North Africa Notes

Ramadan Reflections in Rabat , Morocco

2009-08-30T05:14:00.008Z

A friend of mine from Chicago is in Morocco this summer - for the first time. I have been bugging her to write a "note" for this blog about her experiences because people always ask "what's it like to be a woman traveling in Morocco on your own?"

She has blessed us with a reflection about her time in Rabat for the month of Ramadan.

Enjoy this fresh voice of a Pakistani-American girl practicing her Arabic in Morocco (and studying at the Qalam wa Lawh Arabic school):

Ramadan reflections in Rabat

An hour before sunset on what would be the last day of Sha’bān, our taxi started its descend down Jabl al-‘Ālam. We had already hiked a mountain called Aqshur earlier that morning, and spent the afternoon visiting Moulay ‘Abd as-Salam so we were quite tired by sunset.

In all honesty, I only came to Chefchawen to visit Moulay ‘Abd as-Salam and was very grateful that my desire came to life - so I couldn’t ask my friends if we could stay on the mountain till sunset to watch for the crescent of Ramadan. I knew they were tired and driving down Jabl Al-‘Ālam without streetlights might have been dangerous. As the taxi drove down the enormous mountain towards the city of Chefchawen, I tried in vain to see if the blessed month had begun.

Ramadan had begun and we were in Chefchawen, a blessing in and of itself. Friday night, the sisters I spent the weekend with were receiving text messages and calls every ten minutes wishing them a blessed Ramadan.

We went to the medina that night and the people of Chefchawen were scrambling to buy cheese, bread and milk to start their first pre-dawn meal. Hugs were exchanged with smiles and pure joy for Ramadan. I always loved the Christmas season back in the States because everyone wishes you a happy holiday. It being my first Ramadan in a Muslim country, it felt a million times better to be wished a blessed Ramadan!

I took a bus to Chefchawen, which was my first time experiencing Morocco’s bus system. Cheap and efficient yet it seems that any bus station will have its fair share of shouting for seats, cigarette smoke, and numerous offers to buy Kleenex.

The way back to Rabat was much more peaceful and I’d like to thank Ramadan for that. It’s absolutely amazing to see a whole country stop smoking during the day light hours. There was less noise and movement in general. Granted it was Saturday morning/afternoon, the beginning of the weekend in most Moroccan cities, not one café was open. Just as I had been told…but did not really believe.

Back in Rabat, the city doesn’t quite exactly stop all movement, as people had exaggerated, but there is peculiar type of movement, or at least that’s what I sense. People seem to be out on the streets with a purpose. I’ve experienced much less of the unfortunately common, Muslim-country catcalls. (Although I rank Morocco as having a lesser amount of street harassment in comparison to my travels in other Muslim countries.

My time in Rabat makes me say that if one is properly dressed, walking with purpose and not letting her eyes wander into the line of sight of others, the catcalls are close to zero.

It's now been a week of Ramadan. We'll be breaking the fast soon God willing on hareera ... yum :) I'll write more soon, inshaAllah, about Ramadan nights in Rabat.

Spend the Last 10 Days of Ramadan in Morocco, AKA the Land of the Awliya

2009-06-04T03:06:00.013Z

A woman who is dear to my heart, and with whom I quickly felt an affinity towards when I met her in Fez, runs an Arabic language school in Fez that is doing a special program this Ramadan. The program, which runs from the 9th until the 19th of September,is called, "Ramadan with the Saints of Morocco" and it looks amazing Masha'Allah.

In addition to the lessons and visiting of sites, there is the opportunity to have a session with the Fez singers who recorded Qasidah al-Burda for the CD compilation Shaykh Hamza Yusef translated.

Darr-Sirr, a website devoted to Sufism in Morocco writes that:

Al-Maghreb al-Aqsa (present-day Morocco) has long been one of the most important crucibles of Islamic mysticism. Moroccan religious and intellectual movements often created ebb tides of intellectual and cultural influence that flowed toward the Muslim East.

Some people are uncomfortable with the term "saints." It is not to say that they are infallible, but a bold claim is being made that there are certain people whose piety is so much in abundance that it becomes manifest in their person and touches those around them and that even after their death there is benefit in remembering them. Sidi Ahmed Zarruq (d. 1484 c.e.) said that "The inner essence of the slave is known through his outward state."

A knowledgeable Islamic scholar from the Uk once said that it is the sign of a living religion that it can produce righteous people.

This is all to say, Go to Morocco, attend this amazing program in Ramadan and give your Iman a chance to really thrive insha'Allah. All of the contact information is on the flyer pasted above ( If you click on it, it will enlarge), but in case it is still not clear for you, the contact email is: info@sacalfez.com and the telephone number is : +212 674566458.

May Allah give us all the secret of Sincerity and a Good Ending. Ameen.

The Jar That Does Not Fill or, Going Crazy over Morocco

2009-05-24T07:52:00.008Z

A call from a dear friend in Morocco yesterday morning re-ignites within me the hope of return. I got off the phone and started to make a mental note of all of the things that have changed or are changing in Morocco since I was last there. Not big things like the upcoming elections in June, but personal things which have effected the lives of people with whom I was close. I count two deaths (a sister, a father) May Allah have mercy on them, one wedding, one engagement with a wedding scheduled in a month God-willing, and then my thoughts trail off.

Every time I return to Morocco it looks different and my eyes need time to readjust. Now I think about how even my friends will look different, having married or carried within them the new pain of losing their only sister or their beloved father so suddenly.

To the honest, I have been keeping up with Morocco a lot on another blog that I started and that I invite you to, its called reading morocco. I guess that I have moved from writing about my own experiences there to listening to what others have to say. I am especially interested in what Moroccans themselves are producing in the way of blogs, short stories, and commentaries about their country and feel grateful to be able to read them in Arabic, French and English. (If only i could read a Berber language!)

Anyway, I came across this interesting short story written in the 1940's by a Moroccan named Ahmed Bennani. It is called The Jar That Does Not Fill, and is about an American in Fes. I like the feeling of being looked at and and summed up by Moroccan eyes when generally so much written about Morocco is the product of us Americans summing up Moroccans ( generally without an adequate knowledge base). I am pasting the story below and hope that you enjoy it.

THE JAR THAT DOES NOT FILL
Ahmed Bennani 1940
Translated into English by
Jilali El Koudia

This is Najjarine Market in Fes. The season of tourists has come, and so dealers of antique objects are getting ready, exhibiting their goods on their shop windows. They arrange them in magnificent order, preserving their ancient look in order to attract the sight of the expected tourists.

One morning, as they were absorbed in their work, a strange-looking Westerner emerged in the main street. His height indicated that he had come from the land of skyscrapers. He was walking slowly and staring at everything round him, contemplating the simple, ordinary objects. He gives you the impression that he was walking in the museum of the marvels of the world, which suggested that it was his first visit to this Eastern land, full of mysteries and marvels as Europeans and Americans imagined it.

He is the kind of tourist merchants impatiently awaited, for he would spend a great deal of money on simple goods, especially if he was told they were antique or associated with the life of a sultan. As soon as they saw him, they started inviting him in their shops, tempting him and addressing him in a language that sounded almost English. The American would accept the invitation and look carefully at what they offered him, such as worn-out rugs, old copper utensils, cracked pottery and other various goods with strange shapes and colours. The attraction of these objects depended on how much rust and dust they had collected! The American would smile with appreciation, produce a notebook from his pocket to take notes, then he would leave.

Every day he visited the shops and took notes. The merchants were hopeful as he was surely writing down the items he liked with their prices. After comparing these prices, making his choice and about to depart, he would buy the goods and leave the dollar they were after. His visits were frequent, but without buying anything. The merchants were afraid he would leave the city before making any purchase. They wondered what he really fancied. Maybe only rare and old objects. That was not impossible for our skilful merchants. This American was not the first awkward tourist for them to handle, anyway.

One day he arrived, as usual, and a merchant invited him to sit down. He told him:
“I have a ring that cannot even be compared with the ring of Solomon. It has such a marvellous story you would pay just hearing it, before even buying the ring itself. This ring was always on the finger of one of our great sultans, then it was passed on to one of his most beloved maidens. The most amazing part of it are the risks she took in order to obtain the ring. That is…”

The American listened to the story with a smile, then said ‘Thank you’ and left.
One merchant noticed that this American was not carrying a guide-book or a camera as tourists usually did; he had only books and papers. He was probably interested in cultural matters, science and scholars more than anything else. Inviting him to sit down, the merchant said:
“May I crown you? Not with the crown of princes and kings but with the crown of science and knowledge. Let me put this hat on your head. It is heavy with dirt, but if you knew the head it used to crown, you would thank God for the privilege others never had before you. This hat never left the head of the eminent historian Ibn Khaldoun!”
The American looked in the mirror and noticed how distorted and strange his image had become. He smiled and took off the blessed hat to hand it back to its owner. He said ‘Thank you’ and departed.
As soon as the American left the shop, another merchant called to him and whispered in his ear:
“No doubt you’ve heard of Caliph Haroun Errashid. In your country you always associate the East with his name, don’t you?”
The American shook his head and the merchant continued:
“Do you see all these objects that fill my shop? They are not worth this single Eastern robe.”
He opened a large box and produced a green robe. He said:
“You see, our famous caliph used to wear this robe.”
The American felt it, showing appreciation, then he said ‘Thank you’ and left.
After many days, the merchants tried other means to impress the American to yield the dollar they were after. One merchant led him into a further corner of his shop and whispered to him:
“I’ll take you where you will see what no eye has ever met! But let no one see us together, otherwise I’ll be in danger. So, just walk farther behind me.”

The American agreed and they walked out. They passed through many markets and streets till they arrived in a dark and narrow alley where only the murmur of water could be heard and nothing could be seen except the flashing eyes of a cat that escaped to a corner at the sounds of their footsteps. The merchant opened a door and they walked in. Then he shut it behind him and they crossed a hall to a courtyard where the merchant opened the door of a house. He inserted a key in a box and said:
“If my people know I have brought you here, they will kill both of us! What you are about to see is what I have inherited from my noble ancestors. It’s the most precious thing a Moslem can hoard. Look here, what do you see in this box? No, don’t touch it. It’s a sacred object!”

The American stared at it for a long time, then he stood up casting a look around him. Close to him was another marvel: a long rusty sword encased in a frame of glass and surrounded by splendid curtains. The American and the merchant stood silent for a moment, after which the merchant said:
“Now, I see you really appreciate precious objects. If you knew Arabic, you would read what is engraved on this rare sword…”
The American contemplated the marvels around him. He produced his pen and book, took notes, said ‘Thank you’ and left.

He was indeed a strange case! Normally, Americans would lavishly spend money on the most trifling local goods. But this one, although he was shown extraordinary objects, he did not put his hand in his pocket. This merchant had offered him the most extraordinary object, which was the key to his ancestors’ house in Andalusia. And yet, he only scrutinized it, took notes and said ‘Thank you’ with a smile and departed.

One morning, one of those merchants bought a newspaper to see if there was any tourist ship coming. Suddenly, he read something that sent him into a peal of laughter. He shouted to his colleagues and said:
“Do not trouble yourselves. If each of us can offer the most extraordinary objects to entice tourists, still we will not be able to provide what our American friend is looking after, even if we put our efforts together. This newspaper says he is searching for an island! Yes, an island. Look here!”

