Many of the major decisions I’ve made have been preceded by the stark realization of how little I know. In seventh grade I decided to pursue English after my teacher breathed new insight into “To Kill A Mockingbird.” I never knew about the concept of literary analysis before that class, thinking that great books were just great books. Later, I would decide to study Middle East politics after witnessing a tearful exchange over the Israeli-Palestinian conflict–emotion based on a history I barely understood. It’s funny the exchanges that solidify the trajectory of our lives.
So when I decided to study abroad in Morocco, my decision was a response to the fact that I have seen very little of the world. When you leave for college you give up certain amenities–like the specific softness or your dog’s ears, or the familiar sound of your parents talking in the other room. But leaving the country is a different matter entirely, and for me it is a way of acknowledging that–no matter how many times I practice saying “La bas?”* to myself–until I get there, Morocco will never be anything more than a place in a movie.
Rabat is Morocco’s capital and my destination, where they speak both Moroccan Arabic (Darija) and French. I will be studying Arabic intensively and learning about Morocco’s multicultural make-up.
Morocco sits side by side with countries affected by the Arab Spring. Though it boasts no equivalent to Tahrir Square, just last week five men set themselves on fire to protest the high unemployment rate. Despite this hum of discontentment, Morocco hasn’t experienced the type of collective roar that leads to revolution.As for how the average Morccan feels about these rumblings, I couldn’t tell you…but soon, maybe I could.
Packing is hard. It’s difficult to balance the things that you want to bring with the things that you’re supposed to bring. My favorite sailboat pajama pants hardly fit the bill for staying warm in a house with no central heat and yet…I need them. And then there’s the small matter of little motivation to pack, which I tried to thwart by choosing the right Pandora station. Aviccii felt forced, but Fleet Foxes made me lie like a starfish in the middle of the shag carpet…by far the worst motivator. Finally, I settled on something banal and American—Ke$ha for the win.
And so, with Ke$ha telling me to “take it off” I attempted to fit just one more sweater into my suitcase of conservative, and definitively un-Ke$ha-esque clothes. After all, if I wanted to spend the semester in America, I would just stay here.
Ripped tights and bodycon will still be here when I get back. But for now, I have a medina to see!
*Labas = “how are you?”
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