May 17th 2001 4:52pm Eastern daylight time
[Our tickets from Atlanta to New York were on Lufthansa, but they went on
strike. Fortunately they kindly arranged for us to fly
on other
airlines to New York. But they had to put us on two separate planes.(Ed.)] In
Atlanta the group was split in two, four students with Dr. Honerkamp and four
with Dr. Godlas. Flying economy is
cramped, but I am so happy to be here.
As a person who has spent most of her life on American soil, this trip
will bring me face to face with a culture radically different from the one I’ve
lived in. I am looking forward to being
immersed in a culture where people try to remember God in all their actions,
and live ethically. Not to say there won’t
be pickpockets or drug addicts, but it will be a change from US culture./
On
the plane in New York . . .
I
was laughed at (not unnicely) for my vest pocket Arabic book. At the start of an eight hour flight the TV
monitors start flickering as if some knob needed adjusting. 3,600 miles to go and all the people in my
row have bloodshot eyes (from dry airplane air). I’m anxious about our host families (mostly fearful that I’ll
offend someone accidentally. . . where’s the phrase for “I’m so sorry, excuse
me!”). The weird pressure on the plane
makes me drowsy. . . nap time./
The
food (“chicken or fish?”) was good for airplane food. At one in the morning eastern time, breakfast was served. The coffee was extremely good. The sun was rising as we passed over the
Madera Islands. The little television
screen shows we’ve flown over the Atlantic!
Just a few miles above North Africa there’s Europe, and the Western
culture where secularism (high fashion, wine, perceived ‘sexual freedom’)
reigns. Kameelah and Tareq are talking
about the roles societies give men and women in the western world versus the
Islamic world (modesty versus skin, skin, skin). What they hope for in potential mates. Oye. At twenty-one I’m
not worried about it quite yet. . .
The
non-Western women on the plane seem to either be wearing little to no makeup or
too much (yuck!)./
Away
from Casablanca people wear more traditional dress. Sheep, cows, and egrets abound.
People seem to usually walk to get around, there are some bikes and
moterbikes, a few cars on this two land road.
In the first town we went through a suburb of Casablanca, a lady in full
hijab saw that we were foreigners and smiled, raised a henna-covered palm with
the eye of Fatima in the middle in a friendly greeting. The cars surprised me. A lot of Mercedes on the road, even one in
an awful Miami aqua/blue shade. Beamers
and grazing sheep. Strange contrast./
My
host is Charija Bersassi. She and her
family are incredibly friendly, though I can only express this to Charija and
her brother, Umar, who speak fantastic English. I admitted my near complete ignorance of Arabic and she smiled
and said her English was not good.
Their house is beautiful, it’s huge!
I am so tired. . . . they have beautiful tile work and balconies on the
outside of most of their upper story rooms.
Beautiful Moroccan architecture.
Sleep.
. . . /
Saja,
Charija’s younger sister brought up some coffee and slices of cake and we
talked about American culture versus Arabic culture./
Nearly
the whole family speaks English. Not
even twenty four hours here and they’ve made me feel at home. . . nice.
May 18th Saturday 7:25
Yum,
I smell coffee. There are so many birds
here. They woke me up. Turned the radio on, an English song I
recognized (pop music), French stations, and there’s no Arabic on the presets.
May 19th
After
class Fouade and I walked to the Medina down Mohammed V. It was very aromatic in the Medina. Spices from the restaurant mixed with the
smell of the trees, contrasted by the smell of many people and diesel
fumes. We had changed money at the ALC
so I bought some water on the walk. ½
liter for 3 dirhams (27 cents). The
same would cost at least 80 cents in the US.
By the time we reached the police station it was very hot. We decided to come back by busy and rest
until evening.
We
had dinner around 9:00 pm. After Fouade
and I watched BBC News. I explained
several terms for him. He went looking
for something English and found TBN (Trinity Broadcast Network). This got us talking about Qu’ran and the
Bible. I was explaining how 95% of
Americans say they believe in God, but in my opinion about 50% act like they
do. We talked about fundamentalists and
fanatics. I decided to go to sleep
around 10:30 since he is still studying for a statistics exam on Monday. He is working towards a Masters degree, and
hopes to go to school in Texas.
May 20th
Got
up to go to the ALC for a tour of the Medina.
Darwina is taking the journal from me.
May 20th
during fajr at around 6:00 in the morning
Bismaalah
l-Rahman l-Rahmeen
I had
just finished my fajr prayer and managed to clear my thoughts to write in the
journal. I should have written last
night, but there were so many things that were happening, and I wasn’t able to
reflect to what I’ve experienced yesterday.
By the blessings of Allah, I flipped the Quran and stopped at Suratul
Adh-Dhariyat, the title felt very realistic to me this morning for some
inexpressible reasons. It reads “The
Wind that Scatter”
“In
the Name of Allah the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful”
“By
(the winds) that scatter dust
and
(the clouds) that bear heavy weight
of
water
And
(the ships) that float with ease
And
gentleness
And
those (angels) who distribute
(provisions,
rain, and other blessings)
by
(Allah’s) command.
