Today instead of sleeping in and probably not doing homework all day, I woke up at 7am, got on a bus and headed about an hour south of Meknes with a portion of my study abroad group and about 20 Moroccan girls from my University.
We made this odyssey in our lovingly used charter bus that has taken me all over Moroccan in style. The floor of this beauty is green astro-turf and when you sit on the seats a cloud of dust always comes up. I no longer question this occurrence or the cleanliness of the vehicle because it is, most definitely, cleaner than most of the destinations that it carries us to.
But that's beside the point- today our bus was filled with strangers in hijabs and strong perfume. We listened to loud foreign music and danced and sang for the entirety of the journey. The girls taught us calls in Arabic and forced us into the aisles to clap and shake and dance. I could only laugh at myself like I did at the hammam- being completely wrapped up in another culture.
We journeyed, or should I say danced, south and visited several different rural villages where we handed out bags of sugar, olive oil, couscous and tea- things considered nutritional staples in the Moroccan diet. Along with these packages of sustenance, we gave out clothes that the girls had collected around the city.
It was awkward and confusing most of the time. We Americans had no way to communicate with the villagers we were approaching and we instead had to rely on body languages- which is always fun. One thing I am particularly glad for in this culture that continues to reveal itself to me as a mystery, are the traditions and rituals of greeting. When greeting women you greet them with an arabic phrase meaning, "Peace be upon you" and you kiss them on each cheek. It's really a beautiful and intimate moment to partake in- exchanging kisses with these strangers who live in the mountains of rural Morocco- and it will be something that is forever engrained in my mind.
I brought along some suckers and got to hand them out to the children that we met. Their eyes lit up and one girl pulled me down to her level and gave me a sweet little kiss on the cheek. Her mother then invited me and two other girls into the courtyard of their house and chattered on in a foreign dialect her thanks for the things we brought to them. I was humbled by the image of God made manifest through his creation. A woman who may not even know her creator personally. I pray that the Holy Spirit will move in her and reveal to her the truth about her salvation and not the lostness that is around her. I feel burdened for the lost that we encountered, but hopeful that my God can move in ways far beyond my comprehension.
All in all, it was a beautiful day. The Lord gave us bright skies and mild weather, welcoming households with pots of tea and little cakes and the beginning of a chaco tan-line.
alhamduli'llah,
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
chefcheouan
Shout out to ProMo for being born, this year, on a Wednesday because the school ended up giving us Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off of class, which allowed me time to travel with friends.
I took my first ever Moroccan bus to Chefcheouan- a city in the North of Morocco- with 6 of my friends.
Here's the bus trip in a few key words:
crowded, old women fighting, language barrier, mountain highways, chaos, excitement.
What awaited us as we stepped off of the bus from our 3 our ride was one of the most beautiful towns that I have ever visited.
The entire city is painted a blue that was ethereal it was so beautiful. We stayed in a small hotel in the middle of the medina that was owned by a sweet Italian man who cooked us breakfast both mornings. We wondered through tiny streets painted blue and white, shopped in the medina and bargained with shop owners claiming that we were clearly locals because we go to school in Meknes (surprisingly, this actually worked several times) What was different here is that it's a huge tourist destination so most of the people spoke pretty good english. Additionally, walking around we were not the only white people.
An interesting aspect of the trip was meeting a woman from Croatia who was backpacking through Morocco for a couple of weeks. She was on the bus with us from Meknes and we ran into her several times walking around that weekend. She joined us for a hike into the mountains and we had good conversation about her life in Croatia and her experiences in Morocco.
After a rather intense hitchhike up to the mountains in the back of a hippie van riding with a Moroccan man playing the best of Bob Marley, we made it to the beginning of a trail. Not having dressed for a hike, we only made it about an hour up before everybody was too tired to continue. The views, however, were spectacular.
We spent the rest of the weekend shopping, enjoying pastillas (my FAVORITE moroccan food) and taking in all of the blue.
The ride back to Meknes was an interesting experience because certain routes on the bus were cancelled because it was a nation-wide day of strike to protest the various social and political issues that exist here. We took a bus for an hour, took a grand taxi for another 45 minutes, walked 20 minutes then took another train to make it back to home. Needless to say, it was a very Moroccan journey.
