Same Morocco, unfamiliar place

When I returned to Morocco last summer (2012), just about everything felt the same as when I had left it just six months earlier. I returned to a familiar home in the familiar old medina of Rabat, I returned to familiar sights, sounds, and smells, and most importantly, I returned to familiar faces. This time around, I did not head directly to my host mom Fatiha’s house, using the key that she insisted I keep for anytime I show up on her doorstep. Instead, I ended up at the doorstep of an unfamiliar hotel in an unfamiliar part of Rabat. I saw familiar faces, though these were faces I knew from Fulbright orientation in D.C. and they were not Moroccan ones. Because we were so busy with in-country orientation, I practically had to sneak out to go visit some of my friends and host families in the old medina. These were not the same, familiar circumstances that I had grown accustomed to over the collective seven-month period that I had spend in Rabat before.

And then I suddenly find myself in Fès, a city I had visited three times, but for no more than three days at once. And yet this is home. I’m in Morocco, but in an unfamiliar part. New sights, sounds, smells, and faces envelop me.

Being in an unfamiliar city has both its advantages and its disadvantages. On the one hand I am afforded the privilege of exploring and familiarizing myself with a new place. But on the other hand, it means that I have to start from scratch. I have to get lost in the old medina to learn the routes. I have to acclimate myself to the food and water. I have to make new friends and figure out culturally appropriate ways to do so. And I have to deal with seeing my friends in Rabat only once every few weeks. It’s a challenge. And honestly, it can get a bit lonely. Not lonely in a depressing way, but lonely in a way that motivates me to befriend Fassi (meaning: of Fès) Moroccans. I adore the Fulbright crew that is here as well as the other ALIF students that I know. But I’m in Morocco. I’m supposed to be spending the majority of my time with Moroccans, not other Americans or Brits or people of whatever other nationality. Last summer, I was in Morocco for 3 months without a group, program, or definite schedule. Other than focusing on my research, I spent all my time with Moroccan and sub-Saharan friends. I rarely had a moment to myself. But I loved it. I loved spending time with people I was constantly learning from, constantly being challenged by. I miss that. And now I have to start all over again in Fès. I know I can do it, but it will take time and will challenge my patience. But it’s all part of the learning experience, right!

Settling in

The past couple weeks have been a complete whirlwind, which is why this is the first post I’m writing since arriving. I arrived safely and in bonne santé (good health), alhamdoulileh! The first four days we were quite literally booked from 8am until it was time to hit sack at night. I’ve also generally been occupied with getting my feet back on the ground and trying to settle in. The whole Fulbright crew was in a hotel from the 4^th to the 7^th and then some of us (myself included) moved into the Arabic language Institute in Fès (ALIF) student dorm (known as the villa). I lived in the villa for five days until I was able to move out to a dar (house) in the old medina. Living in the villa, which is in the Ville Nouvelle (new city), it is very, very easy not to have contact with Moroccans. Moroccans (except for the guards and maids) are not allowed in the villa, creating a bubble from, well, Morocco. Although it was great to meet other ALIF students, most of whom are either American or British, I was relieved to move into the old medina, where I’ll be surrounded by Moroccans and asouaq (markets, singular = souq) as soon as I step out the door and around the corner.

Essentially all of my free time for the two days before classes started last Wednesday was dedicated to finding a dar in the old medina. Picture the HGTV show House Hunters International. I literally felt like I was on that show. I used all the connections I had to help my roommates and me find a suitable––meaning 4 bedroom, more-than-one bathroom––dar in the medina. ALIF put us in contact with a few foreigners who own houses and sent out a slew of emails asking whether their homes were available to rent. Several emails, a call to Uganda, five houses and forty-eight hours later, we had found our house! Our dar is a beautiful 5-bedroom home with 3.5 baths, a terrace with an amazing view, and––wait for it––a washing machine! Gasp!! We. Are. Spoiled. There are currently four of us in the house, though our fifth roommate will be joining us this weekend, inchallah.

