When I studied abroad here nearly three years ago (Ack, I'm getting old.), perhaps one of the most difficult things to adjust to was the lack of outlets for regular exercise. I am certainly not an avid exerciser. My relationship with fitness ebbs and flows, but I find physical activity, particularly jogging, soothing in times of stress. I'd grown accustomed to the plethora of fitness centers and jogging paths in America, and knew that if I ever wanted to go for a job in shorts and a tank top I would hardly garner a second look.
I quickly learned that my favorite form of stress relief would not be easy to undertake in Morocco. Living with a host family that watched me with the same hawk's eye they applied to their actual daughters, it would have been completely unacceptable (hashuma, even) to jog around the streets of Rabat willy-nilly, even if I wore my loosest yoga pants and a baggy shirt. I tried to satiate myself by doing crunches and Yoga in my bedroom, but it just wasn't the same.
When I found out I would be returning to Morocco for 15 months, I realized I needed an exercise game plan. I bought Jillian Michael's "Cardio Kickbox" (You may know her as the pint-sized task master from "The Biggest Loser") and a Pilates DVD on Half.com, and packed some modest exercise clothes just in case I found a good place to workout. The combination of Jillian, Pilates, and a pilfered Yoga DVD (all practiced in my bedroom) kept me sane for awhile (Jillian in particular proved to be a worthy adversary), but after a few months the routines had become rote and my enthusiasm was lacking.
One day, when my legs were itching for a jog and I was feeling particularly bold, I decided to take it to the streets. The mean streets of Fes. I wore yoga pants, a long-sleeved tee-shirt, and sunglasses. I was armed with my iPod, cranked loud enough to avoid most of the street harassment I knew was coming. My house was in the medina, so I walked through the narrow alleys until I emerged near the post office, a building that marks the border between the medina and the Ville Nouvelle.
And then I was off.
I felt like I was playing a game of human frogger as I dodged taxis, city buses, giant tour buses, pedestrians, bicycles, and donkeys in the crowded Batha square. Once I made it out of the congested area, it was easier to enjoy myself. I relaxed into my stride and lost myself in my soundtrack of horrible 90s pop music. I made my way towards the Ville Nouvelle, and then turned onto a dirt path that I realized later was in fact a path used by donkeys, horses, and other livestock to reach the local animal hospital. After awhile, I looped back, dodged traffic at Batha once again, and then made the 3 quick turns that took me to my house.
Tired, sweaty, but filled with endorphins, I assessed my run: It was a long way from the wooded paths and pristine air I was used to in America, but it could have been worse. While the air was far from clean, the street harassment wasn't as bad as I was expecting, although I did feel all eyes on me as I passed cafes and bus stops. Despite the minor inconveniences, It was worth it to keep it up, I decided.
In the following months, I ran a few times a week, and learned that some times of the day are better than others. My two regular routes passed large schools, and so if I attempted to run as class was getting out I found myself caught in a sea of secondary students. People continued to stare, but I attributed it to the complete absense of joggers in Fes, not to any overt hostility towards me. I remained self-conscious, but this mostly mainifested itself in my desire to run really fast. If people were going to stare, I could at least hussle so I wouldn't embaress myself more than I already was.
When I moved to Rabat two months ago, I immediately learned about two wonderful jogging opportunities. One was the beach sidewalk across from my apartment. Largely frequented by male soccer players, there are also families strolling and the occasional jogger. The upside? It's free. The downside? The air is dirty, cars honk, and it's possible to zone out and find yourself in a less than desireable area. The other find was the glorious Hilton garden. A large park filled with Eucalyptis trees, joggers of all shapes and sizes, and frolicing families, it is truly an anomaly in Morocco: A place where outdoor fitness isn't just tolerated, it's encouraged. The air is clean and I rarely get the dreaded "elevator eyes" as I trot around the 2.1 mile loop. The only downside was that it was a little far away from my apartment, so it was a 3 dollar taxi ride each way.
Nevertheless, I ran most of the time at the Hilton garden. My roommate Stephanie and my friend Kate also ran there, making the taxi costs more managable. And when Steph and I moved to an apartment much closer to the garden a few weeks ago, I found myself there nearly every day. I continue to be happily surprised by the garden's varied patrons: Everyone from what I can only assume is some sort of track team, decked out in red and green spandex and flying around the path, to elderly women in jelabas strolling leisurely and chatting with their friends.
