Are we forgetting what's important?

At the opening ceremony of the Tangier Model United Nations conference this past Friday, at the UNE Tangier campus, I sat in the back of the auditorium while I listened to this man's story. His words stung as they echoed through the room. After a long week of discussions about racism and discrimination with many of my close friends, Chris's story went straight to my heart.

To know that someone who spent his life studying with dreams of making it to Europe for work, is stuck in Tangier with absolutely nothing, is heart-breaking. Of course, after living in Tangier for just under 10 months, I see beggars on the streets daily. In all honesty, I'm sure I've seen Chris before, and ignorantly turned my head and kept walking. Thanks to a kind teacher at The American School of Tangier who stopped to give Chris money and ask his story, we know Chris is just another human just like us, who has been dealt an unlucky hand of cards. We know that he is not out walking for drug money, we know that he's not a "bum"; rather he's a strong man with a big heart, who is just stuck. People with stories similar to Chris are often stuck in Tangier. They can't leave to get to Europe- they've been swindled. They can't go home- they have no passport. They can't work because they are "Africans". These people have spent their life-savings trying to accomplish a dream, and end up trapped.

It's time for this generation to open their eyes. Racism is still so real. I see it everyday. I see discrimination based on the color of one's skin, in ways that offend me personally and offend my friends. I am Caucasian. I have fair, freckly skin. I burn when I spend too much time in the sun. My family comes from Ireland, England, Scotland and Sweden. Just because I am WHITE does not mean I deserve special treatment. It does not mean that I am better than anyone else. It does not mean that I have more money or intelligence than other people. The color of my skin is genetics; it's the science of how much melanin my cells produce. The color of my skin doesn't determine who I am. Under my skin I am just like every other human being on this Earth. I am an American. Just because I live on the other side of the world does not mean I am ignorant, it does not mean I am islamophobic, it does not mean I only care about money and partying. To me, being an American means I've grown up surrounded by people with different backgrounds from me, people with different color skin, people who speak different languages, people who eat different food. Being American means I have family and friends from all over the world. It kills me when I go out to a club or a bar, and am welcomed in with smiling faces and no cover charge, but my Moroccan friends- those with darker skin- are told they need to pay for a ticket, or aren't allowed in at all. It kills me that Moroccans look at people with black skin as “Africans” when we are all living on this continent, together. It kills me that after being in a taxi I will be asked to pay double the amount a Moroccan will be charged. It kills me that walking through the medina people will raise the prices of things, because they assume I come from money and can blow my extra cash on Moroccan artifacts. Being an American does not mean I am rich and was handed everything in life, but rather that I've worked for what I want and am privileged to have traveled as much as I have. The truth is, no matter where on this Earth you live, no matter what language you speak, no matter what color your skin is- we are all human beings. We are all just mammals; we all have a heart that pumps our veins full of blood, a brain that controls our every movement, and nerves that run from our toes to our fingertips. We all feel pain and hunger, sadness and happiness, love and hate.

The color of Chris's skin should not prevent him from working, should not prevent him from getting home, and should not prevent him from getting the chance to share his story. I hope everyone takes the time to watch this video and listen to Chris's story; I hope everyone opens their eyes to how real problems such as racism and immigration are today, in 2015, when we think of these things as an issue of the past.

Check out Chris's story here! <--- :)

Round 2: What's Changed is Me.

Coming back to Morocco, I didn't know what to expect. I already have my friends and family here, and didn't know if it would be different or the same. It's different but not in the sense that Tangier has changed. The people are the same, the city is the same, and campus is the same (well except there are quite a few updates). Tangerinn was re-done and is now beautiful on the inside, and a few places have changed slightly, but it's a year later, so of course I could've expected updates.

However, I did notice that there is one thing that is very different this time around. I noticed this when I first heard the call to prayer go off during my first day back in Tangier. The loud echoes of the poems and prayers in strange syncopated beats was not an unfamiliar sound this time. What to me last year was so incredibly eerie and foreign, was instead comforting and soothing. It brought me back to the mindset of being Moroccan. It reminded me that here time is not important, that a day goes by as it likes and there's no proper schedule of events. It reminded me that people here are relaxed- I no longer have to stress day-to-day about finishing things on time, cramming a million meetings into one day, or scheduling time to hang out with friends. It reminded me what it's like to live for the sake of living, not living for the sake of someday having a career to make money to support a family and spiral into the traps of capitalism. With all these thoughts buzzing through my head, I realized what different this year is ME.

Coming back here I have noticed that I have changed. I know what to expect living here, but I also know that there is so much more to this culture that I haven't experienced. Being back in Morocco has allowed me to open my eyes up and embrace the culture even more than last year. I am more independent. I care about the experience of the students who are on this journey with me and would do anything to help them fall in love with Tangier like I did. I realized that, because of the roller coaster of an adventure I had last year, I matured. I can now observe, and understand how people are thinking. I can read people's body language and social cues like a book, and I understand who people are. I think that because of this change I am going to take so much more from this experience. I am going to continue to grow and reach for success. This success is going to start with my internship and the work i'm doing with doctors over here, and I couldn't be more excited. I'll have more updates later this week and hopefully even a picture of me in my white coat and scrubs :)

I look forward to sharing more stories about my travels to Rabat and this weekend Fez and Meknes!

xo, M

i'm coming home

Happy 2015 everyone!

