Settling in... sort of.

It's been a while. I haven't really been free to do my own thing- not at all. On Thursday, I returned from Marakkech to Fes. It was an 8 hour, sweaty, silent, boring, hungry, disgusting train ride. The only communication I had was laughing and gasping as the man next to me tried to put his humongous suitcase on the tiny baggage rail above the heads of the people behind us (unfortunately I was half asleep when it finally came crashing down- i mean, inevitable, right?), a little bit of french with an old woman next to me to make sure i hadn't missed my stop, and with a man that i'm pretty sure was on the verge of proposing to me- a common occurrence here fee al-magreb.

I left Marakkech a little tearfully. I was staying with Mohamed in his hometown the day before. We were planning on travelling, but I let my dad's warning get into my head. He was afraid I'd get raped. I keep forgetting that I'm a 20year-old, fairly independent individual. I love my parents, especially my dad, and am eternally grateful for him looking out for me. But I can't allow him to limit what I do here. It's just not worth it. Mohamed and I had all thesee travel plans, to Agadir, Essouira, and into the mountains. But instead, I turned into a little girl and went back to Fes.

I met Mohamed's family, everyone except his dad, when I was at his house. He lives in a cement shack in a town called tannahout. Please know that I don't say 'shack' with criticism, but it's the only way to describe it. It was one of those moments when I realized, I'm not in Kansas anymore, ya know? It was the most barren, basic, jail like house i've ever been in. I honestly felt like I was in a decorated prison cell- cement floors, walls, ceilings. There was one rug in the living room that we kicked our shoes off before stepping on. It was made of bamboo like material. We sat on thin mattresses on the floor and watched their nice flatscreen tv, complete with sattelite and channels from everywhere (a common phenomenon amongst the poor in the 3rd world.) Heck, I don't even have a TV, but this way, people are in touch with the crazy world we live in, and Mohamed's barely educated, Berber mother from the Mountains of the Sahara probably knows more about the election in the US than most Americans do.

Upon my arrival, I was greeted with laughter. Ya, I kinda look like a boy with my buzz-cut. And I don't speak a word of Berber. I'm just now starting to speak a little bit of Moroccan Arabic, but I could forget on the Berber all together. We just laughed at eachother, not understanding anything, and they threw me into the small kitchen and critisized my inability to evenly pat the fried bread cakes they were making. The house was full of only women, Mohamad's father and eldest sister work and live in the city of Marakkech. They were casually dressed inside the house, still with scarves tied around their hair, but not around their necks (not hijabs). In the dirt streets surrounding their house, women were fully dressed in hijabs and jelabas, not the men of course. I'm trying my best to be accepting of this disparity between men and women, but my western upbringing keeps yelling at me: this is bull shit, it's unfair. But, at the same time, I'll probably be buying a jelaba and wearing hijab in the near future. I can't stand sticking out as much as I do.

I am really grateful that I have the willingness to try new things. It hasn't gotten me into trouble yet, although people love to make me feel like I'm doing things wrong. This may not make sense to my readers, but I just feel like I'm always screwing up here, making the wrong decisions. But the universe has me in it's arms, I feel supported, here or there.

I went to a Turkish steam bath with Mohamad's sister Hassna and his cousin Fatima. For those of you, like me, who don't know what this is, get ready. The three of us walked hand in hand, barely communicating, probably three miles in 90 degree weather, wearing long sleeves and pants, to this decrepid looking building with two doors- one for men, one for women, seperate, but equal, right? (I can't help myself). The first room, we stripped, everything came off apart from our underwear- bra, gone. Hello Hassna and Hello Fatima. I mean, really. That was a bit intimate considering I'd met them less than an hour before. But, Mohamed told me it was a way for the family to show me hospitality. Ok, lets see. Then, the steam part. As if I wasn't already hot enough. I think this country has plans to kill me by draining me of all vital liquids. Somehow, Hassna and Fatima weren't at all bothered by the fact that we had just endured another temperature increase, and were content only to use hot water to bathe. Are you SERIOUS. I was totally rocking out with a huge bucket of 'cold' water. really it was luke warm, but considering it was at least 130 degrees in there, it was ok. Fatima then proceeded to scrub me with one of those exfoliating gloves. She washed my entire body at least three times over the course of our trip to the turkish bath. We also played, laying down on the floor and testing our limits pouring cold water over our naked, steaming bodies. Yikes, seriously.

I'm realizing now that I can't relay all my experiences here. I mean, I made mention of that before. Everything is new, I'm always over stimulated, and I sleep a lot. I always take a nap after lunch and when I wake up they're serving me food again. So, I'll stop now. But, Abderrahim, my professor, did ask me an interesting question the other day when we were again riding the horribly sweaty train to Rabat with his family. He asked me, what are the things you love about moroccans, and what are the things you hate. Here are a few I came up with:


I love:

The hospitality. Literally, an aquaintence becomes a friend in less than a half hour, and they will do ANYTHING for you. My first aquatintence on the plane let me stay at his house, shower, nap, eat... until I could meet with my tour group and check into the hotel. He also insisted on paying for most things, although I did demand to buy him dinner.

