl invited me into her home to meet her family after talking to me for only 5 minutes on the street… and she was the one who approached me!); and lines of palm groves—thanks to the technology of a one thousand year-old irrigation system—really do sprout out of the middle of the desert, like an oasis. It’s no wonder Kingdom of Heaven was shot in, guess where… Morocco. Click for photo: My witty and at times obnoxious older brother Ilyias. Click for photo: In the Southeast, lines of palm groves, bearing dates and cultivated by rural farmers, sprout seemingly out of nowhere and sometimes continue on for miles. ]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1479 2007-11-15T22:04:08Z 2007-11-26T19:20:40Z

A dozen entries later and I still haven’t typed a word about cultural interactions with Moroccans—you know, the one thing every traveler fears screwing up for fear of awkwardness and major cultural misunderstandings. Okay, so it’s not that dramatic, but...

Mike Snyder Kingdom of Heaven. Language – In Kingdom of Heaven, attention is given to the frequent use of religious language in everyday speech, by both the Arabs and the Europeans. A scene in the early part of the movie shows Muslims in Italy praying along the beach, kneeling towards Mecca and chanting “Praise be to God.” “It is proper to praise him.” Although Europe may have changed some, the situation is still similar for the majority of Morocco (and the United States!). Before eating, it is proper to utter Bismillah (In the name of God); after asking somebody if they’re feeling okay, to say Al-hamdullah (Praise be to God). There is no word for “hopefully.” Instead, try Insha’allah—literally, if God wills. These aren’t just choice phrases, but are used constantly. There are several others, too, and Moroccans really appreciate it when Westerners use the name of God correctly, and sincerely. ]]> Fatalism – The idea that all things are determined by God is another theme presented in the movie (although its validity is questioned). Halfway through, when Nasir's servant dies in a heated battle, Nasir solemnly notes, “It was the end of his time” and displays no sign of shock or remorse. Perhaps that’s why Insha’allah is the most commonly-used religious phrase—and the one most provocative to Americans. Take my American friend who, though her real-life mom was seriously ill in California, received no condolences or hugs from her Moroccan family, who blithely kept repeating, “Don’t worry. She’ll get better if God wills.” It’s a very fatalistic attitude, and one that pushes the power away from the individual. Using the same principle, the phrase can also be used as a convincing cop-out for any situation. When my little brother asked me to bring him back a sandwich from a restaurant I was going to, I told him “If God wills” (I’m not joking). Unfortunately for him, God did not will. Pride and Formalities – The two main Arab characters in Kingdom of Heaven, Salah Al-Din and Nasir (above), have a certain air of pride and nobility about them. They stand assuredly, interact with colleagues formally, and even speak in English as if it were translated from Classical Arabic. This was no mistake on the part of the producers. Although the formal nature of the culture has disintegrated—both because of its distance from the Middle East and the influence of globalization—essentially Moroccans are still very proud of their history and culture (the national slogan is “God, Country, King”). This one is difficult to describe with examples, but the simple fact that all major Moroccan cities are divided into an “old city” and a “new city,” whereby the old cities have resisted modernization and managed to retain their narrow streets, donkeys, blacksmiths, tanneries, and other aspects of medieval life, is a testament to this. My thesis, in case the metaphor went over your head, is that Moroccan culture is still in many ways medieval—or to be more accurate, the clear product of a deeply-rooted medieval past. Look for this idea in Part II. Disclaimer: This is not necessarily a bad thing. Keep in mind that the Middle Ages were a Golden Age for the empires of the Middle-East and North Africa. Click for photo: My little brother, Hamza. Although he has grown at least an inch since September, he never got his sandwich. Click for photo: Leather workers at the tanneries in the old medina of Fes, a city which clings to much of its medieval history. Click for photo: Another shot of the Fes tanneries.]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1478 2007-11-10T16:30:10Z 2007-11-15T22:03:45Z

The Simple Life – My family’s daily routine was pretty varied and consisted of tending the goats/cows/sheep/donkeys/chickens, overseeing the agriculture, extracting water from the well, and lots of cooking. Obviously, life is stratified by gender to an extreme, with the...

