Today marks the second day of me being back in the States. Leaving Morocco has been nothing but bittersweet. I am happy to be reunited with my family, happy to be living in the comfort of my own home, and especially happy to drive in a place where they respect the road. However, there’s countless things that I miss. I miss hanging out with the girls everyday, even though we joked that we couldn’t wait to spend time with other people. Spending two months with girls that I “barely” knew from the beginning, it feels like we all share a bond of experiencing Morocco together. I use the term “barely” loosely, because I am comparing it to how well I know the girls now- we all went to a Hamam together for crying out loud!

I had no expectations going into this, but nevertheless Morocco blew my mind. From walking through the Medina, going to our favorite restaurants, or even riding on the Tram- I miss all of it. I truly felt like this was what it meant to be a college student; to travel abroad and to grow from my experiences. This was one of the main factors as to how WPI attracted me, knowing I would have the opportunity for IQP. However knowing now the workload and set schedule the IQP kids had, I am SO grateful that I was able to travel for Humanities.

Morocco not only taught me how to properly make tea, but it has taught me many life skills. Meeting new people is always exciting for me, because not everyone is the same, meaning that I can learn new things from different people and vise versa. Thinking about all the friends I’ve made, not only motivates me to come back to Morocco, but it makes me eager to give them the same experience that they gave me, except here in America. I would say the most eye-opening element that Morocco has gave me was the exposure to the monarchy. Growing up in America, I have never been exposed to the monarchy form of government, except for in textbooks and other literature. However, now having had the chance to live in it, I have a greater understanding. I am not saying that I understand it completely, but rather I can empathize the frustration Moroccans have from it, hearing it from the people themselves. Morocco isn’t perfect, although having its imperfections makes it unique to any other place I have visited before.

My experience living in Morocco is exclusive to me. Although opinions regarding traveling is very subjective, I would most definitely recommend Morocco to everyone I know. Personally, I had the best C term so far, and that is thanks to Morocco. I am grateful for my friend, Veronica, who inspired me to apply to travel for my Humanities, for she went to Morocco for her IQP and loved it. She also adored Morocco, however she gave me little information on what to expect. It wasn’t until I met up with her yesterday, in which she said it was because she wanted me to have no expectations from her stay, and for me to live it up on my own. This journey just reinforced the importance of traveling, and how vital it is to get out of your “bubble” and open your eyes to the rest of the world.

The day that I left, Laura and I were on the same plane to France. Arriving at the French airport, we realized we had to part ways, since I was heading to Boston and she was going to DC. It was at this moment that a group of people asked us if we were going to Boston, to which I replied yes. The man asked me if I could help his friends, an older couple who only spoke Arabic and French, find the right gate. I figured it would be a quick walk and it wasn’t a problem for me of course, so I agreed. As we walked towards security I noticed that it kinda seemed like we were a little family walking together to our gate. I made small talk, asking the typical “What’s your name?”. They were happy at my attempts of speaking in Darija, and it felt like I haven’t left Morocco. I assumed that once we reached the gate, we would part ways, however the couple stayed by my side. It felt like they were my children that I was looking after. We boarded together, but parted ways for our seats and I kinda forgot about them. It wasn’t until we arrived at the Logan airport, where I saw the same man approach me. At this point I was already with my family, and my mom was confused as to why this man was talking to me. He proceeded to thank me for my help, even though I barely did anything, and then gave me his phone number. He said that if I ever found myself in Morocco again to call him, so we can have dinner at his house. I almost started crying right then and there. Even though I left Morocco, Moroccan kindness and hospitality still found a way to me, which is something I will never forget.

I am not proud of humans. I am not happy that our consumption of animals is a social norm, not matter the culture. I am not glad that we as the dominant species, can manipulate our power.

