Week 1 Reflections

Hey world! As my first week comes to a close, I am reflecting on a week of new experiences, new people, new cultures, new food and a new lifestyle. I am still not completely adjusted but I am getting into a routine. Yet at any moment I think I could wake up to a normal life. In the meantime, I am waking up in Africa.

The big conference for Homeland Security has come to an end. Consultations continue for some of the participants but most have caught their flights back home. We had visitors from all over the world. I sat in on some of the discussion. The topics included human trafficking, sex tourism, and forced labor. Everyone had interesting insight through the perspective of their respective jobs, countries and experiences. I was not aware that these issues are as prevalent as they are, but of course I am a quite sheltered and secure American. But all of the issues discussed affect many people in the world, specifically in the source countries of Southeast Asia and Eastern Europe. But as the United States is what is referred to as a destination country, trafficked people often end up there and many American companies may benefit from forced labor. We certainly have our ties to these issues despite not being in the forefront. As I said the discussions were intriguing, and I think the Law and Order writers would have endless storylines had they sat in on the discussions.

On Tuesday and Wednesday the conference group went out to dinner. The first event was at a four star restaurant owned by a Moroccan-American that is a very close friend to the US Consulate. As we loaded the buses for the restaurant, I looked around for anyone I knew so I could have someone to chat with during this dinner. I did not want to seem like the antisocial and timid intern in a group of well-educated and successful representatives of the world. As my roommate had other plans, and only about half of the conference attendees signed up for this dinner, the possibility of finding someone I knew and then end up sitting next to that person at the table seemed unlikely. So I prepared myself for an evening of politeness and fake smiles, and I tried to remember my dinner etiquette that may have escaped me after two years of college etiquette; I was sure to sit next to some boring USG employees with not much interesting to say. I tried to slowly walk to a chair so that I could see where the others were claiming seats. This plan failed and I ended up grabbing a chair quickly out of anxiety of the forthcoming boring meal. My attempts were in vain, but this failure actually worked out to my advantage. I looked around and saw myself surrounded by seven men ages 30-45, none of whom I had met during the conference. Alright, I thought, this could be good. There was an Italian to my right, a Dane across from him, a Finn across from me, and four Americans to my left. The Dane, Finn, Italian and I spent most of the dinner discussing the Italian Mob, life in Italy, life in the Netherlands, life in Denmark, life in Finland, life in America, fishing off the Adriatic and Red Seas, fishing in Boca Grande, moving to the Canary islands, the Carabinari, drug lords, drug problems, Hell’s Angels (Denmark chapter), Italian gypsies, Italian food in Venice vs Italian food in the South, and the Italian mob in Venice vs Italian mob in the South. I spent most of the time talking with the Italian that maybe loved talking as much as he loved eating. He was a very nice man who fit all of the stereotypes of a classy Italian; he was clean, friendly, suave, well dressed and well spoken. Although about 20 years my senior, these men seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say on the matter of all things American. Although I assure you, what I had to say was not very enlightened or eloquent. In the end, this evening that I worried would be awful and awkward turned out to be such a pleasantly enjoyable event. At one point as I sat surrounded by these truly exceptional people, I tried to take a memory-photograph of the sights, sounds, tastes, and people because I never want to forget this experience nor what it taught me about myself and my world.

As awesome as Tuesday night was, Wednesday night was unsurprisingly uneventful. We went to Rick’s Café as a group. Yep, that’s Rick’s Café, as in the movie. I was stuck in the middle of a long table with discussions going on all around me in English and Spanish. Unfortunately I was not involved in any of these conversations and the French woman across from me was just as bored. The food was okay, the company was quite unfulfilling, and the ambiance was not as good as everyone said it was. Wednesday fell short in comparison to the night before.

Before dinner on Wednesday, I went to the Hassan II Mosque here in Casablanca. It is the third largest mosque in the world, next to the two in Mecca and Medina. It took six thousand people working 24 hours a day and 7 days a week (in shifts of course) five years to build this mosque. It is stated in the Quran that God’s throne was over water so to illustrate this, they created a man-made peninsula in the Atlantic ocean on which the mosque sits. It is of French design. Every material used to create this mosque is from Morocco, except the chandeliers and two certain pillars are from Venice. My written descriptions could never do justice to the magnificent grandeur of this place. I can only offer pictures, and they will be posted as soon as I can get enough internet to do so. In the meantime, here is the Wikipedia page with full details of the mosque.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hassan_II_Mosque

As I have been here for one whole week, I am still very taken aback when I am stared at in the street. Yes, it is true. Imagine people staring at me. I often find myself laughing at the situation! Can you believe it?? Because I certainly have not gotten over it myself. It has been said that Arab men hold Western women at a different standard than their own women, and also there are so few Western women here that they can be simply surprised to see me. Ha, imagine.. ME, this totally normal American that has never done anything outrageous in my whole life is now turning heads and requiring second and third glances in the streets of Casablanca. Long pants decrease the stares but they nevertheless continue. And it is often not rude or anything like that, they just stare. A lot. I myself cannot completely understand this, so I cannot explain it to you all. It is part of the culture that I accept but cannot completely understand. A similar part of the culture that I accept but cannot explain is the massive amounts of tea that is drunk in Morocco. They drink it all the time! If you are not familiar with the traditional Moroccan tea it is mint, often sweetened, drunk in small, thin glasses (not teacups), and poured from a brass teapot held about 2 feet above the glass. Moroccans claim that the reason for holding the teapot so far away from the glass is to aerate the tea, but I think it is just that Moroccans want to show off. Hahaa.

So, after one week, I still cannot believe I am here. They really do not speak English here. I mean REALLY. And the Moroccans don’t see a lot of Western people on a normal basis. Also, I don’t get a lot of information about what is going on in America. Morocco is just so physically, technologically, culturally, and socially very far away from America. This place is very different from home. Not better or worse but just SO different. And as you can tell, one week is not long enough for me to get over the culture shock.

Thanks for reading..

PS, love and miss you Natalie