Jib jib faloozy…. In Morocco this is what street kids say as they hold out their hands or if said angrily it's how thugs demand money...I'm taking the tone of the street kids...(and giving away my latest book for free) ;)
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It’s the little things that really make you smile. One of those little things is being able to talk to the people you love on a regular basis.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a phone guy and I actually love not being in a position where I get calls all the time, but sometimes, it’s pretty terrific to have those long chats with the people I care about. I miss that. Well, let’s instead say I was missing that.
Suddenly I find that even with my super slow internet connection, I can dial up my friends and not worry about it costing an arm and a leg. 1.8 cents a minute is a price I can afford. I think that’s less than I was paying for my cellphone in the U.S. And I can call anywhere.
Who’s the vendor?
Pingo.
I fully recommend these guys. I just got off a call that was clear, without delay, and it seemed like we were in the same town, not 10,000 miles apart. This thing is perfect for travellers, vagabonds, hobos, and even business people. You can dial from your cellphone or use the internet interface and a headset. Pretty cool.
$5 gets you plenty of time to catch up. From Morocco, I’ve tried using Skype, Maroc Telecom, and Wana with bills that made me cringe. Not to mention the delays, failed connections, and more. Tonight my connection was dirt slow and yet still, the call was crystal clear. I’m not sure how the hell they do that. Maybe it’s magic.
Anyway…check em out and include them in your Vagobonding Tool Kit. They also offerPrepaid calling cards.
Here are some things I like:
# Fantastic rates on calls to 100s of countries.
# The convenience of PIN-less dialing.
# Faster connections with Speed Dial.
# Re-charge any time, anywhere.
# Proven network guarantees clear, reliable calls.
# No hidden charges or fees—the rate you see is the rate you pay.
You heard it here first. Tell your folks that Vago says Hi!
Yesterday, Hanane read a passage from Fatima Mernessi’s book Dreams of Trespass at an event to celebrate women’s day. It was a nice gathering at Cafe Comedie in the Fes ville nouvelle.
I hadn’t been there before and it was a great place, though one of the big problems you always face in Morocco is that there isn’t really any sort of etiquette about how to behave in an audience. Men were chatting loudly on their cellphones, two guys who came with a woman were having a loud conversation, and the cafe itself was making what seemed extreme use of the blender, despite most customers seeming to have drinks in front of them.
In any event, it was a nice time. The readings were all well recieved and it was nice to see a cafe filled with more women than men. We had the chance to meet several Moroccan actors afterward, it turns out this is their hangout. I’m not sure who they were, but their headshots were hanging on the wall and Hanane recognized them, though she wasn’t sure of their names either. So we got some pictures.
The passage she read was about women going to the movies in Fez in the 1950’s and since Hanane had never actually been to a movie, I thought it might be nice if we went to check one out. We found that the Empire theatre has two showings, one at 2:30 pm and one at 8:30 pm. Too early and too late for us. The Raceef Theatre also had two showings…2:30 pm and 9:30 pm. Again, too early and too late. Since there is no online listings and I’m not sure about listings in the paper either, we had to visit both theatres to find out that they wouldn’t work. Finally we went to the Rex Theatre and found that they had a third showing at 5:30 pm, we were a little late, but we figured it would work.
The movie was a Moroccan Film called Les Enfants Terrible a Casablanca.
While it wasn’t the greatest film I’ve ever seen, it was the first time I’d been in a theatre in Morocco. Not surprisingly, there were loud conversations in the audience throughout the show. Also, much to my surprise, no concession stand and thus no popcorn, but luckily I had brought a chocolate bar in my pocket for just such an emergency. Another surprising fact was that the movie moved seamlessly from English to French to Derrija, with no subtitles. I suppose being a tri-lingual society makes up for having no performance etiquette. Speaking of which, as soon as the credits started to roll the house lights came up and the sound and projector were shut off, a rather serious breach in my view.
After that we enjoyed a nice chicken dinner, stood in the rain trying to flag down a taxi whilst listening to street corner youths beating out rhythms with drum and voice while sheltering under a doorway, and finally caught a no hassle cab ride home.
In all, it was a very nice sort of day.