Spring has sprung in Rabat. With warmer weather comes a need for a "less is more" approach to workout gear. I learned this the hard way when I nearly passed out doing my regular laps a few weeks ago. (Don't worry, the Moroccan track team was there to help me and offer me water.) The culprit? My baggy black yoga pants. I decided it was time to invest in some decently modest running shorts, so I made a trip to the market, where I purchesed a pair of bright red men's soccer shorts for 5 dollars. Lightweight and comfy, they hang to my knees but can be rolled up to a more American length easily. Even though I don't feel particularly self-conscious when I wear them in the garden, I do feel pressure to run faster because of them. As in, "Oh, if she's silly enough to wear those ridiculous shorts, she must be really fast." I'm not, but I still look pretty rad in my shorts, I have to say.
This weekend, I ran in a road race here in Rabat, my first race in almost 5 years. It was an 8-km (5 miles? I think?) run through the streets of Rabat with 20,000 participants in total. The cool part? It was a women's-only race sponsered largely by the government, and many of the participants were schoolgirls who had never run a race before. Some came from towns 14 hours away. The pre-race crowd was absolutely crazy- All of us packed together, pushing and shoving, waving Moroccan flags, and anticipating the starting gun. If you've ever had a sardine-like experience at a Middle Eastern bank or train station, imagine that and times it by about twenty. It's a small miracle nobody was trampled to death when the gun went off. The run itself was difficult but fun. I stayed with a group of younger girls for most of the race, and, as we approached the end, I was grabbed on either hand by the girls as we sprinted towards the finish line. Our final time? A decently respectable 47 minutes.
I didn't expect to re-discover my love of jogging while I was in Morocco, but it's been a wonderful way to take some time away from my books, Arabic dictionary, and computer and clear my head. I only wish I could be back in Cape Elizabeth for the Beach to Beacon this year! Maybe I'd be able to actually run it instead of eating bagels and cheering people on.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
True Life: I'm a government researcher
It's been almost six weeks since I last wrote, but it feels like much longer. A lot has happened in my life, gentle readers, and I'll try my best to give you a partial update, probably in fragmented and spaced-out editions.
I am now an official Fulbright researcher. My language grant ended at the beginning of March, and so I'm one month into my nine month grant. At the beginning of March, I made my way down to the city of Agadir, a popular beach destination for Moroccans and foreigners alike. But I didn't go to work on my tan; I went to visit a truly remarkable organization, Oum El Banine.
The trip from Rabat to Agadir takes approximately 10 hours. I rode the train from Rabat to its final destination, Marrakesh, then took a bus from Marrakesh to Agadir. Along the way, I saw the famous (and truly bizarre!) goats in trees. They're exactly what they sound like. One in Agadir, I checked into a cheap hotel and made my way into the city's main square. Since it was still the off-season, it was fairly quiet, and I made more than a few Moroccan aquaintances who were puzzled by the presence of a non-Moroccan Arabic speaking in Agadir who had absolutely no desire to surf.
The next morning, I met with Marie, a lovely French-Canadian woman who is married to Hicham, an equally wonderful Moroccan man. They live in Agadir and work closely with Oum El Banine, one of Morocco's few NGOs that work specifically with single (never married) mothers. They had offered to be my tour guides for the day, and so we walked to OEB and conversed in an amalgamation of Arabic (Hisham is fluent, I am conversant), French (Marie and Hisham are fluent, I can understand but not speak), and English (Marie and I are fluent, Hisham can understand but not speak). Our first stop was the creche, the organization's day care center. OEB offers free day care for all the women that they work with, and also provides clothing and medical care until the children are two. The next stop was the administrative offices, where I met with some employees and the organization's founder, a truly inspiring woman. Our final stop was the foyer, an apartment with a capacity of seven where single mothers live in the last months of pregnancy and a few months after they give birth. Usually, these women have been cut off from their families, and the foyer offers them an invaluable safe space. I had a few very intense interviews with the women, thanked Marie and Hisham profusely, and made my way to the bus stop, where I had another 10 hour journey ahead of me.
Despite the grueling travel, I was inspired and energized by my visit with OEB. The organization's founder was generous enough to offer me an internship, and so I hope to move down to Agadir towards the end of the summer to finish up my grant.
This is my first experience doing human subject research, and it's an infinitely tricky field. Developing trust is essential, particularly in my field, where most of the women I hope to speak with have been through extremely trying experiences and face difficult choices in the future. Having an internship will let me work closely with these women, and hopefully they will feel comfortable enough to open up with me.