Their patience (or timelessness, which could be something I don't exactly love, it all depends on your perspective I suppose). Everyone is so patient with me, my inability to speak the language. I only hope I can be a little more patient with myself in that respect. The reason I mentioned timelessness, well they can afford to be patient because no one is ever in a rush. There's no where to be too fast. If you're two hours late, even three, its no big deal. I remember in Fes, Abderrahim (my professor) said he'd meet me around 7 and didn't end up showing up till I was asleep, around 10:30.

The food. Enough said. I just love learning a new cuisine, although globalization has made somethings familiar- McDonalds being one.

Sitting rooms. Every house, even the cement shack in tannahout, has a sitting room. All the walls are lined with these couch like things. Perfect for sitting and chatting, eating, or sleeping. This way, guests- even overnight ones- are never a problem.

The call to prayer. It happens 5 times a day. Usually, its a beautiful, deep, rich, male voice. Sometimes they overlap eachother, echoing between the different mosques. They serve as a reminder for me to say a little prayer, and they remind me that I'm in another world from the one I've always called home.

Motorbikes. Thats right. It's European style. And in a week from now, Ensha'allah (God willing) I'll be a proud owner of my own motor vehicle, hell yes.


I'm not loving:

Sticking out so much. I'm used to being a fairly modest member of society. Ya know, I don't think people see me and think: whore. In Moroco, its a bit of anoither story. I don't know, perhaps its an exaggeration, but sometimes I feel like I need to ward off the eyes of all the men around me. I need a shirt that says in Moroccan Arabic: I'm a lesbian. I mean, who knows if I am... But I could use a little less attention. I'm going to purchase a jelaba and hijab soon though. I can't handle the sticking out thing.

Train stops. They last hours. Of the four trains I've taken, all have been around 2 hours late, either delayed during the trip or delayed in coming to pick me up.

Feeling religiously inadequate. Some of you know I feel this way in the states. Here, just multiply that feeling by 1,000. Geeze, the whole country is Islamic. The name of God is EVERYWHERE. And here I am, stripped of religion, wandering the streets. Yikes.

The lack of equality between men and women, especially in leisure activities. Men sit in cafes all day, they swim at the beach, they wear shorts and sleeveless shirts. Women do none of these things. They work at home or in the office, they don't even go to the beach 9 times out of 10, and they cover completely, God only knows how they aren't drenched in sweat like me.

Ok, if I still have your attention now, thanks my friend. I'm glad you're along for the journey.

Hopefully, my next post will find me smiling- moto keys in hand.
Blessings. Ma'Salama (or salami?)

So I know youve been waiting...

I know you've all been sitting at your computers, waiting for days upon days now to find out how it's been going. I just can't tell you, it's a secret.

Just kidding, I love it here, absolutely!

My first impression> it's almost better than home. It's honestly the first time I can remember that I've landed and been just as comfortable as I have been landing at home. I sat next to a really nice guy on the flight and he helped me out so much once we landed. He took me to his house and let me shower and rest while I waited until I could check in at my hotel where I'd meet with my tour group. But instead, we ended up spending the day together, drinking fresh juice near the coast of Casablanca and exploring grocery stores and train stations... very important research you see.

I met up with my group later that night, all Australians and super friendly. I love their accents, but sometimes, I can barely understand them- knickers, i'm not fast, knackered, dearer... alright, whatever. But they've been so great, and not too critical of me in light of Mr. Bush, many thanks for that.

I sort of fell in love with the tour guide, his name is Mohamed. At this point, 7 days later, I'm fairly certain that he woos at least one girl per tour group. But, at first, I thought I'd marry him. Think Megan, perhaps a little crazier, Moroccan, and add Japanese and German to the list of languages spoken- hey, I'll get there some day. He certainly is a charmer. And I would love to have his job. He tells me theyre looking for people at his agency, who knows people, I may never come home.

I need to stop and comment on how weird it is to communicate this stuff through the computer knowing that there's really now way I can express it so that it's understood on the other end. It's wonderful here, the people are amazingly friendly, accepting, open-minded, caring, beautiful... I absolutely love it. At the same time, I miss each one of you. Can I just have it all, please?

So far, the highlight of my trip- on a cultural level that is- has been when Abderrahim (my professor from OSU) invited me to a wedding late last Tuesday night when I was in Fez. The weddings here last many days, so this was just one night of the celebration. Lucky me, it was the night they kill the sheep. After finally understanding what was about to happen (at first I thought they were talking about beheading me considering the hand gestures they were using) I went out back and watched Abderrahim take a knife to the poor sheep's jugular. All the women stood in the kitchen singing Allah AlAkbahr (God is the greatest) and all the neighbors looked on from other apartments. Needless to say, after watching the half dead sheep stand again, then have gargantuan muscle spazams splashing blood all over the patio... well i've been sick ever since.

I have actually been sick since, but I'm fairly confident it wasn't the sheep that caused it. Our group has determined it was a tagine restaurant in the old city of Fez . 12/13 of us were sick by the day after, and I was hit pretty hard. In fact, I wish I could do more of a report on the food, but I haven't eaten much more than crackers and sprite since Wednesday of last week. I'm just working my way back to a meal today- a chicken skewer and some french fries. The food looks good though, just a lot of the same.

