Driving in Morocco is like being in a war zone. Imagine being dropped in the middle of a mine field and trying to navigate your way through it without getting yourself killed. That is what driving in Morocco is like. Now, not saying that every Moroccan is a bad driver, in fact most are probably very good drivers. It is just the respect for the rules of the road do not exist in Morocco. This is the major issue at hand in Morocco.

            There have been many incidents where I thought there was surely going to be an accident and that the police would be needed to be called in order to resolve what had happened. People seem to just go. Just drive without any thinking in to the future moments of what could happen. The what-if. People tend to rush and just focus on the fact that they are late, the fact that they have a meeting in five minutes ten minutes away. Instead of just learning to accept the fact that it is what it is and 99 percent of the time there is nothing you would be able to do in order to change it. But we still let this control us in life. And I think this is the case of what is happening in Morocco.

There is a tendency in Morocco and among Moroccan people of being notoriously late for everything that is scheduled for anytime of the day, no matter what it is. This is also known as Moroccan time. And this phenomenon is what also does not help the fact that there are so many hectic drivers on the road. With everyone who is running late, no wonder there are so many people that are driving this chaotically on order to get to where they need to be on time.

Now, with saying this, I am most definitely not saying that there is no insane drivers in the United States. But in the United States these crazy driver are an anomaly, and not necessarily the normal thing that is happening daily.

The rules of the road also seem to be more enforced int the United States than here in Morocco. I know for example there many laws that are in place that prevent many of the actions that happen here in Morocco. Parking on the sidewalk was something that had me caught off guard the first couple of weeks that I was in Morocco. I was imagining the amount of trouble that someone would get in to if they went to the sidewalk in Worcester, Massachusetts for example and just decided “oh there are no parking spaces available, but hey look, the sidewalk is free! How convenient!” That would most definitely not fly in the United States, as the police would be in there in a matter of seconds to come and arrest you for reckless driving and then the endangerment of the pedestrians on the sidewalk by parking on it. Something similar is with the double parking on the street. You find a good amount of people double parking, which is also illegal in the United States. There is no such thing as double parking in the United States. If you are caught double parking on the main road in the United States, you will end up with a ticket from the traffic police. But the police here seem to about this and you not trying to be a problem as they are driving around the city doing their daily patrols. Even though there is a strong police presence here in Morocco, it almost seems as if there is not any attention to the minor but yet major also details of the driving in Morocco.

Honestly, it feels like they, being the Moroccan police, entice this chaotic driving in society. Now, the reason for this in unbeknownst to me, but it could be one thing for me. The first guess would be that they realize that they can not stop Moroccan people from driving the way that they have been driving the past forever, so they just choose to encourage just to make it one less obstacle that they must deal with. This is what I have been caught off guard by, when I see police officers in traffic waving, whistling, and yelling at the cars in front of them to go faster, for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Essentially, the driving and infrastructure of the roads in Morocco caught me off guard heavily. I knew that driving in Morocco was considered hectic, but I did not know it was to this degree. I have now learned that if I choose to drive in Morocco, I must be ready to face the upcoming war that comes pre-packaged with driving on Morocco.

 

 

 All of these pictures above are rare occasions of what Morocco roads do not look like mostly.  

 

They say that in life only two things bring people together, “life and death.” This saying is a very powerful saying, even in how simple it is.  Because, if you really think about it, there are family members that you do not end up seeing for sometimes very long periods of time, years even. And no matter how long the distance between or time spent apart from families, there always seems to be time to make it to the events of a family member or close family friend passing away and the events of a family member being having a baby. I personally have experienced this with both family members having babies over the years or family members having passed over the years. This past weekend was another experience of this phenomenon. There was unfortunately a very unexpected death in the family. My grandmother’s brother on my dad’s side of the family passed away unexpectedly. But this experience was different for me than any other death procession I had experienced in the past.

Now putting what I have experienced into words is very hard, so hopefully I can convey the complete picture to the best of my ability. What I experienced this weekend was like nothing else. It is a completely different atmosphere than what I had expected or was accustomed to. At least for myself, funeral processions in the United States seem to sometimes become more of a business than a grievance. Key word being BUSINESS. People in the United States sometimes it seems attempt to profit off the pain, mourning, and grieving of the people affected by the passing of a person, charging asinine amounts of money for catering and the actual burial in the cemetery, for example. I never personally could understand why businesses or organizations try to profit off this phenomenon. But this is another topic of discussion. From what I have seen this past weekend, I have gathered the impression that this is not necessarily the case in Morocco.

