While spending this year in Morocco (September 2009 to September 2010), part of my time here is dedicated to working on my dissertation. I am rounding up the 4th year of the International Studies doctoral program at Old Dominion University. This fourth year is also a first year of sorts. On 16 September 2009 I successfully defended my PhD comprehensive exams, a brutal 2-day (8 hours per day) writing exam (without notes or resources other than what I’ve learned and prepared between the 3-year period between matriculation and satisfying class/lecture requirements) followed by an oral defense. I am now ABD—all but dissertation—and dissertating full time instead of attending lectures full time. As an ABD, my dissertation is on my mind at all times, even when I am relaxing, which for me often includes reading or watching something inextricably connected to my research interests.
My dissertation topic is the role of illiterate women in political change. I am specifically looking and illiterate women’s agency in developing states, and Morocco is one of my chosen country studies. When my thoughtful aunt forwarded me the most recent issues of my favorite women’s magazine—Bitch—I read them with interest, finding particular inspiration from an article about boys’ literacy. I offer up here some [superficial but thoughtful] insights and critical commentary.
Jeffrey Wilhelm, coauthor of the male literacy study Reading Don’t Fix No Chevys: Literacy in the Lives of Young Men, declares that, “[i]t’s understood that boys, in general, struggle with literacy.” I wonder, is this universally true? Or only true in the US/North America/developed countries? Is there an implication for Morocco?
Later the author concludes that, “boys aren’t (as is sometimes claimed) reading worse than before, but they are reading consistently worse than girls.” In Morocco, where women’s illiteracy is consistently much higher than men’s (except in Western Sahara…but that point deserves its own special focus), what can we learn from the case of Morocco from how/what boys read compared to girls, including how boys and girls are taught differently about literacy, its function in their lives, and how they perceive literacy as benefiting or fitting into their lives as citizens, activists, and everyday folks?
According to Jon Scieszka, founder of Guys Read, a literacy program for boys, “there [is] hardly any research on the connection between gender and reading.” This is my chance to fill that gap, while integrating an international perspective, an Arab perspective, an African perspective, and perhaps even an Islamic perspective.
“Scieszka’s theory is that because boys develop at a different rate than girls, many of them simply aren’t ready for reading—‘the very abstract task of learning to make literary sense of combinations of 26 different squiggles on a page’—when it’s first taught in school.” In the case of Morocco, public primary and elementary education is lamentable, and thus an issue that requires analysis and deconstruction in its own right. Nonetheless, this hypothesis (not so much a theory), inspires critical analysis of the pedagogical approach to boys’ and girls’ education in Morocco. Is it a given in Morocco that boys develop at a different rate than girls? What are the value judgments assigned to or accompanying perceptions about differential rates of learning between the sexes? Or does a separate understanding altogether exist in the Moroccan approach to pedagogy and sex? Is there a particular approach anyhow?
The author asserts that reading preferences are largely socialized, a point that seems fairly obvious, certainly to anyone who would be reading Bitch magazine.
More insightfully, the author declares that feminists should be at the forefront of [innovative] literacy approaches, especially prepared to approach them critically. “After all, if boys are having problems with reading, that negatively affects how the men they become see both themselves and women. When we read, we see from other perspectives—including other perspectives on gender.”
Is this true? Or is this simply reinforcing the status quo notion that readers are more intellectually adept or are intellectually superior to non-readers…where do language, diglossia, linguistic prestige, etc. fit in?
The author continues that, “[t]he uncommonly honest accounts of men’s and women’s experiences that can be found in literature make the gender construct seem a cartoon of human experience, and offer boys the chance to transcend simplistic, dehumanizing notions of masculinity and femininity. For boys to access these accounts, though, they first have to want to—they first have to make sense of those squiggles on the page.”
This is laying a LOT of responsibility on literacy, not to mention assuming that literacy sine qua non provides enlightenment. I am not convinced. What do you think?
Jonathan Frochtwajg. “Paper Boys.” Bitch Magazine. Winter 2009. Issue no. 45. Page 11.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
My father's insightful commentary on genital cutting
In response to my blog post Maternity, abuse, and genital mutilation, my father wrote the following (posted with permission):
My awesome dad had the following to say on this post:
Why is [circumcision] a celebration?
