September 9 2010 / Casablanca, Morocco

MOROCCO!  I didn’t sleep too well last night due to the Mermaid of Err making an unexpected reappearance, having apparently caught up to us in the Mediterranean (the Mermaid of Err is our nickname for the squeaky noise that sounds like a wailing woman that happens sometimes outside our porthole while we’re at sea).  I got up early to go to the Health Clinic, because I didn’t have malaria pills (lawl) and have been having TD for a while (google it).  The doctor I talked to was really nonchalant about malaria, and was pretty much like “look at this list and figure out what you would need.”  Apparently the most expensive malaria pills are ten dollars a pill, or the 95 cents a pill ones you have to take for a month after leaving the malaria zone… and apparently you’re really prone to yeast infections which is NO THANK YOU.  I will happily spend more money to avoid that situation, because I can’t even imagine traveling with that business happening. 

I got dressed for the cultural and logistics pre-port, which was in the Union and was very loooong but interesting.  It was a lot of the “don’t wear tank tops and shorts, have a man with you if you’re out in public as a woman, don’t draw attention to yourself as an American tourist, be respectful” and etc.  I’m trying to put my best face forward in Morocco, but I really hate the fact that I have to have a man do my bartering for me, because that’s who the vendors pay attention to.  It’s my money, so pay attention to me, you know?  Apparently if you are alone/are acting independently as a woman you are also thought to be a prostitute, which is fine with me as long as no one harasses me.  I feel like I can put a pretty fierce game face on though—I’m a big woman and I have a pretty tough hawk-eye when I’m not in the mood to be jerked around.  I think the most important park of it (at least that’s what my New Yorker friend Lorelei said) is to just be confident and to not let your guard slip, EVER.  You’re a woman, you’re American, and so you don’t have room for error or no one will take you seriously (she did all her bartering herself and she said she did fine).  But that’ll be an adventure for tomorrow in Marrakesh when I’m bargaining for lightweight pants and a shawl for my hiking.  Ellie is such a sweet Kentucky girl, so I hope she’s able to get by too—she seems pretty psyched to try. 

A couple of diplomats came on board but they didn’t really say anything interesting aside from one of them saying to go to Rick’s Café, which he had heard was good for food (which got a good laugh out of all of us, because a professor had lectured 20 minutes earlier to not buy into the movie culture when Casablanca wasn’t even filmed there).  It was all pretty dull and I was rearing to go, so I was pretty excited when they announced that people going on the day trips could depart, so I quickly stuffed my backpack full of three bags of beanie babies, and one stuffed cat that Cassy wanted to get rid of.  I had to double back for my yellow ticket—almost forgot it!  But then we were outside and down by the buses.  I was surprised that it wasn’t as sweltering hot as it was in Spain—it was hot, definitely, but there was also a cool breeze, probably from the ocean.  We hopped on the bus, which was far more small than the last ones we were on, and I sat next to a girl named Julie.  She is also going on the Berber Villages trip with me tomorrow, so that is exciting—I feel like I’m getting to know a lot more people than I was able to find at the beginning .

We drove out of the port area, which seems super dangerous and sketchy, so I’m glad they’re having shuttles to get us through there.  We drove past the city area, hugging the coast pretty well—I saw Rick’s Café as we passed by, though it was only the back!  It was interesting seeing all these fast food places like Pizza Hut and KFC with Arabic script next to it.  We also passed by the Hassan II Mosque, which is the only mosque that non-Muslims can enter (though only with a tour group).  It was ENORMOUS—a professor said that it was second or third in size only to the Mosque in Mecca, and I could believe it.  The minaret (the tower for the call to prayer) was huge, and all white and green-blue tiled.  We didn’t get too close to it but I really hope I have enough time to take a taxi with some people over there on the last day maybe, because I would really like to hop into a tour so I can see the inside , even if it’s only a French tour (apparently there’s only like one English tour in the afternoon). 

The streets were really crazy.  First of all, the entire city seemed like it was covered in a layer (depending on the status of the business/house) ranging from light dust to grime.  There were hardly any women on the streets—maybe for every twenty men we saw there would be one or two women.  The ocean was a murky brown green, so I don’t think I’ll be hitting up the beach.  As we got away from the city, there were just these unfenced in brown fields were the occasional dirty black and white cow would be hanging out, or there would be donkeys and its foal.  I even saw a little boy chasing after sheep to herd them and turkeys that were just out and about as men sat by the roads.  Not a lot of animal control—they must learn to stay out of the streets. 

