Full Circle

A few minutes after the sun peaked its head over the horizon this morning, I walked up the steps of Meknes' main train station and shook hands with my fellow teacher Mike.

"I almost thought you had forgotten the money." He handed me 250 Dirhams, our agreed upon price for the Arabic textbook Al-kitab 3. The two of us walked inside and approached my former roommate Daniel.

"We come full circle." He smiled as we shook hands.

I had forgotten that day in the summer of 2009 when I met him for the first time. He had walked up those same steps, greeted me, and then we walked down Avenue des FAR to our totally unfurnished shared apartment. Flashes of memories shot through my brain as I turned to greet the other English teachers preparing to leave for the nationwide conference.

Hassan Hassani inquired, "Are you going to Agadir, Chris?"

"No. I just came to say 'goodbye'," I replied.

"Who's going to gamble, win, and buy me beers this year then?"

I turned to Mike, "Maybe this guy will....how much did I win again?"

Without batting an eyelash Hassani responded, "700 Dirhams." Mike nodded, impressed.

Chelsea, the last remaining American teacher, arrived porting a winter cap, scarf and large coat. "It's like the Arctic out there."

I smiled, looking outside at the 50 F weather and thinking of all the Facebook blizzard status updates from my Philadelphia friends this week.

I gave each of them a hug and shared the usual parting banalities, with more or less seriousness.

My almost two years in Meknes are drawing to a close. On Sunday I will take the same train west, and on Tuesday I will leave Morocco. It has become almost a biannual tradition for me to leave a place, its people, its institutions, and its customs. It's always bitter-sweet. To abandon what you know is to prune yourself of some of your best foliage, but it's also an opportunity for relationships, knowledge, and activities to grow back stronger and fuller.

The Moroccan teachers had filtered through the line and out to the tracks, leaving the three Americans behind. I said one final goodbye, turned, and walked down the steps of the Meknes train station, along the park, and onto Avenue des FAR towards home, this time alone.

A Small Favor

In my favorite cafe, there are only two positions women are eligible for: cleaning and manning (womanning?) the cash register. This is par for the course--men make the coffee and serve it; women keep track of the money to pay for the coffee and tidy up the mess coffee-drinkers make. In both cases, the women work either the morning shift (till 2:30 PM or so) or the afternoon/evening shift (till closing).

Today Safae was working the morning shift. A pale, petite Moroccan, she wears the headscarf when it's cold, studies English at Moulay Ismail University, and rolls her eyes at the men's incessant joking. Occasionally, she even participates. Mostly though, she just observes, always ready to adjudicate a waiter's sanity for me. When things get out of hand, she lifts her right hand to her head and rolls her wrist, mouthing the word "7ma9" ("crazy") to me, as she glances askance at the guilty waiter.

Today, during a lull in the playfulness, Safae approached my table and, speaking in English, asked me a favor.

"For my class at the university I have to write a paper about Hamlet. Have you read it?"

"Yes," I replied cautiously.

"I haven't. Could you write me a summary of the plot?"

I flashed back to my high school days. The majority of my class didn't read Hamlet either; they read the Sparknotes. "You know there are good summaries online," I replied.

"Yes, I know. But every time I copy something from the internet the professor knows and gives me a zero."

At that point, I switched to Darija, "I can help you with something you don't understand. I'd even be happy to revise something you write. But I'm not going to do your homework for you."

She looked around and then responded in English, restating her favor. I responded in Darija again. What followed was, if my memory serves me right, my first public argument in Darija.

If her embarrassed retreat to the cash register serves as any indication, I do believe I won.

Scenes From Morocco: A Countryside Clown

A Moroccan Christmas Eve

Having turned in the last of my grades yesterday and thus put an end to my busiest semester yet, I slept in this Christmas Eve morning. After a lazy breakfast and some quality Internet time I made my way out to the corner café for a nis-nis, the Moroccan café au lait. After an hour reading the special Christmas issue of The Economist and a bit from Gary Shteyngart's Absurdistan, I took a walk around my neighborhood.

Today is a normal Friday in Morocco. Sometime after noon, schoolchildren headed home for couscous. One by one, the shops closed. The mosques filled up and emptied. The schoolchildren are now joking and tussling outside the school gates. Friday afternoon classes will begin shortly. Some shops will open up again; many won't. But that's because it's Friday, the Islamic sabbath, not because it's Christmas Eve.

No, it's not beginning to feel a lot like Christmas here; it's not even coming close. Other than a few upscale shops and supermarkets (in Morocco supermarkets are upscale), there are no signs of Christmas. Even there, decorations are limited to Christmas trees and a few garlands. The same mix of Arabic and Western music plays in cafés and shops and offices. There are no non-stop Christmas music stations.

