you make beautiful things

Sometimes I just need to remember the little, beautiful things in life.


"Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair." - Kahlil Gibran


The beauty of this earth is a reflection of the One who is always good, even when bad things happen.


Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
- Habakkuk 3:17-18

#FreeWho?

Anyone who has known me in the past two years knows that I love Invisible Children and strongly believe in their mission to stop the longest running war in Africa. For the past 25 years, the LRA has been kidnapping children, brainwashing them, forcing them to kill their family in some instances, and enlisting them in the rebel army ranks. The LRA terrorizes innocent civilians in four different central African nations with impunity.

Invisible Children has told the world about these atrocities and has gotten millions of young people excited about stopping injustice in central Africa. I would probably be on a very different path in life were it not for Invisible Children. I have made so many wonderful friends and have had some incredible experiences because of IC and the work I have done in support of their mission.

So when I criticize this organization, it’s not because I don’t deeply believe in their cause. But as I have been putting more and more thought into the images and sound bytes and methodologies that I see encouraged by IC, I have been wondering if the effects are always productive.

What provoked this post is one of the publicity stunts that Invisible Children is currently promoting. An IC employee, Timmy Harris, is locking himself in a cage until 2 million dollars are raised for the Protection Plan. He’s making a sacrifice for something he believes in, and that’s great. Now, I don’t like how much emphasis IC has been putting on the amount of money they raise for the Protection Plan, but I can definitely respect someone with a different opinion about that (and that’s more of an over arching ideological problem about Western organizations doing development in Africa). The money part is not my main problem with what this guy is doing. What I don’t like is that the tagline for this stunt is #FreeTimmy.

For those who don’t know, #Free_____ hash tags are currently trending on twitter for all the bloggers and activists who are being or have been unjustly arrested and held in Arab countries (particularly Egypt and Syria). These jailed activists represent the struggle for justice and accountability and democracy in the Arab world. They have been beaten, tortured, sexually assaulted and tried in illegitimate military courts. These are the activists who have been jailed, not killed. Those who have been killed in uprisings since last December number in the tens of thousands.

The #FreeTimmy hash tag trivializes the significance of the #FreeAlaa, #FreeMaikel, #FreeRazan, and #FreeMona hash tags. I know that Timmy is raising money to stop injustice in central Africa. But he should not be comparing himself to those who are being held against their will, tortured, and sexually assaulted, regardless of what he is raising money for. Terrible atrocities are ongoing in both Arab countries and central Africa. But these are two different situations. What Timmy Harris is experiencing is much, much different from what Alaa Abd El-Fatah, Maikel Nabil, Razan Ghazzawi, and Mona Eltahawy have experienced or are experiencing. Invisible Children and Timmy Harris should find another tagline for this campaign that is both catchy and respectful.

I should've learned Spanish

A couple months ago I booked a flight with six other girls to Madrid over the Moroccan Independence Day holiday weekend, and it ended up being the best girls weekend I've had in quite a while. The saga began when my compatriots (Gretchen, Megan, Brittany, Ana, Emily, Elise) and I left Rabat at 5:30 am Friday morning to get to the airport in Casablanca by 7 to make our 9 am flight to Madrid (EasyJet, $120!! I love budget airlines). I'm not a morning person so the whole way there I was just sleepy and bored, but as soon as I stepped outside of the metro from the airport and into Spanish air I realized something that made me really happy: "I'm not in Morocco!!"

Getting a break from Morocco was much needed. It was so, so, so nice to to be in a western country, where I was free from the restrictions and differences of Morocco. The first time we went walking down the street from our apartment, we counted four different Starbucks on our way. Halleluja!! I don't really even miss Starbucks in Morocco, but it made me so happy just to see something so American that I don't have access to here. And oh, how I've missed chai tea! It never tasted so good as it did then. Starbucks already had all their holiday drinks out, and that Peppermint Mocha was a nice change of pace. It was so wonderful to see Christmas decorations up, to walk on well maintained sidewalks, to see trashcans every fifteen feet (what a novelty!), to not have to worry about how I dress, to not be stared at, to eat bacon and pork (!!!!!!!!), to be able to go out at night with absolutely no fears of harassment, to take a long, hot shower in a tub with a glass door and a holder for the shower nozzle. But maybe the most wonderful part of it was staying in an apartment with some of my favorite girls from the program, with the complete freedom and privacy that we all miss so much and don't have with our home stay families.

About the apartment: our friend Ana's family lives in Madrid, and her grandparents weren't currently using their apartment in downtown Madrid. So we got to stay in a beautiful, furnished full apartment in the best part of the city for completely free. Ana's aunt lives in the apartment directly above, and so we got to see her a lot. She and Ana's grandmother brought us so much food: pastries, bread, cured meats, tortilla (an incredible Spanish egg dish, not flour tortillas like from a taco). I felt like I was eating like royalty the whole time I was there. We were invited to a family lunch on Saturday, and it was sooo incredible. It was at this restaurant owned by an American expat, and it served some of the best American food I've ever had - you would never find food this good in the states. The meat for the hamburgers was the most delicious, melt-in-your-mouth high quality meat I've ever tasted. The onion rings were wonderfully fresh, the corn on the cob was perfect, the chili was incredible, the oreo cheesecake and brownie sunday were delicious. The restaurant had a Southern/Texas theme, so I felt especially at home. There were two TVs on, one showing a rodeo and the other a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert. Nothing made me happier than when they played Sweet Home Alabama :). That makes the second country I've been in where I've heard that song played (first was Morocco, amazingly enough). The only thing that could have made the whole experience better is if there was Alabama football on.

