Good morning starshine...

...the earth says hello.

Oh...

This professor...oh this professor.
My lense is different, admittedly so. I see things from the bottom, underneath where most will not go. You may see light, but I envision darkness...and my darkness is not engulfing but rather comforting. My new favorite hobby is looking at the way you tell their history and count how many times you demean them. The professors who have been guiding us through all of our trips showed their true colors this weekend. The knowledgable one turned into the loathing, PMSing character who was angry when we told him that we did not have a portion of the schedule in our itinerary. The other one....oh the other one....I think brash is an understatement. To deny water to a student in the Sahara Desert...that took it to another level. At first, I thought it was just me complaining about their attitudes and spirits that I didn't want to rub off me, but I realized it's so much more than that. You are our guides...you have been informing us about these places, these people. O let some earlier comments slide that I thought we scathing at the time, but now those are back in my forefront, my immediate view. How do you speak to and about these people you spend years studying? I have saw how you treat some of them, beginning with our bus driver. I am not sure if I will ever shift my lense...but honestly why would I even want to? I see darkness and my eyes have adjusted fine to the lack of light.

Where can I find it?

After a weekend with the Sufis and camels, I can't help but think about how much work I have...and how reluctant I am to do it. Not because of the subject...but because of the feeling she gives me. I think sometimes you have to find that place...that gives you peace...makes you at ease. Why is it so hard to find? It's covered by the earth...what you want to say but can't, what you need to say but won't. After class today, she brought my ten down to a one. How could I have managed to let her low bring down my high. I have to find peace of mind...Lauryn sing it to me.

This one is for you...

Michael Joseph Jackson... Even though I am here in Morocco having the experience of my life, I will never forget how his death framed my trip. He passed the day before I left and I was still in shock as I made my departure from my home to another. I pocketed the thought until today as I viewed the Memorial. At first, I was unable to view it in a continuous stream as the connection in dorm room was bad. I then was able to get the video working through MTV and my solace began. I was twittering throughout the memorial and the array of people's comments was so interesting. For the most part, it was obvious that this was the time where it really hit people that he was really gone, absent from us in the world. I also saw the anguish and negativity in some people's comments...the ones that rang to the tune of bashing those who wanted to now celebrate the man, his music and legacy. What I feel they didn't seem to understand is that death does that to people. It makes you reflect and think about what they meant to you in this life. If it doesn't, then I'm not sure how human you are. Let it be a time to end on positivity rather than the negativity you emitted throughout their life. As I'm sitting here, bed-ridden because gastrointestinal issues (sorry to be graphic), all I could reflect upon was the love in my life. Brooke and the others who knew him well remarked about jut how large his heart was. I have had several experiences, the most poignant being Terrence's death, that have made me realize that there's nothing more that I want in life than to give the love that God has given me. From what I saw, Michael did just that. No one is perfect...God makes us realize that everyday. But we can strive to at least hold that piece of God's perfection that is so tangible to us. Love hard...care deeply...and God will be pleased. That's it in this life.

Let's Talk About IT

Conflict of the mind.....my Georgetown...what I feel as an outsider there...has been transplanted to Ifrane....and I wouldn't have it any other way. I know the most important thing I can do at this point is open my mouth and express my thoughts. I am here to learn about Morocco, but it is also a time to educate and be informed. I had a convo on the bus about Black Georgetown and to most the idea was foreign. My goal by the end of the trip has been achieved: begin the discourse. Let's continue it...

My Fourth of July.....

I don't believe ever in my wildest dreams I would have thought I would have spent my 4th of July how I did...complete with a trip to Fez and a home-stay in the Berber village Zaouia sidi Al-Amslam. I think culture shock may be the appriopriate term. Fez was full of beauty and the historical significance I love. I was intellectually indulged during my hours there because of Prof. Shoop's tour. It was amazing to me how much was there in such a small space. And it was amazing to me the lack of cultural congruence. The things that mattered to them were so much more less significant for me. Yes, I bargained in the Souk (market), but why did I feel so bad for it? I'm normally such a cheap person, but when I was negotiating the price of two tajines (clay pot used for cooking) from 40 Dirhams to 35 Dirhams, I quickly realized that I just went from $5 to a little over $4. The crazy thing about it though is that even 35 Dirhams was over charging me. I walked away immediately satisfied with my purchase but as the day went on I felt worse. I was struggling inside with my constant want to insult capitalism when I could and my blatant Americanism that was as blaring as a bright red sundress. The feeling never left with that purchase as it continued all day. I realized though that even as the Moroccans called me names like African Mami, that I was so American it was scary. But what does that really mean? The conflicting duality I constantly felt even within the people in my program has left me so.....confused, torn, enlightened...In the U.S., I normally feel like an outsider especially within groups where I am the minority. My U.S. has been transplanted to Al-Akhawayn University. But yet in so many ways, I feel so together, one, the same. This of course is something so rare for me.

We arrived at Zaouia around 5p and I was...I don't know. It was so much to take it. The buldings did not even look inhabited. At first glance, it seemed to be a shanty town of sorts. But we were all there, and somewhat the same: complete outsiders. I feel like we were wearing a sign that blared it in Tamazight, their local language. We stood around for a bit getting stares and glares then went to meet our host families. My family was so inviting and friendly as they greeted me in unfamiliar words. We did not speak the same language which made things...interesting to say the least. All I could do was smile and make an attempt in Arabic. Everything was great...in the beginning. Then it happened.......CULTURE SHOCK.....literally.