Verily,
that which you are promised
(i.e.
Resurrection in the hereafter and
receiving
the reward or punishment of
good
or bad deeds) is surely true.
And
verily, the Recompense is sure to
Happen”
. . . and this continues until the end of the
surah.
I
guess this surah will be my guide in trying to relate the experience going
round Marrakesh yesterday.
The
tour started off at the Menara, Sidi Abd Rahman was reliving the supremacy of
the Islamic empire, but it was not really vivid to me at that time. But imagine having troops training around
the very area we were standing. . . brothers helping each other to uphold the
words of God.
That
passed by quickly actually, except for the time when Kameelah and I were walking
through the path where there were people playing soccer and the ball came
blasting at our faces, but fortunately intercepted by on of the players. I couldn’t shake off the excess adrenaline
after that, I don’t know about Kameelah.
I was
thinking, what next? Not knowing it was
going to be the Tombs of the Saadian Princes.
As we entered we were drawn to this magnificent structure in front of
us. As I stepped from a distance, I
absent mindedly thought “Oh its just the same with the post cards Aida gave me
last year”. But as I moved closer
subhanalla the architecture was magnificent, even magnificent isn’t doing any
justice in trying to describe it.
Every
single angles of the building was FILLED with motives, at first look it was
just shapes but as I looked at the details it was the ayahs of the Quran. My heart actually skipped a beat (all of a
sudden I was thinking of entopic beats!)
And that was just a small part of the whole structure. Everything was done in fine detail and one
would know it was crafted not forcefully but these people had an immense level
of passion in whatever they did.
Nothing was out of proportion, everything symmetrical, centered yet
diverse, a mastery in craft and creativity.
I
felt guilty being mesmerized by the architecture at one stage. After all, they are tombs. It should be a time of reflect and
Alhamdullillah we had Sidi Abd Rahman, Sidi Abd Hadi, and Sidi Abd Haq to guide
us through. The hadiqah mesmerized me,
such peace and tranquility where some slaves of Allah are resting in
peace. Upon leaving I turned back one
last time, it was then vivid to me, this is not just a tour, we are walking
through time; one aspect of time which is the past in search of understanding
our existence.
May
Allah forgive me, because I can’t remember the particular Medina we went to but
it was where the traditional school Ben Youseff was (I’m not sure of the
spelling either).
Sidi
Abd Hadi made a point that we should try to observe how the medina is, the
people in particular, the expression in their faces, ironic as it sounds I did
find that distinct about it even before he said it. The place is deeply rooted, I couldn’t sense a drive of progress,
or anger or oppression but pure contentment.
Most
of the people around the particular Medina were dressed in the jelabah. Although I don’t feel dressed is what I’m
particularly trying to point out. It
did not look like a put on attire, it was rather deserving a part of them. I can’t think of a proper word for it. There are lots of small industries, a city
sufficient on its own, and I recalled is where most of the poor are.
Yes
there are beggars, but definitely not sad looking ones, you feel so sorry
for. Maybe their wealth in tradition is
reflected in their faces. Despite of
the never ending houses of trade there are a lot of old men just sitting and
pondering the passers by, not one of criticism, but something beyond the
appearance of a person.
At
this rate I wished I can stop writing, since brevity is the essence of wisdom,
but I’ll do no justice if I were to stop now.
Madreassa
Ben Youseff
As
the group stepped in the building, everybody was entertaining their
curiosities. There were no angles that
you can’t look for details, even the air had weight to think about.
This
was where scholars, students were assembled and molded. The architecture was superb but it was
rooted with reason not out of hazy pleasure but devotion to the one God. Every single motive is dependant on the
other and was there for a purpose.
As
Sidi Abd Haq pointed out that surah al-Ikhlas was repeatedly drawn out. It just reflects how sincerity and knowledge
seeking are heavily chained together.
Knowledge has to be anchored by sincerity. The student is like a beautiful ship, initially searching for
direction. The teachers or scholars are
guiders, something like a navigator of the ship. But at the end of the line the final destination will be God.
I
stepped in one of the rooms situated on the first floor and looked out the
window.
As I
read Surah Adh-Dhariyat this morning it became clear to me:
“They
used to sleep but little by night. . . “
from
ayah 17-23
Especially
in verse 21 “And also in your own selves will you not then see?”
The
students carry a mik’mat in knowledge.
Knowledge of life, their Lord, and themselves. A responsibility of preserving it, enriching it, calling out to
other people in words of gentleness.
As I
was told in the Medina, often the craftsmen will finish work and sit in
halagas/study circles with scholars.
Life
without knowledge will be like walking in abyss of darkness. (I really ought to stop writing).
Then
it was the Koutoubia Mosque, as Sidi Abd Rahman narrates the history, I could
feel the presence of the Jumaa’ prayer.
The humility of the sultan, a balance of Fear and Love of the Muslims of
one God.
And
who are we to claim we have achieved something or if we are of statue?
How
perfect the King (Allah), the Holy One is.
Lord
of the angels and the Ruuh.
Yea
at certain points, I did stop and sincerely wished or wanted to know what will
be the Prophet’s (Muhammad, s.a.w.) reaction as he walked down the streets of
Medina. . .
