Rock the Kasbah Oudayah

The Oudayah Kasbah. Boardered by Rabat, the river seperating Rabat and Sale, and the Atlantic. The Kasbah looks so much like the medina, Kelsey and I sat on the steps for almost an hour before we found a German tourist and asked where the Kasbah was. We were relaxing after walking around looking for it; we were perfectly capable of asking a Moroccan. Looking stupid here has never been a concern because I'll never look like a Moroccan. Perplexed, the German pointed to where we were sitting. He was pleasant! From Hamburg! He entertained by schleckt Deutsch and was asking where he could get something to eat during Ramadaan. We told him he was SOL, but at least he could grab something in the medina to go.

This little girl ran into my shot. I'm glad she did!

The Oudayah gardens.

During Ramadaan this cafe was the only cafe open during the day. It was full of French tourists and kittens. Completely unrelated in their being there, but both coexisting in an altruistic manner.

7 Dhm for cookies, 10 for tea. Very worth it.

-Raleigh

In the Medina

Outside the Old Medina. Two women walking past one of the entrances.
On the way to school.

The majority of cemetaries are built on the water. Shanty towns are also built on the water because it's considered horrible real estate; all of the major empires and superpowers (i.e. Spain, England, France, the US) have always been just an ocean away. I'm not sure if there's any correlation between this and why so many cemetaries are built on the water though.

From one of the first days, looking off of the balcony at Hotel Majestic, towards the medina.

A Tree Grows in Rabat.
...just one.

Repping Morocco.

From left to right: Traitor Stephanie (switched programs, but I still love her, despite her infidelity), Kristin, Sam, Kelsey "koautar", Kim.

L-R: Erin, Kristin (my kindred spirit).

Grace face.

-Raleigh

Door Montage 24.09.10

In Loving Memory of Aunt Barb

I ask that your thoughts and prayers are with my grandma and family.

Thank you,

Raleigh

Common Sense or Lack (U.S.) Thereof

A Short List of Moroccan Medical Misconceptions:

1. Sitting down improves circulation (straight up lie).

2. Cold showers cure fevors.

3. Eating dissipates nausea.

4. Walking all the way to a hammam in the sun is good for my health after a long night of vomiting, cramping, and fevor.

5. "You won't get better just sitting at home."

Kri Kri....

Kristina I miss you.

Casablanca Fevor 22.09.10

More excited to visit a single mother's NGO in Casablanca than excited that I wasn't puking my brains out and naseous every time I rolled over, I decided I was well enough to travel yesterday.

It was a brilliant idea until around noon.

Story time:

I woke up (early, because I'd been sleeping for virtually 24 hours straight) and met my friend Cassie at the corner outside my house in the Medina. Kim dropped by to tell Cassie she was sick and not coming. Cassie had to walk really slowly because she was still sick, but we made it to the train station where Jennette told us that though she was sick, her family told her, "Go to Casablanca. You won't get better sitting around here (again, common sense piece coming shortly)." Whereupon we board the train and two stops down the line Meg decides that she's too sick to go the rest of the distance, gets off there, and turns around to head back to Rabat. Dropping like flies. I should have seen it coming.

I was going to visit La Associacion Solidarite Femmenine, an NGO servicing single mothers. Others were headed to an NGO dealing with street children in Casablanca, so it was up to me to haul myself to the final Casa Port train exit and get a cab to the Association.

My cab driver didn't end up knowing where it was, the address was the incorrect main office, and it wasn't near the landmarks denoted in the directions. The cab also couldn't break my 200 Dihrams. I was still feeling no pain though.

I arrived at the first center where we were to have lunch, and though I couldn't break my money for the cab, a woman from the restaurant pulled fifteen dihrahms out of her purse to pay for me. I was so grateful but didn't want to use it so I went across the way to see if the hotel could break the money. The woman at the front desk couldn't, so she walked out onto the street and had the men working parking break it for me. I feel I'd be hard pressed to find people as readily generous to a foreigner in my own country, though I'd like to think the best in my country.

Happy to be out of the house, and confident in myself from my past travels. My broken French can take me a long way, I've discovered. After walking circles in the sun and around roundabouts, I finally found the Association after dropping in a bar where someone (for a change) knew what I was looking for. I walk into the Association and learn right away that we were not informed the tour would be in French. I gave a little, "Shnu smitic?" and they were thoroughly impressed with my (ahem, lack of) Arabic. They love my horrible Arabic. They eat it up. Right up.

I was about an hour and a half early so I got to play with all of the children! They led me into the play area where I helped the nurses take care of the kids. The first girl I sat next to immediately crawled away from me. Meh. One boy, Mohammed, had what I at first glance looked like cuts all over his head. After seeing first hand how much of a trouble-maker he was, I looked closer and realized he just had marker all over his head, neck, stomach, and legs. He was put into time-out behind the door once while I was there because he kept slapping all the other kids.

Three other people showed up for the tour. They were thirty minutes late because they had equally as difficult of a time finding the place as I did. Four others never showed up. They were amazed that I found it without knowing French, which was quite the ego boost! Little did they know I'm the charade master (Oh! Best charade of the experience has been when my host sister was charading/asking me if I had diarrhea. They apparently have only been aquainted with the explosive kind). The tour started and I immediately felt faint. The rest of the day continued with a splitting headache and fevor.

I was determined to go to Hassan II Mosque, the third largest mosque in the world (behind one in Mecca and Medina, Saudi Arabia), but struggled immensely through it. I felt so rude, but was so exhausted and ill that I had to sit down for most of the tour.

