The Moroccan exception?

These signs are ubiquitous around Morocco these days. If for nothing else, it is a rather expensive government campaign to make sure the new draft constitution gets approved in the upcoming popular referendum on July 1. Basically just saying “Yes to the Constitution,” the signs speak loads about the Moroccan royal response to its own homegrown version of the Arab Spring.

But they are also an unusually swift response to protests. One of the teachers here in ALIF, ustadh Hamil, a keen observer of Moroccan politics and who has been giving me daily half an hour lessons in post-independence Moroccan history, attributed the difference to the sensibility and the education of the King himself. The main protest movement, dubbed the February 20 movement, called for a boycott of the referendum since the draft constitution was itself adopted without supposedly any democratic input, thus making it “imposed.” Imposed however is a very loaded word. A group of experts was indeed convened by the King shortly after his March 9 speech, the first response to the protests which began February 20, composed of political scientists, technocrats  and constitutional law scholars. I’ve been told that this group made the necessary consultations with different groups.

to be continued…

4th weekend–Asilah and Tangiers

I just came back from an exhausting overnight weekend trip to the town of Asilah and the city of Tangiers in northern Morocco, which is about only 70 kilometers apart from each other, but both of which are a good five to six hours away from Fes.

Five of us caught the train leaving Fes yesterday (Saturday) at ten past seven in the morning and we arrived at Asilah around noontime, just in time for lunch. The train ride was straightforward enough but since we left early, we did not have time to eat breakfast. Hence, we were really hungry by the time we got there. We decided to settle for a cheap seafood lunch right outside the medina walls. I had a filling calamari plate with rice and vegetables.

Asilah is basically a beach town. According to the countless travel guides I’ve read, it is famous for the beach (it faces the Atlantic Ocean) and the whitewashed houses against colorful walls inside the medina. In other words, it is for all intents and purposes, a Santorini spin-off. Look at this one…

Lunch was entertaining enough with the huge bunch of umbrellas providing the necessary protection from the harsh noonday sun. We decided to head for the beach after lunch since it was still too hot to walk around the medina. I rented a beach umbrella for 20 Dh (about 2 USD) and laid underneath it while reading my Kindle as the rest of them (three of whom brought swimwear) rushed to the water, though but not until after feeling the cold water with my feet first.

After an hour, we headed inside the city walls and looked around the shops and had coffee. This is what it looks like inside and outside the medina walls.

Two people from our group headed back to Fes and caught the train at around seven in the evening, leaving me and my two guy travel buddies, Colton and Andreas to wait for our own train to Tangiers. I was actually excited for this part of the trip. For me, Tangiers evoked real-world espionage, cosmopolitan gateway to Europe/Africa, East meets West, Truman Capote and Paul Bowles, not to mention the fact that parts of the movie Inception was shot there as well. Whereas Fes would be considered culturally traditional, Tangiers is the exact opposite. Sure enough, bright lights greeted us as we rode the taxi from the train station to the heart of the city.Unlike other Moroccan cities, Arabic is a secondary language it seems. In the train station alone, Spanish was the most prominent language that caught my ear. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to get an alcoholic drink while there. (Actually it looks like it will be a very dry six weeks. The first order of the day when I get back to the US is to get an ice-cold Sam Adams summer ale). We were dead tired when we arrived, and at that point, food was more important than alcohol. We ended up getting pizza and lasagna near the main square.

Our lodging for the night was a triple-bed room in a very cheap pension house (250 Dh a night for the room) right across the five-star hotel El Minzah. The mattress and pillow were rock-hard, but we just needed to a place to sleep in. The shower would have to wait until we get back to Fes. The location however is perfect and within a stone’s throw from the Place of the April 9 announcement (the name of the main square where Mohammed V announced Morocco’s independence from France) and where you can find attractions such as the Cinema Rif and the entrance to the Grand Socco and the medina.