Anyway, once we got to George Washington Academy, which is a private high school where children whose families can afford to send them to a good high school were hanging out.  It was a shock seeing bright green grass fields, as so much of the country seems so brown and dirt oriented.  There was a little bit of a tour, where I could see this cluster of girls playing what looked like Four Square (I don’t know how many of you guys played that when you were in elementary school but I sure did… it was a pretty cool realization) while all the boys hung out in a corner, talking and wrestling and teasing.  They even had a track where some of the older students were walking laps and talking.  But we didn’t spend too much time there, as then we were off to the SOS Children’s Village. 

The Children’s Village was… wow, where do I start?  It was up a little bit of a hill, with lots of little white houses, and with occasional fields of grass.  Near the front there was a jungle gym while towards the back there was a basketball hoop in a communal paved circle area.  Donkeys brayed out of sight, and stray cats and even a kitten were everywhere.  It looked really well maintained.  The director of the program came out and gave us a bit of a presentation in French, translated by our guide, but I was pretty distracted by the children that slowly snuck in and sat down or stood to listen as well.  We then split into two groups to tour the area, which I followed one but me and another girl sort of stayed towards the back of the line, talking to two of the fourteen year old girls that lived there.  They had both been there for ten years and they had henna tattoos on their hands to celebrate the end of Ramadan, which was today.  I did my best to communicate and help translate for others in my battered French, as they spoke Arabic and French mostly, but only a little English.  We talked about their favorite subjects to study (English) and favorite animals (hates cats, loves horses).

The preschool areas were really cool and friendly, with lots of paintings done by the kids up.  There was even a room called the “Salle de Projection” which was just a lot of fun stuff around in it, which they explained that when kids first came to the program they were feeling pretty depressed (given that their previous life experiences would be abusive families, poverty, war-torn countries, or death of their parents), and that it existed solely to boost their mood.  It was impressive that they didn’t only care about sheltering the children but also to help their mental well being as well.  The older kids went to school in the cities, so there were no buildings like that, but we also looked into one of the “homes.” 

When we went to enter, a tiny girl ran out to give us all hugs and a kiss on the cheek, which made my heart pretty  much just melt.  Each of the homes had about nine children living in it, each with their own “mother” (a woman who was unmarried and had no children of her own).  She would cook for the children and be their “foster mother.”  The director took the “father” role himself.  The kitchen was tastefully in white and blue, and was clean, though I’m sure with nine kids it could quickly get crowded, and the kids all showed me their rooms, some of which were bright pink. 

I was really impressed by how genuinely loved the kids seemed to be by the director and by the group mothers, who would affectionately tease or pat them.  Other kids too would occasionally slap each other lightly in a teasing sort of way, always accompanied by laughter and smiles.  It made me so incredibly humbled that these kids have far less than I have been blessed with and yet they seem so happy together.  It really makes me so happy that organizations like the SOS Children’s Villages programs exist. 

After the end of the tour, we all hung out together in the communal sports area together.  I played basketball with some of the boys, where half the game was playing keep away dribbling the ball away from each other.  When one of the boys saw that I played aggressively like he did, he kept taunting me by coming closer dribbling the basket ball, even when I’d left to talk to some of the girls.  The girls were a lot more quiet, preferring to talk than play sports.  They were really excited over a sheet of paper that said English phrases in French and Arabic, so they were happy to help us with the pronunciation.  The kids also got a HUGE kick when we would give them our cameras and would take pictures of us and gaggles of their friends.  They were all very polite and thanked us all the time for letting us use them. 

At one point I decided to go over to the director with my bag and explain (in broken French) about my bags of beanie babies.  He decided that we would go over to the “head mother’s” house so that she could decide how to best distribute them.  It was the same house we had looked at earlier, and the kids were overjoyed to see the bags I pulled out of my backpack.  Even the little boys, who almost certainly had outgrown playing with stuffed animals, thanked me profusely, and when I handed the little girl who gave so many hugs earlier the stuffed cat of Cassy’s, she gave me a big kiss on the cheek.  It was an incredible experience.   I left with a huge smile on my face and even a little choked up.  I’m so happy that I brought them, I feel like the SOS kids are going to get so much out of them—more than I ever did, and I adored them at that age. 

After a little while it was time to go.  We said our farewells and headed back to the bus, where the children tapped on the glass and waved goodbye, sometimes giving big kisses on the window.  It was just so cool.  I’m so incredibly happy I’m going to more service visits like this one. It was an incredible experience to see how happy these children were with so little and how close the community was. 

Back on the ship I grabbed dinner and then set to work on my first of many poems, this one dedicated to Spain.  It is pretty terrible so far but I think as I work on it, it’ll get better.  Then I wrote this blog which is far too long, but I just had a lot to say.  :D 

Berber Villages trip is tomorrow, so I won’t be blogging for a while.  I will probably start posting again either the 13th or the 14th, just depending on how busy I am.  I hope you are all enjoying my blogging as much as I am.  :)