So I literally live on a farm right now. Well, okay, there was one animal added. And since this one IS for eating, it will be on my plate by tomorrow. It’s a big sheep, much bigger than Magique and older. It keeps “baa”-ing though, because I think it’s just in a new place and scared. But not for long!

I asked Aziz if he was going to kill it, and he said no, that is a big responsibility. Apparently the Imam (kind of like a pastor) will come around and kill the sheep for us, about 10 AM tomorrow. I just don’t know how I feel about this. People keep laughing at me though when I tell them I like my sheep either alive or already cut up and cooked.

Tabaski, I discovered, celebrates a story that is also found in the Old Testament. It is the story of when Abraham was asked to sacrifice Issac, his son, and was going to do so. But in the last minute, the angel intervened, told Abraham that now God knew he was faithful and to just sacrifice a sheep instead. So that’s why we have to kill and eat a sheep tomorrow.

And when I come back into the US and the border services / immigration asks me “Have you been around farm animals?” I will answer with a resounding NO. I really don’t feel like being detained or anything like that.

On a completely different note, I told Aziz the other day about my recent obsession with Murids. Murids are an Islamic brotherhood in Senegal, which has stayed very Senegalese despite having adopted Islam. They are more of the philiosophy that as long as you accept God and the prophet Muhammad in your heart...it's all good. For example, they don't really abstain from drinking that much. Anyway, the reason why I am obsessed with them, is that first of all they wear dreadlocks, plus really cool, bright clothes. Furthermore, being the nerd that I am I've done some reading about Murids, and learned that they actually have a really cool economic and social structure, which serves Murids throughout the world, such as all the way to places in New York. It's kind of hard to explain, but they really are fascinating. I thought Aziz might be offended, since he is Tidjani, and also doesn't like what he calls "dreadlocks people" although I think I talked him out of that. He always kind of had this view that people with dreadlocks are bad, which I think comes a lot from Senegalese culture, and the fact that he saw someone with dreadlocks rob a Moroccan girl in downtown Dakar once. But I told him that was a stupid stereotype, and he should rethink it. Then I asked him if I had seen something like that and thought, "wow, all black people must be bad!" We argued about this for a bit, and he finally said that maybe I was right (or he just gave up, lol). But anyway, back to the Murid convo. So when I told Aziz this, he went and got this Murid shirt that he says he used to wear, which is really awesome. It's super colorful, which is an African thing. Aziz says the colors can help repel bad spirits. And I think it's really cool-looking plus comfortable. I think it's funny because it's a shirt but it goes all the way down to my knees! But again, it's really interesting, because even though it's attached to a Muslim brotherhood, no Arab muslim would ever recognize that as being Islamic. It shows the "negrification" of Islam, which is when Islam has come to different African regions, it has been adapted with lots of local practices.

Me with the Murid shirt on.

Well that's all for now. Peace.

This week hasn’t been that exciting, really. I’ve been working mad hard to try to finish these grad apps. The only thing that’s tripping me up is the “Statement of Purpose” which one site says I should have started 3 months ago. My bad. I just didn’t realize it was that serious.

I went out to dinner with Ryan’s family tonight for dinner. Her dad and stepmom are super nice and fun to talk to. Plus we can definitely see where Ryan’s quirky humor comes from! It was kind of cool because it was thanksgiving, so I got to have a nice dinner for that. Although we ate Indian food. Although I said that was actually appropriate because that’s where Columbus THOUGHT he landed. But anyway, I was reminded of just how much I love Indian food. Oh, but something that is so Senegal: Bobby tried to order Mango Lassi (a really good yougart-y drink) but was told he couldn’t because mangoes aren’t in season and there are no mangoes in Senegal. I miss America, where any fruit is available at any time.

And I skyped my fam tonight, while everyone was there for Thanksgiving dinner, which was really nice. I can’t believe I’m so close to going home. I don’t think that has really hit me.

Well that’s all for now. I will hopefully have more exciting stories from Tabaski, also after I am done with these grad applications!

So maybe I think my host family is just as weird as they think I am. Aziz had me videotape him today pretending to roar like a lion. Weird. I hope you enjoy this video though, I laughed really hard:

So I also asked Aziz if we could make a movie where it looked like I was killing the chicken. And we just might, and Aziz can graphic design it and make it look awesome and satisfying. So keep your eyes pealed.

This week hasn’t been that exciting, really. I’ve been working mad hard to try to finish these grad apps. The only thing that’s tripping me up is the “Statement of Purpose” which one site says I should have started 3 months ago. My bad. I just didn’t realize it was that serious.

I went out to dinner with Ryan’s family tonight for dinner. Her dad and stepmom are super nice and fun to talk to. Plus we can definitely see where Ryan’s quirky humor comes from! It was kind of cool because it was thanksgiving, so I got to have a nice dinner for that. Although we ate Indian food. Although I said that was actually appropriate because that’s where Columbus THOUGHT he landed. But anyway, I was reminded of just how much I love Indian food. Oh, but something that is so Senegal: Bobby tried to order Mango Lassi (a really good yougart-y drink) but was told he couldn’t because mangoes aren’t in season and there are no mangoes in Senegal. I miss America, where any fruit is available at any time.

And I skyped my fam tonight, while everyone was there for Thanksgiving dinner, which was really nice. I can’t believe I’m so close to going home. I don’t think that has really hit me.

Well that’s all for now. I will hopefully have more exciting stories from Tabaski, also after I am done with these grad applications!

So my family also got a chicken as a pet. No lie. At least by this point, Magique has stopped making sounds at all hours of the day. But now there is a freaking rooster that goes “cocorico” (that’s French for cock-a-doodle-doo) EVERY MORNING at 6. GRRRRR! The first morning I sleepily asked Aziz (who was up for prayer) to kill him. The other day I asked Aziz if we could eat the chicken (who I call Magique II, and Aziz calls Mario) for Tabaski. That is a Muslim holiday that is coming up on the 28^th. Aziz looks at me and says, “Shannon! You can’t eat chickens for Tabaski!” Apparently only sheep are eaten on Tabaski (so we may yet be eating Magique, lol). There are thousands of sheep, literally, in the city, ready for people to buy and eat on Tabaski. There is one huge area filled with pens of sheep, and a sign that says, “Operation Tabaski, 2009”. I think my family will get a different sheep closer to the date for eating. But anyway, so I asked Aziz if we could just eat the chicken maybe that night, and he just said no, his mom really likes the chicken and it’s her “friend”.

Magique II aka Mario

Then Aziz also said, “Remember what Punky told you?” I had told him how my grandfather, Punky, had told me when I was little that if I ate watermelon seeds then watermelons would start to grow inside my stomach. So Aziz said it would be like this, that if I ate Magique II aka Mario, then he would still go “cocorico” at 6 in the morning from inside my stomach. And then Aziz laughed to himself, and I plotted ways to make Magique II’s death look accidental.

So animals aside, last Sunday Allison, Ryan, and I decided to meet together and just study. That way we wouldn’t just be at our houses studying the day away. So we went to a restaurant in Oakoum (the neighborhood where Allison lives). And we just ate a little, and studied. Although, I think the servers probably thought we were weird, because I ordered my meal first, as I hadn’t eaten even breakfast yet, but Allison and Ryan just ordered drinks. Then later, Ryan ordered her meal, and after she was finished Allison decided she was hungry, so she ordered. Then we just stuck around and studied for a while.

