Mall Here, Slum There

Wandering the high walled, winding alley ways of the Medina must be the closest I'll ever come to being a lab rat in a maze. The first time I walked with my host mother through the Medina all I could do was lunge to stay by her heel as she whipped around corners onto streets that all looked the same. Today I whipped around a corner myself and smiled as I realized that I have become an amateur Medina resident.

My new amateur status came in handy last saturday when I had to make my way to the train station at 6:45 am. MOJ went on an "independent" field trip to the annual book fair and Morocco Mall in Casablanca. Several of us met up to n

avigate the empty streets of the early morning Medina as we made our way out to the centre ville train station in the nouvelle ville. The ride was just an hour and fifteen minutes and the scenery was verdant, a landscape dotted with farms, cows, and horses.

It was immediately clear upon arrival, though, that we were in a city quite different from Rabat. Casa presents an interesting example of urban development and is a symbol of Morocco's wide gap in development. The taxi we caught at the train station dropped us off in front of the immense Hassan II mosque. It is right on the coast and is so well manicured. Across the street we entered the international book fair and visited stands from Saudi Arabia, France, Belgium, Pakistan, the Mohammed V University, and more. We helped a young english literature student find Hamlet while having a conversation, in flawless english, about post grad job opportunities.

Then the time came to catch a taxi to the mall. We drove along the beautiful coast, but across the street from the ocean we spotted slum like apartment buildings, shops in disrepair, people in rags, and stray animals. Yet the mall looks like something you would not even see in the US yet. It is extremely large and designed to reflect its position on the coast; you can even see the beach from the food court. We could not walk five feet without passing a security guard or custodian. Aside from all of the top end world brands, there is a large aquarium attraction, a musical fountain, an adventure park, a very sophisticated 'souk', and more. It is the picture of modernity and sumptuousness.

On our way back to the train station we decided to stop at Rick's Café. We had to give a nod to Casablanca, the film. Our taxi driver pointed out the new tramway project and the construction on the Marina and boardwalk. He was so proud that it was bigger than Rabat's! Advertisements outside of the construction site showed Western looking couples walking along the boardwalk and boating. He also showed us one of the King of Saudi Arabia's three palaces in Casablanca. Again, though, we passed very run down looking areas right next to all of this new, commercial development.

When we arrived home in Rabat, Stacy asked her host father his thoughts on this contrast between extreme development and crumbling living spaces. He thought the government should spend more time and money working on building up infrastructure immediately important to citizens, housing and community development.

It is great that Morocco is working on urban development, but it is strange that there is such a focus on areas and institutions that citizens don't consider immediately important to them. The country's reputation is very important to it's government. The state has worked hard to have impeccable relations with the EU and the US. Focusing on development projects that foreign tourists might visit or hear about could be one means of maintaining and building the nation's reputation.

Rabat, Morocco Goes Back to the Future

Here is my first article! Mary wants us to find the underreported and lighter stories, which I think is certainly a good way to start. Instead of giving detailed edits on this story she chose to give us a big idea to improve our stories. Her advice to me was to write more of a report and less of a story, answer any questions I raise, and to seek out different views for a more balanced story. Our first assignment was to write about something that surprises us in Rabat:

Rabat, Morocco Goes Back to the Future

Rabat-The sun sets over Rabat, Morocco’s old Kasbah, reflecting the orange brick and mud walls of the pre-colonial fortress. Any visitor would believe he had been transported back in time, until, in complete silence, the tram whizzes by over the modern iron and steel Hassan II Bridge. Rabat, Morocco’s capital, is the first city in the country to be outfitted with a brand new, ultra modern tramway as part of a grand modernization campaign funded by the state. Up until June 2010, when the new addition was completed, Rabat’s only form of public transportation was an outdated bus system. Now the city has entered a new era and its residents have made an incredible adjustment.