I agree and disagree with your blog. I don’t think women's genitalia should be cut ever!!! Not because of culture or religious reasons but I also don’t understand why they do it. If it has a legitimate medical benefit then maybe and only maybe, but absolutely not for some ritual that is outdated because they did it hundreds of years ago out of shear "cave man logic" ignorance. I guess there is a smegma issue with women and extra skin but I cant comment on that since I have no vagina to base an opinion on. [As a man, I am] not in a position to have an opinion on the female issue really.
As far as men go though, I am a man and have been around many other men who are and are not circumcised. I'm no expert and don’t claim to be, but I just cant imagine what benefit or why someone would want to leave the foreskin on a man's penis and I have no religious or other agenda behind my belief. The foreskin hangs and lays over the end of the penis, so much so on some men that it totally engulfs the end of the penis so you can't even see it. All that foreskin hanging over the end and closing shut for the better part of the day is nothing more than a smegma collection center, allowing germs to build up. When a man pees he merely shakes it and that is it, leaving the end the large majority of the time wet with pee. It's not shaken dry right after peeing. So, the [head of the penis] retracts wet and all that piss collects in the foreskin cave festering till shower time. Not too mention the men who probably take a shower and don’t bother to go out of their way to pull the foreskin back to wash it. I was never traumatized as a child because I simply had no mental clue what was going on when the circumcision was complete and I am so thankful not to have to deal with a foreskin all my life. One can also pee by the way and not even pull the foreskin back to do so and men do it, I've seen it done. I think some men go through childhood not being reinforced and taught the importance of foreskin management also. Anyhow, overall, it just makes decent common sense to remove it right at the time of birth and it's over forever. Waiting, I am definitely not a proponent of, at all.
I believe there are a gazillion men like me who have absolutely zero religious agenda and support no foreskin if given an option at birth. Don’t cut it later, do it before [the baby] comes home from the hospital for the very first time. Waiting would create a more stressful situation and then we have a whole new set of circumstances to deal with.
Of course, opinions are like butt holes, everyone has their own. With regards to men, I don't think there is a right and a wrong choice but I do firmly believe that eliminating foreskin at time of birth is a very good idea.
Again, not having a vagina and that whole experience eliminates me from being able to make a common sense judgment or opinion on what women should or shouldn’t do.
Oh that everyone without a vagina would leave vaginal decision-making to the vagina bearers. Thanks for sharing dad!
My awesome dad had the following to say on this post:
Why is [circumcision] a celebration?
I agree and disagree with your blog. I don’t think women's genitalia should be cut ever!!! Not because of culture or religious reasons but I also don’t understand why they do it. If it has a legitimate medical benefit then maybe and only maybe, but absolutely not for some ritual that is outdated because they did it hundreds of years ago out of shear "cave man logic" ignorance. I guess there is a smegma issue with women and extra skin but I cant comment on that since I have no vagina to base an opinion on. [As a man, I am] not in a position to have an opinion on the female issue really.
As far as men go though, I am a man and have been around many other men who are and are not circumcised. I'm no expert and don’t claim to be, but I just cant imagine what benefit or why someone would want to leave the foreskin on a man's penis and I have no religious or other agenda behind my belief. The foreskin hangs and lays over the end of the penis, so much so on some men that it totally engulfs the end of the penis so you can't even see it. All that foreskin hanging over the end and closing shut for the better part of the day is nothing more than a smegma collection center, allowing germs to build up. When a man pees he merely shakes it and that is it, leaving the end the large majority of the time wet with pee. It's not shaken dry right after peeing. So, the [head of the penis] retracts wet and all that piss collects in the foreskin cave festering till shower time. Not too mention the men who probably take a shower and don’t bother to go out of their way to pull the foreskin back to wash it. I was never traumatized as a child because I simply had no mental clue what was going on when the circumcision was complete and I am so thankful not to have to deal with a foreskin all my life. One can also pee by the way and not even pull the foreskin back to do so and men do it, I've seen it done. I think some men go through childhood not being reinforced and taught the importance of foreskin management also. Anyhow, overall, it just makes decent common sense to remove it right at the time of birth and it's over forever. Waiting, I am definitely not a proponent of, at all.