Later we decided to get ice cream from this place. And that was an experience. There were two different buildings in this restaurant. One had seating for diners, then there was an covered outside area for seating as well, and beside that there was the patisserie/glacerie where you could get pastries and ice cream. So we went to the glacerie and ordered our ice cream. Ryan ordered a cone, and got hers right then. Allison and I ordered ours but said we wanted it in a bowl. So then we left the glacerie without ours, and thought it would be coming. But the woman who was working there continued to just inventory items in the patisserie. After Ryan had finished her entire cone, Allison went back into talk to the woman working there, who then got mad at Allison and told her that she had misunderstood, that in order to order ice cream for here, she had to order from a server in the restaurant. So Allison told the woman that there really weren’t servers that were coming around, so the woman stormed out of the patisserie/glacerie, through the outside seating area, and into the main restaurant, where she demanded that someone there bring out the bowls for the ice cream and also take our orders. She then went back into the patisserie/glacerie. So a few minutes later one of the servers came out with the bowls, went to get the ice cream from the glacerie, and brought them to us. The original woman couldn’t remember what flavors I had ordered, but I just said nevermind, I didn’t want the ice cream anymore anyway. I don’t think this whole experience was a Senegal thing, but I think it was just an example of someone who didn’t want to do anything that required any extra effort, like walk a few feet to get the ice cream bowls. Although I just don’t understand why the bowls just weren’t already there. Oh well.

After we were done studying, I went back to Allison’s house with her, because I have never seen it. I got to meet her host family, and best of all her host sister’s new baby (only 2 weeks old!). She is so cute! Allison’s house has 3 stories, plus you can go up on the roof and just chill there, although there are a few goats that are caged on the roof (yes, really). She says maybe they are less loved versions of Magique because they aren’t really for eating either. I think her roof is awesome, I would be up there all the time if I lived there!

Me with Khady (Allison's sister) and her baby!

Classes were pretty normal, and Tuesday I went back to the archives. Getting more cool documents! Wednesday, Allison, Ryan, and I all went to this artisanal market, which has a lot of mostly tourist-y items, like necklaces, clothes, bags, and TONS of wood carving items and leather items. I think the point of this market is that the people who are selling the stuff are also the ones who made it, thus the artisanal market. But the only thing I actually saw being made there was the wood carvings. But whatevs. It was still a pretty nice market and I got some nice things.

Friday, Allison invited us all over to her house because her mom was making us che bu jen, which is a very Senegalese plate. It consists of rice, one fish, one sweet potato, one eggplant, one carrot, and one of some other veggies. All of course prepared in OODLES of oil, as are so many things in Senegal. I actually feel really lucky because my host mom doesn’t cook like that, partly due to the fact that her mother was Moroccan, not Senegalese. But che bu jen is really good, and we all decided to eat with our hands, which is the Senegalese way to eat. It’s considered to be good because you experience the food with more senses. It’s also very messy! After eating, we just lied around pretty much all day (and studied a little bit), and then ate Fataya, which is fish inside of a pastry.

That night, Allison and I went to this fashion show, which was pretty cool. I was happy because they were playing very recent American music, which I miss. And so many of the outfits we got to see were SO COOL! They were designed by West African designers, and kind of a blend between traditional Senegalese clothes and western styles.

Saturday I got really excited because I found out that Morgan Heritage was here in Senegal! They are a reggae band from Jamaica. Not one of my favorites, but still pretty good. Saturday they were playing at Thiossane, which is a sweet club that belongs to Youssou Ndour, Senegal’s most famous singer (well, other than Akon, who is American but originally from Senegal). Anyway, I wanted everyone to go, but it ended up being Aziz, Rodline, Allison and this guy named Al-Hassan that she met on a car rapide (one form of public transportation in Dakar), me and this guy named Babacar who I met through Bobby. Bobby and two of his brothers (Benj and Bart), plus their friend Bashir came to meet us in My Shoppe, where we had decided to meet up and pre-game. But they never ended up coming with us to see Morgan Heritage. Oh well.

Me, Al-Hassan, Allison, Rodline, Aziz at the Morgan Heritage Concert

(look at how glowing white Allison and I look! haha)

Me and Babacar at Morgan Heritage

So the concert was supposed to start at 12. I was worried that it might be sold out (and Aziz said this was a possibility). So I wanted to get there a little bit before 12, but of course traveling with Africans didn’t allow for this. We go there a little after 12, and there was hardly anyone there. So we really didn’t need to rush. But I wasn’t that worried about it because we were able to get these nice lounge seats off the dance floor, instead of having to stand around. So we began to wait. I decided to order a drink, and the only options were gin or whiskey. Yuck. But I went with gin. When they brought it, there was so much ice, and hardly any gin (you added the juice yourself). I told them it wasn’t enough and wanted more gin. So the bartender went and then came back. And I looked at the glass, and he had only added more ice, not gin! So I told him that was just not acceptable. I made Babacar go up and get me a proper amount of gin, and Rodline helped. In the end, I got a decent amount of gin, and no ice. Yeah. I miss customer service and tipped workers. If I were in the states, the server or bartender doesn’t actually care how much of the liquor gets used up, because he didn’t pay for it! But he knows that if you request a strong drink (or even a regular drink) and he gives you a satisfactory amount of alcohol, then there chances of getting a good tip improve.

So we waited around for a while and chatted. Finally, at 2 in the morning, Morgan Heritage came on stage (only 2 hours late!). But it was really exciting, and their concert was awesome. I had so much fun dancing. And it was nice to have our lounge seats to go back to when we got tired!

Morgan Heritage.

(Sorry it's a little blurry, but this is the best my camera would do!)

Well, those are my adventures for now. ONLY ONE MONTH LEFT IN DAKAR!!!!!!!! I can’t believe it’s gone by this quickly.

Finally, a picture of Magique!


So it’s been a while since I’ve written. Wow. No, I didn’t fall off the earth or anything. I think when we got back from vacation, all of our teachers realized, “Wow, we haven’t given these students ANY work. We have to start!” So I had two tests one week. The most frustrating part was the lack of information regarding the test. Usually, teachers in the US hand out a syllabus at the beginning of the semester that states exactly what we’ll be covering, and lists when things are due, plus when there will be tests. Then, usually the teacher goes over what exactly will be on the test, the class or two before the test. Something like this: “The exam will be on these, these, and this chapter of this book, plus in-class lectures. You need to know these vocab words, and these are possible questions. It will have 25 multiple choice questions, 10 true-false questions, 3 short-answer essays and 1 long essay.”

Well none of this happened, of course. We found out about the History of Islam right before Fall break. The following class we tried to ask what was on the exam. And our teacher was just like, “everything we’ve gone over, or read.” And we kept asking questions about what the format of the exam would be, etc. Finally our teacher was like, “Haven’t you ever taken and exam in the US?”

On the other hand, the assistant for my African Literature class called us Friday and said, oh by the way you have an exam Wednesday for this class. NOT EVEN ONE WEEK BEFORE THE EXAM!!! Unbelievable. But welcome to the non-Western world, where information is just not shared, nor time schedules appreciated, nor to people understand the concept, of well I have plans, both in not interfering with plans as well as actual sticking to plans.

It wasn’t that bad though in the end. The History of Islam class was unfortunately on the subject which we hadn’t ever discussed in class. We had a reading about it, but never got around to going over it. Luckily, though, I’ve spent almost a year now researching the History of Islam in Senegal for my Bachelor’s Essay / Senior Thesis, so I think I did alright. And the African Lit exam ended up being a take-home exam, and one that had thoughtful but easy questions. But still.

It’s not been all studying, though, don’t worry. The Friday after we got back from fall break, there was a Jazz concert at the Institut Française (French Institute, or French Cultural Center). We went to that, and it was really cool. It was mainly West African jazz groups, including Baaba Maal. He is a really incredible singer. I can’t even describe it, but he was incredible (and I think he might be well known). People got up and went towards the stage to dance to his music. One guy was really into it, and in the end gave Baaba Maal his shirt, saying that listening to him had just made him so happy.

