To talk simply on what has caught my eye since arriving in Morocco would require far too much time and space on the page to be remotely useful to anyone interested in the larger theme distinctions that permeate life in Fez. As such, I will refrain from examining all the little gems that are so bountiful and easy to point out. Those are for everyone to discover on their own. Furthermore, I am in no position to comment on the most significant of them, as the time I have been has only allotted for my discovery of what I’m sure is a practically negligible percentage. Instead, I will try to articulate the experience I have had in being witness to the dramatic yet almost subliminal distinction that exists in the overall interaction of society, one that manifests itself in a variety of ways and one which I have come closest to describing as a sort of beehive.

The first manner in which I found this beehive-esque society to manifest itself was in traffic, both automotive and pedestrian. The consistent disregard for rules and distinctions adhered to in a far more significant manner in the United States caught me off guard upon my arrival, despite having read about it previously. Something I said to a friend while walking across the street was that the cars and their drivers act as if under the delusion that they are pedestrians and not the drivers of very dangerous vehicles. However, such a system appears to be working. For although such a dynamic between cars and pedestrians seems inherently more dangerous than that which is found somewhere like the United States, a higher degree of engagement comes along with it. For example, in the time I have spent here I have not seen a single pedestrian or driver on his or her cell phone. Now, while I’m not saying that this system is by any means one that should replace ours, for the apparent cavalierness with which pedestrians conduct themselves, which in fact is an innate comfort in this style of life, is not one that Americans could adopt easily. However, it might go to show that having a bit more chaos in our lives, while inherently more dangerous, may force us to be more engaged and aware when conducting ourselves, as chaos always does.

John Argentino

As Fez was my first exposure to any form of Moroccan city, it was certainly a lot to take in. A culture and way of living very different from any I had experienced while in the States, Fez was an intimidating place, especially in the first week. It’s population was largely a poor one, one that felt looked down upon by most Americans and thus returned the gesture. As such, it took a while for me to feel welcome in the place I called home yet felt so unwelcome. However, such a situation was not one I planned on remaining in. So, I made a very conscious effort to interact with as many people as I could, forming positive relationships by demonstrating how much I value their city and way of life. This effort culminated one night while outside Batha in front of the taxi station. What my friends and I witnessed appeared to be a congregation of every kid in the neighborhood under eight years old, playing in the piazza. Within a half and hour, we joined in the games they were playing, and eventually became the fascination and source of delight of every kid there. It was in that moment that the harsh city that had publicly seemed so unwelcoming appeared to officially welcome us into the community, with both children and their parents feeling completely safe and open to us. In the days that followed, I had the beautiful experience of feeling completely at home in a place that had been a strange, impoverished, and subliminally hostile environment only three weeks before. Just as I would run into acquaintances and friends around town, so too did I run into these kids and their parents in and around the alleys and streets of the Madina. Such an experience was absolutely worth the time and effort necessary to get to that point, and is not an experience I feel I will have in Rabat.

A much more conducive city in terms of the lifestyle Westerners are used to, Rabat is without doubt a more feasible option in terms of assimilation. With it’s much more developed new city, tram system and greater fluency in Western culture, Rabat would without doubt have been an easier start to my time in Morocco. However, an easier experience is neither something I wish I had or I think I should have. For while Rabat is without doubt a more accessible city, it does not have the same feeling of community, extremes in all aspects of life, and beautiful chaos I felt while in Fez. That being said, I have only spent a single week here, and I am sure that this city will open just as Fez did. My only fear is that it will be both easier and less rewarding, for while it is nice to not have to fight to feel at home, it is also not nearly as satisfying an accomplishment.

John Argentino

When thinking about the ways in which a model citizen’s character manifests itself, especially during my time in Morocco, I instantly think back to the time I was traversing the span of the Madina, trying to make it back home as the Sun was getting closer to setting. Along my journey from the heart of the Madina to the edge in which I lived, I soon was separated from the group I was with and travelling alone, unsure of how to elicit help in a city that I had seen on multiple occasions to contain those ready to take advantage of the foreigners’ learning curve. As such, I attempted to avoid asking someone to escort me, but rather point me in the right direction. Despite asking this question to a multitude of people on my way back to Batha, I only received two responses: the first was an expressed effort to escort me for an absurdly steep price, hoping the novelty of Morocco’s relatively weak currency would compel me to believe that the price was fair. Such an effort, one that is not nearly proportional to the favor being asked, was not a solely negative experience for me. It also pointed out the simple nobility shown by simply pointing someone in the right direction, giving a few instructions and wishing them on their way. Such a small act is not an enormous demonstration of good citizenship, but it is all that is necessary. Citizenship is not about one person going completely out of their way to walk a helpless wanderer through the city, but rather send them on to the next person who will continue the same simple act of pointing. Such an act held no significance to me before I came to Fez, and saw that such an act that I have taken for granted for is not omnipresent, and instead can be dismissed in favor for acts that serve an individual’s desires to a greater extent. And yes, while such an act and it’s significance may very well be underwhelming, it does teach that engaged citizenship can be very simply and elegantly embodied in the saying “it takes a village.” However, this quote is misleading, for while it does take a village, that does not mean it takes everything from every member of the village. If the village as a whole is conscious and generous enough, then the guiding of a “blind man” to his home requires nothing less than simple courtesy and a small degree of generosity from each person, knowing that the little effort they put in, though seemingly meaningless, will get a man home when combined with the equally small efforts of those in his or her community.

