Hiking the High Atlas with Dara

This weekend was a wonderful break in my developing routine, since one of my very best friends from home was visiting. Dara and I went to high school together and bonded, in part, over our love for languages, travel, exploration, and the outdoors (fun fact for Mr. Jeffrey: Dara’s older brother Tim Storer went to CMC). She had been traveling in Europe visiting friends for a few weeks and headed south to visit me for four days at the end of her trip. She flew into Rabat on Thursday and my boss let me leave work early to pick her up at the airport. He also let me work from outside the office on Friday, so we were able to travel then. We stayed in a gorgeous youth hostel near the walls of the old city and visited all the beautiful sites in Rabat that afternoon. First, we walked from the hostel to the old fortified part of Rabat, a section of the medina called the Oudaya. The Oudaya is composed of whitewashed houses with blue doors and a blue base. The streets are far too narrow for cars and form a maze of sun-dappled, vine-covered walls reminiscent of Greece. Once you walk through the winding streets for a few minutes, you find yourself on a massive open plaza atop the cliffs that shear downwards to the river and the ocean. From the plaza, you can see the old ruins of a Portuguese fort. The view of the ocean and the coastline is unparalleled.

View from the Oudaya

Next, we headed to the Chellah, a fascinating historical site on the outskirts of Rabat. The Chellah is a sloping hillside leading down to the Bouregreg river that is the site of fourth-century Roman ruins, the ruins of a thousand-year old mosque and village, and an incredible garden. Ancient stone walls fence in lush trees that host hundreds of birds, including scores of storks. When you walk through the Chellah, you hear the wind rusting in the trees and the endless clacking of stork’s beaks. The Arabic word for stork is laklak, which may be one of the most accurate onomatopoeias that I have ever heard.  

 

Dara standing in the ruins of the forum filling in the top of a headless Roman statue. Featured in the background: the ruins of a 12th century mosque, a lot of storks, and a view of the distant Atlantic

The remains of a Roman forum make up the center of the garden, complete with a headless statue. I studied Latin in high school, so I am especially fascinated by the ancient relationship between the Roman empire and Morocco. Tombstones and pillars with ancient Latin written on them lie scattered around the tufts of grass and rubble. Down the hillside, an ancient mosque is crumbing. Although the body of the building is in decay, the minaret and its ornate tiling still remain preserved, and a giant stork’s nest crowns the minaret. We sat in the sunshine on top of the remains of the two thousand-year-old ruins taking in the view of the shimmering river.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, we returned to the city center and went to the market in my neighborhood. We bought piping hot msimmon (Moroccan pastries), sweets, and cheese from street vendors and walked down the ocean path to the beach. We got a table and chairs from a vendor and sat with our feet buried in the sand waiting for the call to prayer to sound. When the sun finally sank below the horizon, we ate our dinner in the lingering light and caught up on each other’s lives.

Dara eating harira

The next day, we took the train to Marrakesh. Originally, we were going to stay with the Ibarkis, but they ended up having 25 guests in the house over the weekend and we didn’t want to add to that number. We stayed at an incredible youth hostel deep in the old city that had a pool, roof terraces, and really nice guests. That night, we explored the winding streets of the souks (markets) and had a delicious two-part dinner, one at a slightly more expensive tourist restaurant with a roof deck and delicious salads, and the other at the food tents packed with Moroccans eating harira in the middle of the square.

Latifa leading us on our hike

The next day, we left Marrakesh early and headed into the mountains. I know a guide in Amizmiz, a town close to Marrakesh, named Latifa who takes customers hiking in the mountains, so we asked her to take us on an overnight hike. Latifa is an incredible woman – she is one of four female guides in Morocco and loves the outdoors. Her name in Arabic means “nice”, and she lives up to it; Latifa knew everyone in every village that we passed, she gave out pencils to all the children, and was so wonderful to Dara and I. The first day, we drove from Amizmiz deep into the Atlas Mountains and hiked for 7 hours to a village in the middle of a lush valley. At first, the scenery was rugged and barren, but for the last two hours we descended into the Anougal Valley, a river valley with dripping waterfalls and bright green foliage. 