Although the rent we each pay is far from outlandish, living in such a beautiful house does feel somewhat “wrong.” Most Moroccans are not able to afford to live in such a beautiful home. It feels odd to me, in many respects, to come into another person’s country and to live a vastly more lavish lifestyle than he or she could. I already struggle to understand my many privileges in my own country and I feel like many of these privileges are only magnified when I’m in Morocco. Relatively speaking, I’m wealthier in Morocco than I am in the U.S. Although my foreign status can, at times, be a handicap, it tends to privilege me, especially since I am a white, American foreigner. And because I am a Fulbrighter, I have a whole network of connections to academics and other “important people” at my fingertips. Do most Moroccans have any of these privileges? No. Hmm, that seems quite unfair. And it is.

More thoughts to come soon, inchallah. Pictures, too.

Transition

So I leave in less than 48 hours. Yikes. It suddenly hit me while I was getting brunch with my friend Kate yesterday morning that I leave in less than two days. Two days. Today is my last full day living in the U.S. for fifteen months. That’s more than a year. Whoa.

I’ve gone through several significant transitions before, but they never seem to get easier. I once felt this way before shipping my life out to Evanston, Illinois to spend four years as an undergraduate at Northwestern. I felt the nervous-excited butterflies in my stomach before leaving to study abroad in Morocco for the first time––the first time I had been outside the U.S. for more than a two-week span. Other smaller transitions have left me feeling like this, too. This transition stuff, it’s familiar territory to me. And yet every single time feels like the first time. The butterflies. The anxiety. The fear. The anticipation. The excitement.

I’ve packed up my young life several times before, during these aforementioned transitions. But this one still feels different. Soon, I’ll be stripped of my more familiar environment with its familiar conveniences, familiar foods, familiar lifestyle. Morocco is familiar to me, too, (though of course to a lesser extent) as I’ve already spent about seven months there within the past two years. Even so, I know that there will be things that I will inevitably (though grudgingly admit to) miss about the U.S.

So what do I pack to make the homesickness a bit less intense? That’s a question that I’ve had to ask myself throughout the month-and-a-half organizing and packing process and I don’t know how well I’ve responded to it. What’s the ideal ratio of practical to psychologically comforting clothing that I should pack? Do I bring stuffed animals? Do I bring pictures or other things that remind me of family and friends? Do I bring Northwestern gear to remind me of my recent college days?

So far, I’ve packed a Costco 12-pack of Annie’s Mac n Cheese, my favorite plaid flannel, a teddy bear, my Northwestern sweatpants, and a shirt signed by friends from a student group I was in at NU––all for comfort purposes. Pictures and my main mode of communication are all on my computer, so really, that is what will be my biggest comfort.

But maybe I won’t even need those comforts of home. After all, Morocco has become a second home to me. When I leave Boston, I’ll be leaving one home for another. I’ll be leaving my family, my friends, my former classmates. But I’ll be coming back to my host families, my friends, my colleagues. It almost feels like I’ve been living two separate lives for the past two years; one in Chicago/Boston and the other in Rabat. It’s a challenge always feeling split between these places. Different pieces of my identity become more salient when in one place, while other pieces are more salient in the other.

Except during transitions. Transitions are the time when I’m confused. I’m slowly bidding one environment farewell and welcoming the other. How I identify becomes blurred and anxiety sinks in. Unfortunately the way my brain works, this change necessarily causes anxiety, which makes life, well, stressful. And that’s where I am right now. Less than 48 hours to go and I’m not looking forward to saying goodbye to my family, friends, and life here. Though the excitement for what’s to come preoccupies me months before I’m due to leave, starting a couple weeks before the departure date, I block that excitement out of my mind. So when people ask me, “Are you excited to leave?!?” I can only reply with a lukewarm “yes.” I am excited, but my brain blocks the excitement from affecting me until I’m literally on the plane heading there. Until then, I do my best to focus on the here and now. And that’s what I’m going to do for the next 36 or-so hours.