3,948 Hours of Life (On Boredom)

Tags

Adjustment, Bored, Boredom, BuzzFeed, Exchange, Exchange student, Life, Morocco

Why have I not written this blog post before? I have been here for 7.5 months, and for 6.7 of those months, I have felt bored at some point in the day. I have dealt with boredom here on a level that I never have at home. But to say “I’m living in Morocco, and I’m bored” is the height of exchange student faux-pas. It just isn’t done. I can say “it’s hard,” “it’s amazing” or “it’s taught me so much,” but not “sometimes, I’m just bored.” 

To get the elephant completely out of the closet, sometimes I’m just bored.

Boredom seems taboo to me because it presents itself as the antithesis of appreciation. It seems supremely ungrateful to acknowledge that there are days when I do nothing of note. It seems like something I could easily fix- just go out and do something new. But it’s not that easy, and it’s not what it seems.

I would not bore you with my boredom if I did not believe it to be a constructive boredom. Boredom is never emphasized on exchange websites, or in testimonials. Before I left, I never gave much thought to it. I assumed that discovering a new culture would keep me fully occupied, 14 hours a day, for 282 days. So in my mind, my exchange was going to be 3,948 hours of culture. Now, I would say that exchange is 3,948 hours of life. Boring hours, exciting hours, scary hours, stressful hours. Hours when you long to have nothing to do, and hours when you keep refreshing the BuzzFeed homepage hoping for a new “We can tell you what month you were born in” quiz.

Boredom is not the opposite of appreciation; it is an predictable bi-product of adjusting to a new culture. Why did no one ever tell me this? When you come in to a new country, you will be bereft everything that keeps you from being bored in the US: extra-curriculars, TV in a language you understand, good friends, accessible transportation, a library, the gym. How could you possibly not be bored? 10 months is not enough to get rid of the boredom, although it does get better with time.

This year, I have embarked on a vicious, 10-month war against the state of boredom, using whatever strategies I can think of, including:

• Taking an online class from Princeton on democracy in rural locations
• Learning how to code in JavaScript, HTML, and CSS
• Playing the same 10 songs on the violin over and over
• Making insanely visually complicated journal entries
• Niche searching on the internet, for things like “chocolate shops within 20 miles of Princeton, NJ”
• Drawing on a piece of paper until it is completely black
• Attempting to read The Count of Monte Cristo
• Taking artsy selfies
• Knitting
• Obsessively researching all things college
• Reading books on educational inequality in America
• Organizing a library at AMIDEAST
• Checking off boxes every five minutes to mark the passing of time (this one is particularly useful in school. Other variations include making dots and crossing one off every minute)
• Breaking world records for number of BuzzFeed articles read in one day
• Watching more movies than I had in my entire life up to this year
• Watching all five season of Downton Abbey over a period of 3 weeks
• Dabbling in other TV shows
• Overplucking my eyebrows
• Trying a new hairstyle
• Trying a new hairstyle on someone else
• Sitting at cafes doing nothing for hours just to avoid sitting at home doing nothing
• Walking to nowhere and back again
• Chatting with the YES Abroad group on Facebook even though I saw them an hour ago and I have nothing to say
• Overcoming my hatred of ebooks

Oof, brutal honesty. Some of my strategies were constructive, and others were complete wastes of time. But that’s what I’ve learned: when I’m bored, I have to find ways to make my time worthwhile. What I’m doing doesn’t have to be related to Morocco specifically. There are only so many cultural monuments in Rabat. But it is important to find ways to exercise my mind. At home, I do that without trying. Here, I have to try very hard.

Boredom is only part of every day, and it is a small part of my experience. If you ask me about my year when I return, I will not tell you “I was bored most of the time.” I am sure that when I get back to the US, I’ll be bored there too, because I won’t be adjusted to my life there right away. Boredom is part of exchange, and even though it’s not fun, it’s worth being acknowledged.

Moroccan Culture Articles

Tags

Clothing, Culture, Exchange, Exchange student, Food, Morocco, Travel

Whether you’re getting ready to travel to Morocco, or you’re just interested in culture, check out the section of my blog on Moroccan Culture to learn more about Moroccan food and Moroccan clothing! I’ll be adding more articles on different aspects of Moroccan culture in the future.

Would I Do It All Again?