The paper opened with a long article headed by the photograph of that strange tourist. It ran thus:
“This American is the famous scholar Thomas, a member of the American Scientific Association. He was sent to Morocco by this association to search for Atlantis, an island that scientists and philosophers believed to be a lost paradise. So far no one has been able to locate it. As far as they know Plato mentioned it in one of his books, describing it like the gardens in the other world, happy, comfortable and peaceful. Recently, special attention has been given to this subject by the aforementioned association, since one of its members undertook a research which left a great impact on scientific circles. In this research he mentioned that the inhabitants of Atlantis used to confine mad people in its lunatic asylums to spend the whole day filling perforated jars. The more they poured water into them from above, the more they leaked from the bottom, and thus the jars were never filled. In this way they were kept busy from committing any crazy acts. They were unaware of the holes in the jars, but anyone who discovered such holes would show that he was sane again and so he was set free. Scholars believed such a practice had perished until the recent publication of a book on Morocco. In this book it was said that in Sidi Fridj asylum in Fes there was a perforated jar similar to those the Atlantis people used to have, which indicated there were remnants of Atlantis in Morocco, or in such other neighbouring islands like the Canary Islands.”

Such a story had a great impact on the members of the Association, and so they agreed to send the author of the research to Morocco to investigate the subject. This was how the scholar Thomas came to Fes. As we saw, every day he would pass through the market of ancient goods on his way to the asylum where he spent the whole day searching and comparing what he read in books with what devices were contrived to cure mad people, such as chains, straw sticks, the jar and other objects. He would stand for hours, reflecting on the jar that was never filled. He bent over it and listened for a long time. Sometimes he looked at it from near and sometimes from distance, contemplating it like an inspired artist or a philosopher equipped with precision, analysis, comparison and deduction. Not content with the naked eye, he put on big glasses, which gave him a haughty air of science and knowledge. At first the guardian of the asylum prevented him from approaching the mad men lest he should be harmed. But gradually the patients got used to him, and so he remained among them in safety.

On returning to his hotel, Thomas would spend several sleepless nights, filling pages to send telegraphic messages to the American Scientific Association. He wrote such valuable findings about the island in codes which only the members of the Association could decipher.

Everyday Thomas received numerous telegrams and letters from leading newspapers, cinema firms, radio stations in America, asking him to provide them with the result of his discovery. They were also ready to send messengers to receive his declarations or take photographs of the area where the Atlantis people used to live. In the meantime newspapers in America were now and then dropping hints that the world was about to witness a very serious discovery, referring to the findings of Thomas.

Days went by when Thomas’s message stopped reaching the American Association. The members waited for a long time, then they sent him telegrams, but he did not reply. They got in touch with the representative of America in Morocco urging him to send them back information about Thomas. The representative looked for him in the hotel, in the markets and finally he went to the asylum. From there he rushed to the post office to send away the following message: “Found Thomas the scholar in Sidi Fridj asylum in Fes lost among the mad men filling the jar that will never be filled.”

Reading "A House in Fez "

2009-02-15T06:08:00.007Z

It had not been my intention to post on this blog until I was back on Moroccan soil, but I came across this book that was published recently about Fes ( use a “z” if you like) and could not resist picking it up. After reading A House In Fez by Suzanna Clarke , I thought it might be good to post a review of it on this blog, because it still gets reasonable traffic although I haven’t posted in more than 4 months and because really someone needs to “unpack” this book and limit the damage it could do to those unfamiliar with Morocco.

I don’t know if you all know about the latest trend of foreigners buying houses in Morocco, specifically the old cities of Marrakech and Fes. They rehab them and often to turn them into guest houses for foreigner tourists or vacation houses that they visit once a year for a month. Most Moroccans that I know find it to be a problematic development, and many refer to it as neo-colonialism. But westerners offer fast cash and many Moroccans do not feel that they are in a position to turn this money down. A House in Fez is written by an Australian woman who visited Morocco on vacation with her husband and decided soon after to buy a house in Fes with the intention of eventually living there permanently

In beginning the book, I felt as if maybe I could relate to Mrs. Clarke, when she wrote things like, “ It was a country where we both felt more alive than anywhere else, our every sense engaged.” But as the book unfolded, and she took us on her more than a year journey of finding the right house and all the hassles and logistics of actually rehabbing it, I found myself wishing more and more that she had waited to write this book until she had actually lived in Morocco for a substantial period of time, really learned about the people and their culture, and dare I say, even learned to speak Darija ( Moroccan Arabic). I know that all these things are not necessary in order for her to write about her own personal experiences in Morocco, but when you are coupling a personal narrative with “facts” about a place and the religion and culture of that place, you should actually know something about that place.

I am not trying to nit-pick, God knows we all are deficient in our endeavors, but books like A House in Fez put inaccurate information out in the world that takes decades to correct. Like what? Well consider page 37 when she is talking about religious programming on Moroccan television and explains that it is a way for women to :

“ keep up with a service from which many were excluded. Only women past child-bearing age are permitted to go to mosques in Morocco, and then they worship in a separate area, behind the men. Young women must avoid any contact that might lead to sexual attraction, and therefore pray at home.”

Well all that I can say to that is WOW. I wonder where Mrs. Clarke got this information and how it is that after visiting and living in Morocco for as long as she did that she never saw young women answering the call to pray and entering the mosques, especially in Ramadan. I can only imagine that this information came from some other ex-pat who was “filling her in” on how oppressed the poor Moroccan woman is. As someone who has lived in Morocco I can attest to the fact that all believing Muslim women are welcome in the mosque, and yes we do pray separately, but not necessarily behind the men – sometimes on top of them on another level or next to them. We do not feel slighted for not praying with the men, anymore than the men should feel slighted for not praying with us.

This is just a taste of the inaccuracies that the Western reader will swallow whole without question while reading A House in Fez. Later in the book the author mistakes Joseph whom Christians couple with Mary the mother of Jesus (Peace be upon him) for the Prophet Joseph (Peace be upon him) of Egypt in retelling a conversation going on between her Moroccan workers in the house.. (page 217) Fact-checking is not over-rated.

The author is also fond of referring to certain Moroccan Muslims as “fundamentalists,” her definition seems to be a man who will not shake her hand (page 124), and she attributes the oft present police road checks in Morocco to post 9/11 concern about “fundamentalists” instead of perhaps noticing that Morocco is an authoritarian police state. She admits to a soft spot for “Sufis” but her recounting of Sufism is the “folk” kind that I must admit can be found in Morocco and not the rigorous self –denying, Shariah-abiding kind that would seem familiar to most knowledgeable Muslims.

She also falls into a stereotypical classification of Muslim women in the book. We can tell immediately that she admires the young girl Aisha who wears tight, seductive clothing. When she introduces us to her female engineer who has “streaked hair and heavy eyeliner”( page 121) she follows up the description of her with “ needless to say, she also had a forthright manner,” BUT later when we are introduced to two women who will help her with other things in the house, we are told immediately that they both dress “ in traditional style.” Then immediately she describes one of them, Fatima , as being “ the more assertive of the two.” (page 138) Her assumptions on the level of a woman’s assertiveness or forthrightness based on how they dress are in themselves oppressive.

Throughout the book we get glimpses of the author’s guilt about buying the old house from poor Moroccans who themselves could not afford to repair it. She seems to assuage herself (and probably some readers too) by quoting someone who tells here that the money she gave the owner is the most that he will have in his entire life. And then in case you still didn’t get the point she includes a picture of the old blind Moroccan man clutching the stacks of dirhams in his lap. I thought the picture rather tasteless.

Another way that the author assuages her guilt is to use a rationale that I have heard from other well off Brits and Australians who buy houses in the old city. They are assisting in the cultural preservation of the city. But if Fez is an ancient Islamic city, what can people who either know nothing about Islam or who are often hostile to Islam, contribute to it?

An observant reader will realize that the author does not know what she is talking about in a lot of cases , and I am not saying this to be cruel or critical. The idea to write a book about her experience was no doubt tempting at the very least to help pay for the rehab and travel costs, but Mrs. Clarke knew so little about the culture and language that I felt while reading that this was the kind of book I might write if thrown into Buddhist Mongolia at this very moment.

I just wish that at some point she would have just said, “ I didn’t understand,” but not chalk this misunderstanding up to how “different” Moroccans are , but instead to how much of an outsider she allowed herself to remain. In the reading group discussion guide at the end of the book ( and I generally avoid books which contain these) she says:

“ In some respects we have gained an understanding of Moroccan culture, but the differences between our mindset and that of traditional Moroccans is vast."

Forgive me for finding this comment offensive, especially when she does not show us one Moroccan of an equal social status that she befriended during her stay.

At some point , one must ask why then is she there? She alludes to the fruit in Morocco being fresher than that of her native Australia, and a slower pace of life. But I really wish that she could have said openly in the book what expats say amongst themselves, IT IS A GREAT INVESTMENT! They are taking advantage of Moroccans’ poverty and the relatively low cost of living to ensure their own financial futures.

I could go on and on about problematic passages in this book that I fear is only the first in a string of what I foresee to be “ I bought a house in the old city and fixed it up” paperbacks. I apologize for any excessive harshness in this post, but we must not accept sub par rushed narratives like this to keep defining our culture(s).

Now let me get back to my other blog, Al-ghurba.

Fes to NYC and Saying Bislaamah to this Blog

2008-09-23T08:39:00.008Z

There is a grey area where yesterday and today meet.I spent yesterday morning running final errands and then the afternoon buying last minute gifts in a game I called "10 minutes in the Fes medina," because leaving everything to the last minute felt like that was about all i had. I got most of the things on my list just as the call to prayer for Asr was called. I made a final entrance into the Qarawiyin mosque and in the women's ablution area ran into a friend i had meant to call to say goodbye but had not gotten around to doing it. We said a long goodbye and then I went upstairs greeted the mosque with some prayers and offered the Asr prayer by myself because in the old medina the congregational prayer for Asr is delayed for about 30 mins after the call to prayer and I was on a tight schedule.

I was finally done packing and dropped off my things at the friend's house who would be taking me to the airport in the morning at about 9 at night. Then I went quick to do the rounds of saying goodbye to a bunch of people i had left to the end. One friend gave me a silver bracelet as a present and two tupperware dishes filled with Moroccan pastries for me to share with friends and family. I could not imagine how i could fit them in my luggage but i also could not imagine refusing them. I left their place teary-eyed and go to another family's house. They had been waiting for me to eat a final dinner with them. When I sat before the table and saw it laid out in the typical Fessi fashion with the main dish surrounded by smaller tapas like dishes, i burst into tears. I ate what I could and made a quick exit, but not before they hand me a bag of homemade sweet breads and dates they want me to break my fast with in the airport in New York City.

Then I went to say goodbye to some of my Muslim American friends, our goodbyes are less emotional because in a few weeks or months we will all be back in the US and in contact God willing.
I finally make it back to my friends house at about 1 am. We catch up with each other a bit in the kitchen and she asks me if I want to attend the morning part of the Tarawih prayers that start at 3:30 am. I tell her yes, but when she wakes me up to get ready I am a muddled exhausted mess. I also realize that my flight is an hour earlier than i thought and so we don't have much time after the dawn prayer to head to the airport. I tell her to go to the mosque without me, I will pray at her place and try to get myself together.

At the airport I have an extra bag. When I try to pay for it with credit card they say that the machine is down and I can only pay in cash. They want 1,500 dirhams I only have about 800 on me and my friends did not bring any cash. The woman at the counter is insistent on 1,500 cash even though i offer to pay in casablanca where their machines will be working and i ask to speak to a manager.

Finally my friend's husband remembers that he has a police officer friend who works security at the airport. He goes to find him and comes back with him to the counter. When the police officer friend realizes that the only problem is one of having cash, he pulls out a small plastic bag full of Moroccan dirhams and asks us how much i need. My friend's husband takes it from him and promises to pay him back and i promise to pay my friend's husband back and he says not to worry about it. At this point i burst into tears. I think it was all the tears I had been holding in throughout the last week of emotional goodbyes. My friend tries to console me by telling me that things are working themselves out. She tells the woman at the counter that I am just emotional because I have not had my fill of Morocco and don't really want to leave.

