My roommate and two other girls took a train from Meknes to Rabat yesterday morning. The ride was only two hours and it was a great opportunity to see the Moroccan countryside. There were shepherds, huts made out of bales of hay, and rolling hills with rocky creeks. The train ride was so enjoyable I almost did not want it to end and I am planning more of them (to Fes, Assilah, etc.).
When we arrived in Rabat we hailed a cab that took us to the beach town of Temara. We drove along the water's edge looking for a beach that wasn't too crowded or too rocky.
We finally settled on one situated next to a theme park complete with a merry-go-round and carnival rides next to a gaudy hotel. We went into the hotel looking for a place to change. It looked completely abandoned on the inside.
After changing we returned to the beach and I started to haggle with some guy over an umbrella that I wanted to rent. He was trying to charge me 50dh. After settling on 20, he sets it up for me. So far, during Ramadan, I've tried to be really discreet about any eating or drinking I do during the day, including in the classroom. But yesterday I felt that the beach would have to be an exception. I was starving and thirsty, and there was no way I was spending the day on the hot beach without drinking water in front of people. There were other foreigners there, so I figured it would not be a problem. How Moroccans get by laying on the beach all day and swimming without eating or drinking anything is beyond me. I am constantly shocked by the things they are able to do while fasting from 4am until 8pm. Anyways, I was holding a bottle of water and after the guy set up the umbrella the questioning began:
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why aren't you fasting?"
"Because I'm not a Muslim."
"You're not a Muslim?"
"No."
"What religion are you?"
"I'm a Christian."
"Oh..."
It's disappointing that even when I try to be blunt with people I still have to lie. My normal response to "What religion are you?" is "My family is Christian." At least that's not as much of a lie. But here is what they say when I mention that during Ramadan:
"You know, Christians fast, too. And for longer than Muslims."
"Maybe Coptic Christians..." I say.
"No, real Christians fast."
"Then I'm not a real Christian."
I need to mention here that I think Ramadan is amazing and one of the more respectable religious traditions. It is meant to remind the wealthy, and everyone else, that there are people in the world that experience severe hunger and thirst and don't have the luxury of breaking fast when the sun goes down. It's a time of generosity and self-control. It teaches patience and compassion. Again, I am in awe of what most Muslims are capable of doing this time of year, especially in a place like central Morocco. That being said, I do not feel like abstaining from all food and drink for 16 hours a day in 105+ degree heat is something that one just jumps into as a non-Muslim American. In addition to that, I have been so irritated by the American students that have decided to "fast" that I do not want to be a part of it. By 10am they are complaining of hunger pains. If you eat anything in front of them, they see it as an opportunity to remind everyone of their suffering. You then see them drinking water and realize they are only abstaining from food. Upon further questioning they say they are only fasting half a day. Not eating anything until after noon sounds like a pretty normal day for me, but for them it is a life-changing cultural experience.
It is hard to determine the boundaries on cultural respect and cultural immersion. I try to be aware of the fact that the Moroccans around me are facing a real challenge every day and it is rude to blatantly eat and drink in front of them but I also know that it can take a lifetime of observation, training, and faith that I do not have to be able to fast for a month every year. I do not want to pretend that I can do what they are doing, because I probably cannot. Because of my mixed feelings about what should be deemed respectful, I just do not know how to react when my professor walks into our classroom during our break, sees me eating a pretzel in the far corner of the room and says, "Look at Hannah, eating during Ramadan in broad daylight!"
Anyways, back to Rabat. We swam and laid on the beach for hours. The water was surprisingly chilly and the breeze was cool. It was the first time I have felt cold in weeks so it was nice.
We drove around Rabat for a while, looking for any restaurant that would be open before iftar. We finally found one and ate crepes and paninis while trying to decide what to do with the rest of the evening. I ended up taking the train back by myself around 9:30 while the others stayed to check out Rabat's nightlife. I shared a compartment with Abdou, a Moroccan-born French pianist who was returning to Fes to visit his mother after his father passed away. We talked about religion, marriage, and politics (a rare subject of conversation in Morocco, at least for me).
When I arrived back in Meknes around midnight I did not have to look far for a cab since the drivers were standing in the station searching for customers. I went with one cabbie who told me the ride would be at least 25dh. I am used to just going by the meter and that seemed a little steep. I reluctantly agreed on 20 and got into the backseat of his cab after he tried to get me to sit up front. I am still trying to determine what precautions I need to take while riding in a cab. This is what I have come up with so far: Always sit in the back seat. Pay attention to where he is taking you and get out and find another cab if he is clearly taking the wrong route. Don't get into a cab with only male passengers in it. The last one I have not followed strictly but after three more men piled into this cab with me, I got out and walked down the street to find a different one. I am sure it would not have been a problem, but since the cabbie was bothering me to begin with, I decided to bail. I found an empty cab half a block away and got in. The driver seemed nice and as we started to drive off, someone was yelling into my back seat window and opened the door. Apparently it was the man in charge of the taxis around the train station. He was insisting I get out of the cab and go back to the one I was in before. I suppose they have a system there that he wanted to abide by, but I was sick of getting in and out of taxis and told him repeatedly that I did not want that other taxi. He started screaming at the driver and the driver was screaming back and was trying to drive off but the guy would not let him. At this point I really wasn't going to get out of the cab and explained that I did not want to be in a cab alone with four men (if there's one thing Moroccans will understand, it's a woman trying to be safe/virtuous). The guy kept screaming and I could not believe how insistent he was being. Finally we just started to drive off and the guy slammed the door in my face. My cabbie was obviously flustered and seemed just as confused as me. I was happy he stuck up for me, even if it was just for the cab fare. We had a good conversation about Amazighi culture and language before he dropped me off.
