Much to catch up on

I have a million things I need to blog about from Essaouira. So much has happened and nothing has happened. I need to write about getting henna from maybe a witch and dancing on a rooftop all night and discovering magic tea. I need to write about meeting up with my long-lost best friend and walking on the beach with one of my favorite authors (also a long-lost friend) and how crazy it was getting to Rabat. There may or may not have been some kidnapping.

I need to write about fasting and iftar and so many sahoors.

but right now I'm exhausted so let me just say I am safe, I am alive, I have made it to Rabat with Chev and the last of my classmates still joining us. (Kristi, we miss you so much!)

So I am going to sleep. I will write again soon, inshallah. We have a few more days in Rabat and then I'll be off to Casablanca for my flight to Paris and on to Ouagadougou.

More to come. 

Fes to Marrakech to Essaouira

The last few days have been a bit of a blur. Ramadan started, so I've been fasting all day. I was supposed to start yesterday but travel and other complications arose, so today is that brutal first day that is always the most difficult. Luckily I did manage to cut out coffee yesterday so I'm not withdrawing as hard as I was then.

Essaouira is my kind of town. There's the ocean, a fierce wind, friendly people and a general sense of chill. I could seriously live here and be quite happy.

We made it to Marrakech after a very long train ride (2 am- 10am) the last few hours of which I spent trouncing Beau at poker (he disagrees with this description of how the game went, but he needs to cling to his pride.) Marrakech was good, though I think we were all just a bit too tired to appreciate the medina tour and the general chaos. At one point a snake charmer put a snake around my neck and then took my picture. He asked for 200 MAD and I told him no, so he grabbed my arm and told me I owed him for the picture (the picture was taken with my camera which he grabbed off of my wrist when I had the snake on me) I handed him 10 MAD and thanked him and told him I was leaving and he grabbed me again. I yelled at my friends, who were having similar trouble with his colleagues, and discovered that having an angry-looking 6-foot Croatian friend has its perks, since the snake charmer allowed Beau to pull me away without any further argument. Oh, Marrakech. We all had coffee on a lovely terrace and then spent the night enjoying fancy food in the hotel.

The next day I overslept for Sahoor, the meal before sunrise in Ramadan, so I was in a pretty bad state. Eventually I realized that a. it was a waste to carry around the food I hadn't woken up to eat since it was too hot for it to stay good and b. I was travelling that day and even if it is the first day of Ramadan you don't have to fast if you are travelling. I decided to share the food with my friends and start fasting today. It was a good decision, since lugging around my huge backpack is not something I could have done while fasting (on a related note I'm going through clothes tonight and ditching a bunch in the hotel because I am not carrying this backpack across Burkina Faso.)

We arrived in Essaouira just as the sun was setting. This is a beautiful little beach town and we're in an incredibly cozy hotel that I think I like even better than the fancy kinds. We all went out for dinner and then I parted ways with the bunch going for drinks. I bought food for sahoor and went to bed early. A few hours later I heard my roommates come home, followed closely by every one else they'd been drinking with. Deciding it was a shame to be grumpy when every one else was so happy, I designated myself their sober guide and we all went swimming in the ocean at 1 am with minimal mishap. This morning we went on a Medina walk and explored the port. It's windy and cold (I actually got to wear my leather jacket last night and I still wasn't warm enough.) I'm basically in heaven.

Now it's time for a nap and a bit of shopping before iftar.

I wasn't going to talk about this.

There are a number of things I have trouble with. I'm quick to anger, slow to forgive. I hold on to the past. I cry too easily. I worry constantly. I fall in love at the slightest provocation and at the most inconvenient times. I also have a proud streak that manifests in the strangest ways. 

So I wasn't going to talk about what happened today because it hurts my pride. Because it makes me feel weak and because right now it's keeping me up at night. I wasn't going to talk about it even this afternoon when my friends asked me, but I did then, and it helped, and so I will do it again now and hope that it has the same effect. 

Today I was shopping in the medina and, while trying on a leather jacket in the shop, one of the shop employees started checking the fit on the coat and ended up sliding his hands under my shirt. Most of you who know me know that, if you had asked me how I  would handle this yesterday, I would have said a sucker-punch or maybe knee between his legs. (Add "perhaps a bit too eager for violence" to my list of faults.) Unfortunately I didn't react this way. I froze. I pushed his hands off of me but then I froze. Other employees came in the room. I didn't know what to do so I bought the coat and the bag I'd picked out and I told my friends I needed to get the fuck out of the shop. It really shouldn't surprise any one who knows my friends that they agreed without questions or arguments, that they stayed by my side when I asked them to and gave me water to drink and kept silent when I said that I needed it or that, later, when Beau finally got me to talk about why I was so upset, they comforted me without judgement and had turned my tears into laughter in short order. 