I was able to shop my heart out at H&M and a Mango outlet. Dresses! Boots! Short skirts and tank tops! I couldn't resist buying one adorable dress that's a little too short for Morocco. (But I'm wearing it to the Thanksgiving dinner at the American Club today, so there you go). Also, my other most favorite thing about Spain was that people are out ALL NIGHT. In Rabat, as soon as it gets dark, the harassment gets worse, and though some people go out, it's not generally accepted to be appropriate. In Spain, as soon as it gets dark, the streets get sooooo crowded and only keep getting more and more crowded. We were out until past 4 am one night and felt perfectly safe.

Madrid was probably the most beautiful city I've ever been to. There is the perfect balance of beautiful preserved historical sites and modern conveniences. There is so much to do and to see. The people are beautiful and fashionable, yet very friendly. It reminded me of Paris minus the hype and bus loads of tourists.

Oh, what else? The whole weekend was just so wonderful, and when Sunday rolled around I kept thinking how much I didn't want to go back to Morocco Monday morning. We had to get up at 4:30 that morning to make our flight and we all got about two hours of sleep, so that morning I was not at all excited to be awake or on my way back to Morocco. But once we got back to Casablanca and on the train to Rabat, I wasn't upset or depressed to be back. I felt like I was back home. As much as I can't stand certain aspects of culture here, and as hard as it is to get used to the different ways of living, I love this country. I love how inefficient everything is, I love hearing the call to prayer even when it wakes me up at 4 am, I love how cheap everything is here, and I love seeing kittens wandering around at every single cafe I frequent. I love my host family, our little apartment, and our doorman. I love everyone at AMIDEAST, I love all the classrooms and the five flights of stairs that lead up to the study abroad room, and I love seeing all the Moroccans there learning English. I probably should have learned Spanish (based on my performance in Arabic class), but Morocco is my home now, and I love this place.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Some complaining and some preaching

A poor sheet awaiting his fate.

The past couple weeks have been really hard. Initially after I got back from fall break it was so wonderful to be back in Rabat, but those feelings faded as soon as I got back into the grind of classes. I thought I had adjusted to life in Morocco weeks ago, but I’ve been feeling even more out of place and homesick than I did when I thought I was at the low point of culture shock. I miss Tuscaloosa and everyone there so much (and a few people in Huntsville, too).

Certain things about the culture here are just so hard to get used to. Yesterday I forgot I needed to get home for lunch by 12:15 since that’s when the men start overflowing from the mosque for Friday prayers and blocking the entrance to my apartment building. I decided to try to get home at 12:30 anyways, and as I walked up my street and saw rows of men already lined up on the prayer mats spanning the whole length of my apartment building, I got so incredibly angry. I had been sick the day before, so I hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning. I was hungry, hot, and tired, and all I wanted was to go home and eat lunch with my family. But Friday prayer trumps all in this dominantly Muslim country, and for those few moments I just wanted to storm through all the stupid men who were so rude to keep me from getting in or out of my house every single Friday afternoon. It wouldn’t be that hard for them to leave a path to my door so that I and all the other people in the building who don’t pray can have access to our houses. I stormed off to the grocery store which is the normal getaway for Katherine and I when this happens. I did my grocery shopping and impatiently waited for prayers to be over. When I finally could go home, I was still mad. I walked up to the door of my apartment building, and the men were leaving but they hadn’t taken away the giant prayer mats yet. I knew that walking on the mats (with shoes on) is incredibly disrespectful, and I thought for a split second about asking the men who were standing around to move it. But one, I already felt (as usual) very self conscious wading through hundreds of religious men as an obviously non Muslim foreign woman, and two, the thought of asking the men who I already had a grudge against to move the stupid mat that, in my opinion, shouldn’t have been there preventing me from going home in the first place was just too much for my ego to take. So I walked across it and got some very dirty looks and mutterings.

Some things are just hard to get used to. Like seeing sheep butchered and skinned.

Earlier this week was the Muslim holiday Eid El-Adha, which is kind of like Thanksgiving except instead of turkey you eat sheep, and instead of buying a frozen turkey at the grocery store you buy a live sheep (or, usually two) and slaughter it on your roof. So I got to experience the killing, skinning, gutting, and eating of not one, but two poor, poor sheep. I’m not a super sensitive person, so I watched it all happen (and documented it with many pictures), but I’m not going to lie - it was pretty disturbing. To see, in the span of ten minutes, a sheep go from alive and baaaing, to dying with blood spurting violently from its slit throat, to thrashing and trying to gasp for air through it’s severed sheep larynx in the few minutes it takes to die, to dead, to a giant piece of meet hanging from the ceiling by it’s back legs, is, well, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Then in the next 30 minutes I witness it’s skin being slowly cut from the body, so that it didn’t even look like a sheep. Now I’m eating parts of those sheep almost every day. Appetizing, yeah?

The bloody aftermath.

But honestly, the hardest part about Eid was that it reminded me so much of Thanksgiving and Christmas that I got really depressed thinking about how I’m going to miss celebrating those holidays at home with my family and friends. I was at my host grandparent’s house for two days with a bunch of relatives who didn’t speak English for Eid, watching sheep be killed, then eating the weirdest organs, and no one really talked to me until the afternoon of the second day when I made friends with my host cousins.