Signing
off
Darwina
May 21st
2:00 pm
Well,
I wish I could give a more thorough summary of our first Moroccan Arabic class
with Brahim, but unfortunately our 11 pm dinner last night left me a bit groggy
this morning. Even our first lesson
yesterday proved useful last night; I had fun showing off my new phrases to the
family at home. My mother, or my
surrogate mother anyway, speaks mainly Berber, so we are learning Arabic
together. She says that I am going to
learn Berber but for now one new cognitive system will suffice.
Dr.
Godlas began our religion class today with an introduction to religiology. The idea, if I am not mistaken, is to
evaluate more importantly define coherently our own system of beliefs
before attempting to study others. It
would be so much easier to be a nihilist or radical Marxist, then I’d have an
answer for everything. Unfortunately
though, I find myself plagued (or blessed) with inconsistencies. I’ll admit that I am not looking forward to
doing an interview of a Moroccan, but only because it will be difficult, not
because I doubt its educational worth.
During
our pre-travel meeting in Athens, usatidatuna (our professors) mentioned that
Sufis travel together as a group for the sake of inter and intra personality
exploration. Well, I think that
everyone’s essence is starting to show.
I for one, have discovered that I have an affinity for having liquids
explode on opening. Kameelah has a
magnetism for avian blessings and Dr. Godlas is quite attuned to what foods
will stimulate or block the digestive system.
If Dr. Honerkamp does not know everyone in this city, then I am
confident that he at least is only one person separated (i.e. knows someone who
knows someone) from everyone else in the city.
My newfound Moroccan friends know him as “the tall professor who speaks
beautiful Arabic”.
12:26 am later
that day
Our
free time today found us traveling as a group.
With the exception of Tareq, who seems to prefer solitude or, more
precisely, prefers the company of Moroccans (who could blame him?), we took a
trip to the post office and the suq of the Medina. Here is what we learned:
n
In Morocco, Viagra does not require a prescription
n
Darwina has an innate rhythm, expressed through the
subtle tones of the Moroccan hand drum
n
Angry donkeys will bite
n
Taxies cannot take more than three passengers at a
time
n
Regardless of what anyone tries to tell you, men
with knives in the Medina are, in fact, dangerous (at least financially,
as Darwina will attest)
n
Sometimes it takes a carpet store to reveal one’s
true colours
n
Even caveman Arabic can get a point across
n
There are many Moroccan women named Fatimah
Well, that about cavers the day.
It is worth noting that Tareq who (rather unsuccessfully) braved greasy
chicken yesterday, faced the perils of a straight-razor shave today. I compliment him for that.
Tomorrow we continue with
classes. I hope to be in a different
state of consciousness for tomorrow’s Arabic class.
passing on the literary flame,
abd
as-Samad
May 22nd 2001
I woke up
exhausted this morning. After eating at
10:00 each night, Kamal always wants to talk until 1:30 or 2:00 in the
morning! Yesterday was a good day and I
feel rejuvenated. Class with ‘Brahim
went well and Dr. Honerkamp’s lecture on the background of the Maghrib was
interesting. At lunch we talked about
movies like “Pie” and Kerosawa’s “Dreams” (my favorite). After lunch I went to the café around the
corner from the ALC to read and watch people.
It is hot and the sweet mint tea, mixed with the sounds of the cars and
mopeds, puts me in a dusty trance.
While reading about Sufi silsilas, Katie, Kameela, and Darwina show up
with pastries. We split up and I walk
to les Jardins Majorell – maybe the best thing I’ve done so far. I sit in paradise (by myself) with only the
company of a sleeping cat (a smart cat, since he made his way in here). At least ten different types of palm tress,
roses, aloe, bamboo, water with fish, frogs and turtles. . . and many
doves. I’m told (by a very nice man)
that Paradise is closing, so I walk home.
While watching television (not something I do at home in the U.S.) with
Adil and Kamal, I am informed of several fascinating “facts” they learned from
TV. They’re shocked to find out that I
didn’t know that “George Bush, Al Gore and all of Congress are Jewish”
and that “Philadelphia is the capital of fat people for the entire world”. Sometimes one doesn’t realize how special
(or even mystical) everyday life is until looking back. It’s better to be aware of these things RIGHT
NOW. It’s harder to do this if
you’re talking. Looking forward to the
trip to Zagora. . .
Bsalama –
Brendon
May 23rd 2001
This journal is not a reflection of my
intelligence
“Tareq in Morocco”
We traveled all day and visited many nice places. This town is nice, and the people I’m with
interesting, each possessing their own identity. The souk was nice, and the people were even nicer. I miss the comforts and luxuries of home,
however being pious and patient is a good virtue which I need to develop
better. On this trip I am trying to
better my flaws while I perfect my strengths.
It shall be done
Inshaallah
May 24th 2001
I sit here in peace, collecting my thoughts on a
long, hot day well spent in the heart of Morocco. Each morning here I awake as if completely refreshed, like the
desert after a fine rain. Or perhaps
for the first time in my life I feel alive.
Now, sitting here, I think of life.
