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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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 there are some key ideas about Moroccan culture worth knowing if you plan on making the trip out here. To make this entry more fun—or maybe just weird, we shall see—I’ll highlight these differences through the lens of my favorite movie, Ridley Scott’s Crusader thriller 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.

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.