Tales from Morocco p. 3 Hope for Saalé

Once in Rabat, there was no rest for the weary.  We had to meet at 9 am and be ready to roll, and roll we did.  Our first day had us driving by the slums Saalé.  Our trip leader explained to us that slums like these were breeding grounds for terrorist groups.  Young boys grew up with no education, either secular or of their faith, no hope for any kind of future outside of the slums.  Representatives from the terrorist groups would come in taking advantage of the situation, and saying that Allah wanted these boys to join the terrorists groups, that they would be awarded in heaven for their acts, and the groups would provide for their families.  It was not just a way out, it was something to live for for.  Seeing this play out before them, a group of Moroccan students began to start tutoring for the children in the slums, and eventually it became a charity center called Hope for Saalé.  Even the king of Morocco recognized their work and gave Hope for a Saalé a donation which allowed them to build a center to host their classes and programming.

Saalé

So at the entrance of the Hope for Saalé building, a number of the Moroccan students met us.  They showed us around the center, and then led us to a classroom for another intercultural discussion.  The following hour or so proved to be an interesting and lively time, but also caused me to think and consider my own culture.  I suppose that was the point of the discussion.  Our conversation with the Moroccans was broad, covering a variety of subjects from gun control to US military spending to the situation in Syria.  It was particularly interesting seeing as there were an equal amount of variety in opinions as topics brought up.  Political and ideological points of view covered the spectrum, from conservatives to extremely progressive liberals, muslims and christians, atheists and agnostics.  And yet, it continued to remain a friendly conversation.  Over the course of the discussion, I was blown away by how much attention the Moroccan students paid to the world not only within their own country, but the wider world. They even had a better grasp of the political situation than I did, then most of the American students for that matter.  It made me consider that I'd grown up in  world where I didn't need to read the news.  What I needed to know I could find out from over hearing snippets of other's conversation.  I had seen no need to keep up and critically consider the world around me.  Admittedly I tried, but not hard enough.  I thought about the culture of American young people, how we were almost spoon fed.  It seemed to me to be a culture of entitlement, and I was shocked that I fit into that culture, that stereotype of the naive and ignorant American, because I wanted to act as a world citizen.  I wanted to put effort into understanding and considering other cultures and people, keep up on their news, their lives.  But I hadn't to the best of my ability.

So as we left Hope for Saalé, I was left to consider several things.  Firstly, the fate of Saalé.  What would become of these people, these children?  Secondly, the perseverance of the Moroccan students for starting Hope for Saalé.  It had taken years of work and patience to get it started.  And thirdly, my own lack of understanding and a resolve to change that.

Tales from Morocco, p. 2 The Homestay

So where was I...right!  The real Morocco!  Part of Morocco Exchange was placing us in Host Families.  Before we got to Rabat, we divided into groups of three.  I think that the host family experience I had really did a lot to open my eyes to the realities I'd been hearing about, been telling myself.  That I was blessed.

middle courtyard area with door to kitchen

The two other girls I was staying with from my group and I were staying in what felt like a house of children.  The oldest sister was our age, and she put us all to shame.  Her name was Besmah, and she learned nearly flawless english in three years by watching english television.  The youngest sister was seven and named Zainab, and was both sweet and feisty at the same time.  In the little I knew of standard arabic (which is very different from the Moroccan dialect, mind you) I did manage to ask her name that first night, and then tell her all our names, but that endeared all us to her.  There were also two other sisters and a brother.  Also a french speaking scholar father.  We aren't really sure where the mother was, Besmah told that she was away taking care of a sick grandfather and would return the next day, but she told us that each day.  It was a noisy household, and I liked that.

middle courtyard with door to sitting room/ breakfast area

But staying with Besmah gave me a lot to think about.  It was another shock of how much I'd taken for granted my entire life, and how much thought I'd been giving to things that didn't matter as much as I'd thought.  Besmah and her family lived on the bottom floor of a house.  There were two sitting rooms, the father's office, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the middle courtyard room.  It doesn't sound small when I type it, but seeing it, it gave me pause.  I hesitate say they were poor, because I don't know.  Clearly money was tight.  Besmah to only traveled an hour to college every day, but seemed to support the family as well.  We weren't entirely sure what the father did.  And Besmah was always anxious to make sure we like the food, the house, where we slept, etc.  She couldn't have been more hospitable.  In fact, Im glad I had the chance to stay with her, and experience the life of the lower middle class in Morocco, instead of the upper middle class.  It felt more real somehow.

where we slept/ sitting room #2 (with our luggage)

Our first night at dinner Zainab wore two bracelets made of simple plastic beads.  One was pink and one was red.  As we all sat there eating and laughing, Zainab slipped the red one off and handed it to me.  I tried to give it back a little later, but she refused it.  So now I wear it, to remind myself of the kindness I found in Morocco, not just from Besmah and Zainab, but from everyone I met.

Tales from Morocco p. 1

first glimpse of Moroccan coastline

I meant to write my tales of Morocco days ago, but I really couldn't earlier.  I had to let the experiences mull around in my head, to fully understand their meaning in my life.  They had an impact, and a large one at that, but I couldn't put it into coherent thoughts, not then.  Now I can't put it into coherent thoughts, not unless I try.  So bear with me, as I stumble over my over memories of the heat Tangier and students of Rabat and and the beauty of the Rif mountains.

We left for Morocco from the port of Tarifa, in the morning.  The sun was bright and our hearts were high.  We had absolutely no idea what awaited us on the other side of the Straight of Gibraltar.  How could we know?  Once landed, with feet touching our first African soil, our group of twenty-five was divided in two, and sent with two different guides.  My group was led by a young women who had recently finished two terms in the Peace Corp., her most recent having been Morocco.  She led us from the ferry, through the markets of Tangier, to a women's center.

picture from the roof of the Woman's Center.

At the Women's Center, we met with three students for lunch, where we were encouraged to ask them anything.  What followed was a
living discussion, going from the culture of a hijaab (headscarf) to public education in Morocco.  What I learned about the education system, was one of the first examples I found of just how entitled I was.  Without money and connections, it is very difficult to get a job after graduation. For starters you have to have top marks, but the problem with that is if you get notably high grades on an exam, the professors can be brides to swap exam scores of a high exam with a low one.  So students have to do well, but not too well, otherwise students with money and connection take their exam scores.  This was one of many points we discussed, but one that stuck with me, as it showed me in a way how easy it was for me here in the United States.

We said "shukran" (thank you) and piled back into the bus.  The plan was that we would visit the seaside city of Asiilah and then meet our host families in Rabat.  As soon as we got into the bus, we promptly fell asleep.  Sometime later, we woke to the sound of our leader saying "Wake up everyone, we are going on a camel ride!"

And since a picture says a 1000 words:

It was an exercise in balance and trust, and cheers to us, no one in our group got thrown off the camel!

Asiilah was an beautiful city, and unfortunately we visited it in the heat of the day so at least for I could not enjoy it to its fullest.

One of the other things I truly appreciated about the day was that our leader had the bus drive us around one of the shanty towns surrounding Asiilah.  While the king of Morocco is one of the wealthiest men in the world, approximately 90% of the Moroccan people fall under the poverty line.  One of the fantastic things about Moroccan Exchange, the program who took us to Morocco, was that they didn't want to show the truistic Morocco.  Sure, they showed us camels on a beach, but that wasn't their point.  They wanted us to meet the real people, understand their struggles, their triumphs, their culture, and their history.  And I think that they did that.     

More to come....