I've visited two other organizations so far, both located in Casablanca. Beyond these visits, I've spent the past month continuing my Arabic studies and taking advantage of Rabat's wonderful libraries to work on a literature review. The biggest challenge has been budgeting my time: I have no classes, no 9-5, no obligations to speak of. It's wonderful but also daunting. A few days have been spent watching The Office in bed with lots of Coca Light, but I'm mostly proud of my research so far. Getting out of the house is important, even if it's just walking down the street to a coffee shop to read an article. So far, it's been an interesting lesson in time management, which isn't my strongest skill.
Beyond my visit to Agadir, the highlight of my reseach so far has been the annual MACECE symposium, which started last Thursday and lasted until yesterday. All current Fulbrighters presented their research findings at the conference. It was a three day orgy of academia, fueled by coffee and pastries and filled with presentations on women's issues, water management, Islamic jurisprudence, and tourism development, to name just a few. Many of us had only recently completed the six-month CLEA grant, and so our research is still in it's infancy. But the opportunity to receive feedback was wonderful, and I made some great research contacts.
My presentation took place yesterday morning. My roommate had an unfortunately timed bout with food poisoning the night before, and so I spent the better part of five hours bringing her to the hospital and then to Rabat's only 24-hour pharmacy. Of course, when this all began my presentation still wasn't ready (Yay, procrastination!), and so my stress and fatigue compounded and compounded, culminating in me bursting into tears in a taxi cab while Stephanie puked out the door and a handful of Moroccans stood by, watched, and yelled at her that she needed to drink buttermilk. Jealous?
Needless to say, my spirits were lagging the following morning when I applied about a pound of cover-up around my eyes and attempted to attain the perfect level of coffee consumption: Enough to be awake, not enough to be jittery, and timed so I wouldn't have to pee during my presentation, which started at 9:00 am.
I was on a panel with two other researchers, both of whom research women in politics/society as well. I spoke last, and my presentation was pretty much a blur. I'm not the best public speaker in the world (Okay, I'm a flat-out awful public speaker.), but I was happy with my paper and the massive revisions I'd made in the past week.
Then came the moment of truth: The discussant. Each presenter is charged with finding a discussant to comment on his or her paper following the presentation. In my case, I asked my adviser, Dr. Fouzia Rhissassi, one of the most prominent academics in the country and the UNESCO chair on Women's Rights. Yes folks, she is a Big Deal. We met Monday to talk about an early draft of my paper, and she was less than thrilled with my work. I was told, in no unclear terms, that if I didn't make massive revisions she would be unable to offer positive feedback. Point taken, I worked my butt off on the paper throughout the week, but I wasn't particularly confident that she would be pleased with my work. So when she took the microphone, I was nervous. Probably more nervous than I've ever been, ever.
But she had nothing but nice things to say! She said I had developed a fine critical voice and was impressed with my research so far. Readers, this was a highlight of my life so far. Even though I was exhausted and over-caffeinated, I was happy and proud of my work.
Last night, I slept like a baby. I slept for nine glorious hours, and have done nothing today but drink coffee and read. Novels, not research. Tomorrow, I'll be back in the groove, following-up on contacts and visiting libraries and polishing up my paper, but that's tomorrow.
I am now an official Fulbright researcher. My language grant ended at the beginning of March, and so I'm one month into my nine month grant. At the beginning of March, I made my way down to the city of Agadir, a popular beach destination for Moroccans and foreigners alike. But I didn't go to work on my tan; I went to visit a truly remarkable organization, Oum El Banine.
The trip from Rabat to Agadir takes approximately 10 hours. I rode the train from Rabat to its final destination, Marrakesh, then took a bus from Marrakesh to Agadir. Along the way, I saw the famous (and truly bizarre!) goats in trees. They're exactly what they sound like. One in Agadir, I checked into a cheap hotel and made my way into the city's main square. Since it was still the off-season, it was fairly quiet, and I made more than a few Moroccan aquaintances who were puzzled by the presence of a non-Moroccan Arabic speaking in Agadir who had absolutely no desire to surf.