Today, I went to a slaughterhouse. A slaughterhouse who focuses on the production of cow, sheep, and goat for consumption. Waking up at 6:00am, I was confused as to how I was able to do this during my life as a high schooler. That’s a lie- I woke up at a later time, and it was still painful, however I exploded out of bed; afraid I was going to be late. What was I going to wear? The previous visits to the slaughterhouse made me recognize that Ketaki, Sierra and I looked out of place. Not only were we young American women, but we didn’t fit the attitude of the city. I decided on a black sweatshirt and jeans. Appropriate enough to wear at this “funeral”, I thought. I had waves of panic, is this really what I wanted to see? I have to pause videos on the internet of animals dying, taking breaks in between my waves of nausea, so why do I think I can see it face to face? I freaked out and really wondered if this was okay for me.

The street of the slaughterhouse was populated by men. The stereotype of cold hearted men flooded my mind when I saw the multiple men around the dead carcasses of cattle, holding knives. It didn’t help that the sky was still dark, and the poorly lit street made the scenery look like the an opening scene of a horror movie. We arrived a couple minutes before our Professor, which allowed me to take in my surroundings, rather than rushing into the building. The atmosphere of us girls standing together was nothing but uneasiness. Not only does this feeling come somewhat common to females when we are surrounded by men, but seeing the men huddled around piles of meat, greeting each other as if it were a regular day made me especially feel like I was on another planet.

There was a lot of movement in and out of the slaughterhouse. A man came out from the building, walking to his car that was coincidentally right next to where we were standing, covered in blood from the knees down. He opened his trunk and proceeded to change his clothes right there. Coming from someone who does this for a living, he was doing what he had to do. This was regular to him. Coming from someone who has the occupation of a student, having no day to day confrontation with death, this was not regular to me. Moments later our professor arrived and he received a call and we were rushed inside. We greeted the man we met yesterday, who had the authority to let us see the slaughter. He was dressed like we was about to go on camera, representing the business. With his white hat on, we proceeded to enter the bloodbath. We were led into a meeting room, introducing ourselves to other men of status in the company. As the men conversed in Darija, I tried my best to focus on my breathing, trying to prepare for what I was going to see. However, my time was cut short when they said, “Ready? Let’s go”

Before I knew it, we were all in a slaughter room. There was around 10 men inside, talking to one another. From my side view, I could see multiple men sharpening knives, in the front were hanging bodies of sheep already skinned. It wasn’t until I looked to my left that I saw about 7 sheep all huddled together. It took every power I had to not run and beg them to spare at least one for me. I just wanted to grab one and hug it and tell them everything will be okay. But that lie wouldn’t help anyone; I knew they would die in the next few minutes and they knew they would meet the fate of the hanging bodies of the sheep who they probably just witness moments before. There was a man with red pants, who was holding a knife, facing us. He had a strong build and his face was hard, one eye was blind. He began by grabbing the legs of the sheep, putting them on the ground and quickly slitting their throats. He grabs the next one, placing it next to the first. Slit. Next sheep.

Once he finished the slicing of the neck part, all what was left was the view of sheep suffocating on each other’s blood. As their bodies began twitching, the veterinary told us it was just due to their nerves. Being a Biology major, I was expecting this response, however seeing their bodies move made it seem like they were fighting for those extra seconds of life. I forgot to breathe for a couple minutes, and my body started paying for it. All of a sudden sounds began sounding differently, the room was spinning, and I couldn’t feel my limbs. I wanted to leave the room so badly, all that was in my head was the intense iron smell from the amount of blood produced. I was in this state for 5 minutes, until I finally convinced myself that if I didn’t move in the next minute, I would face plant on the feces and blood covered floor. I don’t know how I managed the words, “I need a minute” and had the ABILITY to move my legs to walk out the room. Outside it felt like I was in a high school hallway, except at this high school, only male butchers attended and instead of lockers it was just hanging bodies of meat.

I figured I was done being weak and walked back into the room. I was wrong, because it was skinning time. The man with the one eye, began by cutting one of its hooves and attaching the sheep’s ligament onto the hanger. I was amazed to realize how strong our muscle cells are, for those two muscles carried the sheeps entire weight    . Recalling my memories, I feel as though I “blacked-out” during the rest of the time. I focused on trying to make through our meeting, rather than trying to take mental notes of what is happening.