I miss our American Christmas season. I didn't think that I would, but I do some. I admit: to compensate, I've been streaming Big R Radio: Christmas Classics on iTunes almost every day. I bought a cheap artificial tree, and I even made some of my students learn the chorus and first verse of "Jingle Bells".

Trying to concisely explain Christmas to my students has been difficult. They're more familiar with the Christmas tree and gift-giving from movies and TV shows. As with other American styles and customs, some Moroccan families have taken to imitating they see in American media. The girl working at the supermarket checkout assured me that she celebrated Christmas too--they have a tree and give gifts.

This will be my first non-commercialized Christmas. The massive cultural consumption, holiday spectacles, and suffocatingly festive atmosphere are stripped away from the holiday. All that remains is a yearning for some of my family's traditions and the Advent liturgy I hear in church each week.

I've tried to imitate what my family does as best as possible in this new environment. I have a tree. I baked a few of my mom's Christmas cookies. Tomorrow morning I'll have the same egg dish with a side of grapefruit we always eat.

And then there is the Advent season. Scholars tell us Jesus wasn't born in December. Christmas trees, stockings, and Santa Claus do not appear in the gospel accounts of Jesus' birth. Theoretically there could be Christianity with absolutely no Christmas.

But it does exist. We have this strange accumulation of customs and stories (what do a fantasy prince who cracks nuts in his extra time or a marginalized reindeer with a bright red nose really have to do with the Incarnation anyway?) They're part of being an American Christian. I grew up with them. As strange as they are and as much as I struggle to explain and justify them all to inquiring Moroccans, they are mine.

And this year I have been even more conscious that something else that is mine is this Advent season--the time Christians have chosen to reflect in anticipation on the event of God becoming man to save us all from Satan's snare when we were gone astray. It didn't have to be that way, but it is. And I am a part of it. I maybe can't justify all the consumerism of the Christmas season, but the act of giving gifts to loved ones mirrors what the Wise men did with Jesus. And if done in the right way, it fulfills what the apostle John said about the Incarnation's effect on us, "We love because He first loved us."

So, later this afternoon I will head out to try to live out that ideal while sharing my culture and tradition some: I will take some Christmas cookies to my Moroccan neighbors and friends. And after that I will go to church for the culmination of this season of Advent anticipation.

Scenes From Morocco: Trimming The Tree

Artificial Christmas trees and Christmas decorations are now available for Westerners in most supermarkets. Moroccans also buy them in consumerist imitation of what they have seen on TV.

The Miracle Of Mutton

It's amazing what excess mutton will do for relationships.

The past week people have come out of the woodwork to bring me leftover meat from Eid al-Kabir.

First my Arabic tutor brought me a large salad and a huge tajine of mutton kefta (essentially: ground mutton patties). Then, two days later, another friend I hadn't seen in months appeared at my doorstep with a similar meal. Fortunately I didn't have other plans. We sat down together (but not at my table--I've learned that Moroccans feel uncomfortable eating Western-style). Then yesterday right around lunchtime the concierge knocked at my door with a plate of ribs.

Yesterday, I got to see how mutton plays into relationships of authority. I ran into a student who hasn't bothered to come to class all semester (it's the seventh week now). He assured me he has been very busy but he intends to start coming and then catch up on everything he missed. On parting he offered to bring some mutton to class this week (he swears he's coming this week).

I don't mind mutton. And such gifts of food are excellent for my food budget. I really can't complain.

Eid Al-Kabir 2010

Some readers have asked if I will be commenting on the holiday or posting photos. Unfortunately, this year I did not celebrate Eid Al-Kabir other than a post-holiday meal of mutton that my Arabic tutor brought over.

However, feel free to read about my great experience last year watching the sheep slaughter, eating boulfef, and visiting my host's extended family.

Morocco's Development Miracle

Economist Dani Rodrik highlights some findings from the Human Development Report:

Which are the countries that have improved their human development indicators the most since 1970 relative to their peers? You’d be surprised, as I was, to find that the top 10 is dominated not by East Asian superstars, but by Moslem countries: Oman, Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, Tunisia, Morocco, and Algeria. This year’s Human Development Report is full of neat analysis and results, including this one.

Leaving aside the oil exporting countries, the North African cases are particularly interesting. As Francisco Rodriguez and Emma Samman, two of the report’s authors, note, Tunisia, Morocco, and Algeria have experienced remarkable gains in life expectancy and educational attainment, leaving many Asian superstars in the dust. Only Tunisia among the three is a high growth country, underlining one of the report’s main findings that economic growth and human development often diverge significantly, even over as long a time frame as 40 years.

