Notes on My Daily Moroccan Life, Part 9.

I realized recently that I have not yet mentioned my newest hobby: surfing! Leah and I have been going to a small surf club at the Plage de Rabat every week where we get a lesson by our (and I can‘t emphasize this enough) BEST FRIEND Nabil.

But let’s reverse a bit. During my second week in Rabat, I was stumbling down the streets with Chloe, lost and confused (like puppies but not very cute, and somehow dirtier). I asked a couple store security guards for directions to a cafe where we were going to meet our friends, but they didn’t know the cafe so they asked Nabil, who was walking by. He spoke to us in English, which honestly made me a bit unsettled because it was so unexpected. He helped us get to the cafe and told us to take lessons at his surf school. And then I forgot all about him. The end! Except this was not the end! I saw him again when I showed up for my first surf lesson. Now, after much bonding, he calls me and Leah his good friends and once even gave us a free lesson.

Anyways, our first day surfing, we went somewhat late in the evening so we were surfing during the sunset, while tumbling facefirst off our boards (Leah is especially good at this), and loved every minute of it.

Nabil is great for many reasons, the first being that he is friendly and interesting. One day, when there weren’t many waves, we paddled for a while and then sat on our boards, discussing his fiancee who lives in Germany, how our Darija is coming along, etc.

He’s also just really funny, so if we start paddling too early or don’t position ourselves correctly on our boards, he’ll splash us in the face with a ton of seawater. He makes fun of us for being cheap, calls Leah “Layla” and screams “LAYLA” at the top of his lungs when she doesn’t stand up fast enough on the board, and updates us on the kittens that live in the surf shop. So, if you’re wondering where Leah and my monthly stipends are going (my host mom: why do you walk everywhere?”), it’s surfing lessons. And we regret nothing. We made a friend and are improving every week!

Everybody hates the French. Everybody. I swear. I’ll get in a taxi and speak to the driver in Darija and they recognize immediately that I’m not French because 1) I am attempting to speak their language, and 2) I’m not rude. When they learn that I’m American, they are 100x nicer than they were just moments earlier. Frickin French people.

The word for “pretty girls” in Darija sounds a hell of a lot like “titties” so having that yelled at me has taken some adjusting.

Sharing food is so political. Every day in school, I offer food to my friends during lunch and they don’t accept it. So, when they offer me food, I don’t accept it. I tell them that it has to be an exchange, and that I’m not a guest at their school, but their friend. But, I’ve figured out the trick. They won’t eat my food during lunch unless they are super close to me. However, when I bring the leftovers into class, they surround me like vultures because I have eaten what I want so it’s no longer rude to consume the rest. But this is just in school. If I am walking with friends and they buy food, they will offer me some, and if I buy food and offer some to them, they readily accept it. Also, if somebody offers to pay for you, refuse 3 times, but no more. After that, just give up and let them pay or it’s rude.

People walk down every street in Rabat selling travel-sized Kleenex packs for 2 dirhams. It used to be that just homeless, blind, or otherwise disabled people did this, but now, nicely-dressed, able-bodied teenage boys (“the douchebags,” according to Otmane) are doing it, too, just to make a quick buck. It makes me most uncomfortable when small kids run up to me trying to sell them because their mom is just sitting nearby, chilling, while her small kids and approaching strangers. Plus, they are well-fed and also wear clean clothes, so I don’t really understand their situation.