The next morning, I met with Marie, a lovely French-Canadian woman who is married to Hicham, an equally wonderful Moroccan man. They live in Agadir and work closely with Oum El Banine, one of Morocco's few NGOs that work specifically with single (never married) mothers. They had offered to be my tour guides for the day, and so we walked to OEB and conversed in an amalgamation of Arabic (Hisham is fluent, I am conversant), French (Marie and Hisham are fluent, I can understand but not speak), and English (Marie and I are fluent, Hisham can understand but not speak). Our first stop was the creche, the organization's day care center. OEB offers free day care for all the women that they work with, and also provides clothing and medical care until the children are two. The next stop was the administrative offices, where I met with some employees and the organization's founder, a truly inspiring woman. Our final stop was the foyer, an apartment with a capacity of seven where single mothers live in the last months of pregnancy and a few months after they give birth. Usually, these women have been cut off from their families, and the foyer offers them an invaluable safe space. I had a few very intense interviews with the women, thanked Marie and Hisham profusely, and made my way to the bus stop, where I had another 10 hour journey ahead of me.
Despite the grueling travel, I was inspired and energized by my visit with OEB. The organization's founder was generous enough to offer me an internship, and so I hope to move down to Agadir towards the end of the summer to finish up my grant.
This is my first experience doing human subject research, and it's an infinitely tricky field. Developing trust is essential, particularly in my field, where most of the women I hope to speak with have been through extremely trying experiences and face difficult choices in the future. Having an internship will let me work closely with these women, and hopefully they will feel comfortable enough to open up with me.
I've visited two other organizations so far, both located in Casablanca. Beyond these visits, I've spent the past month continuing my Arabic studies and taking advantage of Rabat's wonderful libraries to work on a literature review. The biggest challenge has been budgeting my time: I have no classes, no 9-5, no obligations to speak of. It's wonderful but also daunting. A few days have been spent watching The Office in bed with lots of Coca Light, but I'm mostly proud of my research so far. Getting out of the house is important, even if it's just walking down the street to a coffee shop to read an article. So far, it's been an interesting lesson in time management, which isn't my strongest skill.
Beyond my visit to Agadir, the highlight of my reseach so far has been the annual MACECE symposium, which started last Thursday and lasted until yesterday. All current Fulbrighters presented their research findings at the conference. It was a three day orgy of academia, fueled by coffee and pastries and filled with presentations on women's issues, water management, Islamic jurisprudence, and tourism development, to name just a few. Many of us had only recently completed the six-month CLEA grant, and so our research is still in it's infancy. But the opportunity to receive feedback was wonderful, and I made some great research contacts.
My presentation took place yesterday morning. My roommate had an unfortunately timed bout with food poisoning the night before, and so I spent the better part of five hours bringing her to the hospital and then to Rabat's only 24-hour pharmacy. Of course, when this all began my presentation still wasn't ready (Yay, procrastination!), and so my stress and fatigue compounded and compounded, culminating in me bursting into tears in a taxi cab while Stephanie puked out the door and a handful of Moroccans stood by, watched, and yelled at her that she needed to drink buttermilk. Jealous?
Needless to say, my spirits were lagging the following morning when I applied about a pound of cover-up around my eyes and attempted to attain the perfect level of coffee consumption: Enough to be awake, not enough to be jittery, and timed so I wouldn't have to pee during my presentation, which started at 9:00 am.
I was on a panel with two other researchers, both of whom research women in politics/society as well. I spoke last, and my presentation was pretty much a blur. I'm not the best public speaker in the world (Okay, I'm a flat-out awful public speaker.), but I was happy with my paper and the massive revisions I'd made in the past week.
Then came the moment of truth: The discussant. Each presenter is charged with finding a discussant to comment on his or her paper following the presentation. In my case, I asked my adviser, Dr. Fouzia Rhissassi, one of the most prominent academics in the country and the UNESCO chair on Women's Rights. Yes folks, she is a Big Deal. We met Monday to talk about an early draft of my paper, and she was less than thrilled with my work. I was told, in no unclear terms, that if I didn't make massive revisions she would be unable to offer positive feedback. Point taken, I worked my butt off on the paper throughout the week, but I wasn't particularly confident that she would be pleased with my work. So when she took the microphone, I was nervous. Probably more nervous than I've ever been, ever.
But she had nothing but nice things to say! She said I had developed a fine critical voice and was impressed with my research so far. Readers, this was a highlight of my life so far. Even though I was exhausted and over-caffeinated, I was happy and proud of my work.
Last night, I slept like a baby. I slept for nine glorious hours, and have done nothing today but drink coffee and read. Novels, not research. Tomorrow, I'll be back in the groove, following-up on contacts and visiting libraries and polishing up my paper, but that's tomorrow.
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