Tags

Adjustment, Arrival, Comfort, Culture, Exchange, Exchange student, IPSE, Life, Morocco, Travel, YES

In honor of the YES Abroad In-Person Selection Event (IPSE) coming up soon, when 110 YES Abroad semifinalists will be traveling to Washington, D.C. for an interview, I thought I’d step back and look at a birds-eye view of my time in Morocco and offer a few tidbits of advice for the YES hopefuls just beginning their journey.

I’ve lived another lifetime in the past 7 months. I stepped off of the plane in September into a country I knew almost nothing about. On the ride from the airport to my new city, I craned my neck to look out the window and refused to close my eyes, even though it was 2 AM, because I was afraid to miss Morocco. I wanted to see it all as soon as possible. But Morocco isn’t see-able in the early morning from the windows of a speeding bus. It isn’t view-able from the pictures I took on my first day. And it isn’t knowable after a week spent walking in its streets, or eating its food. So I settled in for the long haul.

I learned so much during those first months. How to eat, how to speak, how to act. When it was okay for me to be alone, and when I needed to be with my family. What time I was expected to come home at night. What I should do if someone catcalled me in the street. Where I should buy lunch, how to take the tram, where to hail a taxi, how much I should pay for a cup of tea, how to hang up my laundry… I was learning every day, at breakneck speed, the things that I learned over an entire childhood in the United States. I walked through the stages of growing up all over again, complete with the toddler’s propensity for turning everything into a tantrum (at least in my head) and the pre-teenage anxiety over my identity. No wonder I was tired at the end of every day.

And then suddenly, at some undefined junction, I knew the basics, and I was thrust into the larger universe of learning to live in Morocco. At the beginning, I had focused on the motions, things you would be able to program a robot to do in my place. The next step was to add my soul back into the equation, and learn what it meant for me, Sadie, to live in Rabat. This was hard too, because there was no guide for how to proceed. Nobody could tell me how to spend my afternoons, or what would make me relax in the evenings, or what bonding with my host family would look like. This stage was marked by months floating along, trying one activity after another, dipping my toes into many different pools.

One of the best things about exchange is that, at the half-way point, you know that the best months are ahead of you. The drudgery of the first half pays of in weeks of happy, unplanned contentment in the second. Not that my days are all happy-go-lucky now. I confront as many problems, as many mundane challenges, as I did in October. But now I have a framework for processing them, and I know that what seems dire in the moment will always pass. This year has shown me that time moves on, whether you want it to or not. All the bad days and all the hard parts will someday result in me waking up and realizing it’s not bad or hard anymore. And all the best moments, including this whole year, stay with me only in the present.

Would I do it all again? YES. And even that answer isn’t as easy to give as it appears on paper. This experience has been harder than I ever could have imagined when I confidently gave answers to my interviewers a year ago at my In-Person Selection Event. The strangest change is that I’m less sure of everything I say. I used to be so quick to argue in the US, so quick to know what I thought and express it. Here I hem and haw before I ever say anything, and when I do say something, it’s more likely to be ambivalent than definitive. I think I thought that this year would make me more sure of all of my opinions. In some ways it has. But I can see many more sides to everything than I could 10 months ago, and so my mouth is filtered by my experiences here. Morocco hasn’t made me instantly more knowledgeable, or more competent. My choices are still my own here; how I spend my time, what I say when I’m frustrated, how I respond when I’m tired. So I grew in ways that only I could grow, and I failed to grow in me-specific ways too. So, to the future YES-Abroad students, be warned that what you’re embarking on is not a light walk in the park. It is your life, and your character that you will confront in a foreign country. But if you fling yourself off the edge, I think you’ll find yourself again, even if it takes longer than the year you’ll be in-country for.

When you sign up for a year abroad, be cognizant that this is not another activity for your resume. It isn’t like taking a two-week choir trip to Germany, or being president of art club. There will be no ‘home’ to come back to after school, there will be nowhere to retreat from. The year is a marathon, not a sprint. So if you want to go, be ready to really live in your new country, not just to learn or be changed by it.

Being Christian In Morocco

Tags

Christian, Christianity, Church, Exchange, Exchange student, God, Morocco, Religion

One of the biggest practical questions I faced before coming to Morocco was how my faith in God would be played out here. There were so many facets to this concern, ranging from whether I would be able to find a church here, to whether I’d even be able to talk about my religion in a country that’s so predominately Islamic. I was reflecting on the ways God answered my prayers about this, as well as the way he pointed me in a different direction than I could have expected, and I have a few points I’d like to share.