I believe there are a gazillion men like me who have absolutely zero religious agenda and support no foreskin if given an option at birth. Don’t cut it later, do it before [the baby] comes home from the hospital for the very first time. Waiting would create a more stressful situation and then we have a whole new set of circumstances to deal with.
Of course, opinions are like butt holes, everyone has their own. With regards to men, I don't think there is a right and a wrong choice but I do firmly believe that eliminating foreskin at time of birth is a very good idea.
Again, not having a vagina and that whole experience eliminates me from being able to make a common sense judgment or opinion on what women should or shouldn’t do.
--end--
Oh that everyone without a vagina would leave vaginal decision-making to the vagina bearers. Thanks for sharing dad!
Where in the world I am (physically and intellectually)
My last blog post came just before I attended an amazing conference in Fes on integrating marginalized women into society in Morocco. The presentations were informative, often infuriating, and provoked some rich insights for my own dissertation research. That fortuitous trip to Fes brought me to the 2nd excellent, concrete example I need that proves my research assumption. Since then (it was in March), I embarked on a 2 week trip with my fellow Arabic-pedagogy-reform enthusiast, Alaina, where outside of a 3-day Easter holiday bonanza in African Spain (or Spanish Africa?), all of our activities were Arabic only—including an excruciating (but politically-charged and opinionated) 3-hour monologue between our grand taxi driver and me while the others slept in the back seat.
This brings me to today, the last weekend in May. Fieldwork is a lot of fun, frustration, and relationship building. Morocco is still an amazing place to be, and I have been flourishing intellectually and personally while here. I have said goodbye to some great roommates and house-warmed with some new ones (I miss you!).
Meanwhile, the first 4 months of my stay here saw a great of my time being consumed with funding applications to continue my work. These final 4 months see me faced with rejections of all of the 6 applications. Nonetheless, I am fully prepared for whatever September and beyond has in store for me on the North American continent (I can think of some fun to be had in Boston or Gulfport or Harrisburg or even (heaven help me) Norfolk).
The real point of today’s post is to put some perspective onto the odyssey that is learning Arabic. When my Arabic teacher asked us to choose among a list of topics in our textbook to prepare and consequently deliver a short talk to the class, I chose the history of French occupation in Algeria. Unfortunately, doing Arabic homework in Rabat is nowhere near as fun as doing Arabic homework in Tangier was when I was there in 2008. Thus I get distracted easily, by anything—the cat, the 14 browser windows open, the 73 unanswered emails…I did try to prepare the talk. I got one juicy tidbit about the French occupation of Algeria in 1830 resulting in the revival of complete texts of Ibn Battuta’s travelogue. But soon I was thinking about how to draw accessible parallels for people who have never and will never study Arabic. How can I explain how silly and difficult studying ‘Modern Standard Arabic’ is? So then I started reading about the English language in the 800s CE. I call upon you native speakers of English.
This brings me to today, the last weekend in May. Fieldwork is a lot of fun, frustration, and relationship building. Morocco is still an amazing place to be, and I have been flourishing intellectually and personally while here. I have said goodbye to some great roommates and house-warmed with some new ones (I miss you!).
Meanwhile, the first 4 months of my stay here saw a great of my time being consumed with funding applications to continue my work. These final 4 months see me faced with rejections of all of the 6 applications. Nonetheless, I am fully prepared for whatever September and beyond has in store for me on the North American continent (I can think of some fun to be had in Boston or Gulfport or Harrisburg or even (heaven help me) Norfolk).