In New York, Paris, or Boston, public transportation infrastructure has been in place for so many generations that it has become a part of the city landscape. Children grow up learning to ride their city’s local train system so that it is second nature by the time they leave primary school. In Morocco the tram is brand new for everyone, but Rabatis have incorporated it into their ancient city amazingly smoothly. How do you teach a city of 621,000 people to use a completely new mode of transportation? Jamali Kdihi, a ticket controller on the line two trams during the busy evening rush hour period, says that city dwellers did not need much encouragement to try out the new form of transportation. Speaking in French, Kdihi says “The State paid; it’s the major part of the campaign to improve Rabat. They had plans since the 1970’s and the construction has taken place since 2007 so they [the Rabatis] were eager to take the tram,” he says. One tram user, graphic designer Dounya Jamal, expanded on this saying that she never second-guessed using the new form of transport. She explains in french, “Before the tram I drove from my home in Salé to work in Rabat. It was bad for the environment and I was always late because of the traffic. The tram is more chic and anyone can afford the ticket for six Dirham.

One explanation for Rabat’s quick adjustment is Kdihi whose job involves riding the tram back and forth between Rabat and its small suburb, Salé, checking that people have validated their tickets in the small machines onboard. He believes that no one gets away with a free ride, but acknowledges that some people are still learning how to use the ticket machine so he patiently reminds them to validate. Kdihi points out that he is just a small part of an official campaign to help the city become accustomed to the tram. He says, “There are clear signs all over the tram and its stations to help people learn.” Drivers and pedestrians also had to learn, “There were commercials on the radio and tv and new lights and road signs were installed” Kdihi continues. There have been a few accidents, particularly collisions with cars, but Kdihi is quick to say that accidents were bound to happen and they are becoming less frequent. Jamal, the designer, agrees and thinks the state-installed signs have helped her stay safe when walking across the tram tracks. After only a few rides she felt that she had mastered the novel system.

As Kdihi walks around the tram’s four connected cars he pats the heads of children and shakes hands with frequent travellers, asking each about their days. People seem to enjoy the ride, looking out the window or just sitting quietly with their thoughts. He is proud of his job and works hard to protect the tram, even ensuring that photographs, which are currently not permitted inside of the tram, are not taken. Both he and Jamal smile at the mention of Rabat’s victory over Casablanca, achieving completion of their tram before the famous city. Approaching the Bab Chellah stop, Kdihi says “there is no doubt” that the network, currently made up of two lines, will soon be extended. As the ticket controller continues down the car smiling at passengers the tram glides away from the old world architecture of the medina’s Chellah Gate, but no, it is not time travel. It is a symbol of the flexibility of a people steeped in cultural heritage and their readiness to move into the future. –Veronica Jean Seltzer

The Prophet and Me

The Prophet Mohammed and I share a birthday, a fact I had not learned until arriving in Morocco. Thus it was particularly interesting to see how birthdays, including Mohammed's, are celebrated in Moroccan tradition.
I awoke to delicious smells wafting throughout my room. Breakfast consisted of spongy Moroccan pancakes, doused in the maple syrup I had brought as a gift and rolled up for easier handling. We mainly eat with our right hand here, as Muslims consider the left dirty. We also had crescent shaped cookies, popular on Mohammed's birthday.
I went for a birthday jog along Rabat's new boardwalk. The sun was shining so brightly and the Kasbah looked beautiful against the blue water. Rabat's tram system is also brand new and it frequently passed by, traveling over the bridge to Salé. The scene looked like something out of the future.
Families gather from all over to celebrate the holiday so I spent the afternoon at my cousins' house. Ashton, whom I've only known for a week, told me that she had heard about a free concert in a park. She ran me through the medina, first exploring shops selling beautiful paintings, scarves, and leather and then stopping to buy cookies that she said we would bring back for the family. Finally, we emerged from the packed medina streets and crossed the street to the park. "Look, it's Jackie and Vemo," I said. I spotted two fellow MOJers and we went up to them, but no one said anything; they all just smiled and Ashton said "Surprise!" Soon more friends arrived, cake in hand. Ashton had organized nine of the twelve journalism students to get together for my birthday! Eboni's host brother and some of his friends came along and walked us over to Hassan Tower, Rabat's most famous monument. We sat in a circle on the grass between the tower and the water. They sang happy birthday in Arabic and English and we sat, talked, and enjoyed cookies and cake while the sun set. It was very special!
Later, Ashton and I returned to her home to celebrate another birthday, Mohammed's. On our way there people I had never met, but were somehow related to, or friends of, my host family stopped me in the street, greeting me with a kiss on both cheeks, and wished me a happy birthday and a happy Mawlid. When we arrived at Ashton's home we found our whole family gathered there and we all enjoyed a meal together. There was lots of laughter and I really felt like a part of the family.
When my host mother and I returned home she gave me a beautiful necklace for my birthday! It was so sweet and touching! What a special day it was!