I haven't had the chance to get much yoga practice in. I did hop into a headstand before coming to use the internet today though, and it felt wonderful. Oh, and I did attempt a few vinyasas in the Sahara post camel ride, but the Australians told me "Enough of the yogar" not that I care what they think, I was just a little too sick then to be attempting anything to crazy. I have had lots of time to meditate, although it's still quite off setting to be so far away from everything that seems familiar.

I can already tell you that I'll be missing:

Ice water
Balanced Yoga
Romaine lettuce
Starbucks (pathetic, i know)
and all of you

I love you all Immensely.
I only hope to share that love with those I meet here.

Namaste.

Leaving Tomorrow!

This will be my last post before I leave.  It sounds so final, yikes! I'm not sure how  much posting I'll be able to do in the first few days, but knowing me I'll find the time.  I'm still scrambling to get things packed, but I'm super ready and excited!  

The picture, though generic, speaks of times to come.  In a week or so, I'll be riding through the desert on a camel, and I'm pretty psyched-- though I realize it's not the ideal vacation for everyone.  

I did my first home practice today and did call and response with my recording of the ashtanga invocation for a while.  I'm looking forward to some desert yoga! 

Namaste!

Matt Damon gets it.

I was reading The Columbus Dispatch tonight after I journaled for a while at Starbucks (which, by the way, I'll really miss- I've grown accustomed to drinking a free cup of earl grey tea with cream on nearly a daily basis) and I came across a quote on the back side of the life and arts section.  It was almost lost amongst a slew of absurd and useless celebrity quotes, but it truly spoke to me: 

"I think many of our problems as a country would be solved if people had thick passports.   There's just  no substitute for actually going and seeing things."

-Matt Damon, on the benefits of world travel

Amen to Matt Damon.  Now, in true Megan fashion, I don't know who Matt Damon is in particular (I'm not one to keep up to date on celebrities).  But this idea resonates so deeply with me, and has for as long as I can remember.  I hope more people stumble across this idea in the future: more of my peers, more of our teachers, leaders, pastors, children...  I truly don't believe that I can speak to the reality of a country (or city for that matter)- its values, its religions, and most importantly its people- until I've been there to experience it for myself.  And what I find more often than not is that even after an extended stay in a particular place, I still find it difficult to come to any conclusions about it for myself, let alone form opinions that I'd be confident in sharing with others.  Never can I fool myself into thinking that I'll be able to predict what a travel experience is "going to be" for myself or for another.  

I ran into a few Moroccan men drinking coffee on the patio of Starbucks.  I'd been introduced to them when I used to work at that location.  Their faces lit up as they shared with me about their country: the seafood is wonderful, the beaches are packed this time of year, there's good surfing in Essouria, and don't worry- people aren't going to care how you dress...  At that moment, there was nothing but excitement surging through  me- I stand at the threshold of this experience, an opportunity to see another part of the world, and to see the rest of the world through Moroccan eyes.  

Now, I feel obligated to admit that I am feeling afraid.  I have fallen in love with Columbus, I have created communities for myself, made friends, discovered places I enjoy going, developed a sort of routine.  I'm very afraid to leave, I suppose because I'm having trouble trusting that it will all still be here to welcome me when I return.  But, after a day full of tears, I'm feeling just a little more confident that it will be.  And I'm admitting this in hopes that owning up to it will lead me to have compassion for myself, that I'll be aware of my own humanity, and that you'll all still love me in spite of how afraid I feel and how far away I may be.  

I leave to go back to Cleveland tomorrow morning.  Let the journey begin...

Pre-Departure

The first post, yikes.  I'm finding this process somewhat intimidating.  Yet, I don't feel it's appropriate to start writing in my journal just yet, but I think it's appropriate to start blogging; after all, I do depart in less than a week...

Well, I'm still living in Columbus as of Tuesday evening.  My plane departs at 3pm from Cleveland, so a lot of moving will take place over the next few days.  As I look out over my bedroom, I'm discouraged by the amount of things that still clutter my space, as well as the amount of things that I'd like to do before I go.  I suppose at some point I'll have to break down and accept that there's only so much I can get done, and in some respects, I suppose it's good that I'm leaving soon- there's only two more days to procrastinate now.  

I was at dinner with friends tonight and Caitlin asked me if I was getting nervous.  I'm pleased to report that I could honestly respond: "Ya know, I'm becoming less nervous and more excited." I couldn't help but smile at that response.  For such a while now, I've been dwelling on my nerves, and I suppose its been healthy to some extent.  But geeze-oh-pete, I want some time to get excited about all of this: I'm about to ride a camel through the desert (i'll be sure to report back on that one).  

Considering that my life is a little short of interesting here right now, I'll hold off on too many posts until I do have things to report.  Feel free to email me or leave me friendly voice messages though from now until I get back.  I'll check them often to remind me that there are good people here (with lots of wisdom, yogic and otherwise) that I'll be able to come back to someday soon.  I love you all!