Maroc the Kasbah

For lack of a better word, an alter-like
stone structure which stands in the
Andalucian Gardens.

Our first full weekend in Rabat was dedicated to exploration. Everyone took their own time exploring the souks of the medina, the downtown area, and the beautiful beaches. It was a weekend devoted to finding areas of comfort in a sometimes very uncomfortable situation. Oh, and mulling over our first story ideas.

On Sunday, a large group of us explored the Kasbah des Oudaias, located just across the road from the old medina towards the Bou Regreg River, which divides Rabat from its sister city, Salé.

The Kasbah is basically a mini version of the medina, but with a consistent white and blue color scheme, slightly narrower streets, and a hefty dose of tourists. Surrounded by massive ancient ramparts, the Kasbah offers some beautiful views of the beaches on the Bou Regreg, an overpriced café area, and the beautiful Andalucian Gardens.

One of many stray cats perches next to
us on our bench at the café in the
Kasbah. Stray cats are literally
everywhere in Rabat, fed by food scraps
in the streets and cat food scattered
on doorsteps.

We sat at the café area for a while and talked about our story assignments, looking down on the swimmers at the beach below. We seized the opportunity to take some photos in the picturesque streets of the medina, where we were harassed by a henna artist claiming to be an art student.

The Andalucian Gardens were packed with locals and tourists alike, but it's easy to see the attraction. Beautiful flowers, tropical plants, grapes, and detailed architecture. We went home feeling accomplished and tired.

That night, Zoe, Hannah, Maya, Katherine, Cassie, and I went to Hotel Balima, a restaurant/café/hotel about a half-mile from the medina. I ordered my first Moroccan cheeseburger. If you know me, you know how I like my cheeseburgers, and I was not disappointed. Well-seasoned meat, the classic toppings, and some shockingly good fries. I guess fries aren’t much different halfway around the world.

Then, Monday came along and slapped us all in the face. Arabic is one difficult language, but it certainly helps that a lot of us are struggling together. Our teacher, Fatiha, is a Moroccan who speaks limited English, but somehow manages to get us to speak Fus’ha, or Modern Standard Arabic.

As my host parents eat from the tajine, notice that Mr. Azami
uses the Moroccan bread khobz to grab vegetables, while
Mrs. Azami uses a fork. Traditionally, only the (right) hand
would be used.

In our journalism courses this week, we turned in our first story drafts and did peer revisions. The story was based on Moroccan cuisine. I photographed for Cassie’s story, which concerns the evolution of table etiquette in Moroccan culture. Much like in the United States, traditional beliefs of table etiquette and family ties are changing. If the story is published, I will post it here.

A quick side story:

On Monday night, I was eating dinner with my host dad and brother tonight and I was asking some questions about the generational gap in table etiquette. The whole conversation is in broken French and broken English. Then he said, "You Americans eat everything with a fork." And I said, "Not sandwiches." “Ah yes, Americans have good sandwiches,” he replied, “That's all you guys eat."

The conversation moved to his work. He told me he moved to working part time last year and I was telling him that my own Dad was recently having difficulty finding work. We started talking about how bad the economy was and I said, “Nothing is as good as it used to be in America.” After a pause he gave me two thumbs up and said "Sandwich!"

A Moroccan Water Seller standing outside the
Kasbah. These days they make more money
from tourists who photograph them than they
do on water. Luckily, he didn't know I took this.

Probably the hardest I’ve laughed since I’ve been here.

Anyway, this week we were also introduced to Peter Prengaman, a seasoned journalist who is currently on sabbatical in Morocco and will be helping turn the cogs of ReportingMorocco.org, the publication to which we will be contributing for the next several months. We talked about logistics of the website, design tweaks, and assigned everyone jobs they will undertake over the next few months.

Peter also accompanied us on today's trip to a Moroccan nursing home. With the residents gathered in a large room, we all took about an hour to introduce ourselves, use our limited repertoire of phrases, and try to get to know them. It was truly an amazing experience. The oldest resident, at 112 years old, proclaimed to Badr that she still needed to get married. After a quick game of rock-paper-scissors with Al, I proposed and was promptly and rather adamantly rejected.

We also took some time to get to know Fatna, a charismatic woman who's energy exceeds mine on most days. With the help of Peter and Badr who were able to translate a good deal, we were able to learn about her life and hear some pretty amazing stories. I will most certainly be writing about her. Stay tuned.

Upon returning home, I started my laundry and threw on the comfortable outfit I mentioned in my post, #RecklessinRabat (Titled by Cassie). Mrs. Azami promptly informed me that it's the uniform of the Taliban. So, no Mom, I will not be posting a photo.

This weekend, a trip to Casablanca to celebrate Caitlin's birthday. Talk to you all soon.