I took my first ever Moroccan bus to Chefcheouan- a city in the North of Morocco- with 6 of my friends.
Here's the bus trip in a few key words:
crowded, old women fighting, language barrier, mountain highways, chaos, excitement.
What awaited us as we stepped off of the bus from our 3 our ride was one of the most beautiful towns that I have ever visited.
The entire city is painted a blue that was ethereal it was so beautiful. We stayed in a small hotel in the middle of the medina that was owned by a sweet Italian man who cooked us breakfast both mornings. We wondered through tiny streets painted blue and white, shopped in the medina and bargained with shop owners claiming that we were clearly locals because we go to school in Meknes (surprisingly, this actually worked several times) What was different here is that it's a huge tourist destination so most of the people spoke pretty good english. Additionally, walking around we were not the only white people.
An interesting aspect of the trip was meeting a woman from Croatia who was backpacking through Morocco for a couple of weeks. She was on the bus with us from Meknes and we ran into her several times walking around that weekend. She joined us for a hike into the mountains and we had good conversation about her life in Croatia and her experiences in Morocco.
After a rather intense hitchhike up to the mountains in the back of a hippie van riding with a Moroccan man playing the best of Bob Marley, we made it to the beginning of a trail. Not having dressed for a hike, we only made it about an hour up before everybody was too tired to continue. The views, however, were spectacular.
We spent the rest of the weekend shopping, enjoying pastillas (my FAVORITE moroccan food) and taking in all of the blue.
The ride back to Meknes was an interesting experience because certain routes on the bus were cancelled because it was a nation-wide day of strike to protest the various social and political issues that exist here. We took a bus for an hour, took a grand taxi for another 45 minutes, walked 20 minutes then took another train to make it back to home. Needless to say, it was a very Moroccan journey.
catch up. ProMo Birthday
For those of you who have been complaining about my lack of bloggage, I feel like I should tell you to what lengths I'm going to publish all of this.
I'm currently sitting in a cafe about a block away from my apartment with my room mate. We are the only women here, there is a soccer game on which means it's about 90% full and I'm downing double espressos (niss niss, in Arabic) while inhaling copious amounts of cigarette smoke as well as the stairs from about 10 pairs of eyes as I type this.
Now that we have this clarified, I can update you on one of my favorite parts of Morocco so far.
About two weeks ago, we had the opportunity to take part (or sit on the side-lines, at least) of one of the largest religious festivals in Morocco.
The Prophet Mohammad's Birthday is to the Muslim world what Christmas, Easter and Arbor Day are to the Christian world. (Just kidding about that last one...)
We had two days off of class and pretty much the entire city shut down for days of religious ceremonies, streets crowded with pilgrims and the blood of various farm animals.
All of these activities took place in the medina, which is the old part of the city. The medina is what you would typically associate with Morocco- old old mosques, streets lined with markets and vendors and snake-charmers and mouseleums. It's where we do our shopping and buy the most delicious 1-dirham donuts you can imagine- but more about that later. In sum, the medina is where I would take each one of YOU if you came to visit me.
So, Wednesday morning, me and the girls that I live with dressed in as many bright colors as possible (you aren't allowed to wear ANY black on ProMo's bday!) and headed off to the medina.
What we came upon was unlike anything I've ever been apart of. The streets were packed with women and children in their brightest and most beautiful djellabas (hooded robes that are typically worn with hijabs) and masses of people lining the streets for a reason un-beknownst to us.
So, in typically suit, we followed the crowds and stationed ourselves on a small wall running along the street. Soon after, a huge mass of people starts to make it's way down the street. In the middle of the mass of people were about 6 men playing hand drums and small horns and recorder-like instruments. There was also I man carrying a pole with flags hanging off of it. All of these men were dressed in solid white robes and crowded around them were women and men who appeared to be dancing. Now, this wasn't like Homewood High School Prom of 2008 dancing, it was more of a solitary shaking back and forth type of motion. So we watched the crowd pass and wondered what exactly had just happened in front of us.