A few months ago I started looking at all the garbage piled up in various places and seeing that I had about a thousand plastic grocery bags lying around. YOu get plastic bags with everything in Morocco and then they go to the garbage and then they blow all over the place and then, well, a beautiful country starts to look like a multicolored plastic garbage dump.
So I decided to start playing with plastic bags. I braided them into some pretty good cordage, I started weaving with them and then I figured, what the hell, I’ll weave a rug out of them. I cobbled together a loom from some broken wood, bought some twine to thread it with, and started experimenting with weaving a rug. My loom was about 2×3 feet. I ran 20 piece of twine up and down it and I started crumbling bags, tearing bags into strips, and just doing whatever I could think to do to see what works.
The aim was to figure out a way to turn trash into treasure and to clear the landscape of the plastic bags. I figured if people could make useful things from garbage, then it would cease being garbage, it would get collected,and nature would start to look natural again.
It’s possible.
I finally finished my first try. Certainly I’m not a weaver and I have no training or knowledge of how to do this, I just did it, as I do most things.
The result, I now proudly present, is without a doubt the ugliest rug to ever be made in Morocco. My skills and technique improved as I went, but still check out this monstrosity.
None the less, I call it success. The next one will be better. I might even ask someone to tell me how it is really done instead of just bumbling through it as I did with this one.
Lately, I’ve been encouraging students in my conversation classes to take a stab at telling their favorite Moroccan jokes in English. To my surprise, the most popular jokes are all about the people who live in the city of Berkane! They are called Berkany Jokes or Brekna jokes.
The jokes are all at the expense of the Berkane people, in my childhood there were lots of people in the small town I lived in that used to tell jokes about Polish people in the same way. It’s not fair, but it’s part of the culture apparently.
The funny thing is that Berkane looks like a perfectly lovely place. It is considered the orange capital of Morocco and is situated near the Algerian border and the Mediterranean Ocean.
To be fair, I’ve never met a Berkane person, and no one can tell me why they are the butt of so many jokes in Morocco. That’s my disclaimer, because of course, I’m about to tell a Berkany Joke related by one of my students.
The Berkany People find a nuclear bomb in their city and are understandably upset and so they call the government. The government comes and confirms that it is indeed a nuclear bomb but that the people need not worry because the government will take it out into the sea and blow it up.
The City fathers confer and after a short time they protest to the government.
“The bomb was found in our city and it should be blown up in our city!”
Gladly, this hasn’t happened. Hopefully, someday I will have the chance to travel to Berkane and give an actual report of what the city is like.
The movies I showed at the American Language Center in Fez during the last two weeks were far different than my first round of classic Academy Award Winners. I decided that since I was looking to spawn great conversations but that my audience was primarily Moroccan teens, I decided to address two issues that are prevalent in Moroccan society: Piracy (of goods) and Magic. To get at these subjects, I showed Pirates of the Caribbean and Harry Potter.
Morocco has a long history of piracy, both the swashbuckling kind which used to take place from the Barbary Priate lairs in Sale to the modern kind where you see Moroccan kids walking around in pirated Diesel, Dolce and Gabbana, and other high end labels.
The students weren’t too interested in talking about piracy on the ocean though they did enjoy the film, however, they did want to talk about pirated goods. I asked how they could recognize if goods were real or pirated and the answer was the price. If it was expensive, it was real, if not, it was not. I tried to argue that maybe the pirates simply made some more expensive but they were sure that there was no difference in the quality. If it has a tag and is expensive, it is real, they assured me. If it doesn’t, it isn’t. We talked about DVDs and the fact that you can find the latest movies in Morocco for only a Euro each (10 dirhams) and they didn’t seem bothered by the piracy, in fact, they like it. I admit, that I do too.
For Harry Potter we had a large turnout. To my surprise though, the students weren’t too impressed by the film or the story. One of the big complaints was that it wasn’t very realistic. This is a strange complaint that I have heard from Moroccans quite a bit in the past when watching films that require a suspension of disbelief. In general, the Moroccan’s I’ve spoken with about films tend to like things that fit into their worldview. To that end, I started the discussion about magic in Morocco.