Don’t read this paragraph if you haven’t seen Joker because you probably won’t understand what I’m trying to say, but I saw it twice here in Morocco (Why? Two Moroccan friend groups invited me, and why say “no” on YES Abroad?) and it was received very differently both times. The first time I saw it was in a huge movie theater, and because very VERY few people in Morocco believe in mental illness, it was not received how I would have liked. When the Joker laughed maniacally (because he had major neurological trauma), the audience thought it was hilarious. When he wrote, “the worst part about having a mental illness is that people expect you to behave as if you don’t,” I kid you not, the audience laughed hysterically. When he was made fun of on television for struggling during his stand-up comedy act because of his issues, the crowd laughed and clapped ironically. The second time that I saw the film, afterwards, one of the Moroccans that I went with (this one is not my friend, I want to be clear… he is very predatory), stopped me and Leah on the street and said, “What would you do if Joker was here right now?” Like Joker is a monster and not just somebody with mental illness and no support system. He then proceeded to say that he would protect us. I wanted to throw up. On him.

My host mom feels guilty when the Call to Prayer goes off and she doesn’t pray immediately, and tells me about how that makes her a bad Muslim and she should really do better. I don’t know what to say to this, so I just say, “but you’re trying your best,” and she says that isn’t enough. She is very tough on herself. When the Call to Prayer goes off during school, the teachers and students don’t stop to pray. They just pray more later.

I’ve learned, through much trial and error, that people who are doing ablutions (washing their hands, face, etc. before praying) or reading the Quran cannot speak to other people because they have to be focused on Allah during that time. I sometimes walk into our shared bathroom in the morning to brush my teeth and my host sister is washing her face so I say hello. But she doesn’t respond, and after her face, she washes her feet, etc. and I realize what she’s doing. Also, sometimes I come home and say “salam” because my host mom is very serious about locking all 5 locks on our door every night and I don’t want her to think that somebody is robbing her, but there is no reply and I realize it’s because she is praying in the next room. I’ve also walked into a room to see my host sister reading and assumed it was just a normal book so I said hello, and she didn’t respond because it was the Quran and I am a dumb American.

My host mom fasts every Thursday, just because she wants to focus on Allah and her spirituality instead of her mortal needs once a week, and I find that very admirable.

Our generation is more Western than I expected. My female peers want to be military doctors and scientists, and my Darija teacher always talks about how happy she is to be single and free. Her father also made her study nursing and she got her degree, but she stood up to him and told him that if she is to have a career, it’s going to be the career she wants, so she is now an Arabic teacher.

For a conservative culture with very limited freedom of speech, there are tons of political demonstrations outside the Parliament building. For instance, there have been air traffic controller strikes, teacher’s strikes, transportation strikes, doctor’s strikes, technician’s strikes, and disability rights protests. But, what surprised me most was this: Hajar Raissouni was a prominent journalist, arrested and jailed at the end of August on charges of premarital sex and abortion, which are both illegal in Morocco. Hundreds of people gathered outside the court in early September, demanding the journalist’s release, which prompted the judge to postpone her trial until a later date, where there was another gathering of hundreds of people. Abortion is clearly forbidden by the Quran, yet there are increasing numbers of people (notably members of my generation) who are adopting more Western, liberal views on the matter.

The other day was Eva’s birthday, and she decided to have a joint birthday party in Sale with her lunch host brother from our Darija bootcamp. Mira, Jeremy, Leah, and I waited in a long line at the grand taxi station, only to realize when we got to the front of the line, that there was ANOTHER long line on the adjacent street. We worried that we had wasted all that time in the wrong line, but the man directing people into taxis said “Hiyy Salam,” so we assumed that we lucked out and were, in fact, in the right place. Unfortunately, there were three seats left in that taxi and four of us, so we waited for the next one and filed in. After driving a clearly incorrect route for an extended period of time, and noting this repeatedly to each other, the taxi stopped. A small boy got out and we realized that he had been holding a live pigeon in his arms the whole time. Then the taxi kept going and a military guy got out on a very sketchy-looking street corner, unlit and empty. We assumed the driver would continue to Hiyy Salam, but then he turned to us and told us to get out. None of us moved. We were NOT getting out there. We asked why he didn’t go to Hiyy Salam and he looked at us like we were idiots. So Jeremy paid the guy WAY too much to get us to Hiyy Salam, and that was that. Little adventures every day.