The real point of today’s post is to put some perspective onto the odyssey that is learning Arabic. When my Arabic teacher asked us to choose among a list of topics in our textbook to prepare and consequently deliver a short talk to the class, I chose the history of French occupation in Algeria. Unfortunately, doing Arabic homework in Rabat is nowhere near as fun as doing Arabic homework in Tangier was when I was there in 2008. Thus I get distracted easily, by anything—the cat, the 14 browser windows open, the 73 unanswered emails…I did try to prepare the talk. I got one juicy tidbit about the French occupation of Algeria in 1830 resulting in the revival of complete texts of Ibn Battuta’s travelogue. But soon I was thinking about how to draw accessible parallels for people who have never and will never study Arabic. How can I explain how silly and difficult studying ‘Modern Standard Arabic’ is? So then I started reading about the English language in the 800s CE. I call upon you native speakers of English.
Can you understand this? (start at 2:56, listen for a few seconds, then skip to 5:03)
That's pretty much what I'm working with here. It's going pretty well speaking and reading an 8th century language.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Maternity, abuse, and genital mutilation
In preparation for an upcoming event in Fes next month (Forum on Marginalised Women and Social Integration 11-13 March), I was exploring Prof. Fatima Sadiqi's website and her published work. That in turn led me to the maelstrom of fascination that is EBSCOhost and all of the wonders that it possesses. There I landed on an article by Drs Mustafa Afifi and Margareta von Bothmer called "Egyptian women’s attitudes and beliefs about female genital cutting and its association with childhood maltreatment" from the journal Nursing and Health Sciences (2007). I am the sort of person who sets aside articles on female genital cutting to read as a reward for getting work done…
My first encounter with an earnest activist against genital mutilation occurred during my final year at UMBC. A friend and fellow linguistics major espoused (and continues to espouse) an outspoken objection to male circumcision as genital mutilation. While I disagree with him that it is comparable to the most extreme form of female genital cutting or mutilation (which includes the partial or total removal of the labia and/or clitoris often along with the partial closing of the vaginal opening), I do agree that the decision to remove the foreskin of the penis is one that should not simply be standard protocol, as it currently is in the US and other countries. I furthermore disagree with the practice even as a religious tradition, but that point is beyond the scope of this entry.
After visiting Egypt the first time this summer, and staying 11 weeks in Cairo, I learned how widespread the practice of female genital cutting is in that country. Despite government action to make the practice illegal, as well as declarations from both Christian and Muslim religious authorities that the practice is not a part of religious protocol, it nonetheless continues. What is more, increasing attention to the issue has resulted in increased ‘medicalizing’ of the practice. Formerly, female genital cutting was carried out by traditionally trained female practitioners. Today the overwhelming majority of female cutting is carried out by formally trained medical professionals, often in hospitals.
The purpose of the article is to draw attention to the connection between abuse and female genital cutting. The conclusion is that women who are abused are more likely to abuse their children and to have their daughters’ genitals cut. The authors refer to previous research that has isolated another connection, between women who have had abortions and the likelihood that they will abuse their children.
***extrapolateextrapolateextrapolate***
Therefore the authors make the leap that these abortionists will also be more likely to have their daughters’ genitals cut. This notion rests on the assumption that abortions are traumatic events. The subtext is that women who have abortions experience guilt and shame because abortion is type of ‘trauma.’ The authors continue with the sentiment that “the woman ‘knows’ [emphasis by authors] subconsciously that her traumatic event (the abortion—clarified by me) must be exposed and understood to be conquered.” This statement is totally inscrutable to me. Why on earth must the so-called event be exposed and understood? Exposed to whom? Understood by whom? Even more absurdly the authors make the leap that if the psyches of women who have had abortions demand them to reenact the so-called trauma in the form of abusing their children, then likewise will women who have had their genitals cut be compelled to continue that practice, as well as other intentional abuses of their children.
Firstly, since abortion is illegal in Egypt, I can only assume that women who undergo abortions in Egypt have done so illegally. While I cannot account for the reasons behind the abortions, I might reasonably assume that they occur either to avoid the social stigma of pregnancy outside of marriage or to prevent the growth of households by eliminating potential members. In the latter case, the abortion, though illegal and thus carrying definite risk (medical and legal), is a manifestation of empowerment. It represents a woman’s control (in the face of legal, religious, and social constraints) over her own fertility, and may not actually accompany any sense of shame or trauma or guilt—why would it? It is disappointing that the researchers have chosen to reinforce the norm of abortion as a universally shameful act resulting in (what is assumed to be or ought to be) requisite guilt.