It's now February 2nd and I have been back home for about a month. Back home? Yes, I mean back in Morocco. After fall semester back in Biddeford, I was asked to come back to UNE Tangier to be a resident advisor on our international campus. It was not as easy to figure out as it seems, but with 4 independent studies, one advanced course on campus and an ADV science internship, I made my way back to my second home.

Before I continue and explain what round 2 is like it's important to note that I was rather anxious about coming back. I was overjoyed by knowing that I was going to get to see my bestfriends, my brothers, again. However, I didn't know what to expect coming back for a second time. Would it be different being back with a new group? Would people here remember me? Would I still get to go out with this intense workload? It was overwhelming. But there was no turning back. My parents brought me to the Boston Logan Airport, and before I knew it I was going through customs alone for the first time. My flights were delayed, one plane had technical difficulties, but by the time I got to Madrid, Spain all my worries were gone. I met some interesting people in the airports, spoke various languages, and throughout the trip I began to realize that although it was my first time flying alone, i have enough experience to travel however I want.

Boarding the plane in Madrid was one of the most exhilarating times of my life. I was so overtired that my excitement was the only thing keeping me awake. I couldn't sleep on the flight to Morocco,  because I was constantly looking out the window for the ocean- the one barrier between me and being home. I could finally see Tangier and I could no longer resist the intense emotions I had bottled inside of me. I could feel the flight attendants staring at me as i bounced in my seat, impatiently awaiting our arrival. I got off the plane and was one of the first ones in line at the passport check. I finally get up to the booth and greet the man dressed with a blank stare on my face. My goofy smile probably didn't match the fact that I was a young American girl traveling to Tangier, Morocco alone. I looked to my right and saw Oussama and I almost started crying. I waved like a fool and the passport control man understood, and quickly stamped my passport, no questions asked (way easier than last year!)

I ran to the luggage claim where my bestfriend waited for me. I ran and gave him a hug and was so incredibly happy. As we walked out through the luggage claim and went through the security check, I saw Mourad. Again I ran over and the excitement continued to flow through my veins. Giving Mourad a hug was the most nostalgic feeling, as it felt like just the day before I was saying bye to him. Carolyn soon ran over to us and gave me the most welcoming hug. I knew it was going to be a great semester.

I got back to campus and took a quick nap before going out with Oussama. He came and picked me up and we walked through the city, to Cinema Rif where we met Chakib. Oussama told Chakib to wait there as he had a birthday present for him, and when i surprised him I thought he too was going to cry. Abdel was inside and Ayman met us there shortly after. I finally had a tea- MY FIRST REAL MOROCCAN MINT TEA IN 8 MONTHS. There is no way to describe what it's like to miss something so much. We then went to Best Burger and bought the most Moroccan food possible- yes a Hot Dog.  A moroccan hot dog with eggs and onions and cheese, with a bottle of Hawaii to wash it down.

The next few days consisted of getting campus ready with Carolyn and Mourad, and waiting for the new group of students to join us. We met the large group of students at the airport, and helped them settle into their rooms. Somehow, I managed to learn all their names within the first 2 hours. The next week was orientation week. We helped to show the students the city, giving them tours of the Medina, the Kasbah, and the streets around campus. We helped them get money and learn the conversion. Mourad, Carolyn and I all split up the group and took them out to see Tangier- surprisingly I remembered the streets of Tangier like the back of my hand. As soon as I started walking, it was as if I never left. I knew exactly how to get everywhere I needed to go.

What surprised me the most, was that the students immediately found a love for Tangier. This group is so open minded that they embraced the Moroccan way from the start. I was expecting various students to feel uncomfortable or maybe not adjust as well as the others, from my experience first semester. This is just another reminder to me that this is going to be a good semester.

Jbel Moussa

Bright and early Saturday morning, after a late night with friends, we boarded our bus to head off to our planned hiking trip. As you can imagine, I was not as excited as I had been when i signed up for the trip, but none-the-less I packed up my hiking gear and prepared myself for a nice hike with good company. After about an hour on the bus, down windy roads we neared the famous Jbel Moussa; a beautiful white mountain with just its peak hidden by the clouds. 

Our bus stopped at a small village, and we lined the streets in awe of the beautiful nature in front of us.

Mourad handed us each a bad of trial mix for the hike, and we started off into the village. As we approached the trail, we hugged the side of the mountain and took in the beautiful mediterranean that was next to us.

The hike started on a nice flat walking trail, with gravel and yellow markers leading the way.

Breathing in the fresh air was refreshing. The wind was strong an the sun was warm. It couldn't have been a more perfect day.

The Mediterranean is such a peaceful body of water. The view we had from the trail was breathtaking; a view that will never be erased from my memory. 

We often passed a heard of friendly sheep or goats.

As we started to go up along the mountain the trail narrowed and the terrain got a little more rough.

