Reasons For Leaving Morocco

I’m back in the U.S. now, and I probably owe absolutely everyone an explanation as to why. In short, I don’t feel I would be learning what I came there to learn.

Backing up. First off, Morocco’s awesome. Except for that one kid who tried to pickpocket one of my younger host-brothers (my host brother kicked his ass and chased him away) and the guy who tried to charge me 200 Dirhams for showing me around a handful of streets in Rabat (he got nothing after a very long discussion about why you have to specify first you’re doing something for a price), everyone I’ve met here’s been ridiculously nice. We’re talking “grab you by the arm and walk you somewhere if you’re lost” nice, and while they’re doing that, if they don’t know the way, they’ll ask other Moroccans for directions. Just for you, they’ll people will go so out of their way to help. It’s incredible.

And except for the one piece of graffiti I saw with the word “Juif” in a phrase in French that included a swastika on one wall somewhere in Rabat, I’ve felt no anti-Semitism. On the contrary, people have been really accepting. When I told my various host-brothers I’m Jewish, they didn’t seem phased. When I told them I speak Hebrew, they asked me to write their names in Hebrew. My older, soldier, host-brother’s friends asked me to talk to them in Hebrew. When I fasted Yom Kippur, my host-mother told me I’m going to heaven. To break my fast, she cooked me up some Harira and Shbekia, traditional ramaDan break-fast treats. I fasted, so it made sense to her to do this for me. It was more touching than I can ever explain. When I got to Rabat before coming back to the U.S., a very nice mad walked me for 10-15 minutes helping me find the synagogue. I talked Israeli-Palestinian conflict with another stranger who helped me find a watch-shop. I didn’t catch everything he said, but it included the words “Banu Adam” (children of Adam) to describe humanity, shaking his head in disbelief when miming a suicide bomber and talking about heaven, and telling me he knows one of the few remaining Jews of Rabat. When, at the end of the conversation, the man asked me if I’m Jewish, I told him I am. Before we parted ways, he gave me a big hug and an uncomfortably wet kiss on the cheek. Honestly, if one was stupid enough, one could get so very lost in Rabat until oh…say 3:30 in the morning while wearing a kippah with a giant Jewish star and menorahs all over it and with his tzit-tzit hanging out and not get crap for being Jewish. If one was careless enough to do this, people might ask if he’s “Yehudi” or “Juif” and then go right on not caring about that and giving him the correct directions home. I’m not saying I was all too cautious about it, I definitely pushed the envelope whenever I felt safe (which was eventually all the time), I’m just saying that the people I’ve met are so accepting. It’s an incredible thing to see.

But I guess that’s part of the reason I left. When I came to Morocco, I wanted to learn about Islam as it relates to “Radical Islam.” Morocco just didn’t seem the place for that. So many women walk around in shirts/pants (as opposed to the very flowy robes) without Hijabs. Women drive cars, and some smoke in public. Men with beards aren’t too common. People in my village (and I’m not saying this applies to everywhere in Morocco) and Morocco didn’t adhere to a strict version of Islam as is more common in Afghanistan or other places in the world known for Radical-Islam. Not that people weren’t religious. God-phrases were everywhere, and my host-mom prays five times a day. But it’s significantly different. People are friendly and helpful. They’re very respectful of my religion, nobody tried to convert me. When I asked a few people about the lack of beards, I got responses that all included other parts of the Islamic world, oppression of women, and how Moroccans just can’t understand how/why people do that.

So learning about Islam and how it relates to Radical-Islam in Morocco definitely did not look like it was going to happen for me.

Then there’s the Arabic. Darija (Moroccan Arabic) is significantly different from Standard Arabic (which is very close to Levant/more Middle-Eastern dialects).Darija uses the “V” and “”G” sounds absent in Standard Arabic, lacks the “TH” sound, drops a LOT of vowels when people speak, and the grammar’s all different. I could pay a tutor to teach me Standard Arabic while there, but I can do that anywhere. And the lack of everyday people to speak Standard Arabic to means there’s really no advantage of doing that in Morocco than anywhere else.

Peace Corps is amazing, and the work they’re doing around the world and in Morocco is incredible. To stay with them, volunteering at a Youth Center in Morocco would be completely worthwhile. Would be, if I wasn’t so goal-oriented. Staying in Morocco would push my goal of understanding/working on eliminating Radical-Islam/terrorism off by at least two years. I would be learning a very different (and more tolerant) brand of Islam, and a different Arabic than I’m after.

But I’m glad I went. I got to see that people in a Muslim country can modernize on a grand-scale without the hatred for “the West” you see on the news. I learned firsthand that poor, uneducated (sometimes illiterate) religious Muslims, who are supposed to be the group most susceptible to Radical-Islam, can also be the group most accepting and respectful of others. And that makes me so, so hopeful of the future.

I’m generalizing, I know, and I’ve heard the complete opposite experience from other volunteers. I have heard horror-stories. But from what I saw first-hand, I think absolutely every stereotype I was expecting to encounter in poor/rural area of a Muslim country was proven false it’s just too much to make me think the answers I’m seeking lie in Morocco.

So now I’m back in America, still trying to find a way to understand Radical-Islam, still trying to end the terrorism that took Albert’s life, and currently trying to come up with a different approach. That was the reason I went to Morocco in the first place. I thought I would find the answers in Morocco, but if my short time in a Muslim country has taught me anything, it’s that I was wrong about so much, that things aren’t always as bad as I imagine. I couldn’t be happier to be proven so wrong, to find everyday people in a Muslim country so warm and accepting. I’m usually so cynical, so pessimistic. For the first time in along time, I’m actually optimistic. It’s weird while simultaneously so relieving.