Category: Africa

Thank You, Fear.

Published on by Mattie EmbreyLeave a comment

I wrote my second blog post about my trip from home to Morocco, and how my fear of flying affected it. It’s a little silly to read through now, even though it was only a month ago. I had so much fear and anxiety inside me that I wrote nearly a thousand words exclusively about my flights and feelings relating to them. It was even worse in the month leading up to departure. Every time somebody asked if I was excited, I only ever responded with grief about being on an airplane. I must’ve been a huge bummer, and my list of pre-departure regrets only grows from there.

I’ve already posted about my worry about societal roles and air travel, but that pattern is getting kind of old. If I write this in-depth about every single fear or anxiety I encounter, I’ll have written a very long and emotionally draining novel:

Chapter 1: I’m Scared to Travel Alone

Chapter 2: I Hate Flying

Chapter 3: The Horror of a Long-Distance Relationship

Chapter 4: I Don’t Know Any Languages

Chapter 5: I’m Scared of Being a Woman

Chapter 6: I’m Doomed by My Sense of Direction

Chapter 7: I Don’t Know How Taxis Work

Chapter 8: Unaware of Unspoken Social Rules

Chapter 9: I Really Don’t Like Heights

Chapter 10: Seriously, How Do Taxis Work Here?!

I’m happy to say that, despite all my time wasted on worry, I haven’t let fear hold me back. Every single time, I rose up to the challenge and did what I needed to do. Over the weeks, I kept surprising myself, and my curiosity grew. Why was I so terrified, but also being so uncharacteristically courageous?

There were times where I was just forced to be brave, like when I needed to take a taxi by myself for the first time. I still didn’t understand how the system worked. I could either: 1.) Flag down a petit taxi and attempt explaining where I needed to go to someone who doesn’t speak English; or 2.) Awkwardly wander around the grand taxis with set destinations, hoping someone would direct me to one set for Bassatine (I genuinely don’t know how Moroccans just know which ones go where. There’s no sign or indication anywhere on the street or vehicle itself).

Neither option sounded great, but it was a 15-minute drive to somewhere I needed to be in 15 minutes. I wish I could say that I navigated everything perfectly, but honestly, it was a bit of a hot mess. I waved down a petit taxi and told the driver the name of the neighborhood I was going to but had zero idea how to describe the specific spot. So, I sat next to the woman in the back seat, and frantically searched for a voice memo that I’d been sent as a reference. Once it was located, I handed my phone up to the driver, but he didn’t speak French, which was apparently what the memo was in. He then handed my phone to the lady next to me, who replayed it a few times before finally telling the driver where I was going.

Then we took off, and I was really crossing my fingers that I was going to the right place. I was relieved when we began passing familiar streets, and handed the driver my payment. But, as I was exiting the taxi, I stepped right into a pothole and fell down as the door closed. Embarrassing. At the very least, I got there and even had my own dramatic exit. Although I’m not even close to perfect yet, I’ve become more comfortable with taxis and proud of myself for it.

I’ve taken particular interest in the times where the pressure comes from myself rather than external reasons. For example, my program went on an excursion a few weeks ago to Ifrane National Park, which included an afternoon at Azrou Adventure Park. I’d never done a ropes course or anything similar before, mostly due to my fear of heights. My peers opted for the most difficult course that made my stomach twist just by looking at it. But the idea of trying an easier one, or sitting out entirely, made me feel even worse. I had no idea why– it didn’t feel like the social pressure or fear of being left out. Nonetheless, it was enough motivation for me to put on a harness and go somewhere labeled: “NOT FOR BEGINNERS!”

Don’t get me wrong, I was shaking, sweating, and nauseous whilst watching my friends and waiting my turn. Then, once I joined our accompanying staff member on the first platform, the realization that I couldn’t turn back hit me like a slap in the face. Upon seeing my expression, he asked if I was alright, and I revealed my fright.

“Why are you doing this, then!?”

I shrugged and giggled, both because of the humorous circumstances and because I didn’t know how else to respond. Why did I do this? No matter how– I really had a good time.

I’ll give you another instance. Since my program is short in comparison to others, we have two long weekends in the place of a week-long break. My three roommates and I went to Lisbon, Portugal for this past one (which was SO much fun!!!), but I had zero ideas for the other. As time went on, everyone developed and solidified their own plans, and I was left as one of the only people without a travel group. My mind was constantly occupied by attempts to solve my pickle.

I should ask them if I can join their trip. No, that’s weird. Also, what if they don’t want me there? They likely wouldn’t mind– but still that’s weird. Plane tickets are probably expensive by now, so maybe I’ll just stay home? No. I can’t stay home while everyone else is gone. But I also can’t just latch onto somebody else’s plan. And I can’t go anywhere by myself, no way. So, I guess I could just stay at home and relax? Or wait– maybe I could go somewhere by myself? No. Yes? Well, now I want to. But that’s scary. But since I thought of it, now I have to, don’t I?

Yes, absolutely.

Traveling for four days by myself is still a really scary thought, since I’d never done anything like it before. I actually hadn’t traveled much before coming to Morocco at all. Even when I did, I was just a kid cluelessly shadowing my mom like a lost puppy. But when I imagine myself sitting in my apartment all that time thinking, “I could be somewhere else right now,” that truly sends shivers down my spine. I became plagued by nightmarish visions of myself 10 or 20 years from now, lying awake thinking about that stupid, stupid decision. The potential turmoil of mourning such opportunities and experiences is beyond spooky. This prompted a very enlightening realization: my biggest fear is, in fact, regret.