Mike Snyder The Simple Life – My family’s daily routine was pretty varied and consisted of tending the goats/cows/sheep/donkeys/chickens, overseeing the agriculture, extracting water from the well, and lots of cooking. Obviously, life is stratified by gender to an extreme, with the men and women rarely participated in the same activities, sleeping in the same room, or even eating at the same dinner table. Even the dreri (young children) tended to latch onto their parent of the same gender the vast majority of the time. ]]> souqs (markets) several times a week to buy supplies and sell their own products. This means guys are ultra busy on market days as well as during harvesting season (my dad insisted to me in private that the men worked harder than the women); however, there was a tacit understanding among the Americans that the women are the superior workers, constantly cooking, weaving, crafting dyes, sowing, washing clothes—all while pregnant, since families with five or more children is common. (As an aside, the textiles they make are extraordinarily beautiful and the product of weeks of hard work and patience; afterwards, they get sold for peanuts to profit-minded shopkeepers in Marrakech and Tangier, who sell them to tourists at jacked prices of $50 or more). In terms of living conditions, the movie Babel got it right. Facilities are pretty basic and houses generally consisted of two or three small rooms with dirt floors and not a bed in sight. Showers are taken in an insulated, tee-pee like tent using a bucket of lukewarm water. Flies and insects abound, and I learned very quickly to sit cross-legged or Turkish-toilet style in the absence of any chairs. Even more amazing is that women cooked on the floors using only their hands—perhaps this is why many women in the village had larger-than-average hands and fingers, the product of a lifetime of calluses. To some of us, that lifestyle sounds pretty awful, but this seems to be a classic case of “ignorance is bliss.” My family, having grown up in the village and lived there all their lives, seemed quite content and had little misgivings when I asked them if this “simple life pleased them.” Indeed, the only person I met who was genuinely unhappy was my neighbor, who confided to me and another American that she didn’t like it here and felt trapped. Not surprisingly, she had been raised in a medium-sized city until she was 18, after which she was forced to marry her cousin and live with him in the mountains. I could tell she was the center of much tension in the village (my family for one did not understand her thought-processes well); she was also extraordinarily sharp-witted and intelligent, and I think she would excel as a lawyer or businesswoman. This entire experience is especially humbling, however, when one considers that a significant percentage of Moroccans (over 40%, I believe) actually live in rural conditions. This simple life is in fact quite common, and I wonder too if there’s a similar side to the United States that stays mostly underground, hidden from the attention of the media and government. And if there is, I wonder, maybe that’s exactly how they want it. ]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1477 2007-11-10T16:28:34Z 2007-11-15T22:02:37Z

Knowledge and Power – My family wasn’t very book-smart, of course, nor worldly. An absence of media and cultural influences means they had never heard of Michael Jackson, the state of California, or the city of New York. They had...

Mike Snyder Knowledge and Power – My family wasn’t very book-smart, of course, nor worldly. An absence of media and cultural influences means they had never heard of Michael Jackson, the state of California, or the city of New York. They had heard the words “Bush” and “Hip-Hop” before but had to be reminded who and what these were. Another example: one of the (few) toys the 6 and 4 year-olds played with was a small toy kangaroo. I asked them and my dad if they knew what animal this was. They had no idea what it was called, nor had they ever heard of a place called Australia. To my chagrin, I tried unsuccessfully to bring up some weightier topics, like equality between men and women and the value (or not) of education. I still can’t figure out if these topics just didn’t interest them or if they simply had no conceptual understanding of what I was getting at.]]> madrassa (elementary school), there are still kinks to work out: they have books in French and Tamazigh, but not Arabic! Without an Arabic version as a baseline, these books, designed to teach the kids how to read, are essentially turned into picture-books. An image of a beverage carton with the word lait (milk in French) on it, for example, was in my family’s opinion aseer (juice in Arabic). They refused to believe me when I told them I knew it was halib (milk in Arabic). This simple exercise reveals how truly powerful—and privileged—those with access to knowledge are. ]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1476 2007-11-10T16:25:20Z 2007-11-15T22:01:41Z

I just returned from a week-long stay in a rural village in Morocco’s Middle Atlas mountains. Rural really is an understatement here. If you travel by donkey, the village is a good 30-minutes away from the nearest road, two hours...