Everyone I've talked to who was cognizant of the 1990's or earlier (i.e., not my students) mentions just how much things have changed.

As I observe my students and think about how they'll parent, I can't help but conclude that these changes will continue for the foreseeable future. It's a fascinating time to be here.

Holiday Fever

When I was younger, the week before Christmas vacation was filled with excited anticipation of presents, freedom, food and family visits. I can't imagine that a classroom of 30 students just like me was very fun to manage back then.

It's strange to be on the other side now. The last week it has been insanely difficult to get my students to focus. The Eid holiday will begin in the middle of this week. Schools take the entire week off. There will be many visits to extended family. And a lot of food will be eaten (mostly mutton).

Before the holiday many schools gave exams. So my students didn't have time to do the homework I assigned them. The relation between this weariness and the general aura of anticipation matched their attitude in my class perfectly as they oscillated between cranky resistance and enthusiastic distraction.

Unlike the other schools, we are still open two more days this week.

I have already given up on trying to teach something. Classes will be smaller; attention spans will be shorter. So I think I will just lead a discussion on their holiday plans.

And I will feel sorry for all the teachers in times past that had to put up with me before a holiday.

Scenes From Morocco: Playing Soccer

A group of Moroccan boys take a break from their soccer game for a group photo. The rock to the right marks one of their goalposts.

Seen Anew

Today after my Arabic lesson, I introduced my Arabic tutor to Craigslist.

He's a quiet guy and so usually doesn't ask too many questions. Actually, I'm the one posing all the questions as we discuss grammar, definitions, slang...

But today the floodgate broke. Very pointed, detailed questions made me realize he's been spending a lot of time thinking through everything. Which is natural; his departure is rapidly approaching. He could go today if he wanted, but he wanted to spend the Eid al-Kabir holidays in Morocco with his family. And then he decided to wait out the Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's travel season. So sometime in mid-January he'll be headed to Orlando to start a new life.

We started talking about opening a bank account, then moved on to cell phones, and later buying computers. At that point I showed him Craigslist, which led to a discussion about finding apartments, finding jobs, and maybe even finding other Arabic students.

My tutor has a BA in English from the local university, but is currently unemployed (with the notable exception of my Arabic lessons). That education combined with the fact that he listens to BBC radio in English daily. When we discuss politics or culture, I almost never have to provide background explanations or vocabulary. And so I've come to think of him as a fellow partaker in my culture and language.

But he's not. He's never even left Morocco. And now he's headed off into the great unknown in a way that I personally have never had to do. He doesn't know if he will be able to continue his education as he'd like. He doesn't know how many jobs he'll have to work. He doesn't know if he'll even be able to find a job in the current economy. He doesn't know what it will be like adjusting to the new culture. He doesn't know a lot of things.

And with all my knowledge I can only answer so many of his questions. I joked with him, "Sorry I can't help you more. I have more experience looking for jobs in Morocco than in the US."

On the whole I'm optimistic. He's unmarried, speaks fluent English, is hard-working, and as a practicing Muslim doesn't have any vices that will eat up his income. He should do well.

Scenes From Morocco: Dar Oum Sultane

Located on the outskirts of Meknes, Dar Oum Sultane ("The House of the Sultan's Mother") was a vacation home for the royal family a few centuries ago. Since then, it has fallen into disrepair.

Scenes From Morocco: Dusk in Mohammedia

More Expulsions

From MoroccoBoard.com:

According to a news release from International Christian Concern (ICC), on Sept.17, the Moroccan newspaper Al Massae reported that Harder and Sanhi Russell were expelled from the country for “carrying out acts of proselytism” in the city of Kenitra.

ICC reported the article said that Harder, a Canadian citizen, was teaching Arabic at a local school, while Sanhi, of Korean descent, worked with women by teaching “literacy through the teaching of the Bible.” The article reported that the couple was supported by churches in the United States and France.

Some Christians doing humanitarian work were also investigated:

The next day, a Moroccan pastor informed ICC that he had been investigated by the Moroccan secret police for delivering school supplies to the village of Benguerir. The pastor distributed the supplies with the help of 15 foreigners working for a U.S. based organization.

ICC said during the distribution, two members of the secret police arrived to investigate. The pastor and the school director were questioned for more than an hour about the reasons for the Americans’ visit, and the content of the supplies.

The police said the investigation was a precaution to ensure that the group was not proselytizing.

Note From An Anonymous Moroccan Woman

The English center where I teach caters mainly to the upper middle and upper classes in Meknes. To try to balance out my work there, I volunteer at the Franciscan mission in Meknes's old medina, which gives language and computer skills classes. Year long courses there cost 50 Dh (~ $7) as opposed to the ten-week courses at my official job which cost around 1000 Dh (~ $130).