 We walked on large pieces of unsteady gravel and at one point I was using my hands to keep me from sliding down the steep path.

After the treacherous climb, the view was well worth it. We finally approached a second village as we reached the end of the trail. This time we were on the opposite side of Jbel Moussa. We were greeted by a small cove along the beach of the Mediterranean, where we decided to relax and eat a picnic lunch. Some students jumped off a large rock into the water, while others played soccer with a few young boys who were also on the beach.

As much as I love being in the city, it really is nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of it all. 

a whole new world

With the abundance of things to see in the city, it is easy to look past some of the smaller essences that make the city its own. From the moment I stepped foot in Tangier, I've noticed one thing in particular that sets it apart from any other city- the smell.

The city air surrounds me as I walk down the street, past busy people walking by. The culture hugs my body, allowing me to feel welcome to the new city I've arrived in. As I start to feel a sense of comfort within the foreign land I stand on, something completely new hits me. The pungent smell of spices rushes into my nose. Kosher, ginger, black pepper, white pepper, sweet paprika, hot paprika,  cumin, cinnamon, saffron, turmeric, anise, nutmeg, gum arabia, fenugreek, bay leaves, Ras El Hanout. These scents are unfamiliar; so different from the smell of spices at home. Bins are filled with spices along the streets of the city, within the souk and of course behind the walls of the medina. The people, the places, the things all carry the smell with them wherever they go. This is the smell of Morocco. The one things that sticks to the air, reminding me just how far I am from home.

A walk in my shoes

Walking through Tangier is an experience in itself. I come from a small town in Massachusetts on the border of Connecticut; what you could consider cow-town. I am used to backroads, farms, no street lights and only the sound of peepers at night. Being exposed to the city life has opened my eyes up to another world.

Living in the city has been more of a culture shock to my senses, than it has been to myself. The city is always full of new noises- like those of sirens of ambulances, "bee doe bee doe bee doe.." that remind me of nothing more than the minions in the movie Despicable me. New smells- like abundance of spices used in traditional moroccan cooking. New sights- city lights and an orange glow illuminating off the clouds at night.

Upon leaving campus, I find myself one of the more quiet streets with only a few houses. I take a right and walk up a steep hill towards the American School Gates and the wall of the Spanish consulate. When I reach this main road there are many cars creating a traffic jam as parents impatiently wait for their children to get out of school. I take a left and continue walking uphill and pass a small bakery with homemade treats full of nuts and sugars very different from those in the US. The bakery is followed by a day-care center with colorful gates and windows that look like children's toys. Petite taxi's speed by and look like a turquoise blur to pedestrians. I come to the intersection of the next main street at a rotary- a Moroccan roundabout is one of the scariest things i've witnessed since i've been here. Theres no speed limit, no right of way. The cars beep to claim their order in the traffic circle. Quite frankly, I think most drivers would be more safe if they were to close their eyes and just go for it.

I continue walking to the right this time, and the city life starts to unravel itself. People fill the streets, and the sound of cars swallows me. I become part of the city; not just a pedestrian, but one more aspect making the city more diverse.  Men, young and old, stare and often make comments towards me. I'm never surprised when strangers wave to me or call me a "beautiful flower". These men will often shout "mama mia" or "hola" as many people from Spain come to visit the area. Women in this culture, however, are not as vocal as men. Women often do not make eye contact with me. When they do it is beyond mysterious. Their glare is one like no other; one of disgust or maybe the absence of thought at all. As I have now been here for a month, I understand that our culture is a lot different than that of the Arab nation. I now try to smile at the women here whenever eye contact is made. I believe that a gesture as small as a smile makes me less vulnerable to the stereotype of a "typical american". I am here not to intrude on the culture, but rather to understand and embrace it. I have found that this is, in fact, a universally understood gesture as more and more women will look at me and smile back- which is more welcoming than speaking at all.

As I approach the mosque, I find myself at another rotary and am almost in the center of the city. I wait for the green light before I cross the road, as pedestrians do not have the right of way. The streets are packed with petite and gran taxis driving as many as 6 passengers to their various destinations amongst the city. Men walk towards the mosque as the call to prayer is announced over the entire city in a disconsolate manner. When the call to prayer first rang through my eardrums it sent cold shivers throughout my body.

Men take their shoes off, and enter the mosque. The follow one person and pray toward the direction of Mecca. It's not as common for women to pray in the mosque, but when they do they must enter through the back door, where a wall separates them from the men. When someone cannot go to the mosque to pray, it is not uncommon to pray on a mat wherever they may be.

A few minutes down the road from the mosque I can head towards the medina, or towards Mexico Street, but those are both a story of their own which must wait for another day.

Cultural Insight

Mourad put together a small presentation for us, to help understand the culture and society we are now living in. The presentation taught us about the food, history, education, safety and other cultural insights. 

Moroccan artifacts!

Crushed stones, such as these, are used to make eye make-up.

Eyeshadow

Argan seeds used in skin and hair care. 

Homemade blush

Rose petals are used on skin, eyes and the body in general to freshen up.