Now, when I say that I am sure there are instances and aspects of this process that are used to make money from, but I will elaborate on that as I describe the process. Now, for the actual process.

Normally, when a person dies in Morocco, they proceed to bury them and complete the whole process the same day as the person passed away. The only condition is that when this person passed away at night or right before the night time, they wait until the next day to bury them because they do not conduct the burial ceremony at night. Now, in the case of my great uncle, he passed away during the early evening this past Friday, January 25^th, 2019. So, the burial ceremony did not start until Saturday the 26^th of January 2019. Now, when they prepare the body, I am not 100 percent sure of the entire process but I know that they wrap the body in at least a white cloth and then in this case and most likely all others they wrap the outside of the bright white cloth with another cloth that has Quran verses and Allah’s name written on it, from at least what I could read from it. Couscous is a tradition that has been happening in Morocco for many years with the funeral procession. The purpose of the couscous being served is so that it will represent the deceased persons last meal, and the food that follows is a meal in honor of them. Just imagine. There are huge tents lined in a row. One after another. Tents so massive that you are unable to determine what the reason for their placement in the street is. Until you hear one distinct sound. Crying. Sobbing. Lots and lots. Of crying. And sobbing. And pain. Most importantly. PAIN.

When you finally understand and process what is ringing in your ears, you finally come to understand what these massive tents are for. They can only be for one event. A funeral. And that feeling of understanding is a feeling of condolences for the mourning pain aching and hollowing in pain. I have experienced the death of someone close to me in my life, my grandmother on my mother’s side, when I was a junior in high school, but I still felt like this was a different. The atmosphere was similar yet foreign to me. It is like watching a movie that you have already watched, but in a different language that you have no understanding to, so you interpret the movie differently than you first did when you watched it. This is the best way I can describe my thought process throughout the whole process. Even though I do understand some Arabic and I did understand a good amount of what they said, it still was a foreign experience to me no matter if I understood anything or not. My friend Kam, who was with me for the weekend visiting my family, experienced a similar feeling even though he understood less of what was being said than I did, which shows that in general it was eye opening for both of us.

When you enter the tent, the wave of sorrow and melancholy hits you in the face like humidity on a July summer day. Different types of mourning were occurring. Laughing with friends. Women crying into shoulders of dear friends. Children sitting not fully grasping the situation to the fullest. All these different emotions and thought processes were present in the room. We then proceed to make our way to sit at an open table towards the back of the tent and then sit at the table that is free to fit all the members from my large family that are present. During these moments of waiting for the couscous to be served, I noticed all the above-mentioned feelings during this period of waiting time, I experienced a version of them all on my own. There was a man at one table, who I think was an Imam or a very good friend of his that knew a lot about Islam, the prophet sayings, and the Quran but either way he was saying a great deal. There were moments where he became very emotional in parts of the prayers he was saying, which in turn made some people, including myself, rather emotional. Even though I was unable to understand 100 percent of what he was saying, I still could pick up on the general understanding of the duaa (Muslim prayer) that he was saying, which I think even pushed the envelope more as to why I became emotional. But even without understanding, just his emotion in his speech alone was enough to invoke the same feeling in one’s self of melancholy and sadness as he was feeling in that moment while speaking.

The next step in the process, the march to the cemetery, was a very emotional part as well. The couscous was finished, and they cleared the room. Now, when I say clear the room, only half is cleared.  I stand there and think to myself “Why?” “Why are they only clearing half of the room and not the entire room?” Then all the sudden it finally hits me. Almost like it should have been obvious in the first place. A path. And when this clicked in my head, as if a signal to continue the process, I then noticed people lining up along the path. Like enthusiastic fans at a red-carpet event waiting to see their favorite actor or actress. Full of anticipation. But this was a different anticipation. Not an excited anticipation, but a dreading anticipation. They knew what was coming but wanted to see it while also not wanting to see it. It was a conflict of emotions that I fail to remember the last time that I have felt. And then the expected finally happened.