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Tomorrow I officially begin school and so my posts will probably become less frequent and more thematic.

The Protest

How could I have possibly forgotten to share the most dramatic and exciting event of our orientation?!

On our last night in the Hotel Berlin the calm on the street outside was broken by a loud chanting. I looked out my window only to see hundreds of people singing in the street outside. Badr had just been telling us about frustration with the Moroccan soccer team, the Atlas Lions, who had just lost two games in a row, so I thought maybe they had finally won and this was the celebration. Well, then the singers took off running down the street and a mass of police soon appeared running behind them, night sticks outstretched. It was a demonstration! Even in Athens, which is demonstration central right now, I had never seen anything like this.

Kirsten, an MOJ student photo journalist, ran to my room and lamented leaving her camera behind as I was able to capture the chase on video. After the chase, the streets regained their calm, but Kirsten and I couldn't stop talking. We mentioned several times that it probably was not a good idea to go down to the street, but that we really wanted to! So we threw clothes on over our pajamas, I turned up the collar on my trench coat, and we decided to see what was happening from the safety of the hotel's lobby. We saw that the situation was stable so we ventured out. The police were blocking off the street, preventing any protesters from returning and Kirsten tried to snap pictures from a distance. An officer came over and told us not to take pictures, but Kirsten tried Mary's "act dumb" trick so we crossed the street and reattempted. This time a higher up officer saw, came over, and tugged on Kirsten's camera strap, hung over her neck. He spoke in fast and furious Dhriija and then, seeing we didn't understand, switched to French. "La carte, la carte" he said. He wanted her SD card. Then some Moroccans flew in, shoving the officer aside and saying they'd take care of it. They watched as she deleted all the protest pictures, but they also seemed to want us there. They asked if we were journalists, but to be safe we just said "ana taliba", I am a student.

We rushed back to the hotel, just a few feet away, as giddy as could be. We have obviously been bitten by the journalism bug and Mary was so proud when we told her about our experience the next day. It was interesting to hear about other MOJer's experiences too. Marie, Jackie, Ashton, and Shalea were out buying cell phones when the chase occurred and they inadvertently became a part of it, running with the protesters to avoid the police. When the chase stopped, the protestors were eager to tell them about their situation. They are all graduates with masters degrees and higher that have not been able to find work. They organize based on major. Their demand is for secure government jobs and whenever one becomes available they choose who should interview for it based on who has logged the most protest hours. That night, they were going to sleep outside of parliament, but the police chased them out. Jackie asked one woman who, for five years, had her masters, but no job if the police were ever violent, but she did not seem to understand. I certainly didn't see any violence, but Mary said that she had earlier in the week. Ashton, a photojournalist like Kirsten, seems as innocent as could be, but she had her camera hidden in her sleeve the whole time and was able to take a video.

Don't worry! I wouldn't have gone if it was not completely safe (although you can never really tell) and I probably will not be running into a protest anytime soon; that is exactly what everyone tells you not to do. Yet it was a great experience which really reinforced my decision to come here.