This was a great discussion. Morocco is a place steeped in magic and mystery. From worries about the evil eye to stories of Djinn and demons to neighborhood witches who dole out expensive potions to those who are seeking love or fortune.
When I asked about magic such as that in the film, some of the students pointed out that there was no mention of God in the film and thus there really couldn’t be any magic by ‘good guys’. They pointed out that the kind of magic Harry and his friends do is considered black magic and in Morocco is usually associated with those who have ’sold their souls’ or are working with Djinn. Only one student among 20 said that he didn’t believe in magic and the rest laid into him mercilessly over the fact that magic is mentioned in the Quran. One student pointed out that the miracles of Moses were magic, but another said that since the miracles came from God this was not possible, i.e. magic is bad and God is good.
When I asked what a wizard or magician is most of the students said that today it is usually a man who charges women money to fix their relationship problems, inwardly I giggled as I thought that it sounds like a psychologist or shrink to me.
The amazing part to me, as always, in Morocco is that a people can be so incredibly pragmatic and realistic (that film was too fake) and at the same time so superstitious and ruled by supernatural belief (the lady down the street gave me the evil eye, there’s a Djinn in your drain, Aisha Kondeisha possesses him, don’t whistle indoors because it draws Djinn, and don’t imitate donkey sounds …)
Overall, they liked the film, but they just wished it would have been more realistic. I’m sure if Harry and his friends had simply been shown praying or reciting suraa, it would have made a very different impact.
A few weeks ago, I decided to show an absolutely terrible movie to the students at the ALC Fez. The movie I’m Gonna Git You Sucka is a parody of the black exploitation films of the 1970s. From the get go, this film had no chance to be good. There is something compelling about the black exploitation films themselves, but to make a parody of them? Not a chance. Add to that that the writer and director, Keenan Wayans, decided to cast himself as the star, and also decided to make the film campy…and what you have is a disaster. In fact, it’s more than a disaster, it’s offensive.
However, the film does have a few redeeming qualites. One of them is the scene where Chris Rock quibbles to buy one rib and a sip of soda in a soul food joint and then asks the proprietor if he has change for a hundred dollar bill. Rock is a genius. The other is that racism is presented in such an over the top overt way that sensitive issues can be talked about without needing to resort to the type of coded language that Americans in particular usually use. For example, when neighborhood olympics take place one of the events is a race where the boys and girls carry televisions while running from dogs. Frankly, what this is saying is that white Americans have a perspective that all young black men who live in the ghetto are thieves, criminals, and worse. So, in a sense, this film opens up a discussion.
And that was the point of showing it at the ALC. I wanted to get Moroccan students discussing racism in Morocco. One unexpected comment came up right after the film when a female student said,
“I don’t think this film is fair to black people.” She was under the impression that the film had been made by a white director and missed the idea that it was a spoof. Most of the other students understood this, but it spawned a discussion about ways to broach sensitive topics.
Shortly after this, the discussion took on the focus I had hoped it would. The students were polarized into two groups: those who claimed racism does not exist in Morocco and those who asserted that it does.
It was interesting to see that it was the more affluent students who claimed that racism doesn’t exist. Their argument was essentially that since all Moroccans are Muslims, there can be no racism because the Quran says that all Muslims should be treated the same.
The other camp pointed out that African immigrants from Senegal are discriminated against, that those who live in the Sahara and are darker find it harder to get work when they leave the desert areas, and that in Morocco, light skin is considered a sign of beauty and affluence.
They didn’t come to any definitive conclusions, but essentially they almost all finally agreed that racism is not as severe in Morocco as in the United States, that Islam forbids racism but that humans are flawed and still practice it, and that in Morocco, discrimination tends more towards linguistic discrimination with language being a major focus of class and privilege in roughly the following order from those with the most privilige to the least: French and English, Arabic, Amazigh languages, and finally African tribal tongues.
Racism and blacksploitation.
As most of you know, I love couchsurfing! So what does couchsurfing have to do with Bruce Lee being in Morocco? Well, it’s simple. My last couchsurfer was a Canadian named Bruce Lee.
