Daniel and I decided to get some McDonald's tonight. I usually don't like Mickey D's much, but tonight I was in the mood.
On our way, the truck drivers who deliver goods to the electronics store a few buildings down from our apartment building stopped Daniel and started talking to him.
Since I had walked on the other side of the truck, I hadn't realized what was happening. After thirty seconds of waiting, I went back to see what had happened. Daniel was engaged in a Darija conversation with the three truck drivers.
"Did any of your ideas about Morocco change after you came here?" one of them asked.
He wanted to know if we had thought that Moroccans were cannibals or just exotic desert people and at what point we realized they weren't. I chimed in to say that we both were fairly familiar with the world before we came here, so we didn't have such strong stereotypes.
After he had finished that line of questioning, he decided it was time to give us his view of America: "The media in the United States doesn't tell the people what is really going on in the world. Americans don't really know."
I asked for some examples, and he cited the suffering of the Palestinian people and American support for Israeli killing. He then started citing a list of American vetoes on the UN Security Council that allowed Israel to do as it pleased.
I think he realized the conversation was getting heavy and that he was keeping us a bit long. He offered to drive us out to the Algerian border sometime when we were free and then he bid us good night.
As we walked away, Daniel and I discussed the conversation.
"There's nothing I like better before I eat me some McDonald's than a good discussion of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict."
Daniel smiled and remarked, "Stuff like US vetoes on the UN Security Council makes the headlines here in Morocco. Of course it doesn't in the United States."
"Yeah, and this isn't some over-educated professional or academic. He was a truck driver."
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A Newspaper's End
Le Journal, one of the two of Morocco's more liberal magazines, closed shop this week.
The reasons for its closure were ultimately political:
The other fairly liberal magazine, which I read weekly, wrote an interesting editorial about its closure. On the one hand, it decried the direction the country was going and expressed solidarity with Le Journal. On the other hand, it clearly marked some of its views as "extreme", thus distancing itself politically.
Most Moroccans I know prefer news that comes from the Persian Gulf, TV stations like Al-Arabiya and Al-Jazeera, because they know there is no Moroccan political influence over what is reported.
The reasons for its closure were ultimately political:
A Moroccan court declared the magazine's publisher's bankrupt, and seized its assets on Wednesday. But the underlying reason for the magazine's end was political: It had been one of the few Moroccan publications that dared to touch some of the country's most taboo subjects, from criticizing the monarchy to the issue of the country's over the Western Sahara. The magazine's co-founder, Aboubakr Jamaï, contends that his finances were crippled by the Moroccan government's pressure on advertisers to boycott the publication. Jamaï's finances have been in disarray since a Moroccan court ruled against him in a defamation case in 2006, which ordered him to pay a punitive judgment of $354,000.
The other fairly liberal magazine, which I read weekly, wrote an interesting editorial about its closure. On the one hand, it decried the direction the country was going and expressed solidarity with Le Journal. On the other hand, it clearly marked some of its views as "extreme", thus distancing itself politically.
Most Moroccans I know prefer news that comes from the Persian Gulf, TV stations like Al-Arabiya and Al-Jazeera, because they know there is no Moroccan political influence over what is reported.
Efficiency and the Pace of Life
At the teacher's conference this last week, some of the other ex-pat teachers and I were discussing life in Morocco.
When I was asked directly how I liked it here, I said the first thing that came to mind: "I really enjoy the pace of life. People have time to hang out, to get a coffee, to drop what they're doing and spend hours helping you with some simple task. That's hard to find in the United States sometimes."
Another ex-pat, who has lived here much longer than me, chimed in: "Yeah, but what happens with that same mentality when you really need to get something done?"
He's right. So far, I haven't had any real emergencies or necessary paperwork situations.
When that day comes, I'll be able to more fully judge life here in Morocco.
When I was asked directly how I liked it here, I said the first thing that came to mind: "I really enjoy the pace of life. People have time to hang out, to get a coffee, to drop what they're doing and spend hours helping you with some simple task. That's hard to find in the United States sometimes."
Another ex-pat, who has lived here much longer than me, chimed in: "Yeah, but what happens with that same mentality when you really need to get something done?"
He's right. So far, I haven't had any real emergencies or necessary paperwork situations.
When that day comes, I'll be able to more fully judge life here in Morocco.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Grocery Shopping
The grocery stores in Morocco have lower quality produce and meat than the specialty shops like the produce market and the butcher.
So since the fridge was empty after our week in Agadir, I made a quick run to the produce market this morning. Then, loaded up with two huge bags of produce, I stumbled into the butcher's to get some sausage and turkey. While I was waiting in line for the butcher, an older man dressed in traditional garb came in and started looking at my two bags.