Baaba Maal

Saturday night my host mom, as thanks for Aziz’s bday dinner, decided that everyone should come over and eat at our house. So everyone came over. And everyone got to meet Magique! I told them to be there around 8, and I told Aziz we ACTUALLY needed to eat at 8 (dinners at my house can be as late as 11 or so). But of course, the dinner wasn’t ready until 10. Everyone was starving by that time, but when the food came it was all worth it. My host mom made chicken, as well as beef. Plus she made nem, which is kind of like eggrolls except better, also pastilla, which is like samosas but with fish (a samosas is Indian food, with either potatoes or beef stuffed inside of a prism-shaped dough). Everything was SO delicious. After we ate, everyone was really tired as well as full, so we just laid around in the living room and talked a bit. We thought about going out, but it was so late, and we were just all tired.

Sunday some of us met up to study for History of Islam, at La Gondole, a “fast food”-ish (fast being not actually that fast at all, and it’s kind of between fast-food and a nice restaurant in style anyway.) place close to school. Then we went back to my house again for “lakh” (the “kh” is just a throaty sound) Lakh is a Senegalese food where you take millet and pour runny yogurt over it. I’m not the biggest fan. My host mom has made other related foods, some of which come closer to representing Tapioca. But it’s just not my thing to eat for dinner. I’d like to maybe have a bowl for a desert or something, but that’s it. In either case, though I can think of things I’d much rather have for dinner or desert. Regardless, Ryan LOVES lakh, and I think Allison is definitely a fan, or at least they were the most vocal about it. And I don’t hate it. Anyway, it was just a weekend filled with friends and yummy food.

Oh, another thing that I’ve been doing is going to the National Archives of Senegal. I met this graduate student through my professor’s peer who is also here in Senegal. The graduate student, Lindsey, who is really nice, took me to the Archives and showed me around. I had to present myself to the director so he could approve me to look around in the archives. Luckily he went to the same high school as Professor Sene (who is the director of WARC, where I study.) And he was very impressed that I had been to Sokone (his hometown), which we all visited when we were going to Toubacouta. So he said I was more than welcome in the archives, and just to be nice to everyone. So I get to go through documents that were written by either the French or the local leaders in Senegal, which is exciting. In a really nerdy way. It’s sad though, sometimes to see the condition of these archives. They are literally deteriorating every moment. They’re not kept in any sort of climate-controlled area, people touch them, take pictures of them scan them, and bugs eat them. I kind of want to just go there and help them digitalize EVERYTHING. And if they ask me what my qualifications are, then I will say, “Well this one summer, I scanned SO MUCH when my parents decided to go paperless at their office.”

Some really deteriorated letters from the archives

Oh, and this probably isn’t much of a surprise to anyone reading this: I have concluded that technology, etc COMPLETELY hates me. And you probably didn’t even know about the other day when my computer started acting up, and I was freaking out. Then it started working okay and I went to plug in my flash drive, and my computer SHOCKED me. And I started crying. I mean, mostly from the actual shock, and couldn’t actually help myself, although Aziz freaked out and thought I was dying or something. When actually I was just having a meltdown. But anyway, just recently I plugged in my computer the other day with this new converter I bought when I thought I lost my old converter. I had it plugged in for maybe 30 seconds when there was this loud *crack* and there was a bright spark, and my converter essentially blew up inside. Luckily, it didn’t hurt my computer. I think if it had I probably would have just dissolved into a puddle of tears and never have come out.

Furthermore, Aziz was trying to have my original computer fixed, and it was discovered that my computer died because of ants. That’s right: Ants. Ants crawled into my processor, causing the processor and the motherboard to short circuit. And all I can think is “Ants? REALLY?” It’s not like I can say, well it was old, or well, I dropped it from a second story window. No, ants. And I don’t know if they are American of African ants but they are still ANTS!!!!!!!!!!! I’m so mad.

Oh, something really fun I did though was go to the beach last Friday. Bobby’s dad had come to visit him. He is from St. Croix in the US Virgin Islands. So he brought Cruzan rum, which is actually made and therefore super cheap in St. Croix. Bobby’s host family is Christian, and are therefore allowed to drink, and therefore do so profusely, and took most of the rum for themselves (he brought 6 bottles). Which may seem like a lot, but Bobby has a HUGE family. I think over 20 people sleep at his house every night. But anyway, he saved one for us, so Allison, Ryan, Bobby and I took a bottle of coconut rum to the beach (even thought Bobby doesn’t drink), and brought pineapple juice of course, plus a little picnic made of bread, vache qui rit cheese, peanut butter & jelly, apples, and candy. We went to Ngor Island, which is this tiny wonderful island off the coast of Dakar, in the north. It costs about $1 to get there and back by boat. So we went to this beach that was kind of deserted, only a few people, and set up our blankets, etc. And dove into our snacks. Then we went swimming in the ocean. It is a really, really calm area. There are a few waves, but nothing serious. And it’s SO relaxing. It was just wonderful. And I love that we can just take a taxi back for $4 total, and not even have to worry about driving! Not that I think DUIs are at all enforced in Senegal. Or even if they were, you would just give the police officer $5 and he’d let you continue on. But that’s just something I would never do regardless. Thankfully Dakar streets are so crappy that you could never do any real damage, because you could never get up enough speed. Like one night, I was in a taxi, and the driver starts speeding along. He doesn’t see a speed bump up ahead (because he was stupid and refused to use his brights) until the very last moment, when he slammed on his breaks and still didn’t slow down enough, so he hit his bumper pretty hard on the other side of the speed bump.

On an even funnier note, some of our Senegalese families were like, “Why are you going to the beach today? It’s so cold!” Yeah, it was about 80 degrees. Oh Africa.

Saturday night, some Bobby, Aziz, Rodline, and I went out with Babacar (Bobby’s neighbor) and Babacar’s friend, Bashir. We went to this party downtown where these Spanish people had organized a party. We met some cool Spanish girls, who also got us in for free which was nice. It was a really cool location, it was this open area, which had bar in the middle with a dance floor on the side. All of the ground was cobble-stone like but flatter, and there were just trees everywhere. There were tons of white people, and randomly tons of white people with dreads, two things that are weird to see by themselves in Dakar, but ever weirder combined. A lot of the music was reggae, so it all makes sense. But it wasn’t things that I knew, and then later into the night, they just started playing really old rap music from the 80s and early 90s, and it just wasn’t fun. So we left. And got home REALLY late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.

Oh, and we hadn’t actually left to go to this party until after 1 in the morning. Oh Africa.

So here comes the long-awaited entry about all of my adventures in Morocco. It’s going to be long and loaded, so I would suggest waiting until you are home, pour a relaxing beverage of your choice (whether it be coffee, hot chocolate, or a pina colada), wrap yourself up in a nice blanket (because you are most definitely colder than I am at this moment), and enjoy.

Saturday, 24 October

I took the GREs this morning, which is the reason that we (being Allison, Rodline, and I) didn’t leave until Sunday morning. If I didn’t have the GREs, we probably would’ve left Thursday night, and saved about $200 on plane tickets. Oh the sacrifices we make for scholarly pursuits. But the good news is that I took them and I think I did well. It is kind of ironic though, because my uncle is taking the GREs this year as well, and he is complaining about how it’s all computer based, etc. Meanwhile I end up taking them in Senegal and take the paper-based ones, even though I would’ve loved to be able to type my answer instead of write it all out. Oh well.

For my last meal in Senegal (for a week) my host mom made me hamburgers!!! They were really good. And she put the fries right on top of the hamburger, just the way it should be. I’m really surprised that it ISN’T and American thing to just eat the fries as part of the hamburger. It would seem rightly lazy of us. I might start that tradition.