Dara and I before the descent into the Anougal Valley

Dara and I with some kids in the valley

The sides of the valley are carved into agricultural terraces, and children wander freely among the plants and streams. These villages are home to Berbers, the ethnic people of Morocco. They speak a language called Schluha, which I cannot understand a word of, and are generally incredibly friendly. We stopped in one village so Latifa could give out some pens to the kids there and were immediately mobbed by a group of little boys clamoring for her attention. Latifa spoke to each one of them about their school and their families, and the boys turned to us to say hello. We ended up showing them an app on our phones that could switch the faces of the two people in a picture, speed up a video, slow down a video, and do various other effects to pictures. The boys thought the pictures were hilarious, and we played with them for about half an hour and bought them some donuts on the way out. We spent the night with a woman named Mina and her family, whom I had stayed with the year before on a camping trip with Latifa. They are so hospitable and friendly. Mina showed us how she makes bread by sticking the dough to the inside of a domed fireplace. She made us delicious msimmon for the ftour and an incredible tagine for dinner. From the outside, their home looks like a traditional Berber house made of clay, mud, and rocks. On the inside, however, the walls are plaster and they have a television set and the same conveniences that many city people have. Their roof adjoins to the roofs of the neighboring houses and has a stunning view of the river valley and the peaks of the Atlas. These mountains are supposedly where the Titan Atlas held up the sky in Greek mythology. When you look at how tall and rugged the peaks are, it is not hard to see why people believed that.

The view from Mina's roof at sunset

A waterfall near Amizmiz

The second day, we walked to a taxi location and got picked up by a man in a Range Rover blasting Berber music. We crammed into the back of the car among with 13 other people and made our way among the windy mountain roads to the town we started in. Latifa then asked her friend Hassan, who drives a van, to take us to a waterfall nearby. The interior of the van was filled with household appliances that Hassan and his son Mohamed had picked up to sell from Casablanca, so we all unloaded the van and then set off towards the falls. Without the furniture, the van was festive and lined with bright clothes and tassels. Hassan and Mohamed walked with us along the irrigation channels high above the washed-out dry river channel below. We followed the water for about two miles, and the channel fed into a narrow ravine. We took off our shoes and clambered through the stream. Suddenly, the canyon opened up before us and a thirty-foot waterfall came into view, shimmering in the sunlight and lined with lush plants. We ditched our bags next to the pool and climbed up the scree of the bluff to the top of the waterfall, where we discovered yet another cascade as well as a stunning view of the valley.

Dara and I sat under the falls in the freezing water to cool off. We lay on the warm stones, taking in the view and the breeze and the sound of rushing water and birdsong. Up by the falls, we started talking to Latifa about her dream to become a free English teacher for the children in her town. She wants to pass her TOEFL exam (a test of English proficiency) this year so that she can begin to learn how to teach. Her initiative sounds wonderful, and I hope I might be able to help her in some way this summer, maybe by finding her good online English resources.

Dara and I on the roof of Hassan's van

Our last view of the Atlas from the roof

After about an hour sitting under the waterfall, we hiked back. Hassan let Dara and I ride on the roof of the van with Latifa, and all three of us enjoyed the freedom of driving on the bumpy dirt road away from the receding mountains with the wind in our hair and the sun in our faces.

Oumaima showing Dara Moroccan a taksheta

We reluctantly returned to Marrakesh from the mountains that afternoon. Since the 25 guests had apparently left, we headed over to my host family’s house. It was so wonderful for me to see Dara meet everyone, since all of them are such important but different parts of my life. I took Dara to the hammam (Moroccan bathhouse) in our neighborhood, which is definitely an authentic Moroccan experience that every visitor should have. The hammam is basically a place where you exfoliate; you put thick black soap all over your body and use a special scrubber until your skin begins to come off in rolls. Women go there to get clean, to relax, and to socialize. After we were clean, we returned home and spend three hours hanging out with my host family and eating the delicious dishes left over from their 25-person party for dinner. My host dad drove us back to our hotel at 2:30 in the morning and we fell asleep after a long, incredible day.