America versus Morocco. So
many people refuse to live; refuse to
accept the beauty and reality of life.
If we would only open our hearts and minds then perhaps life would find
its way to us. Or rather, must we find
our way to life? Shall we always live
with the humanity which does not exist or will, one day, we awaken to realize
the creation of humanity in its Divinity.
Perhaps it is the magic of this city, but my mind
refuses to sleep. I can not seem to
give enough thanks nor think enough thoughts to please. Each day we delve deeper into the meaning of
life, knowledge, religion, etc and each day I further realize myself.
This was a plain
day, but one which I will always recall. There is no particular reason, merely
because I am alive. We (Larry, Kameela,
James, Darwina and myself – if I misspelled your name please forgive me for my
spelling in English is even worse than in Arabic!) all walked around the Jumn
al-Fna (sp?) looking for Darwina’s drum shop, which (Inshaalah) we will soon
find. Instead of locating this however,
we walked and walked, learning the true definition of patience with each
step. Without success we eventually
finished our trekking circle and staggered into a café to cool off. While enjoying our ice cream, which felt
like pure paradise, Larry had to mention the threat it posed to our delicate
stomachs. We’ll wait to see if the
effects are as harsh as proposed . . .
Tonight again I realized my American-ness as Kameela
and I attended one of the English classes at the ALC. It seems that each student (Moroccan) desires the culture of the
USA. Perhaps desire is too strong a
word, envy maybe? I wanted badly to
explain the crowdedness and affliction of the American culture, though I feared
they would not understand me and thus remained silent. We were asked the basic questions on
Religion, colleges, Bush, money, time, etc.
it seems our movies have done a good job in creating the “American
Dream” for others. I can only hope
these dreams will not quickly be broken.
Again my thoughts return to life. To learn the meaning of each individual life
is a quest one must dare only to undertake.
Or perhaps not. Knowledge is a
quest, an undying thirst quenched only by itself. Here, in Morocco, knowledge seems so predominate and true. One only has to walk down the street to see
hundreds of years of history and information which can quickly be taken up by
the senses and stored in the mind’s safe.
These people have a culture and a history, a life and knowledge. Who are we to enter into it and take away
only to replace it with something of lesser quality? Here I have realized a part of myself, connected to ancestors
past, which also is a part of each human being ever to walk the paths of life;
a connection, I pray, never to be lost nor forgotten.
To live in fear of the future is to
die
So let us take hold of our life
knowing
who we are
And learn of the world
around us
So that we may live.
May 25th
After reading the previous entry I have become woefully aware
of my inability to express myself as eloquently. Alas, I will try my best.
Coming from a place where an 80 year old
house is considered a landmark, the feeling of standing in palaces that have
been standing for half a millennium is indescribable. There is so much history here that if you blink you’ll miss
something.
Marrakech seems to me to be a city of contrast. 500 years old buildings next to modern
discos, the poverty of loneliness next to a Mercedes, the beauty of the land
next to an abandoned lot turned trash dump, and most of all the overwhelming
Moroccan interest in all cultures as opposed to the self centered nature so
predominate in westerners who roam the streets. . .
Sorry, I’m currently riding in the back of a van on my way to
the city of Orrzazat and was distracted by the beauty of the passing views of
the High Atlas Mountains. Oh yeah and
we were just waved through an armed military check point. Well I am unable to ignore the beauty surrounding
me any longer so I will sign off.
May 26th 2001
As we weave in and out of the High Atlas Mountains carved
out by God, shaped by nature, and stark in its beauty and austerity, I began to
reflect on the journey that wall of us have undertaken. I wonder how many of us are like soft, wet
clay, easily shaped by our experiences gained through this trop, and how many
of us are like the sheer rocks of the mountain, only shaped by and when
irrefutable circumstances occur. As we
climb higher into the Atlas Mountains, I am amazed at how much human nature and
life parallels the natural world.
Looking down into the deep chasms carved into the mountains, I began to
review my own journey which appears to be heading in the major direction of
self-discovery. Shaped and molded by
the currents of life, environment, and society at large, I have scaled some of
the highest peaks (in my life) – succeeding in many of my endeavors
(al-Humdulallah), and I have fallen into some chasms (deep) of failure yet I
know that as soon as I pull myself up out of the chasm, as soon as I scale the
highest peak, there will be more mountains to climb and more pitfalls to climb
out of – Such is life.
As we pass many hamlets in small villages, I stare into the
faces of the people – trying to get a handle on how they live and who they
are. One glimpse into the eyes of a
young woman, carrying wheat on her head, or a little boy herding sheep or
goats, transports me into a parallel where I experience for that one second
what life can truly be like – what life is.
