Now, this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down. And I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I became a student in a city called Rabat.
After spending seven weeks in Morocco it’s hard to come up with the right words to describe it. So much has happened and I have seen and learned and experienced so much how do I begin to codify it? Along with this how can I tell all of my friends, parents, family members, and coworkers about my time here without missing a detail, while at the same time editorializing depending on my audience. My answer? I can’t. Every time I speak of Morocco for the rest of my life little bits will change, especially as I begin to forget some of the smaller details that truly defined my experience here. I have also spent about 14 weeks studying this language and allowed it to mix in with my norm, using salam alaykum and shweya and shukran and nahar mabrok and bzef as if they were my own words, but never again will I be able to use these words with others and not need to explain myself. This is not a sad reflection, just me coming to the realization as I write this that I have changed and have felt certain ways during my time here that are unique to being nineteen in Morocco as a student.
From Tangier to Chefchaouen to Fes to Casablanca to Tetouan to Tangier again to the Desert trip to Essaouira to Marrakech. The constant in all of this? Rabat. No matter where I traveled I always returned to the Arribat Center outside my dorm, which has functioned as my marker of home while I have been here. Home is a fluid term, popping up in the least expected ways, and Rabat was one of them. I never expected to feel this way yet here I am having mixed feelings about going to my real home. Of course I miss home but no one ever prepares you for the way you will miss parts of experience and the people you experienced it with. We all have different majors and different plans for life after graduation, yet the eight of us found ourselves in the same place at the same time. We have grown together thus causing us to grow attached, but we all have thought about how this dynamic will play out at home. This is not a sad reflection, just me coming to the realization as I write this how we have changed and felt together during our time here as WPI students in Morocco.
Now how do I tie this all up? Do I talk about the sunset in the Sahara and the way the stars filled the sky at night? The disgraceful mac and cheese in Casablanca and the meals that followed trying to make up for it? What about the jokes about a hypothetical wedding that did. not. stop. for at least four weeks? Or that one night in Marrakech? I can not possibly fold all of these together into one neat story but these are all my Morocco, and then some. I have developed a love for Morocco that will never fade because of these stories and the people I was lucky enough to live with during these seven weeks. Again, this is not a sad reflection, just me coming to the realization as I write this that this experience is now over, and of course thanking Rebecca Moody one more time for truly shaping how I have seen and been affected by Morocco.
Where the sun sets 