Last week I gave my first writing assignment, and I'm only now getting around to correcting it.

One paragraph in particular stood out. The woman who wrote it is in her late thirties or early forties, making her the oldest in a class of students in their teens and twenties. In class exercises she has spoken about her love for her children and her job cleaning houses. She is one of the most eager to answer questions and try out new grammar and vocabulary. Other than that I know nothing about her.

This is her paragraph verbatim:

A great thing in liFe is to find the kind of occupation that suits us it may even be said that this is on of the chief conditions For keeping perFect heath.
For my the best thing that I have in life is make cheldren and the worst is the Didn't study more in scool or in liFe.
this is the Fist stap let me begin studies.

Scenes From Morocco: Mohammedia Window View

A view of the Atlantic Ocean from a house in Mohammedia.

The Travails of CNSS Ctd.

This morning I visited the offices of the CNSS. After waiting 20 minutes I received my social security card. My favorite employee was curt as always.

Now I must return next week to resubmit my request for an attestation.

Scenes From Morocco: Sdader

I recently bought these "sdader" (singular: "sdari"). These traditional Moroccan couches still vastly outnumber Western style couches here. The Moroccan home is the site of many important social events, from weddings to memorial services, and so enough sdader to seat dozens of people line the walls of many families' homes.

The Travails of CNSS, Ctd.

Today I returned to the CNSS office to obtain my Moroccan Social Security card. After waiting 10 or 15 minutes, I entered the room with the two men I had the pleasure of meeting last time.

I sat down in the chair at the desk of the man who told me to return on Monday. I said, "Salaamu Alaykum."

He continued working. A few seconds he turned to me. "Oui," he said as if he was surprised anyone would possibly want to talk with him.

I attempted to hide my strongly-held belief that no normal human being would want to talk with him if he didn't have this job, "You told me my card would be ready on Monday." I handed my carte de sejour (residency card) to him.

He looked at it for a second and then, without looking in any files or searching through any papers or checking my name against anything at all, he replied,"No, it's not ready yet. From now three days."

I will return on Thursday, Insha'allah, to see if it is ready then.

The Travails of CNSS

As is often the case, Morocco sees cause to regulate those who work within its borders. It has a wonderful little organization called the "Caisse Nationale de sécurité sociale" (CNSS) or "National Social Security Fund". Like all those who work here officially, I am required to register, and my paycheck is deducted every month for the benefit of the retired.

Today I had the pleasure of visiting the Meknes CNSS office, located just across the street from the Al-amir Train Station (colloquailly known as "gare sghrir" or "small train station"). My objectives: get a new CNSS card and get an attestation that I have been paying my CNSS dues in order to renew my work visa.

At first things went splendid. The woman in the back office listed all the documents I would need. I returned home, got them, and revisited the labyrinthine offices of the CNSS. The woman was content. She paper-clipped everything together and took it into a second office to gave it to a man who, she assured me, would take care of it. As I walked with her toward the same office (conveniently the same place I needed to visit for my attestation), I thanked her, "Blessings of God be upon you. God preserve you."

After a wait timed to provide me an adequate opportunity to contemplate the meaning of my existence, I was beckoned into the second office. The man behind the next began speaking to me in English. For the next five minutes he regaled me with tales of his English studies at the University a few decades earlier. They had read "Absalom, Absalom". Who was the author? Ah yes, Faulkner. Thank you. You lose the language so quickly when you don't practice it...

"You speak English well, though," I flattered him. When we eventually got around to the business of my attestation he asked for a copy of my ID card. I explained that I had given it to the woman who had given it to the man right over there. I pointed to the man at the next desk over.

"I'll need to see that for a second."

I walked over to the other desk and politely asked for the paper. "He would like to see it." I said pointing back at the other desk.

"Insha'allah," he replied.

He said nothing else. And while I was up another man had filled my much coveted spot across from the other desk. So I waited standing. After a minute, the gruff man with my needed paper told me to leave the office. I got the attention of the man who just minutes before had been personably sharing tales of his studies in English. When I explained the situation, he turned to the other man. I breathed a sigh of relief. The two of them will communicate and sort this out, I thought.

Of course, that's not how things work in Morocco, where power trips, petite obstructionism, and plain old lying rule the roost. My erstwhile friend suddenly backed the line of his curt co-worker. He had been assured the paper could not leave the desk for even a second despite being unused. I needed to leave the office now and come back on Monday.

"But you just needed to look at that piece of paper, right?"

"He can't give it to me until he finishes. That will be on Monday Insha'allah."

Gritting my teeth, I said, "Blessings of God be upon you. May God preserve you." And I left the office.