Catch up #2

There are three CCCL buildings. The annex for Arabic classes (Marassa) is fairly simple, but I love the library (Legza) building with its fireplace and colorful leather cushions. The main CCCL building (Lalou) is gorgeous! It is a Spanish-Moroccan riad in the ancienne medina. The traditional courtyard is covered so it can be used in foul weather and there is a beautiful terrace that offers views of all of Rabat and Salé. I think I'll be photographing it throughout the trip, trying to capture its beauty. We've already enjoyed lectures with a doctor and a religious scholar, a welcome dinner, and a musical performance in the courtyard.

Early in the orientation we were given a few free hours to explore. Some of my fellow student journalists and I walked through the Medina's souk and wandered out to the Kasbah, which is being converted to a museum. Some friends joined in a soccer game with some young boys while the rest of us walked on the beach and visited an art gallery.

On the final orientation day we were given a bus tour lead by the CCCL's director. He never stopped sharing information for one minute throughout the two hour tour. I'm so excited to visit some of the areas he pointed out and he gave me a few ideas for possible stories. Even before we've officially started, Mary always reminds us all to bring our notebooks and recorders everywhere; stories abound. On the tour, we even got the chance to drive around the palace compound, which is not easily visited.

Then orientation ended and in came a period filled with anxiety. The students gathered together in the CCCL waiting for our host families to arrive. It felt like we were being adopted and it was hard for us to contain our nervousness and excitement. Badr put us all at ease by making jokes and, when the time came, introducing us to our new families. I felt prepared to a degree. Doha, our homestay coordinator had given us a session preparing us for squatting over the turkish toilets we would possibly have, taking showers with boiled water and a bucket, and properly disposing of sanitary napkins (since it is a shuma, shame, for someone to see another's menstrual blood). She was so uninhibited, squatting before us on her imaginary turkish toilet. Doha even gave us a card that described our family. My card said I'd be living with Fatima and her daughter, Fatima Zahra. I'd have a western toilet, a shared room, and they spoke French.

Fatima picked me up that fateful day as my preparation began to fall from the window. I tried speaking to my new host mother in French, but she just smiled, nodded, and spoke in Dhirija, Moroccan Arabic. On the way to her home we met up with Fatima Zahra, toting her six year old son by the hand. I did not expect Zahra to be an adult, let alone that she'd have a child. It also turns out that she does not live with us. It is just me and Fatima and we do not share a room. There is also no French spoken, nor understood. At first, I was a little disappointed. I could handle everything else, but I had requested a French speaking host family, which are not at all far and few between, from the very beginning. To add to my sadness, I was called to the table at seven, but only bread was served. I thought the worst, that Fatima just needed the money my stay would provide her with, she didn't care about me. Then I was called back at 10 for a true dinner! "Oh, she does care about me!"

Fatima and I started slowly. I was disappointed, but am never one to complain and always try to make the best of things. Luckily, I didn't even need to, as everything fell into place. Every day my host mother surprises me with how caring she is: making room for my clothes, giving me an extra blanket, trying to communicate. We may be silent a lot of the time, but I feel comfortable, safe, and cared for. I'm also not too worried about the French, practice at home is ideal, but I'll use it in class and seem to be speaking it a lot when communicating with Rabatis.

My apartment is small, but homey. As in many Moroccan houses, tile climbs the walls and mats cover the floor. Couches with lovely patterns turn into beds at night when blankets and a pillow are added. The meals are delicious and carbohydrate laden. Friday lunches are special. This week we had tajine and cous cous! The 'dinner' at 7 is a snack, followed by a dinner that is late even by European standards, but I'm never hungry. Visitors come in and out all day. Fatima's son and daughter have come by and her cousins are frequent visitors.