-John Argentino

                Before delving into the meat of Abdellah Hammoudi’s Master and Disciple, it is imperative that we first examine the characteristics the book and its author have. Hammoudi’s Master and Disciple is an examination into the development of the authoritarian political system and the cultural sircumstance surrounding and causing it. As such the story is written from a third person narrator perspective, likely in a conscious effort to embolden the legitimacy of the books ethos, or credibility, while taking away from -the book’s pathos, or emotional impact, which would in this case would be counter-productive to the author’s objective: to provide an objective historical analysis of a time during most of which he was not alive. This can be expected from such a scholar as Hammoudi, whose purpose is not to convince but rather to inform.

                As this is a dense account of a very complex and intricate aspect of Moroccan political history, it was imperative that Hammoudi take great lengths to make sure all aspects of Morocco’s political system, often foreign to western readers, were clearly explained. As a result, that is exactly what Hammoudi did. Throughout the book, all concepts were introduced with not only a definition, but also a less literal but more comphrehensive translation of many Arabic terms that have no equivalent in English, or French in which the book was originally written. One example of such an explanation can be found on page 61, in which he describes the social classes that exist, one of which was the the descendants of saints (mrabtin). Such a social construct is more complex than apparent at first glance, and so Hammoudi eplains, ” The last category was complex; in practice its members could be classified either on top of the ladder, right below the chorfa, or lower than the masses of ordinary men and women, depending on the the authority of the charisma they inherited .” Hammoudi then goes on to articulate how dependent this status was on others. Such an ambiguous form of social status is difficult to understand for an outsider, so it was imperative that Hammoudi take the time to articulate the nuances of such a social construct. This was something Hammoudi did without fail throughout the book, almost to a fault. 

                When it came to articulating his argument, Hammoudi performed without fail. There was not a single assertion that was simply stated; in fact, the amount of detail provided to support a particular statement was often overdone, and might have even distracted from the more significant meaning.  Furthermore, there is a huge topic which Hammoudi leaves unaddressed. While Hammoudi does address in great detail the cultural factors that are to blame for the sustenance of an authoritarian government despite its interruption by French colonization, he fails to explain why Western nations were able to move away from authoritarian governments claiming divine right towards more democratic forms of government while Morocco was not. What was the fundamental difference between the two cultures that permitted France and the rest of Europe to change their form of rule, and might be hindering the nations of the Arab world. It’s all well and good that Hammoudi points to the nature of Moroccan culture and supports its identity as a perpetuating agent of authoritarian rule, but such a claim requires an alternative, an alternative that Hammoudi fails to provide. While it would be nice to support this take with a passage from the text, it is difficult to support the absence of a passage from the text with a passage from the text. Now, despite these drawbacks, it would not be possible to assert that what Hammoudi did in this text is not significant; while it is only a piece of the puzzle, it is now a piece that can be understand with far greater confidence than could previously.

                While it is difficult to challenge the credibility of the author’s information as a result of there being such a vast amount of it, it is much more feasible to support the credibility of the author due to the extensive use and citing of outside sources in his writing, as well as the fact that Professor Hammoudi is a highly regarded scholar of the mechanisms of Moroccan politics. It’s very selection by our professor further lends to its credibility, as does its relevance in discussions I have had with other Moroccan scholars of equally high regard.