I say goodbye to them and get on the plane for Casablanca. Then a few hours later I am on a plane bound for New York City. On the place the Moroccan stewardesses debate about whether I am Moroccan or not. One of them asked me if i am "bint arRabat" a girl from Rabat, she feels like she has seen me before in Rabat. I tell her that I did live there years ago and we later realize that we lived in the same neighborhood. The other stewardess calls me a Moroccan American. I think its a funny title for me, but somehow fitting.

I just about pass -out from exhaustion on take off and wake up about four hours later. I look up from my seat as a man is walking down the aisle and realize that he is Shaykh Hamza. We are on the same flight back to the US, Masha'Allah. I can't think of a reason to bother him and just sit in my thinking it is cool that we are on the same flight.

Our plane lands about three hours later. I go through immigration, and am given a dry "welcome home" by the customs official and go to pick up my luggage at the baggage claim before i go to my connecting flight. I go up to Shaykh Hamza this time and give my Salaams and ask how he is doing. He asks me if i have a cell phone because his is not getting reception. I apologize for not having one. He remembers me from the gathering in Fes and calls me by my name, a trademark of his manners and consideration.

Then he asks me if i have a luggage cart, I guess that he sees me carrying all my stuff and looking a bit out of it. I tell him that I am a bit confused , he tells me to watch his bags while he goes to get me a luggage cart. I must tell you that I have listened to and attended many of Shaykh Hamza's talks and lessons but I never felt that he had benefited me in my life as much as in that moment when I was so disconcerted, tired, and fasting( i decided not to take the traveler's dispensation and break the Ramadan fast). May Allah reward him with Paradise for that seemingly small but great kindness. Ameen.

I am naturally awkward around him, and don't want to bother him anymore, so I take my cart and go to another place in the line to collect my luggage. We bump into each other a few more times before he runs for his flight to California and I walk slowly to the waiting area of my gate because I have a few hours until I fly to Chicago.

And so, I guess this is where this blog ends , here at terminal 2 of the JFK International Airport in New York City where I am still waiting for my connection flight to Chicago. My North African adventures ended for the time being.

I thank everyone who read this blog from all over the world and all the Moroccans who through their kindness, generosity, and even stern guidance are helping me to become a better more conscious human being. I am grateful for the Fulbright grant which allowed me the time to spend a year studying a topic I am highly interested in and to the fellow Americans I befriended in Morocco. Thank you to all my American friends and family who took care of administrative things in my life for me in the States when I was away. I appreciate everyone's patience with me in an endeavor that was originally intended to be just for friends and family but has gone beyond that. Please excuse any errors on my part and believe me when I say that they were not intentional.

I am just starting the idea of a new blog called al Ghurba which i think will deal with the ideas of double consciouness, feeling out of place and living in that "third space" where you slip in and out of cultures. This seems more in keeping with how my life as an American convert to Islam from an African-American background who digs all things Moroccan. God willing it will be of some benefit.

In Morocco, when something is finished, whether it is a heated discussion or the painting of a wall, people will say, " okay now ask God to put Peace and Blessings on the Prophet"

So here I go( taken from the text of the Dala'il al Khayrat):

O Allah, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the drops of rain, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the leaves of the trees, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the foam of the seas, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the rivers, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the sand of the deserts and wastelands, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the weight of the mountains and rocks, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the inhabitants of the Garden and the inhabitants of the Fire, bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the righteous and the dissolute, and bless our master Muhammad and the family of our master Muhammad in quantity as great as the alternation of day and night.

And all Praise is for God, the Lord of the Worlds.

The Easy of Morocco is the Important Easy or Breaking Fast with Shaykh Hamza

2008-09-22T06:34:00.006Z

By this time tomorrow I should be at the Fes airport boarding a plane for Casablanca from where I will take a plane to New York , God-willing. I have spent a lot of time over the last few weeks trying to prepare mentally for this separation from Morocco.

Last week I made a special prayer and asked God to let my last week in Morocco be filled with the company of righteous, pious people and to allow me to get the most blessings out of my last days here. Soon after that I found myself in the company of a very well known Sufi shaykh, i was able to spend a few days with him and his family and really benefited from his advice and guidance. I thought after meeting him, well, this has been the answer to my prayer.

Then,the day before yesterday as I was leaving a person's house in the old city, they said to me, " Shayk Hamza will be here tomorrow." I kind of froze in confusion inside the doorway. I asked if by here, they meant Fes or the actual house we were standing in. They said that they meant the actual house. I asked if I could come and they said, yes. ( I guess that was the point of them telling me , hugh?) So, i walked out of their house with the kind of butterflies in my stomach one associates with romantic love and not the awe struck admirational brotherly version that I hold for Shaykh Hamza, May God give him longevity and well being. Ameen.

So - to make a long story short ( because this is one my last posts from inside Morocco and I still have some packing to do) I was finally told later in the evening that Shaykh Hamza would be coming to break fast at that person's house and that I too was invited. I jumped up almost immediately to get ready and take a cab to the old city. Then I scoured the few little stores that were open for some food stuffs to take to the house. I was really annoyed with myself for having no present for the Shaykh.

I was able to procure some bananas and plums and a few cartons of milk. Being able to locate milk in Morocco in Ramadan so close to the time to break fast was nearly a miracle because so many people make milk-based drinks at breaking fast time that generally all the stores are sold out by the late afternoon. I had to go to 3 stores before i found someone who had any milk.

I got to the house and the women folk were busy making the breaking fast meal. I pitched in where I could - taking the skin off of blanched almonds, peeling avocados, carrying heavy pots to the stove, putting glasses on trays,holding trays, etc. As the time to break fast neared, I went to sit with the three other women who are also invited guests. The call to prayer was given and we broke our fasts, pray the sun-down prayer and then begin eating.

A few moments later I hear a familiar voice at the door saying "as Salaamu alaykum, Allahumma Salli ala Syeduna Muhammad" It is the voice that almost any Muslim from America knows, it is the voice of Shaykh Hamza Yusuf. He walks into the room and I cannot help myself from staring directly at him. Then he goes into the adjoining room where the male guests were sitting. I try to bend my ear to hear his conversation , not in order to eavesdrop but hoping to benefit from his knowledgeable talk. I only get bits and pieces and have one of those moments I often get in such situations of wishing I was a man or that there were more knowledgeable accessible women with whom to sit.

After finishing our food we begin a night of prayers ( we pray tarawih there with an amazing imam) and Quran recitation and singing of amdah ( Muslim praise songs) and even read parts of the Dala'il al Khayrat and the Dua' Naciria. There is the ceremonial burning of incense and the dousing of the guests with rose water. After being drenched in it by the host, I think to myself that this will be the last time for a while that I will be able to partake in this refreshing welcoming ceremony.

As the night goes on I try to talk myself into asking to speak to the Shaykh, I pray about it, and then finally ask the host if he can ask Shaykh Hamza for 5 mins of his time. Within seconds ( no exaggeration) the Shaykh walks into the room, and asks my name. I tell him and thank him for all his efforts for the Ummah of Syeduna Muhammad (peace be upon him) and then ask him for a quick piece of advice about my upcoming transition from Morocco to the US that I am spiritually not looking forward to. He says, well you know America is difficult, what is easy here [meaning Morocco] is hard there [America] and what is hard here is easy there. " He is talking about how spiritual matters and really living out the faith is easier in Morocco.But the material living of gadgets and services is easier in America.

He said the "the easy" of Morocco is the important easy. He goes on to comment about the gathering we are attending, saying - you could not get this in America. But he tells me just to go back to the US and surround myself with good people. I ask him to pray for me and then poof - he is back in the other room where new singing begins.

Things go on for a few more hours. We eat a great dinner alhamdulilah and then sometime around midnight people start to leave. The whole night the host had been repeatedly welcoming and then re-welcoming Shaykh Hamza in his home and saying, "Today is an Eid ( holiday), today is an Eid."

As he said that, I thought about all of my friends here in Fes who complain to me that I am leaving before the Eid that comes at the end of Ramadan. I thought well, okay then you did get some taste of another Eid here.

As the night ends the Shaykh is bombarded by people who want a little of him. I don't want to bother him again , but i do have another question for him, because this was such a small private gathering, i say " Shaykh Hamza I have a blog , is it okay for me to write about tonight on it?" "Sure," he says.

" Space is in the Heart " and So is Fes

2008-09-20T11:01:00.004Z

I have already begun the tearful goodbyes with dear friends here in Morocco. Yesterday was my last Friday in Fes. I was actually in the countryside outside of Fes for a few days so it ended up that I drove into Fes with some friends on Friday morning because I told them that I just had to spend my final Friday in Morocco in Fes. My friend said, well, God willing its not your final Friday in Morocco ever, just for a little while.

So, driving past fields of olive trees I made my last entrance into Fes for a while. I was of course instantly thrown into the slight panic of getting my things together to leave on Tuesday. I went to the electric & water company to pay my last bill and to have them turn off the utilities next week, but it was a bit more complicated than i thought and so I will have to go back on Monday God-willing.

A quick cab to Friday prayer where the mosque is more full than usual because it is Ramadan and people feel that religious vibe more and also, especially for women because they are not expected to cook the traditional Friday couscous lunch, so they flee from the kitchen to the mosque. ( only to go back to the kitchen to cook the breaking fast meals ofcourse).

I meet a friend at the mosque and we say a pre-goodbye and set a date to meet again to say a final goodbye. I run into a family that I met when i first came to Fes last September and havent really seen since. I tell them that I will be leaving soon and get the usual Moroccan guilt talk about how I have not come to visit them in so long. I tell them that I am not sure if there is anytime left for me this time to make it to their place.

As it gets closer to the time for breaking fast in the early evening I head to the old city and visit a family that I am close to, they ask me if i have taken their advice and delayed my trip until at least after the Eid, I tell them no, I am leaving in 4 days.

About a half hour before it will be time for the fast to end, their door bell rings, and in walks one of their paternal uncles with his wife and five kids. This is a totally unannounced visit. But no one bats an eye. This is one of the things I love about Morocco, that 7 people could just drop in to share food with you after you have been fasting all day and your heart just accommodates it.( Of course they brought some foodstuffs with them to add to the table) One of the most beautiful and guiding things I have learned from Moroccans is this accommodation. Years ago a Moroccan woman in Rabat told me, " Space is in the heart, not in the actual physical space."

Their uncle mistakes me for an Arab from the gulf or the Eastern lands at first, but his young son, smells the West on me and asks if i speak French and if i will speak it with him. I tell him in Arabic that I don't want to. My friend jokingly tells him to try English. So, then it comes out that I am American and I become the star of the moment. I get the usual questions about Muslims in America, where I live, if there are mosques, is my whole family Muslim or just some people or just me?

Then the uncle's wife declares that she is going to start covering her body properly in accordance to Islamic law ( meaning wearing the hijab) because when she sees me dressed properly she feels ashamed. She says something along the lines of " look at her , who leaves her native country, her family, etc, and comes here seeking Islam and we who live here in this space act like we are tired of hearing about it. "

The younger kids spend a lot of time just kind of staring at me, they ask me if I am fasting too. I am definitely the most interesting person they have met all day.

We break fast and then head out to the mosque for Tarawih prayers, all the while I am trying to breathe in everything, take in everything in proportions large enough to keep me going through my next few months in America.

After prayer I head to the old Jewish section, the Mellah, which is a good shopping place and try to find a good suitcase to finish my packing. After going to a few shops I am confused and decide to try again the next day.