As an American, I am formed by many luxuries and amenities that some
people here in Morocco cannot comprehend – or would not even need (or
want). These luxuries somehow cloud my
view of the world outside of my life – of my existence. I never really realized how much I took for
granted and as such how much was lacking in my life. This drive up the Atlas Mountains (I’m speaking of it as if it
were a stroll in the park – nothing can be further from the truth) was a
journey of enlightenment where many of the veils clouding my view of reality
was stripped away to reveal the starkness and beauty that is the underlying
truth behind reality: It was as if I
was standing in front of a mirror, stripped of my pretensions, my views of
life, my arrogance and was finally able to see the truth – a truth that on some
level I was not willing or able to see before but was now blindingly
clear. As I now rest easily in my
air-conditioned hotel room reflecting on the journey, I realize that the veils
that were stripped away on the journey through the mountains, have been quickly
donned again – maybe in an effort for self-preservation, and/or familiarity – I
don’t know for sure, it is easy to reflect on the journey when one is not
confronted by reality at every turn. I
am fully cognizant of this. But with
every veiling and unveiling the seeker gets closer to a state of clarity. I am not sure if one can maintain this
permanent state, but what I am sure is that when one is blessed to see – w/
blinders off – life takes on a sweeter, unique taste.
May 27th Sunday night 10pm-ish?
A beautiful day. Maybe most of the trip would call it
interesting instead, but for me all in all, it was great. In the morning we visited a zawwiya and a
library of ancient books. What struck
me about that place was how I perceived the children. When they came to me asking for water or a Durham, I felt
awful. I gave a little girl what I had
in my pocket. Later Dr. Homerkamp spoke
about how the families are wealthy and happy, and that made me feel a frivolous
materialistic person.
May 28th Monday
noonish
Driving back from Zagora . Are these the Atlas Mountains? They look as if a topographical map were
made real, with rings every ten or fifteen feet. Light to gray-red/black mountains, if the sky matched it would
look like Mars. Its humbling to see how
small and finite we soft creatures are.
Yesterday some of us rode camels. J They make a sound I can’t imagine how to
describe, a kind of bray possibly? The
one who made the most carried Samad and Brenden, they’re both tall and together
probably weighted over three hundred pounds.
Katie fell in love with the large footed creatures. We tried to remember Qur’an references to
the beauty of camels (something like how their eyes are a soft liquid
brown). They have large black
eyelashes, making their faces look almost cartoonishly cute./
After visiting the Casbah it began to
rain. With the sky gray and overcast
the scenery of the landscape looked more vivid. We passed beautiful terraced fields and some villagers whose
curiosity at our whit tourist van gained from me wide smiles. We winded through the mountains on (thank
God!!) two lane roads rather than wide one lane roads. The latter make me nervous because the
drivers sometimes play chicken, go straight, staying in the middle of the road
until the last possible second./
Everything on earth ends but with
faith we have access to the infinite.
Sonnet for brendon bellamy
(penmanship attributed to a moving
Van)
I, too, have seen great
signs,
Donkeys swearing through
sandaled waves
“these cars will swerve”
and charmers selling
snake skins and charms.
Like camels kissing
nomads
I, too, have wandered
museum hall
Uncertainties, uncertain
that my laughing
Explained certain jokes
that were made.
Yes, some friends tell
stories
whose endings pour forth
tear –
duct anthologies of the
(tormented
walls of the skull). I never knew
how god it was. Ah, Brendon
where have the chaperones
gone?
May 28-29th Monday
We went atop the mountain at Casbah ait ben Haddah. It was Sharon, Darwina, Abdul Samad,
Brendon, and I who went all the way to the top. There was a storm approaching, and the wind was intense. Sharon said that it was the wrathful aspect of
God. I disagree. There was no wrath there. It was beautiful. The wind tore across the mountain like a herd racing across
plains, without any feeling of malice or anger. I went back up to be away from the other students for a few
moments, and it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
I have run up against some of the Moroccan
gender roles. I asked to be shown how
to use the washing machine, and was constantly told yes, but when I came back
from class, my laundry had been taken and washed. I envy the girls who are being taught how to cook Moroccan
food. There is no way for me to ask
because I have no place in the kitchen.
Some of the others seem to be a little culture
shocked. They are getting impatient
with some of the things that just can’t be changed.
Everyone is a little bit sick. I think it is due to the excessive heat this week. The heat has caused an inversion layer, and
is keeping the pollution from the cars low to the ground. I am living on a busy street and could taste
the pollution in the air when my windows were open. Once it cooled down a little the air got better, but for a few
hours it was terrible. The heat is
supposed to pass soon, and it feels a little cooler today (30th). Apparently it got to 42 degrees Celsius here
(102 degrees Fahrenheit). If it doesn’t
get cooler, we are going to have to rearrange our schedules a little bit. We don’t want to go to Timmal in the heat,
because the sun is more intense up in the mountains. Time to pass the journal on I guess.
Larry
May 30th 2001 evening, rooftop terrace, jana lfna
I took the journal on another easy day. I would not want the daunting task of trying
to recreate in words our trip to Zagora and the value crises of Tamagrout. Instead, I think I can safely sum up the day
as a group as follows:
--went
to class, had quiz, most students (myself included) have not mastered the
delicates of Moroccan proverbs
--learned
ways to express indigestion in dareeja (in my case not yet committed to memory)
--discussed
modern and contemporary Morocco with Dr. Honerkamp
--challenged
status quo motions of Democracy a la Dr. Godlas
--ate
lentils for lunch
The group disbanded quickly, either to check e-mail or in the direction of home to
escape the mid-day sun.