I know that a lot of people would give a lot to be where I am right now. People think I’m brave, living the dream, and having the time of my life. But I think so often how much I would love to just be in Tuscaloosa this semester, living at Jamestown, tending a little vegetable garden in the backyard and some flowers in the front yard, being on leadership in RUF and worshipping with my church family every Sunday at Riverwood. But if I was in Tuscaloosa, I would be complaining about how boring my life is, and thinking how much I want to go discover the world and do something exciting. It’s all a matter of perspective.

What I came to remember last night and this morning is that I’m not here by chance. I’m here in this city, with this program, living with this family and this roommate, at this time, for a reason. My Lord and Savior didn’t live a perfect life and die a perfect sacrificial death to redeem me so that I could just live life randomly, doing what I feel like, with no purpose. I’m here for a reason. Living in Morocco has ended up being harder than I planned, but that doesn’t mean it was a mistake. I miss my friends, my family, and my church, but the Lord is providing me with new friends, new family, and a new church. The Lord is using these experiences to teach me more about Him, to mold me more into His likeness, to make me long for Him even more, and for other reasons that I may never understand. And even when I feel like a miserable excuse for a Christian (which has been a lot lately), I can still rest assured that when God looks at me, He sees Jesus. And even though I don’t really believe this most of the time, I know that God is using me as I am, right now, in all of my shortcomings, failures, and depression for His purposes. I don’t have to be a better person for Him to use me. I don’t have to pretend that I’m not as messed up as I actually am, or try to convince other people that my life as a Christian is all nice and fuzzy. I am a very messed up person, but because of the work of Jesus, I am salt and light, right now, as I am, no exceptions.

"Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart's desires." - Psalm 37:4

Fall Break

I don't even know where to begin. Fall break was incredible, if a bit challenging. I experienced the varying extremes of Moroccan climates, from the snow covered High Atlas mountains to the hot and cold Sahara desert, and everything in between. I had wanted to go to Europe for fall break, but I'm so glad I didn't. Exploring this country that is my home for nine months was mind blowing.

My plans were up in the air until the day before I left, but it worked out perfectly. I went with three friends: Gretchen, Elise, and Zach. We started out by taking a train from Rabat to Marrakech on Saturday morning the 22nd. Once in Marrakech we needed to take a grand taxi to Imlil, the small town where treks to Mount Toubkal (the highest mountain in North Africa) begin. We had an unfortunate slip in judgement in Marrakech and decided to let a taxi driver who approached us drive us to the taxi stand that was five minutes away, after which he proceeded to try to charge us over 3 times too much. Somehow I was the bargainer in our group, and I refused to pay his exorbitant price. I insisted on him agreeing to a lower but still exorbitant price, after which we hashumad (shamed) him. Thus began my battle with dishonest grand taxi drivers. After that fiasco, we finally found a taxi driver to take us to Imlil for a fair price. It was a less than two hour drive, and about half of it through the beautiful Atlas mountains.

In Imlil, we discovered two surprising facts. It was much colder than we thought it would be, and it had just snowed on the mountain tops. I was SO glad that I had brought warm clothes, although they were actually intended for night time in the desert, where it ended up not being that cold, at least compared to the mountains. Once we got to Imlil, we ended up going to a different hostel than the one where we had a reservation, but it actually worked out well as this one was cheaper. It was run by an older French woman, who was alternately very nice and very scary. She had a younger Moroccan man named Abdu as her sidekick and we all speculated about the relationship between the two. Abdu took care of us, cooked for us, and arranged for us to have sleeping bags at the refuge in the mountains where we stayed the next night. I experienced a Moroccan toilet for the first time here, and spent the first of three nights wearing every layer of clothing I could possibly get on my body.

A mountain goat enveloped in fog on our way to Toubkal.

Early Sunday morning we set out for Toubkal. Were were supposed to get to the refuge at the base that day, then summit and return to Imlil the day after. The 4 to 6 hour hike to the refuge turned into 8, and even though it it wasn't said to be a difficult hike, the three of us girls were pretty out of shape (it's really hard to exercise in Rabat), and I had forgotten how hard it is to hike uphill. It was such a beautiful hike. We saw herds and herds of mountain goats, and were continually being passed by donkeys loaded up with supplies for the base refuge. There is no car access in the high recesses of these mountains. We came across the snow right before we got to the refuge. People told us there was a meter of snow on Toubkal, and none of us had any snow appropriate hiking gear. The people at the refuge wouldn't let anyone attempt to summit without gear.

This was the farthest up we got.

That night we chilled around the fire talking to other people from Switzerland, Germany, England, and the States. Even though the refuge we stayed in was pretty nice, it was absolutely freezing - barely warmer than outside. The only source of heat was one fire in the main room, and all the bed rooms were unheated. We spent another night bundled up, but this time we had sleeping bags and heavy blankets.

The sunrise

The next morning I got some great sunrise pictures, and then Zach and I set out to hike up a little ways in the snow. It got really deep really fast, and it was a super steep climb. We made it up a decent ways, took some pictures, then went back to the refuge to thaw out by the fire. We began our hike back that afternoon, and the way down was much more pleasant than the way up. We were given delicious apples by a sweet Berber lady who invited us to her house for couscous, but sadly we couldn't take her up on the invitation because we had to get back to Imlil before dark.