What IS this previous research? One of the articles in the bibliography that is provided as ‘previous research’ that proves the link between abortionists and child abuse is not academic scholarship but religious activism. Hosted by Heritage House 76, a Christian, anti-abortion organization is the sponsor of the the Elliot Institute, which hosts the article “Abortion Trauma and Child Abuse.” Together these sources present the damning reality of religious dogma and non-science appearing as legitimate academic material. Shocking.
Another citation of ‘proof’ is the result of a study whose sample was from Baltimore, a far cry from Egypt. The population consisted of women receiving public assistance who had had abortions in addition to carrying children to term. While this article is not a religious piece, it still does not account for the contextual peculiarities that govern the case of Egypt—where abortion is illegal and where women’s agency is far different than women’s agency in Baltimore (being a poor woman in Baltimore is worlds away from being any type of woman in Egypt). Thus the extrapolation of the conclusion is beyond weak.
I began reading this article out of curiosity, but before I had reached the halfway point, outrage and annoyance compelled me to continue avoiding my work once again and spell out my frustration. Integrity is everything in research. Cheating, plagiarizing, fudging data, and any number of other offenses severely degrade the quality of academic research. Writing that pretends to be research but is really activism disguised as scholarship is outrageous and offensive to critical thinking people. Activism posing as scientific data has no place in scholarly research. Admittedly the social sciences must avoid relativism in order to shed light on abhorrent phenomena that interfere with human dignity. Nonetheless, normative assessments must be tempered by frameworks that guarantee that we are not replacing dangerous relativism with equally dangerous religious or other philosophical bias.
In sum, we must allow social scientists to condemn abhorrent practices like female genital cutting without allowing items off of a religious agenda (like anti-abortion ideology) to sneak into the analysis.
My first encounter with an earnest activist against genital mutilation occurred during my final year at UMBC. A friend and fellow linguistics major espoused (and continues to espouse) an outspoken objection to male circumcision as genital mutilation. While I disagree with him that it is comparable to the most extreme form of female genital cutting or mutilation (which includes the partial or total removal of the labia and/or clitoris often along with the partial closing of the vaginal opening), I do agree that the decision to remove the foreskin of the penis is one that should not simply be standard protocol, as it currently is in the US and other countries. I furthermore disagree with the practice even as a religious tradition, but that point is beyond the scope of this entry.
After visiting Egypt the first time this summer, and staying 11 weeks in Cairo, I learned how widespread the practice of female genital cutting is in that country. Despite government action to make the practice illegal, as well as declarations from both Christian and Muslim religious authorities that the practice is not a part of religious protocol, it nonetheless continues. What is more, increasing attention to the issue has resulted in increased ‘medicalizing’ of the practice. Formerly, female genital cutting was carried out by traditionally trained female practitioners. Today the overwhelming majority of female cutting is carried out by formally trained medical professionals, often in hospitals.
The purpose of the article is to draw attention to the connection between abuse and female genital cutting. The conclusion is that women who are abused are more likely to abuse their children and to have their daughters’ genitals cut. The authors refer to previous research that has isolated another connection, between women who have had abortions and the likelihood that they will abuse their children.
***extrapolateextrapolateextrapolate***
Therefore the authors make the leap that these abortionists will also be more likely to have their daughters’ genitals cut. This notion rests on the assumption that abortions are traumatic events. The subtext is that women who have abortions experience guilt and shame because abortion is type of ‘trauma.’ The authors continue with the sentiment that “the woman ‘knows’ [emphasis by authors] subconsciously that her traumatic event (the abortion—clarified by me) must be exposed and understood to be conquered.” This statement is totally inscrutable to me. Why on earth must the so-called event be exposed and understood? Exposed to whom? Understood by whom? Even more absurdly the authors make the leap that if the psyches of women who have had abortions demand them to reenact the so-called trauma in the form of abusing their children, then likewise will women who have had their genitals cut be compelled to continue that practice, as well as other intentional abuses of their children.