Allison, Rodline, and I all met at MyShoppe around 11. We hung out there for a bit, before finally getting a taxi to the airport. We went through all the security, which included a lot of passport checks, but we could pretty much bring whatever we wanted to on board, including any amount of liquid we wanted to. I love not traveling with America’s ludicrous TSA requirements that don’t actually make us any safer.

Sunday, 25 October

Our flight was ridiculously late (or early), leaving at 3:30 AM. We arrived in Morocco with the sun up, and everyone beginning their day. We thought we had to take a taxi back, and they tried to charge us a huge amount for the ride. We weren’t sure about bargaining or not (you always have to bargain for a ride in Senegal) so we tried to tell the cab drivers that it was too expensive. Then they took us to a sign nearby which listed the taxi prices from the airport to different destinations, so we agreed to the price listed to Casablanca, which was actually a pretty hefty amount. But we made it to the hostel, which I thought was pretty nice. We couldn’t check in yet, so we just left our stuff there and went to get breakfast. Our hostel is in the old medina (“Medina” is the Arabic word for “city” so in Morocco, when someone talks about “the Medina” when still speaking French, this indicates the original part of the town/city that has a stone wall around it, which was built in ancient times for protection).

We wandered around the medina for a bit until we found a place to get breakfast. It was a little café. The most fascinating part about Moroccan cafés is that it is usually only men who sit there and they all face the street. Even groups of five men who are talking together sit facing the street and never sit around the table in a circle. It’s really amusing. But I think the main purpose is for watching what’s happening in the street. Regardless, us girls sat down, in a quasi-circle around the table and ordered. Rodline got café au lait, and Allison and I got Moroccan tea. It is green tea (which I usually don’t like) with tons of sugar and also many mint leaves. We would end up drinking SO MANY glasses by the time our trip was done.

We went back to the hostel to check in, and then wandered around the city a bit. We headed over the the Mosque of Hassan II, which is the third largest Mosque in the world and one of the few Mosques which allow non-Muslims to enter. We went there and observed the outside, took pics, etc, and then went to lunch. We came back for the tour around 2:00. We had to take our shoes off to come in, which I didn’t mind of course. It was stunningly gorgeous inside. Our course, it was huge, and so elegant. Our tour guide told us that all of the materials used to build the mosque came from somewhere in Morocco, with the exception of the chandeliers and two slabs of marble up at the front, which all came from Italy. Interestingly, our tour was in English, but I don’t think our tour guide actually spoke English that well. She had actually just memorized the whole spiel. I figured this out, because she couldn’t understand one of the questions asked, and sometimes she would start her speech, but back up a few lines, and say exactly what she had said before. It was kind of impressive though, her memorizing an entire speech in a language that she wasn’t that familiar with.

Mosque Hassan II

Inside Mosque Hassan II

After this, we returned to the hostel and took a much-needed nap. Rodline woke up first, and waited around for a bit before underhandedly waking Allison and I up too. We went to dinner at this place that we had passed earlier which looked pretty “Moroccan” It was good. While we were there some drunk guy came up to us and started talking a lot. He was mostly amusing, but I always get annoyed by this. Allison doesn’t seem to mind though. When he first came up to us, though, we told him we were American. Then he points at Rodline and goes, “And where are YOU from?”

After spending a few months in a country entirely filled with blacks, and where seeing another white person is a novelty even for me, it’s weird to go to a country where there are so few black people. Rodline is black, of Haitian descent. Her parents are from Haiti but she was born in the United States and has lived there all of her life. But all day, people kept blatantly staring at her. She said that she’s heard that Moroccans and other north Africans, who look more like Arabs, look down upon sub-Saharan black Africa. And I think there is a difference in the way she was treated sometimes on this trip before and after someone found out she was actually American. We were also worried, because we had planned to possibly go to Spain one day when we were in Tangiers, and we knew that Rodline would probably get stopped a million times, because the Spanish are so worried about West African immigrants coming illegally into their country.

When we were at the Mosque today, we talked about this briefly and I remember having to remind Allison, who is from the suburbs of Boston, that there are some places even in America—like my hometown—where seeing a black person is uncommon. American society at large may be very mixed, but still very separated geographically in a lot of places. I think the main difference is that no one in Morocco is afraid of being labeled “racist.” They openly stare and make comments.

I really enjoyed the company of Rodline and Allison, and we had some really deep conversations. This night, we talked about race and religion a lot, and it’s cool to have feedback and to share ideas. Allison is Jewish, and it’s really interesting to learn about specific similarities between Islam & Judaism, etc. Plus Allison is really very much of a hippie, so she shares a lot of the same views as I do when it comes to religion. We believe in the same God, (as do Muslums) and Allison and I have very liberal views of religion.

We have been very non-P.C. (Politically Correct) this entire trip. (Of course in a very facetious way). I think the main problem with America and race is that everyone refuses to address it. If anyone tries to bring it up, then they’re playing the “race card” or something like that. I wish we could stop being so sensitive and talk about race, and try so see what other people feel about it. Mostly Allison and I make REALLY sarcastic comments that poke at the racism we see around us (like when one girl was staring at Rodline I said something to the effect of “Oh my god, look a black person, I’ve only ever seen one of those on TV!”) Sometimes Rodline looks at us really surprised, but reminds us that she really enjoys that we’re not afraid to say things like that. She tells us she might be sad when she goes back to her friends in the states who are very politically correct, and are afraid to say anything that might be seen as insensitive, and to really talk about these issues at all. She’ll also make facetious comments like when I told here I wanted to ride around on the conveyor belt with the suitcases, we acted out the reaction of people there. She said they would be like, “Umm…miss? Miss! Toubab! TOUBAB! You can’t do that!” lol.

I’ve never really been on the receiving end of racism. Even in Senegal, it’s mostly just that people see my white skin and believe that I have money, so therefore they should charge me more. I guess my family would agree with me on this point, that I also tend to be oblivious as well, so I may not notice all the racism that is directed at me. Allison once had her little sister help her to be able to say, “My name is NOT toubab, it is Aisha Binta.” (her Senegalese name). She really just didn’t like it. I don’t really mind, I mostly joke about it. Plus I probably don’t see it as much. Twice on this trip in Morocco, Rodline got called the N-word. It was wearing on her a lot. She talked to her sister, though, who has also been to Morocco, and who told her basically to get over it and to not let that affect her trip. On the other hand, we did meet a few nice Moroccans. Our tour guide in Fez (who I will talk about later) said quite earnestly about Rodline, “I love this color! This is my daughter.” And he kissed her on the cheek.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

Monday, 26 October

We got up this morning and had breakfast at our hostel, then walked around the city. We never really ended up where we wanted to, once being thwarted by the Moroccan guards around the US Embassy (which had INTENSE protection, btw). We told them we thought we had to keep walking straight to get where we wanted but they told us we had to go back and turn this way of that. (They were wrong) Of course the hardest part about navigating pretty much anywhere in the non-Western world is the absolute absence of street signs, making it hard to know exactly where you are or which way you need to turn. We ended up just going to this one landmark, Place Mohammad V, which just had a lot of pigeons. Then we went and decided to get food at McDonalds, since we haven’t seen one of those our entire time here. It was disappointingly small portions and NO FREE REFILLS as well as super expensive (for McDonalds). Honestly the first thing I want to do when I’m back in the states is go to a restaurant and make the waitress get me at least 20 refills or something like that. I miss customer service.

Oh, Morocco is absolutely filled with Pepsi signs everywhere especially in Casablanca. I was so excited because I got pepsi in a glass bottle. That pretty much made my day.

