The next day is Monday. I had promised Toshiko, I might help her at the Fondation. She has been asked to teach an origami class by herself. Jennifer says she is considering taking the train to Marrakesh with Raquel and Becky. Another train ride, only 4 hours instead of 2 1/2. I am tempted, but realize I just want to stay in Rabat and take it easy.
Back in Rabat we find Toshiko in the lobby of the Splendide. Ikuko, Livingston and Richard are still off on their adventure to the desert. She tells us of a restaurent in the wall of the medina where we go for dinner. They serve a harisa soup, which is much nicer than the one I had at the Perla, Friday night in Fez. We have a nice light meal. Toshiko tells us they have a wonderful home made yogurt and we will decide to go there again for breakfast.
After traveling quite a bit around Morocco to do Origami Art Therapy, Toshiko has spent a quiet weekend in Rabat. Helene took her to a friend's house in the city for dinner and she tells us also that there were more riots. This time, however, the students were protesting about the fate of a 16 year girl who was raped and then forced to marry her rapist. As progressive as Morocco is in many ways, there are still some laws and social mores especially around the status of women, which seem outdated and medeivel to us. Apparently this rape occurred just about the time we flew into the country and then after the decision of her family she killed herself. The old laws allow the family to prosecute the man who rapes their daughter, but then the family's name and reputation are damaged. Presumably because the perception would be that the family did not sufficiently protect or shelter their daughter from this fate. I extrapolate from having read Fatima Mernisi's memoir of growing up in a harem, "Dreams of Trespass" where it was forbidden for grown women to walk about in the streets alone. The only other alternative and apparently the law is for the rapist to marry his victim and legitimize the consummated relationship. Often the brother of the victim might take the rapist's sister as his wife as if to balance out the honor/dishonor between the two families. There is not really a concept of rape in this culture because for a man to take advantage of a woman sexually is not unusual. The end result was that this particular 16 year old took her own life in response. One should note that current king Mohammed VI is the first have presented his wife to the public and is far more progressive than his father. Not that American ideas about women's equality are always so admirable.
So the riot police and the students and others in Rabat have been at it constantly, not only over high unemployment, but over ancient laws that no longer fit with more modern views of life. Apparently this case was picked up by CNN and our experience of protests in Rabat were news at home. No doubt redoubling the perception that Morocco and other Muslim countries are entirely backward. It has been my experience observing that the riots were anticipated and even expected and tolerated. The police never seemed to engage in violent combat with the rioters, but rather played a game of cat and mouse across the central streets of Rabat. But I can't know for sure having such limited French and even less Arabic or dirija, the local dialect.
I find an e-mail from Helene inviting me to a day at the beach with Maria, but it is a day too late and by the time I am up on Monday morning, she has left for the airport in Casablanca and the flight home to NY. Jennifer and Raquel are gone early as well for the long train to Marrakesh - that long black train - the Marrakesh Express. The rest of us Becky, Hilda, Toshiko, and I have breakfast back at the restaurent in the wall of the medina with its lovely little fountain with wooden ducks floating inside and a cage of cockatiels on the wall.
Moroccan breakfast: Moroccan tea - san sucre s'il vous plait, small Moroccan breads and confiture, a talk glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and all for 18 dhiram or $2.50. The rest all have the homemade yogurt or yaourt, which comes in a small clay container covered with foil. It is according to Becky "heaven." A reason to stay in Morocco in itself.
The fatigue of traveling is starting to catch up and I look forward to a day of catching up on my blogging and maybe shopping a little in the medina. We have the afternoon off from the Fondation also, but Toshiko has promised to do one last workshop. Hilda and I promise to help her, but head into the medina for a shop before hand. We take Becky with us and show her all of our favorite souks, the weavers and the tannery Helene has shown me and the places where I first made my best bargain on a djellaba, made friends with the shopkeeper Mohammed and promised to come back. Becky is so happy with the bargain she buys three djellaba and Mohammed dons us both with a free white scarf as a gesture of thanks.
Having practiced in Fez, Becky and I venture to bargain for a few small throw rugs near the Rue de Consul. I will return to Morocco with no less than four rugs. We stop into the leather shop and to a man selling mini baboush on key chains. They are 5 dh and he will inscribe names in English and Arabic on them for free, which he then varnishes to seal them. A perfect present to bring home. I ask for him to write "peace" and Salem alecheim on the back and buy a bagfull. I've gone down my shopping list and have knocked off a few.