1. There are churches in Morocco. In Rabat, there are four choices: a French Catholic church, a English/Spanish Catholic church, a French protestant church, and an English non-denominational church. I attend the English non-denominational church (http://rabatchurch.org/) every week, but I’ve also attended the French Catholic church and the English/Spanish Catholic church. I know a lot of YES Abroad students live in small towns or cities where churches aren’t accessible, so I’m blessed to have so many places of worship to choose from.
2. It is a wonderful testimony to Christian community that I can arrive in a country where I know no one and be welcomed by a community of believers. People at my church here have supported me by giving me rides, inviting me over for meals, asking questions about my experience, and offering their homes as places to relax, take showers, or even do my laundry. My church here is so good at welcoming people who are different from themselves, and they’ve blessed me so much by this talent!
3. Moroccans are accepting of my faith. In 6 months here, I have never felt threatened or hated because of my Christianity. Yes, the Moroccan population is 99% Muslim, but they practice a tolerant and accepting Islam. There’s a boy in my class who asks me periodically if I really believe that Jesus was raised from the dead, but that’s about as in depth as the conversation ever gets. All three of my host families have supported me going to church every Sunday morning.
4. My church offers a wonderful practical demonstration of how people of different races and backgrounds are united in Christ. They live this verse: “Here there is not Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but Christ is all, and in all.” (Colossians 3:11) I’ve gotten to hear worship songs and prayers in many different languages. 
5. I have a wonderful youth group, which is something that I never had in the US. It’s refreshing to hang out with other Americans every week, and to hear their experiences in Morocco (not to mention that we eat American food).
6. Most importantly, God followed me to Morocco. This verse is real to me here: “If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” (Psalms 139: 9-10)

I know that there are also synagogues here in Rabat. Morocco is a fairly open country to other religions, and I’m lucky to be able to worship openly here.

Away From Home (Trip South)

Tags

Cafe Clock, Carriage ride, Cats, Culture, Essaouira, Harry Potter, Home, Jemaa el-Fnaa, Marrakech, Medina, Morocco, Rabat, Taghazout, Teroudant, Travel, Trips, Vacation

Me in the skala, or military section, of the Essaouira medina.

I’ve spent the last few days masquerading as a tourist, visiting cities in Southern Morocco with my YES Abroad group. The trip has been refreshing, sometimes harrowing, and although I have so little time in each place I’ve been able to form wonderful memories: Jemaa el-Fnaa, the main square in Marrakesh, lit up at night, with spinning purple lights thrown up in the sky and a thick crowd of people; a lovely dinner spent chatting with friends at Cafe Clock; a solitary walk along the beach in Essaouira and time to read my book while sitting on the warm sand; pictures in the skala (military section) of the Essaouira medina; a warm couscous dinner with a contented cat sleeping on my chest while I ate; a picturesque lunch in a world-famous surfing town we stumbled upon;a carriage ride around Taroudant at sunset; and an evening spent wandering the medina complete with slightly funny harassment (the best one: “you look like the brother of Harry Potter.” I’m still trying to figure out that one. Did I have something on my forehead? Do I look like a boy? Was it my glasses? Do you know that Harry Potter doesn’t have a brother?)

Jemaa el-Fnaa, the main square in Marrakech, near sunset. It’s smoky from all of the grilled meat stands set up in the square.

Jemaa el-Fnaa at night. Pictures don’t do this justice.

The main mosque in Marrakesh.

Tombs in Marrakesh.

At the jardins majorelle, the gardens once owned by Yves Saint Laurent in Marrakesh.

Ganawa concert at Cafe Clock in Marrakesh.

Trips are often an intensified version of all the feelings I experience on exchange: homesickness, a panic that I won’t see everything I want to, that I’m not doing enough to be “cultural,” harassment that I can’t get out of my head, mistakes that haunt me, but also positive feelings: awe at the beauty I walk through, pride that I’ve discovered so much, the realization that I actually have learned a bit of Darija and that it’s helpful, and the knowledge that I’ve come a long way since September. I’m no longer easily scared or stressed; I can carry myself with confidence in new places and situations.

In Essaouira.

Dinner in Essaouira, with a cat.

Sunset in Essaouira.