Mike Snyder I just returned from a week-long stay in a rural village in Morocco’s Middle Atlas mountains. Rural really is an understatement here. If you travel by donkey, the village is a good 30-minutes away from the nearest road, two hours from the nearest “hospital” (i.e. a poorly stocked health clinic that opens only on Wednesdays), and if you’re lucky enough to have wheels, it’s an hour’s ride to a respectably-sized city. The village also lacks running water, but electricity via solar panels (thanks to the efforts of local charitable organizations) gives families an extra two or three hours of light after sundown. Despite this, I had a rewarding and essentially educational week—probably my favorite experience in Morocco thus far. I could easily write a blog entry for each of the seven days I spent in my little village in the Atlas, but I’ll shorten it to three instead and get some of the more amusing observations off my chest.]]> All in the Family – My rural home-stay family is the #1 reason things went so smoothly. My home-stay father, Seehr, was 28; his wife Khadooj a few years younger than that (as you can imagine, the average age of marriage is very young and some of the older women in the village had children when they were 15 or 16). Thus my relationship with them was one of both brother and son. They themselves have two sons aged 6 and 4, plus Seehr’s 17 and 15 year-old brothers, and his mother, also lived with us. They were the perfect Brady Bunch family, a description which most of my American classmates echoed about their families as well. There was never fighting or stress among the family members (after all, what drama can you have in the middle of nowhere?); the kids were active and highly imaginative, the Atlas mountains their playground though having few toys themselves; and the food was always fresh and delicious, having been picked and prepared that day. Comparing them to my dysfunctional, stressed-out, fundamentally cynical Rabat family, it’s easy to see what Shakespeare was talking about when he wrote about the utopian Pastoral versus the sin and sanctimony of urban life. Even better, my family was just like me. What I mean is that they were just as concerned about respecting me, making me feel comfortable, not offending me culturally, etc., as I was about them. There was awkwardness at times, but it was a mutual, shared awkwardness—for example, when it came to gift-giving and greetings, neither Seehr or I knew what was culturally acceptable or appropriate for the other, so we approached these nuances with a light-heart and an open-mind. Finally, because I spoke their language (Darija) and they didn’t speak a word of mine, I was, linguistically-speaking, in a position of power—a pleasant contrast from the rest of the country, which caters to French-speaking foreigners and ensures they rarely have to speak the local tongue. I’m patting myself on the back here, but it was nice to be the one doing the translating for once. Were I able to stay there, I could see myself becoming fluent after a few months.]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1474 2007-11-02T18:38:59Z 2007-11-10T16:36:57Z

Ever since my camera mysteriously broke down several weeks ago, I’ve had to bum off my friends’ photos with my handy USB. Take a look below at a sampling of them. Okay, so they’re way sharper and framed better than...