The way that I had known that my great uncle’s body had started to be carried down the staircase of his house is not by the sight of the body on the shoulders of the eight men who were carrying him in unison, or by someone telling me that they had started to come down. No. The way that I had figured this out is through the screams of agony and pain from the people of the crowd, especially the women, who sadly got to see the person they had been waiting for in dreadful anticipation. Some were crying. Others were sobbing. There were even a few who fainted. Time slowed as they walked. I started to wonder if this effect was just on me or if this slowed effect was on everyone.  But finally, the men who were carrying the body, one being my Uncle Driss, finally reached the ambulance that the body was going to be transported in from the tents to the cemetery after what seemed like eons. In the past, the body would have been carried all the way to the cemetery on the shoulders of people walking to the cemetery, with the men switching every so often, until they reached the cemetery. But currently, an ambulance is used if the cemetery is rather far away. In this case it was rather far away, so they loaded the ambulance with his body. There was a commotion about how he was to be put in, but eventually his body was secured in the ambulance. The doors were closed. And then they were off to the cemetery, followed by a large mass of people.

The walk to the cemetery felt like it took ages. And not just because of the distance walked. Because we were following the people walking in a car. What made it feel like forever was the atmosphere of the people who were around the ambulance while it was driving there. Some were shouting لَا إِلٰهَ إِلَّا ٱلله مُحَمَّدٌ رَسُولُ ٱلله (There is no God but Allah and Mohammed PBUH is his messenger) out loud, others to themselves, but ALL in unison. Hearing them chant this repeatedly all the way to the cemetery was very VERY emotional. This really got to me and I felt the extreme sorrow and pain that everyone else in the area felt.

When getting to the cemetery, all I could see was a very long, winding, single file line all the way to the burial plot. Looking at the line, especially from the back of it, made me feel like the line was the length of the entire block. The speed of walking was again as if time was frozen, as if people were just floating to the grave site. The farther we walked, the more encapsulated I became in this somber feeling of the people around me. The air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Finally reaching the grave site, you finally actually reawaken consciously in reality and become aware of your surroundings again. You then process the shear number of people around the hole in the ground where my great uncle was laid to rest. The mob of people around the grave make it extremely hard for me to see what happens, but I manage to get to the front of the group. And, what I see next is what really affected me the most out of the whole experience.

The center of the cemetery in between two separate sections of the cemetery.

As the body is already placed in the ground, I start to reflect on my own life in a way. I start to reconsider all the decisions that I have ever made in my life. I wonder if the approach that I am taking to life is the correct one, as I do not want to wait until I am experiencing the other side of this view for me to have an answer to that question. It is almost in the moment as I feel like I am watching my own burial, or as if I am the one who has died. My life flashes before my eyes I feel, even though my life has just started. I then come back to reality once again, realizing how far out I was for a couple of minutes. What brings me back to reality is the crying of the man saying the duaa (Muslim prayers), choking up in the middle of one of them for my great uncle. It was like being zapped with electricity. The choking tears of the man brought me to the verge of tears as well and it took a great deal of restraint to not end up in the same state as the man, with a few tears escaping my eyes as he continued to speak. This somber feeling continued throughout the remainder of the burial process.

My grandfather cleaning his mother’s grave.

“Oh you who stands at my grave, pray for me to Allah for mercy and forgiveness” A quote at the foot of my great aunts’ grave.

After reciting different duaas for a short period of time, there were men who started to pour water onto some of the loose soil on the side to make it pliable and then started to spread it. After spreading this water, they the proceeded to dump the remaining amounts of water from the water bottles onto the dirt already spread over the body. I am not 100 percent sure of the reason why they did this, but it was very intriguing and puzzling to watch this occur in front of me. Once this was finished, the remaining dry soil was spread on top of the moistened soil, to fill the hole. My uncles told me that it was time to leave at this point, as people had started to file out of the cemetery and proceeded to go home. But I felt myself unable to move. I felt as if I was mesmerized by the event that had just taken place in front of me, which I feel most people would say is normal to happen to someone. But it was just mesmerizing. Captivating. It left me speechless both mentally and physically. Most people would think that this was the end of the event. End of the ceremony. But alas it was not. There was still more to come, even more unexpected than the rest of the experience had already been.