Bruce contacted me through couchsurfing.com about a month ago and told me he would be taking a journey through Europe and North Africa. Aside from his name, there was something that immediately told me Bruce was the kind of couch surfer I enjoy hosting: he had actually read my couchsurfing profile, knew that I was in Sefrou and not in Fez, and kindly offered to scour some used book stores in Canada for a couple of books I had been wanting to read since in my profile, I state that English language books are sometimes hard to come by in Morocco. Don’t get me wrong, you can find books in English, but if you are looking for specific titles, you are looking for a needle in a French and Arabic haystack.
Bruce arrived during a week when I was particularly busy with consulting projects, teaching, and life in general. To top things off, the taxis were striking so I had been couchsurfing with teaching colleagues in Fez all week since the grand taxis to Sefrou were not running. As luck would have it though, the strike ended when he arrived.
We met up at Cafe Clock in the Fez Medina where I had been doing some web design work and then set off to the ALC where Bruce waited while I taught my classes. Bruce is one of those guys who immediately sets you at ease and I wasn’t surprised to come out of class and find that he had already made friends with several people while he waited. By the way, he followed through on his offer and brought me two thick tombs, Plexus by Henry Miller and Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time.
He was glad to get the extra weight out of his bag and I was glad to get two books I’ve been wanting to read for a while.
We set off for Sefrou, giving Bruce his first experience being crammed into a grand taxi with six other people and arrived in the Casbah a little after dark. We rustled together a vegetable stew and some sub-standard tea in my place and sat up talking for the next few hours.
In the morning we treked up to the Souidi house and dragged Hanane and Zahira out of bed to take a hike through the mountains near Sefrou. It was our usual route to the monument, past the cascade, up to the water source and then back to the Medina. I had to go back to Fez to host the Friday movie and Bruce joined the Souidis for Friday Couscous.
When I returned I found Bruce relaxing in the Casbah. Of course he was stoked to have enjoyed Mama Khadija’s world class couscous. My neighbor Jess and friend Marion, a Peace Corps volunteer then called and invited us over for dinner next door.
We had a very nice time. Hanane joined us and we all sat up shooting the shit until too late. In that process we found that Bruce’s next host was Hanane and my friend Hassan down in the Sahara and that Bruce had met up with a girl Hanane had couchsurfed with in Tangier a few days before.
Also Bruce told the following funny story. It seems when he was walking in the Fes Medina, a shop keeper noticed he was Chinese and asked him if his name was Jackie Chan…Bruce cooly answered him “Dude, you have no idea!”
Once again, I’ve made a great friend through Couchsurfing and it just goes to show that even though I get dozens of requests from people who don’t bother to read that I am in Sefrou and sometimes a surfer isn’t great, it’s one of the best programs going.
In the morning we all set off our seperate ways, but I’m sure that we’ll meet again Bruce Lee.
In the first two parts of this short series I wrote about our time in Moulay Idriss and at Volubulis, the ancient Roman city. Part 3 – Imperial Meknes will be the final chapter of this short odyssey.
We were having a great time all weekend in Moulay Idriss and Volubulis but one subject had come up again and again since our last visit to Meknes. The Chicken Palace. Hanane absolutely loved the place the first time we visited and she told me on Saturday evening that she was thinking of not eating until the next day when we had lunch there so she could eat more. Sadly, this time I suggested that we sit inside and the waiter was a bit of an asshole when we said that we didn’t want to sit next to the toilet. We got up and moved out of his section, but the truth is, his rude comments ruined the meal for us and even though the food was still good, we won’t be going back.
The rest of our time in Meknes was wonderful though. We arrived at about noon and immediately took a taxi to the Medina Kadima (ancient Medina) so that we could have a wander around and compare it with the Medina’s of Fez, Sefrou, and other cities we’ve visited.
Before I get into that though, I should give those who aren’t familiar with Meknes and its history a bit of background (via wikipedia of course!)
The original community from which Meknes can be traced was an 8th century Kasbah. A Berber tribe called the Miknasa settled there in the 9th century, and a town consequently grew around the previous borough.
