Adventures in Morocco, Pt. III
I…
I don’t even know where to begin.
Here I sit, in the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris after having just spent the last 30 days in Morocco. I’m tired and greasy already, despite the fact that I still have three flights ahead of me, and desperately trying to think of a way to write about such a once in a lifetime experience.
At this point, I don’t think it’s really hit me that I’m actually going home. I’m excited of course but with all the traveling we’ve been doing the past few weeks, this doesn’t feel any different. I’m not despairing over my departure from the ASILA team yet because it doesn’t feel like I’ve truly left them either; I somehow missed a transition while, at the same time, being stuck in one.
48 hours of travel. All the time in the world to think, to reflect, and I have absolutely no idea what to say.
Do I focus on the work we accomplished? Or the colossal amount that we did not?
Do I think of all the ways I was frustrated by my boss? Or should I think instead about the times when I was grateful for her instead?
I suppose one cannot have one without the other. I have Prof. Stephen Carroll to thank for teaching me about the power of the inverse but tackling the whole of my experience seems daunting to me now. I’d like to think it’s due to the lack of sleep, but I can never be sure of that. The worst thing I could do after all this time would be to reduce my experience to “overwhelming” as a result of sleep-induced apathy or mental fatigue or whatever else I could use to justify a lack of reflection.
So.
How would I describe my Moroccan summer?
Absolutely wild.
I wandered the rust-colored city and chased the sun through the cerulean maze of another. I roamed markets of old, jostled by the fervor of a thousand feet I will never know, and was bathed by the intimate hands of a stranger. I saw mountains named for Titans, danced to the timeless rhythm of clapping hands, and slept under the endless sky of the Sahara.
And I met 10 extraordinary women who reaffirmed the reason I became a Global Fellow in the first place.
Doha, Assiya, Rquia, Fouzia, Naima, Saida, Malika, Hafida, Atika, and Rashida.
Though I will probably never fully know their stories (as they were told in Arabic and the little knowledge I do have comes from Manal’s off-hand translation), I am humbled to have shared their space. These women are some of the most motivated and hardworking people I have ever met. Some of them never finished school, some of them lost everything, and all of them created a successful cooperative of women out of next to nothing.
I didn’t need to understand Arabic to feel the passion with which these women spoke about their work and I certainly didn’t need it to translate their tears of sorrow and joy.
I wish I could thank them for everything, more than just repeating “shukraan” over and over again. Somehow thanking someone for passing the water just isn’t the same as thanking them for sharing their life story on camera.
For all of the challenges that ASILA faces, it is an enterprise of great promise; this business is doing something necessary and good for this world. So called for the Arabic word meaning “authentic,” this company couldn’t be more aptly named, and I am proud of the way my work contributed to this brand’s legacy.
To the women, the partners, of ASILA:
You are remarkable, a testament to what is possible when one refuses to accept anything but a life of their own creation. The work you have done, both your handicraft itself and the network of female artisans you built from those who needed it most, is so far beyond anything I could have ever imagined. You’ve made an empire out of a dirt floor and a dream, dragging other women out of the rubble of poverty with you. You faced untold difficulty and laughed, knowing your strength far surpassed that of the obstacles that dared to stand in your way. I am inspired by you. To say thank you would be an understatement. You offer me tea and bread without hesitation and smile at every turn. If I could ever learn to bear the burdens you carry with such easy grace, I will be a successful woman indeed. I am grateful for sharing your presence, basking in the radiance of your tireless energy, and honored to have been the one to write your story. When I grow up, I want to be like you.