Firstly, since abortion is illegal in Egypt, I can only assume that women who undergo abortions in Egypt have done so illegally. While I cannot account for the reasons behind the abortions, I might reasonably assume that they occur either to avoid the social stigma of pregnancy outside of marriage or to prevent the growth of households by eliminating potential members. In the latter case, the abortion, though illegal and thus carrying definite risk (medical and legal), is a manifestation of empowerment. It represents a woman’s control (in the face of legal, religious, and social constraints) over her own fertility, and may not actually accompany any sense of shame or trauma or guilt—why would it? It is disappointing that the researchers have chosen to reinforce the norm of abortion as a universally shameful act resulting in (what is assumed to be or ought to be) requisite guilt.
What IS this previous research? One of the articles in the bibliography that is provided as ‘previous research’ that proves the link between abortionists and child abuse is not academic scholarship but religious activism. Hosted by Heritage House 76, a Christian, anti-abortion organization is the sponsor of the the Elliot Institute, which hosts the article “Abortion Trauma and Child Abuse.” Together these sources present the damning reality of religious dogma and non-science appearing as legitimate academic material. Shocking.
Another citation of ‘proof’ is the result of a study whose sample was from Baltimore, a far cry from Egypt. The population consisted of women receiving public assistance who had had abortions in addition to carrying children to term. While this article is not a religious piece, it still does not account for the contextual peculiarities that govern the case of Egypt—where abortion is illegal and where women’s agency is far different than women’s agency in Baltimore (being a poor woman in Baltimore is worlds away from being any type of woman in Egypt). Thus the extrapolation of the conclusion is beyond weak.
I began reading this article out of curiosity, but before I had reached the halfway point, outrage and annoyance compelled me to continue avoiding my work once again and spell out my frustration. Integrity is everything in research. Cheating, plagiarizing, fudging data, and any number of other offenses severely degrade the quality of academic research. Writing that pretends to be research but is really activism disguised as scholarship is outrageous and offensive to critical thinking people. Activism posing as scientific data has no place in scholarly research. Admittedly the social sciences must avoid relativism in order to shed light on abhorrent phenomena that interfere with human dignity. Nonetheless, normative assessments must be tempered by frameworks that guarantee that we are not replacing dangerous relativism with equally dangerous religious or other philosophical bias.
In sum, we must allow social scientists to condemn abhorrent practices like female genital cutting without allowing items off of a religious agenda (like anti-abortion ideology) to sneak into the analysis.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Forensic linguistics
One of my colleagues directed me to this story in early December, perhaps as a cautionary tale. He also sends me stories about hashish, and he has no idea that I have a strong research interest economic policy, migration and the narcotics trade in Morocco. In any event, grim. Media here doesn’t shy from showing gruesome pictures of survivors of assault of any kind, including of minors. The headline reads: ‘Moroccan man accused of raping an American arrested in Khenifra’
The 23 year old woman was serving in the Peace Corps as a health educator at a local hospital, and the accused, aged 26, was apprehended by the Royal Gendarme. A private doctor was sent from Rabat to collect forensic evidence.
As unfortunate as this story is, there are some powerful Arabic lessons to be learned. First off these three words taken together, according to translate.google:
السائل المنوي الخاص
mean semen.
However, taken separately, the linguistic rabbit hole of Arabic reveals itself...
According to Hans Wehr:
السائل: fluid, liquid
المنوي: seminal, spermatic
الخاص: special, exclusive, specific
المنوي: seminal, spermatic
الخاص: special, exclusive, specific
In addition to this learning opportunity, there were comments left by readers. The most recent comment was totally inscrutable to me, but said something about the flip on American meat and Saudi meat. According to a Moroccan friend of mine, the reference to American meat is a tasteless euphemism for the young survivor, and it is not entirely clear why Saudi women come up. Herein lies an example of the difficulty for foreigners of learning spoken varieties of Arabic. Because there is no standard codification of international or regional variations, even native speakers experience difficulty in understanding.
