The other day, my friend Deborah said after lunch, "You can't eat and digest at the same time. You first need to swallow, and then give your body the time it needs to break down the food."
We were talking about our adjustment to Morocco, and her metaphor quickly resonated with me. We’re in school for 10+ hours each day, have another 2-4 hours of homework, and the rest of our minutes are spent with our host families or sleeping. I watched two snails race each other yesterday with my host sister, just to break up my Saturday dedicated to chipping away at my endless list of things to do. There’s been little time for exploring or regular self-reflection, though I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in these past six weeks.
While the topics are almost always fascinating, our daily lectures at the CCCL (Center for Cross-Cultural Learning) require immense mental engagement. Our lecturers range from Islamic scholars advocating for women’s rights to political communications directors working to instill democratic republics in developing nations. We are blessed to engage with such passionate professionals willing to share their time and knowledge with us from their very diverse fields of expertise.
I’m struggling a bit with my assignments, which means more of my time is taken up to do revisions. At my very core, I am an academic. I’ve been trained to think and write a certain way. Most of my college classes have been in the realms of literature, anthropology, sociology, and psychology. Though I’ve thoroughly developed critical thinking skills, which is helpful when generating interview questions and identifying larger societal issues surrounding a story, I have a tendency to immediately analyze. Analysis is not a part of the reporting process. Reporters are supposed to be unbiased at all costs—the job is to simply tell a story by telling the truth. Thus, I’ve also been told to “dumb down” my language, which makes sense, but still requires me to break habits. The point of an article isn’t to show off how deeply I’ve contemplated the information I’ve found with flowery, 10-point vocabulary; it’s to share it with as many people as possible. It needs to be linguistically accessible.
While I really do appreciate all that I’m learning in this “everything I do is wrong” phase, I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for the journalist gig. It’s hard. Especially in Morocco, where there’s no such thing as free press under a corrupt monarchy and most Moroccans think I’m an American spy the minute I start asking questions. I’m already burnt out, and I’m just a student. I can’t imagine doing this full-time only to make around $100 per article.
Also, did you know it’s an unspoken rule that journalists don’t vote??? Considering I’ve gone through hell and back this past week to send my essentially insignificant ballot back to the U.S., I’ve already broken rule #1. Journalists also avoid activism and participating in acts of protest in general. Unfortunately for me, I happen to have emotions and opinions that I desperately feel a need to share with the world.
Anyways, take a quick break from my feelings and check out some photos from J-Squad’s southern excursion through the cities of Meknes, Volubulis, Fes, Azrou, Ouarzazate, Merzouga, and Marrakech!
Here's a quick map of Morocco so you can see how much of the country we actually saw. It amazes me how diverse Morroco's terrain is -- we went from coastline to forest to desert to mountains in just 6 days!
Silversmith's shop, Meknes
The silversmith simultaneously unravels the silver string and softly pounds it into the iron plate. There is no predetermined design; he creates from memory.
Volubulis
These are the partially unearthed ruins of the ancient Roman city.
Mural depicting Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt (i.e. my fave)
City of Fes
The old medina of Fes has over 9,600 alleyways. In order to safely navigate through the medina and visit the famed tanneries and souks, tourists must hire a resident guide.
Weavers' workshop, Fes Medina
Tanneries, Fes Medina
Pottery shop, Fes
Here, the artist is slowly chipping away at the glaze to create the pre-drawn pattern.
Here, the artist is slowly chipping away at the glaze to create the pre-drawn pattern.
Cedar Forest, Azrou
Before making our way to the desert, we caught a morning glimpse of the Barbary macaque.
Sahara Desert, Merzouga
I referred to my camel as Sasha Fierce during the 20 minutes we shared together.
Dadès Gorge, Merzouga
Girls Dormitory, Ourzazate
Dormitories like this are scattered throughout more rural areas of southern Morocco to aid young women in their studies. In addition to attending high school or university, these girls can take vocational training courses in subjects such as craftsmanship, business, and computer science.
Jamaa el-Fna, Marrakech
Les Jardins Marjorelle, Marrakech
This past week, I’ve had quite a few deep, insightful conversations with my host mom. We’ve casually covered vote-buying and election rigging in politics (as Morocco just held national elections this past Friday, October 7th), the failures of the public education system (sound familiar?), and the stigma that still exists surrounding inter-ethnic (Berber-Arab) Moroccan marriages.
I listened intently as she told me about the hardest year of her life, when Baba lost his job and she miscarried with twins. I continued to sit in silence as she told me how she worries this may be Oumayma’s last year in private school, as it is no longer affordable and costs as much as the house. She knows how important it is for Morocco to educate their daughters and recalled having to drop out of school herself when her father didn't have the money to purchase her textbooks. Despite the pain deeply saturated in her words, Maman told me this and more with a soft smile on her face. Even the heavy sigh that prefaced the end of our talk couldn’t break it; she simply looked me in the eyes and said, “c’est la vie.”
She’s right. Life throws shit at us all the time. As I spend most of this blog post complaining about things I can control, I only hope to handle life with as much strength, grace, and sensibility as Maman.
All we can do is pray, إن شاء الله Inshallah, that the world will be kinder in the future.