And then after eating a bit of dinner at my friend's house of chicken cooked with almonds and chickpeas, i fight off their requests for me to spend the night and take that late- night cab home to which I have become so accustomed.

My Imam Goes to France, Shaykh Hamza Comes to Morocco

2008-09-15T21:02:00.009Z

Some things are making it easier for me to imagine leaving Fes next week when I am due to fly from here to Casablanca to New York City and finally to Chicago if God wills. Amongst these things is the fact that my Quran memorization teacher, with whom I had hoped to go over a few things with before I left, and the imam of my neighborhood mosque, whose voice when reciting Quran in prayer is powerful and focused, have both been sent to France for Ramadan. What a bummer.

They have been sent to France as part of a program the Moroccan government does to support the Moroccan diaspora during Ramadan. Imams are sent to lead Tarawih prayers and even female religious guides(murshidat) are sent to give religious talks to Moroccan communities all over Europe.

So, somewhere in France right now some Moroccan immigrants or even second and third generation French people of Moroccan descent are being moved or being guided by my Quran teacher, Si Driss, and my neighborhood imam, Si AbdesSalaam. Masha'Allah. I was trying to complain about this to one of my Moroccan friends but she wouldn't let me. She said that they ( Si Driss and Si AbdesSalaam) are reaping a great benefit for going there to help out the Muslims in a non-Muslim country. She is right and I was being selfish.

You would think that as a Muslim from America I would have automatically been as compassionate about the situation as she was, but all i could think about was that they would not be back until mid October when I would have already returned to American and so the last time I saw them or prayed behind them a few weeks ago was really the last time. Masha'Allah.

But then the tables turned and I started to see the benefit of this whole sharing imams thing. Because Shaykh Hamza Yusuf of Zaytuna Institute came to Morocco this week and gave a dars (lesson) for the Durus Hassaniya. The Durus Hassaniya are religious lectures that take place during Ramadan in which the King of Morocco invites members of the Ulema ( learned religious class) from around the world to speak to him and an audience of other members of the Ulema on a specific topic.

I was at some one's house on Saturday evening just after the Asr prayer when they turned on the TV and suddenly Shaykh Hamza with his munawwar face and white turban filled the screen. May God Protect him. I was on my way out the door and on the way to another person's house to get ready to break fast so I was not able to catch his talk. When I got to my friends house and asked her to turn on the TV to the Durus Hassaniya, Shaykh Hamza had already finished his speech and was walking up to greet the King and hand him a present of some sort.

There is a website for the Durus Hassaniya where they upload a copy and video of the lectures given. They have just put Shaykh Hamza on the list, but as of yet none of the links to actually hear his speech work. The chart says that the subject of his speech was "Purification (tazkeeyah) and its Importance for the Islamic Ummah." Insha'Allah the links on the site will be working soon or someone will just upload a copy to Youtube or something.

May my Quran teacher and my imam make it safely back to Morocco and Shaykh Hamza safely back to California and may the members of this Ummah still continue to counsel,advise,teach, and be of mutual benefit to each other. Ameen

******
SO, yes , I just found out that Shayk Hamza's talk is now up on Youtube , here is the link . Much thanks to Sadiqur Rahman for posting the message on deenport.

- notetaker, Saturday, the 20th of September 2008

Blogging While Moroccan Could Mean Jail

2008-09-11T10:39:00.007Z

I would be remiss if I did not mention the arrest and imprisonment of a young Moroccan blogger , Si Muhammad Erraji who did what no one is supposed to do here, publicly criticize the king. He was sentenced to two years in prison for commenting on the current precarious state of living of many Moroccans. I am sure that he knew what he was getting himself into when he posted - but sometimes people make sacrifices so that those who come after them are a little more "free" to say what they want. I know i get away with saying things about Morocco on my blog that i might not be able to do if i didn't "have a blue passport" as Moroccans say, meaning, if i wasn't American.

The Reuters Africa article is pasted below in full, and here is a link to the Amnesty International report on his case.

Moroccan Blogger Jailed for Disparaging King
Tue 9 Sep 2008, 13:04 GMT

[-] Text [+] RABAT (Reuters) - A blogger who accused Morocco's monarchy of encouraging a culture of dependency where loyalty is rewarded with favours has been jailed for showing disrespect for King Mohammed, his family and rights groups said on Tuesday.

Mohamed Erraji, 29, wrote in online newspaper Hespress that the north African kingdom had been destroyed by the practice of handing out charity or gifts such as taxi licences to a lucky few, which encouraged people to beg.

"This has made the Moroccans a people without dignity, who live by donations and gifts," he wrote.

Police arrested Erraji on Friday and he was brought for trial on Monday in Agadir without the presence of a defence lawyer, according to a member of his family. He was given a two-year prison sentence and fined 5,000 dirhams.

"He was judged in 10 minutes," said the relative who said he was present at the trial. "The judge passed sentence very quickly but we couldn't hear what was being said. He had no opportunity to explain himself."

Reporters Without Borders said the sentence was "worthy of the most totalitarian states" and demanded Erraji's liberation.

Government officials could not be reached for comment.

Erraji, from a poor family in the small town of Biougra near Agadir, suffers from weak health and lacks a regular job, said the relative who asked not to be named.

"Mohamed has only a basic education but he is a free thinker who simply wants the best for his country," he said.

The head of Moroccan human rights group AMDH, Khadija Riyadi, said Erraji's comments did not constitute an insult to the king but were political view's on how Morocco is governed.

"The basic elements of a fair trial were not respected," she said. "It happened so quickly that all his rights were flouted."

Morocco's press code makes it an offence to show disrespect to the king.

A young man who set up a profile in the name of King Mohammed's brother Moulay Rachid on social networking site Facebook was jailed in February but released a month later by royal pardon after a worldwide Internet campaign.

© Reuters 2008. All Rights Reserved. | Learn more about Reuters

*******************
UPDATE: Associated Press reports that Si Muhammad has been released pending appeal of his case , here is the latest article.

The Loneliest Muslim in North Africa

2008-09-10T23:17:00.003Z

If you ever want to know what it is like to be the loneliest Muslim in North Africa, go outside on a Moroccan street about 15 minutes before its time to break the Ramadan fast and walk around a bit. If you are not the only person on the street, you might wish that you were.

Having spent the last few days in Rabat taking care of some business and paying some last visits to friends, I took what i envisioned to be the "early" train to Fes. It was scheduled to get into Fes by 4 pm. That is a good two and a half hours before the call to prayer for the sunset prayer and the end of the fasting day. I thought that for sure that would give me enough time to escape the frenzy that occurs about an hour before the end of the fast when people begin rushing to and fro and then the streets empty out and if you are not where you were supposed to be by then, well better hope you have some dates in your pocket or you know someone who lives in the neighborhood.

Our train broke down and we were almost two and a half hours late. We pulled into Fes with only about 20 mins before the sunset call to prayer and everyone was anxious - the passengers getting off the train and the cab drivers waiting to take that last fare before heading home to break their fasts. I gave up on the idea of getting a cab to take me all the way to my place. I knew that being so close to break-fast time I had to either take a cab to whatever neighborhood he was headed and drop in on friends or I could walk to a friends house that lived relatively close to the train station. I opted for walking, although i did try a few times to get a cab , but they were all going home to other neighborhoods.

As i walked quickly towards my friends house, i could count the number people on the street on my two hands. I few tourists looking at the empty streets in a bit of wonder. Moroccans almost running down the streets to get to where ever they need to be to break fast. A few people sitting at tables in front of cafes just waiting for the call to prayer so that they could break their fasts there. A homeless man lie sleeping on some grass, other homeless men were walking around too and I wonder to myself if they are going anywhere in particular and i wonder if "fasting" for them is as novel as it is for us.

There was almost not a single car on the road. The gradual darkening of the sky heightened the sense of emptiness. I walk quickly and pray that my friend is home, that she has not been invited to some one's house to break fast or something. I hear the call to prayer reverberate through the streets and I really get tense, now there will be even less people on the streets and I am still not at my friend's house.
I pass men walking to the mosque to pray some pulling out a date and breaking their fasts as they go. Two more streets and I am finally at my friend's place. The drama with which they welcome me and with which i enter the house might seem over done, but the chilly emptiness of the street makes you appreciate "home" and "family."

My friend, who is a Muslim from America too, has made what i call a nice middle America breaking fast dish of a chicken soup with rice and carrots. I tell her how much i appreciate her American dishes which make me remember who i am and where I come from in all the cultural confusion of my Moroccan life. The last time I had been over she made chili. Its not the kind of thing i ever crave, but there is a certain amount of comfort that comes with a nice bowl of chili served to an American breaking fast in Fes. Alhamdulilah

I stay at her place until the streets re-fill a bit. After an hour or so people start going out for the late-night prayers at the mosque, stores and restaurants re-open, well-fed cab drivers come back on the street and will take you anywhere you want to go, and there is no more loneliness on the street.

"Drinking in" Ramadan in the Old City of Fes

2008-09-07T13:15:00.006Z

When you know that you are about to leave a place all of your interactions and experiences take on a sense of intensity and urgency. I only have 16 days left in al-Maghreb (yes, it does actually pain my heart to type that) and so I am trying to do as much and take in as much as I can of this place.

Friday afternoon, after praying the Jumuah prayer in the new city, I headed towards the shrine of Moulay Idriss II in the old city for a recitation of the Dala'il al- Khayrat. The area was filled with people relaxing, talking, praying,even sleeping. After a while the group that recites the Dala'il began to form and me and another Moroccan woman that I know joined the group and spent the next two hours putting Salawat on the Prophet (upon him be Peace and Blessings) through all of the different formulas available in the Dal'ail.

It was the first time that I had read the Dala'il in such a public space and I could immediately see the benefit of having such public readings. People who had just come into the shrine to pay their respects to Moulay Idriss II or just to take a rest would come over to us and listen for a bit. One man held up his young daughter over us so that she could take in all of the baraka ( blessings) of the recitation. Small groups of teenage boys would come and sit and listen, I could tell that some of them were very moved by the words of the prayers in the Dala'il. They seemed to look at us ( the group of people reciting ) with a reverence that made me realize once again how blessed my time here in Morocco has been and how many paths have been open to me. Alhamdulilah.

The next day, Saturday, I found myself in the old city again running a bunch of errands including buying fabric with a friend and speaking with the main attendant of the Qarawiyin again about the women's ablution area "situation." I had been blessed to get an audience with the representative of the Minister of Islamic Affairs a few days before and have basically been given some go ahead to try to figure something out to solve the problem presented by an open women's ablution area.

The issue was made clear to me by speaking with the main attendant and also just by hanging out in the ablution area myself. The doors to the area were purposefully taken off because some women were using the ablution area as a restroom. The doors were taken off so that the attendants can see into the room and stop the women from violating God's house . So - in order to restore the doors we have to have a system in place that prevents and prohibits this, like female attendants, which for reasons too long to go into here are not as easy as I thought they would be to come by.

Just after talking to the attendant I went into the ablution area to find exactly what he was speaking of, a woman about to use the restroom. I scolded her and told her that there was a bathroom just outside the door of the mosque that she could use. She smiled and ignored me and began her business. I told her that this was God's house and asked her how would she like me to do what she was doing in the middle of her house. There was no getting to her. The attendant told me that there are women who are not "conscious," and who will not listen to reason.

I prayed the after noon prayer (Dhuhr) at the Qarawiyin, then sat while they read a hizb of the Qur'an from Suratul Nisaa after the prayer. The Qarawiyin had a festive flare to it with men, women, and children sitting, praying, reading the Qur'an, talking in groups, etc. I looked at the people still filling the mosque after the congregational prayer and thought to myself that if it had not been Ramadan we would have all been somewhere eating lunch and preparing for our mid-day naps.

