And 10,000 sheep bleeted out.

The scenic rooftops of Rabat provide an excellent backdrop for the carcass of the Eid sacrifice. A meaty smoke filled the air on Thursday and Friday as sheep were lead to a sacrifice of biblical proportions. 

Talk about hype. There's more hype around the Muslim festival of Eid than around the Super Bowl.

Earlier this week the markets were filled with the implements of sacrifice - charcoal, sharpening stones for knives, barbecue sticks, mini grills, fans for the fire and of course, hay for fattening the sacrifice. Crowds pushed to the edges of the road as flatbed motorcycles shuttled sheep to nearly every home in Rabat followed by kids yelling "Howli! Howli!" (Sheep in Darija, the local Arabic).

The two day festival is based on the multi-faith Abrahamic narrative of God commanding Abraham to take his beloved son, Isaac or Ishmael depending on who you ask, up to a hill and sacrificing him as a testament of faith. At the last possible edge of your seat moment angels intervene and stay Abraham's hand and replace the son with a ram. To commemorate such a moment nearly every Muslim family saves money and purchases their own sheep to sacrifice. 

Above - Hamse and us. Below - Hamse BBQ

My host-family's particular sacrifice became my roommate for two nights. Got to know him quite well as he frequently woke me up to share in his final hours by bleeting loudly into the night in conversation with hundreds of other sheep humbly awaiting the same fate. We fondly referred to him as Hamse. 

On Thursday morning the family gathered as with much pomp and jubilation we brought the poor chap up to the roof and after sprinkling him with salt, a ritual practice not just for flavoring, slit his throat in a swift motion. Blood drained, skinned, lunch. There was something primal about the whole "they killed it and now they are going to eat it" thing. Day one they ate his innards, wrapping liver in fat. Day two was butchering the rest of the carcass and bagging it up for future use. Each meal of course was accompanied by more pastries, salads and alternatives to sheep than one could ask for. A true feast. 

Anyway, sacrifice is over. Back to the grind. I'm really falling in love with this country. This week we're going on an excursion to the south. Great things are in store so stay tuned to read about camels, sand bread and the largest cedar forest in the Mediterranean area. 

TTFN!

The real thing

God favors that spot in particular.

I was sort of hoping that my rushed life of deadlines and meetings would slow down a bit and that I would adapt to lax "Moroccan time." Quite the contrary.

Between Arabic homework, class readings, fascinating lectures from the most interesting people, interviews, attending protests and press conferences and having coffee/tea with the most inspiring, passionate and entertaining people in the Moroccan media scene I am busy. Blogging is not a priority, but I've found the time just now. The life of a journalist does not offer much time for R&R, but it does offer a chance to see the world, meet every kind of person and most of all - live an adventure.


As I learn more and more about the complexities of Moroccan politics, the reality of the not-so-free (an understatement) media landscape in Morocco, the red-lines and taboo topics, and the way everything ties back to a certain royal figure the more I'm drawn into this world. The reality is this country has strong ties to the west and thus maintains a liberal image without truly offering any of the democratic privileges usually associated - especially to the media. It's far too complicated to explain here, but it is something else to be able to practice journalism in this environment, especially as a student.

The way home. 

There's no end to potential stories here. It is truly under reported. There are too few journalists and too little freedom. Publishing real, independent journalism in Arabic and sometimes French will make powerful enemies. There are far too many examples.

But we're publishing in English so it's probably OK. In journalism, we learn best by doing so during our time here some of our work will be published on Reporting Morocco, our student-run publication. Others might end up in mainstream western outlets.

For one of our field trips we took the train to Casablanca to visit Le Desk, a ballsy new media publication in Morocco. Their website is set to go live Monday. This publication is unique in that it's business model, pay-to-read, avoids advertising boycotts imposed on previous publications that the shadowy part of the government did not fancy. One form of that indirect harassment I mentioned.

I just had coffee with a couple other students and Omar Radi, one of the journalists there. Great dude. Crazy, funny and willing to take an hour to just talk with us. The other day I had an interview with Samia Errazzouki, another journalist here who is known for reporting on one of the big red-lines - W. Sahara. Meeting the pioneers of media under a less than friendly regime is inspiring to say the least. I'm kind of rambling here but that's what happens on a blog, right?