One cousin, 19 year old Souad, lives close by and her hostee sister, Ashton, is a friend from the journalism program (MOJ). Today, they called to invite me to the hammam! Doha had taught us that Moroccans don't really take showers as often as we do. In fact, they may even view us as somewhat dirty because they take one major shower once a week and smaller ones throughout the week. The major one lasts an hour or more at the communal hammam. Fatima helped me pack a kit with multiple scrubbers, soap, a stool, shampoo and conditioner, a change of clothes, etc. My cousins came to pick me up and we stopped in the souk where Souad bought some herbs before we entered the bath house. Souad taught Ashton and me everything! We paid, stripped down to nothing, and entered the steam rooms. Starting in the hottest room, we filled water buckets, sat against the wall on our stools, and doused ourselves. Souad made a concoction with the herbs and we used it as an exfoliant, scrubbing each other's backs. The skin rolled off. Some elderly ladies laid on the floor as their family members scrubbed head to toe. I loved the communal aspect! You can really feel someone's care for, and support of, you when they are scrubbing you. Tired, but very clean, we made our way to my cousins' house wrapped in informal hijabs Souad had tied for us to keep us warm. Souad is just so nice. She speaks a little english and almost impeccable French so I often translate between her and Ashton. The two are perfectly matched and are already so close; they smile at each other and laugh about the "food babies" they developed at lunch and often say "I love you, my sister" to each other. My host mother came to pick me up at their house where we enjoyed our pre dinner dinner. Souad told me that her house was my house and that I'll often go on outings with her and Ashton.

Tomorrow is my birthday and a holiday, Aid Mawlid-the prophet Mohammed's birthday, which we will have Monday off for. I know very little about the celebrations other than that there will be a candlelight parade, delicious cookies, and white clothing everywhere. So now you're all caught up-welcome to Morocco!

Catch Up

Tomorrow, which happens to be my birthday, I will have been in Rabat, Morocco for a week so let me catch you up with a stream of consciousness style. Now, as my sister, or anyone who has ever heard me tell or hear a story knows, I love including absolutely every detail. To ensure that I actually experience Morocco, rather than sit inside writing about it, perhaps in the future I'll try to pick certain adventures and elaborate.

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The journey to Morocco was a difficult one. I planned to leave home on saturday, January 28th, but my flight was changed at the last minute. The new flight plan would have gotten me to Rabat too late so Delta/Airfrance helped me switch to an earlier flight as my family and I frantically drove to the airport. The rush made for a lot of confusion, but, after connecting in Madrid (where we were loaded onto the tiny commuter plane only to find that the baggage door wouldn't close and we would have to switch planes), I finally arrived!

Stepping into the Rabat airport, everything felt right! The airport is small and the design is modern, but with a Moroccan motif. Some fellow students and I were met by Fadoua, one of the SIT program assistants (PA). She was so kind, stylish, and confident as she helped us onto a chartered bus and provided us with snacks. We drove through Salé (a small suburb across the Bouregreg river from Rabat) during 'the golden hour', just as the sun was setting. We passed by parks where a sea of families played and picnicked. People streamed through the highways to and from the green spaces and I smiled; this is how I had imagined Africa. We drove to the Berlin Hotel where the twelve journalism students stayed during orientation. All sixty SIT students (there are two other programs besides journalism) met to share dinner on the first night at a beautiful restaurant where a PA had to herd us around a praying man on the way to the tables.

The six day orientation mainly consisted of programs geared toward helping us adjust to the academics, life in Rabat, and our homestays. The journalism group met Mary Stucky and Taieb Belghazi, our academic directors (ADs). Mary, a veteran journalist who founded Round Earth Media, will teach us from a more practical point of view, while Taieb, a professor at Mohammed V University, will provide a more scholarly and Moroccan point of view. Our schedule is very full: a field study in journalism, a seminar on journalism in Morocco and North Africa, a French for journalism class (other students will be in Arabic, but from 8:30 to 11:45 Louis and I will take French), daily work in our very own newsroom with frequent deadlines, multiple excursions, and a six week independent study. I'm very excited!