Mike Snyder Ever since my camera mysteriously broke down several weeks ago, I’ve had to bum off my friends’ photos with my handy USB. Take a look below at a sampling of them. Okay, so they’re way sharper and framed better than any of my photos. This is true. Some of them look downright professional (especially in high resolution). The problem is that my friends’ photos are so beautiful and awe-inspiring that while they seem more real, in reality they are less real. Those photos are actually lying to you (to put it gently, those photos are lying to you more than other photos are lying to you). I am adding no descriptions or context to these photos--see why? Click for amazing photo 1 Click for amazing photo 2 Click for amazing photo 3 Click for amazing photo 4 Click for amazing photo 5 Click for amazing photo 6 Click for amazing photo 7 Click for amazing photo 8 Click for blurry photo 9]]> It’s counter-intuitive thinking, but I’ve been to those places and seen those things and well, they’re simply not as impressive in person. I mean, they still are impressive. Occasionally, they can be “breathtaking.” But there’s a big, big problem when viewing a photograph of something ends up evoking more emotion than actually viewing that thing in the flesh. It scares me that one of my friends, after snapping a photograph of a beautiful desert-scape, ended up staring at her LCD screen and admiring her handy work longer than staring at the thing she traveled thousands of miles to get to. Anybody whose worked in the admissions office, or marketing of any kind, knows the tremendous power images have in belying the truth (i.e. taking pictures of mostly minority students to put in the brochure). Likewise, Facebook users quickly ascertain the deceitful qualities of profile pics. Yet for some reason, we tend to stare at Time, Newsweek, and worse, National Geographic pictures as if they’re the real thing. If it’s far away and foreign, we start trusting again. Why? I suspect because we have nothing else to go on. Finally (and this is the aspect of my friends’ photography that I find most problematic), the photos below and those found in travel brochures tend to exoticize Morocco and make it seem as alien as possible. That means lots of bright colors, desert architecture, and other wildly unusual (but mostly faux) images that are reminiscent of a tourist’s bedtime fantasy. Of course, I’d like to think that study abroad students are in general above the attitude of wealthy, Birkenstock-wearing, recently-retired travelers. But you have to wonder, between the young and giddy study abroad student and the older but more-traveled tourist, which one is actually more compelled to embellish their experience? tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1473 2007-10-28T19:44:27Z 2007-11-02T19:38:32Z

Tourists and study abroad students are almost always in a position of power with respect to the places they’re visiting. Of course they’re highly privileged politically and can afford to travel, but most importantly, they possess the intellectual knowledge of...

Mike Snyder Tourists and study abroad students are almost always in a position of power with respect to the places they’re visiting. Of course they’re highly privileged politically and can afford to travel, but most importantly, they possess the intellectual knowledge of both their home culture and the host culture. This dual knowledge is great for researching purposes, but it also comes in handy in the most unlikely and amusing ways. Like: Music – Some of the most popular songs in Morocco are highly sexualized American pop, but without English speakers, the meaning of the lyrics go unnoticed. Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” and Nelly Furtado's “Promiscuous Girl” can be heard at restaurants, in the streets, and from cell phones. My friend’s 8-year-old host sister enjoys singing and dancing to “Smack That.” If only her parents had a clue. ]]> TV – The strangest American TV shows have become popular here, like Nanny 911 and the Biggest Loser. I still can’t believe that Tom and Jerry is prime time television, and that my 25-year-old host brother laughs at cat-and-mouse gags I saw when I was eight. What’s more hilarious is that because Tom and Jerry was produced in the 1950s, it’s filled with all sorts of archaic American cultural references (i.e. one episode involved a “Measles Quarantine”). Clothes – Remember that chic pair of Diesel jeans you bought for $100? In Rabat, everybody between the ages of 16 and 24 sports Diesel jeans, belts, shoes, and t-shirts—all for about $3-10 American dollars. The stuff is all outdated, but it’s funny how Diesel and others have made names for themselves while a mega company like Gap is nowhere to be found. By the way, pronounce Diesel in three syllables like “Dee-eh-sehl” because the locals, understandably, never say things the “right” way and think you’re the one who’s wrong. Toys – Like everything else, toys and other childhood gadgets are also imported. This makes for lots of white-skinned Barbie dolls that live in big pink houses (although the veiled Moroccan Barbie is becoming more popular). Others are just bizarre, like an action figure of George Bush in a tank chasing Osama Bid Laden. It’s supposed to be a political joke, I think, but I can see boys in the States playing with the same thing. Movies – DVDs cost about a dollar and come from France, Egypt, and the US. I find this puzzling. What Moroccan in their right mind would want to watch a movie like Sicko or The Patriot? Most Moroccans have no context for the movies they see. For example, some kids told me about a film with a “big war” between the Americans and the Chinese—with swords! Turns out the Chinese were Japanese, and the movie was The Last Samurai. ]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1472 2007-10-15T13:54:56Z 2007-10-28T20:50:59Z

Back at Tufts, the concept of studying abroad doesn’t seem all that complicated. All study abroad students are lumped together under a single label, regardless of what country they go to and how they manage their time there. It’s an...