Hiking and having Dara at the Ibarki’s house have been the highlights of my trip so far, and I’m excited for what the next month and a half has to offer.

My first two weeks: Marrakshi homecoming and life in Rabat

 Right now, I’m writing from the salon of my host family’s apartment. My two younger host sisters and I have been sitting on the couch watching television with our older host brother as the food from our ftour settles.

When you enter the front door of their apartment on the fourth story of the building, the small kitchen is on your left. There is a space in the back with a laundry machine and a narrow grated window overlooking an empty lot full of concrete pilings. The lot is surrounded on all four sides by unpainted apartment high-rises, forming a desolate unused courtyard between the buildings. When I look across, I can see laundry hanging from the rows of windows surrounding me. The colorful hijabs, towels, skirts, and shirts fluttering in the wind are a sharp contrast to the bare concrete and barred windows of the apartment buildings. Inside, the corridor opens into the normal salon. Two black and white couches and a table fit into the corner, and a TV takes up the majority of the wall. The room that I share with the three Cherkaoui girls – Chaimae, Latifa, and Rihab – is next to the bathroom at the end of the salon. Tucked behind the bathroom, two heavily curtained windows illuminate the fancy salon where the Cherkaouis pray.

My two younger host sisters Latifa and Rehab are 15 and 10, respectively. They are very cute and always giggling. Their family is very conservative, so although they are young, they both wear the hijab already. Anas, their older brother, is 26. He works as a classroom monitor in a school near their house. Anas sleeps in the salon and keeps his clothes under the television, since there is not enough room for all four children in the house to have a bed and closet space. My arrival has tightened the squeeze – now, Rehab and Latifa share a bed. Their older sister Chaimae is 24. Although her English is at a beginner level, she works as an administrative assistant at Bridges, an English language school in Rabat. Bridges is the sister school of my old school in Marrakesh, the Center for Language in Culture. The director of the school helped me find the Cherkaouis to live with for the summer. The mother works as a secretary and is very nice, while the father works in the traditional market making sandals. I am still figuring out the Cherkaoui’s family dynamic, but I hope with time I will be able to bond with them more. My darija (Moroccan dialectal Arabic) will also doubtlessly improve, since none of them speak more than the most basic English.

View from the roof of the Cherkaoui's house in Quartier l'Ocean, Rabat

When I first came to Rabat last Sunday, the Cherkaoui sisters immediately took me to the roof. The flat concrete looks out over another row of high rises, and then opens up to a view of the ocean and the glimmering coastline of Rabat. They live in the Quartier de l’Ocean, a section of the city that spreads south down the coast from the walls of the old city. Although Rabat is not home the same way that Marrakesh is, I already feel lucky to live so close to such a beautiful coastline.

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I arrived in Morocco about three weeks ago, flying into Marrakesh after a layover in Amsterdam. In the ten hours that I was able to spend in the Netherlands, I toured the canals on a wooden boat, drank coffee inside the oldest church in the city, and explored the winding, bright streets of the city.

Amsterdam's canals in the early morning

Oumaima and I in Djemma al-Fna Square

I flew into Marrakesh and was greeted by Yassir, Oumaima, and my old host parents at the airport. I lived with them for eight months last year when I studied in Morocco and became very close with them. If you’re interested in my experience last year, feel free to check out my old blog here. Zineb, Oumaima’s older sister, was waiting for us at home, and we all sat and drank tea together. It was wonderful being back in their house where I had so many good memories from last year. Life with the Ibarkis is caring and warm and wonderful, and I missed them so much. In the five days that I was there, Zineb and I spent hours sitting over tea and catching up. Oumaima and I went out on Saturday night to Djemma al Fna, the big square in Marrakesh, and ate street food and wandered with some of her friends. 

