This past Friday, I took a walk by the ocean with some friends in my neighborhood. After an hour, I decided to walk back to my house. In broad daylight, with people on the street in the safe neighborhood of L’ocean, I saw no reason why walking by myself would be a problem. I was mistaken.
As I walked back, I noticed a group of three teenage boys walking on the same street, staring at me and laughing loudly. I ignored them and kept walking until one of the boys ran up to me and said something in Arabic, and his friends laughed even harder. I shook my head and said “La etakalam Arabiya,” or “I don’t speak Arabic,” and kept walking. This was a mistake as they roared with laughter and evidently saw this as an indication that they could bother me all they wanted. One of the boys pushed his friend into me and they kept laughing. I stopped and said sternly, “Khalaas.” Stop. They laughed even harder and started picking up rocks and pebbles by the street and throwing it at me as we walked. One of them shoved his friend towards me again, and knowing very little Moroccan Arabic, I shoved him away and yelled “ya kelb!” (“You dog”). It was the only offensive term I knew having learned the Arabic word for dog that morning. They kept laughing and throwing more rocks my way. I gave them the finger and started swearing in English, but it only made them laugh harder and start mocking me.
We were not the only ones on the street. Though not crowded, there were small groups of Moroccan people around my age who turned to look and I looked at them and gestured toward the boys but they did nothing, said nothing. No one minded that a lone girl was being harassed. It was a big empty road with few cars passing. The boys showed every sign of wanting to follow me all the way back, so I crossed the main road onto a street where I saw two buses waiting. The boys followed along, watching me from the opposite road, so I ducked behind a bus and to my relief, I saw an empty taxi passing and jumped in. I was seething with anger and disgust, at the despicable behavior of the Moroccan boys, at the cold, impassive behavior of the Moroccan bystanders, and at the country itself. In that moment, I hated Morocco and everything about it.
The most frustrating thing about the whole incident was the language barrier for I had no way of asking for help or more important for me- swearing at those bastards. I had no control and felt frustratingly vulnerable. This weekend was a bad one for many of us. My roommate had her purse slashed with a knife in the Medina. Two other girls in the program got attacked by a man by the ocean, who actually carried one of them to the edge of the cliff before he let her go and jumped into the water. Incidents that make us never want to step outside by ourselves again.
My frustrations with Morocco have been building day by day, whether it’s the harassment, the unprofessionalism, the language barrier, or always being overcharged by people who immediately raise prices once they realize we don’t speak Arabic. While I haven't mentioned sexual harassment before now, it's extremely prevalent and I experience the catcalling almost everyday. It’s disheartening to come to a different country in order to learn about their culture but be treated this way in return. As a Muslim, I’m ashamed that people in an Islamic country don’t have better morals than this. However this post isn’t meant to shed a negative light on all Moroccans because most of the people I've met have been incredibly warm and welcoming and my times with them have been the highlights of my experience here. Unfortunately vermin exists in every country in the the world.
What I realized has been bothering me all along has been this complete lack of control over my own life. It’s definitely been a difficult time but as my friend Erum reminded me,
“[God] doesn't make mistakes-- this trip just seems to be part of His master plan for you. You didn't think it was just a coincidence that you *just* happen to be at all the right places, at all the wrong times (or in your words, right smack dab in the middle of history) did you?!?”Thanks Erum. :-) And thanks to all my family and friends who have given their words of encouragement and sent their prayers. No message goes missed and they always cheer me up.
Now it's almost March and this month is going to fly. Madrid this weekend, spring break next weekend, and four Moroccan cities the next weekend. While I hate the lack of control, I have to admit there's something cool about waking up everyday to a different adventure.