Tuesday morning we taxied our way out of Imlil and went back to Marrakech, where we spent the night and took the first showers of the trip. Marrakech is absolutely beautiful, but we were all exhausted so we didn't do much sightseeing.

Sunset in Ouarzazat

Wednesday morning we took a bus to Ouarzazate, a little less than halfway between Marrakech and Risani (Risani being one of the Moroccan the launch pad for desert trips). Ouarzazat might be the most beautiful city I've seen in Morocco thus far. It's small, quiet, and because it was built as a French outpost, it has a very distinct European feel to it, manifested in the huge streets, pretty lamposts, and a huge central plaza. A lot of movies were filmed here, including Gladiator, Lawrence of Arabia, and Kingdom of Heaven.

Another sunset shot in Ouarzazat

After spending a great evening in Ouarzazaet in a real (but cheap) hotel for the first time on the trip and enjoying more hot showers, we got up super early on Thursday to embark on a very long, very stressful day of getting to Risani in grand taxis. We divided the trip into three different legs, as it's really expensive to get a driver from Ouarzazate all the way to Risani. Bargaining with grand taxi drivers is always stressful, and none of us are used to it, as petit taxis in the cities have meters. This experience was no exception. Drivers constantly tried to charge us twice as much as the ride should be. The last leg was the worst, and at that point were were hot, tired, and ready to get to our destination. When we went to the medina before the last leg of the trip to stock up on water and snacks for the desert, I was harassed by a clearly crazy man who followed us and yelled and made weird gestures. That was freaky. After that we finally agreed on a grand taxi price that was still much too high, but after sitting and waiting for 45 minutes, we just wanted to go.

Finally, that evening we arrived in Risani, where we were completely taken care of by the company that organized our desert trip. Our friends Ana and Joe were there waiting for us, and after a late lunch we all piled into a huge, old, white Range Rover and drove out of the city into the desert. Once we were off of the paved road, we climbed onto the roof, where the view was amazing. We drove to the edge of the dunes where two guides and six camels awaited us. We rode the camels through the dunes just as the sun was setting to a permanent campsite where we spent the night. It was so incredible. Our guides cooked delicious couscous for dinner, and we sat around in candlelight talking and playing games.

Trekkin the Sahara

The craziest thing that happened in the desert is that night it rained! It was only a light shower and didn't last too terribly long, but it was so unexpected. Our guides rushed to put plastic over our tent. Thankfully the rain didn't stay long. The night in the desert was amazing. No electricity, no light other than candle light, and the stars were brighter than I'd ever seen them. It was really windy at one point, and strong wind in the desert is pretty nasty.

Unfortunately, the next morning, Friday, I woke up early throwing up. That was pretty miserable. And no, there was no toilet of any kind there. The dunes were our toilet. In a sense it was nice, because I could vomit wherever I wanted to, but it was pretty gross. I think it was something I ate, because after throwing up for four or five times I stopped, went back to sleep, and felt much better by the afternoon. That afternoon, about the time I was feeling human again, we left the camp on camels and went to the tallest sand dune nearby. We left the camels behind with one of the guides, and the other guide, Mohammed, took us to the very top of the dune to watch the sunset. Such an incredible experience!

Sunset in the Sahara Desert

That night we stayed in a more comfortable camp right outside the dunes. There was a big building with real showers and toilets, and tents with electricity. We had more good food, and I had the best sleep there I'd had on the trip.

Finally, Saturday morning we left the desert and hung out in Risani until our bus left at 7:30 that night. We had a guide show us around and tell us a lot about the Berber and bedouin culture. I bought a beautiful Berber rug made out of cactus fibers and a necklace. That evening we left on the bus to Meknes, then from there (at three in the morning) took the train to Rabat. I got home at 6:30 Sunday morning, and after briefly considering going to church at 9, I decided not to, and I slept until 1:30.

But the saga isn't over yet. Starting around the middle of the trip, I started getting these weird bug bites. They started at my ankles, then it was my wrists and hands, then my stomach, and finally my neck. They itched like crazy and just kept getting worse. Elise and Gretchen had a few, but not as many or as bad as me. We were all afraid it was bed bugs, since some of the places we slept were not exactly luxurious. I was super afraid of bringing bed bugs home (if that's what the bites were from), so when I got home I put all my clothes from the trip in plastic bags and stashed them on the balcony until I figured out what to do. In the meantime I went to the doctor who prescribed some creme and pills, and the bites started getting better. I learned that one way to kill bed bugs is to get them really hot for a long time, like in a dryer. No one owns dryers here - clothes are all air dried. Thankfully there are laundromats with dryers, so I took all my clothes there this afternoon and tried to explain the the lady who runs it that I needed my clothes to go through the dryer twice. I don't know if she'll actually do that or not, but I just hope that any kind of bug I brought home with me will die in the washer/dryer.

Monday it was back to the grind. This weekend our program is going to Chefchaoen and Tangier, which means Friday classes are cancelled, and then we have Monday and Tuesday off for the Muslim holiday Eid al Adha. So excited for the five day weekend!

Things I Love About Morocco

(in no particular order)

1. I love how people know how to enjoy life here. Everything goes at a slower pace and people aren't super stressed out all the time.

2. Being late is normal. No stress!

3. There are no drive thrus, and people barely know what coffee to go is. You sit and enjoy your coffee or meal like a normal person.