Alas, I know that this consumption will continue happening. To me, it doesn’t really matter in which way they are killed, Halal or not, because the animal dies in the end. No matter what, people will continue eating meat, even if they know it is bad for their health or bad for the environment. At the end of the day though, I am glad I got this opportunity, and especially glad I got to do it in Rabat.

 

Day started off normal- breakfast at 9am, class at 10am, started making lunch at 1pm. It wasn’t until 2pm rolled by, finally sitting down to eat, that I suddenly remembered I had scheduled a meeting for 4pm. Like I usually do, I started panicking about time and figured I should leave for my meeting 40 minutes earlier. But to my relief, the person I was meeting, Souad, had emailed me to push back the meeting for 5:30pm. Taking “advantage” of this situation, I decided to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING and just go on my phone. Dumb decision. It wasn’t until 4pm that I realized I have not charged my phone and haven’t even looked up the address for the cafe that we were supposed to meet up at! I ran to Ketaki, because previously we talked about going to the meeting together, however after reading her body language I suggested that she didn’t have to come with me if she didn’t want to. To my recognition, she said she would rather not go, which was I was fine with, however I would’ve rather her come with me. I figured this was my time to finally be “alone” in the city. One problem though; I had NO IDEA where I was going!
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I would consider myself pretty good with directions, but the ONE TIME I needed to look up an address, the Wi-Fi decided not to work at my residence. As the time approached, I started panicking and emailed everyone I could possibly email for help with directions, even asking the kind ladies at the front desk. As soon as my phone dinged with a text message, I was ecstatic to get directions from Mr. Brahimi, although vague, I had trust that I would figure it out.

Getting closer to the time of the meeting, I rushed to the tram station. I figured I would just weave around the streets to try and find the cafe Giovanni, that did not exist according to Google. Once I heard the speakers say my stop, I left the tram and just walked straight. It wasn’t until I heard my name that I turned around, and to my astonishment saw my friend NourSadate. Being the emotional person I am, I almost started crying with relief that I could finally ask someone for directions. My meeting was with the wife of the director who coordinated a conference with NourSadate, so it was almost perfect that I saw him. He knew exactly where the cafe was, and even said the director told him that he also would be at that exact cafe!

Once I walked in, I was welcomed by a beautiful environment and a worried lady, who I presumed to be Souad.
“You found the place alright?”, she asked to which I responded by a light chuckle. I thanked NourSadate and he promptly left, to which I was again left alone. The meeting began with her teasing that I thought she was male, in reference to my email heading to which I said “Mr.” instead of “Mrs.”. That simple joke made me relax and calm down that she was also probably nervous to meet someone she has never met before. I loved every second of our get-together, and learned that Souad was living the life that I dreamed about; having a professional title, but using her spare time saving animals. I gave her an overview of my research topic, emphasizing that I would like to focus on either cows or cats and how they are viewed by Moroccans. Souad was excited about my topic, however she gave me a slap of reality. She believed that it would be easier to make a difference with researching cats, rather than cows, due to the reality that cows are usually just seen as food, versus the ideas of pets. She emphasized how cats changed her life for the better, and how she felt that it was her social obligation to protect them. Understanding what she has done, and what could possibly happen in the future, I was inspired by her passion and felt her pain when she emphasized change in Morocco.

Leaving the meeting, I was on a “natural high”. I was so happy, having a better idea on what my topic is now and how I met someone so sweet as Souad (she even payed for my tea (‘: !!) I was practically skipping with glee towards the tram stop. I quickly texted Laura, telling her that I was safe, how well the meeting went, and that I would be coming back soon. Arriving back to the residence, I ran to my charger and plugged my 2% phone in. I walked over to Laura’s room, and gave her a quick overview of how the meeting went. She responded if I wanted to go to the Kassba to meet up with some friends we have made, here in Morocco. Still gleaming with joy, I agreed and we were off!