The view of the Koutoubia Mosque from the side of Djemma al-Fna Square. The mosque is the height of a football field!

Yassir on the way to the pool

Yassir and I spent the day at the pool on Saturday. We played in the water for hours, and I tried to get him to focus enough to continue the swim lessons we started last year. By the end of the day, he was more confident in the water than I had ever seen him. He’s gotten so much bigger than he was last year. He’s 10 now, and it seems like he sprouted a foot and 30 pounds since I left. Last year, since we spent hours together every day, his English got really good. He’s forgotten so much of his English since I left, but even in the few days I was there I could see the words coming back to him. Saying goodbye to Yassir last year was probably the hardest, partially since we spent so much time together and partially since I knew he would be so much bigger when I came back. However, I was happy and unsurprised to see that he’s still the hilarious, gregarious little kid he was last year. It was lovely to spend time sitting with my host parents talking with my host dad about his work and learning a few new recipes from my host mom. Although I speak English with Zineb, Oumaima, and Yassir, I speak only Arabic with my host parents and when we are all together. At this point, I really feel like I can have conversations with them, something that definitely was not the case when I got to their house knowing zero Arabic last year.

Hiba and I post-bike ride

I also was able to catch up with two of my friends in Marrakesh while I was there, which was lovely. My friend Hiba and I went to a café and then hung out at her house talking for hours on Friday night, and we woke up before the heat set in on Sunday to bike around the outskirts of the city. She’s studying social work in the northern city of Tangier now, so I was lucky that our times in Marrakesh. She invited me to come to her aunt’s house in Kenitra, a town near Rabat, a few weekends from now, and I’m excited to see her again. I was also able to visit my old school and teachers.

My time in Marrakesh was a relaxing and wonderful beginning to my trip. Oumaima and Zineb are two of my best friends, and I had missed them and their whole family so much. I’m planning on heading back to Marrakesh most weekends that I’m here to stay with them.

My friend Miriam and I on my second night in Rabat

I got a ride with my friend Miriam from Marrakesh to Rabat that Sunday and met the Cherkaouis. To welcome me, they took me to eat dinner at a delicious Syrian food restaurant down the street from their house.

Work started Monday morning, and Chaimae helped me figure out the Rabat tramway system. The tram here is prompt, clean, and not crowded. My point of comparison for public transportation is Marrakesh, where there is a very different situation.  The ALSA Bus 11 route that went by my house would get clogged up early in the day, and often the bus wouldn’t come for an hour. Then, four buses would come one after the other. There was good chance you’d find yourself sandwiched by people --or chickens, sometimes --with little breathing room. The 11 bus was cheap, but I generally just preferred to walk. The Rabat tramway, on the otherhand, runs every ten minutes and is sleek and modern.

My office is close to the center of the modern district of the city, Hassan. The district contains Rabat’s most famous monument, a plaza overlooking the river basin that contains the ornate mausoleum of Hassan II and the unfinished minaret of a mosque. Morocco World News is located in an apartment-style complex on one of the narrow streets bordering the tram stop. My boss Adnane is currently attempting to fix up the space – he’s installing a TV/Radio studio in the back room, plans to hang paintings, and add an air conditioning unit. Currently, three rooms of the space are largely unused. The workroom has a large window overlooking the street. A large table covered in French and Arabic newspapers, outlets, and paper fills most of the floor space, and a large flat-screen television is mounted on the wall that plays al-Jazeera constantly on low volume throughout the day.