                The book tells the story of how Morocco’s authoritarian style of government came to exist and has been sustained throughout a very dynamic and tumultuous history whose most significant “wrench in the gears” was a long period of French colonization and regime change. However, the story is told both from the perspective of the higher workings of the political and upper class of Morocco, as well as how those workings were manifestations of much more fundamental cultural characteristics that lended to Morocco’s current political atmosphere. One such fundamental characteristic is articulated in the book’s title, and that characteristic is the relationship between “Master and Disciple” in the form of Islam that has now been adopted by Morocco, Sufism. Despite being a religion in which the faults of humanity are to be found and conquered within the self, Sufism also asserts that such a journey of self-purification requires the wisdom and guidance of a shaykh, or spiritual guide. This ­shaykh is an extremely enlightened and wise individual, and as such commands complete respect and obedience from he who seeks guidance. This relationship, one that is fundamental to Islam in Morocco, is one that permeates Moroccan society, and is also one that encourages the subjugation of individuals to those deemed more educated, and more enlightened. To go against such a relationship is to go against Islam, and so having a king who is the commander of the faithful leads to a system of government with cannot be questioned without questioning Islam—the very backbone of Morocco’s value system and culture—in the process. This is one the more significant emergent properties—known in the realm of biology as a property of a system that arises from a unifying characteristic that exists in the system’s many components—of Morocco’s political system that Hammoudi comments on, but is only one of many. Another more tangible and auxiliary emergent property of Morocco’s government is the relationship between the king and the nobility, one whose dynamic is connected to the Moroccan custom of gift-giving and is also not totally dissimilar to that of France during the reign of Louis XIV. Strange that these two countries had/have such similar government dynamics and the one that overcame their government came to colonize and overcome the other. Now while this is only one of the many connections Hammoudi draws, most follow this theme of emergent properties. As a result, it is my belief that Hammoudi successfully accomplishes the goal he set out with, which was to illustrate how entrenched the dynamics of Morocco’s political system are in its culture, and that is why it was able to be sustained despite the significant interruption made by French colonization.

               Despite the few drawbacks to Hammoudi’s intensely focused style of writing, he fully  accomplishes what he set out to, which was to show how embedded the roots of Moroccan authoritarianism are in the fundamental relationships that permeate Moroccan culture. And if it was not possible for decades of French colonialization to disrupt the tendency of Moroccan government to default to authoritarianism, what could?

To talk simply on what has caught my eye since arriving in Morocco would require far too much time and space on the page to be remotely useful to anyone interested in the distinctions of larger scope that permeate life in Fez. As such, I will refrain from examining all the little gems that are so bountiful and easy to point out. Those are for the curious explorer to discover on his or her own. Furthermore, I am in no position to comment on the most significant of them, as the time I have been here in Fez has only allotted for my discovery of what I’m sure is a practically negligible percentage. Instead, I will try to articulate the experience I have had in being witness to the dramatic yet almost subliminal distinction that exists in the overall interaction of society, one that manifests itself in a variety of ways and one which I have come closest to describing as a sort of beehive.

The first manner in which I found this beehive-esque society to manifest itself was in traffic, both automotive and pedestrian. What first caught my eye was the manner in which pedestrians disregarded the boundry between sidewalk and road completely, and walked through moving traffic as if the cars were simply other pedestrians. Similarly, the cars moved in between lanes and and pedestrians as if they themselves were simply strolling through the street. The consistent disregard for conventional rules and distinctions adhered to in a far more significant manner in the United States caught me off guard upon my arrival, despite having read about it previously. Something I said to a friend while walking across the street was that the cars and their drivers act as if under the delusion that they are pedestrians and not the drivers of very dangerous vehicles. However, as such a paradigm is both understood by and embedded in everyone else, the result is a remarkably effective system of traffic, one that appears to be completely natural to citizens, which is why they appear to be at complete ease in between lanes of cars moving at no slow place. The only native I have seen that expressed visible discomfort was a girl who could not have been any older than five years of age, staying close to her mother while passing one of the many chaotic circle intersections that are scattered throughout the city. It is within these circles that the beehive truly comes to life, a whirlpool of activity that requires both complete attention and caution as well as daring from non-natives in order to navigate it. The functioning of such a system comes from the universal understanding that all participants are constantly both self-aware and aware of their surroundings, an understanding that cannot be safely assumed to exist in traffic “philosophies” like that of the United States. Strangely enough, though it has only been a week, I have found myself becoming more comfortable navigating this hub of jaywalkers and cautiously aggressive drivers that further add to the buzz that permeates Fez.

Now, in the eyes of an outsider (including myself upon first witnessing this phenomena), such a seemingly unorganized and chaotic system must endanger its participants far more than any other more regulated system. However, as of yet, I have not witnessed a single instance in which a car or pedestrian was in an accident. As such, I must challenge the notion that such a system is an absolute threat to the safety of everyday people trying to navigate the streets of Fez. After all, as is most likely the result of the heightened awareness required to navigate such an environment, I have yet to see a single pedestrian–and more importantly, a single driver–on their cell phone while navigating the street, or being otherwise distracted. Such is an almost omnipresent occurrence in (New York in my personal experience, and) the United States. Now, I am not making any assertions that one system is better or safer than the other, but the apparent functionality and safety of such a system can teach us that maybe we need a little more chaos in our lives, if for no other reason than to keep us on our toes.

