Second day of classes!

I am in Rabat, still alive, still healthy, and I even walked my host family’s dog alone today to go buy sunscreen.

That was also a new experience. I’ve never walked a dog by myself before.

So, here’s the part where I unpack my preconceptions. As a woman, I definitely thought that I was going to have trouble here in Morocco. I thought that I would get catcalled all the time (not that it doesn’t happen in the US anyway) that I would have to wear a scarf all the time, couldn’t travel unaccompanied, that all the men I spoke with would be sexist jerks, etc, etc, etc.. Now, granted, it’s only…day four or five, and the female tourists I’ve met have definitely been more skittish than the Moroccan women I’ve met, but I have not encountered any of my preconceptions as true.

But also bear in mind that everyone thinks I’m Moroccan when they first meet me, and my experience is subjective and not true for everyone who has visited Morocco, nor for everyone who will visit it.

That being said, it’s been nice to encounter the best of my hopes and not the worst of my fears.

So, after my classes this morning and lunch at the Addictest center, Jes and I did another walking tour of the Marina and we went back to L’Oudaya with our guide, a student associated with Addictest.

He kept telling us how much he loved the fresh air of the Marina, but the wind smelled like brine and old fish to me. The best part was going back to L’Oudaya. We stayed there for hours drinking mint tea and our guide was able to teach me some good grammar.

I’m going to try to start taking note of things throughout the day so I have more detailed posts for y’all.

Oh! I almost forgot. It’s impossible to unlock my phone, apparently. Myriam’s mother said it was impossible without being in the US. BUT they got me a cheap Moroccan phone. Not a smart phone, but hey, better than nothing.

I hate my phone company.

Yesterday we had a small snafu when starting the day’s programming. A Lankey rep was supposed to come pick me up but they had a personal emergency so I ended up taking the tram with my host sister to the Addictest center. Once we got there, it was beach time!

Miryiam’s mother drove us in the Addictest car to a beach called Skirat. It was near Casablanca. The weather today was kinda cloudy, so maybe it wasn’t stereotypically perfect beach weather, but it was gorgeous all the same.

We ate sandwiches, bought some snacks, and relaxed for a couple hours. There was one snack I bought though, that really drew my attention. It was a bag of mixed, assorted nuts. It was packaged in Spain, but all my alarm bells went off.

Racist mixed nuts package.

Closeup. You can kinda see in the corner that it’s manufactured and made in Spain.

You know, it’s one thing to know that anti-Blackness is global, to study it in class and watch it manifest as Colorism, but it’s definitely another thing to experience it. When I saw this and took a photo of it, it ended up sparking a conversation with two of the high schoolers who were at the beach with us. They’d never noticed that part of the wrapping before. They feel that Morocco is a country that’s really welcoming and accepting because tourism is such a huge part of the country’s economy, which is why one of them was quick to point out that this snack was manufactured in Spain. I hope that their perception of things are true.

I guess that at the very least I’m happy that this iconography is no longer found in America this blatantly. We definitely have our issues, but this sort of thing would immediately go viral back in the States.

We stayed on the beach for another hour or so after eating, and I got some nice shots of some volleyball players.

It was kinda cloudy yesterday.

I have more photos of the beach, but I forgot to ask permission from the other people there if I could put their photos here, so I’m gonna leave the photos in my private folders until then.

I fell asleep on the ride home. The beach is one of my favorite places, and I always know I’m going to sleep really well after visiting one. There’s something about it that just makes me go right to sleep as if I was a child again. We ended up back at the Addictest center eventually (which I’m just now realizing I should probably take a picture of, since I’ll be mentioning it often). I met up with Aïda there (my host sister) and we went to meet up with her mom, who coincidentally works at the Royal Palace as a secretary for an official there. I got to walk around the royal grounds.

Somehow this is my life. As with any photo, click to enlarge.

We hung out, Aïda, her mother, and I, at a series of compounds built for workers at the palace. Aïda has family who live there, but it was interesting for me. Almost none of the family we visited spoke French or English. I sat there, eating a bunch of snacks, listening to the conversation flow around me. They were really kind, but my miscommunications definitely became small jokes for the conversation going on around me. The family we visited had a housekeeper, and at one point someone said something in Arabic to her along the lines of, “Show her your English.” She knew how to say, “My name is [her name].” It was  sweet to witness.

There was one family member I met there who spoke French. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his mid-fifties. At first, when he offered his hand and I shook it, I froze up because I didn’t know if he was bilingual or not, I was trying to remember the Arabic word for hello, and my brain goes really slow sometimes when I have to switch between languages.