Mike Snyder Back at Tufts, the concept of studying abroad doesn’t seem all that complicated. All study abroad students are lumped together under a single label, regardless of what country they go to and how they manage their time there. It’s an easy dichotomy: about half of the students at Tufts go abroad, and half don’t. After getting to know some 40 other study abroad students—all of whom decided to go to the same country, Morocco, and apply to the same study abroad program via the School for International Training (SIT)—it’s clear how completely wrong that division is. Thus I have made, in true Dean Sternberg fashion, my own psychological categorizations for the six different types of study abroad students. I’m sure there’s some official research out there already, but here’s my best attempt at putting all of you into boxes. ]]> Experiential – The Experiential student wants to do everything there is to do, and see everything there is to see. They do not usually have specific agendas for the places they visit: what’s important is that they were there, have a story to tell, and took some memorable photos to prove it. Experiential students are go-getters (sometimes on a competitive level), never letting a weekend go un-traveled nor passing up an opportunity to try out a local custom or learn a new craft. Knowledge – Knowledge students are always on the look out, their brains constantly churning and retaining huge amounts of information about their host country (which they treat as a kind of lab rat). Quite often they’ll make connections with their life in America, or they’ll be interested in an esoteric topic of their choosing. Knowledge students prefer to stay in the back and observe, rather than participate, but they end up churning out some really good research papers. Cultural – This student’s prerogative is to blend in with the host culture however possible. A Cultural student is extremely proactive about learning the language, making friends with kids in the street and approaching locals frequently. Eventually they adopt the local habits and even some local customs (Islam, anyone?). I find that these students are the most spontaneous and sometimes aloof, not as interested in attending class or traveling as that takes away from their time immersed in the culture and with the people. Reflective – Reflective students are inwardly curious, paying more attention to their own emotional ups-and-downs than observing the host country. Study abroad is for them a personal journey, with a storyline plot and a happy ending. Journals or blogs are utilized daily. By the semester’s conclusion, these students want to know if and how they’ve changed; dying one’s hair or coming back with a new wardrobe is probable—an outward metaphor for an inner transformation. Pleasure – Even in Morocco—or perhaps, especially in Morocco—there are those students who seem guided primarily by their senses. Keep in mind this isn’t Europe: bars, clubs, discothèques, and contact with the opposite sex in Morocco are hard to come by. Thus, pleasure-seekers may search for exotic foods, breathtaking scenery, and other sensual delights. There’s plenty to go around. Transfer – The Transfer student is one for whom their semester abroad is no different than a semester at their university, either because they desire the equanimity or because they simply aren’t motivated by any of the above categories. These students often attempt to minimize the differences they experience abroad by doing familiar activities, like enrolling at a gym, reading books during their free time, frequently using Facebook or Skype, and studying like they would at home. There’s plenty of overlap, of course. If I had to rate myself right now, I would be something like 40% Culture, 40% Knowledge, and 20% Reflective. My blog is definitely Knowledge-based, and reading other people’s blogs gives an idea as to what categories they belong. What’s so interesting about these categories is how some complement each other while others tend to repel. Experiential/Reflective is a powerful combination—easily the most popular choice in my program—and makes for students who write in their journals while on a bus to who-knows-where. Knowledge/Transfer makes for intellectually curious students who spend lots of time in the house asking questions of their home stay families. On the other hand, Experiential and Cultural can be tricky to balance. While both highly independent, experiential students, from my observations, are more likely to exoticize the host culture, for example, by taking photos that highlight differences as well as buying touristy souvenirs. Indeed, the very nature of “new experiences” implies differences and the unknown. A Cultural student on the other hand does not want to see himself or herself as an outsider, even though others inevitably will. Thus, an Experiential student buys the clothes people in America think Moroccans wear, while a Culture student buys the clothes Moroccans actually wear. Get it? If you’re planning on going abroad, I challenge you to place yourself into one of these categories, or create your own rubric. It’s harder than you think, and you may even realize that the study abroad student you hope to be in the future is in fact quite different from who you are right now. But who knows. Maybe you’ll come back to the States transformed—with a fresh take on life and a new birth of confidence. Just don’t forget to dye your hair. ]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1470 2007-10-07T23:30:53Z 2007-10-15T13:50:26Z