The next commenter tries challenges the newsworthiness of the item by citing metaphorical rapes of Moroccans and Arabs, such as at Abu Ghraib (oh brother, the drama).
The third comment also refers to American meat...
And predictably the fourth once again takes a tit-for-tat approach in justifying the assault as reciprocation for foreign occupiers (military and non-military alike) having raped Iraqi women.
The following comment lauds the writer of the story for authoring the piece in view of the risk to reputation and the general paucity of morals in the area (prostitution, homosexuality, raping of foreign women).
Afterward comes a comment in French that announces indeed no rape had occurred. If anything, the young man was guilty of failing to acculturate his foreign friend to the ways of interaction between the opposite sex in Morocco. Because they were friends and she had visited him before, there could not have been rape, you see.
And then a return to the 'squaring of accounts' response.
I have perhaps exhausted the learning opportunity by this point. Take a look for yourself.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Fulfilling the mission of the Critical Language Scholarship: commitment and intent to continue language study after the CLS Program
This past Christmas 2009, I decided to stay in Rabat, where I am studying Arabic and conducting research for my dissertation on illiterate women’s political participation thanks to a National Security Education Program Boren Fellowship. Fortunately my friend Alaina, who is currently working as an English teacher a few hours north in Tetouan, was delighted to join me for a Moroccan Christmas in the capital. I met Alaina while studying beginning Arabic in 2007, and reconnecting with her after more than two years inspired me to reflect on the friends I’ve made while studying Arabic abroad on the Critical Language Scholarship.
The email informing me that I had been selected as a recipient of a U.S. Department of State Critical Language Scholarship for participation in the beginning Arabic program in Amman , Jordan arrived in my inbox in April 2007. In addition to being a tremendous honor and amazing opportunity, it was the realization of a seven year long dream to study Arabic. Throughout that time, I had made several attempts to begin Arabic language study, and each time some circumstance interfered. When I returned from studying at the Language Center at the University of Jordan, I enrolled at the nearest university to mine that offered intermediate Arabic (20 minutes away from my home university). The pace, intensity and content of my intermediate Arabic class in the US was a huge disappointment compared to the incredible, learning-packed summer I had spent. The decision to reapply for CLS was obvious, and I was thrilled to receive a 2nd CL Scholarship for intermediate Arabic in Tangier, Morocco. Although that summer was very different from the previous one, the learning was no less intense and profound. Again I came back to my home university, enrolled in the nearest advanced Arabic class (a different school, 45 minutes away), and again experienced the same let-down after the high-paced summer of learning. Fortunately the CLS program wasn’t finished with me. I won a third CL Scholarship for advanced Arabic in Cairo, Egypt.
The U.S. Department of State Critical Language Scholarship Program was launched in 2006, and I was among the fortunate few to be chosen during the 2nd year of the program. During the summers of 2007, 2008, and 2009, I studied at 3 different CLS Arabic sites in 3 different countries. As a full time PhD student in my real life, the intervening summers were the only time available to me to dedicate myself to mastering Arabic, and the CLS Program was the ideal conduit. During those CLS summers, I made many friends and have been able to reconnect with several of them, despite hectic schedules and lots of traveling. The major reason that we’ve been able to maintain contact is because of the mutual dedication to the fulfillment of the mission of Critical Language Scholarship—the commitment to continue language study after the program. From my beginning Arabic days in Jordan in 2007, I met up this year with Nazneen who was researching in Cairo, Rachel in Rabat when she visited as a part of her present work in Lebanon, and of course Alaina in Tetouan where she currently works. From intermediate Arabic in Morocco in 2008, I continued Arabic study with Lauren when we returned home, and I celebrated US Independence Day with Alex W. in Cairo this year. And as for advanced Arabic in Cairo, there are countless plans to welcome my former classmates in Morocco—Zach already has his tickets to visit at the end of this month, and others are planning trips. While I have enjoyed seeing many other fellow CLSers, I mention these specifically because they all occurred as a result of continued Arabic study—essentially the fulfillment of the ethos of CLS and the National Security Education Program initiatives.
