The summer between my junior and senior year in college,
I decided to take a long summer vacation to visit my best
friend in Morocco. I was anxious to see what this country,
for so long an exotic mystery to me, was really like. I had
no idea what to expect.
It was a six-hour flight from New York to Casablanca; and
as I was flying to this unknown country on the northwestern
tip of Africa, I tried to read as much as I could to dispel
my anxiety. After learning factual information about the king
and his reign, the Arab invasion in the seventh century and
the French, who established a protectorate from 1912 -1956,
I felt more prepared. Even though I read up on history and
politics, I couldn't help but mix in the mythical aura of
an exotic, far off land that had become imprinted in my mind
from movies like 'Casablanca'.
My first day in Casablanca started very, unHollywood-like;
it was a normal day. I arrived at the airport and my friend
came to pick me up. As we drove to his house, I looked out
the window to get a good view of the city. I was entertained
as we passed so many familiar names of fast food restaurants,
famous hotel chains, car dealerships, and banks. My favorite
sites though were the people gathered at little side street
café's.
We arrived at my friend's home, I left my bags in my room
and went for a swim. We were swimming and laughing, everything
was great. When I came up for air, my entire body froze. I
couldn't utter a sound, make a splash…nothing. It seemed
to me exactly like those movies or commercials where time
stops and everyone freezes. Out of the sky - from nowhere,
I heard a most amazing sound. A powerful, beautiful voice
completely surrounded me. I felt my face turn cold and blank.
My friend began to laugh at my awe once he realized I had
no idea what was going on. He explained that this voice came
from the nearby mosque and was the Imam calling to the people
of the city to pray. Five times a day, from a microphone in
the mosque, the Imam rouses thousands of local people to pray.
There is a morning prayer at sunrise around 5:00 a.m., afternoon
prayer at 1:00 p.m., another at 4:00 p.m., a prayer at sunset
around 7:00 p.m. - the Maghreb and lastly the 9:00 p.m. dinner
prayer. To this day, this is one of my strongest and fondest
memories of Morocco.
Later that night we drove forty-five minutes to Rabat, the
capital of Morocco, to meet friends and listen to music. We
went to a popular café where many young people gather
at night. After approximately 30 minutes, five men came from
the back of the dinning room through the tables and chairs,
wearing white robe-like garments called djlebas. This is a
traditional garb and looks like a sheath. They were all adorned
with little symbols and noisemakers wrapped around their fingers.
The 'Gnawa' is a traditional Moroccan group from the Tasilalt
region of the Sahara. They are famous for their colorful style
and rhythms and constant head movements. They are also known
for the hats they wear with something similar to a tassel
attached to the top, so that when their heads move, the tassels
spin around and around. The members of the group have drums
strapped around their backs and strike them as they jump up
and down and dance. I was thinking to myself, 'How funny this
would be if I were in New York!' One minute I was listening
to Top 40 and Reggae and then a traditional band started to
play music inspiring everyone to dance. How would the New
York crowd react or respond? I couldn't help but wonder.
Throughout the day and that night, as we were driving home,
I couldn't help but notice all the unbelievable colors in
every little cove. The lush green palm trees against the stark
white stucco houses with yellow and red hibiscus trimming.
The inside of most homes had at least one room with walls
full of tiny little blue, white, red, green and yellow mosaics
all carefully placed together creating patterns that left
me mesmerized. When you look closely, you can appreciate the
detail and artisanship; when you take a few steps back; you
can't help but be amazed. The colors that surrounded us at
any given moment seemed more vivid than in any other place
I had been.
This was especially true in Marrakech. This is the city of
terracotta. Everything looks like it was baked in the sun…and
it probably was. Walking in 110-degree weather is usually
devastating, but the arid conditions alleviated any feeling
of exhaustion. We walked passed the boutiques and hotels into
the famous square Jamaal Al Fna, meaning "doomsday mosque".
The entire square was full of vendors selling ceramics, jewelry,
even teeth! One cart had the most olives I have ever seen
in my life…the most delicious too! You couldn't help
but be lured by the refreshing smell of citrus that came from
almost every other stand. There you would find 3 or 4 young
men selling orange juice for about a quarter. You see them
squeeze oranges to fill up your glass and then they'd insist
on giving you refills for no extra charge! Can you imagine
this in Union Square, in New York?
As I drank my orange juice, I decided to take a seat on a
little wooden crate. As I sat down, a woman approached me
with something that looked like a needle. I grabbed my friend's
hand to make him say something in Arabic to make her stop.
Again, my friend started laughing at me. All she wanted to
do was give me a henna tattoo since I was sitting on the crate
reserved for her customers. So I agreed and got two henna
tattoos: one on my hand and the other around my ankle.
We walked some more and I bought several ceramic dishes for
couscous and tagine. I love these ceramics because they are
so colorful and ornate. These plates give the food such as
tagines a colorful presentation. A Moroccan tagine can be
described as a stew, but with not as much sauce. Tagines are
made with everything; fish, poultry, vegetables, lamb or beef.
It is usually mixed in with vegetables, olives, almonds or
dates. The ceramic dish it is served in has a flat, wide base
with a cone-shaped cover to keep it warm. Couscous dishes
are also large, but the bottom is curved up not as much as
a bowl, but just enough to keep the chickpeas and carrots
from falling on the table. Like tagine, couscous comes in
many varieties and is customary served on Fridays. You can
finish up the meal by having a glass of sweet mint tea with
an almond, date or sesame cookie.
All these dishes are served at most Moroccan homes and I
had many occasions to eat them. During my visit, I was invited
to so many people's houses for lunch or dinner. I thought
it was wonderfully bizarre that I didn't know half of these
people very well, yet I received so many invitations. Never
in my life did I meet people so hospitable and warm. There
is no pretense. Their gestures are sincere, genuine and generous.
You can feel their warmth in the way they hug you or take
you by the hand. Not once did I feel like an intruder or guest.
This is something I have always wanted people to feel when
they enter my house, so I found this quality especially comforting.
As I packed my bags to leave, I was very sad to go. I stared
out the window on my way to the airport thinking that I should
try to absorb as much as I could because I probably won't
return for a little while. I stared at the buildings, factories,
farms…everything. I was still, after over three weeks,
overwhelmed and overjoyed with my new experiences. On the
plane, I realized that this was not just a vacation or a visit,
this was a journey through my senses. It was an experience
for me because it seemed that I had felt, tasted, touched,
smelled and saw everything for the first time. Every sense
was utilized to the extreme. I thought of how great it would
be to live in Morocco and experience this all year. I thought
to myself, what a great way to live…What a great memory.