I need to talk about it sometime, seeing as how it’s probably the most pressing and controversial topic in the eyes of Americans. The very word “Islam” terrifies many and has been entangled with a mess of stereotypes and negative...

Mike Snyder I need to talk about it sometime, seeing as how it’s probably the most pressing and controversial topic in the eyes of Americans. The very word “Islam” terrifies many and has been entangled with a mess of stereotypes and negative connotations, in the same way local perceptions of America have been grossly distorted here. There’s no denying that Moroccan society is on the surface very religious. About 98% of the country is Muslim. I’ve met not a single man or woman of adult age who isn’t fasting for Ramadan or who doesn’t attend Mosque regularly. Five times a day, promptly, the call to prayer sounds off from Muaddins all over the city, a trance-inducing five-minute chorus of “Allahu akbar, allahu akbar, ashhadu alla ilaha illa Allah…” God is great! God is great! I testify there is no god but God! Come to prayer! Come to prayer! Click for photo: The sunset at the first night of Ramadan, marking the end of the fast. At this moment 30 million Moroccans would all be preparing to eat dates, a bean soup known as harira, and other delicious foods. Click for photo: Me infront of the biggest mosque in Africa--the Hassan II mosque, constructed in the late 1980s and named after the King/dictator who built it. Click for photo: Religious calligraphy at the tomb of one of Morocco's greatest leaders, Moulay Ismail, in the city of Meknes.]]> (The first time, I was mesmerized, but have since found it a little repetitive. Perhaps others have too—Morocco used to house a large Jewish population, but the bulk took off in groves when Israel opened up, in search of better opportunities. Today Israel’s second largest population of Jewish immigrants comes from Morocco.) If the call to prayer weren’t enough, most Arab television channels seem to have a general acknowledge of Islam. Intermittently throughout the day, the main local channel broadcasts to religious music incredibly kitsch scenes of “God’s Creations,” such as an ocean sunset and lush forests. These are of course interspersed with American TV shows (edited for sex and violence). The religious “deviants,” then, are people like my brother Abdul Huq, who adopt an American style and with it an American secularism. Sort of. To be secular means you pray only once or twice a day and not five times, miss out on some meals with the family, and in general keep more things to yourself. By these standards every single teenager in the States is a deviant. Something I quickly discovered is that religion is linked with community, secularism with privacy. Prayer in Islam is communal, remember? When I questioned my oldest host brother Ilyass (25) on this topic, he didn’t think prayer could be accomplished by oneself—i.e. in a quiet room or a secluded garden. That doesn’t count. Knowing what he does about America’s culture of narcissism and individualism, then, it’s no wonder he thinks our country is so completely screwed up. There’s lots more to say, so expect a Part II and then some. Post questions if you have them. Until then, I want to repeat to you what some of my “deviant” non-religious high school friends in the street said to me the other day, after exchanging some Hasheesh amongst themselves. In French: “Be careful what you say. There are no secrets in this city!” tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1469 2007-09-30T17:50:27Z 2007-10-15T13:07:28Z

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...