My friends and I continued to walk around through markets of goods and produce, eventually making our way to an alleyway filled with brightly colored tents. From each tent came loud music in a similar style to that which we had heard in the streets earlier. My attention was caught by the dark-haired curls of a woman dancing inside one of the more open-tents so we quickly walked over to check out what was happening. Curly, dressed in a bright purple djellaba was dancing and shaking her hair and moving around to the beats of a band of men playing these instruments behind her, situated on stripped rugs. A crowd quickly formed aorund the outside of the tent and we watched on half confused and half amazed at what was going on only a few yards away. A man stood next to me and realized that I spoke French and explained to me what was going on.
This "trance-dancing" is from Berber culture and has seeped it's way into North African Arab culture. The woman was dancing and acting out a spiritual song to the music and it was her way of connecting with Paradise. He said that the songs can last up to 3 hours and that nobody can interrupt her while she is in this trance-like state. The reason we weren't allowed to wear black is because, supposedly, the spirits that possess you don't like the color black and the person in a trance is more likely to act out towards you if you are wearing this color. Fortunately, I didn't see anybody "attacked" by a Spirit, but it was an eery and fascinating moment to be apart of.
I joked about being in the Hammam and being "smack dab in the middle of Moroccan culture," but my experience at the Prophet's birthday celebration takes the cake for cultural experiences on this trip so far.
The more I'm here, the more I'm drawn into the heterogeneous culture that I find myself in the midst of. Seeing and experiencing how a religion as strict and dictated as Islam has been blended with animistic cultures from Subsaharan Africa is fascinating to experience. And mostly, being surrounded by the blurred lines and vague ideas that dictate the greater culture around me has refined my own beliefs and made me even more confident and assured of what I believe.
I'm currently sitting in a cafe about a block away from my apartment with my room mate. We are the only women here, there is a soccer game on which means it's about 90% full and I'm downing double espressos (niss niss, in Arabic) while inhaling copious amounts of cigarette smoke as well as the stairs from about 10 pairs of eyes as I type this.
Now that we have this clarified, I can update you on one of my favorite parts of Morocco so far.
About two weeks ago, we had the opportunity to take part (or sit on the side-lines, at least) of one of the largest religious festivals in Morocco.
The Prophet Mohammad's Birthday is to the Muslim world what Christmas, Easter and Arbor Day are to the Christian world. (Just kidding about that last one...)
We had two days off of class and pretty much the entire city shut down for days of religious ceremonies, streets crowded with pilgrims and the blood of various farm animals.
All of these activities took place in the medina, which is the old part of the city. The medina is what you would typically associate with Morocco- old old mosques, streets lined with markets and vendors and snake-charmers and mouseleums. It's where we do our shopping and buy the most delicious 1-dirham donuts you can imagine- but more about that later. In sum, the medina is where I would take each one of YOU if you came to visit me.
So, Wednesday morning, me and the girls that I live with dressed in as many bright colors as possible (you aren't allowed to wear ANY black on ProMo's bday!) and headed off to the medina.
What we came upon was unlike anything I've ever been apart of. The streets were packed with women and children in their brightest and most beautiful djellabas (hooded robes that are typically worn with hijabs) and masses of people lining the streets for a reason un-beknownst to us.
So, in typically suit, we followed the crowds and stationed ourselves on a small wall running along the street. Soon after, a huge mass of people starts to make it's way down the street. In the middle of the mass of people were about 6 men playing hand drums and small horns and recorder-like instruments. There was also I man carrying a pole with flags hanging off of it. All of these men were dressed in solid white robes and crowded around them were women and men who appeared to be dancing. Now, this wasn't like Homewood High School Prom of 2008 dancing, it was more of a solitary shaking back and forth type of motion. So we watched the crowd pass and wondered what exactly had just happened in front of us.
My friends and I continued to walk around through markets of goods and produce, eventually making our way to an alleyway filled with brightly colored tents. From each tent came loud music in a similar style to that which we had heard in the streets earlier. My attention was caught by the dark-haired curls of a woman dancing inside one of the more open-tents so we quickly walked over to check out what was happening. Curly, dressed in a bright purple djellaba was dancing and shaking her hair and moving around to the beats of a band of men playing these instruments behind her, situated on stripped rugs. A crowd quickly formed aorund the outside of the tent and we watched on half confused and half amazed at what was going on only a few yards away. A man stood next to me and realized that I spoke French and explained to me what was going on.
