Oh look, a dromedary!

Whenever I think of what to write for the world (some of it anyway) to see, I get so  overwhelmed with all of the stories I want to tell, images I want to show and people to introduce. I feel a sort of duty to my few readers telling me I am obliged to write about every adventure or misadventure that has happened. Unfortunately, this sentiment encourages me not to write anything at all. I think this idea is somewhat a result of my classes (which are now over) at Moulay Ismail. One of the reoccurring themes within the classroom was the idea of us American students acting as ambassadors of Moroccan and Islamic culture to the west when we return home, and in our regular correspondence with family and friends in the states. I want people to understand this peculiar, spectacular, and loving country as I do, and for this I feel I must paint the most accurate image I can here on this blog. However, my dear readers will have to be contented with a scattered and vague portrayal of the past month as well as the coming ones. 

  My parents have finally arrived in Africa. I knew they would love it here. My family is always adaptable and hardy in just about every situation. It helps also that Morocco is somewhat like a third world version of the UP. On their second day in, I, the inattentive guide, had to leave them to their own devices while I headed off to school. When I came home I was surprised to discover that they had wandered all around the hectic and confusing Madina by themselves, drank tea with my shop owner friend Shukri, and had made it out again unharmed and without getting lost. I felt like a parent whose child has taken its first step without falling. We spent about a week together in Meknes, mom and dad getting their bearings and adjusting to Moroccan life while I took my last exams and said many sad goodbyes to my little family of displaced Americans. 

When all was finished, we headed off to Chefchaouen, a small city in the rif mountains. Everything on Chaouen in painted blue. We spent our one full day there hiking in the mountains with Heather, my beautiful belly dancing roommate, her boyfriend, and Hannah. Getting out of the city and into the mountains was just what us uppers needed. It was good to be away from the city after months spent in Meknes, and my dad was happy to be exposed to rural Moroccan life for the first time. The Berber women on their way to the villages bellow with loads of wheat or wood stacked high on their backs making their way past us and the little boys with herds of sheep threatening us with slingshots were all exciting and new for them both.

Since coming here I have become generally used to Moroccan culture and ways of life, so having to pairs of fresh eyes allowed me to reexamine my surroundings. I had forgotten that it in the west everyone is not so eager to help and to talk to you, and that it is not normal for shop owners to recognize you from days before. I had forgotten also how exhausting it is to bargain for everything you want to buy, or how fascinating the odd combination of old and new can be.