The Almoravids founded here a fortress in the 9th century. It resisted to the Almohads rise, and was thus destroyed by them, only to be rebuilt in larger size with mosques and large fortifications. Under the Merinids it received further madrasas, kasbahs and mosques in the early 14th century, and continued to thrive under the Wattasid dynasty. Meknes saw its golden age as the imperial capital of Moulay Ismail following his accession to the Sultanate of Morocco (1672-1727). He installed under the old city a large prison to house Christian sailors captured on the sea, and also constructed numerous edifices, gardens, monumental gates, mosques (whence the city’s nickname of “City of the Hundred Minarets”) and the large line of wall, having a length of 40 km.
The taxi dropped us off in the Place Hedim which reminded me a lot of Jmma el Fna in Marrakesh but without the circus atmosphere or the touts. There were the usual merchants selling hats, fake adidas, djellabas, blankets, and trinkets. The square itself is beautiful and we were approached by exactly zero touts!
From there we wandered into the Dar Jamai museum. This old riad has seen a lot of history and now houses a beautiful collection of Moroccan handicrafts. The architecture, gardens, and displays were beautiful, but sadly it looked as if some of the restoration work was done by second rate apprentices. concrete patches slapped on beautiful zellij and mosaic floors unevenly retiled. Hopefully in the future, all of this will be restored to the quality of work it deserves.
Leaving the museum I informed Hanane that it was time for us to get lost in the Medina. She didn’t like the idea but when I explained that we could catch a taxi from wherever we ended up back to the train station so that it really didn’t matter, she willingly set our with me. Entering the medina we saw a French family being told by a shop keeper that what they were looking for was closed today at which point they started to shop. Leaving them behind, we ten minutes later found what they had been looking for, the Mederasa Bou Ininia…and it was open. Nice shop keeper trick, that one!
I was a beautiful Quranic school once but now is a sight to see. I’m sure there are young men who are very thankful they aren’t being locked in the tiny cubicles each day so taht they could memorize surras. The locks on the outside of the doors tell the story clearly.
From the roof of the school we had great views of the medina and the mosque of the medina.
From there we took this turn and that turn and encountered lots of daily Moroccan medina activity. Donkeys, woodworking, and my favorite, an entire rummage sale street souk.
After a good long wander we just about where we had entered the medina. When Hanane expressed her surprise about not being lost, I winked at her. I was starting to feel hungry but we hadn’t worked up our appetites enough yet so I suggested that we take a carriage ride through Imperial Meknes to see the sights. It was Valentines Day and I figured my princess deserved the treatment.
Our first stop was the tomb of Moulay Ismail. it was filled with Chinese tourists who certainly didn’t understand why Hanane giggled every time they spoke. Funny to be laughing in a tomb. Moulay Ismail was the father of today’s Morocco and had 500 wives, a thousand children, 60,000 slaves, and 20,000 horses. Suffice to say that he is probably represented in the genes of nearly every living Moroccan…if the kids were actually his.
All of that aside, the tomb was beautiful, of course.
Back to the carriage and our next stop was the granaries and stables of Moulay Ismail.
Heri es-Souani was big, grand, impressive, and despite the funny stories and picture taking of the guide who assigned himself to us, it was boring.
To me anyway…a big stone barn.
From the barn the carriage took us past the slave quarters, the very beautiful Agdal Basin, past the Mellah, or Jewish quarter of Meknes where our guide pointed to an old woman and said, “Look, she is a real Jew!” and back to the very impressive (and built with part of Volubulis) Bab Mansour, the main gate across from the entrance to the old Medina.
After this we visited the Chicken Palace then we went to the Ice Cream Palace and then we got to the train station just in time to catch the train, then the taxi, and arrive safely back in the Casbah.
As you can see and probably read, it was a lovely Valentines.
Since coming to Morocco a year ago, I’ve wanted to visit the ancient Roman ruins of Volubulis. Each time I’ve planned to go, something has kept me from it, until now.
It turns out that Hanane had also never gone there. As a young girl, she was supposed to go there on a school trip, but had been unable to. So, because we had the time and the desire, we vacated the loveliness of Dar Zerhoune to trek to this amazing historical site.
First, I should give you a bit of historical background via wikipedia:
Volubilis (Arabic: ?????? Walili) is an archaeological site in Morocco situated near Meknes between Fez and Rabat along the N13 road. The nearest town is Moulay Idriss. Volubilis features the best preserved ruins in this part of northern Africa. In 1997 the site was listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site.
