Ramadan Mubarak

Greetings everyone, and Ramadan Mubarak, as the Pizza Hut, Coca-Cola, and McDonald's billboards like to say (something I find a bit disconcerting). We are in the 6th day of the fast here in Morocco, and I am observing. I've made a few minor faux-pas, including a Saturday trip to the beach in Casablanca to go swimming; only afterward did I learn that such an activity is "haram" or "forbidden," but you do the best you can...Other than that, I've abstained from food and water from sunrise to sundown, and while I have a newfound understanding of the month, the challenge is not impossible by any means. It's worst in the mornings when a good cup of coffee sounds delightful, and when I climb a lot of stairs and become a bit dizzy (given the amount of twisty, narrow stairwells in the buildings, however, this sensation might not be related to Ramadan--all former Lafayetters, the pirate stairs pale in comparison). I've been told that the first week is the hardest part, and since we're almost through, I haven't yet decided whether or not I will fast the duration.

Something I should mention before I go any further is why I am fasting to begin with, since I am not Muslim. Well, one of the first questions posed to me by my family the first day was whether or not I intended to fast. Though they would have had no problem with me eating during the day, I do it out of respect for them and respect for the culture. One of the good family friends and I meet often on the street, and she always asks if I am still fasting (even though it is apparently very rude for us students to ask the same of our hosts), and when I answer yes, I'm greeted with a warm "muzzien" (the derija equivalent of "muy bien"). It means a lot to me not only for the valuable perspective it gives me on my own blessings, but for the sense of connectivity to the culture and my family it gives me. I'm enjoying settling into a routine of sort. It's been somewhat difficult since I've gotten here, as each week has brought a new set of challenges and adjustments: arriving to the country and getting acquainted with fellow students, moving in with homestay families and adjusting to their rules and schedules during non-Ramadan, and now almost a week into Ramadan, I'm relieved that no other immediate unknowns lie directly in my path. Last night was probably the first time I went to bed without any anxieties (not to overdramatize the situation, I'm having a wonderful time!) So that's why I do it; if at any point I feel it could jeopardize my health or academics, I'll stop immediately, but, as of yet, that's not the case.

Anyway, I should give just a bit of background on Ramadan. To be honest, I don't know very much about the history of the month, other than the related passages in the Qu'ran; you'd be better off on Wikipedia. I can tell you, however a few basics of Ramadan (as I percieve it, of course) in Morocco. Ramadan is a month in the Islamic calendar, set aside in the Qu'ran with very specific rules as to how to go about fasting. Since the Islamic calendar is lunar-based, no one was really sure when the month would officially begin; in each Muslim country (and, indeed, every country) it is slightly different. The start is announced by Oulema, or "religious scholars," in each country when they see the small crescent moon marking a new month; once the scholars see the moon, they consult with one another and eventually King Mohammed VI, who gives the official sanction to begin Ramadan--this is then announced by television reports and sirens throughout the city. We heard the reports on Thursday night, and began the fast on Friday morning. Generally, the month lasts 30 days, but it runs a slight margin of error based upon when we have the "badr" or full moon.

The official beginning and ending to the fast each day are marked by the Muezzins, who call out the prayers five times a day. At the first prayer, the fajr, called around 4 am, the fast begins, and at the fourth prayer, the Maghreb, at sunset, the fast ends. During this month, the pace of life seems to slow down considerably (based on a scant two weeks of prior experience, of course). We ourselves don't begin classes a half-hour later (probably to compensate for the difficulty of sleeping on swolen bellies). I leave my house each morning around 8:40, and the streets are pretty quiet other than the ubiquitous street kitties and other kids on the way to school. We have three hours of Arabic each morning, split by a 15 minute break. My somewhat sadistic enjoyment comes each morning in watching all the male Arabic teachers figure out what to do with themselves during said break, since they can't raise their chimmney of cigarette smoke as they normally would. The trend the last few days has been to turn on the radio and have a dance party--you've gotta love those Moroccans! My Arabic professor is a 26 year old from Tangier named Tammam who is, no other expression will suit, downright jolly. It's been difficult trying to get the 5 students in our class on the same page, literally, but we're finally reaching some consensus on the pace (though not without some initial underlying tensions). After Arabic, we walk to our main "campus" building for lunch. Many of the students are not fasting, they started dropping out rapidly. If Ramadan could be compared to the Appalacian Trail, we have a lot of day-trippers, weekenders, and people who find "it's not what they thought it'd be," as well as the handful of thru-hikers. The reason for this somewhat strange analogy is that I fill my lunchtimes with reading from the small lending library. I recently finished Jack Kerouac's On The Road (which might also explain some of my unsettled state of mind last week), and finished Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods last night, about the Appalachian Trail. This afternoon, I picked up a particularly battered copy of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, so we'll see how that goes. After lunch (or reading hour), we have a lecture or two given by one of the three Academic Directors on politics, economics, culture, etc. Each of them is brilliant and so well studied in so many fields--I have complete respect and appreciation for what they do, especially since each of them has another job besides lecturing snotty American kids. Generally, these wrap up anywhere from 3:00 to 4:30, and we have the evenings to ourselves/families. I go for walks sometimes, run errands, or stick around and chat. I generally meander back to the house around 5:00, 5:30. From that time, the count to "futour" (literally, "breakfast") is on.