We took the train to Fes today. At first we shared the compartment with some weird Moroccan guy who kept talking to us, even after we put our headphones on and were trying to ignore him. We all slept for a bit, but then I got up and started working on my Arabic. Another guy had come in our compartment, and I think he was really surprised that I pulled out and Arabic book. He started talking to me. At first I was a little wary but then he turned out to be really interesting. He was a teacher of French and Arabic at a school near Fes. We had a really cool conversation. One part was I was trying to explain to him how I feel that in Africa things are more “inch allah” than in the States (“inch allah” is a phrase that means “God Willing.” “Allah” is Arabic for “God” in the same way that “God” is English for “God” or “Dieu” is French for “God.” It doesn’t refer to specifically to the Muslim God.). He responded that everything is “inch allah” but my point is that while that is true, people in American tend to BELIEVE that they are a lot more in control of their own lives. Here, schedules aren't a really big deal and time is not that valuable. If you show up late to a meeting, it’s not that big of a deal, because you were only going to show up to the meeting, God willing. But if you tried to tell someone in the states that it was God’s plan for you to show up late, you would probably already be fired. And here, people feel bad if they don’t add “inch allah” after talking about plans because they feel like it’s proper to remind themselves (and others involved in the plan) that everything is subject to to God’s approval and willingness. But I think if you were talking to someone in the States, like a boss, or even a friend, and they said, “Okay, you’ll be here at 10, right?” and you responded, “God willing.” They would probably say, “No you WILL be here at 10,” because no one wants to wait around.

I told this nice guy that we were just visiting Fes, and he made some suggestions on what to do. A little bit later Allison woke up, and was unaware that he was a different guy than before. So when he started talking to her, she was like, “Oh no!” but later realized that this guy was actually pretty cool. He told us that especially since we were only going to be there for a day and a half we should get a tour guide. However, he mentioned that the hotel would probably try to push THEIR tours on us, which would be really touristy. But if we called the tourism office, and set up a tour through the state, we would have someone trained in history to show us around. Then, he asked Allison for the tour book she was carrying, and looked at the Fes Tourism office, and scheduled the tour for us! How awesome and nice of him! He got off before us, but told us we were the next stop.

On a Train

Once we got to Fes though, it was chaotic! There were tons of taxi drivers, all trying to get us to take their taxi, but telling us we had to pay 20 dirhams! (about $3) We told them we knew it wasn’t 20dh, and that regardless, taxis had a meter, so it wasn’t debatable at all. Our friend on the train told us it shouldn’t be more than 10dh to get where we were going we finally got a taxi that agreed to use the meter. When we got in, though, the meter was already at 11dh, and we asked him to turn it back down to the beginning rate (usually about 1dh40). He started yelling at us! Talking about how it was such a short trip he had to start the meter high, etc, etc. Finally we convinced him to start the meter back at the base rate, and he drove us to the hotel. The final meter read 3dh40 (about $.50). I can’t believe people were really trying to charge us 20!!!!!!!!! But as I’ll continue to explain in later entries Moroccan taxi drivers are mostly [insert your favorite word to talk about mean, rude men].

Our hotel on the other hand is pretty BALLER, and by that I mean it’s not an Econo Lodge. (and for those of you that don’t know, “baller” means something that is pretty luxurious in a very fly (cool) way) lol. It was still the cheapest one we could find when we were doing this search. One thing we discovered over our trip though, is that I don’t think that the cheaper hotels and most of the hostels have internet sites. Allison’s guidebook did have a few cheap hotels listed, but only with phone numbers that we couldn’t call from Senegal. So we spent anywhere between $20-$30 a night per person (actually that is about the cost of HOSTELS in Europe) for these great hotels, with hot water and WATER PRESSURE, wi-fi, good breakfast, etc. The one we stayed at in Tangier also had a pool, restaurant, and bar.

We went to get something to eat. The hotel was very pushy, and kept being like, well why don’t you eat here, it’s not that expensive, and pretty much refused to tell us somewhere else we could go to get something to eat. But we ended up just leaving the hotel, and walking around a bit. This area was very safe, plus we thought we had seen a place to eat on our taxi ride not far from the hotel. So we walked there, and it was good. They didn’t have Moroccan tea on the menu, and Allison looked SO heartbroken by that. So our waiter went and got us three Moroccan teas from another restaurant nearby! That was so nice of him.

We all used the hotel shower. Rodline was most happy about the hot water. I was most happy about water pressure, and Allison was most happy about the ability to take a bath. We had a small balcony and sat out there to write a little bit, I studied, and we all chatted. Then we went to bed.

Tuesday, 27 October

Today we got up and ate breakfast and then went down to wait for our tour guide. He showed up in a polo, jeans, and baseball cap, and seemed really cool. He brought along this girl named Stacie. She is from New Zealand, but currently lives in Fes. She is a family friend and apparently he called her last night to tell her that he would be taking around some English-speaking girls that she might love to talk to. I think she really enjoyed it, being able to talk in English with someone (especially because she doesn’t speak Arabic or French that well), plus we were able to share our grievances about living in Africa, and the way foreigners, (especially white people) are sometimes treated, and how people bother you all the time, etc. We complained about the water, and I think she was jealous that we had hot, running, powerful water. But of course, we all love being here, despite our various complaints.

Our tour was weird though, in that our guide was hardly ever there with us. When we met up, we got his taxi driver friend to take us around to different places outside the Medina. We went to the Sultan’s palace. (One of three in Fes). Morocco is a kingdom, and of course no one is allowed to say bad things about the king. We asked our taxi driver what he thought, and he gave a lukewarm response. Stacie was telling us that he is generally liked. And people LOVE his wife, who is this beautiful red-haired Moroccan woman. They are very forward and liberal. Although Stacie did hear rumors that the king may have recently gotten a new wife in a hush-hush marriage. But no one was able/willing to confirm this. Stacie also said that she had heard that the staff at the palace is never told whether or not the king will be there or not, so they must prepare his meal every day. Imagine this happening at every one of his palaces all throughout Morocco!

Palace of the King

After the palace, we drove around the outside of the Medina, and up into various hills to look around. Fes actually has three different parts: the old original Medina, Fes Jideed (meaning “new” in Arabic), and the Ville Nouvelle (“new city” in French.) The Jideed is the village that sprung up when the old medina became to crowded, and also housed the large Jewish population when they were pushed out from the city around the same time as the Spanish Inquisition. The Ville Nouvelle is the area where are hotel is, and it is very modern. Anyway, we saw these from different vantage points. Plus we went to this pottery-making place, which made both varieties of simple pottery, i.e. bowls, plates, cups, etc. As well as really intense tiled items. There is SO MUCH tiled design in all of Morocco, something I saw in the Alhambra in Granada, Spain (made by the Spanish Moors). There was someone at the pottery place who actually gave us a full tour. He showed us people making it in various steps, we saw some workers at a pottery wheel, making bowls. It was SO incredible to watch the clay take form just as the potters (I guess that’s what they’re called?) moved their hands this way or that. We saw the kiln, the various stages of the tiles, and also people who were painting the pieces.

Pottery Makers

We also went up to this hill where some sultans of the Merenid (sp??) dynasty are buried. There was another nice view of the town. Finally we drove down to an entrance to Fes. (Cars aren’t allowed in the Medina) There we met up with our tour guide, who paid our taxi driver. Then he led us into the old city.

We first stopped at this weaving place, where they made scarfs, blankets, etc, etc. We looked around the shop for a while. It was really cool because there was this side room where there was a sofa. We sat on the sofa and were served Moroccan tea as we were shown various items and bargained prices. It was really quite nice.

Weaving Place

Next we went to a leather-making place. There was someone who showed us the view from the balcony, where tons of people were making leather. The process was somewhat explained to us, like the soaking of skins, dyeing, etc. But I wasn’t paying that close attention. There really was SO MUCH leather there, and really all over Fes, and to a lesser extent all over Morocco.