It's time to head over to the Fondation, but Becky has not seen the garden in the Oudaia Kasbah. Hilda heads to the Fondation and I agree to show Becky the gardens where we sit again in the tea shop by the sea and watch the water.
We stroll in the garden and compare notes on what might be waiting for us when we get home to our own yards in New York.
There is a museum in the middle of the garden, which contains examples of jewelry from over the centuries.
Back in Rabat we find Toshiko in the lobby of the Splendide. Ikuko, Livingston and Richard are still off on their adventure to the desert. She tells us of a restaurent in the wall of the medina where we go for dinner. They serve a harisa soup, which is much nicer than the one I had at the Perla, Friday night in Fez. We have a nice light meal. Toshiko tells us they have a wonderful home made yogurt and we will decide to go there again for breakfast.
After traveling quite a bit around Morocco to do Origami Art Therapy, Toshiko has spent a quiet weekend in Rabat. Helene took her to a friend's house in the city for dinner and she tells us also that there were more riots. This time, however, the students were protesting about the fate of a 16 year girl who was raped and then forced to marry her rapist. As progressive as Morocco is in many ways, there are still some laws and social mores especially around the status of women, which seem outdated and medeivel to us. Apparently this rape occurred just about the time we flew into the country and then after the decision of her family she killed herself. The old laws allow the family to prosecute the man who rapes their daughter, but then the family's name and reputation are damaged. Presumably because the perception would be that the family did not sufficiently protect or shelter their daughter from this fate. I extrapolate from having read Fatima Mernisi's memoir of growing up in a harem, "Dreams of Trespass" where it was forbidden for grown women to walk about in the streets alone. The only other alternative and apparently the law is for the rapist to marry his victim and legitimize the consummated relationship. Often the brother of the victim might take the rapist's sister as his wife as if to balance out the honor/dishonor between the two families. There is not really a concept of rape in this culture because for a man to take advantage of a woman sexually is not unusual. The end result was that this particular 16 year old took her own life in response. One should note that current king Mohammed VI is the first have presented his wife to the public and is far more progressive than his father. Not that American ideas about women's equality are always so admirable.
So the riot police and the students and others in Rabat have been at it constantly, not only over high unemployment, but over ancient laws that no longer fit with more modern views of life. Apparently this case was picked up by CNN and our experience of protests in Rabat were news at home. No doubt redoubling the perception that Morocco and other Muslim countries are entirely backward. It has been my experience observing that the riots were anticipated and even expected and tolerated. The police never seemed to engage in violent combat with the rioters, but rather played a game of cat and mouse across the central streets of Rabat. But I can't know for sure having such limited French and even less Arabic or dirija, the local dialect.
I find an e-mail from Helene inviting me to a day at the beach with Maria, but it is a day too late and by the time I am up on Monday morning, she has left for the airport in Casablanca and the flight home to NY. Jennifer and Raquel are gone early as well for the long train to Marrakesh - that long black train - the Marrakesh Express. The rest of us Becky, Hilda, Toshiko, and I have breakfast back at the restaurent in the wall of the medina with its lovely little fountain with wooden ducks floating inside and a cage of cockatiels on the wall.
Moroccan breakfast: Moroccan tea - san sucre s'il vous plait, small Moroccan breads and confiture, a talk glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and all for 18 dhiram or $2.50. The rest all have the homemade yogurt or yaourt, which comes in a small clay container covered with foil. It is according to Becky "heaven." A reason to stay in Morocco in itself.
The fatigue of traveling is starting to catch up and I look forward to a day of catching up on my blogging and maybe shopping a little in the medina. We have the afternoon off from the Fondation also, but Toshiko has promised to do one last workshop. Hilda and I promise to help her, but head into the medina for a shop before hand. We take Becky with us and show her all of our favorite souks, the weavers and the tannery Helene has shown me and the places where I first made my best bargain on a djellaba, made friends with the shopkeeper Mohammed and promised to come back. Becky is so happy with the bargain she buys three djellaba and Mohammed dons us both with a free white scarf as a gesture of thanks.
Becky and Mohammed
Oudaia Teashop
View of Sale across the Oud River
Oudaia Garden
Star of Islam
There is a museum in the middle of the garden, which contains examples of jewelry from over the centuries.
Lobby and fountain of museum
Becky finds a crown she likes
Daggers
Bride
Groom
No comments:
Post a Comment