With the recitation of the hizb of Quran complete, I made my way out of the Qarawiyin and up through the streets of the old city to another recitation of the Dala'il , this time at a private residence. Before the recitation starts, I help one of the kids of the house with some English homework. Slowly but surely the group gathers and begins reciting Qur'an and then the Dal'ail. All the while the smell of Harira, the lamb and tomato soup with which most Moroccans break their fasts permeates the house. It is being cooked in the kitchen and holds itself out to us fasters like a promise.
A few hours later we finish the recitation and people file out to their different places. It is only an hour and a half before sun-down and so you get the feeling while walking that everybody is either heading towards home to get ready to break their fasts or that they are beginning to wrap up their business in order to start home.

I was headed towards a friends house. As we sat talking a few minutes before the call for the sun-down prayer was to be given, a few of us admit that the fast "overpowered" us today, meaning that we could really feel its control over our bodies. It was not said out of complaint, but as an observation that allows us to compare our weakness to God's Strength.

And then the chorus of calls to prayer from all around the medina come through the open window. We each grab a date, I am handed a cup of milk , and then "Bismillah" the day's fast is done.

You Too Can Learn the Words to the Moroccan Post-Tarawih Supplication

2008-09-03T21:59:00.015Z

I was reminded by a text message from a friend this morning that today marks exactly one solar year since I landed here in Morocco this time around. So, happy one year and may there be many more in health and well being in the land of the Awliya (as Morocco is sometimes known). Ameen.

I broke my fast today at my own house, which was a feat in itself because it meant i managed to avoid being taken by any Moroccans to their house for the breaking fast meal. I wanted to stay close to home for the quiet and also so that i could make it to the mosque near my house for the Tarawih prayers, the optional night prayers that are done only in Ramadan and in which the entire Quran is read over the course of the month.

I mistakenly thought that leaving just before the call to prayer would get me a decent spot in the mosque, but i arrived to see people praying sideways on the stairs and spilling out onto the sidewalk and field next to the mosque. Alhamdulilah I had finally remembered to bring a prayer-mat with me, so i sat it on the grass next to another woman and joined the prayer. I was actually glad to have not been able to get a space inside the mosque which i imagined to have been feeling like an oven with all those people crammed inside. Instead i prayed on the side of the mosque with a nice breeze but with the trade-off of having to deal with the distraction of the playing of pre-pubescent boys who ran around acting their age in the area beside the mosque.

The mosque that I went to today for Tarawih prayers is one of the few that I have attended in Morocco where the congregation does not recite together the standard supplication (du'a) after the Tarawih prayer, which is too bad because that's how I really know that it is Ramadan and yes, that I have been blessed to be spending it in Morocco yet again. I believe that this mosque does not recite it because the main group of attendees believe the recitation to be an unlawful innovation. May God Guide us all to His Straight Path and Rectify our Faith. Ameen.

I have been hearing the supplication for years, but last year i finally asked my Qur'an memorization teacher to write down the words for me because i wanted to make sure that I was getting it right. I think that he thought it was a "cute" request especially because he told me Moroccans "just know it" from having heard it so many times throughout their lives.

I thought that I would share the words of the supplication with you all, both the Arabic and my own translation (which is not saying much). If anyone has any corrections for my translation, please post them without hesitation and may the Reward go to you.

Also, last Ramadan i actually got the opportunity to tape record a congregation reciting the du'a together at a small mosque in Fes-Jedid. I posted it to the sound blog a friend and I run, if you want to listen to it click here.

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

يقال بعد التراويح

الحمد لله الذي هدانا لهذا و ما كنا لنهتدي لو لا ان هدانا الله لقد جاءت رسل بنا بالحق
اللهم لك الحمد
ربنا تقبل منا الصلاة و الصيام واحشرنا في زمرة خير الانام
اللهم احينا مؤمنين و امتنا مسلمين محسنين تائبين طائعيين لله رب العالمين لا مبدلين
و لا مغيرين و لا فاتنين و لا مفتونين برحمتك يا الله يا الله يا الله يا ارحم الراحمين

And here is the translation of supplication that is read by the entire congregation after the Tarawih prayer in most mosques around Morocco:

Praise be to Allah who has guided us to this (felicity); never could we have found guidance, had it not been for the guidance of Allah. Indeed it was the truth that the Messengers of our Lord brought to us.
[taken directly from Qur’an, Chapter al-Araf: verse 43] (repeated 3 times)

Oh Allah for You is all the Praise! (repeated 3 times)

Oh Our Lord accept our Prayer and our Fasting and gather us together as a group with the Best of Your creation [meaning the Prophet Muhammad]!

Oh Allah let us live as Believers, die as Muslims [ and as ] righteous people [and as] adherent followers [and as] people obedient to Allah, the Lord of the Worlds [without us ] changing or altering , not causing chaotic strife or having it brought upon us, by Your Mercy, Oh Allah! Oh Allah! Oh Allah! Oh Most Merciful of those that can be merciful!

[The congregation then puts Salawat on the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be Peace and Blessing) there by ending the supplication]

******
It is beginning to rain now here in Fes as I type this, which is a good sign - May it be a beneficial rain that brings good in abundance. Ameen.

Waiting to Ramadan

2008-09-01T22:36:00.004Z

Yesterday I packed a little bag and headed to a friend's house in the old city to await the announcement of the start of the month of Ramadan. We prayed the sun down prayer and the late-night prayer in the neighborhood mosque, but there was no announcement of the sighting of the moon. As we walked back to her house she said that there was no sense of Ramadan on the streets, in that there were no people blowing trumpets and the such although there were plenty of people running around to get their Ramadan food staples ( mostly fried doughy treats dipped in honey and topped w/ sesame seeds ).
We went back to her place and finally caught a little announcement that went past at the bottom of the screen of one of the national television stations that Ramadan would begin on Tuesday and not the next day which was Monday.

But today, Monday, sure felt like Ramadan, I think people were so ready for it to be announced as starting today that it was hard for them to get into eating. As I ate a group breakfast with my friend's family we commented on that, it just felt kind of weird to be eating. We were all happy though that the Moroccan government had decided to repeal Daylight Savings time as of this morning,in order to make Ramadan a little easier on everyone ,they said. So we put our clocks back to how they were before and gained an hour. 10 am became 9 am. Sunset is now at 7 instead of 8, Alhamdulilah.

With the extra hour at our disposal,my friend's sister, who is a traditional tailor and I descended down into the bowels of the old city to buy some fabric and silk thread and things. I was on a special mission that had to do with the Qarawiyin mosque. Recently, a place in the Qarawiyin had been opened for women to get ablutions for prayer (wudhu), unfortunately the room has no door or curtain so there is little privacy. I had repeatedly asked the men who are the attendants of the mosque about this. One just kind of ignored me, but another said to me " Well , May God bring us some righteous woman who will donate a curtain." I said to him, "So - you're saying that if i bring a curtain, you will put it up?" He shook his head in the affirmative.

So, my friend and I went to look for some good fabric that would be worthy of the Qarwiyin and that would also stand up to the heavy traffic and dust of the old city.
Having gotten the fabric , we headed back to the Qarawiyin and I draped it over the opening and used a pin to mark where the length should be.
The attendant on duty asked me if i intended to hang that curtain in the mosque. I answered in the affirmative. No , he said. You can't hang it without permission from the Ministry of Islamic affairs. He told me " this is the Qarawiyin, we cant even put a nail in the wall with out official permission." I pointed out the fact that people could clearly look in at women washing for prayer and that that was inappropriate. He said that i needed to go to the Ministry office and get permission to hang the curtain. So that is my task for this week,God willing, although somehow i don't see it only taking a week.

So tomorrow, Tuesday is the first official day of fasting here in Morocco. If you were here with me in Fes, I would say to you, " Mabruk al-Awashir, bash tamannay, shi hajj inshAllah"
but instead I say to you all out there in the world beyond,
Ramadan Mubarak Sa'id to all the Ramadaners!!!!!!! May your fasts and prayers be accepted! Ameen.

Buy Your Land and Build Your House

2008-08-27T10:06:00.004Z

There is a large billboard overlooking a busy intersection in the Atlas neighborhood of Fes that i pass almost daily. It is for a bank and in the picture a man in a suit is holding up a sign that reads in Arabic: Buy Your Land and Build Your House.

I first noticed the billboard because it was in Arabic whereas most advertisements for banks tend to use French, the language that has ruled commerce and business since the French colonization of the country at the beginning of the 1900s.

I was talking to one of my Arabic teachers about the idea of the house (dar) in Morocco. He told me that for Moroccans the house represents a stable piece of the future, for both the person who buys it and for their descendants. If you own a house, you feel as if the world cannot completely slip from under you. I know that this sentiment is shared by many people around the world although I don't agree with it.

We were speaking about houses and interest loans in the context of my teacher going through a chapter in a book by a Moroccan Islamic scholar with me about the problem of interest in Morocco. The author was speaking not only about interest as it is used in the buying of houses, but also about how Moroccans take out personal loans to buy the sacrificial sheep for Eid al Adha. He hypothesized that soon there would be interest loans for Hajj(!!!) just because many Moroccans and Muslims in general are already so lost and numb to how they are living.

One day in a cab ride I was shocked to hear the cab driver and a man sitting in the front seat speaking about how Moroccans take out loans for Ramadan, and then a loan to buy their kids new clothes and books for the school year, and then even a vacation loan for pay for their annual August holiday. They surmised that Moroccans are drowning in high- interest credit even if they would in the same breath tell you that they know it to be haram ( prohibited in Islam).

The idea for this post was sparked by the recent release of info regarding the credit boom in Morocco. Below I have pasted one short article that I have come across on www.bloomberg.net .

May God give us Success and allow us to turn away from all those things we know cause Him displeasure with us. Ameen.

****************

Mortgage Loans, Consumer Credit Climbs to Record in Morocco

By Tarek Halim

Aug. 26 (Bloomberg) -- Mortgage loans and consumer credits in Morocco surged to a record in the first half helped by lower interest rates.

Outstanding mortgage loans climbed 47 percent to 125.9 billion dirhams ($16.3 billion) through June, while consumer credits rose 28 percent to 22.7 billion dirhams, the kingdom's Central Bank said late yesterday in a report on its Web site.

Overall lending in the financial system increased 29 percent to 479.3 billion dirhams.

Heightened competition among banks caused interest rates in the housing industry to fall as low as 4.5 percent, while mortgage maturities rose to as much as 30 years. The housing boom has led to higher property prices even as real-estate developers built more homes.

A rise in consumption helped the economy grow an annual 7 percent in the first quarter, compared with 3 percent in the year-earlier period.

To contact the reporter on this story: Tarek Halim in Casablanca at thalim3@bloomberg.net.

Dried Figs and Bread or What Every Soul Shall Taste

2008-08-25T10:56:00.009Z

I woke up early this morning to go to what Moroccans call a tafriqa, a gathering at the grave of a recently deceased person in which the chapters of the Qur'an are read for the benefit of the deceased and bread and figs are distributed to the attendees also with the idea that the blessing of feeding those there will go to the deceased and ease their time in the grave.

Tafriqa means distribution, but it can also mean sunderance or separation. So, while most people think the word is referring to the distribution of the figs and bread, I like to think it is a poignant session for the living to deal with separation from this person that they loved. God Knows.