It became a joke. Aïda’s mother asked me in French if he was handsome, and not wanting to be rude but also trying to sidestep more jokes about marriage, I said, “Bien sûr!” which means “Of course!” and the room burst into friendly laughter.

After that, we stayed for a little while longer, but when we finally made it back home, I crashed on my bed and went straight to sleep. (The effects of the beach on my system).  I’m awake now, at 7am, because of the roosters in the neighborhood.

I have my French placement exam today and my first classes. Wish me luck!

The good thing about Lankey, my language program, is that it’s really flexible and gives us a ton of independence. Another Lankey student arrived today. She’s 28, badass, and I’m really looking forward to going to the beach with her tomorrow. Her name is Jes. She is also blogging on this trip, so as soon as I can get a link from her, I’ll be putting it here. She’s from Micronesia, but has been living in the US for the past 9 years. She’ll be here for 3 weeks, studying French. Lankey runs an 8 week program and a 3 week program.

I journaled earlier today that I was bored because I felt like I suddenly had so much time. Northwestern makes you get used to being pressed for time, and then when you have it again, you don’t know what to do with it. Whether or not I actually have a lot of time in the coming weeks, we’ll see, but thus far it’s been a nice acclimation. I think that if this was a Northwestern led trip, I would already have a packed day, whereas I think Miryiam is building time into my schedule for me to catch up on sleep and get on a regular schedule again. (It’s truly a blessing).

My host bedroom. Click to enlarge.

They sent a driver for me around 6pm in an Addictest car (remember, the sister org to Lankey? It mentors high school students to help them get into top colleges around the world).

I have to say, after living alone at college for two years now, it’s both nice and weird to be back in a real home. I got so used to temporary living arrangements (read: dormitories) that it’s strange to be in a nuclear family arrangement. I feel weird having someone else clear away dirty dishes, even if they have a dishwasher. I think I have to get used to cohabitating with other people again. When you’re in a dormitory, you can pretend that you’re alone, but here things like mirrors and bathrooms are shared.

So, they had someone pick me up around 6pm, and we drove to pick up Miryiam from her apartment (which is gorgeous) and then we drove to the Addictest center for a short orientation.

That’s when I met Jes. She landed today. We got orientation packets, and a short presentation from one of the Addictest students about Moroccan history, architecture, music, and food. Apparently, it was the first out of a few different ones we’ll get while we’re here. Then, a couple of the students walked us back to Miryiam’s apartment, and we had dinner together with other Addictest staff, interns, and Miryiam’s mother and brother. Lankey is sort of the family business.

Terrace in Miryiam’s apartment. Click any photo to enlarge.

We stayed at Miryiam’s apartment eating dinner until about 10:30 and then Miryiam’s mother drove me home. There’s a popular music festival happening here called Mawazine. It felt like everyone in Rabat was out and walking to the festival. (The Weekend is playing. I’m gonna try to go. Wish me luck!) I wish I had gotten pictures. Hopefully there will be some coming soon!

And then, to my surprise, my host family had adopted a puppy while I was out today!

His name is Kimbol! He’s the sweetest puppy.

My host brother with his new puppy!

The puppy is so cute!

Strap in for this.

If you’ve never seen ‘I Am Not Your Negro’, the documentary on James Baldwin, go watch it.

I’m mentally replaying a couple of scenes from the documentary about when Baldwin was abroad, when he heard about the atrocities going on back home.

This post is being written during the time period of forced family separation and internment of Central American immigrants who are seeking asylum from the US. (They are not illegal).

Baldwin was abroad, and felt the call to return to bear the burden of a witness. I’m abroad, but I feel just as helpless now as I did in the US. Truth is, I’ve lived my life knowing that I was not the kind of person America was built for and enforced for. I’m not part of the America that the country’s wealthiest and Whitest citizens might first think of.

But I am no less American. I am no less human. I am not a mistake. I am an American that my country should be proud to have, and this is no less true for me than for the people and children who are, at the moment I am writing this, being unfairly detained, separated, tortured, abused, and exploited.

Growing up, I think it’s common to wonder how bad things in history happened. You think, ‘shouldn’t someone have stopped it? Why didn’t someone do anything?’

The fact is that this is the true test of democracy. Something is going terribly, horribly wrong. The US has lost all international standing. We are the scorpion that has poisoned itself. We are now the villains we told each other to fear, and yet we can’t seem to change course. Americans don’t live in a democracy anymore, if they ever did. We now bear the burden of witnessing. I bear it. I’m here, halfway around the world, enjoying a program that’s going to help me be better at French. I’m not in the streets back home, protesting. It seems almost silly when I think of it. It feels frivolous and monstrous to be here when I take in the full view of the atrocities back home. I, like everyone else, end up posting on Facebook because it’s what I have. I email my representatives because it’s what I have.

