"But he didn't swallow the snake!"

This past weekend, I left Rabat with my fellow CIEE students and set off to explore Morocco some. We traveled to Meknes, Azrou, Ifrane, Volubilis, and Moulay Idriss. The last three were squeezed into a Sunday day trip, but were quite spectacular and I'm glad we went.

We stayed in a lovely hostel (which felt a lot more like a hotel) in the old medina in Meknes. We asked a couple of people for directions at one point and we ended up getting shuffled from one place to the next as a man wanted us to go to a spice shop and try Berber tea and eat at his restaurant. Eventually we tried the tea, went to the spice shop and had dinner at his friend's restaurant. The next day, a couple of us took a carriage tour around Meknes and enjoyed the city, but due to the rain, eventually headed back toward our hotel to warm up and just hang out.

HOWEVER, on our way back to the hotel, we were drawn to some traditional music and a growing crowd. I definitely wanted to see what was going on so we stopped. There were three (or four?!?) men standing in the middle. A closed box sat in the center and one of them played some flute-like (sorry, so ignorant when it comes to instruments!) instrument. The others yelled to the crowd and walked around with their hands extended, asking for money. One went over opened the box and pulled out a snake.

My heart began pounding and I felt like I was watching a train wreck. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I wanted to know what the men were shouting. Desperately. I couldn't think of anything in Arabic, so in the most American attitude I could muster, I tapped the man next to me on the shoulder, and asked him, "Do you speak English?" He smiled and said he spoke French. Great. Like everyone else in this country. Except for me.

I turned to Byron and tried to get his help. He smiled and shrugged, looked like I was on my own to try and figure it out. I racked my brain for some Arabic and I'm sure I said something like, "What-say-man-happen-after-money-why?" I pointed and did gestures and opened my eyes a lot. He clearly got the picture and told me that if they got enough money they would swallow the snake.

Byron told me I misunderstood, but I totally believed the man. Of course the men were going to swallow the snake. Before long, however, it began to rain harder and the crowd started to disperse. I thought this would rush the performance, seeing that people had already given the men their money. But no, the scoundrels! They just let the people walk away and they were a couple dirhams richer.

I was furious. He never swallowed the snake. Whatta scam!

The next morning we headed out toward Azrou, not totally sure how'd we get there. We simply knew that there were grand taxis (more expensive in this case) and buses. But we weren't totally sure where either were. After we arrived at the taxi "station" they told us there were no buses and tried convincing us to go with them, but with our hodge-podge of French and Arabic we finally figured out that there were, indeed, buses that left from Azrou, but we simply had to get to the bus station.

We finally made it, and were able to get on a bus (for less than $3 USD!) right as it was leaving. Two hours later, we got off in Azrou, looked at our map and headed off toward our hostel.

After lunch the rest of our team met up with us and then we split up again. Some of us went on a guided hike that took us up the mountain overlooking Azrou and the surrounding area. It was absolutely stunning. Our guide, Younnis, was fabulous and told us all about Morocco and the culture in Azrou and the surrounding area. He also guides 3-5 day backpacking trips and I tucked that piece of information away for when my brother comes to visit in March :)

Sunday was a jam-packed day, but absolutely stunning. We saw the Roman ruins at Volubilis and then headed to Moulay Idris, the Holy City in North Africa.

Ruins at Volubilis. One of my friends (Brynn) took this picture.

 One of my teammates is keeping a blog and has been uploading lots of pictures on it. If you'd like to see her pictures, feel free to check her blog out.

And so, that was my very full weekend. Wonderful, tiring and beautiful. So great, but boy, oh boy... am I ever glad to be back home :)

Stumbling Along

We sat there laughing and I wondered what exactly was being understood. I find that I laugh a lot.

I try to speak derija and then I laugh. They look at me, quite confused, and then I laugh. I try to pronounce these crazy words with no vowels and six consonants all stuck together, and I laugh.