I got home and slept from five to eleven, where my family didn't understand that I didn't need a doctor, I needed them to stop waking me up and forcing me to eat. I havn't had such a bad fevor since I was a kid though. I was worried about it for most of the day. I got shivers in the middle of the night and decided to skip school this morning. I've been to one class today, and am taking it very easy. I feel like I got off easy though.

-Raleigh

21.09.10 I'll Show YOU Vomitorium, Volubilis!

Approximately 1/3 of the student population here has been puking their brains out and then some. Those who previously complained about constipation ...have stopped.

Thank God I have a terrace with a sink and buckets. I severely lucked out with that one.

The two phrases which have characterized the Rabati student experience as of the past few days have been, "violently ill," and, "private hell." Twenty of the sixty students have gotten sick. And when I say sick, I mean Morocco doesn't let you remember what it was ever like to be well again.

What's so scary about being sick here is that A. You don't speak the language so you can't tell anyone exactly how sick you are B. You don't read the language so you can't read medicinal warnings or ingredients, and C. There's a common sense factor (to be addressed in the next post) that doesn't equate to US common sense. The Moroccan common sense turns out to be a series of fictitious medicinal lies that were probably passed down as having some truth from hundreds of generations of sage burning and goat slaughtering. It's scary, especially when I began hearing how many people were going to the hospital. Even one of our program assistants is sick.

My friend, Paulene, lost her vision for about three hours during the night, and that's the worst case I've heard so far. Jenna, another student, needs to be in the hospital for at least five to eight days. Insane!

We're all trying to find the common denominator, but the only thing we know is that the food poisoning/potential bacteria is from Fes. Though apparently every time they go to this one hotel in Fes all the students get sick...hmmm. Putting two and two together finally?

Yet another comical note to this: the past few days are the only few days in last week that we've been out of toilet paper. Luckily I took some from the hotel. Thank you, hotel in Fes, for providing me with a tragic sickness and almost backhanded remedy.

Blah,

Raleigh

Geek Squad

I'm currently playing computer support for my family who own Arabic Computers encrypted in French.

Those of you who know my technological adeptness are chilling beer mugs in hell because I'm succeeding.



-Winner

Goodnight

My host sister just ripped one on the couch. I'm talking the kind that scares dogs awake.

19.09.10 Le Sketch Cafe

Last night was the first night I've been genuinely concerned for my safety since I've been here; I was in Fes, at a cafe. Granted, being with a group of unobservant, good-looking gringas parading around a strange city in the dead of night may have added to the immminent threat I'd built up in my head. We all left our budget hotel to search for a cafe in which to chat. Some Americans from our pogram were sitting on the steps outside informing us that nothing was open, and I think everyone in my group took that as a challenge to fine an open one. We walked down the empty streets and after choosing the best of the worst sat down.

Let me explain something here, all natural instinct is reversed here: people who you want to talk to you don't, and when you want to turn around and see who's behind you it's always seen as a sexual advance (as if walking down the street wasn't considered enough of one). People stare and have no issues with it, and I'm talking stare like a chomo at a public pool, people slow their cars to talk to you while you're walking, and people even go so far as to park their motorcycles in narrow alleyways as to stop you from passing.

I've been followed twice already, and with the hypersensitivity, time of night, and lack of any women around, I became the most paranoid I've ever been. I'm fine now, nothing happened, which, at the time, made me embarassed I became so paranoid, but I suppose if Darwin were a Jedi he'd tell me that The Natural Selection is strong with me. I realized I have no reason to be embarassed because of it and on top of that Kelsey shared my same sentiments on the area.

Le sigh. Crisis averted. Though still slightly embarassed, it was significant enough to shake up my night and blog about, particularly because I promise to blog more than I do.

'slams,

Raleigh

Font Color

Font color will be changed to a readable version : post class. As to refrain from losing my dozens of followers.


Thanks for the patience I often lack,

Raleigh

Fulfilled 16.09.10

Bucket List check off: Saw a man defecating on the Medina wall.

Death by Photo upload 16.09.10

Good Morning, Morocco! The first week all 59 Americans stayed at Hotel Majestic, also the Hotel we'll be ending our Experience with. Little did we know that the shoddy shower would be sorely missed.

I have never gotten such horrible sleep. Thank Air France for the trendy Raleigh blind.

The Souq vendors sell gorgeous pottery at a beautiful exchange rate favoring the dollar.

One of the first Rabat sunsets I saw. This was taken from the balcony of Hotel Majestic on Hassan II Ave. We'll be finishing our trip up here as well. Kim, Kelsey, and I have already put in room and roommate requests.

Goofball on Mo V.

The Conference room we now have classes in; it wasn't quite finished when we first arrived.

Mohammed V Ave. This street has become so commonplace in my life now.

People gathering at a government run charity that provides daily food. I'm not sure exactly how it works, but I hope to find out during my ISP.

Outside the Medina

The Conference room before it was finished being renovated.

Instead of taking more pride in the outside of their homes, Moroccans spend the most energy on the inside. I would have lost a large portion of the experience I'm having had I never been able to enter one. Apart from the graceful aesthetic of the archways inside, windows tend to divide rooms. Fire hazards galore with the beautiful metal coverings on them.

It's a working lack of matching patterns in Morocco.

Lahcen (endeavoring to) usher us downstairs.

When he's not running the government here he graces us as a professor.

Looking up from the school atrium. Originally a house owned by Spanish immigrants, SIT purchased it and converted it to the Cross Cultural Center for Learning (CCCCCCCCCCCCCCL).

Beslaama,

Raleigh