During orientation, I particularly enjoyed our Drop Off Exercise. Badr (our PA), Mary, Taieb, and their twelve students boarded a bus to each be dropped off in an unknown part of the city. Each student had a topic to explore and had to find their own way back to the Center for Cross Cultural Learning (CCCL, our host institution) via taxi. My topic was pollution and green spaces. As each student was dropped off, everyone cheered "Go Eboni!! Whooo!! You can do it Marie!!". It was such an interesting feeling to come off the bus glowing with the support of new found friends and advisors into an environment where you were just another stranger going about your business on the street; I felt like a real reporter. I was dropped off near the Rabat Ville train station where I saw a broad street with a lush, palm tree lined park in the center that ran for a few blocks. My observations had given rise to many questions so I gathered courage and tried to speak to a woman standing next to me. She denied me, but I found success soon after with a girl about my age. We spoke in French and I learned a great deal about city pollution and Rabatis' love for, but lack of, parks. Satisfied, I flagged down two blue petit taxis (can't leave the city borders, as opposed to les grand taxis) before one driver agreed to take me. The drivers can take three people at a time so if a new client's destination isn't easily reached from their previous clients' they will wave you on. After being dropped off I entered the Medina, where the streets are too narrow for cars, and navigated its windy streets to find the CCCL. The drop off gave me such a sense of independence and confidence, qualities I thought that I already had good stock of. It was an incredible experience!

Bienvenue au Maroc!

"Welcome to Africa!" said the man seated next to me on the plane from Madrid to Rabat as we spotted the Moroccan coast from above. Earlier, when he had asked me why I was traveling to his country, I had mentioned my years long desire to immerse myself in life on the continent and he was excited to be the first to welcome me.

Why Morocco? I am fascinated by people and the variety of ways in which lives are lead. Despite our differences, people share many similarities and rely on each other to thrive; thus social and political institutions emerge. Of course there is always a disparity between the success of these institutions; certain governments enable countries to flourish fairly quickly while others only stagnate and can never escape the categorization of developing country. What conditions are necessary for a nation's successful development?

This question and others lead me to study two of the most successful societies the world has seen, the "democracies" of ancient Rome and Athens. I spent this past semester in Athens (see blog posts signed by Veronica Jean at: http://davidspiropoulos.blogspot.com/) at a turning point in its modern history. I was able to gather a wealth of information about both ancient and modern Greece, which I hope to apply in a study of Morocco's development.

I've always been interested in studying the development of francophone African countries because their experiences with French colonialism has had a major, and unique, impact on their development. Morocco, although colonized by the French, is not the best example because French influence is just one of many factors that has shaped it. The Middle Eastern bloc, European bloc, and Muslim religion are the major factors, among other influences, that have had an impact on Morocco. In fact, Barnaby Rogerson, author of the Cadogan guide to Marrakesh, Fez, and Rabat, says that "Morocco has been likened to both an island and a palm tree. For it is all but surrounded by three seas...and like the desert palm, though rooted in Africa, it is watered by Islam and rustled by the winds of Europe".

Morocco is still developing and has been for quite a while, but it is better off than many other developing nations. Currently a constitutional monarchy, Morocco becomes more democratized every year. In this period of Arab Spring, many people feel that the Moroccans' tipping point will be any day now. It is an ideal time to be here.

Yet there is another feature that drew me to Morocco. As I came to learn more about the development of democracy, I came to realize a very interesting necessity of democracies. When a government is in the hands of its people, those people must remain informed so they can make good decisions for the benefit of their country and themselves. Therefore, journalists have immense influence on democracy and I'd like to learn more about their impact, while learning to become one. The School for International Training (SIT) is piloting the first ever journalism abroad program: Field Studies in Journalism and New Media. This program is perfect for me! I'll be able to study journalism from both a scholarly and more vocational angle as Morocco, currently a constitutional monarchy, undergoes democratization in the Arab Spring.

I am often without internet, but I'll try to keep this blog updated fairly often, sometimes offering a more serious, scholarly look at my experiences and at other times, a lighter description of my adventures and personal growth. Maybe I'll even be able to post some of the reporting work that I will do.

A bientôt,

VJ