4. Moroccan tea - a staple here. It's simple: green tea steeped in mint leaves. It's the only kind of tea I've ever liked sweet, and it's only good sweet. And it's SO GOOD.

5. The food. Chicken tagine with lemon, keftah, harrira, turkey sausage, squash soup...everything is so flavorful and delicious.

6. I love that there is always a jar of nutella on my kitchen table. Yum!!

7. Service at cafes. This is not what you think it means. If you go to a cafe with an American attitude of "the customer comes first, you must serve me and cater to my every need", then you'll hate the service here. But if you're not in a hurry and you know how to relax, the cafe atmosphere and the service are a wonderful part of the culture here.

8. I love how helpful Moroccans usually are.

9. I love how it gets chilly at night.

10. I love how everyone is out at night, even on weeknights.

11. I love hanoots (a tiny shop that sells snacks and drinks). There's one right next to school and the owner is so friendly and likes teaching us Darija.

12. I love the mosaics that are everywhere.

13. I love that Moroccan meals are communal. When we eat with our host family, the main dish is on a plate in the middle of the table, and we all eat from the same plate.

14. I LOVE greeting and leaving people by kissing on both cheeks. I think I'm going to keep doing it when I go home.

15. I love living right next to a mosque.

16. I love Fridays here. One class in the morning, then home just in time to watch Friday prayers unfold, then the best meal of the week with my host family and sometimes a guest, then everyone takes a nap.

17. I also love Sundays here. Everything is so quiet.

18. I love that the drinking age is 18.

19. I love that I don't have to shower every day (well technically I can't shower every day).

20. On that strain, I love that I don't feel gross with greasy hair like I do at home.

21. I love eating dinner at 9:00 pm. There is so much more time in the afternoon and there's no rush to get home for dinner.

22. I love, love, LOVE my roommate Katherine!

23. I love that I don't have internet at home. I waste much less time.

24. I love that I live in a city and thus get to see kids and families often.

I'm sure I'll come up with many more things I love about Morocco in the next eight months!

The Moudawana: Women in Moroccan Law

In case you didn't know, there are a lot of misperceptions in the West about Islam and the Arab world. The main reason I'm studying in Morocco is that I want to understand the people and religion and language better so that I can have and share a more complete, educated, and accurate picture of Arab culture. I'm not going to pretend to know a lot about either Islam or Arab culture, but I've recently learned a lot of interesting things about women and Moroccan laws.

I have found that some people think that if Islam is the major religion of a country, then the country is run with Islamic, or Shar'ia laws. Not true. In Morocco, most of the laws are inherited from the European colonialists (so no, thieves don't get their hands cut off). All the laws are secular except one, the Family Law, or Moudawana, which is a based on religious precepts (how much of the law is actually truly Quranic is up for debate). This law includes issues such as marriage, divorce, child custody and guardianship, parentage, inheritance, and marital property. This law has major implications for women's rights, and before it's reform in 2004, was harshly discriminatory towards women (and still is).

The 2004 reforms were focused in three main areas: marriage laws, divorce laws, and marital property laws. The marriage law reform raised the legal age of marriage for girls to 18 (it had previously been 15 for girls and 18 for guys), the Wali ("male marital tutor" who must sign the marriage contract for the girl because she can't legally sign it as a woman) was made optional (not banned, but at least it's not required anymore), and polygamy laws were reformed. Polygamy is legal in Morocco; a man is allowed up to four wives here. But since the reform, women can put a monogamy clause in their marriage contract, and if there is no monogamy clause, a man has to get judicial authorization to take another wife and must prove that he can provide for both wives, provide an exceptional reason for needing another wife, and both of the women must be notified. Other marriage law changes: a man is no longer legally the only person who can be head of a household, and women no longer have a legal duty to obey their husbands.

While all these reforms are positive theoretically, many women are unaware of their new rights, and there is a major lack of judicial enforcement. For instance, 80% of polygamist petitions are approved, even though this is supposed to be allowed only due to an exceptional reason. And a lot of girls still get married younger than 18, either by choice or because they are pressured by their family.

The divorce law reforms upheld old laws that are discriminatory towards women, but added two new types of divorce: mutual consent and irreconcilable differences. Repudiations by the husband are still legal, and the only reform that was made to it is that the woman must be present. The husband must pay compensation in order to repudiate his wife. A woman cannot repudiate her husband. She must have one of six specific reasons for divorcing. Another type of divorce is called Khula, where a woman pays her husband to repudiate her. This is actually one of the most common types of divorce since, if it's the women who wants a divorce, this is the easiest way to do it.

Premarital sex, adultery, and same sex relations are all illegal in Morocco (although, as you can imagine, these laws are rarely enforced).

One of the hardest things for me to learn about was how single (unwed) mothers and their children are treated. Since premarital sex is illegal, unwed mothers are the ones who must face the legal consequences of an unplanned pregnancy - before the laws were reformed, there was no legal way for a woman to require a paternity test from the father. Since the reforms, women have to prove that they were "engaged" to be married before they got pregnant to avoid legal consequences, and I believe they can require paternity testing. I'm not really sure about many of the details, but I do know that though the laws are less draconian now than they were before the reforms, single mothers still face societal marginalization and difficulties supporting themselves and their child. Sometimes single pregnant women give birth outside a hospital because if they go to a hospital, they might be subject to discrimination, and they might even go to jail if the police are called.