Leather-making

But I think I was much more interested in the Momma cat and her three adorable kittens. Some workers tried to show me things to buy, and I feigned a little interest, but mostly was just like, “Look at these kittens, they’re so CUTE!” They showed us really, really nice leather jackets, etc. But we didn’t even bother to look at them. Even at Moroccan prices, there is no way I could ever buy nice leather outerwear at this point in my life.

Next we went to a store that called itself a place with “traditional berber medicine.” Basically it was tons of spices, and things for the skin, etc. We smelled so many things, and rubbed random things on our skin, it was really intense. After that, we went to the Sahrij Medersa, which was an old Koranic school, and now I believe houses university students. The pool in the entrance hall had this really cool visual effect, which was that when standing on one end the closest side looked shallow, and the other side looked deep. But when you walked along the side to the other end, it looked like the sides were moving so that when you got to the other side, the closest end looked again like the shallowest.

After this, we went to a place where traditional carpets were sold. The New Zealand girl with us, Stacie, said that she actually used this place to help pay off her student loans. It is this place that is technically a co-op, and government sanctioned / aided. The people who make the carpets are typically widows. The prices are controlled, and super cheap. Plus if you have a Student International Identity Card, or buy a lot of once you can get free shipping, or things like that. But anyway, what happens is that you go there, pick out however many carpets (Stacie said she usually gets between 3-5) and then they will ship them to your home, right then, or once you get back to your home, and pay them. Then Stacie usually just takes the carpets to an auction house and sells them there. And makes about 4 to 5 times back the price. We talked about how it doesn’t even matter the current economic whatever, because the people that buy these carpets really aren’t affected. Also, I think that because it is a co-op, there is something about avoiding tariffs, etc. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it sounds pretty awesome. My point is that I’ve decided I want to go back to Morocco and this is how I might pay for it!

Rodline, me, and Stacie with the carpets we picked out

The buying process was pretty cool. Allison, Rodine, and I weren’t buying anything, obviously, but it was cool to watch Stacie buying, especially once the seller stopped bothering us. We were served Moroccan tea, and just watched as tons of beautiful carpets were rolled out in front of us. One really funny / annoying thing that the guy kept saying was “Excuse me.” He really said it so much, especially when we would try to talk, even about the carpets. I kept thinking that anyone buying something in the states would be offended if the seller was ever like, “Excuse me, I’m talking.” lol.

After this we were really hungry, as it was kind of getting late (for lunch). We ate at this cool-looking restaurant which was literally a hole-in-the-wall. The only way to access it was through a door that was at the end of one of the streets there was literally no signs or anything. Our tour guide left again, and met up with us at the end of the meal. Then he took us to the Tidjaniya Mosque. Tidjaniya is a Muslim brotherhood, which started in Morocco, but is VERY prevalent in Senegal. Aziz is Tidjaniya. After this, though our tour guide said he had to leave. He told Stacie to take us to the Ben Ionia medersa. We couldn’t exactly go inside, but we took pictures through a door anyway.

Also, we had heard of this “water clock” which was supposed to be nearby we went searching for it, but we couldn’t find it. We went into this café called “Café Clock” which we thought may be helpful. The waiter came out and tried to explain to us in English the history. His description of how the clock actually worked was really bizarre, and therefore remains a mystery to us. But he did say that there was a story associated with the clock, which involved the maker of the clock, who had a wife. She was having a hard time getting pregnant and keeping a child. When the clock sounded, she heard it, and the child died. Therefore, the maker went and smashed the clock to pieces.

So it was a weird story, and left us wondering. On the other hand, in the “Café Clock” we found vache qui rit earrings. For those of you who don’t know, “La Vache Qui Rit” is a cheese (in English, “The Laughing Cow”) which comes in a circle, but has triangular pieces in this circle each wrapped in foil. It is delicious, spreadable cheese, and of course the best part is the laughing cow logo. So I now have earrings that are of a red, laughing cow. And they are pretty much my favorite things ever.

That was pretty much it for our day, we just got some bread to have for dinner later and went back to the hotel. We talked about how this tour today was so bizarre, especially in the random absences of our guide, and how it was structured. I was at first put off by the clear goal of selling products, but then I thought about how there is pretty much a gift store at the end of every tour/museum/etc that I’ve been in. And at least the actual tours were free. But this day of going around Fes was really no less satisfying than other tours. We saw so many things. Sure, we weren’t presented with tons of facts like, “In 1347, this was built by this person…” There was some of that, but mostly it was cultural stuff. Of course as a history major, I love those random historical facts, but I didn’t really miss it on this trip. It was so fun, relaxed, and we got to drink tons of tea along the way!

Wednesday, 28 October

We had breakfast in the hotel, per usual. We had this really funny interaction with the hotel staff. We really wanted Moroccan tea, but I think we were the only patrons of this hotel to actually want that and not coffee. So we asked various staff members if the tea was ready yet, and I think they all thought we were weird because we actually wanted Moroccan tea. We had a nice convo with two (very good looking) Moroccans while we were waiting for the tea, and then once the tea came, they laughed at us when we each went back up for a second cup. It was really fun.
Allison wanted to go to the Jewish quarter (since she is Jewish). We first went to buy tickets for the train later that day, and then tried to catch a cab. But no one wanted to take us there, since it was so close. We found one taxi who agreed to take us there, but then once we got in, he said his meter didn’t work and that it would be 30 dirhams (10 each). We knew that this place was kind of close, so we refused and got out. We asked someone on the street, and they pointed us in the right direction (plus Rodline also kind of knew where we needed to go), so we just walked. We finally found this area, and we found a temple there, and we went inside to look around. It was kind of small and plain, but still cool. Plus we also went to the Jewish cemetery nearby. Allison thought it was cool to look around, plus she recognized some common last names and tried to practice her Hebrew. Rodline and I sat at these benches a little down from the cemetery and looked out to the countryside of Fes as we were in no mood to look at graves.

There was also a Jewish museum nearby, which was presented in a very odd way. It was just rooms full of random crap, none of which was displayed properly, but everything was more or less piled up all around the edges of the room, and also in the middle, leaving a walkway. It felt really cool to be there because by looking through some of the items, you could feel that there was so much there, and possibly some really valuable (in terms of historical value) items. And unlike normal museums, you could touch things there, and go through them. Unfortunately this probably means that everything there will deteriorate quickly.

After this we walked back to our hotel. It was a somewhat far walk, and we were starting to run short on time. We bought lunch along the way, and got our bags from the hotel. We had enough time that we could’ve maybe walked, but it would’ve been cutting it close, and we didn’t want to do that. So we tried to hail a cab which turned out to be really hard. One cab driver even gave us the thumbs down when we tried to hail him. One of the workers at the hotel came and tried to help us, and said that most taxi drivers knew that we were trying to get to the train station, and didn’t want to take us, especially since there were three of us. Finally one stopped, and we got in. Again, as we started going, he told us his meter didn’t work, and that we would have to pay 20dh. We told him that was too much, so he told us to get out if we didn’t like it. But we couldn’t as our train was going to leave soon, so we just stayed. For the rest of the taxi ride Rodline kept telling the taxi driver that he wasn’t nice or a good representative for his country, and I ranted in English about how stupid and illogical taxi drivers were here, because since they start with a base rate, technically by make many short trips they could increase the amount they make per mile, and I don’t understand why they refuse to take people short distances. It’s really frustrating trying to travel in Morocco, just because you’re not sure if you’re going to get a taxi. That’s really worrisome as a traveler. But anyway, we got to the train station, took our bags out of the taxi, and then Rodline (as we had planned) took four 5dh coins, and threw them down on the passenger seat (they all bounced in different directions and one of them rolled under the seat). I think our taxi driver cursed at us in English, but we just walked away and to our train.

