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.
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.
DU Abroad 