Living too much .. Too fast.

Somebody once told me: "It doesn't matter how much you live, as long as you take your time to live it." It hasn't been the case this year.

I was at the CPR Marrakech, first thing I didn't really want to apply for, but anyway, just another school for me. Most of my classmates were already my classmates at the university. My other friends -best friends- were doing quiet different things after graduation, but all in Marrakech. And then, one evening, right in front of the CPR, my classmates and I meet another classmate who was the last person to take the entry exam for ENS, and we all made it. I passed the exam in which I slept half of the time, and spent the other half checking this hot guy who might be my classmate "if" I make it ? !! My ears were sweating.

In one week, I had to pack, get all the papers needed done, see my whole family and friends, buy million different things, contact people in Rabat and basically prepare myself (materialistically) for a year away from my home city. I ran around all day and slept like a baby at night -which is weird for me being an insomniac- not even trying to enjoy my last days "home". My parents trying to figure out a way not to leave me by myself in Rabat got frustrated, for there was no solution. And my father literally stopped talking the last two days before I left. We're too close, and he's over-protective of me... And off to Rabat.


I get here, I stay at a hotel for a week, register an start looking for rent. Knowing just boys here in Rabat -the guys who came with me from Marrakech- finding a good place to rent with a believable price for a student was really hard. I did not want to have a room, rather a garçonnière and a flat mate would be ok. But all the girls I know applied for ENSET, and so, here I am all alone. So I decide I better have a room in Hay Nahda (10 minutes walk from ENS) than an apartment in Takaddoum (bad, really bad area) for the same price.


I know it sounds paradoxical, having over-protective folks but still do all of these things by myself. "Thanks" to my father's job (14 hours a day, no holidays) I get to do a lot of things by myself, though my cell keeps ringing every 3 minutes .. Also the fact that I'm the first child, though that is something that makes no difference to my parents, but I feel responsible that way, from time to time anyway.


My first week in Rabat went like hell, not only having to secure a lot of things are done before I move in for once, but I also got terribly sick because of the new weather, humidity and the hotel's balcony in which I spent hours at night asking myself: what am I doing?


My mom came the last weekend before school. We cleaned and arranged my new room (1/4 my room back in Marrakech), she made me a lot of food and dishes for my first week for I didn't know how to cook then, and I slept holding her so tight, as if one of us was going to die the day after.


Sunday afternoon, Mom leaves for Marrakech. She cries talking to the house owner about kids and how they grow up so fast. I rush her to the cab, get to the train station, make sure she's seated inside the train and kiss her goodbye. The train takes off and I'm standing there, right by the train tracks. After about 10 minutes, I notice people are staring at me, I take another 2 minutes to decide I should probably get back to my quiet-cold-empty-tiny room. On the escalator my tears start pouring,  no weeping, just rivers of tears, and this guy near me goes: "Are you ok miss?" Not realizing I was crying, I just turn around and walk away. Back to my room, I leave the lights off, get into my bed, and cry like a baby before I faint into sleep.


Next day, school at 8 am. I get to school almost numb, and all of the sudden, 70 million new feelings freeze my heart instead of livening it. New people to meet and try my hardest to work and live with for it is inevitable. New city to discover and learn about. New kind of studies and especially a heavy schedule that barely allows me some fun time. New skills I had no idea I was going to need some day: cooking, doing laundry, shopping .. etc. My life was crazy busy, but the emptiness was still there. I was living too much, too fast.


I don’t know much about life, what I know is barely enough to keep me safe and sane. Life as I know it is what I left back at my home city. My friends, my family, the streets of my city that I walked in unconsciously for twenty years, the shops I passed by blindly... Life as I know it, has changed. Life as I knew it, is not the life I know now. Stumbling through my new life, I made some bad decisions that I do not regret. I trusted people I shouldn't have trusted, and let go of others I should have made friends. I grew apart from my old friends, I hope they understand. I ruined a great relationship. I gave my parents heart attacks at times. I rushed myself when I should have taken my time. I hurt people and got hurt... 


In the end, all I know is that I regret nothing. I have been lucky and blessed to be able to go through this experience. I grew up in so many ways. I got to know great people. But most importantly, I got to know who I really am. I'm a big girl .. against the world.


Laila. 

Teaching Harrods* 25/03/2011

This morning I had one hour Common Core class to teach. The unit’s theme is shopping. As we’re heading towards the end of the unit, a reading activity is required, though it may be hard for students to grasp at this level, and with the unbelievably hard textbook for beginners.

Last night, talking to my host teacher on Gmail, she suggested that I use pictures and videos to explore the text visually for a better understanding. I knew I did not want to do that, I just did not know why exactly then. The text I had to teach was about Harrods’ shopping mall in Knightsbridge, London. And so I went googling some videos and pictures, and the more I found, the more I did not like.

This morning, I read the text for students to listen and pick up pronunciation, and after explaining some difficult terms, I started playing the Harrods’ videos. Normally, my lesson plan says that I should be describing, explaining and eliciting information from the students throughout the videos. I was intending to when I started playing the first video, and then I turned .. their faces.

The area where I work is not far from Takaddoum. Any one from Rabat who hears this neighborhood’s name has a clear idea what it’s like. But any way, I work in Mabella, a nearby area.

Writing my personal diary (which may be part of my teaching portfolio) right after the session.

In Abou Bakr Ssedik high school, Mabella, you find students from different surrounding areas and different social classes, but most of them are from Takaddoum (A very poor neglected block, where the ENS exists by the way!!), therefore, their social background is reflected at the level of their behavior inside the high school: Lack of stationery, drugs use, violence, dysfunctional behavior … etc. The very few who come from middle –no high- class can hardly be noticed as they mingle in the school environment and get affected themselves.

For me, teaching my students about Harrods shopping mall- especially when I know where they come from - with pictures and videos, was some kind of irony that I had to impose on them. I “had” to remind them of their miserable, unfair life they do not deserve. I felt really bad showing this video of the pastry section at Harrods when I know some of them didn’t even have breakfast before they come to class.

And then I mentioned Casablanca’s Twin Center as to make a comparison and give them an example that sounds “real”, but they didn’t know there was such a thing a Twin Center that exists right under their noses in Maârif. To make it worse, I mentioned the Morocco’ mall project. A place they might never get into or afford to shop from, let alone Harrods, for that matter.

Another “shock” for my students was learning that the last individual owner of Harrods –before Qatar Holdings in 2010- was the Egyptian Mohamed El-Fayed. An Arab once owned THIS Harrods? An Arab who’s not from the gulf countries, is rich enough to own Harrods? I could never describe the look on their faces, I felt like crying right there, right then.

I am not going to talk about poverty and economics in Morocco, education and health, protests and reforms … As a Moroccan citizen, I am doing my best to make the change I want to see in my country and society, maybe quietly, but I’m grateful my status now as a high school English language teacher allows me to do it that way, and efficiently. But any way, all I was thinking about this morning was: If there is such a concept as the American Dream, I definitely saw the “Arab Wish” in my students’ eyes this morning.

*not an article, just a page of my diary I felt like sharing.