We spent the following morning and noon just walking around the medina, wandering around the shops, eating good kebab and humuus (the only one in Morocco, it seems) in a Lebanese place. Since the American Legation museum was closed on weekends, we could only go to the Kasbah to see the Mediterranean and squeezed in a stop by the Saint Andrew’s Church, an Anglican church done in a Moorish style. The interesting thing about this church was that it featured the Lord’s Prayer in Arabic by the altar, and the first sura of the Qur’an was inscribed along the arches.

We took the CTM bus at around half past two in the afternoon, for the six hour trip back to Fes. And by the time we got back, I was starving again. This time, sleep was more important than food.

Today, it’s back to the grind again with Arabic and all. Tomorrow, I will be taking a trip to Ifrane, an Alpine ski resort/town built by the French for their own recreation during the period of occupation, about an hour away from Fes in order to interview an American professor who works at the Al Akhawayn University for my dissertation. In my view at least, twelve days of not thinking about my dissertation, i.e. since I submitted my first chapter to everybody, is more than enough of a break. This guy wrote one of the books that I read when I was preparing for my first colloquium. It seemed like a good coincidence that he works here, of all places. He offered to take me to lunch in the faculty dining hall. At the very least, even if the interview doesn’t turn out to be very helpful, I’ll have good food. We’ll see, insha’allah.

The King’s Speech

As I was on my way to the Sahara desert last Friday, King Mohammed VI of Morocco gave a rare televised speech – apparently, only the second such appearance since the death of his father, King Hassan II several years ago – presenting to the people a draft constitution, as a major response to the February 20 movement which called for legal and political reforms in Morocco. The full text of the speech is here. In a nutshell, the constitution reduces the powers of the King – giving them to the Prime Minister instead and enhances the freedoms and liberties for the people. The weekend papers bore the headline “The Citizen-King.” That probably captures the bulk of the changes. But I’ll devote a proper entry on that in the future.

While I was watching the speech on al-Jazeera, it finally sunk in that I am in the middle of what could probably be one of the more remarkable stories to result from the so-called Arab Spring. There are protests here in Fes to be sure but they are far fewer and smaller in magnitude than those in Casablanca or Rabat. And even then, those in Casablanca or Rabat definitely pale in comparison to what has gone on in neighboring Tunisia or Algeria, or even Egypt. I decided to be a bit more curious and asked around earlier today on who I can talk to regarding these issues. I was hoping to find a law or political science professor who can enlighten me about stuff. Instead, the school director introduced me to a cultural analyst who teaches in the local university and teaches Arabic here at ALIF at the same time. This is also the first time I’ve heard of the term cultural analyst. Anyhow, we will discuss this over coffee tomorrow in school and maybe he can actually give me something other than what the newspapers say.

A Sahara weekend

If I can describe my trip using a song title, it would Kanye West’s “Stronger” especially the line "what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger.” Whatever possessed me to go on a weekend road trip with undergrads, plus one very cocky and obnoxious Army veteran. (while all the other grad students in our residence made a day trip to Rabat last Saturday, sigh) But to make the long story short, sleeping under a canopy of twinkling stars in the Sahara desert was well worth it – though don’t count on me going back at any other time during my lifetime.

The fourteen of us left Fes at half past twelve last Friday noon. We started the eight hour drive and the Army guy (his name is David) has a very annoying way of making his presence felt throughout the ride, lecturing us about Iraq, the U.S. health care system, etc. A couple in front of me looked like they just wanted to make out any time and I was sandwiched at the back with two nice if not quiet Notre Dame guys, Sam and Ryan. My main beef was that nobody seems to want food – real food. We made several stopovers at convenience stores for chips and ice cream but not a real café or restaurant. When we got to our hotel in Merzouga it was already around half past ten in the evening. First of all, the hotel wasn’t really a hotel. We also ended up waiting for an hour more before dinner was served. More importantly, the airconditioning was negligible and the shower in our room wasn’t working. And we had to switch rooms because of various problems, and I ended up bunking with two Harvard sophomores one of whom still didn’t want to sleep at one in the morning and was trying to find people interested in drinking. I just fell asleep due to sheer exhaustion regardless of the warm air around me.