This "trance-dancing" is from Berber culture and has seeped it's way into North African Arab culture. The woman was dancing and acting out a spiritual song to the music and it was her way of connecting with Paradise. He said that the songs can last up to 3 hours and that nobody can interrupt her while she is in this trance-like state. The reason we weren't allowed to wear black is because, supposedly, the spirits that possess you don't like the color black and the person in a trance is more likely to act out towards you if you are wearing this color. Fortunately, I didn't see anybody "attacked" by a Spirit, but it was an eery and fascinating moment to be apart of.
I joked about being in the Hammam and being "smack dab in the middle of Moroccan culture," but my experience at the Prophet's birthday celebration takes the cake for cultural experiences on this trip so far.
The more I'm here, the more I'm drawn into the heterogeneous culture that I find myself in the midst of. Seeing and experiencing how a religion as strict and dictated as Islam has been blended with animistic cultures from Subsaharan Africa is fascinating to experience. And mostly, being surrounded by the blurred lines and vague ideas that dictate the greater culture around me has refined my own beliefs and made me even more confident and assured of what I believe.
Monday, March 7, 2011
catch up. ifrane/azrou
It's been about 3 weeks since I've updated, which Miss Kaitlin Orr so sweetly reminded me of in a reprimanding email.
I figure the best way to explain (some of) what I've been experiencing is through photos and stories.
The second weekend that I was here, our group traveled about an hour south to visit the towns of Ifrane and Azrou.
Ifrane resembled a town nestled in the Alps and all of the houses were European in style. Even the lay-out of the town seemed to make sense- clearly it wasn't Moroccan.
After Ifrane, we ate breakfast at the home of a Berber man named Zorgan. I know, I can't make this up though. After filling up on delicious Moroccan pancakes soaked in honey, mysterious almond cookies, coffee and mint tea, we headed off on a hike into the Middle Atlas Mountains.
Along the way, we came across a gaggle of primates.
After a couple of hours of hiking through an enchanted forest, a smattering of snow patches (which provoked all out snow-ball fight war betwixt members of our group) and thinking we would never actually reach the summit of any mountain, we came upon a view that left me speechless.
Despite the day turning out grey and cold, the views were spectacular and I enjoyed getting to stretch my legs hiking the mountain terrain. It was also great to be able to breath in fresh air after two weeks of dirty city air.
I feel like I have been floored more times than I could have imagined on this trip. And it hasn't even been from sights and places, but conversations and occurances and understanding between the friends that I've made. God has been so faithful to take my breath away at LEAST once a day. My communion with the Lord has been so much deeper and sweeter left to the devices that He strengthen me and empower me in the most unexpected ways. One of the sweetest parts of the trip has been being able to use the incredible places that we have traveled as a testament to the Author of it all.
I figure the best way to explain (some of) what I've been experiencing is through photos and stories.
The second weekend that I was here, our group traveled about an hour south to visit the towns of Ifrane and Azrou.
Ifrane resembled a town nestled in the Alps and all of the houses were European in style. Even the lay-out of the town seemed to make sense- clearly it wasn't Moroccan.
After Ifrane, we ate breakfast at the home of a Berber man named Zorgan. I know, I can't make this up though. After filling up on delicious Moroccan pancakes soaked in honey, mysterious almond cookies, coffee and mint tea, we headed off on a hike into the Middle Atlas Mountains.
Along the way, we came across a gaggle of primates.
After a couple of hours of hiking through an enchanted forest, a smattering of snow patches (which provoked all out snow-ball fight war betwixt members of our group) and thinking we would never actually reach the summit of any mountain, we came upon a view that left me speechless.
Despite the day turning out grey and cold, the views were spectacular and I enjoyed getting to stretch my legs hiking the mountain terrain. It was also great to be able to breath in fresh air after two weeks of dirty city air.
I feel like I have been floored more times than I could have imagined on this trip. And it hasn't even been from sights and places, but conversations and occurances and understanding between the friends that I've made. God has been so faithful to take my breath away at LEAST once a day. My communion with the Lord has been so much deeper and sweeter left to the devices that He strengthen me and empower me in the most unexpected ways. One of the sweetest parts of the trip has been being able to use the incredible places that we have traveled as a testament to the Author of it all.
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About Me
- mgw
- Just a kid from Alabama privileged to serve the kingdom of God in France for the next few years.