So the eating component of fasting in Morocco seems to be absolutely enormous. The anticipation, preparation, disscussion, and eventual consumption of food takes up the entire day. By 5 pm, the wait is winding down, and we begin to set the table with flatware. A traditional Moroccan futour table has the following vital components: "harira" (thick Moroccan vegetable/lentil soup), slices of heavily-spiced hard boiled eggs, dates, olives, milk, lemons, mint tea, Ramadan cookies, and fat chunks of Moroccan bread. Some other side items might include a butter-soaked fry bread (with the impossible name of "rghiba"), dried figs on long chains like candy necklaces, coffee, and these little sandwiches that I can only describe as lamb sloppy joes. Apparently, however (and no offense to my wonderful homestay Mother), the spread described above is positively rudimentary; other students have been describing spreads of flaky pastries and orange juice and cuisine far beyond my imagination. By 6:00, everyone is in the room and watching the tv/clock. Incidentally, I don't believe I have ever met a man who could use a remote control like my homestay Dad here. It's like watching he and the TV battle it out for the ensuing 30-odd minutes. He goes to the menu options, he flips and flips and flips. We watch about 2.8 seconds of each soccer game before moving on; we see Arabic and English and French and Spanish stations and films wizz by (Lara, I actually saw literally 3 seconds of "Grey's Anatomy" last night). He fiddles with the satellite box until it breaks, and then he fixes it and we're off again. The most ironic thing about all of this though, is that TV always wins the fight; inevitably, invariably, we end up back on Channel 1 or 2 watching the most inane Ramadan TV specials (maybe I'm biased since I don't understand all of them, but you would be too, trust me). Around 6:37 each night (the current time for sunset), almost every family in the country is seated round the dinner table waiting for the telltale "Allllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahu Akbar" ("God is great") to resound from the mosques (a joke here goes that several million cigarettes flare up at the same instant, and don't go out until dawn). The eating marathon is on! We all, as per tradition, break the fast with a date and milk (and, no, I don't know why, unfortunately), and then my Dad leaves to pray briefly at the mosque (a merciful break for TV and us). After the date, it's every man for himself, you can eat whatever you want in front of you. I didn't think my family was paying that much attention to what I was eating, but I discovered otherwise last night when they put out extra hard-boiled eggs and gave me my own bowl of olives (I like them seasoned a certain way). Once the eating slows down a bit, the evening becomes a Thanksgiving-like stupor. We re-arrange the pillows around us (since we eat on the sofa), lay back to digest and drink tea and coffee, and watch aforementioned inane TV specials. After a considerable time to let our stomachs absorb the shock, I leave to do homework or meet friends, and then we eat once again around 11:00, the "a'sha" or dinner. Thankfully, this is not such a gargantuan setting, it's usually just a platter of chicken or lamb with vegetables and bread (if you don't like bread, don't ever visit Morocco). Finally, on full stomachs around 12:30, we turn in, and do it all again the next day. According to many other students, my family is quite unique in that it doesn't eat the "suhor" or 3:30 am meal--but, you know, I really find that to be somewhat of a blessing (hmmm...sleep or refill an already full stomach?). Anyway, that's a pretty basic day in the life here. The meal doesn't change from night to night, and while it is delicious (and, heck, at 6:37, you don't really care what you're eating), some other students and I have taken it upon ourselves to eat at the local Pizza Hut tonight for futour--the billboards just looked too delicious! Thanks for reading this incredibly long tome, and I'll update you again soon. This weekend we're headed to Fez and Meknès for excursion, so sometime next week...


Oh, I really must relate one of the strangest occurences I've ever had traveling. My sister and I were sitting in the salon where we sleep, working on my Arabic homework a few nights ago, when I heard a soft plop noise on the carpet. It appeared that something had fallen from the ceiling about 20 feet above. Upon closer inspection, I found it to be...a giant earthworm??? Surely, I thought, that's not what that is, but there it lay, wriggling and writhing. We used a flip-flop to flick it outside, but I'd really love to know how in the universe an earthworm gets in your ceiling...?!?! Life's crazy, but in a really, really good way (unless it drops on my head next time...)

B'slaama!!!