Feel the Fresh Air from Imlil

The polluted air, full of car exhaust, steaming trash, and scents of 2 million people, whirls and settles into your pores. A walk means nearly being smushed by a rushing car, accosted by honks, and whistled at by obnoxious boys. After a while, the noise and confusion, dry and cracked dirt, and chaos of the city wears us a little thin and we need to escape. This weekend we had the perfect opportunity to do just that, take a hike up a mountain and throw a few snowballs. 

Our group consisted of five people from our group and then eleven Moroccans, many of whom had never been to Imlil or on a hike of such magnitude. We arrived in Imlil, a small town by Mount Toubkal (the highest mountain in Norther Africa). The name means "White" in the local Berber dialect and the town was aptly named for the plentiful snow in the area.  We started through to walk up the road. To the left there were terraces that made me feel like I was in the Asian countryside, unexpectedly green and lush. The steep and rocky path led up through a number of clay block houses, adobe of a sort I thought was only used in Mexico. 

It turns out there are a number of similarities between Mexico an Morocco although they have 5680 miles of ocean between their lands. The deserts and shrubs look alike, the unique argon tree only grows in Morocco and one small patch in Mexico, the construction types are similar, both are third world countries, developed with Spanish influence on language and culture, and traditional cloths in bright colors adorn the villagers. The food is not as spicy and there is not as much corn but other than that, it would be easy to imagine myself in a Mexican village instead.

The small children, dressed in worn clothing, look at us with wide-eyed wonder, some a bright blue, uncharacteristic of most people I see. Many of the Berber people look much different than the Arabs. Some have lighter hair, skin, and eyes and I think they are beautiful. I love seeing light eyes looking out from behind a painted door or from beneath a woven shawl. Chickens scurry across the muddy paths, covered in straw. Donkeys and mules, virtually indistinguishable, stumble along under hefty loads of dirt and concrete blocks. But looking beyond the buildings, snowcapped peaks rise in the distance with a few dusty hills supporting them. Life looks serene but also rough because of the lack of development. People rely on their own labor to create community.

We climbed, plodding along and sometimes slipping on the unstable gravel. The air was fresh and chilled from pine and snow melting on the ground, streaming through the tumbling rocks. The sun was shining so that I was warmed but the breeze made my sweat feel frozen. We all supported each other and kept going, slowly mounting the rises until we made it to the top. From there, the view was tremendous of the haze and snow-covered mountains rising up, backed by the sun. Our leg muscles burned and  our water bottles were nearly empty when we reached the top and sat, staring off at opposing views. One side displayed a typical village far below and a number of twisting dirt roads down the mountain but on the other side were the perfect rows of trees buried in snow drifts. We dug bread out of our bags and rolled out kefta at a roadside hut. The old man had some tables and a few seemingly empty rooms that he invited us into so we could barbecue the kefta over some outside coals. It satisfied our tired bodies and we set out for the "easy" descent which ended in us sliding down the rocky slopes and stubbing our toes. It took virtually no time at all before I could no longer see the view from the top which was a shame considering the effort put in but by the time I reached the town below, I felt exhilarated and alive. 

Many of the Moroccans were already homesick and ready to be back in the city and when we started passing the walls of Marrakech, we smelled the familiar scents of the city and knew we were home.

Doubt

Honestly, I’ve been having a hard time lately. The culprit, as it usually is with me, was indecision. This afternoon, after several wakeful nights of imagining, dreaming and fearing, I finally withdrew from my college and began the transfer process (inshaallah) to another school.

This blog entry isn’t exactly about Morocco; but it is about my experience as a gap year student, and may interest anyone planning on taking a gap year.

There are five students in our group who entered their gap year committed to a college; at least three have had serious second thoughts. Of course, a year abroad changes you. More than that, it gives you an opportunity to think about your college decision… and think, and think, and think.

I believe and hope my decision was for the best—but even if the choice were exceedingly clear, I  would still mourn the college I’ve withdrawn from. For nearly a year I’ve accepted that college as my future; I’ve defended it to detractors of women’s colleges; I’ve made friends there who I’m sorry to leave. I was on the edge of tears when I sent my withdrawal email. It was heart-wrenching to give up, in the click of a mouse, the community in which I’d so long imagined my future.

If you’ve noticed this is ridiculously melodramatic, you’re right. What a problem to cry over—the choice between two top liberal arts colleges! And every day I walk past beggars.

Choice is both a wonderful and a terrible thing—and according to the psychologist Barry Schwartz, a major source of human unhappiness. I remember reading about one study, probably his, in which subjects took a photography course. At the end, they were split into two groups; those in the first group were given a print of one of their photos. Those in the second group were given (I think) two prints and asked to choose one to take for themselves. Later, all subjects were asked to rate their level of satisfaction with their print.

