No Longer A Tourist!

Completed!!! The following is my submission for my Glimpse Application... Feel free to read it if you want, its a bit long!

Morocco. The very name itself conjures up mystical thoughts of an exotic land full of bright colors, a rich ancient history and endless pursuits of adventure. Romanticized in literature, pictures and movies, Morocco's enchantment beckons travelers from around the globe. First encountering this majestic country two years ago on a school trip, I quickly became enraptured by the sites, smells and sounds. Morocco was unlike any place I had seen before, as influences from Europe, Africa and the Arab world collided to form an extraordinary culture of tradition and grace.

Departing from the airport with the thrill of the train, I watched in wonder as the beauty of the land flowed on. Brown, tan and light green hills rolled by, as sheep were herded along, the tranquility of it all only momentarily interrupted by the passing hustle and bustle of a booming city. No amount of research or reading can fully prepare you for actually stepping foot into another land. Finally arriving in Casablanca, our team walked off the train and into whirlwind of activity. Larger than life, the city loomed, with cabs, cars and motorbikes streaming through town. Quickly we made our way to our hotel and from that point on we never stopped running. Our eight-day excursion towards the heart of the Atlas took us through countless cities and towns, furthering the enchantment and awe of this place. When all was said and done we had toured mosques, robed ourselves in traditional garb, taken tea in Meknes, wound through countless streets in the famed Fes el-Bali, marveled at the imperial grandeur of Rabat, romped through the ruins of Moulay Idriss and watched the sunset from atop the Middle Atlas mountains. By the time we were finished we had 'seen it all,' conquering Morocco in one fowl swoop; we were masters of culture and ready to take on the world, or so we thought.

Returning two years later for a longer stint, I was excited to revisit the people and places that had so captured my heart. "Reentry would be a breeze," I reasoned, naively assuming that my short tango with country two years before would prepare me for living out a summer there. With little idea of what lay in store, I packed up my bags and boarded a plane once more. Hours later I arrived, and wiping the sleep from my eyes, I set out on my next grand adventure.

Driving into Fes, the heart of Morocco, I was greeted with a surge of anxiety and joy as I breathed in the surroundings of my new home. Having spent the least amount of time in this city on my tour before I recalled little more than the McDonalds, two streets and a door. Stopping for only a moment at my new home I had just enough time to toss in my belongings, freshen up and survey our first floor. Then we were off for an evening of fun where I was introduced to new friends and instant family, all helping to welcome me home. Collapsing that evening on my bed I dreamed of the days to come, never realizing the shock that lay ahead.

During my first two weeks in Fes I quickly learned one very important fact: touring through a country is nothing like residing in one. The little I thought I knew was little indeed as I discovered that life in Morocco is more than tea, trains and travel. When living in a new environment you have to learn to play by their rules, adapting a new system of thought and in this case time. I had more than a little adjusting to do.

My first major adjustment was probably time. Life in Morocco doesn't run like clockwork, in fact I can't even remember the last clock I have seen. Instead life takes a softer pace, ebbing and flowing with the natural rhythm of daylight and heat. The city begins to awake around eight with shutters slowly opening and life trickling through the streets. Building to about one activity bustles until the heat wins out and life ceases. Aside from the unknowing tourists and those who have no other option, locals seek out cool shelter waiting until the worst hours pass. Then almost like floodgates opening, Fes teams with life as everyone enjoys the cool of the night. Here in Morocco more importance is placed on relationship than punctuality and I have quickly discovered that plans can seemingly change in each new minute. For a planner like me this is all quite depressing, but I am learning to cope and roll with each moment, adapting the motto "nothing is happening until it actually happens."

In Moroccan society your reputation is everything. Coming from a western background I was taught to be yourself and not to worry about what other people thought of you. I lived my life in an honoring manner and never had a reason to be concerned about reputation. However, after being warned on countless occasions as to how vital the community’s perception of one was, especially for single foreign women, I came to the sobering reality that I had better start paying attention. Always attempting to be culturally sensitive when I travel, I had sought to follow the basic guidelines I was originally given. Yet after a time of open questions at the end of my first week of Arabic class I became gripped with fear as our teacher articulated a laundry list of rules that formed the line between a respectable and loose woman.

These unwritten cultural rules stretch back through time hinging on some of the basic tenants of faith upheld by this vast community. Everything from casually touching your hair, to making eye contact or laughing loudly was an attention grabbing act and could instantly single you out as being loose. Actions intrinsic to American society were suddenly outlawed. Innocent gestures with ones hands, conversing with an unknown guy or putting on chap stick could also be taken as flirtatious activity. Overwhelmed and taken aback by this latest revelation I began to rehearse nearly every step I had taken since entering the country and would certainly be keeping myself on constant check as I continued my time here. Boarding myself up for a day straight I was certain I had unknowing committed one of these seemingly unpardonable actions thereby tarnishing my reputation forever. Regaining composure a day or two later I had found a balance between being me and being respectful of this new culture, stepping forward with a greater awareness that I was not at home and in order to survive I needed to observe first and act second.

Transforming myself into a student of life, I began to observe every detail that occurred around me. From the wide-ranging styles of dress to the differences in greetings I slowly began to adapt and conform, seeking to meld into the Moroccan culture. In a land where the same gender exchanges kisses when meeting and can hold hands when walking, I discovered that the concept of personal space is drastically different from the Western stay-out-of-my-bubble perspective. Traditional cultural roles still rule society and family is everything. Being a single woman traveling alone I am ever more the spectacle and seem to draw a following of stares and murmurs wherever I room. Taking a cue from my sisters here I have learned to only enter facilities where women are present, walk alone only during the day and to keep my eyes from wandering when walking. I realize coming from an outside perspective this may all sound quite archaic and unnecessary and I held a similar view walking in, but after trying to go it my way for a few days I now recognize that survival is based on fitting in, which is already a challenge when you are strikingly white with blond hair and blue eyes.

Having lived in Fes for a month now I discover with each new day how little about Morocco I know and how much more I still have to learn. From nailing the art of hailing a taxi, to washing my clothes by hand, growing accustomed to a squatty potty and bartering with the best of them, I am becoming Moroccan suia b'suia (bit by bit). However, just when I think I have grasped a new piece of the culture I make some tell tale rookie mistake like walking on the side walk, waving my hand in the wrong direction to get a friend's attention or committing an unknown cultural faux pau, instantly bringing me back to reality. No longer a tourist, but not quite a local, I am sitting in the undefined middle ground while continuing to be a student of life, taking in the vast diversity that is Morocco.