Walking around the Essaouira medina.

We took a very early morning beach walk in Essaouira.

The home I’ve been away from is Rabat, and I actually do miss things about my city. I miss blending in, I miss not seeing tourists or hearing English on a daily basis, I miss the hanut around the corner from my apartment, I miss the dark blue taxis that I can always trust. I miss my host family, and the comfortable evenings spent in their salon. On this trip I’ve realized that home has become Rabat, even if not quite in the way I imagined at the beginning of the year.

Lunch at an English cafe in Taghazout, a surfing town.

The view from the cafe in Taghazout.

Katherine and I at our riad in Taroudant.

Carriage ride in Taroudant.

Sunset in Taroudant during our carriage ride.

I do not walk through the hard days of exchange to gaze upon the beautiful architecture of the Essaouira medina or the incredible gardens of Yves Saint-Laurent. These moments are special, yes, but it is the hard-fought comfort of life in Morocco that is most precious to me. It’s a slow, a quiet, and a steady thing, and I’m often surprised when I find that I do everyday things like running to the hanut or going to the hammam so unconsciously now. So I’m happy to back home in Rabat, with my memories in tow. The everyday is what I celebrate best.

52 Reasons to be Glad

Tags

Adjustment, Church, Culture, Exchange, Exchange student, Fifty things, Gratitude, List, Morocco, Six months, Taxi, Travel, World

There are some moments when I’m struck with gratitude for being here in Morocco. Here, in no particular order, are some of those moments.

1. When I step outside and it’s sunny, so I immediately feel warm.
2. When I want to hail a taxi and one stops right away.
3. When I hail a taxi and it’s empty.
4. When a free afternoon turns into a adventure because I say “yes” to something new.
5. When there’s wi-fi at a cafe.
6. When I go over to a friend’s house.
7. When I worship at church on Sundays.
8. When youth group works with my schedule.
9. When I show up for class and the teacher doesn’t.
10. When we’re drawing diagrams all class period in Biology.
11. When class is interrupted by a college presentation.
12. When the Green Door (a restaurant near AMIDEAST) has chocolate cake.
13. When I get a warm omelette sandwich from the Green Door.
14. When I get home to my host family’s house and there’s tea waiting.
15. When my host parents ask about how my day was.
16. When my host parents ask how my family in America is doing.
17. When I’m busy all weekend.
18. When I’m free for a day and spend it at home wrapped in blankets.
19. When you find what you’re looking for in the Medina right away.
20. When I effectively say ANYTHING in Darjia (Moroccan Arabic).
21. When my taxi drivers are chatty and nice.
22. When Lily and I walk home together at night. (We’re no longer in the same family but we live right by each other).
23. When my classes start at 10 AM instead of 8 AM.
24. When I have time to play my violin when I come home.
25. When dinner with my host family is full of jokes.
26. When I take a hot shower (only twice a week).
27. When I finish at the hammam and I’m totally warm.
28. When I turn on the water at my host family’s house and it’s hot because someone just took a shower.
29. When I make tea for myself in the evening.
30. When I get to curl up in the salon and read.
31. When I spend a free afternoon reading by myself at a cafe.
32. When The Voice is on TV on Saturday nights and I watch it with my family. THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY.
33. When I go somewhere with my host family. (Hammam, market, etc. )
34. When I discover a new place in Rabat.
35. When I teaching my English class results in new insights into Moroccan culture.
36. When my English class is enthusiastic about my lesson.
37. When I walk home and can watch the sun setting.
38. When I impulsively go out to a nice restaurant for lunch.
39. When it’s Friday and there’s couscous.
40. When my hair isn’t greasy.
41. When I’m on vacation.
42. When I successfully ask for something complicated in French.
43. When I find nice clothes in a second-hand pile.
44. When I play my host family’s guitar.
45. When the tram is empty.
46. When I have a good conversation with a member of my class.
47. When a teacher at school praises me.
48. When I smell something that reminds me of home.
49. When we take long bus rides as a group.
50. When I’m alone in my bedroom after dinner and read.
51. When the taxi ride to school is exactly 10 dirhams.
52. When I don’t have to break a 200 dirham note. (This causes me more stress than it should).

