Where do I fit in?

I’ll be honest: I think of myself as superior to the throngs of tourists that constantly crowd the Fes medina. I have a house, a lease, a landlord. I grocery shop. I study Arabic. My decision to live here was well-planned, a product of months of research and writing. My experience (I tell myself) is completely different from those of tourists who come here for a week on a package tour.

The reality of the situation is more complicated.

Because, as I may or may not have made clear before, absolutely nothing is simple in Morocco, and the tourism industry is no exception. And one of the most interesting (and convoluted) facets of tourism in Morocco is the riad phenomenon. In fact, my roommate Roz’s Fulbright project will look at the impact of riad restoration on medina culture.

Riads are restored medina houses, and they are everywhere. It seems that every other Moroccan I meet is converting his house into a one. Restored riads are either rented out as upscale guesthouses or bought by Westerners as a first or second (or third, or fourth) home. The restoration process usually involves replacing or repairing the house’s internal doors and zillij (tile). Many medina houses are stripped of their original decorations, since selling these doors, tile, fountains, etc., is an easy way for families to make some money. Western-style bathrooms and kitchens are usually added to the houses as well. All of these factors combined have created a huge demand for artisans such as tilemakers, blacksmiths, and carpenters (these professions were on the wane before the riad resurgence), as well as for plumbers, electricians, Moroccan contractors, etc., etc. It’s undeniable that housing restoration has created an influx of industry in the medina, and has revived a lot of artisan work as well.

But the long-term effects are less clear. In my mind, the medina will soon reach a saturation point; there are only so many houses, and there are only so many tourists and ex-pats to fill these houses. In addition, what impact does this influx of Westerners have on the medina? Is this centuries-old medina structurally able to handle a rapid increase in Western toilets and showers? And, more complicated still, will Westerners still be drawn to the medina when many of the original Moroccans have left? What’s the point of buying or renting a house in Morocco if you’re not surrounded by Moroccans?

Maybe I’m giving tourists too much credit; the rapidly changing medina may not affect tourism at all. Because riads-as-guesthouses, for all their restored Moroccan glory, are essentially safe havens for Western tourists in the midst of the overwhelming medina. You feel like you’re getting an “authentic” Moroccan experience while experiencing as little of Morocco as possible. It’s hard for me not to condemn riads as a mild form of Orientalism; people see what they want to see of a country without truly opening their eyes to the amazing, complex world around them, filled with flaws but also with incredible beauty. In this way, it seems like riads will continue to thrive well into the future, since their guests (by and large) aren’t seeking out a particular character of the medina but instead are looking for an experience that can be created with or without the actual medina intact.

Westerns who make their home in the medina are also creating an interesting dynamic here. A Fulbrighter from last year (a graduate student in film) bought a house in the medina; she plans to turn it into a film school for Moroccans. She’s developed a symbiotic relationship with the medina, and it’s a really cool thing to see. But I also witness some less than positive attitudes from ex-pats; one homeowner memorably responded, after I asked him if he planned to stay in Morocco indefinitely, “Of course not. But it will be so great to tell my grandchildren that my first house was in Morocco.” I was blown away by the selfishness of this statement, and I think about it a lot as I examine my own place in the Fes medina and in Morocco.

As much as I like to pat myself on the back for avoiding some of the common tourist/ex-pat pitfalls, I’m definitely not above criticism. As a clearly non-Moroccan woman, it’s nice to sometimes go places where I don’t feel like I’m constantly on display, and I find myself frequenting cafes and restaurants geared towards Westerners. I'm renting a house that belonged to a Moroccan family just a few years ago. And, of course, I travel, fueling the tourism industry that I'm so quick to criticize. It’s easy to get bogged down with guilt about my role in the larger changes in the medina.

But I’ve come to realize in the past six weeks that massive amounts of guilt does absolutely nothing- It’s crippling, not constructive. I’m only one person, and I can only take responsibility for so much. I’m reading a really wonderful novel right now: The Map of Love, by Ahdaf Soueif. The story revolves around a British woman’s journey to Egypt in the early 20th century. She reflects in her journal that, “It must be so hard to come to a country so different, a people so different, to take control and insist that everything be done your way. To believe that everything can only be done your way.” (70) I try really hard not to embody this idea, and I find myself succeeding, shuyyah bi shuyyah (little by little). While Marjane and Asima, Moroccan superstores, once held a comforting allure, I now look forward to grocery shopping in the medina, and only head to Asima for the few things I can’t find in the street markets (peanut butter, sliced turkey, skim milk).

I’ll never be Moroccan, and, if I aspired to be, I'd be losing aspects of my identity that I'm proud of, that I've worked hard for. My job isn't to become Moroccan anyway, it's to explore, learn, and represent the United States as best as I can. And, most importantly, I don't want to be selfish with my experience. My roommate, the one who's studying riads, has been tossing around the idea of writing something about sustainable tourism and pitching it to guidebooks. I'd like to do something like that; it seems so silly to have this amazing opportunity and keep it all to myself. But I have no idea what form I want my final product to take. Oh, well. I have plenty of time to figure it out.