I have always strongly believed that the best way to understand another culture's beliefs and values is to study the language in-depth. In doing so, it can even be possible to gain acceptance into their world and perhaps, to use the anthropological term, become a participant-observer in the day-to-day lives of the local population. Here in Fes, perhaps Morocco's most revered holy city, I have realized that this is only possible to a very slight degree. A walk this evening in the medina illustrates my point.
As I enter the medina through Bab Bou Jeloud, the main tourist entry-point along the old city wall, I am able to deter would-be hustlers with some of the Arabic I know. Either I just tell them that "I am not interested", that I "don't want a guide", or even that I "know the ways in the medina". The latter is of course a lie, however, as it would take years of living here to have what might be considered even a fair knowledge of the medina's labyrinthine layout. But nevertheless, since making sure you don't get lost is a big reason a guide will offer his services, this excuse is often the best way to get rid of them.
Walking further into the medina, familiar sights and sounds appear. It often smells like donkey scat, the rainbow-color array of different types of silk, cloth, spices, herbal medicines, and sweets arouse the senses,
and the amount of inhabitants sharing such an intimate space is mind-boggling. Like many major cities of the world, during the day the streets are always packed with people. But unlike say, New York, Paris, or Tokyo, take any given 10-square meter piece of Fes' old city and you are almost guaranteed to see a lot more in the way of everyday life. This is certainly due in part to the fact that houses, shops, mosques, schools, cafes, and restaurants are either crammed right next to each or stacked upon each other on a vertical axis. But there is more to it than this. In the old city, people still buy their meat from the butcher, who either obtains his lamb meat or beef fresh each morning or slaughters his chickens in the shop itself (though the latter is most always sold exclusively from other types of meat). They get their bread fresh from the oven at one of the many bakeries in town. Vegetables are sold in some places. Others might only have milk, cheese, and yogurt. Still others only canned goods, sweets, or spices. It runs the gammut. But most remarkable of all are the specialized traditional crafts that can be found in the old city, with many of these shops probably existing in the same (or nearly the same) location for many centuries. Whether it be a new pair of shoes or satchels from the tannery, a wedding dress fastidiously embroidered in the most beautiful of designs, or intricately-carved wood for a new door or bed frame, Fassis know where to get the top-quality products they need. And it's all here for them in the old city.
The social fabric of Fassi life in the medina is woven together not only by the many stores in town, but also through many other social activities that take place. I saw men drinking tea in the countless cafes scattered about the medina, reading the daily news or discussing the fine points of different Qur'anic verses. I see children playing football in the narrowest alleyways imaginable. And then there are many women too, perhaps
on their way to a friend or relative's home or out to do some shopping for the home. Or they're headed to the hammam, long seen as one of the most important religious and social institutions among both Moroccan women and men. And while these daily scenes of life are indicative of the intimate social connections that exist between medina residents, I myself am as much of an outsider as anyone else.
Sometimes I like to smugly look down upon the tourists who come visit Fes, take a 2-hour guided tour of the medina, and then highttail it to Marrkesh or Agadir to stay on schedule for their 2-week whirlwind tour of al-Maghrib. After all, I have lived here now for a total of almost 8 months, and I am very accustomed to the flow and rhythm of everyday life here in this city of 1.5 million residents. I know what time people get up to pray every morning. I know the customary greetings and general modes of social interaction. And, perhaps most importantly, I can interact with the locals in their native tongue. But despite all this, I am still as strangely foreign to Moroccans as the backpack-toting, Nikon-bearing tourists who visit Fes each year.
Unlike almost all of the tourists who come to Fes, I can at least speak to the people in their language. But I nevertheless remain as much of an exotic curiosity as the tourists, if not more so because I speak some Arabic.
Moroccans are generally quite surprised to hear a Westerner speak Arabic, and when I attempt to string together some sentences the typical question invariably comes up: are you Muslim? It is a fair enough question because the language I study, with some minor differences, is very close to the classical Arabic of the Quran. And when I respond that I am merely interested in learning the language, many people seem rather confused. And some might even canvass me for my religious views (or lack thereof). On the one hand, I feel as though it is somewhat of an honor to be asked to become a Muslim and be a member of their group. In this way I am different than the average tourist, who might only be asked to buy hashish or a carpet. But in the end, I am just like the average tourist because I come away from these interactions being the non-Muslim that I am.
On my walk through the medina today I encountered a group of several men who lectured me on the basic tenets of Islam and scorned my own supposed Christian beliefs. The fact is that I am not Christian. I suppose there may exist a supreme creator and being, but in the end I figure that as long as I live a moral life, I will end up in the same happy place as every other good person on Earth. But when asked if I was Muslim, I did tell them "no, I am Christian". To truthfully tell them of my agnostic, borderline-atheist beliefs would likely have seemed even more preposterous to them. But nevertheless, the dialogue that followed still put me in a rather uncomfortable position. I told them I was a Christian. Then I told them that yes, I do occassionally drink wine (I didn't know the Arabic word for beer and so didn't bother mentioning this- wine just seemed more innocent anyway). I told them that wine is produced to some extent in Morocco too and must therefore not be as forbidden as he seems to consider it. That didn't go over too well with him either. But then I was asked about
my belief in the prophet. I was rather trapped at this point, as I realized that I would have to profess my supposed belief in Jesus as the prophet of all Christians. And so I replied that, yes, I believe in Jesus but then quickly retorted that Muslims believe in Jesus as well. Surely this is true, but Jesus is not seen as the son of God (i.e. having God's blood) among Muslims (as in most Christian sects) and the words "there is no god but Allah and Muhammed is his prophet" is a commonly-uttered phrase among Muslims. And so I was only digging a hole for myself by remarking that although I understand that Christians believe that Jesus is the Son of God, died for our sins, and is now symbolically transmuted into bread and wine for us at Communion, I have struggled with these questions in my day-to-day life. And so after saying this it was obvious that I had just succeeded in portraying myself as a perfect candidate for conversion to Islam. I knew some Arabic and was confused about Christianity. Little did they know though that I was lying through my teeth, and hamdulillah (praise be to God) for that. After my little chat I was asked to come back at some point to drink tea with some of them, but I certainly would never even be able to even find my way back to this place. And besides, even if I went back these men would never see me as well-respected peer. At least not as long as I am a non-Muslim.