A Look at Suzanna Clarke’s A House in Fez

            In Suzanna Clarke’s autobiographical book A House in Fez, Clarke makes the inspired (and yes, impulsive) decision to purchase a riad in Fez’s Madina along with her husband and pursue a lifestyle totally different than the one she had while living in Australia. Such an adventure is one few would consider let alone actually go on, and from that adventure came Clarke’s A House in Fez. From what I gleaned from the book, the Madina of Fez is a vibrant, chaotic center of culture and economy that has existed for hundreds if not thousands of years. It seems like a place that is both unforgiving and nondiscriminatory in how it requires constant wits and attention from those that exist within it. Such a way of life becomes second nature for those who have lived there, and is very foreign seeming to those who have not. For example, despite Clarke’s clear desire to live as the Moroccan’s live, she “couldn’t bring (herself) to buy chickens, though—they were a bit too fresh. Looking a squawking hen in the eye while it was being weighed and then having its neck wrung at (her) behest was beyond (her)” (Clarke, 68). However, if given the necessary time to assimilate and develop the muscle memory to not only avoid the many ways in which one can be taken advantage of in the Madina, but fully allow yourself to take in all the splendor the Madina has to offer. Such an environment is where the protagonist of A House in Fez finds herself after falling in love with all the chaotic splendor of the Madina and deciding to buy and restore a house there. However, despite her and her husband’s initial optimism, they encounter many issues dealing the drastically different paradigm and how that mindset manifests itself in the bureaucracy and every day business practices of the Madina. Over time, through improving her confidence, linguistic abilities and cultural fluency, Suzanna was able to create a living area that existed in a balanced state between the modern accommodations she was used to before moving to the Madina and the ancient way of life that she and her husband fell in love with. Furthermore, she was able to become a self-sufficient, confident, and capable member of society. Such is demonstrated during an exchange Clarke has with her carpenter, Hamza. After tacking on surcharge after surcharge to the Clarkes’ bill, Hamza demanded an additional 20% commission while walking away. Due to having the strength and confidence necessary to stand up to such a breach of trust, Clarke yells out, “I am not paying you any more money. You decide–either give us our remaining money back or do the three windows  Such a display of growth is uplifting for her audience, who likely are composed for the most part of people interested in traveling to Morocco and also getting the most out of their visit. It is from her point of view that the story is told, putting the city in a perspective that is easy to relate to for other foreigners looking to break into the city and truly live as close to how the natives do. The book does a good job of explaining both specific concepts, like that is very well defined is that of InShaAllah, as well as more general concepts, like that concerning the differences in mindset that permeate the world of commerce in the Madina. The book does a decent job of portraying the experience of the locals, but instead prioritizes its pages to a description of Suzanna’s experience and the architectural gems that are all over. I found this to be unfortunate, as to me it is the people that define a culture and not the buildings in which they live. Furthermore, this shortcoming in Suzanna Clarke’s writing diminishes her authority as a writer, and instead establishes her moreso as a very thorough and motivated tourist. Now, while it is clear that she is not this, her writing does not reflect the true extent to which she immersed herself in the lives of the people she seemed to have interacted with. For these reasons, I would not rate the book nearly as highly as I would the actual experiences Suzanna went through. That being said, because the book dedicated such an extensive amount of space to providing a clear and vibrant picture of Fez, it did an excellent job of instilling a fascination in the romance offered by classical architecture and the beauty of not only the architecture but also the entire environment that exists within the Madina. Overall, Clarke’s A House in Fez creates a gripping picture of what life is like for a foreigner in Morocco, especially if that person is trying to be more than just a foreigner, but rather a functioning and capable part of Moroccan society. Such a role is exactly what I would like to leave Morocco having accomplished becoming. For this reason, A House in Fez was the perfect piece of reading material for me to gain an introduction to Moroccan culture, especially now that I will be living in the Madina as well. While I’m sure Clarke could have done more to illuminate the people she interacted with, she gave me everything I could need before setting out to discover the Madina’s people for myself. In fact, upon further reflection, such an apparent shortcoming may in fact be a very deliberate and effective tool of making the book more accessible to her audience, as it is a story of the house and the city more than a story of Clarke or the select people she met. As such, the city is open to all who are daring enough to take the first step and passionate enough to take the second.