We drank milkshakes and coffee and talked about the sorts of things we usually talk about- variations on a hypothetical situation that tests our friendship and how we'd all handle it. 

I went home and watched bad romantic comedies all of which (oddly) involved female protagonists who, besides having romantic misadventures, are also lawyers. I think the universe, which had been whispering law school, is now actually shouting it. I've only been "graduated" (I technically haven't actually graduated yet I just don't have any more work to do.) for a day, but I feel more certain than ever that law school is what I want to do. (Not just because I think it will make my life more like a romantic comedy, I swear.) 

Tomorrow is my last day in Fes. I will probably cry. I will probably have a hard time fasting when Ramadan starts on Monday and I will probably take a long time to feel as tough as I want to feel again. But, as upset as I am, as angry at myself as I will be no matter what any one tells me otherwise, I am feeling better than I have in a long time. I think I know what I want to do next. I know for sure that I have people in my life who love me and who I can count on. I am going to the ocean in two days and I will spend the next week doing nothing but swimming. And, as I suppose was rather predictable, I am finally feeling like I might sleep. Goodnight. 

Can't give up actin' tough, it's all I'm made of...

I'm about 12 hours away from being done with college. Tomorrow I will take my last final. Maybe it's the intensity of the program, or just the intense nature of being abroad while doing it, but I'm feeling surprisingly emotional about all of it. It doesn't help that my heart feels sore like a muscle I've been overworking. I'm half in love with every single person in my program and constantly amazed by how close we've grown over such a short period of time. I'm about a week away from saying goodbye to all of them- probably some of them forever- and to my host family and all my friends in Fes. On top of this I just got the worst test score I've ever gotten in my college career, which isn't exactly the note you want to go into your final exam on. On top of all of it, I'm about to see my best friend for the first time since she went into the Peace Corps last summer and I can't wait.

So yeah. Emotions. I have lots of them.

I couldn't have gotten through today without my friends. For the walking buddy, the bear-hugs, the steadying hand on my elbow to keep me from sliding into the white board, the generous forgiveness of my ineptitude, the studying companions, the stories, the jokes and the smiles. Thanks, you guys. An education that has spanned 4 colleges in 5 cities and 2 countries over 7 years and more jobs, boyfriends, apartments, roommates and final exams than I can count is careening toward its end. 12 hours left as an undergraduate.

See you on the other side.

I will blog again.

I've been awol from this blog, in part because of the rather intense homework/finals/presentation schedule of the last week of my Arabic class and in part because I've been pretty down lately.

Before I get into all that, because this blog is intended to be about the financial aspects of studying abroad, let me mention a recent happy/strange happenstance that really turned out to be less awesome. The lovely people at Gilman International e-mailed me to let me know they were giving me $500 more. GREAT! Yay! Happiness (and a slight increase in my willingness to eat fancy lunches) ensued. Then I got an e-mail from my school's financial aid department reminding me that I was going to have the $500 deducted from other aid, and I needed to pay that to them right away. I'd be more upset about this but it still means replacing $500 of my loan with $500 of a grant, so I guess I still win? Anyway, just another reminder that winning scholarships often doesn't do much more than offset other forms of aid- there is a limit to the amount of money you're allowed to "earn" this way.

Ok. So now that things are winding down in Morocco (I have less than 2 weeks left with my program) I'm starting to feel an odd combination of things. 1. I'm sad because I will miss all of the great new friends I have made and my life in Fes. 2. I'm homesick because I've been away from my family for so long during a rather turbulent time for them/me. 3. I'm SO EXCITED to see my best friend in August and to spend a month in Burkina Faso with her. Because so many of these feelings are at odds with one another (I can't keep hanging out with my friends here AND see my family AND spend a month with my best friend) I'm trying to just keep them in three distinct boxes in my head and deal with them one at a time as they arise.

I haven't wanted to blog because I haven't wanted to admit that I'm having these feelings and because I've just been overwhelmed with work, and I didn't want my writing to sound like a list of complaints (the homework is really not unreasonable.. it's just sometimes hard to know how to budget "getting really sick from dehydration and spending a night vomiting and trying to keep the room from spinning" into my study schedule. These things happen.  Anyway, I'm off to do more homework and study for the test I have tomorrow. I will try to be better about updating (particularly once we're in Essaouira.)

A cemetery on my side

Priorities are strange things. This morning I heard a kitten crying loudly outside my room, and when I opened the door to leave for class, a skinny ball of furry stripes came darting through my legs and into the house. I picked him up (still wailing) and he curled into a ball in the space between my collarbone and my neck and began purring. I was pretty much done for. I eventually managed to get him off of me, and found him to be about 6 weeks old, very skinny with dark stripes and bright white oversized paws. He followed me (wailing even more loudly now) all the way to the taxi.