The result? Those who had had no choice in the matter were much happier than those who had chosen. Choice opens the doors of regret. As choosers, we are aware that we could have had something else and that something else might have been better.  

Our society aggravates the problem by perpetuating the myth of the One. The One True Love; the Dream College; every year I go to choose a pumpkin for a jack-o-lantern and actually find myself seeking the Perfect Pumpkin. We’ve built up a culture of expecting perfection; we tell ourselves there is one perfect place, one perfect person, one perfect thing for us. When you take a step back from this attitude, and the culture we’ve built up around it, it’s actually quite comical. I recognize it as comical and I recognize it as a myth; I know there are many places and people and things that would benefit me in different ways. But acknowledging a myth doesn’t make you immune to it. And I can’t help but wonder, with the vast amount of time my gap year has placed between my high school graduation and the beginning of college, have I made the right decision?

This, for me, has been without a doubt the hardest aspect of my time abroad. But with my decision made, I’m ready to immerse myself in Morocco for the last two months and accept that what happens, happens.

From the Rooftop

There are so many things I love about living with my host family in their riad in the old medina of Marrakech. Occasionally really exciting things happen, but what I enjoy most are the simple, daily experiences I have here. For example, one of my favorite things to do at home is to sit up on the rooftop of the riad and observe the medina.

The very top of the roof where I sit is about five stories above the street level of the medina, but when I'm up there it feels like I am on the ground level of another world. The rooftops around me continue all the way to the horizon, and the only reminder I have of the streets below is the sound of the motorbikes. The atmosphere up on the roof is very peaceful. I go up there quite often to study, read, take naps, or just get fresh air and think. Being on the roof provides a unique perspective of the medina. A sea of satellite dishes and TV antennas cover all the buildings, most of which are very old and in great need of repairs according to western standards. This is a great illustration of how modernity has merged with the past in Morocco, especially within the past several years. Families may live in very old buildings like my family's riad, yet nearly everyone has electricity, and most have satellite dishes in order to watch TV. (Still, it surprised me to hear from my host brother that his community did not have access to the Internet until as late as 2006!)

Something else I love about being on the rooftop is the Moroccan sun. No matter what time of year it is, the sun in Morocco seems to be very intense and warming. During winter here I have been wearing several layers of clothing just to go outside, but when I am up on the roof I can still wear shorts and a T-shirt as if it were summer. Even if it's chilly or cold outside, the heat from the sun is enough to make me start sweating sometimes. Also, the mountains in the distance are breathtaking when visible on clear days, usually in the winter or cold weather. Then when the atmosphere changes with warm weather, the mountains completely disappear behind dust, and it is easy to forget that there are actually mountains there.

From the rooftop in the morning I can hear the medina waking up, with motorbikes heading out on the streets below and people opening up their shops for the day. Then, if I am up on the roof at the right time, I am sometimes jolted alert by the call to prayer coming from the mosque very close to my house. Generally one or two mosques might start the call a bit before the rest, but soon I hear it coming from all over the city like a chorus. I've tried to count the mosques across the medina in view from the rooftop, but their range of sizes and appearances makes that difficult. 

Throughout the course of a typical day there are many visitors to the rooftops. I have noticed from the buildings around mine that older people especially love sitting up on the roof, whether to have conversation with each other over tea or just enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. My host grandmother often spends her entire day sitting on the roof talking to family members while they wash and hang clothes to dry or prepare food. The only young people I have seen on the roofs are young tourists sunbathing at nearby hotels. I find it funny that many young Americans love to sunbathe in order to become tan, while here in Morocco many of the young people avoid the direct sun and would not typically come up to the roof at all, unlike their elders. However, the most common visitors to the rooftops in the medina are felines. I have never seen so many cats in the same place. Whether they are jumping from one roof to another, going after birds, laying together in groups of eight or ten, cats are everywhere. I often notice them eyeing the top of a really old building next door, where a group of pigeons always gathers to be fed by a man who lives there. In the evening, I can hear the faint beating of the drums and noises from the crowds of people in Jemaa el Fna. And the sunsets are amazing. Silhouettes of palm trees and the Koutoubia against a beautifully colored sky make the view seem almost unreal. My description doesn't do it justice though, so I've included this photo.

Overall I am very grateful to live in the old medina of Marrakech while I am here in Morocco. Living in the oldest part of the city and being able to observe the simple things that happen every day here have given me a better, more personal understanding of Moroccan culture. My lookout point from the rooftop in particular has allowed me to experience the city's culture from the inside and actually feel like a part of it from day to day. And that is an experience I will not forget after I leave here.