The way single mothers are treated is horrible, but perhaps even worse is the way their children were treated before the reform. Without a father, children basically did not exist. They could not have birth records because those are done on the father's side of the family. Their last name was X. They wouldn't be able to get any legal papers, including a passport, without birth records. They are referred to sometimes in records as "bastard". Some of these things changed with the reform, since now the father can be involved if the mother and father prove they were engaged before the pregnancy, but I'm not sure about when the father is not involved.

Sad stuff, right? Well, the good news is that this Wednesday I went to Casablanca on a field trip for my Women's Studies class called Gender, Islam, and Society (love the class). We went to an NGO called Association Solidarité Féminine, which helps single mothers in Casa by providing free child care, job training, and capital. ASF and the women they help run a hamam (a public bath, these are very popular here), a salon, and a bunch of kiosks around the city. The women are encouraged to save the money they earn to start their own businesses. ASF has been around since 1985, and the same woman who founded it still heads it. We were able to listen to her talk and ask her questions for about an hour. Aicha Ech Channa is an incredible woman. Watch this video if you want to learn more about ASF.

Well, I don't know if all of my faithful readers are as into human rights as I am, but I hope this was informative. In other news, it's been getting fairly chilly at night lately, but it's still quite warm during the day. I took a train with some friends to the most beautiful beach today and splurged on an EXTRA BIG egg cheeseburger for lunch and some moroccan donuts from the donut guy you will always find at any beach here (along with the coffee and tea guy and the ice cream guy, who's usually the most annoying, yelling GLACE, GLACE, ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, GLACE, GLACE, while you're trying to relax on the sand). The big lunch was quite nice. I haven't felt really full in a while because whenever I eat good, tasty food with my host family, there are four of us and there's barely enough to go around. The rest of the time we eat food that's just kind of so-so (my host mom is not the greatest cook in the world). I also was able to utilise some Arabic phrases: "ana mukhtoba" (I'm engaged) for a friend who faced unwanted attention, and "seer fhalek" (go away) to the annoying, persistent guy who sells water out of gross goat skins. Katherine (aka the best roommate in the world) is exploring the Atlas mountains this weekend, along with my three other friends in Agdal, so I've been watching a lot of movies and chilling at the cafe by myself at night. I'm in the middle of trying to figure out how to manage going to London and either Switzerland and/or Italy for fall break in like two weeks. Hmmm, what a dilemma!

Roll tide! Beat Vandy!

Ana Mukhtoba

The past week and a half has been a struggle. Have you ever seen a cultural adjustment graph? I was at the low point for about a week.

There is so much to say about cultural adjustment. It's hard to adjust to any foreign culture. Adjusting to the culture of a conservative, developing country as a single, independent female is especially challenging. I thought I knew that before I came, but maybe I thought that since I've been to the Middle East before I would be immune to the culture shock. Not so. The two things that have been getting to me the most: how difficult/impossible it is to go anywhere by myself (as a female) and feel comfortable, and constantly being surrounded by people and having no privacy or place to call my own.

It's so hard to find any peace and quiet around here. Part of that is due to the fact that for the first time in my life I live in a big city. Most big cities in America have nice parks where you can find some semi-solitude, but it's much harder to find an appropriate place for sitting or walking or running here. Last week I went for a walk by myself in a park near my school and will probably never go back by myself. Another morning this week I went for an early morning walk through my neighborhood. It was uneventful, but I couldn't relax and lose myself in my thoughts. Anytime I go anywhere by myself here, even in broad daylight, I have to have my guard up and usually deflect at least a couple catcalls. I'm learning to not let it get under my skin, but it's a struggle. My roommate and I had some really bad experiences walking in our neighborhood at night a couple weeks ago. Guys in cars will slow down and try to talk to us while we walk on the sidewalk. It is so, so maddening. Sometimes they just won't go away. I asked my Moroccan friend Marwan what I can say in Arabic next time that happens, and in addition to "go away", he taught me ana muhktoba, which means "I'm engaged". I'm really excited about using that one.

The other thing that's been hard for me is the constant interaction with the same small group of people every day. I love all 24 kids in my program, but I'm used to the huge, beautiful, spacious campus at the University of Alabama. At home there is always somewhere to sit and read or think or listen to music alone. Here, there is one small room at school that is exclusively the break room for study abroad students. I'm in there Monday through Friday for probably at least four hours a day between classes along with half of my classmates. I love people, but I also love having time to myself. Last weekend we took a group trip to Fez and Meknes. It was fun, but I got so claustrophobic in the huge group.

At home, when I'm stressed out or something's wrong, I know how to find an escape. But finding an escape in a foreign country is no small endeavor. It takes a lot of patience and flexibility to figure out what works for me here.

I started really missing a lot of little things about home. I miss long showers. Water is supposedly as expensive as gasoline here, so everyone is only allowed four showers a week. I missing have a freaking shower curtain. I shower in a tub with a hose that I hold and point on myself. I miss my mom's cooking, and pretty much southern cooking in general. I miss homemade chocolate chip cookies and mashed potatoes. I miss big cups of coffee. Everything here is tiny. Cups, cars, houses, shops. I miss grass. So much. I miss green mountains and fields. I miss privacy. There is no concept of privacy here. My roommate and I got home from Fez Sunday evening to find our host mom and her cousin napping in our beds. No big deal.