Mina (my host mom) and I sat in the living room this evening, and I definitely felt some bonding going on. Mina sat and watched TV, surfing various channels, and occasionally asking me simple questions. I sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and did my Arabic homework.

After every page, I'd hand over my work thus far, and she'd check it and give suggestions. Once I finished, I decided I'd stay in the living room, listening to the TV as background noise. (The TV is always on, by the way). I've met so many people who say they learned English through movies and TV programs, so hey, maybe I can learn Arabic in the same way!! I thought it might be a good idea to review the new words we learned in class with Mina in the room; that way, if I didn't remember how to pronounce a word, she could remind me and correct my pronunciation.

This process proved to be quite humorous for both of us. As I came across a difficult word (usually involving a 'n' sound followed by a 't' and then possibly a 'g'), I'd try reading it aloud. A raised eyebrow. Take two. She'd lean forward. After three tries, I'd hand my notebook over and she'd read it and if I could understand derija, I'm sure she'd say something to the extent of, "OH!! Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?!"

Her sweet spirit and patience encouraged me to keep trying to string together words in derija and I kept finding my tongue twisted. We'd laugh a lot and then try again for a new word. And of course, she'd kindly compliment me on my language "skills" saying that it was "mzuin."

Right.
I know that my derija is not excellent.

Right at Home

My heart was dancing. If hearts could sing, then it was certainly bursting forth in song. Though I was in Morocco, I felt right at home.

Well, except that is, for the language barrier.
And the unfamiliar games.
And the hard-to-pronounce names.

But take that away, and I felt right at home with the children in Madiha's family. We began playing card games and from what I could gather we played a variation of Uno, though I'm pretty sure they changed the rules every time. I kept having to pick up two and I couldn't quite figure out who's turn it was. After a while we changed games and played Spoons (or ma3alKet).

From there it we played Ring Around the Rosie, both in Arabic and English. We tried untying ourselves from a human knot, which proved extremely difficult seeing that we even struggled to say "under" or "over" and "arm" or "leg." After the knot was untangled, the games began to unwind, until two little sweeties began a game of tag with me. We ran all over the yard until we were told to be careful of a giant hole somewhere (still not sure what that was all about). A fun game of kesh-kesh followed, which was very similar to hide-n-seek, except you yell out "Kesh-kesh!" when you find the people.

Soon, many of the children had to leave and I actually felt my heart sink a little. I loved playing and laughing and giggling with them. The thing about children and language barriers is that they don't see one. Adults won't talk to you if you don't speak the language. But kids? Kids will blab all day to you, not caring if you don't understand what's going on. It didn't stop us one bit from having fun and laughing for a couple of hours.

As they were leaving I had several kisses planted on my cheeks and really big hugs.

Ah, I cannot wait to see these cuties more often. 

Same God

More than forty different nationalities. Every inhabited continent. Ah, a truly international church.

I was super excited to visit the international church here in Rabat and was even more excited when Byron, one of the guys on my team, said he'd be more than willing to come with.

Worship was wonderful. I felt parts of my brain being tugged by memories of Uganda three and a half years ago. What was it about the church that made me feel-- that at least part of me-- was back in a mud-brick structure with hay roofs? Was it the fervent worship? Was it the beautiful voices rising up all around me? Another memory tugged at my mind, beckoning me to remember the multi-ethnicity I enjoyed at InterVarsity large groups. I saw people of all backgrounds surrounding me. And still, I felt at home, as if I were in Colombia, with the lively worship.

Ah, who cares what memory it was bringing up.

I was there, and it was wonderful.

I simply closed my eyes and savored the moment. Would heaven be like this? Even in the slightest? Would I hear different accents and languages?

The love and joy was so evident and I wanted to find ways to get involved with this wonderful congregation.

During worship I was also reminded of my friend Lauren's prayer for me before I left for Rabat: May she remember that you are the same God in Illinois that you are in Colombia, that you are in Morocco.

Ahh, the truth of her prayer resonated deeply in my soul and I knew that the same God that I know, love and follow in Colombia, Canada or the USA is here.

