Moroccolypse Now

Morocco has changed me, I fear. I came here expecting to learn how to speak refined news media Arabic, as well as the local dialect, but instead I’m leaving having adopted the lexicon and habits of a 19-year-old girl from the Utah suburbs. In between classes, I drink hot chocolate from Starbucks while listening to Katy Perry on my headphones. After school, I go on hot girl walks to get sweet treats and spill tea with my queens. On the weekends, I engage in hours of retail therapy while discussing my skincare routine and go to poorly produced musicals and rom-coms. Just this week, I spent too much of my time doing Black Friday dress shopping and watching one of my girlies get her nails painted while strategizing with another one how to get her study abroad crush to make a move. And let’s not forget all the seasonal baking I did this week. Please, give me pumpkin spice anything!  While that paragraph might be a little tongue-in-cheek, there’s some truth to it—and some of my favorite ...

  Have you ever had a moment where you’ve taken a wrong turn and ended up in an unsavory place where you weren’t supposed to be? Maybe, for instance, you live on the north side of Olympus Cove, and you need to exit I-215 at 3900 S to get home, but you’re distracted by the new Porsche dealership they’re building just off the freeway, and you blow right by the exit. Suddenly, you’re forced to get off on 45th and enter the south side of the Cove—enemy territory. Now, you’re rolling up your windows at stop signs, checking your gat to make sure there’s one in the chamber, and wondering why so many people are street parking their Range Rovers. I’ve been there, and I’m there again now. Yeah, I’ve ended up on Writer’s block, so I really have no idea what I’m going to talk about today. In fact, it’s taken me 45 minutes to compose this opener—no lie. Still, I’ve got a fully charged tablet and a Spotify subscription I really should get my money’s worth from, so I’m motivated to come up with s...

In November, it gets cold in Morocco. Well, I guess cold is relative since the daily high is 65 degrees and I don’t have to wear a jacket as long as the sun’s up, but let’s not allow the truth to get in the way. In November, I entered the final full month I’ll spend in the country. There are still around five weeks left in the program, but the last two will see our cohort traveling to Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and Turkey before heading home. I have never been so excited to eat pork in my entire life. In November, I traveled to some cities in the north of Morocco and visited the Spanish enclave Sebta (Ceuta). This recent trip will be the focus of today’s blog, and it really was such a fun time that I hope I can do it justice. Also, if you’re paying close attention to the schedule, you’ll notice that I missed the entry that I promised I would write in the last post. In my infinite wisdom, I neglected to bring my computer with me on the trip, so I was unable to crank out any writing. I conside...

  My name is an English one; this is true. Though, I typically run the narrative that it’s an Irish name—mostly because people assume I’m Irish anyway. So, yes, my name is English, or Irish, or Scottish, or something along those lines. My name is also, in fact, Arabic, believe it or not. Actually, it’s not that unbelievable, since one of the most powerful pharaohs Egypt has ever seen, Ozymandias, also went by the name Ramesses II (by the way, if you’re looking to kill a minute of your life, the poem  Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley has a great reading done by Bryan Cranston for the show  Breaking Bad— it’s one of my favorites). So, I guess in a way I’m some sort of American pharaoh, though don’t expect me to be winning any Triple Crowns. I first learned about my name being an Arab one back in Arabic 102 but never really imagined the type of star power this would carry once I actually arrived in an Arab country. Well, maybe I’m not Umm Kulthum, but it is refreshing not ...

  I’m happy to announce that today’s blog post is sponsored by Nooco! Now, you might be wondering exactly who, or what, Nooco is. I’m glad you asked! As far as I’m concerned, Nooco is the greatest packaged cookie, or biscuit  if you’re a communist, that has ever graced this green earth. To explain, a rich, smooth, decadent square of perfectly made Moroccan milk chocolate is layered on top of a crisp, buttery, vanilla-flavored cookie, somewhat akin to an animal cracker (if said animals were raised free-range on a strict diet of Bermuda grass), and then finished off with a pinch of what can only be Colombian crack cocaine. And, if that wasn’t already incentive enough, a packet of four Nooco cookies will set you back only .50 Cents (yep, we’re definitely Poppin’ Them Thangs). So, here I wallow, on a bender of Noocos and Moroccan boxed milk, which is just regular milk except way more disgusting, with crumbs, slivers of chocolate, and empty cookie wrappers littering my half-naked b...

Take a look at the above image. What do you see? A collection of red mud buildings? Cell phone towers disguised as palm trees? A dirty parking lot? Now, let me tell you what you don’t see. A scourge of scammers united in confederacy against you; stenches so offensive they should be considered crimes against humanity; motorcycle riders with a wish for death…yours; and historic sites so mobbed with European tourists you’d think the French had returned to re-colonize the place. Congratulations, you now have the entire Marrakech experience and have no need to ever go! Okay, that’s an unfair representation of the Red City—there is certainly more to it than that. This past week, I had the opportunity to take a trip down south and visit a few different places in Morocco’s more colorful areas. Marrakech was our first stop, but certainly not our last, nor was it the best. Let me tell you about it.  My opening paragraph makes it sound like Marrakech doesn’t have a lot to offer, which isn’t e...