I know my frustrations are completely normal. I know that as I figure things out here, I'll adapt and find ways to compromise. These experiences are really, really good for me. Basically, living abroad is hard.

To end on a more positive note, I had a quite delightful day today at the Souk (market) and Kesbah (cozy quiet cafe on the water) with two wonderful girls. I bought some nice things and started my second Kindle book. Yesterday I met with the friend of a friend who's studying here on a different program, and that was so refreshing and delightful. And I'm going to church for the first time here tomorrow morning and could not be more excited! I'm super excited about getting involved and meeting people at church. Once I start meeting more people and finding more networks I think I'll feel more at home and less claustrophobic.

Finally, I became a proud aunt for the sixth time on Thursday! Jack Noble Trotter was born happy and healthy to my brother and sister-in-law. I'm so happy for them and I can't wait to meet him!

The little munchkin

Friday au Maroc

So my list of blogs to write has been adding up over the past week, but since classes started Monday it's been quite an eventful week. I need to post about my host family, my birthday, and the beach, but I'll have to get to those topics this weekend.

But today is FRIDAY FRIDAY, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY! Ok, sorry to get that song stuck in your head. Friday is a big day in Morocco and all Muslim countries: it's the holy day. Being here for Friday noon prayers is like Sunday at noon on Whitesburg Drive in Huntsville where there are 20 churches in a row and they all get out at the same time, but more intense. I live right behind a mosque. I like living near it most of the time because it's pretty, cultural, and a perfect landmark for taxi drivers, but it's not so great every morning at 4 am during the first call to prayer of the day. Katherine, my lovely roommate, and I sleep with the window and door to the balcony open because open windows function as air conditioning here. Open windows + 4 am call to prayer + loud speader right outside our window = not the most incredible set up in the world.

The very loud speaker outside our apartment.

Actually, I don't mind it that much because I'm a very sound sleeper and it really doesn't wake me up all the way anymore - I just kind of hear it in my dreams. And honestly I think it's kind of cool to live right next to a mosque, especially after today.

Katherine and I were walking home from class at about 12:15, and as we passed the mosque we saw men setting up their prayer rugs outside the door to the mosque and around our apartment building. I tried not to look twice out of respect, and I hurried up the four floors to the apartment to spy from the balcony.

The first few men gathering to pray.

More men kept coming and setting up outside the mosque. We were so intrigued, but Sanae, our host mom, told us to wait and see, that there would be way more men soon. So we just stood in the shadows on our balcony and watched men flock to the mosque, which was filled to capacity, and set up their prayer rugs on the sidewalk and road. They just kept coming, and the filled up the whole street and sidewalk, and there were men lined up at the bottom of all the apartment buildings on our street. It's hard to describe, but it was just so incredible to watch (especially from our vantage point above). Then by 12:35 or so the Immam (I think) sang some sort of beginning prayer over the loud speaker, then gave his sermon (not sure what the right word is for that). Then after 15 minutes or so it was time for the prayer. I've seen Muslims pray before, but never that many crammed into such a small place, just spilling out of the mosque onto the road, sidewalk, around cars, on the cafe terrace, and right beneath our balcony. It was such a cool, unique experience.

So many people!

The rest of my day was not quite as exciting, but I took my first taxi by myself! I was super nervous, but thankfully both on the way and the way back I didn't have any problems. I went to the American Embassy to meet the Cultural Affairs Officer, who invited the several other Boren scholars in Morocco and me to coffee. It was great to get out of my little school bubble and talk to some other Americans. I'm really anxious to make some Moroccan and non AMIDEAST (that's my "school" here) friends, because as great as our group of 25 kids is, I see them every day cooped up in a small building where I have a class with pretty much everyone. I'm going to have a Moroccan language and culture partner, so I'm super excited about that.

In other news, as I was sitting at this cafe a guy just walked by carrying a huge bucket of eggs in one hand and a bunch of dead chickens in the other. C'est la vie aux Maroc.

The First Week

I wrote this last Friday, but didn't have internet to post it.

What a week. Eight days ago I was anticipating everything that I would experience in the last seven days. Now I feel like that was years ago. I can’t believe I’ve only been in Rabat for six days. I feel like I’ve known most of my 24 classmates here for months. I feel like I’m living a completely different life now than I was a week ago. I’ve always thought it was so cliche when people say this, but studying abroad really is going to be a defining aspect of this stage of my life. It’s really hard to put into words how I’ve felt since Saturday night when I arrived in Rabat, but this is my attempt.

First, I love Morocco. I’ve only been here a few days, but I love so much about this country. I keep comparing it to Egypt, because my expectations for Morocco mostly resulted from my experiences in Egypt. Not that I hate Egypt, but I love Morocco so much more than I would if I hadn’t been to Egypt because pretty much everything is better here.

The weather is beautiful. It’s been somewhat hot during the day for the past few days, but it cools off at night. The night I got here it was very chilly out. My house doesn’t have air conditioning - we just leave all the windows open, and while it’s a little warm when it’s this hot out, it’s completely bearable.

Rabat is a much smaller, more navigate-able, less crowded city than Cairo. It almost feels like a small town. You can pretty much walk from one end to the other. There are green things all around the city: palm trees, trees, bushes, even some grass. Transportation isn’t too hard, especially because of the new tram that was recently built. Taxis have meters, and the buses are nice.

