As part of our three stops in Africa, Morocco was the first and I had an amazing experience being part of and observing a culture that is vastly different from the life that I am accustomed to in the U.S. Our port was in Casablanca and there was about a half an hour walk to just get out of the port and into a busing street. A half an hour walk might not seem very long but in 100+ degree weather you become drenched in sweat the first couple of minutes. Directly getting off the ship you get a taste of the culture as there are taxi’s waiting outside to rip you off. Unless you want to pay a $10 dollar, 2 minute taxi ride, walking is your best bet. Once we got to the main street off the port there were a bunch more taxi drivers haggling you to get into their taxi’s. They would follow you down the street (for even a mile) as you walk away, asking if you would like a taxi ride. The phrase “no, thank you” does not mean anything to the locals in Morocco. Walking towards the Hassan Mosque II with the taxi drivers finally in the rear view mirror, we were able to soak up our surroundings while dodging traffic and also dodge some glaring eyes. The Hassan Mosque is the second largest mosque in the world (Mecca, being the largest) and the pictures that we took simply do not do it justice. Since we were not Muslim, we were not able to go inside but I got a peak of the interior and it was simply beautiful. I was even told it had a retractable roof (just like Safeco!). That night a group of us had dinner at the infamous Rick’s Café. We each had some Rosé wine to go along with our small-portioned meals. The movie “Casablanca” was playing on various TV’s throughout the restaurant and live piano music straight out of the movie.
The morning after, I met up with my friend Brian and his friend Emilio – who both go to Stanford – and the plan was to meet up with their friend from Stanford named Zeneb (Z for short) who is Moroccan had a house in Marrakesh. We met at the train station in Marrakesh where Z told us that in Morocco, time is relative; which we realized after our train was over an hour late. The hospitality that Z and her parents showed us was sobering. Z’s father, Abdel, is the main importer/exporter of Hyundai’s in Africa and also does many jobs on the side such as working in the fishing industry. Needless to say, his income was way beyond the vast majority of all of Morocco. We arrived to this house (it was actually their guest house) that was situated on a golf course, accompanied with a large yard and swimming pool. For every meal, their “maid” prepared us feasts that at the end of the our 3-day stay, I think I put on a few lbs because I wanted to be “polite” and try everything that was placed in front of me. Lets just say that this maid knew her way around a kitchen. Before going to bed, Adbel would ask us what time we thought we were going to get up in order to have the food out on the table in the morning when we walked down the cement spiral staircase leading to their main living room. After a late night in Marrakesh and early morning breakfast, Abdel arranged a driver to pick us up to take the three of us to the Atlas Mountains, which is the largest mountain range in all of Africa (Contrary to popular belief, Kilimanjaro is not a mountain but a volcano). After a three hour car ride up a snake-like road with mere inches between our car, passing cars, and the rock wall beside our car, we arrived at a small Berber Village. Our guide, also named Abdel, was half man-half goat. During the tough parts of the hike where we had to watch our footing, after a few steps and a couple of feet further we would look up and see Abdel way in the distance as we heard his Arabic singing faintly drift away with the gentle breeze that ever-so-slightly cooled us off. After about 2-3 hours of hiking we came across another village where Abdel said he had a surprise for us. We watched Abdel walk into a small, clay hut. We where hesitant to follow. The owner of the house greeted us as he gestured to have a seat in a room on the side, which was adorned with small sleeping mats and a few pillows (we found out later that this was the room where the whole family slept). He came in with a table and some Moroccan tea (very sweet mint tea) and two bowls of assorted nuts that we could tell were straight from the village. As I just started to enjoy the nuts, he took the bowls away and came back with a large loaf of bread, 2 plates of egg, and 3 bowls of dipping sauce – a Moroccan sauce, honey, and oil. As we were eating, Abdel made small talk with the owner of the house, while Brian, Emilio, and I looked at each other with thoughts of “-is this okay to eat? –man, this is delicious, -I can’t believe were having lunch in a Berber village, etc.” His children would peak through the doorway and laugh and run away as we made eye contact with them. As I was sitting in that small, padded room with a fresh cup of tea in my hand while watching the children peer into the room and run away giggling, I thought to myself that this sure was an experience of a lifetime.
The next day we spent most of our time in the markets, attempting to barter with the shopkeepers to get the lowest possible price for something that we will never have to chance to purchase again. Even if I had no intention of buying something, I would let the shopkeepers who all say “looking is free, come into my shop” grab my attention and practice my bartering skills. Something that started out at 500 Dirhams (Moroccan currency), I would try to get to 100-200 Dirhams. Often times you can get what you want because if you think it’s a bad deal and walk away, they will immediately give in and drop the price a ridiculous amount. I wonder how many people buy those things at asking price. And who really knows how much the things they sell are really worth?
I could go on and on about the cultural differences, the greediness of the poor, the hospitality of the rich, the dodging of traffic (which has a culture of its own), the Muslim religion and Call to Prayer, the disparity between men and women, but that’s for another time. I do have a lot of reading to catch up on, a paper to write, and tests to study for. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you all and wonder how you are all doing. I can’t wait to see everybody and give you hugs of worldly comfort. Much love and I will write again soon after Ghana which is sure to be yet another eye-opening experience. Love you All!
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