and finally, The Islamic Faith

My time here is wrapping up in the next few days, and while I have spoken much of the indefinable culture, the trades, and the diversity in the Medina and the New City – with my simple, American observation of Morocco, none of those things are of first impression. No, the most prominent and all encompassing element of this nation is that it is through and through Islamic. That dictates how the day is lived, what foods are eaten, how one greets another, the language that is infused into that greeting, the way compliments are given, what days are set aside, how one is dressed, and on and on… You might think that is not unusual for a religion to affect all aspect of one’s life, rather it is the way it should be. Indeed. But what is unusual is that the entire nation operates under what has been laid out in the Koran. In fact, most recently in 1999, King Mohammad VI, worked to ensure that the secular and the religious continue in this heavily interwoven system. From the minute one steps onto Moroccan soil, you are very aware of the totality of its influence.

The five daily prayers form part of the five obligations or “pillars,” of Islam that are incumbent on Muslims, and the reminder to pray (or the Call to Prayer) resounds throughout the nation 5 times each day. From the 300 Mosques in the 300 communities of the Fes Medina alone, to those in the New city, to even small villages you see outside of the city’s limits- this reminder to worship bellows from the tall Minarets. The faithful come to the mosque for the midday prayers that are said every Friday, their holy day, in worship of "Allah" (God). The city will be much quieter during this hour, as businesses shut down and many people make their way to the Mosque. An interesting side note: Sundays here are similar to Sundays in America as recently as 15-20 years ago, with businesses closed or hours shortened. This has nothing to do with the Islamic religion, but rather is a reflection of the French occupation.

While this originally stirred in me an awe of sorts in how the nation reflects together on these pillars of faith -allowing it to affect the productivity of a business (what an American perspective, eh?), unabashedly announcing praise to God from loud speakers – reminding each other of the community of believers that they are… there is much about it that is unsettling. The call itself is haunting (listen below). There is ONE Moroccan couple that I know that does not follow the Islamic faith, and I actually see them cringe at the sounding of the Call to Prayer. I asked them about this and their answer was significant. In so many words, they said to me, “think about how much they are reminded. How many times a day, then how many times a week, then how many times a month, then how many times a year…. And yet the reminder is still needed ….” If I can develop that thought – the reminder is still needed because in there is no life change, no redemption. The reminder is still needed because there is no relationship with God only obligation. Obligation to do, obligation not to do, obligation to “earn favor,” and significant obligation motivated by superstition ... all with no assurance of acceptance by God. No hope.

It of course doesn’t take long to love people, and there are some here I love dearly. The shoe repair man who has looked out for me and tried to teach me a little more Arabic, our favorite Hannut owner, the wonderful woman who comes to the apartment to help my sister with some of what makes life here much harder, the people at the gym, the teenage girl in the apartment below ours, some of those who live on the street that Masiey and I bring bread to and spend time with, this couple I mentioned above. I’ve been here just long enough that I run into people I know around town, and I’ve learned just enough Arabic to greet them properly and exchange pleasantries. It has been a true privilege to live here for the past three months and my heart aches for these that I’ve begun to love - following a god they cannot know, performing tasks that earn them nothing - all with the sincerity of childlike faith. The Bible, the very one that they read (but in light of the Koran), says that their faith is in a lie. Pray for the lost in Morocco.

That’s it from Fes… next posting (despite blog title) from Hungary. (in sha allah! “Lord willing”)

Here is audio of the Call to Prayer. I wasn't going for anything with the visual here, but what i captured is interesting enough to include. We were walking through the markets of Feshaded:

the New City

Giving a good picture of life in the Medina and the rich history that has preceded its current, negligibly varied existence, was a much easier task than now bringing you outside its surrounding walls in attempts to spotlight the “new city”. In part because it has been difficult for me to draw parallels for myself of where I have been submersed.

City life is city life to some real extent. We can and do walk everywhere we have to go, unless it’s too far with the kids. In that case we take a Petite Taxi. They are everywhere, but hard to find one going in the direction you hope to travel. Plus they can only take 3 people at a time (including kids). There are no seat belts – just hold on – and make sure you do too, cause it is a crazy ride! The sidewalks look like they might have been nice at one time (and some still are), but “construction” (guys digging it up with hand shovels, sectioning areas off from pedestrians and traffic with whatever they can find… their coats, a spare shovel, etc.) seems to have compromised much of it. There are sections not paved, demolished lots, empty store fronts, trash piles, sewage running in streets, etc….. but there are also some very Western/modern stores. An appliance store sits up the road from us, and the somewhat trustworthy “Marrakesh” restaurant. Then there is the fancy, Hotel Moona – which is right across the street from a friend of ours who has an impressively successful business repairing shoes from within his makeshift cardboard box store front. That sits right outside of a Hannut (711ish kind of store) that we frequent for the day’s bread and other various supplies (soft drinks and water are sold there, nuts & seeds in large burlap sacks that you can buy by the kilo, shampoo, crackers, diapers, that kind of thing). And the café’s!!! There is literally a café, maybe two, on every block! Indoor and outdoor seating all year long, mostly frequented by men before and after work as they sit, smoke, and make women walking by feel very uncomfortable.

