The edge
“When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth.” — Kurt Vonnegut
As our time here in Morocco comes to a close, I have allowed myself the space to think about what I have spent the last weeks of my life doing — what you might call “a day-in-the-life” of an ASILA Global Fellow. And it has been a surprisingly challenging task. Understanding that it will be a mostly futile effort, here goes nothing:
“The universe is a big place, perhaps the biggest.” — Kurt Vonnegut
If I have not been previously awakened by the sounds of the 4:30 AM adhan, the well-known Islamic call for mandatory worship, I am most often awakened by the morning light slowly, but surely, filtering into my bedroom. Our apartment rests on the third floor of an otherwise unmarked building, just around the corner from the wide path that leads down to the marina and towards the Kasbah des Oudayas, the 12th century old city of Rabat. Regardless of the nature of my wake-up call, however, I tend to stumble out of bed by 8:00, overhear Shelby snooze her alarm one last time with only the slightest sense of jealousy, and prepare for whatever adventure the day may hold. Our kitchen, just large enough for the two of us to move around in comfortably, is equipped with a propane camp stove (for lack of a better description) and a fridge that keeps things mostly cold. I indulge myself in two scrambled eggs and a cup of very, very mediocre coffee, brush my teeth, and that is more-or-less where the consistency of each day here in Morocco ends.
Most mornings, Shelby and I lock up our apartment by 9:00 AM for the twenty minute walk to MCISE, the Moroccan Center for Innovation and Social Entrepreneurship, quietly tucked away on the second floor of yet another unmarked building. If not from the MCISE, Shelby and I work from the café just parallel our apartment building or board the tram for the brief journey towards Agdal-Ryad and Manal’s home. At such a time, the tram is most often overflowing with bodies, but having perfected the art of keeping our belongings close-by, we somehow manage to safely squeeze in nonetheless. If not heading off to Agdal, Shelby and I find ourselves stuffing our backpacks full of warm-weather clothing and snacks for the drive to Marrakesh, Chefchaouen, Tangier, or wherever else the day may take us. Depending on the nature of the task at hand, we may stay anywhere from one to three days, sleeping anywhere deemed convenient — nestled on the floor of an old friend’s home, sharing a bed in a beautiful, air-conditioned apartment, or cozied up with Manal’s daughters in the back-seat of her sisters car.
And let me tell you, having so many options each day, all before 9:00 AM, somehow makes the universe feel even bigger.
From there, the number of paths we may take continues to increase rather exponentially. On any given day, we may find ourselves working on nearly anything: analyzing, brainstorming, filming, photographing, content creating, document writing, website building, list making, photo editing, memory making. As such, I have become a self-induced coffee addict, self-proclaimed Canva expert, and self-taught HTML coder. Though we have just barely made it to 9:30 AM, for the sake of time (and your sanity, should you chose to read this), I will stop here. I will leave it to you to continue to imagine all of the ways that each day here is different from the rest, as there is surely no limit to the possibilities in this matter.
“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, “It might have been.” — Kurt Vonnegut
Despite facing the insecurity of never truly knowing what each day may hold — and despite having to relinquish a rather large piece of myself that has always been inclined to plan — I am lucky to have been graced with a placement in which every day brings new challenges and new discoveries. Reflecting upon my journey with ASILA, it is undoubtedly difficult not to consider what my experience may have been under different circumstances. What I might have learned from sitting at a desk from 9:00 to 5:00 each week day. What I might have learned from a less flexible mentor or a more structured position. As our journey comes to a close, however, I have tried to focus more deeply on pushing aside such thoughts in favor of those that are more graceful, more gracious, and more intentional. I cannot begin to list all of the things that I have learned from engaging in authentic conversation. From being uncomfortable. From being asked to indulge in empathy, despite immense language barriers. From eating with my hands all of the time. From being a young woman living in a predominately Muslim society. From being a woman amidst some of the strongest women I have ever met. From passion and patience and everything in between.
Whatever experience may have arisen under different circumstances was, surely, both charming and important— but it was not mine. There is nothing to do but confidently wave as it passes by.
“I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see from the center.” — Kurt Vonnegut
That said, I have most certainly been challenged by my time in Morocco as well. I have been pushed to the edge (and occasionally forced to leap a little maybe). In just one aspect of our work with marketing strategies, Shelby chose to rename the vast majority of the products offered through the ASILA website. For each piece of jewelry, we carefully selected verbs in Berber, the language of Morocco’s native people. We spent hours sprawled on our couch one evening, looking through lists and lists of words, finally landing on a series of verbs that are both meaningful to us and seem to represent the hallmarks of our time here in Morocco:
Bddu (to begin), Sawal (to speak), Skar (to create), Tamn (to trust), Tinig (to seek), Tsur (to share), Twar (to be still), and Ktti (to remember).
If there were a verb for being pushed to the edge, just to catch an instant of the sheer miraculousness of all of the things you can’t see from the center, we probably would have chosen that one too. In my personal intention essay prior to embarking upon this journey, I wrote: “I hope that ASILA allows me to stand at the forefront of female entrepreneurship and gender inequality in Morocco. I hope that my experience is personal in the deepest of senses — that it strengthens my sense of self just as much as it may strengthen the organization.” And it has certainly done those things. But it has also given me just the slightest taste of what it feels like to look over the edge and, well, it is quickly becoming more and more difficult to imagine seeing things from the center anymore.
“And so it goes…” — Kurt Vonnegut