After a very long train ride, we arrived in Tangier, and tried to find a reasonable taxi. There were these boys there that had motorcycles with wagon-like things on the back, so Allison and I asked them if they were taxis too, and they said, yes of course they were. Allison and I wouldn’t have minded taking them, but Rodline thought that was a terrible idea. One taxi driver came up to us, and was like, please come in my cab, and gave us a reasonable price. Once we got in he told us he was worried for us because the moto-wagons would be stopped by police if they saw passengers riding in the back (kind of like pick-up trucks in the US) and he wanted to save us. I thought that was really funny.

Once we got to the hotel and settled in, then we walked around for a bit to find dinner. We stopped at this random place, which had tons of pepsi signs, so I definitely got a pepsi, and then we could get a pita or things like that. It was okay, but the disappointing thing was that the fry maker was broken, so no French fries! Rodline was feeling out of it, so she went back to the hotel after, but Allison and I decided to go get some Moroccan tea. While we were sitting there, this guy came up to us, who was from Ghana (another country in Africa, but English speaking). We had a really funny conversation with him. He asked us where we were from, and we told him Senegal. He looked at us incredulously, and grabbed his skin, and said, “No you’re not, you’re not the right color.” So we told him we were from New York, and studying in Senegal. Then he said something like, “Why aren’t you asking me any questions, don’t you want to get to know me?” So Allison asked where he was from, but he responded with, “I don’t want to tell you, you might use it against me.” Or something like that. But eventually he told us where he was from and his name, etc. Then he asked us what we were doing in Morocco, and we told him we came here to drink the tea. He asked us if we had tea in America, and we said no, we don’t. So he asks, “Then how do you know what it is?” That was probably the most hilarious moment. Then he asked us about religion, if we were Muslim or Christian. Allison told him neither, and he asked how could that be. She told him, “I’m not Christian or Muslim.” So he looks at her, and says, “Are you a Jew?” to which she responded “Yes.” Then he asked, “So you don’t want to know God?” At this point we told him that his conversation was no longer welcome and asked him to leave. I think he realized that he at offended, and apologized, but he left as well. It was really interesting to me that he accepted both Christianity and Islam as “true” religions but refused to accept Judaism. Usually someone who is closed to other religions only accepts ONE as a possibility. But it made me think of Senegal, where Muslims and Christians live together mostly in harmony and share each others celebrations, and don’t really have any exposure to Judaism. So I guess that makes sense culturally. Allison and I laughed and laughed about this encounter almost to the point of tears. We attracted some strange looks from passer-bys, but oh well. It was pretty funny.

Thursday, 29 October

Today we decided to go to the beach. Tangier looked really disappointing, all touristy and modern, more like any city you might find in the states (with the exception of all of the cafés with the men facing outward). Random people at breakfast noticed when I used my “College of Charleston” backpack and commented to me about the city. I think that shows the quality of the hotel, that these are people who vacation in Charleston’s ritzy-ness.
We managed to find a taxi driver who agreed to take us to the “Caves of Hercules” for the meter. But then he took us to the wrong place, but once we got there, tried to tell him it was wrong, and that we weren’t going to pay him for the detour, he began to speak less and less English & French, and insisted he only really understood Spanish. He took us back down towards the main part of town. Luckily I had had the foresight to pull out my map so I could watch where he was going, so we weren’t actually lost. I think that was his plan, to get us lost, so we didn’t know what to do and had to take him for the ride anyway. But when we finally got him to understand where we wanted to go, he said we had to pay him extra, because it was so far out, and we said no and got out of the cab, without paying. We walked back to a main road, and tried to stop a few taxis, all of which wouldn’t give us a good price. We finally found a taxi and he agreed to 40dh. But he insisted on putting the meter on to watch, because he believed that it would be more than 40dh. But this was already as we were going, and we told him we wouldn’t be paying him any more than that because he had agreed to 40dh, and wouldn’t let us go by just the meter in the first place. It ended up being 36dh, so we made sure he knew that. It’s customary to round up to the nearest 5dh for taxi rides, so 40dh is exactly what we would’ve paid him anyway.

We went down to the “Caves of Hercules”. The name is based off of some myth involving Hercules separating Spain and Africa at Gibralter, and then going to live in these caves which are west of Tangier and Gibralter, and actually look out on the Atlantic Ocean. One cool part is that the opening to the caves actually looks like the map of Africa (if you look at it from the ocean, not from the inside. It’s really fun to watch the waves come in, but there really isn’t much else in the caves. We dawdled there for a bit, and then we went back out.



In the parking lot area there were three camels, so we went up to pet them. There was one baby camel, and her mother and aunt. The guy who owns them was talking to us. We chatted with him for a while, Allison especially. He took us for a ride for 20dh (less than $3). It wasn’t that long, but I still got to ride on a camel. Plus even after the really short amount of time, it started to get painful, like riding a horse, so I didn’t mind getting off. He talked to Allison for a while (her ride had been free) and asked her to come with him. He said he would give her a camel, and they could ride around together and sleep with the camels. Allison said she seriously considered this, but in the end said no.



We went to one of the restaurants to get some tea. Then we wandered around some more, and went to get lunch. There really wasn’t much to do here, and the only thing to eat was fish. So that’s what we got. There were tons of cats that came around to bother us, and of course we fed them because they just looked so cute! I really miss my cats and dogs. So much. Magique just doesn’t quite do it for me. Oh well. I guess the camels were kind of fun to pet, until they started trying to bite us! lol.

We went down to the beach after this. Morocco is quite chillier than Senegal, so it was a little cold and the water was FREEZING! (okay not literally, but it was close). We just relaxed on the beach for a while, attracted the attention of some locals, who just sat up on some rocks and just watched us for a while. We finally left, and walked back up to find a taxi, fretting about the outrageous amount they were sure to charge us. Before we got back up to the main area, though, there was a grand taxi that was waiting, and asked us if we needed a ride. He asked how much we paid on the way here, and we said 40dh. He told us that’s what he would charge us to get back, so we got in. It was so nice and amazing that it was that easy! Plus, the taxi driver and his other passenger were quite beautiful, I might add. When we got back into the city he dropped us off a little bit from our hotel, saying that this was the drop-off point, but he pointed us in the right direction to get back. He also told us that we shouldn’t let Grand Taxis (which aren’t metered like the “petit taxis” and charge a flat rate) charge us more that 10dh a seat, or 40dh for the back seat (which can seat 4 people). He was so nice, it was really relieving to have someone like that.

On the way back this random Moroccan school girl, who was probably 8 or so started following us and just staring at us. It was SO WEIRD! But when we got close to our hotel, she turns to me and asks in slow English, “What is your name?” I responded, “Fatima. What is your name?” And she answered, “Sarah.” Which I thought was hilarious, that we had kind of switched the culture of our name.

We took a nice nap, which felt good even though we had had a really lazy day already. Then we went out to get dinner, then to get tea as well. Then we continued our laziness and just went to bed.

Friday, 30 October

We went to the medina in Tangier today. It was a very hard walk getting there, as it was all uphill. And we are three out-of-shape Americans. We went past the medina a bit, but it was a good thing, as we ended up finding this cliff that came out, and overlooked the Strait of Gibraltar, and from which you could see the coast of Spain! It was really gorgeous, and the water is such a beautiful blue.

The medina was nice, there was really one museum we wanted to see, but of course it was closed when we tried to go to it. So we decided to find lunch instead. We tried not to walk down too much of the hill, but that didn’t work out. There was this random Moroccan guy, who offered to show us a nice place to eat. Allison’s guidebook repeatedly tells you NOT to follow locals, mostly because they can get really annoying and demand money. But nevertheless, we followed him, and he was neither. He showed us to this nice restaurant, and we ate there. My (and Allison’s and Rodline’s) favorite thing was the pastilla, which was this dough with confectionary sugar on top, which had a samosa-like filling inside with chicken. It was DELICIOUS. And we were almost too full to eat the rest of our meal.