In the morning, we had breakfast of bread and various jams, and then we proceeded to go to the nearest souk. It was twelve noon and the noonday sun was blazing hot. Maybe about forty-five degrees or more. My personality almost always makes a grumpy transformation when it’s hot, and I’m hungry. And it was super hot and I was starving so I had no interest in shopping for souvenirs when I was continuously dripping with sweat. We were prepared for this kind of weather though – I had long-sleeved shirt on to avoid sunburn and a scarf wrapped around my head and face. Problem is, that kind of outfit only added to the heat. Two hours later, we went back to the hotel and people just chilled out by chatting about whatever stuff undergrads talk about. I was writing on my journal how miserable I was and how I regretted coming. When six pm came, it was time to ride the camel to the desert.

They were waiting like this infront of our hotel.

Let me just say that I was dreading the two-hour camel ride before this but then it actually turned out really okay. A caravan of four camels each was led by a guide. When we got to the Berber encampment two hours later, they welcomed us with mint tea and then we spent the next hour frolicking on the dunes around the camp. Dinner was chicken tagine (which was excellent) and harira soup (which was tasteless). And then our Berber hosts entertained us with singing, dancing, playing drums and lots of funny jokes around a nightlamp until about half past eleven in the evening. Since I was the token Asian of the group – always mistaken for Japanese though I don’t really know why – they tried to make me sing Chinese songs. They were, of course, unsuccessful. We decided against staying up late since we were supposed to wake up at six in the morning the following day, Sunday. We put out the mattresses in the middle of the camp and slept. For about fifteen minutes though, I just stared at the stars above me in the nighttime sky, while the moon peeked from behind a well-placed cloud. The scene was almost surreal. I couldn’t believe that I was actually there. That feeling certainly eased off the troubles involved getting to that point. Our hosts woke us up the next morning and we immediately ran towards the dunes and just took lots of pictures. I walked around and speechlessly marveled at the feel of the cool golden brown sand under my feet and the breathtaking scenery all around me.

I took this picture of the encampment from an elevated dune.

We stayed up and about until the sun rose a few minutes later and then we had breakfast of bread, cheese and jams again. We rode the camel back for two hours or so, just in time as the heat of the sun was starting to be oppressive at around half past nine in the morning. The ride home was less painful, if only because at least I knew I was heading back. I was looking forward to a refreshing bath at home and fresh clean clothes. And a working electric fan in my room.

Anyhow, so it was a good experience overall. I proved that I am resilient enough, though I also learned an important lesson of doing stuff you like your way. I also learned that I am an adult graduate student with a preference for mature conversation topics (except that I chime in whenever they sing Taylor Swift songs) and that I don’t really wish I can go back to being an undergrad. Where I am right now is perfect. I just have to make the most out of it.

A day in the life

I gave my first 7-minute Arabic presentation in class today or maybe even ten minutes, given the pace of my primitive reading skills. The content itself was nothing fancy. I took a page out of my research and said something about the relationship between religion and democracy in U.S-Arab relations. When the Q&A portion came, I experienced the feeling of somebody who could have anything he/she wanted if only he/she asked. The problem of course was answering in Arabic. It wasn’t really much of a big deal since classes here are quite relaxed, but for a fleeting moment, I felt the extreme frustration of not being able to fully convey one’s idea. All the confidence that comes with being a grad student just flew out the window. My afternoon teacher was very encouraging though and he said it will get better as one practices more and more. (This is the same teacher who thought a fellow Asian student was my mom! Yikes. It’s certainly not a compliment to her, but I don’t think it’s a compliment to me either!)

On a more funny note, it would seem like we are in a competition of finding the cheapest and tastiest meal within 300 meters of our residence. The 60 Dh meals at the nearby McDonalds is certainly out of the question. The regular meals we are having are nothing fancy. I, for one, had fried fish, bread and soda (a la biblical times minus the Sprite) today for dinner for a measly 15 Dh (approximately 1.50 USD). My friend had the traditional harira soup which was quite filling for 4 Dh. We would normally go for a cake (4 Dh) or a fruit smoothie (16 Dh) afterwards. Food quality though has been a regular topic in conversations. Since we have not really come across any mind-blowing meals thus far, we have come up with a food rating system of 1 nam to 5 nams, sourced from the word na’am, meaning yes in Arabic and Cookie Monster’s incomprehensible sounds when he’s chowing down cookies. And it actually sounds funny when you speak it consecutively.

