Tomorrow.

Tomorrow morning at 6:45 I get on a plane in the tiny Rabat airport, a plane to take me home.

Today I packed up my life of the last 4 months into a 225 dirham suitcase from the souk that I'm not sure will make it all the way home.

I've been looking forward to going home for quite a while- home to see my family and friends, home to Christmas and all of the traditions that come with it, home to convenient consumerism and more equal gender relations. And of course, home to my cat.

What hasn't been following my dreams of home is the realization that in order to go home, I have to leave here. I can't put into words how strange it will be to not wake up tomorrow morning, eat breakfast with my roommate, catch a cab to AMIDEAST, and spend the day in classes and our little study-abroad-students-only room at the top of the program building. Strange to not see and hear cats everywhere in the streets, or the call to prayer 5 times a day. Strange to not dig around in my purse for a few dirham for the Malian and Mauritanian refugees with small children who sit on the streets on warm days. Strange to not go down to the hanut for chicken chips, or to a salon de the for a coffee and a crepe, or to be ordered to "kul!" constantly at every meal shared with my host mom. Strange to think that this was normal.

I didn't go through this on my way here because I was heading off into some great adventure, where I knew I'd be leaving "normal" at home.

But in the time that I built a new normal, I also built an interesting relationship with Morocco. I feel like I haven't been here long enough, but at the same time I know I wouldn't want to live here indeterminately. I fell in love with the mountains and I enjoyed the desert. I feel at home in Rabat but I'm not much of a fan of Tangier or Marrakech. I want to come back, but at the same time there are so many other places I want to see. I'm getting nostalgic, and I know that I'm wearing a lovely pair of rose-colored glasses because I'm leaving. But I know that there are parts of Morocco I'll always love and always miss. I know that being here has given me so much more perspective, and I know that the parts I love will always stay with me.

Well, here we go.

Feminist Reflections

Hands-down, my favorite course this semester was Gender, Islam, & Society. It was taught by a great Moroccan professor who's spent years evaluating the work of momentous Moroccan feminist Fatima Mernissi and studying in Canada, so her perspectives were very interesting and incredibly well-informed. The course started with a discussion of the original Islamic discourses as to whether the Qur'an or Islam itself are misogynistic, whether the prophet Mohammed was a feminist, and how much Islam changed the lives of women in the lands it grew from. It moved on to a debate on the hijab and the basis of modesty in women's wear, then women's rights in Islam and the legal systems that have evolved out of Shari'a. Then we shifted into Islamic feminism and modern Islamic women's rights.

The course was eye-opening for me, and I really enjoyed it. My term paper revolved around the evolution of the hijab as a representative of something other than observance of modest Islamic dress.


This is an image that's come up in class quite a few times, and always gets quite a few interesting reactions:

 

What's yours?

More food for thought: The world is in uproar over France's ban of the burqa in public spaces (in addition to the hijab, and all forms of religious expression, in schools). France based their ban on centuries of state vs. religion upheaval and the right to shield their secular nation from public displays of religion (also, couched it in save-the-repressed-Muslim-woman banter, which I don't buy). However, no one denies the right of Saudi Arabia to enforce the wearing of modest dress and head coverings for female citizens and permanent residents, based on their status as a Muslim monarchy. Who, if anyone, has that right?

One week?!?

I go home in a week?! HOLY CRAP! I'm feeling almost exactly like I did on the way here- I know it's happening, but not really. On that note, some quick reflections:

Things I’ve realized are the same everywhere (or the everywhere I know):

Babies.

Telling someone “one minute” and actually meaning ten.

Ramen Noodles.

Kittens.

Weird animated commercials.

Amusing dating service ads.

Pokemon.

... more to come.

Tense.

Time for a heavy post again. Sorry folks, this was due.

I've only realized in the past month just how much my physical demeanor affects all other aspects of me. Walking around certain neighborhoods of Rabat, or anywhere in Rabat a few hours after sundown, everything in the way I (and most other non-Moroccan girls) hold myself changes. These are in the times and places I want to avoid contact with men most- when I can feel them leering, when they call things and yell things, and when any response on my part would be to invite more attention at best and something I certainly don't want at worst.

My back and jaw tense up, my footsteps are heavy, and my face is bleak. I move quickly and deliberately. I keep my head forward but my eyes down, with a blank stare, and have mastered not meeting peoples' eyes but still looking at their bodies (it's harder than you'd think, though needing to pay attention to the sidewalk [or lack thereof] helps). I startle easily, and generally am more observant. I listen for anything and everything, but especially the sound of footfalls behind me. I am aware of everything but respond to nothing.

And I am not happy. My mood goes dark like my body has gone tense, in a definite response to the way I carry myself. Perhaps more startling is that it all evaporates as soon as I get inside, away from where I need to look disinterested and undesirable. It's almost like I'm back in theater rehearsals, practicing dropping in and out of the walk and affectations of my character at a word from the director, but here I'm dropping into another person's skin for a quick trip from the taxi stand to the door of my homestay.

I always recognized how much my mood affected my body language; how much being happy could put a bounce in my step. Up till now, I didn't recognize how much my body language affected my mood. It's eerie.

Marrakech.

Pronounced: Mrrkesh.

Last weekend in Marrakech was an enjoyable one. We were there during the International Film Festival, so even more than regularly, it was swarming with tourists. This meant that 1) I realized I'm as annoyed by most tourists even when I'm a tourist as I am when I'm at home in Boston 2) harassment is worse where everyone is trying to make money off a tourist buck and 3) actually speaking a fair (conversational) amount of and being able to haggle in Darija meant we got better prices than tourists who spoke none.

While I did enjoy Marrakech, I can honestly say I wasn't that impressed. Don't get me wrong, there were some great things- the rose gardens were beautiful, as was Koutuobia mosque. The fresh orange juice everywhere was inexpensive and delicious (and safe, thanks to the hordes of tourists). But it was clean--too clean. The vender harassment was seriously terrible, and was one of the few things that got worse when we responded in Darija (still not sure why about that one). The medina was cool, but not remarkable by any means. It all felt a little too much like someone decided to make a marketable Morocco and fit it into a city, not like the real country I've come to know a little bit and love a lot.

I have pictures, but as I'm at home right now and they'll take approximately 47.378 hours to load, they will wait.

Hope everyone had a good week. I have 7 of 30 pages in term papers done. Whoo! (Bleh.)

Catch-Up Game

I realized earlier this week that I haven't uploaded photos in a very very long time, but better late than never, right? So here are some from our trip to Tangier and Chefchaouen and a bit of Eid.

Goat! I followed the advice of my host sisters and didn't get too attached to our goat, who spent the entirety of his time in our apartment trying to eat a fake plant.

MaaaaAAAAAAH.

Abandoned shell of a hotel.

Feesh market.

European architecture, quite prevalent in all of Tangier.

Pretty staircase.

Gas-cap streetlights were all over Tangier- none of them still in use, just there.

Tailor.

Prayer room on a private riad.

"Door of the Ocean"

...Which is fitting.

Hey, look! Spain!

Mosque fountain.

Kitty!

Tall Zack, small room. Great kebab.

The American Legation! For a brief return to American soil in Tangier.

A beautiful lantern in the Legation.

Preserved antique interiors.

Chefchaouen! Chefchaouen is known as a blue city- the entire city is painted in shades of this periwinkle blue and white. Unfortunately, I was sick the day we were there, so the only parts of the city I saw were the portions we drove through on our way out.

Paris! I went last weekend. Beautiful.

This weekend we're heading to Marrakech, where I will take many pictures and post them here sooner. Promise.