Kameelah is ill, meskinah.
I hope to see her in good health tomorrow, as I’m sure does everyone in
the group.
My friend Yunis at the ALC asked me to help him with an
essay of his on slavery and the US Constitution. I gladly attempted to do so, but I’m afraid that I may have
caused more confusion than anything.
The problem, as I see it, is that teachers of lower levels demand the
fine paragraph (intro, 3 body, conclusion) form. I firmly believe that any ideas of worth do not occur in this
form. Instead of telling students to
write papers that introduce and prove an idea (ideally many ideas), teachers
simply demand a set form. So, instead
of asking “how do I develop my ideas through a linear, linguistic process?” the
student becomes bound by the question “how do I fit my ideas into this
form?” In fact, it seems to me that the
student may completely lose sight of the idea of a paper or essay as a
dialectic, thinking of it only as a set form, that is, a model in which to plug
words.
Well, I think I’ve made it clear as to why I might have
confused poor Yunis. I think he wanted
help with is English, not some jumbled mess of quasi-literary theory. Oh well. . .
There is a passage I remember from high school in The
Sound and the Fury where one of the characters (nomme inconnu) looks at a
flock of seagulls in the sky and notes that they all look like they are led
(i.e. bound) by invisible wires.
Sitting up here, I can see quite a few birds flying above the square and
I can conclude with no hesitations that these birds are not bound by invisible
wires. Maybe the wind effects where
they fly, or other birds, or maybe they are looking for another Kameelah to
bless, but those birds are bound by nothing (and neither are we).
There’s my inspirational passage for the day.
Samad
Sonnet for dr. godlas
These breads will block
your bowels.
Whereas fruit may help to
clear
your path. If wisdom is real
then the same knowledge
binds
each of us to our
respective realities.
In Iran all the men are
holding hands.
A democratic society must
first have bread.
To clear the path for
autonomy
the people must first
benefit from the fruit
of the land. Ecstatic union may
or may not be
air-conditioned
in Iran they might use
this plan.
Start with
psycho-yogie-meta-ecology
End up holding hands.
May 31st 2001
Linguistic yoga
this morning in ‘Brahim’s class.
Everyone seems to be recovering from the trip to Zagora. I think I’m just now feeling the effects. Or maybe it’s the 10’000 insect bites I’ve
received while sleeping on the roof. I
guess that’s a fair trade for the “njoum”.
They even bit my eye. I’m
exhausted. Today I went with Abdul
Rahim and Samad to find Samad an apartment.
It almost broke my heart to see what a wonderful place Samad will live
next year (I could tell it was breaking his too). In the US the accommodations would not have the same character. .
. in fact, they probably wouldn’t have any character. Just like American. And
Americans. Maybe it was this thought
that made Samad’s stomach churn and made him vomit out of the window in Abdul
Rahmin’s car! Thank God for Abdul
Haddi!! Thank God for Abdul Haqq!! Thank God for Abdul Rahmim!! Forgive me for this journal entry, I’m
delirious!! Allah yaster!!
June 1st 2001
So
hello, a lot has happened since I last carried this football. Where to begin? Well we have talked in class about the differences between our
culture and that of Morocco. Some good,
some bad. One thing happened to me last
night which struck me as offsetting.
After
eating another delicious dinner I was sitting relaxing in the living room with
the family. My brother Younnes returned
from class and asked with a smile if I had enjoyed my dinner. I said yes and asked what it was. (I often have no clue what we’re
eating!) Younnes replied “Arneb”. This word immediately struck me as familiar,
but I could not place its meaning. I
asked “what is Arneb?” Younnes then
began laughing and pointed at the now empty pet rabbit cage and repeated
“Arneb”. I had not been able to
remember the name of the lovable furry rabbit who had been sharing the third
floor with me for the last two weeks!
Needless to say I experienced my first problem with indigestion!!
Well
besides my encounter with the lynching of the house pet, I have had a wonderful
experience with my family here. I can’t
believe that our time to leave here draws near.
“Life moves pretty fast. .
. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you might just miss it.”
James
June 2nd 2001
Bismallah
l-Raham l-Rahmeen
It
has been an interesting day. I’ve
learned to be more receptive I guess lately.
But umm. . . here’s a story. . .
Once
Maria came home, whining about how tough life is to her father; how unbearable
it was, how she wished everything took on her way and people would change
easily.
And
father’s are anyway, wise. She kept on
whining until her father looked at her with a comforting smile and her whining
immediately stopped.
Her
father is a chef. He showed her three
different items. It was an egg, a baby
carrot and some coffee grounds (well I hope this term is correct anyway).
So
Maria looked at the items . . . one. . . by . . . one. . .hmm. . . there must
be a catch somewhere. Strangely enough
her father asked her to feel those items.
Now that was so weird.
He
then boiled (or whatever proper adverb that goes with it) all the items
separately. Her dad just hummed away
happily as Maria looked on. . . “what on earth is happening?”
So he
took out the boiled egg, boiled (not sure of the proper word) carrot. . . and
he left the coffee brewing on the stove.
