All the Languages of Morocco

Going into this, I knew there would be a language barrier.  Even in Jordan, where the languages were either Arabic or English, there was a language barrier.  So it would stand to reason that there would be one here as well, especially considering the many spoken languages of Morocco.  Knowing some of these languages (Modern Standard Arabic, Spanish, and a little bit of French), I didn’t think communication would be nearly as difficult as it is.  Certainly, there was some level of vanity in my previous assumption: I assumed that because I could speak a fair amount of Modern Standard Arabic, that I could also speak Darija- the Moroccan dialect, or that I would catch on quickly.  This was similar to my assumption that I would succeed in French because I know a decent amount of Spanish, and that clearly I was mistaken there as well.

My host Mom understands Modern Standard Arabic but can only respond in Moroccan dialect, meaning that there is a lot of repetition and gesturing in our conversations, which has proven to be effective thus far.  We have had a number of misunderstandings, but nothing outrageous this far.  The other day, unfortunately, I scared my host mom into locking all of the shutters in our house because of some crazy animal outside.  Of course, I was trying to explain that there was a lizard on the wall of the house across from us and that I thought it was cute.  Not knowing the word in Darija (or let’s be real Standard Arabic either), I tried to convey this with charades and I may have led her to believe there was a deranged bird outside.  Needless to say, our communication needs work. 

Just when I had gotten the swing of things communicating in a mix of Standard Arabic and Darija, we started our internships. Mine is with the Organisacion Democratique du travail, and as the name suggests, they are a French-speaking organization that deals with the Humans rights of Sub-Saharan Migrant workers.  One person speaks a bit of English, but otherwise, people only speak French.  Although I have taken one semester of French, my French is quite awful, and more often than not we have to repeat ourselves (me, because I am saying things wrong: the workers, because they have great patience with me).  The organization seems very cool, and it looks like I will be helping them publicize their accomplishments for the purposes funding and of attracting more Sub-Saharan migrants to their organization. I am really excited for all of the things I will be doing there - I just hope my lack of French does not get in the way. 

Look at how pretty this Arabic writing is: 

Casablanca

So this weekend I traveled to Casablanca.  Yes, the “here’s lookin’ at you kid” Casablanca, which is only a one hour train ride from Rabat.  Let’s also acknowledge that this is the nicest public transportation I have ever taken. I took a picture in the station and inside the train:

I would have to say the theme of this weekend was getting lost in the most organized way possible.  What I mean by that is I rarely ended up where I wanted to go, but had some general sense of my location.  This started from the moment we got off the train and wanted to find our hotel.  As we were walking along the street we thought led to our hotel, we saw a sign for a youth hostel, which we assumed would be cheaper, and decided to take a look. Once we detoured, we immediately found our original hotel, though we would have been walking in the wrong direction for a while.  The hostel ended up being cheaper than the hotel, so we stayed there instead.  Here is the interior. 

We also tried to attend a Hip Hop music festival in Casablanca that could not possibly have actually existed.  There were posters for it posted all over Casablanca, and despite all listing the same address, the hip hop festival was just not there.  We had a taxi driver take us to the Tennis courts which were hypothetically right next to the stadium…but weren’t.  We asked a number of people for directions, but they all gave us different directions and none of them led to the festival.  So although we were nowhere near where we had wanted to be, we knew enough where we were to take the tram back to our hotel and hung out in the medina for a while. 

We had the same problem at dinner: it took us half an hour to find the restaurant even though we had our bearings.  Once we did finally find it, the ambiance was great, and so was the food. 

It was actually really nice being a little lost- not stranded or uncomfortable- just in the wrong place.  Even though I was only there a little over 24 hours, I was able to see a huge part of Casablanca just by wandering lost through the city. 

Unrelated, but Hassan II Mosque is the coolest thing I have seen here. I think visiting here was maybe the only time we knew where we were during the whole weekend and it was amazing.  I took an absurd numbers of pictures.  I felt so tiny in comparison! (I mean, I was).  So worth the three miles we walked to get there and back!

The Trials and Tribulations of Going to a Hammam for the First Time (in Morocco)

Well before my trip yesterday I didn’t quite understand the fascination with the Hammam but I AM SO CLEAN. 

The one I went in had a separate drying/clothing storage place and the actual washroom which was a ceramic encased room with a number of hot and cold spouts scattered throughout the room.  Each person was to claim some floor and pour the water (temperature of their choosing) from their bucket onto themselves as they scrubbed their body free of dirt. 

Being a hammam newbie, I was told to bring a bucket, a plastic chair, a change of clothing, a towel, some scrubbing soap and a type of really rough loofa they have here, in addition to shampoo etc…

This is where I made my mistake. 

The plastic chair I chose was far too big- imagine Adirondack chair sized- when in fact I was supposed to use a chair far smaller than my bucket.  It was supposed to be the size of a step stool!  So naturally, you can imagine the comments and laughter I got as I lugged this giant plastic chair through the tiny winding streets of the medina.  I may have attracted a bit of attention… Luckily, a friend noticed my mistake and corrected it before I arrived at the hammam, but by the increased number of laughs and comments directed toward me, I could tell that I was doing something wrong.  After I got the right chair, I had a very normal hammam experience. 

On an entirely different note, the word for pigeon and the word for bathroom/bathhouse are almost identical (to a foreigner), so if I accidently pronounce bathroom with only one m, I am really asking about the pigeons.  This greatly amused some waiter at the beginning of my trip when I asked him about the location of the pigeons.  

Sorry, no picture with this post.  I felt like the ladies in the Hammam would have been a little frustrated if I brought a camera in with me and took pictures.  On the other hand, here is a dish that was traditionally made with pigeon meat.  It’s called “pastilla”.  This particular one is chicken, almonds and cinnamon (I had a different one that was veggie friendly).  

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF MOROCCO!

So after about two weeks in Morocco I have succumbed to blog life because I have honestly never been in a place so unique and filled with contrasting images before.  I am within walking distance of the Atlantic and a beautiful river, but I am also deep within the Old Medina of Rabat.  I can confidently say at this point that I can locate home, even if I am not taking the fastest route there.  While this may not seem like such a huge accomplishment, I would say that I’m pretty proud of myself.  Most of the streets look painfully similar. 

I’m struck by how I can be so comfortable and so lost in this city: I can’t tell if I have been here a month or a day. Some things I am getting the hang of: I finally learned how to get to the atlantic without cutting through a cemetery; I have learned which parts of the produce market street that I take to my house smell the worst (surprisingly, the fish section smells the best) and I have found the nutella.

At the same time I tried today to go Salsa dancing in Agdal (which is a more modern subset of Rabat) and I struggled.  Not only did I get the day and time wrong, but I also got lost on my way home.  Oops.

There does not seem to be a differentiation here between strong and fat.  And I repeatedly learn this when my host mom tries to make eat my fourth piece of bread to make me strong.  And she does not seem to understand that I will gain absolutely no muscle by eating white bread. 

Also this is the tea I anticipate having every day for the rest of my time here.  

 It's pretty much just mint and sugar and water, but I have no complaints...

It has been a mix of classes, daily life and touring, but I'll leave you with some pictures from my first couple weeks