He's already here and he's shining brightly.

Anemone Pimples

"Meshi mushkela?" I asked, slightly concerned.

He opened his eyes wide and shook his head fervently, "MUSHKELA!!"

We had just touched at sea anemone,  and now Farid was telling us there was a problem. Ayub had said there wasn't, and even touched it before we had, but now Farid tried to explain there was a problem. I thought I had clearly asked if it was dangerous to touch it. Hahaha. So I thought...

He scooped up some round shells and spread them over his arms. Chessy pointed to a pimple and he nodded.

Great, we're going to get anemone pimples now.

- - -

Cous cous Friday today so we all met at Madiha (our program director's house) for lunch. Super delicious and then we headed off to a beach walk. Madiha sent two of her nephews (I believe?) to accompany us. I tried making conversation with them, but really, what else can you talk about when your Arabic doesn't go much more than asking how they are and what their names are.

Darby and I at the "beach"

When we got to the beach they told us to take our shoes off and follow them on the rocky parts. We balanced along some parts and I felt my pulse quicken when I saw sea urchins in the pools right by feet. But no problem, I got to hold one later :)

And then, then we got to the sea anemone.

I felt slightly Moroccan because we were all yelling at each other, but no one was angry. We were trying to string together French or Arabic to figure out what in the world was going to happen to us.

I think we concluded that for today, we were okay. Maybe because its not summer? Or maybe because it didn't sting us? Or grab us? Or something us. However, I believe, that we will be okay.

So far, no anemone pimples.

Sink or Swim: On Your Marks...

I found myself giggling uncontrollably. A huge smile spread across my face and I absolutely knew without a doubt that I looked like a goof. But I couldn't help it. This was my way of dealing with nervousness and anxiety. You know, uncontrollable giggling. It drives some people crazy when they're stressed or scared, but I can't actually help it that my default is to laugh.

We were in the car with my host dad ("baba") and he spoke absolutely no English. He had gotten out of the car to help another student with his luggage, leaving me and Lesley behind. I burst into laughter and felt a release of anticipation and nervousness.

Yes, I really was on my way to meet my host family and yes they really didn't speak any English. Sure, they spoke some French, but considering my French doesn't go beyond merci and bon jour, I wasn't counting on any help from that romance language.

Lesley and I swallowed hard and once again I found myself grinning.

Once back in the car, my baba was super nice and tried to make polite conversation. I was surprised at the amount of Arabic I was able to catch and flattered when he understood my broken phrases strung together.

After dropping of Lesley, we headed to my home for the next four months. My host brother, Ala, met us downstairs and carried my bag up five flights of stairs. Like Colombia, no elevators. No surprise there.

My host mom ("oma") is a sweet, small lady who kissed my cheeks immediately, repeating "salaam." They showed me around the apartment and then allowed me to unpack before dinner. For dinner, we had delicious tajine, a typical Moroccan dish (I'll describe it more in a later post), and of course... bread :D

I focused so hard on their conversation, on the National Geographic program on TV, on signs on other conversations, yet found it so hard to follow anything. Zoning out was easier, so it happened several times. Often, my thoughts would wander down rabbit trails, following things that reminded me of home: A Mago de Oz sweatshirt, my parents' ringtone, a familiar smell. Then, I'd hear a familiar Arabic word, jerking me back into the present conversation.

Phew :)
Sink or swim. Time to actually learn this language...

On your marks, get set...

GO!

Surprisingly cold?

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

I should have brought my winter jacket today, I thought to myself. Yes, they had told me it was winter and it could get cold. But for some reason, I brushed the thought aside yesterday morning, not expecting it to get that cold. It was Africa, how cold could it get?

Apparently, cold enough to make it hard to concentrate on the tour guide. Apparently, cold enough to make me spend more of my energy trying to keep warm than to try and understand the Derija dialect around me.

After a much needed night of sleep, we got ready for our first day in Morocco on Wednesday. We had breakfast and then orientation. During orientation I got more and more excited about living with a host family. I cannot wait to experience full-blown Moroccan hospitality and feel like I’m welcomed into a Moroccan family!