Mike Snyder 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.]]> Street Fights – During Ramadan, street fights are very common (the chant “Fight! Fight!” literally means in Moroccan Arabic “Light up!”). Sure, Ramadan is holy and fighting is strictly forbidden, but that’s what happens when young men can’t eat—or smoke!—until sundown. The most ridiculous fight I’ve witnessed was two men in underwear at the Hammam; the most intense involved the whole block—30 guys all standing around in a circle yelling loudly and making gestures at each other—although amazingly no punches were thrown. Donkeys – This one, I concede, could never happen in America or Europe. While exploring the city of Fes, with its narrow streets and medieval means of transportation, it’s important to listen for the words “Balek! Balek” (“Watch out!”) so as not to get run over by a wagon or a donkey. Well, one time I must have missed the “Balek” and a donkey clipped me in the back of the heel. It stung a little, but fortunately the donkeys in Fes wear rubber shoes—not metal—which, like our own shoes, grip the ground better. Taxis - There’s enough blue in the streets of Rabat to rival the yellow of NYC, except the taxis in Rabat have no seatbelts. Frenetic drivers and little regard for traffic lanes make a quick trip down surface streets feel like a rollercoaster. One time, our driver got out of his cab in the middle of an empty road to yell at the driver in front of us, blocking traffic. Another time, he missed running over a pedestrian by half a foot. Turns out this pedestrian was a good friend of his—our driver’s idea of a practical joke. Projectiles – Once at the beach, discreetly watching the sunset with a friend, I felt something hit me in the back. Confused, we looked around: a passing group of antsy junior high school kids were throwing small pebbles and (I think) trash at us. We ignored them and that was that. My guess, though, is that they were being indignant, not political. It was impossible for them to know we were American--and even then, most youth are extremely friendly and love talking about 50 Cent and Beyoncé. I secretly suspect they were jealous that my culture permits me to talk to and hang out with girls in public, and not theirs... Matches – While playing with a group of five or six Moroccan kids in the street, one of the boys, in magician-like fashion, opened his left hand to reveal a small box of matches. With the most mischievous 7-year-old grin I’ve ever seen, he lit up a match and tossed it into the air like a tennis ball. It fell to the pavement, missing my backpack and several pairs of bare feet. About to light up another, I muttered the word for “dangerous” in Arabic, glanced nervously at my American friends, and got out of there. Now I just need to learn the words for “dumb” and “totally ridiculous.”]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1468 2007-09-25T22:28:51Z 2007-09-30T17:42:24Z

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...

Mike Snyder 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. ]]> Here’s a tricky one: Participating vs. observing. It’s nice to be able to join the fun and try out a local custom, but doing so exposes oneself to more unpredictability. Being the only white guy at the Hammam (public bath) attracted lots of attention—my l4 year old little brother, Hamza, had to speak for me and “defend” the buckets of hot water I had set aside for myself (for rinsing and cleaning) from veteran Hammam goers. And still other times local customs can conflict with personal values. If my host family hints that they want me to fast for Ramadan, should I? Other students have been asked if they wanted to pray and even convert to Islam. Just how far should students go in order to “experience” another culture? Okay, so I guess all of these questions come down to one: Why did I come here? Most study abroad students on my program—and everywhere I suspect—don’t know exactly why they went abroad, only that they were strangely drawn to new and different experiences and cultures, and had the privilege to go through with it. But maybe it’s better that way—not knowing why I’m here, and not making out one choice to be superior to another. At times like this I would do well to take a hint from local Moroccan wisdom. Take my host brother Abdul Huq, a poet himself, the extent of whose English is limited to one, important phrase: “Hey man… relax!” tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1451 2007-09-21T17:19:54Z 2007-09-30T17:36:01Z

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...

Mike Snyder 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. ]]> Die Hard 4 to Nash Bridges dubbed into Arabic) or a Moroccan version of Frasier and The Young and the Restless. If there’s any hostility, it’s a post-colonial frustration towards the French, who ruled the country for 50 years starting in the early 1900s. As a white dude, people always speak to me in French first. When I tell them I’m American, a smile forms. They always assume I’m from either New York or Hollywood. And they think I’m rich. To sum this up: There are two major ideas about America I’ve noticed—one true, one not entirely. Those whom I’ve asked know America is powerful, but they also think that the majority of Americans are filthy rich. I remember talking to two young and well-educated Moroccan women, the host sisters of an American friend of mine. They have degrees in Economics and Physics respectively, yet still thought most Americans live in big, tricked-out houses. No way, I told them adamantly, but they couldn’t have believed me—every American movie they’ve ever seen features a big home, a big car, or an even bigger jet plane. Thank you, Bruce Willis. ]]> tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1450 2007-09-17T17:46:24Z 2007-09-25T23:26:10Z

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...