It surprised me a little when he started mumbling to me in Darija. Usually Moroccans profile me as Western and start talking to me in French. Partially because of the surprise and partially because of the mumble, I didn't understand what he was saying. So I just assumed he was commenting on how much produce I had. I lifted the two bags and said in a sing-songy Darija "Lots of produce, right?"
He shook his head. Obviously I hadn't understood him.
"...the oranges..," was all I understood.
I didn't have any oranges.
I raised the bag filled with three kilos of mandarines and said, "These are mandarines...three kilos." I nodded my head and raised my eyebrows to emphasize the grandeur of my produce purchase.
He shook his head again. "No I just want one."
I suddenly realized he didn't care about how much produce I was carrying. He just wanted some of it.
In Morocco, there is a different conception of personal property. People share the same bowls and cups in restaurants and at home. Water stations (not always fountains) have one cup that everyone shares. A message from a cell phone of your friend's friend is often from your friend. Someone eating in a public space is almost obligated to share his snack with those around him. I surmised that carrying produce in public falls into the same category.
I awkwardly reached into the bag with the mandarines and pulled one out.
"Thank you. God's blessing on you."
I got my meat from the butcher, paid, and headed home. Now my produce sits safely in the fridge and on the kitchen counter.
So since the fridge was empty after our week in Agadir, I made a quick run to the produce market this morning. Then, loaded up with two huge bags of produce, I stumbled into the butcher's to get some sausage and turkey. While I was waiting in line for the butcher, an older man dressed in traditional garb came in and started looking at my two bags.
It surprised me a little when he started mumbling to me in Darija. Usually Moroccans profile me as Western and start talking to me in French. Partially because of the surprise and partially because of the mumble, I didn't understand what he was saying. So I just assumed he was commenting on how much produce I had. I lifted the two bags and said in a sing-songy Darija "Lots of produce, right?"
He shook his head. Obviously I hadn't understood him.
"...the oranges..," was all I understood.
I didn't have any oranges.
I raised the bag filled with three kilos of mandarines and said, "These are mandarines...three kilos." I nodded my head and raised my eyebrows to emphasize the grandeur of my produce purchase.
He shook his head again. "No I just want one."
I suddenly realized he didn't care about how much produce I was carrying. He just wanted some of it.
In Morocco, there is a different conception of personal property. People share the same bowls and cups in restaurants and at home. Water stations (not always fountains) have one cup that everyone shares. A message from a cell phone of your friend's friend is often from your friend. Someone eating in a public space is almost obligated to share his snack with those around him. I surmised that carrying produce in public falls into the same category.
I awkwardly reached into the bag with the mandarines and pulled one out.
"Thank you. God's blessing on you."
I got my meat from the butcher, paid, and headed home. Now my produce sits safely in the fridge and on the kitchen counter.
My Presentation
The past few days I have been in Agadir, Morocco for the yearly teachers' conference for our center.
On Tuesday evening I presented my American Culture Club to an audience of 30 or 40 other teachers. Despite some technical difficulties, the talk seemed to be well-received.
I explained the motivation behind the club (greater cultural understanding and the nuancing of stereotypes). Then I quickly surveyed my curriculum, showing clips of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s speech as well as Barack Obama's.
Afterwards, one teacher asked me how I handled a certain issue:
"So how did you handle it when students asked about the different terms: 'Negro', 'African-American', 'Colored', 'Black', etc."
I began to respond with a fairly detailed analysis, "Well, 'negro', which comes from the Spanish for black, was used in earlier times, but more recently 'African-American has become the more accepted term..."
"I know the history." At that point I suddenly realized that the man questioning me was an African-American.
"Well, I just write down all the terms on the board and say that they all have been used at different points in time. It's the simple answer to a complex question."
We agreed that the subject could be discussed at length but that in the classroom setting, a quick answer sufficed.
The questions continued, although we soon ran out of time in the question and answer period.
But then, that is probably a good sign for my presentation.
On Tuesday evening I presented my American Culture Club to an audience of 30 or 40 other teachers. Despite some technical difficulties, the talk seemed to be well-received.
I explained the motivation behind the club (greater cultural understanding and the nuancing of stereotypes). Then I quickly surveyed my curriculum, showing clips of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s speech as well as Barack Obama's.
Afterwards, one teacher asked me how I handled a certain issue:
"So how did you handle it when students asked about the different terms: 'Negro', 'African-American', 'Colored', 'Black', etc."
I began to respond with a fairly detailed analysis, "Well, 'negro', which comes from the Spanish for black, was used in earlier times, but more recently 'African-American has become the more accepted term..."
"I know the history." At that point I suddenly realized that the man questioning me was an African-American.
"Well, I just write down all the terms on the board and say that they all have been used at different points in time. It's the simple answer to a complex question."
We agreed that the subject could be discussed at length but that in the classroom setting, a quick answer sufficed.
The questions continued, although we soon ran out of time in the question and answer period.
But then, that is probably a good sign for my presentation.
Monday, February 1, 2010
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