I felt like my world was turned upside down. Uncomfortability is a normal disposition for me as I feel like this in most situations, but this was so much more intense. Smiles which began as genuine soon were used in place of the thoughts that could not be spoken. Dirt roads soon irritated me, flies were the bane of my existence, and water consumption was regulated so that I would not have to use the Turkish toilet (hole in the ground). I feel like it was at the height of this the morning after we woke up meeting at Courtney's house that we were one...sort of. Even though the exact words weren't spoken, it seemed that almost everyone in the group felt the same disruption of what they knew. If they didn't, it seemed so. Ifrane then was such a sweet thought. We were dirty, tired, and fed up of flies. Needless to say we were ready to go....but the golden moments did exist and made it all that much worthwhile. The families were so endearing...so inviting...and so giving. My family did not have much as I could hear the oldest sister scrounging up change in the morning as I had breakfast, but they gave me what they could. They fed me to the brim and showed their affection...with me...between themselves. As I saw my host mother kiss her grandchild, I realized what really mattered. I love my iPod...my computer...my tv...but I love my family so much more. It seemed as though their family unit was so coherent and defined, that it would take an earthquake to abrupt it. I could run through the list of problems their town had from sanitation to education, but they had love.

Friends from far places...

Ever since my return from Rabat I feel like I have been meeting people all over the place. Despite what OIP people here have told our program, Moroccan people have been nothing but hospitable and warm to us. Yesterday we hosted a mixer in which AUI students could come meet us. They were really friendly and open to talking to us...and their English....it put me to shame.

Today I went to the Marche to have dinner.....OMG it was sooo good. BBQ meats, Harija (Moroccan soup), French fries, rice and of course Hawai (I may have to do a blog entry dedicated to just that). It was so much better than the restaurant in Rabat (I still have love for you though!)...we then mosied over the Auguelman, the local bar geared toward foreigners (I mean the subtitle did say something about Tourism) where we met up with people from the program and some other foreign exchange students. They were from everywhere...Ivory Coast, Netherlands, France.... and their hue was ebony. I appreciated that so much. One of them began to talk about black people in Paris...I was engaged. I wanted to know more....he seemed like he knew about the plight...I wanted to pick his brain. I figure we have some more time for me to do that...no need to scare him at all...

Well tomorrow is Fez so there will be many pictures and probably much to say. Also, a much needed Rabat entry is in order.

Demetria hna. (Demetria is here.)

Wow. I am here. Finally here. I first flew from Las Vegas to Newark then from Newark to Madrid. An 8 hour flight which I did not sleep through any of it. I had a two hour layover in Madrid which I thought I was going to miss my next flight because I had to go through customs, get my bag, then check-in for my next flight. There was about a 30 minute delay before I boarded my Easy Jet flight to Casablanca. I saw so many women and children and thought I was going to scream. I was incredibly tired and I thought with my luck, I was going to be seated next to a rowdy child. I took my seat behind a teacher from Miami instead (Bruce was his name.) I was so happy to see an American face.

When we arrived to Casablanca, we stood in line at customs. This is when I first noticed how friendly Arabs are. The customs agent took his time putting stamps in each passport, making conversation with each face. At first I was a bit agitated, but I quickly compared this experience with the hasty encounter with the customs agent in Madrid. I decided that I preferrred the Arab way. When I reached the counter, the agent told me to follow Bruce. Apparently we needed some sort of stamp on our card that we filled out, but neither of us knew what he was talking about since he was speaking in Moroccan Arabic. Well, with trial and error we figured it out, got the stamp and we parted ways. After getting my bag from baggage claim, I had to find my cab driver with a card with my name on it. That took FOR-E-VER. But I found him, and quickly discovered he spoke French and Arabic. My first challenge upon my entrance into Al-Magreb.

After getting in his car, we began our journey to Al-Akhawayn University. I wanted to ask him how long it took to get there....I wanted to ask so bad....so I did. In my fahsa and all...and he understood! He even complimented me and all! I felt so accomplished! Well, my eagerness wuickly diminished with his answer that the ride was 4 hours. I sat and looked out the window. All I saw was beauty. People in the countryside....buildings....herds of cows...sun....God's beauty...God's creation. The humming of the car put me to sleep quickly....I woke a couple times only to fall asleep again. The last time I awoke we were 25 miles from Ifrane, the town the school was in. As we got closer, I only grew more and more anxious. We grew closer and closer...then we arrived. As we pulled up to the gates of Al-Akhawayn, I could do nothing but smile. I thanked the taxi driver and now the next challenge. The security guard only spoke French and Arabic as well. I warned him I didn't know much Arabic and then proceeded to answer his question. He also complimented me on my Arabic. I figured at this point that all those semesters of darasa must have did me good. The guard said a van would be there in a minute to pick me up. As I stood there, we made light conversation about why I was there, where I studied, all stuff I could answer! (score!) The van shortly arrived and I jumped in to find myself sharing the ride with 2 French students. We talked, exchanged our reasons for meeting at this point and time...then went our separate ways. This was just the beginning of what Morocco had in store for me. After I got my room key, I proceeded to my home for a month. As I walked in the cool air of al-Magreb, all I could say was thank you baby Jesus. You didn't have to allow me to be here, but you did because it was in your plan for me. There is something in store for me in Morocco. I can't wait to see what you want me to see. Thank you Jesus.