By ahblackwell
Completing primary research and writing a thirty-page paper for an independent study would be difficult in any location. However, Morocco’s disorganization presents an extra challenge that I did not expect. Our classes ended on April 5th, and on April 14th we moved out of our homestays and I moved into a flat in the old Medina with five of my closest friends in the program. Our last three weeks in Morocco will be devoted to our independent studies. The goal of my independent study is to observe the social attitudes and norms that affect the sexual health of Moroccan women, which is below average compared to other middle-income countries, and to find the origins of these attitudes.
My strategy to meet with all of my interviewees and contacts in the first week of ISP time did not go as planned. The first major difficulty was that Moroccans do not use e-mail in the same context as Americans. My academic advisor urged me to either call my contacts directly or to just show up at their offices and ask to meet with them. A product of my generation, the ease of connecting through email has caused me to get extremely anxious when calling someone I do not know on the phone. The added fear of whether or not the person on the other end will speak English only exacerbates my anxiety. In addition, formal addresses might exist in Morocco, but they certainly are not used widely. Google Maps and GPS are rendered useless, and I have been left with nothing but the directions of people who offer to help, the will of taxi drivers, and my own intuition. However, despite these setbacks, I have still been able to meet with several incredible people, including a board member of OPALS, an NGO that works with HIV/AIDS patients and prevention, the director of Rabita Mohammadia, the League of Islamic Scholars in Morocco, and a representative of the Moroccan National Council for Human Rights.
The kindness of Moroccans has proved to be the single most useful tool when trying to find a particular address, and it will never cease to amaze me. Upon walking into a random government building with the hope of being pointed in the right direction of the National Council of Human Rights, last week, I was greeted warmly and passed from security guard to secretary to manager, all of which who were eager to help me. The director of the office (I’m still not entirely sure where I was at that point) was an incredibly friendly woman who sat me down, brought me water, and proceeded to call the National Council to let them know I was coming. She then walked me to the correct building, gave me her phone number - which I am to call if I ever need anything - and kissed me hard on both cheeks before saying goodbye.
On Thursday, a very committed taxi driver got me to the right address, the OPALS office, in the most inconspicuous part of Rabat possible and even waited outside until he made sure I was safely inside. Once there, I interviewed Boutaina, a women who works for the organization. Despite her limited knowledge of English, we discussed my project in a mixture of English, French, and Arabic and had a very informative conversation. Listening to my recording of the conversation, later on, I could not help but laugh at the casualness of the atmosphere. The buzz of a lawnmower outside of the window, which was left open despite the noise, and the chatter and interjections of the other members of the office make my interview sound as though I held it in a public park or a crowded cafe instead of in a private office. At one point in the middle of the interview, two other ladies working in the office brought over tea and proceeded to stand over us with anxious smiles on their faces. “They want to learn to speak English, but we don’t have time for that now,” Boutaina joked. After a quick word mumbled other her breath, the women backed away, still smiling. After the interview I thanked all of the women and they said goodbye with kisses and more smiles. It’s fascinating to me that after only a short thirty-minute visit, women who I have never met before can somehow feel like great aunts just by bringing me tea and pulling me into their large soft arms.
The completion of my independent study will take a lot of effort and confidence and speaking in languages that I am not comfortable with. Three weeks is no where near enough time to conduct multiple interviews and then analyze them and write a thirty-plus page paper. But I will still try my best, even if that means embarrassing myself with my Arabic and acting out locations with all of the taxi drivers in Rabat.