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.