Lastly, I can’t believe I am down to the last 500 or so missing words of my chapter and I am still not finished. Arabic homework has taken a backseat to this for the past two weeks and I really want to get this done and over with before rewarding myself with weekend trips around the country. The loud and happy conversations outside my room provide further distraction, not to mention, source of envy. Aaah – non-PhD students. Sometimes I wish life is still more carefree.

Anyhow, I signed up for a trip to the Sahara desert this coming weekend and I will post pictures of my day trip to the neighboring towns of Meknes and Volubilis last Saturday by tomorrow. Hopefully, the upcoming trips will help me appreciate being in this country more. Right now – I feel like I’ve just been plucked out from Cambridge and dropped on another country but with the same sort of people around me and still working on my dissertation.

Waking up

I am obviously a stranger in a strange land. This did not really sink in until yesterday when I went with Asmaa, my Palestinian-American friend and a Harvard College sophomore (who somehow reminds me of an old friend back in Manila) to visit a Moroccan family she met in the airport on her way to Fes. It was a culture shock of sorts to be sure, from the odd-numbered kisses on the cheek as a greeting to the expectation that we should actually stay over night! I thought they looked really offended when we said we were leaving after dinner. By dinner, that meant a humongous meal of roast chicken, cauliflower, bread, rice noodles, and Arabic salad at half past ten in the evening with everybody in the family, all seven of them watching you eat as they keep filling your plate with everything. Of course, I could not really participate much– I can understand a lot (yey!) though there were lots of translations going on from English to formal Arabic to the local dialect but my ability to respond is still somehow limited.  At some point, it reminded me of the Passover seder I attended this year when everybody was just speaking in Hebrew. Well, that one I couldn’t even understand what was being said. But in any case, that was I guess a real Maghrebi experience. The family was very warm and hospitable and made us feel (though they keep saying it as well in Arabic) that their house is our house.

Today, another waking up of sorts occurred during class. I was in the middle of boredom, because a couple of students were struggling with atext which I’ve read at Harvard several times when the teacher suddenly announced there was going to be a quiz. You have to be kidding me, was the first thought in my head. When I tried a last-ditch humorous attempt to postpone it until tomorrow, he just said, why not today. Fine. Back to the darn tests again. I don’t know how I did, but I suppose I couldn’t care less since I’m not really taking it for credit. Anyway, that’s the least of my concerns at the moment since I am still struggling with the last section of my long-overdue chapter but I’m almost there!

Lastly, the first time I felt I am in Africa was when I went to church last Sunday. For reasons that did not surprise me, the lone Catholic church in the city was located in front of the French consulate. Except for the priest who was clearly French, I was the only non-black person, save for three other French persons in attendance. Not a single Arab for obvious reasons. It was pretty cool how they did the mass, lots of clapping and singing – something which I’m not really used to, even back in the Philippines. I couldn’t understand the French sermon (like the Portuguese and Arabic masses I attended back in Israel), but the rest was intelligible enough, thanks to the universal character of the Latin rite.

Anyhow, I just signed up for a school-organized trip to the Sahara desert at around 200 USD for next weekend. Now I can finally get to use my camera!

p.s. it’s been raining for the past two days now. People think this is very odd weather.

Growing older

So I added another year to my illustrious life (read sarcastically). Ever since I left Manila, the few celebrations thus far have been an assortment of things. This year, the difference is obvious because this is the first (and probably the last) birthday celebration I have here in Morocco. It was nothing fancy but I was touched by the effort of people, well, friends, who I have not even met before arriving here exactly one week ago. They started preparing the chicken for roasting at around afternoon, in between classes, and cooked the pasta, rice, and made fresh lemonade out of the lemons from the tree in our backyard starting around five pm. We had a simple dinner and singing over the cake. There were no blowing of candles this time but maybe that kind of practice grows old as one grows older.