The Weight I Carry (On Being American)

Tags

Adjustment, Ambassador, America, Culture, Exchange, Exchange student, Morocco, Questions, School

I have never felt more acutely conscious of my nationality than I did last Friday, sitting in my Histoire-Geographie class. We were watching a video on the history of China since 1947. As I sat, watching clips of US presidents speaking, dubbed in French, the weight of my identity as an American crashed down around me. Despite being half way around the world, my country followed me to Morocco. Its influence is huge here, and I must confront that.

Almost every day, I vet statements about America thrown out me by classmates, my host family, and people on the street. Some are accurate, some are not. I’ve heard things as ridiculous as “America is communist” and as seemingly accurate as “Americans are still racist,” although accuracy quickly becomes stereotype. Things are blown out of proportion, going from criticizing the American development of the atomic bomb to the blanket statement that Americans are terrorists. Sometimes insightful questions are posed, such as the meaning of American airstrikes in Syria or American involvement in the Ukrainian conflict. I’m jokingly asked to send messages to President Obama and to admit that I’m actually part of the CIA.  And to give perspective, I’ve dealt with all of these statements sometime in the past week. I am American, and I am never allowed to forget it.

It is ridiculously difficult to learn to cope with all of these statements, all of these questions. I constantly feel unqualified to give my opinion on controversial US politics. I’m sometimes put on the spot when I haven’t done my research. I’m asked to speak about things I don’t care about, and sometimes about things I’m passionate about it. Above all, I stand every day as a representative of my country. I mean every day, good day or bad, sleep or no sleep, hungry or full, grumpy or content, bored or excited.

I am here as a citizen ambassador, and I have, in the context of that role, learned to handle and anticipate the constant questions coming my way. I’m often dealing with these statements about America in the context of relationships, so my answers must be carefully considered, never provocative or insulting, always mindful of the intent of the statement. Sometimes they’re purposefully ridiculous, so I laugh and show that I find them equally preposterous. These comments are rarely politically correct. In the US, 95% would be considered offensive. But I can rarely show that I’ve taken offense, because that reaction wouldn’t solve the problem. Sometimes, though, it’s necessary for me to challenge a statement. Occasionally it’s a simple as stating, “that’s not true,” and sometimes it requires a thirty minute debate with my entire class.

Sometimes a subject comes up where I disagree with the current official US position on the issue. When this happens, I don’t hesitate to say that I disagree with my government. Moroccans often seem to find this strange, because disagreeing with the king is unheard-of here. This gives me an opportunity to demonstrate the American take on freedom of expression and to speak about the plethora of opinions present in American politics.

I haven’t seen all that much progress in my classmates as far the informedness of their statements on the US. But I do know that my response has built their respect for me, and made them interested to see what I have to say on a variety of topics. And I know that when I come back to the US, my opinions will have developed. I’ve been learning how to consider my words before I speak them and to think about my opinion before I present it. As difficult as representing America sometimes is, I’m growing because of it.

The Hanut Hates Me and Other Stories

Tags

Adjustment, Beginnings, Culture, Darija, Exchange, Exchange student, French, Hanut, Language, Language learning, Morocco, Throwback, Travel

It was my first full day in Morocco. The sun was bright, and I was sweating in my culturally-appropriate maxi-skirt. I had woken up early to gaze out of the window at the street below, where people walked by, on their way to work, or to buy bread for breakfast. Some were in their pajamas, some in djellabas (the Moroccan robe), others in jeans, dresses, or business suits. I felt like I was in a museum, looking at an expertly-created miniature display on modern Morocco. That day, I was to descend into the street, forfeit the bird’s-eye view, and become another figure scurrying by.

I spent my first week in a fog of AMIDEAST orientations, touristy excursions, and French classes. I was desperate to master Moroccan culture, so I searched in those first weeks for all of its visible manifestations: the hammam, couscous, djellabas. I then adopted them fiercely: “I love couscous! I go to the hammam every week! I own three djellabas!”

One such visible aspect of Moroccan culture was the hanut. Hanuts are the owners of small convenience stores that are all over Morocco, around one per block. They stock biscuits, soda, yogurts, bread, fruit, candy, cigarettes, and occasionally other essentials: oil, toilet paper, shampoo. But they look nothing like American convenience stores: their degree of organization varies from a giant pile of different goods to neatly stacked crates of goods, and it is rare to step into one without tripping over the other shoppers. They’re holes in the wall, with metal doors that open up to an outdoor display and close and lock at night. Each hanut has its character and reputation; the one by my house has a good candy selection but stale bread, the one at the end of the AMIDEAST’s block has an extremely narrow entrance, and the hanut sits on top of a throne of random batteries, candy bars, and cigarette packs, but he has a good selection of fruit and gummy candies.