So, I guess I’ve subconsciously been trying to prevent remorse (as best as anyone can). And, as a result, I now have one plane ticket, one bed at a hostel, and a one-person itinerary for the small beach town of Essaouira, Morocco. After realizing that I could do anything as long as I was more scared about not doing it, committing to everything was surprisingly easy. Anxiety is still rattling around in my brain, and I do still obsess over how I’m getting from the train station to the airport, if eating alone will look weird, and many other obsolete details. But they’re a problem for later.

Of course, fear is a natural reaction that keeps us safe. I’m not going to start ignoring my instincts completely– that would be a very bad idea. You won’t catch me jumping into a tiger enclosure or walking the sketchy part of town at night just for fun. However, these hesitations are backed by survival needs. My terror surrounding taxis, solo travel, and heights, however, are not.

So, scare yourself into fighting your demons. Your future self is watching you from their memory right now– what do you want them to think of you?

Become petrified by regret and horrified of your own judgment. If fear is the one and only thing holding you back from something, you can’t not do it. Trust me, it makes living life a lot more fun.

The Reality of Being a Female Student in Morocco

Published on by Mattie EmbreyLeave a comment

As a disclaimer: in this post, I talk about gender in Moroccan society. I’m a short-term resident who is also a very visibly American woman. My experience will differ greatly from those of locals. What I write is entirely based on personal experience and observation through an American lens. This is not meant for informative or academic purposes. Specific Moroccan history, culture, and socio-political structures are too complex for me to wholly understand through observation alone. Keep in mind, also, that I’ve only been observing from the city I live in. This is a personal reflection, not a factual analysis of my host country.

Some pictures from a weekend getaway to Chefchaouen, also known as the “Blue City.” It’s a little difficult to access from Meknes, but it was well worth all our taxi struggles.

I made the choice to study abroad in Morocco completely on my own. It wasn’t part of any plan either. I simply found a program that seemed interesting and fit my academic needs. I’d been wanting to learn another language, so why not Arabic? It was the obvious choice, simple as that. I didn’t feel the need to share the process with friends and family until after I’d solidified my decision, so that choice was completely untouched by others’ opinions, which ended up being for the best. As it turns out, those opinions were very different from the ones I held. I received various reactions when revealing my plans, most of which expressed some form of concern for my safety or appearance. I had, of course, already considered my role as a woman when applying, but it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind until it was the subject of nearly every single reaction. “You know you can’t dress like that, right?”; “Don’t go anywhere without a man.”; “What’re you going to do about all that metal in your face?”; “Why would you choose somewhere like that?”; “You need to buy an entirely new wardrobe.”; “Do you need to wear a hijab?”; “How are you going to cover your tattoos?”

They all meant well, but now I was anxious and confused.

I was highly aware that these ideas are a little bizarre. I knew that I couldn’t wear crop tops or, and that there were no religious garments necessary. Still, the repeated comments seemed to suggest that I needed to entirely reinvent myself. Advisors and program staffed assured that, with precautions and common sense, I’d be safe. I also met with female ISA Meknes alumni who said the same. Still, facts and personal experiences were drowned in groundless worries and criticisms. I spent my summer obsessing over what I should look like, act like, and wear. I searched online for contemporary Moroccan fashion, but the results only presented various travel blogs and aesthetic Pinterest boards for tourist cities like Casablanca, Marrakech, or Fes. I think my frustration with a lack of answers added more fuel to those irrational fears.

Now, having been here for a month, I wish I’d spent my summer relaxing or studying French and Arabic. That would’ve been way more productive. People here have been friendly, and there’s less scrutiny of my behavior or appearance than I expected. The most judgmental looks I get from locals are when I describe the strict social rules we have in the United States. Acting or looking a certain way might get you some brief looks, but it’s no big deal. Conservative clothing is extremely important for cultural respect, but there’s far more flexibility depending on where you are. You could probably get away with wearing shorts or a tank top in tourist-heavy cities like Marrakech or Chefchaouen (although this is slightly disrespectful), but it’s very rare here in Meknes. Then there’s the subject of catcalling and street harassment. It happens, but for my friends and I, it’s been mostly stares or short remarks rather than anything aggressive or confrontational. Bad things happen, but those situations can be avoided. The need for caution, especially in unfamiliar surroundings, is like the caution needed in any major city back home. Add some intensity points for the language barrier, though.

This thought has me reflecting on other narratives I was fed prior to arrival, and so much of them can be applied to the U.S. as well. Aren’t we, as women, taught from a young age to be cautious? To dress “safely”? Not to walk alone at night? Don’t wear that, and don’t go there. Even if it’s wrong, it’s the norm that shapes our everyday decisions. Safety concerns for women lie everywhere, and neither the U.S. nor Morocco are the exception. Concerns for women vary from place to place, and the way they show themselves depends heavily on historical, cultural, and social context. Morocco has its form of gender disparities, and the United States has its own catalog of issues. So, who’s to say which is inherently better or worse? I think they’re too different to accurately compare. There are precautions that I take here, but none of them limit my experiences or make me feel restricted. That whole obsession with trying to reinvent myself? Total waste of time and money. Seriously. I could’ve invested those in planning a fun weekend trip or something.

I acknowledge that I fell into some prejudiced, Eurocentric views prior to departure. I’m a little ashamed, but I hope this message somehow reaches someone like me, whose genuine excitement got warped by other people’s negative stereotypes. If that other girl was in front of me right now as I’m writing this, I would grab her by the shoulders, shake her back to reality, then tell her to chill out. Then maybe we’d grab coffee or watch a movie or something. She seems cool and I think we’d be friends.

Long story short, if you’re a woman wanting to study abroad in Morocco, do it. While there are always precautions to take, it’s really no big deal, despite what others may tell you. I’ve really grown to adore this country, and I can’t imagine myself studying abroad anywhere else.