As we hopped off the tram to the entrance of the Medina, we entered hoping we would figure out where we are going. It wasn’t until it started getting dark, and we were walking towards the end of the end of the Medina with less lighting that I remembered I had data on my phone, that I purchased as I was freaking out over the limited Wi-Fi at the residence. As google maps popped up on my phone, we found out we were completely off from where we thought we were and had to turn around and go ALL the way back. With the diminishing light and people, we were doing what IES specifically told us not to do, travel late at night in an unknown location. Even with all the cat calls and looks, nothing could make me upset, because I was still happy from the meeting. Luckily we both had each other to laugh with, however it kind of felt like going through a haunted house with people jumping out to try and scare you, but you know that they can’t hurt you and instead of jumping out, men just scream out “My pee-pee loves you”.

After a 15 minute detour, we finally arrived to our destination. We entered our friend Moniers house and at this time I’m thinking about their idea of home decor. As soon as the door opened, we were welcomed by a steep set of stairs and to a comfy “hangout” room. After talking and hanging out, Monier suggests we go up to the roof. Being already dark at night, I was anticipating what the view would look like. My mouth was ajar for the first 5 minutes, just looking at his view of the ocean and all the city lights(view above). I tried taking a photo, but it did not do it justice to how it looked like in person. We continued talking, having Monier and his friend Karim teach us some Darija words as we mutually corrected their English grammar; a win-win. As it started getting late, we told them that we would be heading out, to which they responded that they would walk us out. This reinforced the idea in my head that men are more chivalrous to women outside of America. They helped us grab a taxi, since the trams stop working after 10pm, and I am proud to say that during my stay here, I was able to make friends with someone, so much so they invited me over their house.

Since religion is such a strong characteristic in Morocco, I was flabbergasted when I discovered bars nearby our residence. Intrigued, I figured since it was a Friday night, I should try it out and see how “discrete” these bars are. The entrance of the bar had a “bouncer”, that ironically just opened the door for us. I would assume his job is too make sure no one was too drunk to leave or enter the place that would make a scene. As we entered, the aroma of the place quickly entered my nose and my eyes adjusted to the smoke of tobacco. We sat down and embraced the live music that was playing. The guy that was sitting next to me, caught my eye because he was the only guy slying dancing. Trying out my Darija, I asked what his and his friends name were and they responded with Youness and Aaisa, respectively. To my relief, Youness spoke English and was very proficient, despite him saying that he wasn’t “good”. We spent the night getting to know each other and asking questions about life in Morocco and America.
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Taking about politics was one of the “no-no” subjects Professor Brahimi told us not to bring up when talking to Moroccans. However, after befriending Youness, I was very curious to know his opinion. To my astonishment, he declared how awful the monarchy was and how he can’t wait to leave. Growing up in a country where I am not exposed to the system of the monarchy, I was very interested in hearing what he had to say his personal struggle was to it. I asked if he votes, and laughed when he responded no. Growing up in the era of politics in America where it is crucial to vote in order for your voice to be heard, I was in disbelief when he said he didn’t vote.
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As the time creeped up to be 1:30, the bar’s closing time, people started dispersing out. We said our goodbyes to the new friends we met and went our separate ways. I was really glad I decided to go out, and was extremely lucky to have met someone as chill as Youness and Aaisa were. I can confidently say, we got the true Moroccan hospitality and kindness that I was awaiting to get.

 

 

I have been in Morocco for about two weeks now, and it feels like I’ve been here for a month now. Although my Darija is still limited beginner, I feel way more confident in going from place to place. Not only can I say what I want to say, but I can catch words people are saying in Darija. Being in an environment in which people are speaking Darija, it is making the learning process easier for me.

