Tag: Sreya Vaidyanathan

By sreyavaidya

This past year, I have slept on many things in many places. Trains, planes, and cars. Often, we stayed in the shadiest hostels weaved into the dimly lit alleyways of Kasbahs (Islamic citadel) all over Morocco. When I think bank on these unglamorous times with the dusty furniture, lumpy mattresses, and foreboding journeys to get to them, I’m reminded not of the tiredness I felt from lack of sleep, or the ache in every bone in my body. Instead, I remember the unimaginable experiences and sites they have lead me to discover: The sprawling and vibrant Fes Medina, the largest in the world; The blue streets of Chefchouen; The secluded beaches of Tangier where the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean finally meet, but, to name a few.

 

 

 

 

 

...continue reading "18 Hours in the Rif Mountains"

By sreyavaidya

At home, we are often in our own bubbles that tend to shape our identity to a point where we are desensitized to it. At home, little did I realize the diversity of American identity. Whether it is Indian-American, Asian American, or Italian-American we come in a spectrum that often eventually blurs out in the chaos of daily life.

However, in Morocco I’ve been forced to step out of this comfort zone. Never have I been made more aware of my Indian identity than when I encounter a cab driver in Rabat. He looks at my friends and immediately acknowledges “Ah, Amreekia” and then turns to me, with a pending curiosity and asks “But…what are you really”. One gentleman did not even give me the liberty to respond; he immediately questioned “Indian or Pakistani?”

Initially when the frequency with my “true” identity was question, began to annoy me. Why is it that I had to explain myself as an American when my friends did not? Suddenly, there was a barrier between us, which I either nor they had put up. At one point, this bothered even my friends. I remember my roommate responding very loudly before I could even process his question,

“No, she is American”. ...continue reading "Amreekia?"

By sreyavaidya

 

This is the first picture that was taken in Morocco. Pictured, are my roommate Brianna (left) and our Host Mother, Aisha, who we call “Hajja” as a term of endearment and respect. This picture was taken with two vastly different people that I never expected to connect with. When I look at it now, I am surprised how drastically our relationships have grown, and how integral they are to my Moroccan community.

This is Haj and Hajja our host mother and father. When Brianna and I were first nervously introduced to our elderly host parents, we assumed to enter a stern patriarchal Moroccan household. But little did we realize Haj and Hajja are the coolest grandparents ever. Haj loves to take walks around the neighborhood in his UVA baseball hat, shades, and shirt that reads “Road Bike Party”. Hajja likes to give him disapproving looks as he reaches for the sugar cubes at breakfast for his mint tea. Little do we realize that some beautiful nuances of relationships and community never change. ...continue reading "Road Bike Party"

By sreyavaidya

I landed in Surat, a buzzling and expanding city in the state of Gujarat in early July. I arrived with a suitcase full of Purell and a head full of preconceived notions that had me glancing back nervously for pickpockets and stalkers at every turn. The person I see six weeks later is much different, the kind of difference the protagonist in a cheesy coming-of-age movie undergoes.

Before I begin to chronicle my adventures through the streets of Rabat and map the changes it brings in me, it is important to understand my starting point. My starting point for Morocco begins at the end of my time India. ...continue reading "Beginnings"