I’m trying to do what I can, but I wonder who it really makes me as a person to be here when there is so much pain back home. (And make no mistake, I am sure that there is pain here in Morocco, too).  Morality gets messier as you get older. I don’t know that I can say that being here and being helpless is more or less moral than being back in the States. And by all means, as complicated as this situation is, I’m not saying that you should never go after life-changing opportunities. You should. Apply for these grants. Use them to do good in the world. Maybe my French will end up helping me become a tool for someone else’s liberation.

But it’s worth asking the hard questions. Because otherwise, I am no better than a frivolous recipient of my privilege.

I don’t know how other people have dealt with these situations before. Baldwin used it to fuel his writing. I guess that I am using it to fuel mine, too. I just need it down somewhere that not everyone stood by and watched the world burn. We are fighting, and it’s probably not enough, but it’s what we have. It’s what we can do when we still have to think of our own futures and families. It is a privilege to be able to protest. Never forget that. But it’s not an excuse to be idle. If it is my burden to witness and be resistant in the ways I can, then that’s what I’ll do.

There’s no clear cut answer, but my mother once showed me that in the face of extreme loss or heartache, it’s okay to find joy. It proves that whoever was trying to oppress you didn’t win. Joy is a form of resistance, and I hope it’s a lesson I can manage to learn.

I’m a queer woman of color. I resolve to be what I am triumphantly, loudly, and as proudly as I can manage.

Good luck and keep up the good fight.

*TMI warning: Personal information about my digestive worries below*

There’s still so much that I don’t know.

I feel like the biggest takeaway today was that I know more French than I thought I did, which is a nice realization. But understanding is like a sieve, things fall through the cracks, and I have to get better at piecing together the meaning of everything.

However, as far as coming to Morocco to learn French, it was a good choice. The websites I read about the languages here were right. The people I’ve met all speak more than one language, and my day to day is a mixture of English, French, Arabic, and even some Spanish, since Spain is so close.

The Arabic is a big hole in my sieve, but I get pretty far with the other three.

It takes time to get used to a new place, and who you are in that place. It’s kind of weird to notice how I communicate here because I’m such a talkative person at home, and now I really have to listen to understand what people are saying. If I do talk, I try to make sure my grammar is right, and I do a lot of repeating my words in an effort to nail that down. However, I’ve noticed that in general, I have been speaking less, and when I do speak, I worry that I’m not making good conversation. Maybe this is my opportunity to get really good at asking questions! When I was on my walk with Fadwa, she did a on of talking and explaining what I was seeing, which is great, but it’s more difficult to bond and create a friendship with someone when there’s a language barrier.

I also don’t know what’s taboo here, so…wish me luck that I don’t make a social gaff. I try to make sure that when I speak French to an older person that I use the proper honorifics, but I’ve caught myself messing up on that from time to time. My mom raised me to be damn polite, and I’m not trying to lose grip of that now.

As far as personal changes, I definitely feel more queer here, if that makes sense. I think that because I haven’t yet encountered much queerness here, I feel my own more strongly.

Also, I think I might be developing traveler’s diarrhea. Maybe that’s TMI, but I haven’t really been strict about my consumption of only bottled water here because when I visited Rio it ended up not even being a worry. But here my stomach is really sensitive. I can feel that I’m producing a ton more air in my digestive system than I normally do. My burps have periodically tasted like bile, which is NOT pleasant. But at least the nausea is gone. Though honestly, it could be the sleep deprivation and jetlag messing with my stomach. In London I really did worry that I was going to puke somewhere public on accident and that had to be the sleep deprivation. Haha wish me luck!

After Chellah and coming back to the apartment, I accidentally slept for three hours.

I guess all the traveling did me in.

But around 6pm, we went to the Addictest center, this sister org to Lankey, my language program. There I met some high school students who are studying to apply to different colleges around the globe. I also met Miryam, one of the cofounders, and she sent me off with this gorgeous Moroccan woman Fadwa to see the Tour Hassan, which is a mausoleum for one of the old kings.

It. Was. Beautiful.

And because I had slept later than I intended and was in a rush to get to the Addictest center, I forgot my camera.

But it’s okay! Tomorrow is a new day, and hopefully I’ll have some pictures of my own by then.

My host sister did manage to take a couple of me at Chellah, thankfully, so here you go!

If you want to make them bigger, just click on them.