One day after class, I was walking back to the tram stop and coincidentally the tram was right there. I ran onto the tram thinking that everyone was behind me, but the doors suddenly closed. As I waved to my friends from the inside, I realized that this was my first time alone in Rabat. This was the moment that I was yearning for. Not saying I don’t like traveling in a group, but being alone allows me to self-reflect. Although I am not Moroccan, I feel as though I can “blend in” physically. I figured since I am by myself, I should try out my Darija. Being in a group, I realized I was speaking passively and let other people ask the questions that applied for all of us, but being alone I wanted to “test” myself. I went to a local hannut to buy a pack of cigarettes. With my broken Darija, I asked the shop owner for a pack, in which he responded with a slight chuckle and smile. From that interaction, I felt welcomed. Looking over my notes from class that day, I realized that I said, “Do you want cigarettes?” instead of “Can I have cigarettes?” and that was why the shop owner laughed at me. However that is the way you learn, by making mistakes and acknowledging them.
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Although I did travel by myself for that short amount of time, I still don’t feel comfortable traveling by myself. Not due to the location, but rather by the eyes of men. Back in Massachusetts, I felt like I always had the liberty of traveling to places by myself. Here in Morocco, it’s a different story. If I want to go grocery shoppings, I feel as though I must travel in a group. I guess that’s because I personally don’t feel comfortable traveling by myself, running around doing errands.
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Yesterday, as I was taking a walk with my friend later in the night, I realized we were the only females. Numerous men were walking by in groups, and again the eyes were staring accompanied by the hi’s and hola’s. I recognize that my appearance of a non-Morcaan is present whenever and wherever I go, but I wonder if female Morccans also get this treatment. I don’t want to have the stereotype of the American girl wherever I go, however that is not something I can remove.

Aside from the numerous population of stray cats, another notable factor of Morocco is the population of tobacco smokers. In America, there is a strong emphasis of how smoking is bad for your health as well as the people around you, however smoking here is nothing but common. From cafes to restaurants to just walking on the street, people are always smoking. From that, I feel like it’s easier to smoke, or rather encouraged. There are no negative social connotations like there would be in the US. In my perspective, Moroccans don’t judge me for smoking, but rather the students that are here from WPI do. Although I am not a chain smoker, I do appreciate the occasional cigarette, knowing that my lungs hate me.
I would definitely say Morocco has opened my eyes in different ways. I am really proud of myself of doing things that I wouldn’t do in America. From meeting new people, making new friends, and networking with people from different backgrounds, I am truly thankful for this opportunity. I can’t wait to see what the next weeks have in store for me.

In twenty-four hours, I will be on a plane on route to my destination of Morocco. Due to my discomfort while flying, I have been more focused on how to survive the plane ride rather than living in Morocco for two months. Excitement comes in and goes, like waves. The idea of me starting my journey by myself, sharing experiences that a group of people and I will only experience, and going to AFRICA makes me reflect on how lucky I am to have such privilege.

 

Growing up, my mother emphasized the importance of culture and traveling. She wanted my sister and I to step back from our “little world” and see the bigger picture, so to speak. Weeks leading to my trip to Europe when I was in middle school, teachers and friends would ask, “Are you excited?”, and of course as a younger Domenica, I didn’t process that I was going overseas, so I just brushed it off my shoulder. In my head I was imagining something similar to Peru, where most of my family resides in, but I was quickly hit with culture shock. In our stay, my mother wanted to take advantage of already being in Europe, and so we went to four different countries. Between country to country, everything was different. It was that moment in time that I truly understood how big our planet actually is, and how not everyone lives like the “American lifestyle”.

 

Going to a Morocco, my main worry is communication. Between reading, writing, and speaking Arabic, I would say speaking is my weakest front. However since I am living in a Arabic speaking nation for two months, I am forced to speak or stay mute for the entire time. I have heard from previous travelers that everyone is very friendly, and tries their best to make you comfortable. So much so, a great number of people speak English in Morocco. This is very reassuring to me, although ideally I would want to speak Arabic for the entire time. However, I am not at that level yet.

 

The anxiety of arriving at WPI freshman year is nowhere near going to a foreign country. Firstly, living close to WPI, I was already comfortable with the environment I will be living in. Not in Morocco. Secondly, I will have the opportunity to grow a relationship with not only my peers and professors, but the inhabitants of Morocco. I feel as though it will be a more difficult culture to adapt to than WPI’s culture. Thirdly, I have high hopes of going to Morocco, more of which I had when coming to WPI, because I know no matter what, I will be satisfied in doing the little things. Little things such as walking down to the Medina, going to the markets, and waking up every morning breathing the Moroccan air. 

 

As the time approaches for my departure, I am eager to experience Morocco. Do I regret anything in my decision in going? The nine hour flight for sure! But I know once I get a glimpse of the city streets, it will all be worth it.