There have been several moments over the last few days when I thought I might actually break down and cry. So far it hasn't happened, mostly because I've been in company and well distracted. This kitten almost got me. All morning long I could still hear him crying at me, still see him circling my feet. I sat for the test, I survived the hour of class afterwards, and then we got to the break. I made my decision and set off to return to the Medina.

Frequently when I'm making these rash, emotional decisions, I look for signs from the universe (or God, if you prefer) that I'm doing the right thing. If you're a frequent reader of our class blog (or an ALIF student) you understand that it is usually impossible to get a taxi at the taxi stand near McDonalds. I walked up, asked the first driver I saw if he would take me to Batha and he sort of shrugged in an affirmative manner. I took this as a sign that my truancy was a good call.

Once back in Batha I bought some milk and went looking for my cat. After an unsuccessful search of the street, the neighborhood watch guy waved me over. I started to explain in Arabic and he said (in English) "You are looking for the very small cat? I saw you with him this morning." I told him I was. He smiled and pointed at the milk in my hand "You want to give him milk?" He asked this without a hint of disdain (I expected to get treated like a crazy woman.) Pointing at a hole in the wall he explained the kitten lives in there and that I could leave the milk with him and he would give it to the cat the next time he comes out of the hole. I thanked him and he seemed to understand how important it was to me.

My spirits lifting, I went back to class.

When we took a bus trip to Meknes a few of us played a car game that involved counting livestock and getting points for who had the most cows/sheep/whatever on their side of the car. The rule was that passing a cemetery took away all of your points, setting you back to 0.

I used to think that death, and grief, makes a person irrational, that suddenly the elevated importance lent to every relationship and every person in your life is just a side effect of profound loss. Today I came to the conclusion that I've been all wrong about this. The people I care about seem so much more important because this is how I should feel. Life and time will numb this, I will forget this feeling and I will go back to taking every one I love for granted too often. It is the sad fact of life that we are eager to be lulled into this faith that we will always have more time, that our last words will always get to be said and said well. Death takes this faith away. Right now, while I am still painfully aware of how false this faith is, I want to make sure that I live well, and honestly and that I tell the people I care about how much they mean to me. Right now I want to fix the things I can even if it is only one day of hunger for one very tiny kitten. I do not think this is a sign of misplaced priorities.

On death, without exaggeration

My grandmother died. I want to say something profound, something that will make if feel less like a sucker-punch, something that will make it ok for me to be in Morocco while my sister is so upset. I have nothing. Recently another student on my trip suffered a (I don't want to quantify grief but certainly an even more tragic) loss and I had this flash of fear for her being so far from her own family. Now I understand better than I want to. There was a moment today when I considered leaving. I don't think my family would want it and I think I would regret it. I feel helpless and motion might feel like help but I would arrive in Seattle and be just as lost for what to do.

My grandmother grew up in Nebraska and Wyoming on farms. She stopped going to school when WWII broke out. She married twice, adopted two boys and spent her life working and taking care of my sisters and I. When we came home from school, our parents were both working so she took care of us. She started to get sick a few years ago and she's spent the last few years in an assisted living facility in Nebraska.

I planned on visiting her. I never made it out there. Instead I came here. I swore to myself that I'd call her once a week. It became once a month. And then less. I didn't even call her before I left to let her know I was going to Morocco. This is the guilt of those left behind. Going home would do nothing, now. But I can't mourn here, I can't visit the places she took us as kids, I can't listen to her music or rehash old stories with my sister. She's not here. I want to be somewhere that still remembers her.

I can't go. I understand this, I understand intellectually.  I can't really think intellectually right now so I will let one of my favorite poets say what I can't really.

 

On Death, without Exaggeration

By Wislawa Szymborska 

It can't take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.

In our planning for tomorrow,
it has the final word,
which is always beside the point.

It can't even get the things done
that are part of its trade:
dig a grave,
make a coffin,
clean up after itself.

Preoccupied with killing,
it does the job awkwardly,
without system or skill.
As though each of us were its first kill.

Oh, it has its triumphs,
but look at its countless defeats,
missed blows,
and repeat attempts!

Sometimes it isn't strong enough
to swat a fly from the air.
Many are the caterpillars
that have outcrawled it.

All those bulbs, pods,
tentacles, fins, tracheae,
nuptial plumage, and winter fur
show that it has fallen behind
with its halfhearted work.

Ill will won't help
and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d'etat
is so far not enough.

Hearts beat inside eggs.
Babies' skeletons grow.
Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves
and sometimes even tall trees fall away.

Whoever claims that it's omnipotent
is himself living proof
that it's not.

There's no life
that couldn't be immortal
if only for a moment.

Death
always arrives by that very moment too late.

In vain it tugs at the knob
of the invisible door.
As far as you've come
can't be undone.