In antiquity, Volubilis was an important Roman town situated near the westernmost border of Roman conquests. It was built on the site of a previous Carthaginian settlement from (at the latest) the third century BC, but that settlement overlies an earlier neolithic habitation.
Volubilis was the administrative center of the province in Roman Africa called Mauretania Tingitana. The fertile lands of the province produced many commodities such as grain and olive oil, which were exported to Rome, contributing to the province’s wealth and prosperity. Archaeology has documented the presence of a Jewish community in the Roman period.
The Romans evacuated most of Morocco at the end of the 3rd century AD but, unlike some other Roman cities, Volubilis was not abandoned. However, it appears to have been destroyed by an earthquake in the late fourth century AD. It was reoccupied in the sixth century, when a small group of tombstones written in Latin shows the existence of a community that still dated its foundation by the year of the Roman province. Coins show that it was occupied under the Abbasids: a number of these simply bear the name Walila.
The texts referring to the arrival of Idris I in 788 show that the town was at that point in the control of the Awraba tribe, who welcomed the descendant of Ali, and declared him imam shortly thereafter. Within three years he had consolidated his hold on much of the area, founded the first settlement at Fez , and started minting coins. He died in 791, leaving a pregnant Awraba wife, Kenza, and his faithful slave, Rashid, who acted as regent until the majority of Idris II. At this point the court departed for Fez, leaving the Awraba in control of the town.
Volubilis’ structures were damaged by the 1755 Lisbon earthquake, while in the 18th century part of the marble was taken for constructions in nearby Meknes.
In 1915, archaeological excavation was begun there by the French and it continued through into the 1920s. Extensive remains of the Roman town have been uncovered. From 2000 excavations carried out by University College London and the Moroccan Institut National des Sciences de l’Archéologie et du Patrimoine under the direction of Elizabeth Fentress, Gaetano Palumbo and Hassan Limane revealed what should probably be interpreted as the headquarters of Idris I just below the walls of the Roman town to the west. Excavations within the walls also revealed a section of the early medieval town. Today, a high percentage of artifacts found at Volubilis are on display in the Rabat Archaeological Museum.
Our trek took us along a rural mountain road where we encountered fascinating rock structures, caves, and numerous sheep and shepherds.
Coming down from the mountain, we were pleased to find that because the day was advanced to about 3 pm, there were not many tourists there. Though there was a bus full of Chinese tourists. Whenever Hanane hears Chinese language she goes into a fit of giggles but I don’t think they knew it was the reason.
The ruins themselves are remarkable. Amazing that after 2000 years they should still be so well preserved. The excavated mosaics floors looked like they were no more than 20 years old. As you can see from the photos, numerous columns, arches, and walls are still standing.
As we wandered amongst the ruins we tried to imagine what life had been like for those who had lived there.
There was no security other than the occasional rope blocking access to those who wished to walk on the mosaic floors which didn’t deter those who wanted to in the least. It’s amazing to me that such an important site should be so laxly guarded. If we had wanted to we could have pulled up an entire mosaic and left with it. I wonder how many times that has happened. Outside the ancient city, local vendors sell artifacts to those who wish to buy them. Again, we didn’t partake. I’m sure some of them are real and equally sure that many of them are fakes.
We wandered through the ruins until dark, the entrance fee was only 10 dirhams each. As the light of the sunset bathed the ruins, we both had an eerie sense that we were somehow transported back to those ancient times. But then we realized that we had a long walk back since any taxis that had been there, had long since vanished.
In Part 3 I will write about our trip to the Ancient Moroccan Imperial City of Meknes and the wonders we found there.
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How to survive well on next to nothing. The classic.
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True life adventures of being a homeless no good vagobond in the Pacific Northwest, Laos, China, Thailand, and Indonesia.
Hot chicks, big guns,and existential neurosis run rampant.Is this the future? It just might be reality.See why money won't fill the empty spot in your soul and how everything you think is true might be just the opposite.
An anthropological look at Television's Lost and the fans who love the show.
Feeding the Spirit: 30 Days of Spiritual Practice for People of All Faiths During Ramadan
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