Morocco World News has an office in New York and an office in Rabat, but the majority of their writers do not come into Rabat to work. They write as correspondents from their home regions to more easily cover events there. Adnane is constantly on the phone, Facebook messaging, or emailing his various writers based in the other Moroccan cities. In the mornings, he brings daily newspapers in French and Arabic for us to read. I always find an article in Arabic in the print newspaper or one of the multiple online news outlets in Arabic to report on first. Much of the coverage of events in Morocco – specific bills being passed, protests, and initiatives – are only really covered in Arabic (sometimes French, as well), so there are not many resources for English speakers who want to know certain specific information. I think it’s valuable to provide an English source, and this approach has also helped me work on my Arabic a fair bit. Having to read, research, and dig deeper all in Arabic, while still accurately and thoroughly reporting, has been one of the biggest and most rewarding challenges of my time here so far. After I finish this article, I usually write about topics that Adnane assigns me by sending me links to pre-existing articles, press releases, governmental documents, and other sources. In addition, I’ve been working on several more in-depth pieces of my choice about various subjects, including aspects of Moroccan culture and American politics. My three favorite in-depth pieces that I’ve written so far have been a recent article about Donald Trump and McCarthyism, a piece about Morocco's push to ban plastic bags, and an article that drew upon research I did about girls’ education ProfessorTaw’s Intro to International Relations class to set context for Michelle Obama’s upcoming visit to Morocco. In addition to these longer pieces, I’ve learned and written about many topics, including penalties for kissing during Ramadan and Moroccan immigration statistics.

My other and most important job at the office is to edit the articles that Moroccans write. Although many incredibly intelligent Moroccan people write for the newspaper, their English skills are often not quite up to par for a professional newspaper. My job is to go through and edit for organization, syntax, content, and grammar to ensure that the paper is producing quality work in English. I usually edit about four articles a day, and this task has helped me identify mistakes I make in my own writing and definitely improved my editing skills. Through researching, writing, and editing at Morocco World News, I’ve already learned so much about topics I probably never would have explored on my own.

Downtown Ifrane in the evening

Currently, there are two American graduate students, two American college students, and three Moroccan college students working at the office. All the college students are incredibly nice and friendly, and we’ve all gotten pretty close in the last few weeks. The first weekend I was in Rabat, one of the girls invited all of us to go to her university’s graduation ceremony with her in the mountain town of Ifrane. The other American college students and I went with her to the town, explored the campus and the hiking nearby, and relaxed in the countryside for a weekend.

Peaceful place for a break during our hike

 Ifrane is the perfect destination for a peaceful weekend away from the hustle of Morocco’s cities. Located just three hours from Rabat and one hour from Meknes, Ifrane’s sloping alpine roofs are nestled into the rolling hills of the countryside. Ifrane largely relies on the business of the students and faculty of Al-Akhaween University, a prestigious four-year college based on the American liberal arts model. The town is heavily forested, and there are various hiking spots where visitors and locals alike enjoy the natural beauty of the region.

 

As an American working in Morocco, I often feel stressed or limited by the harassment that I experience here. Although the harassment itself is rarely frightening, it has precluded me from feeling comfortable and fully enjoying my time in many locations in Rabat and Marrakesh. I am a runner, and I experience a lot of harassment on my runs down the coastline in Rabat. Although the path is packed with male runners, few girls come to exercise. I am constantly bombarded with stares and shouts as I run, and I keep my eyes glued to the ground or the horizon at all times.

My first morning in Ifrane, I went on a run by myself. Expecting the usual harassment, I armed myself with a pair of headphones and blasted music. A few minutes into my run, I realized that no one that that I passed had even given me a second glance. I took out my headphones and continued running, enjoying the rustle of the wind in the trees and the birdsong. I ran through the beautiful campus of Al-Akhaween University, under the hanging green foliage of the trees in the park, and up through the sunny central square. Although I was alone in many of these locations, I felt completely safe. When I ran by groups of boys or taxi drivers sitting on the curb, they did not acknowledge my presence with anything other than a friendly nod. That night, I walked around with my friend who attends al-Akhaween. Unlike in Rabat and Marrakesh, we received no unwanted attention from the other people in the street. It was incredibly liberating and relaxing to be in a town where I felt completely comfortable walking around at night and running alone in the daylight.