People are nice and helpful here. The harassment is not nearly as bad as it is in Cairo. I still experience catcalls, stares, and overly friendly strange men trying to talk to me when I’m walking on the street alone or with a small group of girls, but it’s definitely not as bad in Agdal, the upscale neighborhood where I live and go to school. The souq here in the old medina is much more laid back than Khal alKalili in Cairo. It’s less crowded, the shop keepers don’t hassle you, and I generally feel more comfortable.

Rabat seems to just be a really nice city to live in. It’s not touristy, which is really nice. It’s on the ocean so there are some incredibly beautiful beaches and beach scenes. The night life is not what it’s said to be in Casa or Fez, but I’ve been out to a few really cool places. Giving up a little night life is definitely preferable to the hassle of living in a touristy town. All of the city that I’ve seen so far has been decent. The prices don’t seem to be as cheap as in Cairo, but everything is still comparatively very cheap. Rabat is somewhat less conservative than Cairo is, as far as what Moroccan women wear on the streets.

The food is amazing. Tagine, harira, and bastini are some of the best traditional Moroccan dishes I’ve had so far. Explosions. On. Your. Taste. Buds. I’ll have to write a separate post on the food soon. Oh, and because there’s such a huge French influence here, the pastries are amazing. Nutella crépes at the restaurant right beside my school: incredible. Enough said. Even though almost all the food is amazing, I’ve had a few weak moments of craving Cracker Barrel. I miss southern cooking, what can I say?

Definitely one of the best aspects personally of living in Morocco is that everyone speaks French. My French sucks, but man, when it’s either pull on my two years of studying French or my few days of studying Darija (Moroccan) Arabic, the French definitely saves the day. I haven’t had too much trouble communicating. And even though I’ve always been terrible at speaking French and I’ve forgotten a lot since April, it’s all coming back and I’ve picked up so much in just a couple days. Thankfully I brought my French textbook, so in addition to studying Darija and Modern Standard (classical Arabic), I’m also studying French. Brain overload.

While I am so, so thankful that I know French so that I can communicate with people (especially my host family), I’ve realized that my French will completely handicap my Arabic if I’m not very careful. Right now it’s sooo much easier to communicate with my host family in French, but I talked to them about having French days and Darija days once my Darija is somewhat conversational, and they agreed. And when I go out, I read the French on signs and menus instead of the Arabic. It’s going to be so hard to overlook the French and force myself to practice Arabic.

That’s basically all the good stuff about Morocco. There’s plenty of bad stuff. I walk. A lot. The sidewalks are an obstacle course of steps and ramps you slip down and rubble and broken cement and parked cars. My shoes get really dirty. I can’t/don’t wear anything I normally wear in the summer (shorts, tank tops, sundresses, short skirts). Being in a new city is hard. I don’t know where anything is. Being in new place where I barely speak the main language and can just kind of get by on the second language is very hard. I have to ask to find pretty much anything. I have to adjust to new cultures and habits and customs. I don’t know how to interact with some people. I don’t know how to draw the line between a stranger on the street being helpful or a stranger with an ulterior motive harassing me. Meal times, body language, my bed, sheets, space, the concept of privacy, the shower, shower length, the bathroom, toilet paper, eating, internet, wearing or not wearing shoes in certain rooms in the house, etiquette when eating with bread instead of silverware, how to interact with males, etc etc etc. It’s all different. I can’t go to Wendy’s for a frosty and fries. I can’t go to Sokul park and ride my bike alone in the woods. I can’t drive to Panera to study in peace and quiet. Pretty much the only familiar thing I’ve done so far is eat at McDonald’s (it was amazing and it tasted just like a burger from home). I didn’t really understand culture shock before I came, but now I do. It can be really hard to adjust. Sometimes I like the way things are in Morocco better, and sometimes things here drive me crazy. That’s the way it goes.

On my way here I was questioning why in the world I had ever decided to do this. Truth be told, I just came because I thought it would be cool and romantic and exotic. I didn’t really know what I wanted out of this year abroad. I still don’t. I know the honeymoon stage will wear off soon and I won’t think it’s cool or romantic or exotic anymore. I know I’ll get frustrated and I’ll miss home. But this is where I am, and I’m so thankful to be here. I already feel like I will have changed so much after this year. I’ve learned a lot already, and I’m going to learn so much more. For now I’m just taking one day at a time.

One More Day

I leave in one day. I am so ready to be done with goodbyes. The range of emotions I've experienced in the past month has been pretty crazy. A month it ago it hit me for the first time that I'm actually going to live in Morocco for nine months of my life. I thought about how much I'm going to miss the football season, Alabama in the fall, bacon, and wearing whatever I want. At that point I had so much work to do to get ready to go that I was overwhelmed and anxious. After a week or two of steadily checking things off my to do list and accumulating travel necessities, the excitement set in. I was ready to go. For a week. Then the excitement turned into sadness. I have such an amazing community of people around me in Tuscaloosa. I love my life so much. Why in the world am I leaving everything I love to go to a new place for nine months? Gahhh.

But here I am, getting the last of the details in order before I leave. I know this is going to be an incredible year. Whether I love it or hate it, I know I'm going to learn so much about myself and others (not to mention Morocco) that would be impossible to learn otherwise. I know that I'm going to grow in my faith and learn to rely even more on my Savior. A dear friend sent me these comforting words today: "When waves of fear come, lash yourself to the Rock that never moves. The waves still come, but you remain unmoved."