I go to a hanut at least once a day, if not more: in the morning between classes to buy a tonik bar for a dirham (12 cents), at lunch to buy a yogurt drink or a hard-boiled egg, after school for more biscuits or a banana. The hanut I go to depends on where I am in the city, but there’s one hanut I go to far more than any other. Its location is key; it’s right next to AMIDEAST. It’s nothing special, typically there’s no fruit, the refrigerators seem to barely influence the temperature of his yogurts, and his candy bars are arranged in a crazy cascade on his counter. This hanut has the dubious distinction of being one of my first Moroccan interactions in Morocco, and that’s where my story starts.

I went into this hanut on my first Monday to buy spin-off oreos, “boleros” between AMIDEAST classes. I picked out my goods, working hard to avoid eye contact with anyone else there. Trying to send out “I know what I’m doing” vibes, I approached the counter and held out my purchases to the hanut. He greeted me, said a string of incomprehensible words in Arabic, and looked at me expectantly. “Combien?” I offered hesitantly. “Just tell me how much to pay!” I thought. He switches to French, I fumble with my money, trying to find the right bill, pay, and stumble out. I’m embarrassed. “Why didn’t he just start in French?” I mutter to myself as I troop back inside AMIDEAST.

Over the next few weeks, the situation repeats itself almost every day. He says something in Arabic, I blush and ask to switch to French, he frowns and complies. I watch him with the other YES students, some of whom know a bit of Arabic, and try hard not to be jealous. With them, he seems comfortable, he smiles, he’s polite and helpful.

Three weeks in, the problem is getting serious. The hanut still starts in Arabic, I still don’t know what he’s saying. He’s the only hanut I’ve been at who speaks in Arabic first; all the others see my blond hair and immediately turn to French. I come to the desperate conclusion that this hanut must hate me. He’s cold with me, he’s annoyed and confused with my French, and at this point I’m annoyed and confused with his Arabic.

One day, something clicks in my brain. He starts in Arabic because he’s used to customers from AMIDEAST, most of whom have either studied Arabic or lived here long enough to get by in daily situations. He, out of all the hanuts, has an inkling that I’m not just a tourist, that I’m here to learn about Moroccan culture. So he expects me to know a few phrases in Arabic. He doesn’t hate me, he’s holding me to a higher standard than people who see my skin and assume I’m on vacation.

My Arabic began to progress through weekly classes, and now that I understood the importance of speaking it, I worked hard to learn the basic phrases I’d need for hanuts. And suddenly, one day, I could understand what the hanut said. Like a light bulb, he suddenly began smiling, and I felt on top of the world when I responded confidently in his language.

I still go to this hanut every day, and we exchange greetings as I hand over my bills. He asks me how I am, he wishes me a good lunch, and his face lights up. I won’t delude myself in the other direction by thinking that I’m his favorite customer, but he’s nicer to me than most of the other customers I’ve seen!

Sometimes the most visible parts of a country’s culture are windows to deeper issues, so I can’t overlook the visible parts of the culture I live in. But with the time I’ve spent here, I’ve shifted from being enamored with the surface things to learning to look behind the things I observe, and ask “why?”

Letting My Heart Soar (Halfway Through!)

Tags

Culture, Exchange, Exchange student, Halfway, host family, January 20, Morocco

“There’s more beauty in the truth even if it is a dreadful beauty. The storytellers at the city gate twist life so that it looks sweet to the lazy and the stupid and the weak, and this only strengthens their infirmities and teaches nothing, cures nothing, nor does it let the heart soar.” -John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Tomorrow marks the halfway point of my exchange.

I am not precisely the same girl that stepped onto a plane 4.5 months ago, bursting with excitement for her new adventure. I’m older, and I feel it. I’ve walked through really tough situations and really hard days. I’ve seen incredible views and been enamored with the country I live in.

I began the exchange with a clear idea that this year was what I made it into. I was determined, and rightly so, to craft a year of learning and challenge. But what I didn’t realize was how much of my exchange would be beyond my control.