We went back up to the museum, which was now open. It used to be the sultan’s palace, but is no longer used for that reason. It had really cool artifacts from all over Morocco, and from many different periods. And the palace itself was beautiful, it reminded me so strongly of the Alhambra, the way that everything was designed and the walls were decorated. It was really very interesting.

Courtyard of the Palace/Museum

We stayed there for a while, then left and attempted to find some tea, but just ended up shopping. Finally much later we wandered down to towards to the shore (down a very steep hill that we knew we would regret when we had to come back up). We shopped for a little bit longer, and then went to eat. While we were sitting at this restaurant (which was in a perfectly safe and upstanding area), two prostitutes came and sat down a few tables away from us. You can tell they are prostitutes firstly because it is really rare for women to be alone in restaurants or cafés. Plus they were dressed somewhat scandalously, and had on tons of makeup. Two guys came up later, and talked to the prostitutes. Then they left and walked off to the right. 30 seconds, later, the prostitutes got up, paid their bill, and walked off to the right as well. I think it’s weird to see such obvious and open sex deals, in a country where technically any non-marriage sexual relations are forbidden.

Saturday, 31 October

Today was a long travel day. We got up and went to breakfast, then finished packing and went to the train station. We had to switch trains on the way. The first train wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t crowded, but it did get really hot. The second train was so crowded. I was so glad to get off.
Taxi drivers were of course terrible when we got back to Casablanca. The part I think is most frustrating to me is that when you tell them it’s not a good price they start yelling at you! I think they very well know that they’re ripping you off, and they get mad when you won’t let them. That’s so stupid. I really hate taxi drivers here.

We ended up walking towards our hostel, since I could kind of figure out the way. But when we got probably more than ¾ of the way, Allison said her backpack was really hurting and she just wanted to take a cab. So we finally hailed one, and it took us to the hostel. When we got there, there was some argument over the exact amount that owed, something about paying for the bags. I was really worried that since my bag was in the trunk, not on top, that I couldn’t get it out. Allison was arguing with the taxi driver and I had to say, “Allison, ALLISON! Please, make the taxi driver open the trunk so I can get my stuff out!” Thankfully he did, and we just stopped arguing with him, and walked away, because he was obviously trying to charge us some bullshit thing. In the hostel, we had a long conversation about taxis and culture. I said I just wanted the taxi drivers to be nice, and not charge us amounts, or at least see in shades of grey, charging rich voyagers more, and poor student travelers a little less, and maybe actual Moroccans less. Of course with the meter, there shouldn’t even be a difference, but sometimes the taximen still try. But Rodline and Allison told me I need to stop living in my world of rainbows, haha.

I really don’t know what I think about non-regulated prices. It’s weird here—and in Senegal—to think with a different mindset. Those selling products (or services) don’t think about how much items are WORTH, but how much they can GET for them. I of course was raised on the American mindset, where everyone should have to pay the same price for the same item. But I do like the idea of the “fairness” of charging higher prices to people who have more money and can afford it. Although I don’t like how it’s based on the color of skin, or if you’re wearing nice clothes, etc. Like people see my white skin and say, oh she’s rich, she can afford it. But what they don’t see is that I’m a college student and that I really do need to save. Then again, the amount that I’m “saving” when I bargain usually really isn’t that significant of an amount and the other person could probably use that money more. But I get kind of offended when I think I’m being “ripped off” and refuse to maybe take a price that is maybe $1 difference, mostly on principle. Oh the conflict of culture. It’s also interesting to think that both in Senegal and Morocco—with the exception of the Moroccan taxis—most people want to sell an item far more than you want to buy it. Most of the time you just have to act disinterested and even walk away, and they’ll give you a good price. The more disinterested you are, the more they want to sell it to you.

Oh, we went to dinner tonight at a Chinese restaurant. It was very good, although I still miss my American Chinese food, so fatty and breaded and delicious. There was a group of Chinese young people, who were having a grand time, drinking and laughing. It was really hilarious to look over and see the “Asian glow” (when Asian people drink alcohol and subsequently get really, really red in the face) so vibrantly. There was one guy especially who kept challenging others to chug with him, and they just kept bringing round after round of beer. It’s an interesting site to see, people drinking a lot, after being in Muslim countries for so long.

Sunday, 1 November

Today was our last day in Morocco. We spent most of the morning wandering around looking at shops, buying final items. Then we had lunch at this nice pizza joint.

We went to these baths after that. I had gone to the “baths” in Granada, Spain, when I was there two springs ago. That consisted of many hot, shallow pools of slightly different temperatures, plus a cool pool in the center, and also a tea room off to the side. We also got a massage when we were there. So when Allison mentioned going to the baths in Morocco—jokingly—I was like, “No, really we should!”

I think baths like the one I went to in Granada may exist in Morocco—like there were those types of baths in the bottom of the Mosque of Hassan II. But the local baths are actually much different. In Allison’s guidebook, there was one relatively cheap one mentioned, but it was far away. We asked our hostel worker, and he pointed out one that was actually next door, so we went there. We paid 10dh to get in (about $1.50) then 1dh to store our things. We had brought bathing suits, but most of the women there only wore bottoms or were completely nude. I was really awkward about taking my top off, but I did eventually because it was necessary. It was really interesting in there, because of course it was only women, but no one was hiding their body. We didn’t really know what to do, so it was awkward at first, but we hired one of the women that works there to “bathe” us. Most women there bathed themselves, but of course they were used to this and knew what to do. But all of them used someone else to scrub their back, because that was quite necessary.

The bathing process involved bring a bucket or really hot water over, dipping a rough cloth in the steaming water, and being scrubbed really, really hard by this rough cloth. The woman who we hired took each of us and scrubbed our entire body, bring off layers of dirt and dead skin. (It was actually kind of gross). But when she was done cleaning my entire body (without any soap) I think that’s the cleanest I’ve ever felt in my life. Rodline made a comment afterwards, saying, “I think she just scrubbed the black out of me!” It was really intense. And I think I was technically less tan, as tan is nothing but skin that you have killed, and was probably just mostly scrubbed away.

In Allison’s guidebook, it talked about how baths were usually restricted to women until the Prophet Muhammad discovered their usefulness in promoting fertility. After that women were encouraged to go often, and began to see it as a right—and one of the few times they could leave their house, and probably gossip with other women who went to these baths.

When we were there, and surrounded by blatant nudity, we talked about how it was so non-sexual. I feel like most people in the states would associate nudity with sexuality. The woman scrubbed literally every part of us that wasn’t covered by the bottoms of our bathing suits, but it was not obviously sexual, or really seen as anything abnormal. Moreover, it seemed like a very social experience (one that we couldn’t enjoy, not speaking Arabic fluently). But we talked about how something like this would actually probably be really healthy in the states. Young American girls are constantly shown pictures of size 0 models wearing bikinis (only covering up the bare minimum). But if they went to these baths, and were surrounded by normal women, who have curves, don’t have perfect boobs or flat stomachs, I think American girls might not be as self-conscious about there bodies. Obviously, every girl goes through an awkward time when she is starting to develop and to find herself. But I think it would just be so healthy for girls to have to accept their bodies and be okay with them in front of other women, and be able to see realistic expectations. It was such a good experience!

After this extremely clean experience, we went to get another cup of tea, which was nice. Then we wandered around the shops again and finally sat down for another cup of tea! It was really nice that the plane was leaving so late so that we had the time to meander around at a very relaxed pace on the last day, instead of rushing to get everything in before we had to leave. Finally we collected all of our belongings, dealt with annoying Moroccan taxi drivers ONE LAST TIME, and went to the train station, then to the airport, then home (well home for now, in Senegal).



WHEW!!!!!!!! That was really long. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope it was fun and enlightening.