The deceased ( may God have Mercy on her) was the mother-in-law of a close friend of mine. I had never met her in person, but was always going to, in the sense that it was taken as inevitable that we would meet up some day at my friends house. She died on Wednesday at 2:30 in the afternoon and was buried before the sun went down on that very day in keeping with Islamic practice.

Although women prayed over her body in the mosque, they did not accompany the body to the grave sight for the burial. This is also in keeping with Islamic practice. The tafriqa offers the chance for the women who were close to the deceased to visit the grave site and pay their respects.

This morning I gathered with about 16 other women outside of Bab-al Mahruq, one of the gates of the old city of Fes. They were mostly all close relatives of the deceased. They came carrying copies of the Qur'an and incense, bottles of rosewater, stools and large mats for sitting. Passersby on the street noticed our little crowd as we walked up the hill to the cemetery that hangs just outside the walls of the old city. We walked carefully through the narrow spaces between the graves giving our Salaams to those we passed until finally making it to my friend's mother in law. Along the way I took quick glances of the tombstones we passed, noticing that many of them had the engraving of either one of two certain verses from the Qur'an , either ((Every soul shall taste death)) [29:57] or ((Oh Soul that is in complete rest and Satisfaction, Return to your Lord )) [89:27]

Being that the grave we were visiting was "fresh," it was not yet built up or tiled, and had no stone head marker with Quranic verses. It was a simple long hump of earth with rocks at both ends over draped with palm fiber leaves. I thought it looked beautiful in its simplicity and made a personal note that I would prefer such a simple non-ostentatious resting place.

We unrolled the big mat and sat down while a Quran reciter began to recite Suratul Yasin, the 36th chapter of the Quran and then Suratul Mulk the 67th chapter of the Quran . Copies of the Quran were distributed and people read along. Then prayers were said for her and the figs and bread distributed to those in attendance who generally tended to put the dried figs into bread and eat them like a sandwich. A women walked amongst us dousing us with rosewater. Then more Quran was read, this time by relatives of the deceased and after about a half hour a final prayer was said for her and the people in attendance started to disperse.

Some people had other relatives buried in the same cemetery and so they took the opportunity to go and pay their respects to them, another friend decided to try to go and find the grave of her grandmother but could not. It had been so long since she had last come, she told me that she will have to bring her brother who knows exactly where it is and will come and pay her respects to her again.

It is tradition to hold three tafriqas, about five or so days apart, but with the close approach of the month of Ramadan, this family has decided to hold them all this week. As I was sitting in the cemetery, next to the grave reciting Quran along with the group, I thought to myself about how these gatherings offer the living a healing moment to accept what has happened to someone they care about while also trying to come to terms with the inevitable death that will happen to them.

We descended from the cemetery as we came, in our small group. The immediate family of the deceased began to invite everyone to their house for breakfast, which is also part of the tradition. Me and a few friends respectfully declined and walked back through Bab al Mahruq, dusty and sun-drenched and trying to put life into perspective again, like one must after sitting so close to death.

Today in Fes: Couscous, Women's Talk and a Car Accident

2008-08-22T21:36:00.006Z

It is officially close enough to the start of the month of Ramadan that I am beginning to hear people use the traditional Moroccan phrase " Awashir Mabruk" or " Mabruk al-Awashir" which is used to signal the entering of a holiday period.

Today I was invited to a friends house after the Friday prayer for what we were all aware was one of the last Friday Couscous lunches before the start of Ramadan. It was a group of 8 women of varying ages, many of whom have know each other for decades, and there was an amazing montage of conversation topics. We began with talking about the Afterlife and Judgement day and Hell. We moved from that to the idea of gossip and slander and the unnecessary extra things we let our tongues get away with that are truly sinful and hurtful to others.

And then eventually we made our way to marriage - which always seem to happen in Morocco if you talk to someone long enough. A few of the women were recounting stories of engagements that did not work out. I was surprised to hear them talk about how when Moroccan men are interested in a woman they might go and ask the guy who runs the corner store in her neighborhood and even her neighbors what they know about her. I was disgusted at the idea that the guy who runs the corner store might be a character witness for me. I mean for the most part they are nice guys, but they do not know me.

And then some how the conversation tapered into a talk about the spirit world and dreams. I left the gathering a little after that to meet another friend and we did some of what we jokingly called Ramadan preparation which was going out to get ice cream. It is something we will not be able to do soon during the daylight hours.

We decided to walk the ice cream off by strolling through her neighborhood and as we were finally heading back towards her house, a car sped out of control scrapping the car we were standing next to and then swerved to the left and crashed into a tree. It was very jarring. A crowd gathered and eventually got the driver out of the car and moved it. It seemed like the driver was drunk. Not a small accusation but a living reality even here in Morocco where technically liquor can only be sold to non-Muslims, but where I see people whom you would not imagine drink alcohol buying it at the grocery store.

My friend walked with me a little bit before heading home,.She was in shock about how close we had been to the car, and how easily we could have been killed. I told her that it just wasn't our time - yet. Then i headed towards the closest mosque, stepping inside just as the call to prayer for the sun down prayer was being called.

The Best of Protectors

2008-08-21T00:40:00.004Z

For better or worse I decided to accompany my guests from Fes to Rabat yesterday morning. I had not thought myself up for travel, but they had come all the way from New York City to visit with me and I have a lot on my mind and so maybe a little visit and a little look at the Ocean couldn't hurt.

The train ride was interesting, first class was filled primarily with Moroccans who live abroad , mostly in France. Many of them swarm here in the summer and no, they don't fit in anymore, and their children seem not so well behaved. I can immediately distinguish their children from Moroccan born kids who at least still seem to have some concept of "shame." The french-born Moroccan kids in my train car decided to sing over and over again ,in unison Cheb Khalid ( Algerian Rai singer) songs in Arabic and French, as well as some love song in English. Apparently from what the mother said, she was taking them into the city to go to Mcdonalds as a treat. I kept thinking that these kids did not need a treat. God forgive me.

Anyway, we get to Rabat and it is cool and sunny and we make our way through its old medina which is a million times more manageable than that of Fes. We find the Riad where my friends are staying and after dumping their bags stroll for a bit near the old Kasbah and through the section of the old city where they sell handicrafts. My friends immediately remark at how friendly and un-pushy the shop keepers are, not like in Fes, they say.
My friend wants to go inside of a store selling silver rings, and ironically, I am the one who comes out having bought a beautiful one with Arabic engraving that reads ((God is the Best of Protectors. ))

In the morning I go to visit another friend who runs a school that teaches Arabic to foreigners. (It is listed in the other places I'd visit section of this blog) It is filled with Americans and people from Europe intent to learn Arabic for many diverse reasons. It is good to see my friend and she announces to me that I am in store for a treat , being that the school will be serving Rafissa today for lunch. Rafissa is one of the ultimate comfort foods and is a close cousin to the American dish, chicken and dumplings. We talk and chat and eat Rafissa , then go for a walk before I head off to meet my friends from NYC again.

After meeting up with my NYC friends and doing some sight seeing and more strolling through the city and finally eating dinner at a Syrian restaurant, we come across the sound of a big party (wedding?). But it is the kind of party sound that attracts us and does not make us move away. We hear a group of men singing, amdah, songs praising the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. My friends do not understand Arabic, but are drawn in by the beauty and power of the voices. I translate for them some of the lyrics and actually pull out my recorder to catch a little of songs. When they go into the classic song, Tala al badru Alayna, but in a distinctly Moroccan rhythm, i sing quietly under my breath with them.

I turn around to see my friend in tears , it is sooo beautiful she says, although she cannot understand she is moved by it. Just the thought of the people singing like that at this hour and the neighbors not having a problem with it was moving to her too.

We walk a little bit more towards the friends house where I am staying, and begin to say our goodbyes. They hope I will come though NYC on my way home next month, they hope all my little loose ends here in Morocco will be neatly tied. They thank me and I apologize for anything i may have done to offend them during the visit.
And then a taxi comes down the street , I flag it down and ask him to drive them back to their Riad in the old city. Then quick around the corner into my friends apartment.

If things go according to plan, I have just begun the countdown of my last month in Morocco this time around. 29 more days to go God-willing.

The Woman was Already Beautiful

2008-08-18T21:59:00.006Z

You have not truly experienced what it is like to be a woman in Morocco until you have gone to the public bath, the hammam.
My friend's mother used to tell me that as a child the only place Moroccan women would really go outside the house was the public bath and so it was an event, and you stayed way after you were clean in another room and drank tea and hung out.

Years ago I lived with a family in Rabat that did not have a shower, and so the hammam was a necessary part of life, especially in winter. I was never fond of it because of the low level of modesty exhibited by the woman at the bath. Even in front of other women, some things just don't need to be seen. I also had a tendency to almost pass out in the steamy sauna like rooms of the public bath that are mostly still heated by a wood burning stove.

But I have had guests and a part of the " Moroccan experience" is the public bath.
I had heard about an upscale one where you pay alot more than you should ( and that i ever paid for the neighborhood hammam in Rabat) to get a sort of "star" treatment. Meaning, someone scrubs you down and massages little potions into your skin and there is a jacuzzi and nice showers, etc. I don't need this kind of luxury, and am actually proud to say that I am pretty competent at bathing myself, Alhamdulilah.

Yet still given all this I ventured today with an old friend from college who is visiting me in Morocco to this upscale hammam. They give you your own robe, towel,shampoo and bath gel and kees, the Moroccan scrub mit.
The nicest thing about the hammam is that it is a female only space far away from the male eye. The male eye is soooooo present on the streets of Morocco and women are either trying desperately to be or not be seen by it.

So in the hammam,we rub our skins down with indigenous olive oil soap and then sit in a room labeled, "vaporium" which is the closest I have come to living out the expression "hot as hell." The whole idea is to sweat, which we do, then we go and sit on marble slabs and get scrubbed down by the women attendants, who are kind of annoyed that me and my friend are wearing a little more than the other women and we are adamant about not taking these things off.

I tell my friend as we were waiting to be scrubbed down that there is a whole genre of Moroccan literature written by men who used to go to the hammam with their mothers as young boys, but then one day were told that they were too old to go with the women and had to go with the men. Some have described it as a sad coming of age and written about how they missed the world of women.

They scrub us thoroughly with the rough kees until dirt seems to be coming off of our skin and then we take a shower , then into the jacuzzi and then back to be rubbed down with a clay like mixture of rosewater and eucalyptus, and then another shower and then we sit squeaky clean in another room and just relax. I ask my friend what time it is, she has no idea, i have no idea. There is no sense of time in the public bath. Once we finally pull ourselves up off the comfy chairs and get dressed to go back into the world of getting dirty it is 5pm, more than 2 hours after the time we entered.

We feel clean, but both of us agree that we have no inclination to do it again. It was for the experience we tell ourselves, but we were not taken to the hammam as young girls and so do not easily slip into the uncensored world of women that it offers.

There are many Moroccan sayings that relate to the hammam, the one that comes to my mind as I write this is one that says, (( the woman was [already] beautiful and the hammam improved upon her and made her shine )) This is a very rough translation , interesting enough this saying is supposed to refer to "negative" situations meaning, things were already bad enough, and then this other thing happened which just compounded the problem.

Here's to being squeaky clean.

I Thought I Heard the Call to Prayer

2008-08-11T12:23:00.004Z

I have noticed lately what I thought to be the gradual reduction of the volume of the call to prayer (adhan) from the mosques around my house in Fes. But I told myself, maybe it is just the wind blowing the sound in another direction. But, I also know that there are some people who want to reduce the sound of the call to prayer because they don't need to be reminded that they are not praying, you know? Especially not at 5 in the morning when the muezzin gives the call for the dawn prayer (fajr).