Maria
instantaneously picked up the egg, well it was hardened inside.
The
carrot from something solid became soft, without much strength.
Strange
enough, well it shouldn’t be strange anyway, the longer the coffee was boiled
the tastier it was.
He
then held his cup looking at Maria’s reaction.
With a gradual and steady tone, he then said “the egg was fragile and
when it was boiled it became hard, reflecting there are people who are when
tested/tried with tribulations get out of it being bitter and their hearts
become hard.
As
for the carrot after being boiled it becomes soft, reflecting that some people
after given tribulations become disheartened, have no strong will, and just
unable to persuade themselves to become better.
The
coffee grains, when brewed gets tastier and tastier, the higher the temperature
goies, the better it gets. Reflecting
some people or the ideal should be somebody who is able to look through
troubles and tribulations and become better and better.
Okay
that aside, we had the gnawa music concert in ALC this evening, it was highly
enchanting. Well, mystical in a sense,
as I am in no position to judge how or what mysticism is.
Maghrib
was beautiful, Sidi Ibrahim and his fellow mates played on harmoniously with
the wind. The music was different,
never provoking, it just plays back again and again at the back of my heart.
Brought
red carpets, people calmly clapping and enjoying the gnawa music. Every single thing was contemplative that
moment.
For
once I was able to sit still and listen.
One
of the group mates wasn’t in the best of moods. Naturally everybody is concerned. I figured hmm. . how time slowly moulds us, maturing, receptive,
every single moment, atom is present and precious.
As
the gnawa went on, it was music to the soul, the leaves were waving with the
wind, as the birds flew freely in the sky.
As the night slowly overtakes the day the moon was out followed by some
twinkling stars.
I
remembered during Sidi Abd Haqq’s religology lecture, he went elaborating on
the level of nafs. As one step at a
time it was defined, I became uneasy all of a sudden, I am scared of
REALITY. I am scared to know who I
really am, my only comfort is total dependence on God.
It
was and still is difficult for me to comprehend happenings, subjects like
politics, poverty that was discussed over and over again, just pushes me into a
void. I don’t know about everybody
else.
I’ve
done so much organizational work but as Sidi Abd Hadi elaborates on the history
of al-Maghrib the concept of unity prevails.
So
easily said in texts, even I find it hard to keep myself united serving my
master who is the One. A beautiful and
gently soul Prophet Mohammad (s.a.w.) was sent as a mercy to mankind to bring
guidance. Time passes by and. We are a part of a civilization, we too will
pass, we will return to Him, maybe.
Surprisingly I don’t know. The
thought of death had never left me.
I
guess the aura of Morocco is highly contemplative. You tend to either get trapped or walk borderlessly, trying to
strike middle is a severe challenge.
I’ll
just shut my eyes for the night. My
prayer goes to everybody in the group and whomever is dear to my heart.
Wallahu
alam
Darwina
11 more days to go. . . .
P.S. The
birthday of the Prophet is somewhat these few days, I can’t actually
remember. It might be today
though. Peace and blessings to the
beloved prophet of Allah. J
June 3rd 2001
Tomb
of M. Ibn Aabad – King and Poet
From
the 15th Century
While
standing in the great tomb of this once past King, his wife, and his young son,
I realized my simpleness. Hundreds of
years after the passing of this man people still seem to gather around him. I hope we do not disturb his peace; but
then, is that the price one pays for being ‘great’?
I
can not thank Abdul Rahman, Jamela, Abdul Hadi, and Abdul Haqq enough for
today. For the first time sense our
arrival in this wonderful country we were whisked away from the hustle and
bustle of the city and allowed to enter a small piece of Heaven. Though the group was split, the time could
not have been any better!
Today
I believe I may have found the beginning of myself. Though this journey of mine will be long and tiresome, at least I
now have friends I know will always lend a helping hand. Bowing today before our God I realized my
weakness, confusion, humility. I felt
Him take my hand and gently lift me out of my beaten path.
This
journey of ours here in this foreign land has helped me realize so many
things. There are hidden treasures
inside each member of this great race of ours.
I have seen the kindness and tenderness radiating from within, though
often times it remains locked away in a dark box. I have realized the straight path that so many fear. I myself am terrified. This game of life we all play is not easy.
Some
fear what they do not know and instead hide from within. They know what gifts they have, but yet do
not use them. Here it is so easy. One may truly be oneself – the Reality which
only God knows so well. But soon this
voyage of ours will end. And where will
we go with this new found knowledge?
The
non-reality of the place from which we left shall soon once again surround
us. Once again we will be thrust about
by the means of a rushed life. And
again, we will lock that box of ours with all of ourselves inside. What we exhibit is but a mask. Perhaps a mask that we are trying to break
off; or perhaps rebuild. This mask
blocks the true person we all are from really existing. This mask of ours fears nothing and bows
down to nothing. But inside we are all
crying to be ourselves. Society has
helped to build our mask – and it is that society that will not allow us to
remove it.
Today
I have seen the unmasking of nature.