Prayer Room for Salat Ah-Janazza (Prayer made after someone passes away) at the cemetery.

A sign with a duaa outside of the above mentioned prayer room at the cemetery.

Left to Right: My grandfather on my dad’s side, my friend from WPI Kam, myself, and then my uncle Hassan.

Leaving the cemetery, there was a silence among all the members of my family that were present that I have not experienced before. It was more than silence. It was an inability to speak. Everyone who had been attended had been left with this feeling of reflection and that is what occurred instead of speaking for the most part. All the way to the house. Once inside, this tension lessened but was still detectable for some time. The tajines that were for dinner were brought out and we all enjoyed them more than usual it seemed like. Maybe it was because we thought that it was a part two to the “last meal” for my great uncle, so we all graciously enjoyed the meal. Moroccans enjoying a tajine more than usual, what a thought. After that my father had called through Whats App and we all proceeded to take turns talking to him, switching between English and Darija to explain how the day had panned out to that point. But what came next, I could have never expected. My father at one says to me and my friend Kam “Hope you guys have a reserve inside of you!” This statement caught me off guard and the I asked him “Why??” He then stated that there was the real part two of the dinner for my uncle that was going to occur at the same tents we ate couscous at earlier in the day. That is where we would be served bread with platters of chicken and beef and then a dessert being a fruit platter. At first, I felt as if this was a joke, because I had already felt like I had eaten more than I could eat that day with all the food already served to me. And to think that there was a good amount of food left for me to eat in the night, made me feel even more bloated than I had already felt. But before we knew it, we were getting up to leave, and we were off to the massive tents once again.

Walking on one of the path to leave the cemetery in Mohammedia.

When arriving at the tents for the second time in the day, there was more of an uplifted mood, but still in a way a grieving mood. People had not moved on but had just started the process of accepting what had happen, which was a good thing. There was three men who were at the front of the men’s tent, which by the way there are two tents to separate men and women during the ceremony, reading Quran and singing nasheed (Arabic songs) about the prophet Muhammed PBUH (Peace Be Upon Him) and Allah. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, they bring these huge plates of bread and then what looks like a large trophy that has 4 whole cooked chickens in it. I was astonished with the display and the amount of food brought but that was only part 1 of round 2.  After chicken came the beef platter, which had four huge pieces of beef, which again astonished me on the amount of food still being served. Both the chicken and the beef were delicious and would have eaten more if I had not already eaten what felt like 20 pounds of food throughout the day. The last course of the day was the fruit platter dessert that they brought, which was very refreshing after all the previously eaten food of the day. Now, during all this eating, there was not necessarily extreme amounts of discussion, but when there was conversation it seemed to be a more relaxed tone over the conversation compared to what was occurring earlier that day at the tents. After finishing all the courses there was a group duaa recited by the whole group and some passages for the Quran recited in unison and then everyone proceeded to leave once these were finished. Once getting home, of course like any other night at Moroccan household, we had Moroccan tea and then went to sleep at around 3 AM. Before going to sleep, I began to reflect on all that I had really experienced today, and how life changing this experience was for me.

Some opportunities only come around once in a life time, and for unfortunate experiences, you must take advantage to experience events like this when they occur, especially deaths in the family and specifically for myself experiencing a Moroccan funeral procession, because no one wishes things like this to happen at all. I would say that this experience has been very humbling and grounding for me overall, reminding me about how precious life is and how we need to cherish all the moments that we can spend with loved ones because we do not know when our time will expire on this planet. The difference from American funerals and Moroccan “funerals”, although I have only been to one American funeral, is a great deal just because of how they are operated, and the difference in culture plays a large role in how each take place. The Moroccan “funeral” seems to be more focused on the person and the people that they were close with, while sometimes I feel that the American funerals can be monetized by companies, although that did happen here in Morocco to a smaller degree as well. Overall though, this experience has been life changing for me and I will never forget what I have witnessed this past weekend.