So, I came across this article from the Associated Press, and apparently this is becoming an issue here in Morocco , with the usual tired dichotomy of liberal modern versus old-school religious. As if, a "modern" person could not possibly believe in God, or better yet even attempt to worship God. And of course no modern thinking woman would want anything to do with religion, and especially not Islam. I really wish people would take a second or two and really think about how what is going on in the world, how people are actually living their lives makes all of these tired, polarized assumptions false. But thisis coming from a Muslim American woman who wears the "veil," is living in Morocco, and yes, is actually comforted by the call to prayer.

I am pasting the article in its entirety below and also the link for it here.

keep hope alive
*****************************

Moroccans divided on loud prayer calls Some in Morocco worried that loud Muslim calls to prayer may put off visitors to the country of 33 million people.

By Alfred De Montesquiou
Associated Press / August 10, 2008

RABAT, Morocco - The muezzins' calls echo well before daybreak, summoning the Muslim faithful to daily prayers and reminding foreign tourists in the Moroccan capital how far they are from home.

But the rising decibel level is deepening fault lines between a government drive to modernize and a wave of rigorous political Islam.

Morocco, a country of 33 million people, gets more than 7 million tourists a year, and there are worries that some may be put off by the five heavily amplified calls a day, each lasting five minutes, to "hasten to the prayer, hasten to the prayer."

Muslim purists counter that authorities are compromising religion to please Westerners and the country's liberal elite.

The frictions are happening in a country that is considered moderate on matters of religion and is a US ally at a time when there are fears that Al Qaeda is establishing itself in North Africa.

Morocco has lately been shaken by two different cases in which the government, or wealthy Westerners, have been accused of plotting to force down the volume on the muezzins who make the call to prayer.

Nouzha Skalli, the minister for family and social affairs, is accused of seeking legislation to lower the volume on muezzins in tourist zones. Newspapers have asked whether Skalli, a feminist and former communist, is trying to curb Islam and impose secularism on Morocco's overwhelmingly Muslim society. Some hard-line imams have cursed her during public sermons.

"It made huge waves, even a tsunami," Skalli said in an Associated Press interview.

She wouldn't say what exactly she had proposed, since it happened at a closed-door Cabinet meeting, but denied suggesting a law to muzzle the muezzins and said her statements were taken out of context. "It was a complete manipulation," she said.

Skalli views her job of promoting women's rights as part of a wider struggle between two models of society: one of "modernity, equality and openness" versus "closing-off and backwardness." She suspects she was targeted "because I'm a woman and because I represent modernity."

Earlier this year Annie Laforet, a Frenchwoman, was blamed for the closure of a mosque next to the luxury guest house she runs in the old town, or medina, of picturesque Marrakech. The claim, which Laforet denied, caused outrage in the local press, and Laforet says she received death threats on Islamist websites.

Local authorities backed her denial and then reopened the mosque, from which the prayer call now blares every morning about 4:30 a.m., and then again an hour later. "It's a bit loud, but it's fine," Laforet said. "Tourists know it's part of living in the medina."

Still, Mohammed Darif, a Moroccan political scientist and expert on Islamism, says hard-liners increasingly are depicting the tourist influx as a threat to Muslim values. The wealthy may support the government's pro-Western and liberal values, he says, "But the Morocco of poverty, backward countryside, and urban slums is increasingly averse to tourism and the internationalized elite."

He says some Moroccans complain of walled-off resorts that make them feel unwelcome. "It's discrimination by wealth, and tourism is highlighting the sore," he said.

Olivier Roy, French author of "Globalized Islam," says the tensions are a new phenomenon, and that the former French colony has "a history of cohabitation" in which Western hippies of the 1960s and '70s were welcome.

Roy says louder calls to prayer are a product of Salafism, a rigorous strain of Islam imported from Saudi Arabia. "Thirty years ago you could barely hear the muezzin," he said.

Also, he said, the audio technology used for prayer calls has improved, and imams are in competition to fill their mosques.

© Copyright 2008 Globe Newspaper Company.

Spending the Morning with Si Abu Bakr ibn Al-Arabi

2008-08-10T11:47:00.006Z

For almost a year now I have walked past the grave site of the great medieval Islamic Andalusian scholar and judge Abu Bakr ibn Al-Arabi, May God have Mercy on him, on at least a weekly basis. I kept always thinking that I should stop by and pay my respects. Finally this past week I made a promise to myself that this week would be the week, and then last night I determined that insha'Allah, I would go in the morning.

So, this morning,I woke up, Alhamdulilah, and after doing my morning rituals, went online to read a bit more about Si Abu Bakr, I came across this interesting and informative article on website devoted to Moroccan Sufism.

Then into taxi to head towards Bab al-Makina, which is close to the cemetery where Si Abu Bakr is buried. The cab driver picked up one of his friends along the way and they spoke about all the beatifications that were being done to Fes, new fountains and parks, etc. But they commented that all of that was just so that people don't start asking any real questions about whose got their hands in the cookie jar, or about the rising cost of food stuffs , and the high level of unemployment.

I think the cab driver was a bit surprised by my getting out of the cab where i did with only the cemetery in close walking distance. He asked me if i wanted to go up a little further and have him turn to near where there was alot of pedestrian traffic . I said no, right here is fine. After paying my fare I got out and then crossed the busy street to the cemetery and walked up the stairs to the mausoleum of Si Abu Bakr. There were a few of the cemetery workers sitting on the side of the door . It looked as if they had been drinking coffee. I walked inside of the mausoleum and took off my shoes on the stairs.

Directly in front of me was the woman caretaker for the mausoleum, we greeted each other and I went over to shake her hand. I walked over to the the grave of Si Abu Bakr and paying my respects recited the Fatiha for him. As I walked over into a corner to begin some prayers, the women caretaker called out to ask me if i wanted her to heat me up any coffee. I told her no and prayed and then sat in a corner for a while.

At about this time an old man slowly walked into the mausoleum, he asked the woman caretaker for some water and a copy of the Quran. He drank the water and then read some portion of the Quran while sitting close to Si Abu Bakr's grave. He sat a while and then left leaving me to be Si Abu Bakr's sole visitor again.

I was in no rush to leave. I sat reading some supplications as the woman caretaker came over to douse me with rosewater. She had me cup my two hands and then filled them with large sprinkles of rosewater. I wiped the water on my face and then down my clothes and thanked her. When the smell rose up on me I felt tears well up in my eyes.

When i felt that it was actually time for me to go, I walked over to the woman and gave her a "tip,"as is customary. The people who care for mausoleums make a good portion of their living off of the "tips" of visitors. Then i was out of the mausoleum and down the stairs and headed towards the old city.

Getting Ready to Welcome "Our Sir" Ramadan

2008-08-08T23:44:00.007Z

Today someone asked me what I was getting prepared for the month of Ramadan, which is less than 30 days away. I responded by saying "myself."

The woman who asked me this was in the middle of cleaning sesame seeds that she will crush and grind together with toasted flour , butter, roasted almonds and other ingredients to make a dish some people in Morocco call Sellou, and others call Sfuf, depending on the region. It looks like dirt, and ranges in textures ranging from flour-like to clay-like. It is a staple food in Ramadan for most Moroccan households, that people like to break their fasts with and most people have started to prepare it and other Ramadan specialties now. I think that the woman who asked me what I was preparing, was expecting me to name some food dish. Unfortunately some Muslims become obsessed with food in Ramadan and forget that it is intended to be a month of increased worship and remembrance of God .

There are many signs of the coming of the month of Ramadan around Morocco by now. One such sign of "Syeduna" Ramadan ( "Our Sir" Ramadan) as I heard a cab driver refer to it not too long ago, is the selling of dates which are appearing again in abundance in the markets. Dates are another staple around the Muslim world for breaking fasts, as it was the preferred fast-breaking food of the Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him .

Today , I went to the mosque for Friday prayer a few hours before the sermon because at the particular mosque I went to, they read sections of the Burda, a poem celebrating the qualities of the Prophet Muhammad and then recite a hizb of the Quran before the sermon starts. The khateeb spoke about the coming of the month of Ramadan and how we should be preparing to welcome it, and how it was both a month of fasting and a month of the Quran, meaning reading and pondering and applying its principles. He mentioned the verse in the Quran that says, " Had We sent down this Quran on a mountain, verily you would have seen it humble itself and cleave asunder out of reverential fear of God ( 59:21)" He said that the heart
that is not moved by the Quran must be harder and more stone-like than mountains.

Getting ready for Ramadan is not just about getting ready to not be eating or drinking for the daylight hours, it's about that and demanding your mind and heart to focus on that which is greater than itself and being grateful , all at the same time. I must admit too, that for notetaker, getting ready for Ramadan probably also means getting ready to leave Morocco again. It is difficult to accept, even when it is so close. None of my Moroccan friends believe me when i tell them i will most likely be leaving in the middle of Ramadan, not even finishing the fast here or celebrating the Eid with them. I tell them that I will complete my fast in America and celebrate the Eid with the Muslims there. "But its not the same,"they tell me.
"I know," I say. I know.

The Best Person to Sit with You

2008-08-05T16:16:00.005Z

Forgive me for having fallen into the habit of beginning my posts with proverbs, I guess I have truly become acculturated to Moroccan social interactions, where there seems to be a an appropriate proverb or saying for every situation and you get cool points for throwing one in the conversation at the right time.

So, the one in my head for today is not necessarily Moroccan, i think it just a general Arabic saying and it goes الكتاب خير جليس (( The best person to sit with you is a book ))
One of my Arabic professors told it to me months ago, and i must admit that i perked up in my seat when he said it. Finally, I thought , someone understands.

The saying is in my head now because I spent the day making the rounds of my favorite Fes bookstores. They are my favorites simply because they exist, although they are not as homey and comfortable as ones in the US where I can stay for hours. Here in Fes I always feel the need to find the book quickly and make my purchase and leave. Also, like most social spaces in Morocco, the people at the bookstore generally want to have a conversation with you about something. But I don't go to bookstores to talk with people, I go to bookstores to talk with books.

Because I am scheduled to leave Fes God-willing in less than two months now, I have suddenly gotten the "need to get" fever and it is mostly need to get books in Arabic that I will either not be able to find in the US or would have to sell a major organ to afford. So I went off today in search of books about Moroccan religious history, and to buy a book as a present for a friend.

The conversation at the first bookstore was about where I was from, Sudan? Was I a graduate student? Was I thinking of going on to get a PhD? I gave them a down- payment for a set of books they say will be there on Saturday God-willing.

The next bookstore is a place where I rarely get to leave without a recieving some kind of "lesson" from the owner. Today he could not remember my name, but he tried, he went through almost every Arabic Muslim female name he could before I just jumped in and said my name to him. "oh all these different names,"he said, as if it was just to much to keep them all straight. I bought some books from him and in a typical Moroccan fashion , I asked him to "fix"the price for me before I payed. Meaning I wanted him to take some dirhams off. He said, "Oh you have really become a Fessia,"(a woman from Fes) and took off a few symbolic dirhams for good measure.

Then he asked me if i wanted to be a Fessia. It was kind of like in grammar school when some of your classmates formed a secret club and they asked you if you wanted to join. I stood there, relatively dispassionate about the whole thing, and said "okay," to which he began my lesson. "you do not say 'okay' when asked if you want to be a Fessia. " He then went on to explain that just saying okay would make him want to revoke the offer, no , a more appropriate response would have been something like, "May God reward you with goodness". I thanked him for the lesson.
Later as I was leaving, he asked me again, "Do you want to be a Fessia?" to which i responded, "With complete Happiness." He almost bounced out of his seat with contentment.