The toughest moments so far stand out in my mind: being grabbed on the street, making the decision to leave my first family, a crazy week in November when every day began and ended in near-tears. Those moments were heart-wrenchingly painful, and they took a lot of time to heal. I wouldn’t have chosen for them to happen.

But they happened, and they were woven into the story of my exchange. I can no longer separate the good moments from the bad ones, and I wouldn’t want to, because my learning was done on the hard days. I learned how to get up, to keep moving, and to look past the hard stuff. I’m firm in the knowledge that when the hard things happen, time keeps moving.

When I come home, 4.5 months from now, I’ll have a story to tell. It would be easy to pick out the most photogenic moments, like looking down on the natural springs in Oulmes or bargaining in the Fes medina. But the story that’s in my heart, for better or for worse, is how I responded to the bad parts of my year. In a way, my response twisted them into highlights. I want to brave enough to include those in my story.

My half-way point is not just a theoretical marker- I’m switching host families for the second (and hopefully final) time tomorrow and my exchange coordinator, Sarah, is departing to move back to the U.S. The difficulties don’t stop because I’ve lived half of my experience. But the hard stuff has taught my heart to soar, and I’ve already been lifted off the ground.

I’m eagerly awaiting moving to my new room. Drawing the rooms I’ve had so far has become a tradition.

The Sun is Shining!

Tags

Cafe Clock, Casablanca, Christmas, Culture, Exchange, Exchange student, Exploring, Fez, Medina, Metal-Working, Morocco, New Year, Tanneries, Travel, Trips

The YES Abroad and NSLI-Y group in Fes, Morocco. (Photo taken by Hamza, our tour guide)

The sun is shining! It hasn’t rained for weeks in Rabat, and I’m walking around without a jacket and going to sleep without with shivering. It may be an anomaly, but it corresponds to a rise in my spirits. Christmas and the new year were wonderful here, far better than I expected. I spent Christmas day with a family from my church here, and their generosity in welcoming me into their celebration was amazing. We sang carols and played games all day, much like I would do at home. I spent New Year’s Eve with my host family, and we had a quiet celebration at dinner.

Preparing the ornaments for our Christmas tree. It was a very technical business. (Photo taken by Lily)

The tree functioned as our advent calendar- every day in December leading up to Christmas we put up an ornament. (Photo taken by Lily)

We traveled to Fes last week, with the girls from the Arabic NSLI-Y program, for a night. The trip was amazing; Fes has the largest medina (old city) in the world, and it’s a beautiful one! We went to a great cafe, Cafe Clock, had a workshop on metal-working, explored the countryside around Fes, and I bought a beautiful leather bag in the Fes tanneries.

Cafe Clock was slightly hidden in the Fes medina, but luckily there were some signs telling us where to go. (Photo taken by Claire)

A farm I stumbled upon outside of Fes. I prefer these wide-open views to the narrow streets of the medina. (Photo taken by Katherine)

Exploring outside of Fes. It kind of looks like winter in this picture, which is unusual! (Photo taken by Katherine)

Working on my metal-working design. (Photo taken by Katherine)

The finished product! I really loved the metal-working, and I plan on researching it further through my capstone project. (Photo taken by Monica)

The Fes tanneries, seen from a balcony. We visited them in the morning, so the smell wasn’t too bad, but we were still given sprigs of mint to ward off the stench. (Photo taken by Katherine)

I’m feeling more comfortable here than I was at the beginning of the month. My Darija (Moroccan Arabic) is incrementally improving, I’m comfortable in my routine, and I feel proud to have spent four months here, proud of the life I’ve built. I’ve learned to live life fully each day, not looking too far ahead. Counting the days makes me discouraged, and time seems to drag when I do it. But the days are passing, so I’ll seize them and enjoy Morocco while it’s here in front of me.

We celebrated Lily’s birthday with a small party at AMIDEAST in December. She turned 17! (Photo taken by Katherine)

My roommate, Lily, and I at the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca. The mosque is the largest in Morocco, and the only one that non-muslims are allowed to enter. We didn’t go in, because we didn’t bring scarves, but we’ll be back in the spring. (Photo taken by Lily)

We went to Casablanca for the day to go to the Morocco Mall, where we all loaded up on Starbucks and other Christmas goodies. Morocco mall has the only two Starbucks in Morocco! We stopped by the Casablanca beach afterwards. (Photo taken by Katherine)