By : Amir Sefiyaoui

The time that I have had in Morocco so far has been a diversified and interactive one so far. Two weeks in, I already feel immersed within the culture of Morocco as if I lived in Morocco for my whole life. One thing that has stood out to me is the people of Morocco. So many people. All different types. Different builds, colors, attitudes, and personalities. But there has been a trait that I have noticed that MOST if not all seem to share. They all seem to stare at the people from our school like they are something they have never seen. Like a different species almost…

Now, I understand that there is some reasoning behind why this happens. This occurs because of the appearance of my group. I would say most of the people from our group do not look like a “stereotypical Moroccan”.  So, when we are seen out in public, in a sight that is not seen often in Morocco, and as such causes the Moroccan masses to stare just a tad bit longer than they would at another Moroccan walking down the street.

I first coined the term “Moroccan Zoo Exhibit” outside of my own head when I was riding the tram here in Rabat with my friends Kam and Jess. When we were riding the tram to go back to our residence, we were all sitting next to each other on the last seats of the tram facing into the tram. On the first stop after the stop we got on at, a large group of Moroccan kids our age get into the tram and proceed to stand about two rows ahead. And every so often you can see them take occasional glances at us while standing up there. After spending approximately 2 minutes standing in their large cohort of a group, they proceeded to make their way to sit in the row in front of us. Once in front of us, they proceeded to take turns staring, one man looking for extended periods of time at us. It just fascinates me how the differences in simply just someone’s appearance can make people change their behavior and be so dumbfounded by the presence of that person.

Another reason that I know attracts people to stare at us in public is the fact that we are speaking a foreign language in their country. And not just any foreign language. English. By speaking English when we are walking on the streets of Morocco, we are by default attracting attention to ourselves. Especially with more and more people in Morocco learning the language of English, especially the younger generation of Moroccans who are around our age range of 18- 25 years old.

I remember that I talked to my father, who is from Morocco originally, about this phenomenon inside of Morocco, and his response has always been that “This is just the way it is in Morocco. It is not every day that you see a foreigner in Morocco, so all foreigners drew out attention. Especially white Europeans or Americans. It was just like a completely different species.” So, after having this talk with my dad, I was able to gather a much better understanding of why this occurs in Morocco and relate to the people who do this.

I know that in the United States that if I hear someone speaking another language, I do tend to find myself looking at this person for some period or sometimes even staring. But it is always in good nature. Out of curiosity. Not for any malicious or unwanted reason. But in the U.S., it is a different society. I feel that in the United States that if you are caught looking at someone then you are automatically in the wrong and you feel horrible for looking. But in Morocco I am under the impression that this is not the case. Here in Morocco it is normal for people to have no boundaries for personal space. In a good way of course. They are very outgoing and friendly for the most part in Morocco, and most people you meet will treat you like a friend of 20 years or even family after just one meeting. And honestly, I am glad it is like this. I am a very extroverted and outgoing person in my opinion and like to interact with as many people as I can, so a society that reciprocates my energy that I put out is very refreshing. In the United States, people are very taken aback if you approach them and just try to introduce yourself to them without any reason to talk to them. That is not everyone, but most people are like this.

Another specific place that I can cite that I have encountered this phenomenon is when we went to the Medina markets in Rabat, where it can get very crowded always of the day. While walking through the Medina, I felt like I stuck out more than the average person walking through. And it was not me who thought this, it was also what seemed like every other Moroccan that was walking through the Medina. But same as with tram and same with what I mentioned earlier in this post, I feel like it is out of a positive natural curiosity for the most part, nothing malicious.

Overall, after reflecting about the whole situation, I still do feel like a zoo exhibit in a way when walking around. But in a good way if that makes sense. I understand why people are so interested in foreigners here in Morocco and no longer questioning the true intentions behind it. Now, once again, this is to speak for MOST people in Morocco, not all. Some people do have malicious intent, as with any place in the world. But you must be able to tell the difference and understand what the limit is. If you can determine that, then in my opinion along with also being careful, you will be safe wherever you go when it comes to this issue in Morocco. It is mostly out of just natural curiosity, human nature, and culture. And with knowing that I am ok with this phenomenon happening to me.

A tram station in Rabat. Photo Credits to Casey Crookston Photography

 

Crowded Medina shops inside of Rabat. Photo Credits to Travel Junkies