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From Abroad

Charcoal smoke and a massive amount of people greeted us upon entry into the djemaa el fna, which is the tremendous market square in the heart of the old medina in Marrakesh. Hundreds of people gathered in circles around storytellers, snake charmers, Berber dancers, medicine men, and women trained in the art of henna design. Curious, we approached the crowds and the performers and immediately upon stepping foot near the circle, the music stopped. The performers quickly shuttled towards us, upending their fezzes, waiting for us to give up our loose change. We discovered that this is the reverse jukebox effect! I suppose that our backpacks and gear marked us as newcomers to the red-tinted city.

Gavin, our Irish buddy we met at Jebel Toubkal, went to meet up with the rest of his travel companions as we searched for a hotel for the evening. Marrakesh provided us with an interesting experience, from the cacophony of drums and horns played by all of the street performers, the quiet residential areas, and the seas of people oscillating in solid blocks around those who were performing, dancing, singing and even fighting throughout the evening (“Il y a un voleur,”?there is a thief, one explained to me.) Motorcycles whizzed by, narrowly escaping collision with tourists. A juice porter ran into me with his cart. However, he was carrying my beloved fresh-squeezed orange juice to the djemaa al fna, so it was all good. I eventually drank fourteen glasses before we left for Ifrane. Standing beside the juice stands provided an interesting vantage point of the market square. All of the tourists mingled about while musicians, banging some sort of iron castinents and twirling the tassels on the tops of their hats, tried to make a living.

Meeting with our Irish acquaintances over some couscous and jus d’banane (banana juice)

The following day, we decided to go off the beaten path a bit and explore Marrakesh. This proved to be quite interesting. Throughout the evening, as we ventured deeper and deeper into the residential areas, people began to come up to us and point the other direction. Ibran, an Arabic-speaking friend of mine, asked what they were pointing at and they told us that we were walking away from the djemaa al fna. There were no tourists in this part of the medina and we had not seen one for quite some time. Over the next few minutes, many younger people came up to us to tell us that we were going in the wrong direction and that the market square was becoming further and further from our location. Marrakesh-native families were walking to and fro, talking with people and buying some goods. I then realized that we were in their neighborhood as this was no longer the tourist-oriented areas of the djemaa al fna and the souks. Understandably so, it seems as if they were trying to gently persuade us to head back to the market square so as to leave their neighborhood untouched by tourist presence. In the public spaces of Marrakesh, Moroccans were often photographed, even if they were not street performers. Other cultures and lifestyles are always of incredible interest to people and thus arouse great curiosity, which is often materialized by snapping pictures. However, it was not just the street performers and those presenting themselves to the public for their income who were photographed; it was also the families and everyday people doing everyday things. Many tourists were not discreet in taking pictures and essentially jumped out at people to take their picture. Those, whose pictures were being taken, often grimaced at the sight of someone taking a picture without their permission, yet did not reprimand the other due to the language barrier. Hence, I can understand their hesitancy towards travelers exploring their neighborhood.

Remnants of the political posters from the recent election. Space was allotted on the facades of government buildings for political parties to post manifestos and party platforms. This particular ‘election wall’ was located deep in the Marrakesh residential medina.

On the way out, I spotted a clothing souk with a red Moroccan soccer jersey hanging from one of the store fronts. I approached the merchant and began a long process of negotiating for the shirt. I told him that I live in Ifrane and have been here for quite some time (a bit of a stretch, but he stretched out a few truths in the negotiating process as well). After talking for well over 10 minutes in French, he says in English, “Ah, you a Berber, eh?” and then started laughing, which evidently means I am a decent negotiator. “Bien sur, j’habite en Ifrane!” I replied (Of course, I live in Ifrane!) I paid for the shirt and then talked for even longer about living in Morocco and all the tourists in Marrakesh. It was a good feeling to be able to negotiate and converse with someone with such depth; it made me feel as if I had really adjusted to living in Morocco, even though my French accent is beyond deplorable!

For the next few days, we spent time with our Irish acquaintances and explored the rest of the city. A midnight bus brought us back to Ifrane in the early morning, where, after drinking some espresso, I caught up some schoolwork.

Yesterday, I was making some tea and one of the cleaning ladies was doing the same. She asked if I spoke Arabic, and I said ’’a little’ in darija. I then came up with the grand idea of saying “well, I will be able to speak a lot more in 2 months,” but this came out with repeatedly saying ithnaan, two, in fuh’sa, (which is not the Moroccan dialect, darija), and she gave me a puzzled look. “Ma’assalaama!” I yelled, before running back to my room. I can just imagine asking someone if they speak English and then have them reply “two, two, two!” and then yell “take it easy” or something.

Learning languages is definitely one of the biggest adventures in living abroad. It is not total immersion on the AUI campus, due to its English orientation, but when one goes off the beaten path and ventures into the smaller towns and communities, one is able to practice language and learn a lot about other peoples’ lives. The best cultural experiences here have been not in the larger cities and touristy areas, but in the smaller towns like Midelt, Imlil, Tattuoine, Assilah, and Azrou, where I have found people to be more receptive and intrigued by the travelers entering their villages and towns.

Modernizing Marrakesh. The government and private investors have poured much money into building up tourism infrastructure throughout the city.

Yet maybe it is a bit hypocritical of me to think that the best places in Morocco are those without the tourists while I myself am an outsider. It is a unique experience to be living as a student in a foreign country. I am not Moroccan and I am not a tourist, yet I have impulses of both. Being a student, I suppose, allows for such a dichotomy.

I remember once speaking with someone in Meknes about tourists and he spoke about them with particular disdain. I must wonder if people feel the same way about students who study here for extended periods of time. While tourism is a major economic engine for Morocco, I am curious as to whether those benefiting from the capital influx likewise see tourism as an odious part of society. Yet I’ll stay away from discussing the politics and economics of the country and region. Plus, I am a guest here and ought to stay neutral, especially in topics that are rooted in a cultural and historical context that I may not fully understand. Though I’ll be happy to chat when I return to the States!

An evening in Marrakesh