Mike Snyder 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.]]> As you might imagine, this alters everyday life pretty drastically. Gossip travels fast, so fast that the locals know more about the whereabouts of my American friends than I do. Simple tasks like changing clothes become a challenge, and having a private cell phone conversation is just not possible (most people choose to text message instead). Romance gets complicated, especially when newlyweds decide to move in with their parents. The affects of all this are magnified for Americans, who value individualism, privacy, and are used to plenty of “me time.” From an emotional standpoint, this privacy thing can get a little rough at times. Let’s just say that blogging is quite therapeutic here—a few minutes all to myself—but just a few. While writing this blog on microsoft word, my Moroccan host father looked over my shoulder twice, wondering what I was doing on the computer and if I was feeling okay. tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1449 2007-09-09T16:34:18Z 2007-09-25T23:39:03Z

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,...

Mike Snyder 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!]]> What I want is for this blog to give some insight into Moroccan culture and society for those who are curious about North Africa and the Islamic world. Entries will be organized based on topics of interest--say, bargaining or Ramadan. Ill also throw in personal anecdotes, historical facts, and if I can pull it off, some analysis of the complexities that make Morocco a country worthy of study--and study abroad. Ill keep this first entry short, but what kind of blog about Morocco would conclude without the traditional Muslim greeting that we all know and love? sslamu aleikum. Peace be upon you. tag:www.tuftsobserver.org,2007:/snyderblog//3.1448 2007-05-01T06:08:34Z 2007-05-01T07:16:36Z

If you haven't already seen it, you NEED to watch this YouTube clip of Democratic Presidential candidate Mike Gravel. Over the last several days it's accrued some 170,000 hits, and bloggers like myself are having a field day. Obama supporters,...

Mike Snyder Oh. My. God. Can you remember the last time you saw such candor from a politician? While the other candidates, including Clinton and Obama, play with rehearsed answers and stay politically neutral on the tough questions, Mike goes straight for the throat. Just who does that? Who has the political balls to directly challenge the front runner Obama ("Barack, who do you want to nuke?") and speak straight to the moderator ("Who are you afraid of, Brian?"). Whether you love him or hate him, it's hard not to respect a guy who uses the phrase "military-industrial complex" on national television. In a way he reminds me of my grandpa. Also of Hunter Thompson, the late gonzo journalist. That's funny, because politicians aren't supposed to be like journalists. Then again, is politician a fitting label for someone with almost zero regard for, well... er, politics? Something else that's been troubling me. In a weird and perverse way, Gravel is Bush's counterpart. Both speak their mind. Both seem to think they know the "truth" and the " right answer" without a shadow of a doubt. Might Gravel, like Bush, one day become a narrow-minded charlatan in order to feed his own agenda and personal vision for the world? Gravel isn't a saint, make no mistake. Some of his ideas seem unfounded and unpractical. His claim that the United States has nothing to be afraid of and should therefore disarm militarily is a dubious one at best. Did he ever wonder that maybe, just maybe, the reason the U.S. has nothing to be afraid of is because it spends more money "on defense than the rest of the world put together?" In any case, Mike Gravel challenged all of America last Thursday. Every single one of us--Democrats and Republicans--is confronted with new notions of what a politician can (and should?) be. Mike reminds us that the national politics to which we are accustomed are not the end all, be all. This is a great gift to a country that is in a moral and inspirational rut. But can a politician really get elected without political posturing? Without lies and empty promises? Without cautious and politically correct responses? Or more importantly, without $30 million in campaign contributions? ]]>