My first Ramadan ftour at the Cherkaoui's house

After a wonderful weekend of hiking, sleeping, and bonding in Ifrane, we came back to Rabat. That evening, my host family and I went to the beach to eat the ftour, the Ramadan breakfast. Ramadan began the first Tuesday that I was in Rabat, and I’ve been fasting every day that I am at the Cherkaoui’s house. Ramadan is the Muslim holy month; it lasts 30 days. From dawn to dusk, Muslims must abstain from food, drink, smoking, and sex. In Morocco, it is illegal to publicly break the fast. During the day, restaurants and cafes are closed. Although it is not mandatory for non-Muslims to fast, I noticed last year that I was the most successful and happy when doing what my host family did. Furthermore, the Cherkaouis seem to appreciate my show of solidarity in fasting with them, and it’s really not that bad once you get used to it. Although I am not fasting on the days when I travel, I’ve fasted for seven days so far and enjoyed seven wonderful ftours with the Cherkaouis.

Full beach of people waiting for the sunset

We normally eat the ftour in the salon at home, but on weekend nights the Cherkaouis like to take a picnic to the beach. Many people in Rabat do so, and there are chairs and tables for rent where you can lay out your spread. We unpacked our harira (vegetable soup), dates, Moroccan sweets, paella, milk, water, and mini chawarma sandwiches and waited for the sun to sink below the horizon over the ocean. The lighthouse down the coast was silhouetted against the sunset. After the magreb (sunset) call to prayer rang out over the city, everybody began eating and socializing. The table next to us had brought instruments, and they sang traditional folk music. Down the beach, a crowd of young men had brought ghanawa (a type of music from the Sahara) instruments and were dancing.  The atmosphere was jovial and festive. After we finished eating, we sat and talked and relaxed for about three hours at the beach. My host parents are far friendlier when they are relaxed and full, so it was really nice to have the opportunity to get to know them a little bit better

Chaimae and I before the ftour on the beach

This week passed by quickly as I began to develop my daily routine here. In the mornings, I take the tram to work. I work from 10:30 to 5:30 (shortened Ramadan hours), but I usually stay until around 6:00. I walk the mile and a half home after that through the bustling pre-ftour streets filled with people buying their breakfast foods and commuting home. When I get back to l’Ocean, I quickly change clothes and go for a 20-minute run along the coast before the ftour. Although it may seem strange to run while fasting, I’ve found that it clears my head and gives me more energy in the final hour before the breakfast. The path by the coast at sunset is beautiful and packed with runners. Although I am one of the only female runners and do get heckled a fair bit, I just focus on the crashing waves glimmering gold in the last rays of the sunlight, the vibrant clouds, and the rewarding view I get when I climb the path away from the beach up towards the old fortified section of Rabat. 

From the top of the hill, the ocean stretches out in front of you. To your right, the walls of the old fortress slope down to the banks of the Bouragreg River; the channel meets the jetty that protects the Rabat beach. On the left, a massive ancient graveyard stretches along the coastline in an eerily beautiful way, meeting the path where the massive waves crash up against the rugged shoreline and silhouetted fishermen cast their lines into the choppy sea. 

After my run, I eat ftour and sit with the Cherkaouis. I spent time with Chaimae, watch TV with Latifa and Rihab, and bring my notebook of Arabic vocabulary to the salon and study, with Chaimae’s help, for about an hour. I write down all the words that I don’t know at work, and it’s helpful to review them every night, practice using them in sentences, and ensure that I really own those words. We eat a small snack at midnight, and then I go to bed. Some nights, the Cherkaouis wake up to eat the suhuur, the Ramadan early morning meal, at 3:30. I woke up and ate with them the first night, but since sleep, for me, is more important than a piece of toast, I haven’t eaten suhuur with them since. 

There are two more weeks of Ramadan left, and after the fasting period is over I'm sure I will readjust my routine. Until then, I'm going to enjoy the ftour meal and try not to complain to my co-workers about being hungry!