The cool, lush and quite apple orchards with the birds pleasantly
singing to the hot, dry and harsh landscape beyond. This landscape soon denied itself and became the towering,
powerful folds of mountains. We all
fear this harsh reality of nature – for we all sit in our cool shade, sipping
our cold water and calmly gazing out into that beautiful unknown. This we do within ourselves as we look
quietly from behind our mask and into the beauty of the true representation of
us. We fear to go beyond the shade of
our covered selves – and so we sit idly behind masked truths and lives. The few who dare to venture beyond the
safety seldom return – for if they did, would we accept them back?
Each
has his/her own mask – beautifully painted and carefully built. Because of this few truly know themselves,
much less those around them. What I
have found within myself shall help to break down this unseen barrier between
myself and God, myself and Reality. My
friends, may you also begin to crack the mask which you too have painted. . .
The
innocence of life is
within the Realm
of
our existence
so
why then do we not
Realize
it?
We
stare in silence
at
this thing called Life
and
yet no one can See
and
no one can Feel
and
no one Cares.
but
yet we stare
We
look at each other
and
we do not
Comprehend.
June 5, 2001
Again we
are on the road – traveling to places known and unknown. As we embark on this trip, I feel a sense of
trepidation and anxiety fills me. Will
this trip be the same – like the trip to Zagora or will this trip be filled
with new and exciting adventures that will over the course of time test the
very metal from which we are forged?
The cross that I seem to be bearing is the cross of little or NO
bathrooms. . . people may laugh. . . and I guess if you are reading this you
may feel an overpowering urge to laugh . . . so laugh. . . Laugh. . .
Laugh. God knows I have heard enough
laughter about my problem to last me two lifetimes . . . or should I say
laugh-times? Sorry, couldn’t help that
– comes from listening to Abdul Haqq’s jokes (lame -- J I mean that in the good
sense). The heat, the tiredness, the
long drives, oh, let’s not forget about the lack of bathrooms, have stripped me
of all my pretensions – leaving me virtually naked. I am not sure I like what I see but, one question has been
answered on this trip. I have found out
quite emphatically that I am not the original nature girl. Oh well, I guess that puts me in my
place. I wonder if other people in the
group have been stripped and denuded of all their pretensions and comfort
zones. One can only surmise from
disgruntled expressions and attitudes that my comrades have also experienced
the dubious feeling of seeing their true self in the light of reality. Most of us go through life never truly
knowing who we are. We walk around in
life in a dazed, sleepy state until circumstances arise, shocking you into a
state of wakefulness – which strips away the covers of complacency and willful
ignorance. This trip has served as a
blaring alarm clock for many of us – abruptly startling us into a state of
confused, astounded wakefulness. This
awareness has been beneficial in that it has showed us a glimpse into our
innermost selves. Some, may have seen
glimpses of ugliness that they never knew existed and others, who thought that
there was no glimpse of goodness, may have been surprised to find a well of
beauty and goodness deep within their soul.
No matter what has been glimpsed within the depths of our souls, we are
the better for it because we have seen, and we have become aware.
While
driving around Rabat I got a glimpse of my husband – that is my future
husband. Well just kidding. I did however see a man so beautiful that it
gave me a pause. His eyes were storm color
– he sat astride his steed, covered in dust as if he just rode out of the
desert. His face was implacable – yet
there was strength and leadership qualities stamped upon his brow. I KNOW . . . I KNOW. . . it sounds like a
romance novel. I must admit I
embellished a little – a teensy bit – but I swear his face gave me a
pause. I guess I am writing this to
bring home the point that within life one can find beauty in all things. They are representative of God’s beauty and
presence in the world. Morocco is a
land of harsh realities – for one who looks on the surface, one only sees what
one expects to see: pollution, crowdedness, juxtapose with stretches of
breath-taking beauty. But if one goes
to Morocco with one’s inner-eye open one will see beauty in the shape of a
child’s smile, or the survival instincts of a cat, or the kindness of a
stranger. Morocco – Beauty – Life is
much more than a composite of the separate parts. The parts when put together encompass the greater glory of God –
they show that something no matter how stark can have an underlying
beauty. Just because it exists. It is.
June 8th 2001
Bismaalah
l-rahman l-rahmeen
Life
is like a house with two doors;
One
to enter and one to exit”
Well
how does one begin? First I guess I
should justify my last journal. I was
not prepared to write about my experiences for I am one who writes about my
experiences at the conclusion of a trip, not along it. Maybe, to some, my last effort was
ridiculous, but to others who know my true nature, it was acceptable. Anyway, I hope that this journal will help
give credit, even if credit isn’t due.
I would like to write more about three aspects that I have observed and
learned more so that to write about what went on today, because today has been
divided into three days and therefore I shall write about three observations
I’ve made. First about this country,
then about my fellow companions, and lastly about myself. Let me stress once more that what I write is
strictly what I see through my eyes and may allay forgive me if I bring
discomfort or pain to anyone including myself.
Morocco can’t just be summed up in one word, nor can it be said to be homogenous. I see the roots of the Arabs, Africans, and Europeans marked on all peoples. However, to label this country as being such and such would serve these people wrong. They are more patient than the Arabs, yet not as spontaneous. They are Arabs, but are Berbers.