There are banks and Western clothing stores, cyber “café’s” (a room with a bunch of computers & online access), and restaurants – but to buy fresh food, anything that resembles a supermarket is a taxi ride away. The local marketplace is where we walk to find produce, meat, fish and cheese. This terribly unsanitary "Rice’s market" of sorts – sits inside cement walls with a semi-open roof. It smells of fish and raw poultry, and as you make your way through the wet cement isles, your eyes dodge from hanging sheep heads, fish and beef, to piles of fruits and vegetables.

What I observe of the people provides no help in defining the culture of this New City. Many remain covered (both men & women) in djellabas – from the oldest generation all the way down to, I’d say 20’s and 30’s. Many women, even if not fully covered, still cover their heads with scarves and remain modestly dressed. But then there are many, who you wouldn’t look twice at if they were walking down the streets of Philadelphia – in heals, tight jeans, shorter shirts and jackets. The younger generation of men… well, if I mentioned the 80’s band, “Menudo” – does that help at all?

This dichotomy of cultures, all less than a mile from the Medina, is a piece of what makes life here difficult to wrap your mind around and identify. They are a culture in flux as the Western influence has moved in so fast they are not quite sure who they are right now. There is so much more to say, But I hope this gives you a picture of where I am and where those who work here are wrestling to be most effective. I do have to say that I have been joyfully “Welcom[ed] to Morocco!” on countless occasions, for despite generational difference, the kindness and humility of this people has been passed down without compromise!

It has been difficult to take pictures (taking pictures of people is a “no, no”) without being disrespectful and standing out more than I already do – but there are a few on available on facebook. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=91779&id=756177649&l=04071

Trades of the Old City

As mentioned above, the tannery is quite impressive, yet that is far from the only “industry” as it were, that makes the people of Old City, Fes stand out as those of great skill and craftsmanship. We stumbled upon a building that housed what seemed to be thousands of handmade floor and wall coverings. After being given the privilege of watching the craft in progress (three or four women on a bench nestled against a standing loom of sorts. They worked with the confidence (and speed!) of 20 plus years experience as, without pattern, they pulled, wove & tied each and every strand of the large area rug), we were then treated to an unexpected show. An explanation & history lesson came as each kind of rug was retrieved from a side room and rolled out for our approval ...and several types of each rug … and ones that matched the colors of my house (cause they asked me what those were… “just supposing I was to purchase one.”) At the end of our time they even wrote a number down on a piece of paper for our consideration …”just supposing” of course!

Another amazing art we admired can be appreciated only in part by those of us who lack the ability to successfully secure a loose button to a shirt. Embroidery is found here in great abundance, from cloth napkins and table cloths – to wall hangings. Their simple, but colorfully designs decorate their linen canvas, but hold a definite uniqueness. The embroidered items are reversible! The stitch is performed in such a way as to create the same beautiful pattern on the top as on the bottom. We learned this technique was practiced for many years, and was handed down to younger women who would take the time to study from an experienced mentor. Sadly, we have learned this is a dying art, as those who would give the needed time to learn the craft are fewer and fewer.

There are beautiful creations that I don’t know enough to tell you about – like the ornate brass plates & marble carved stone that are made before your eyes; the camel silk fabric, most often reserved for scarves and other clothing items that they weave on a two peddle loom; and the intricate, multifaceted designs painted on handmade pottery. But there is one final profession I like to share, and that is of the Baker...

Again, there are 300 different communities within the Medina, each has its own Baker. We turned the corner and were warned to duck down as we tucked into a low square door. It was a dark room with a heavenly smell. The walls were lined with fresh bread. An extreme heat emanated from a pit in the floor that opened to a long hole in the wall. Inside the pit sat a man picking up lumps of dough dropped off by those living in the community. He slipped them onto a flat paddle on the end of a long pole and slid the dough deep into the stone oven behind him. While there was bread for sale, these bakeries were also frequented daily for one’s homemade dough to be baked as part of typical life in the Medina.

There are several picture of what is described here on facebook, Enjoy them!