At school, I am taking Modern Standard Arabic (MSA). Essentially, this is the formal, written Arabic, used in academia and newspapers. In every region, MSA, or fus-ha as it is called in Arabic, remains the same. However, in each region there is a dialect of spoken Arabic, called dareeja. Moroccan dareeja is the most difficult to understand and the most removed from MSA. So. In my homestay, I am taught dareeja. At school, I learn fus-ha. And when I go shopping, or to restaurants, I am addressed in French. The school, however, is great. There are many more Moroccan students studying English, but the students studying Arabic are an interesting mix. My class has five students. Khang, who is originally from Malaysia; Tove, from Colorado; Fraser, from London; and Jonathon, from Mississippi. We spend four hours a day, Monday through Friday in class. In our free time, we hang out in the ALIF garden, outside the school. Tove lives with four other students in an apartment across the street, which I believe will quickly become my home away from my home away from home. She lives with Cameron, from Connecticut; Austen, from California; Alex, from New Jersey; and Melissa, from Missouri. In the pictures, you can see Cameron adjusting the gas in what we call the “death room”: two people have been found dead in their apartment from carbon monoxide poisoning. So they keep the gas locked up in that room, and the windows open all the time. By the way, I gave Cameron a haircut, and it turned out fairly well. Only a tad bit longer on the right. I went on a school-sponsored tour of the Medina with my friends, which ended up being a fairly exciting event. I inadvertently watched a chicken being killed while walking past a poultry stall. It was a tad bit horrifying. Also horrifying was the camel head hanging on a hook. We went back to the same fabric shop, and tried out some of the scarves. I ended up getting one, but I highly doubt I will choose to wear it this way…although I think Tove and I really pull off those colors. We also saw a 54-bedroom riad, a huge house with a garden, that was for sale for 2 million euros. It was in such disrepair, however, that renovations were going to cost about 6 million euros. Still, considering the cost of housing in LA, maybe we could get together with 20-30 friends….We also ventured into the McDonald's, where Fraser was brave enough to try the McArabia. I think it was essentially a burger in a pita. There may have been some chicken. I find it amusing that the McDonald’s employees here wear shirts that say, “I’m lovin’ it.” You would think they would at least translate it into French. Last weekend, Jonathon, Khang, Fraser and I went to a small town south of Fes. We took a Grand-Taxi, which is essentially an old white Mercedes that will take you from city to city for a fairly cheap price. However, they fill the taxi with six passengers, and then drive like a bat out of hell to your destination. I actually feared for my life as the driver chose to pass three trucks and another car while going uphill around a corner. Not to mention I was crammed into the passenger seat with Khang. We decided to sit in the backseat after that, so as not to see what poor decisions the driver was making regarding our safety. And seriously, we payed 10 dirhams each for the trip – which is about $1.30. So I guess you get what you pay for.

Home Sweet Homestay

My original plan upon arriving in Fes was to stay in the Arabic Language Institute (ALIF) dorms, directly across the street from the school. Unfortunately, they were full. I was pretty disappointed, and wary of committing to a homestay with a Moroccan family. I’m not quite adventurous enough to want to pee in a hole in the floor for 3 months. But I went ahead and set up a homestay through the school. In fact, I went in Monday morning and they told me to be ready to move in by 1 pm. Saida, the mother of my homestay family, met Dad and I at ALIF and we walked to her home. The family lives in the Ville Nouvelle, the same part of town as the school. It’s about a fifteen minute walk. Upon our arrival, we met the two daughters, Fatima (15) and Zeneb(17). The father, Ali, is an artisan who works in mosaics. Saida is an Arabic and Islamic Studies teacher in a primary school. The homestay was a bit difficult to get used to. My family speaks little English, and I speak little French. So communication is a bit like playing charades. Moroccans are well-known for their hospitality. This really presented itself in the enormous amount of food I was expected to consume at every meal. I honestly thought I was going to be hospitalized. I actually considered forcing myself to throw up a few times, because of how uncomfortable it was. And after every meal, I was expected to eat a few pieces of fruit. I have never eaten so many oranges in my life. Moroccan families eat out of the same dish, generally using bread to eat with, rather than utensils. Many meals are tagines, which are a sort of stew with meat and vegetables, named for the cone-shaped dish in which they are cooked. After classes started, I went to a lecture called “Moroccan Survival Tips.” The teacher explained exactly how to eat a meal in Morocco, and it has been a lifesaver. After eating a little bit of food, you sit back and appear to be finished. The mother will inevitably say, “kuli,” which means “eat.” You then acquiesce, and eat a little more. Then sit back. She says “kuli.” You eat a little more. When she says “kuli” again, you sit back, put your hands to your stomach and say “l’hamdulillah.” Which literally means, “praise to God,” but essentially politely signals that you are full. Works like a charm. Praise be to God. Because there was no way I could consume that much food every day for three months. I would have died. The homestay took about a week to get used to, but I’m really enjoying it now. Fatima is learning English, so she and I speak to each other in English and watch Hollywood Insider every night, which I find fairly entertaining. I also end up explaining a lot of things in roundabout ways. For example, she was watching an awful Vin Diesel movie called “Find me Guilty.” It took about twenty minutes to explain what the title meant, and that no one was actually trying to find guilty people. I ended up creating a courtroom in the living room, and explaining juries and verdicts. Oh man….while I am writing this, they just gave me something to drink which I think is the liquid leftover from when they make butter…? That seems to be the explanation I’m getting. It tastes like sour milk. I get bonus points for trying new things today. Anyway, the non-dietary challenges of the homestay include the bathroom. There’s a bidet, which I don’t use. However, sometimes I have to use the second bathroom when the main one is occupied. This is a closet with a glorified hole in the floor. Showering is a whole other issue. While the shower appears to be a western bathtub, the water has to be heated by gas for each shower. In the tub are a stool, a couple of buckets and a bowl. You fill the bucket with hot water, and use the bowl to pour water over yourself. I am used to showering about twice a day…so this has been the biggest change. I don’t want to impose and use a lot of gas by showering every morning, so I generally wash my hair in cold water most mornings, and shower every third day. I think I may start taking secret showers at my friends’ apartment. Don’t tell. All in all, the homestay is fantastic. The view from my room is great, and the food is amazing. And I think it will continually supply hilarious stories to tell…