So this is a picture of the cake and the homemade card they gave me. It was indeed sweet. I have also received so many greetings (genuine it seemed at least to me) that I guess I tend to forget people do appreciate my existence somehow. But I know my celebration is complete after I have talked to my family and best friends. In the end, it doesn’t really take more than that.

Anyhow, I have since forgotten (until now) what it’s like to live in a multi-person house, almost like a dormitory of sorts. Now, if I really want to be alone, I have to lock myself up in the room otherwise all sorts of people are just doing various things inside the house which are nice distractions, e.g. watching a movie in the living room or chatting inside the kitchen. We have a guided tour of the old medina (city) early tomorrow at half past eight in the morning so nobody wanted to be out late tonight. (from hereon, we have a schedule of cultural activities and tours for the next five weekends including a most-awaited trip to the Sahara desert!) And then when Sunday rolls around, everybody will be doing homework I suppose. We all have upcoming quizzes on Tuesday. And you know what they say about quizzes, it just freaks you out psychologically even though not all of us are taking these classes for credit.

Right now though, with the luggage problem behind me (finally !), I have only started to work again on my dissertation chapter in order to miraculously come up with around 2,500 or so remaining words that I need to complete it. I will take advantage of other people’s distraction here just to get it done and over with. And as I know too well, submitting it to my supervisor is not the end but only a beginning.

Real World, Fes edition

I finally got my luggage back. Yey! I can now officially think about other things.

Classes started last Monday and they have been quite intense. It’s four hours everyday with homework, which you can finish, so far at least, in about two hours or less. I’m repeating some of what I already learned at Harvard so it’s more of reinforcement and practice rather than learning something completely new – which is great, because the one-year gap had made me almost forget everything. But things are becoming more clear now. In fact, my lack of French language skills and of the local Arabic dialect (they call it darija) is a very helpful motivation in forcing me to learn the standard one, particularly to use it in everyday conversation.

The one place I cannot use it in though is where I stay. The ALIF residence is a villa located right across the school which currently houses nineteen students, all of whom save for two are American citizens. All of us go to U.S. universities. And since we are all on different levels of Arabic, we can  only speak English around each other. So far, it has been great, the one silver lining when I was worried about my luggage and I found so many eager and genuine offers to help. Also, I’m glad I am not the oldest though I am definitely one of the old-er students. More importantly, I am not the only Asian (yey!), either both here in the residence or in the school. I’ve seen three Chinese-Americans enrolled for the summer.

Thanks to the spate of revolutions and uprisings around the Arab world, there are more than a hundred and fifty students registered to learn Arabic  here in ALIF Morocco. Harvard, for instance, does not give funding or credit if one wants to go to Syria or Jordan. Besides the nineteen of us, the rest are staying either in apartments or doing homestays with local Moroccan families. A Summer Arabic program at the Virginia Military Institute has 70 college kids here all learning Arabic. My Palestinian-American friend remarked that it seems scary all of them either wants to or is required to learn Arabic, i.e. where else in the Arab world is the U.S. military going to be engaged in? Speaking of the military, one of our housemates here is a former Army guy who just finished an MBA at Harvard last week. And he said he wants to learn Arabic to do business in the region in the near future. He’s also quite arrogant.

For food – regular lunch so far has either been McDonalds chicken nuggets, chicken tagines (stewed chicken with vegetables in a claypot), and roasted chicken with potatoes. Good thing I actually like chicken. There’s a lot of them here, and very cheap too. Generally though – schedule is quite tight – I have the worst schedule since I have a six-hour break in between classes which means I can’t really just slack off after 10am because psychologically I know I have an upcoming class in the afternoon. And since there are a ton of homework, we really can’t go far during the weekdays. The only option then is to reserve all fun out-of-town trips for the next couple of weekends.

There are two upcoming birthdays here – mine which is tomorrow and Sam’s, a Notre Dame college senior on Monday and we will be having a joint party on Saturday night. One of the girls here is planning to do our own roast chicken in the oven and we will be having pasta and cake with it. I will write about that on Saturday.