We then headed out for lunch and then touring some typical sight-seeing places in Rabat. My group took thousands of pictures, but I took a couple (to make sure I could share them on the blog).

Mausoleum of Mohammad V

Ceiling inside of our restaurant for dinner!

Outside of the Chellah ruins

Walking the Dogs

I walked my friend Sierra's dogs with her a couple of days ago. Anything they did made me comment or ask a question.

"Do they poo once or twice?"
"Wow, they just sniff everything."
"Do they need to stay on their leashes?"

Clearly, I haven't had pets for years.

But as we walked and talked, I realized we ended up mostly talking. I noticed something beautiful about the dogs. They stopped to sniff absolutely everything. They'd get excited about a scent over here and then they'd scamper off over there. They'd wag their little stumps of tails and pant. They weren't too concerned about where we were going or if we were going in circles.

They simply enjoyed the journey.

And the simplicity in this reality was quite beautiful.So often, I'm caught up in where I'm going and what my destination is that it's easy to forget that the journey itself is a beautiful process. Sometimes, the journey itself can be more meaningful than the destination. We can become preoccupied with the ending that we forget the process, yet in the end processes are the ones that changed us, not destinations.

As I embark on my own journey to Morocco just four days from now, I want to cling to this image.
I want to remember the dogs sniffing the grass. I want to remember their little tails wagging with different scents they noticed. I want to remember how they eagerly pulled me from one tree to the next and how they weren't terribly concerned about getting to a certain place. They wanted to enjoy every step of the way.

While in Morocco, I will be keeping up a separate, more academic blog as well. You can find the link here. One of the scholarships I applied for requires I keep a blog, but I didn't want to link it to my personal blog, so I created a new one. Some posts will be repeats of these ones, but others will be different. I'd love comments or thoughts to any posts :)

Ready?

Last time I posted here, I was still living in Illinois. I was days away from leaving that home and embarking a new adventure and a whole new season of life.

I spent Christmas with Lucas and his family and it was wonderful. I love his family and loved getting to know them better of the holidays. We laughed and hung out and played games and enjoyed each others company. I soaked up his family Christmas traditions and tried to capture it all. And even though they were so loving and so wonderful, I still found myself feeling just a tad homesick on Christmas Eve as my family gathered together to celebrate Christmas. I knew that marrying Lucas meant that he would become my new nuclear family and I was excited to begin that stage, but it didn't curb the sting of homesickness I felt. I was able to Skype with them and loved giggling with my brother and joking around with my dad while my grandma and mom laughed in the background.

A couple of days later, Lucas and I hugged his family goodbye and headed to Colombia for a week. I can hardly believe it, but now, that week is also over. We spent tons of time with my family. We played Settlers and had some intense Uno games. We got lots of wedding planning done and enjoyed being together.

Three days ago, I hugged him goodbye. Goodbye for five months. Our last goodbye. The thought of not seeing him for five months and communicating across an ocean and struggling to find time to talk with an 8 hour time difference was enough to bring me to tears. And yet, the very next thought was always, "Its our last goodbye." Ah, how exciting. Next time I wrap my arms around Lucas, I'll be marrying him three weeks later.

And now, eight days from today, I'm off to Morocco. For a semester. I've been looking forward to this all semester, and now that my departure date is finally here, I'm in shock. I'm actually going to be living in Western Africa for a semester. I'll be communicating using my rudimentary Arabic and yes, I'll be living with a Moroccan family. The amount of changes that will be going on in my life are surreal, and I can hardly wait to board the plane.

Yet, when I return, life as I know it will be completely gone. I'll be done with university. I'll be getting married less than a month after my return. I'll be heading up to Canada to live with Lucas indefinitely and I'll be hoping to find a job. Wow. Typing it out makes my mouth go dry and my stomach feel a bit nauseous.

Am I really ready for all of this?

Ready as I'll ever be.