Off to the third bookstore, it is a new one and I got so excited that upon entering it, I almost wanted to start a conversation with the people working there. I looked through its shelves and found book after book that I would have bought had i not just emptied my pockets at the previous two bookstores.

And so then into a cab with my bag of books. The other passenger in the taxi is an old man who walks with the assistant of braces. The cab driver tells me that this man was one of the first four people to ever own and drive a car in Fes. This must have been during the time of the French occupation of Morocco he comments, back when land could be bought for ten dirhams a meter. Then the driver goes on to tell me about how as a child he almost had to have his own legs amputated, but ended up doing a year-long treatment in the hospital and was able to keep his legs, Alhamdulilah.

You see, these are the kinds of conversations you can get into anywhere in Morocco, so how beautiful it is to sit down with a book and talk about something you're really interested in.

Peace

They Welcomed Him

2008-08-03T08:55:00.005Z

A few days ago while in the middle of a conversation, the person i was speaking to used a Moroccan saying that i had never heard before, but which instantly amused me and decidedly entered my repertoire, the saying goes (( What can the dead person do in the face of the person who has come to wash him for burial?)) Another version begins ((What can the dead person say......))

The saying perfectly expresses a sense of complete helplessness and surrender, and is a good reminder about the incapacity of death. I heard it during an unintended visit to the countryside about an hour and a half outside of Fes.
Someone I know recommended that i speak to a relative of his about my research and I misunderstood where the person lived. He mentioned a small town called Sefrou not too far from Fes, about 20 kilometers or so, what i didn't get when he first told me about the place was that once I got to that town I would have to take a small minibus out into the rocky country hills. I had planned on just going for the day and being back in Fes by nightfall. But I ended up spending three days there in a part of the countryside called L'anusur.

As I was sitting on the minibus in Sefrou waiting for it to fill up, I tried to process how quickly my environment had changed. Just an hour earlier I had been in Fes , and now I was in the primarily Berber-speaking countryside, the people talking on the minibus were using Berber ( also known as Shilha or Amazighi , take your pick). Once we actually took off with 13 or so of us piled into the minibus , an interesting conversation began between three men about the person of Moulay Idriss I, the descendant of the Prophet( peace be upon him) who is credited with making the plans for the building of Fes and first came and introduced Islam to the natives of Morocco about 1,200 years ago.

Two of the men were openly antagonistic about Moulay Idriss and said questioning, "What do we know about him, for all we know he could have been a thief?" The third man who was wearing a yellow jilebba said "No, he opened Morocco, [opened here can have the meaning of conquer]" The other two men, immediately went to refute this saying "No he did not open [ i.e. conquer Morocco], he came here fleeing Harun ar-Rashid " The man in the yellow jilleba rephrased his earlier statement and said "He opened Morocco to Islam" One of the two men said something along the lines of "If the same kind of Berbers who are here today had been around then, they would have slaughtered the Berber woman who carried his (Moulay Idriss's) child. I must admit that i was struck by the violent image of this statement and wondering how my friend in the yellow jilebba would respond. He was very patient and was not jarred by what the man said, he replied , "But no, they didn't do that, they welcomed him ( Moulay Idriss) and honored him and learned from him about Islam."

The conversation slowly tapered off after that, and i began to think about the whole modern ethnic nationalist phenomenon of the Berber/ Arab divide in North Africa and how in the past many of the great Islamic scholars were Berbers, even someone like Ibn Ajur a Berber man, who coincidentally was from Sefrou, the town from where I took the minibus, went on to become one of the masters of Arabic grammar and write the classic book al-Ajurumiyya which is still used today in traditional Islamic education curriculums.

Anyway, after picking up and dropping off passengers at a weekly market we passed, we drive a bit more and the man sitting in the seat in front of me tells me that we have just driven past the place I had told the driver i wanted to get off. I immediately clap my hands which is a signal that i want the driver to stop, pay my 6 dirhams to the bus assistant, then walk the country road hoping i can figure out how to find the people I am looking for. A woman comes toward me and says my name and walks me up the rocky path to her house. One of the first things I say to her after the pleasant formalities is "you have to tell me how you came to live out here." I am so curious because I know that she and her husband are originally from Fes.

She tells me while preparing breakfast for us ( it is not quite 10 am) that her and her husband decided to move out to the countryside about 6 years ago after deciding that they should try to make a life for themselves. She said that if you are realistic about the situation in Morocco , you know that not everybody is going to find a job.[unemployment in Morocco is officially reported to be ridiculously low, but unofficially seems to be about 40% ] Her and her husband are both college educated . Now they live with their young son in a house they built recently and grow fruits to sell at market and vegetables for their own consumption and run a little country store.

I was so relieved to meet people like this, who have ambition, but also contentment, and were deeply spiritual. In the afternoon I went out to the vegetable garden with her and she cut fresh zucchini and another cucumber-like vegetable we don't have in the US and showed me the peach trees and almond trees on their land. I started to think about how distanced my life in America is from "the land" and where my food is grown. To be this old and only for the first time see a peach growing on a tree, wow.

I spent the next few days with them and then pulled myself away early on a Friday morning by flagging down a bus headed for Fes that passed by on the road near their house. Of course in typical Moroccan fashion, she claimed that my visit was too short and made me promise to come back again soon. An hour and half after hopping onto the bus on the side of the road I was back in the urbanity of Fes, delightfully surprised by my accidental trip to the countryside.

I Have Been to the Mountain Top...

2008-07-18T18:21:00.004Z

So, after leaving the internet cafe that night, my friend and I ate dinner then prayed the sun-down prayer at the main mosque that's in the town square of old Chefchawin. I decided to make salatul istikhara about the whole visiting Sidi Masheesh thing because I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Then my friend did a little shopping in the market and we went back to the hotel. I asked another person working there (not the hashish smoking one) about going to see Sidi Masheesh. Him and another guy who was just sitting there told me to go down to the new city to the place where the large taxis take people to Tetouan and ask the taxi drivers there about going in the morning and how much they would charge.

So we took a small taxi down to the large taxi stand and a very informative gentlemen gave me an idea of the ballpark figure, but basically told me that every driver could ask a different price and that I should come in the morning and talk to who ever was there. I make a mental note that i like the new city of Chefchawin more than the old city because i see real Moroccans walking around, and don't see as many tourists or hashish.

The next morning we leave the hotel early and opt for a small breakfast near the bank where i change some money in anticipation of the taxi fare. I kind of made a decision to pay whatever they asked because in the grand scheme of things it would not be so much as to break me financially and how stingy could i be to my soul to rob it of the chance to visit the spiritual mentor of Imam as-Shadhili?
We go to the taxi stand again and tell them where i want to go. They say "oh you know you will have to pay to charter the entire taxi" I tell them that i understand that.
A guy comes up and tells me he will charge me 500 dirhams to take me. I say what about 400, this is closer to the real price i discussed with the man last night. He is adamant about 500 and i consider it a sale price off of the original 700 the first driver quoted me the day before. I agree. We get into his taxi and drive for an hour and a half through mountains. Scenery so beautiful and rare that my friend begins to cry again. I ask the cab driver about the growing of hashish and he says that until last year a lot more used to be grown, but the government has begun cracking down , he points out a few fields of it here and there and yes it does look like grass. He says that the people who live in the mountains have lived for centuries herding goats, but they are no longer content with just getting by and that few other crops will grow for them. But he adds, growing and selling hashish is unequivocally haram.

We near the final mountain top where Sidi Masheesh is buried and stop at a little spring. The taxi driver says the water is healing and is especially good for kidney stones. We drink from the spigot and fill up a small water bottle had. The water is cold and full.

We round the mountain to Sidi Masheesh and park the car. The taxi driver says he will wait for us. We can only spend an hour or so visiting because the only bus with seats left to go to Fes that day leaves at 1 pm and it is 10:30 am or so when we arrive at the burial site.

We walk nervously up the wide white stairs to get to Sidi Masheesh. Along the way groups of men and women press us for charity, we give what we can but realize that we forgot to bring enough small change. As we reach the site at the very top of the mountain two men start yelling at me to take off my shoes. I didn't realize it until they said it, but in the space around the site, cork-tree bark has been put down over the rock, at at this point you are expected to take off your shoes.

After making my ablutions, I am directed to sit in front of a group of Quran reciters, they recite for us while people douse us with rose water and women continue to approach asking for charity. Then we get up and pay our respects to the grandchildren of Sidi Masheesh who are buried near him, the man in charge of the site comes to say a prayer for us and another man douses us with rose water. Then on to Sidi Masheesh. We pay our respects, give our Salaams, read the Fatiha and Hizb al Bahr. More and more people come up to him and bend down to look at the actual grave site which is enclosed by a wall with a barred window that allows you to look in at it. They whole time that we are there, there are people sitting in groups, some reciting Quran , some calling on God by reciting one of His names in Arabic which means The Subtly Kind One, Ya Lateef over and over again, some sitting pensively.

We know that we are running out of time, so we say a few more prayers and just take a few minutes to drink in and breathe in the beauty of the place. The man in charge of the site offers for us to spend the night if we want. We say no we can't, we are in a hurry, and walk down the wide white stairs to the car where the taxi driver is waiting. We race down the mountain and get to the bus station literally 5 minutes before the bus to Fes pulls up. We take our seats and try to process the last few hours , all the while the words of the Salatul Masheeshiyya which i heard some men reciting at the grave-site goes around and around in my head.

Chefchawin and bargaining to visit Moulay Mashish

2008-07-15T18:13:00.003Z

Chefchawin

After a four-ish hour bus ride we make it through gorgeous mountains to the town of Chefchawin. And yes it is charming with all of its postcard views of the turquoise blue streets.

We make it to our hotel in the old city (with some assistance of course) and then try to come up with a plan. We are close to the burial place of Moulay Abdessalaam ibn Mashish, the man who was Imam Shadhili's shayk ( may God have mercy on them both). So I came with the intention of visiting him. That means taking another one and a half hour ride out in a chartered taxi. A friend who has been out to the site gives me the number of a driver who has taken him. I call him from my room as the hotel manager sits in the courtyard below my room smoking hashish out of a pipe. We are in hashish country here, it is grown and smoked throughout the region and the smell is ever present in the streets ( and apparently also inside the hotels)of Chefchawin.

I get the taxi-driver on the phone and he tells me that it will be a whopping 700 Dirhams to drive us to the burial site of Moulay Mashish and bring us back. To put that in perspective the bus ride from Fes to Chefchawin was only 80 dirhams. I am in shock and try to talk some sense into him, he is willing to go down by 100 dirhams, but says that what he quoted me is the going price, take it or leave it.
Masha'Allah. We decide to think about it a bit, I try to talk my friend into driving a rental car there ourselves but she is put off by the windy mountain roads and the aggressive way Moroccans drive. We decide to go for a walk around the town, get some second opinions and then figure it out inshaAllah.

We go for a casual walk through the town through the town-square and down the steep streets of the old city. My mind's eye notices the religious comportment of the shop keepers. Many are obviously practicing and some posses a certain spiritual air to them. I walk past a shop where one man is sewing and other older men in Moroccan jilebas are sitting around him. One man is reading from a book. They look as if it is a spiritual discussion. Later we walk past them again and I hear them talking about different Sufi brotherhoods, tariqas in the area.

In looking for a cyber cafe, we come upon a fruit seller and accidentally interrupt his dhikr ( remembrance of God) to ask him the price of grapes. He puts down his prayer beads carefully, so as not to lose his place in order to talk to us, and when we ask if we can taste them before buying , he breaks off two grapes then runs to the back of the shop to wash them off before handing them to us with a "Bismillah."

So now off to dinner and to figure out how to get to Moulay Mashish and how not to get contact "highs" from the ever present stench of hashish.

Peace