Local life is as interesting as ever. Bales of hay and barbecue sticks are being sold everywhere in the market in preparation for the Eid sacrifice festival next week. I'll write more about that later, I'm sure. I'll have a sheep for a roommate for a couple days.

As always, it's an amazing time to be alive. If you're still reading, I'm still writing.

-Simeon

Jiggity jig/Through the labyrinth

Today as I waited for my ice cream from my favorite ice cream place (unwilling/unable to escape my Izzys Ice Cream roots) I saw a police officer judo a cheeky ruffian to the ground. I got two scoops - peach and date. 10 DH = $1 (aprox.)

As I waited for my pizza to be made in the souk (market) I saw a rat crawl out of a sewer directly in front of one of the Medina cats. We both had a good lunch that day. Margarita pizza and rat. 15 DH = $1.5 (aprox.)

My point is that if you sit in any one place in Rabat for more than 5 minutes you'll see some wild shenanigans.

One of the main entrances into the walled Media. Very few cars enter the Medina and residential areas are accessible only by motorbike. 

My host family is wonderful. My dad is a mechanic and my mom is a loving mother. My younger brothers, 5 and 11 and full of energy and curiosity. Even though there's about 5 words of English between us, but a lot can be said without speaking. They're a very hospitable and beautiful family.

Throngs file through the Medina market shopping for everything from shoes to knock-offs of the Apple and Beats by Dre.
Minarets line the blocks representing the strong presence of Islam in Rabat. 

My home is nestled in the heart of the Medina. One wrong turn and you're a supporting character in the movie Maze Runner. At least for visitors. I made that mistake the other night. The walls are high and everything looks the same in the day and like a different city after the shops close at night. Long story short I ended up drinking tea in the back of a shop with two police officers while the owner, a family friend, called my dad. I felt vivid nostalgia back to the many times I got lost at the Minnesota Science Museum. No one to page my parents over the intercom though.  I'm learning to navigate by Minarets.

Life is amazing here. A fantasy-world blend of tradition and multiculturalism clinging to the impending modern lifestyle carried by globalization. For example, even in the most pious homes the TV is ALWAYS on - a member of the family. We're watching Batman Begins for the second night in a row as my home stay dad does the evening prayers.

That's pretty wizard.

-Simeon

Dispatch 2: Is good deal, no?

As-salamu alaykum! Labas? Labas. 

I haven't even been here a week but Rabat has already enveloped me in her mystical yet very tangible blend of modern and traditional cultures revealed in the architecture, language and of course - the food.

A rooster roosts atop a fresh veggie shop. More fruits and veggies than you can imagine color the Souk of the medina. 

Every building is a work of art. From my hotel room where I'm staying for the week I can see far across the rooftops into the adjacent city of Sale. Sale and Rabat are separated by a river, not that different from my beloved Twin Cities back in Minnesota. But that's only geographical. The rich cultures deposited by each passing empire, (Romans, Phoenicians, Arab, etc.) have each left a noticeable footprint in many areas.

This morning a couple friends and I walked through the Souk (market) in the old medina and ended up at the river very near to the Atlantic coast. The locals are very friendly and it didn't take long for an older gentlemen by the name of Hamid to engage in friendly conversation with us and offer a tour of the area. What I expected to be a simple directional orientation turned out to be a journey deep into the history and personality of the city. Hamid explained so much, from showing us the original French consulate, to the first hotel in Rabat, to the pirate's fortress (with canons still in place) in the Kasbah, to the Sultan's old palace, to explaining why older street shops are above ground to avoid flooding before there was a drainage system. And so much more.

Later in the day we set out on our first assignment - bargaining. Given a few rudimentary phrases, we were set into the streets to find a local shop (not difficult) and using Arabic, French or limited English, bargain the price of an item down. Different shop keepers have different attitudes, and I'm not great with numbers yet, but it was a success.

I'm healthy and happy.

Peace,
Simeon