Although my time in Morocco hasn’t even reached a half-way point, I am relentlessly diligent in pursuing additional opportunities to study Arabic in the Middle East, and meanwhile encouraging my fellow Arabophiles to do the same.
The email informing me that I had been selected as a recipient of a U.S. Department of State Critical Language Scholarship for participation in the beginning Arabic program in Amman , Jordan arrived in my inbox in April 2007. In addition to being a tremendous honor and amazing opportunity, it was the realization of a seven year long dream to study Arabic. Throughout that time, I had made several attempts to begin Arabic language study, and each time some circumstance interfered. When I returned from studying at the Language Center at the University of Jordan, I enrolled at the nearest university to mine that offered intermediate Arabic (20 minutes away from my home university). The pace, intensity and content of my intermediate Arabic class in the US was a huge disappointment compared to the incredible, learning-packed summer I had spent. The decision to reapply for CLS was obvious, and I was thrilled to receive a 2nd CL Scholarship for intermediate Arabic in Tangier, Morocco. Although that summer was very different from the previous one, the learning was no less intense and profound. Again I came back to my home university, enrolled in the nearest advanced Arabic class (a different school, 45 minutes away), and again experienced the same let-down after the high-paced summer of learning. Fortunately the CLS program wasn’t finished with me. I won a third CL Scholarship for advanced Arabic in Cairo, Egypt.
The U.S. Department of State Critical Language Scholarship Program was launched in 2006, and I was among the fortunate few to be chosen during the 2nd year of the program. During the summers of 2007, 2008, and 2009, I studied at 3 different CLS Arabic sites in 3 different countries. As a full time PhD student in my real life, the intervening summers were the only time available to me to dedicate myself to mastering Arabic, and the CLS Program was the ideal conduit. During those CLS summers, I made many friends and have been able to reconnect with several of them, despite hectic schedules and lots of traveling. The major reason that we’ve been able to maintain contact is because of the mutual dedication to the fulfillment of the mission of Critical Language Scholarship—the commitment to continue language study after the program. From my beginning Arabic days in Jordan in 2007, I met up this year with Nazneen who was researching in Cairo, Rachel in Rabat when she visited as a part of her present work in Lebanon, and of course Alaina in Tetouan where she currently works. From intermediate Arabic in Morocco in 2008, I continued Arabic study with Lauren when we returned home, and I celebrated US Independence Day with Alex W. in Cairo this year. And as for advanced Arabic in Cairo, there are countless plans to welcome my former classmates in Morocco—Zach already has his tickets to visit at the end of this month, and others are planning trips. While I have enjoyed seeing many other fellow CLSers, I mention these specifically because they all occurred as a result of continued Arabic study—essentially the fulfillment of the ethos of CLS and the National Security Education Program initiatives.
Although my time in Morocco hasn’t even reached a half-way point, I am relentlessly diligent in pursuing additional opportunities to study Arabic in the Middle East, and meanwhile encouraging my fellow Arabophiles to do the same.
A(n extremely unscientific) comparative study of 3 Arab capitals.
After 11 weeks in Amman in the summer of 2007 and 9 weeks in Cairo in the summer of 2009, I was completely in love with Rabat after less than a week. Below are 3 among many reasons…
1. Rabat is completely walkable. Although it’s a bit unfair to compare Rabat (pop. 2 million, 5321/km2 (13781.3/sq mi)) to Cairo (pop. 17 million, 31582/km2 (81797/sq mi)), it beats Amman (pop. 2.5 million, 1680 km2 (648.7 sq mi)) despite its smaller size because it is flat and paved. Amman started on 7 hills and now includes 19 hills, and few of the neighborhoods have serviceable pedestrian paths. Even in a hurry, transportation in Rabat is a dream.
2. Taxi drivers in Rabat not only turn on the meter without prompting (almost always), they give change without bitching! In Cairo, meters, when not broken, are based on gas prices at 1960s values. Thus negotiating is standard, and there is no guarantee that a wily driver won’t spit on a savvy, insistent foreign passenger when it comes to paying the appropriate fare. Amman taxi rides often require a request for the meter and require the passenger to know which hill or circle or major hotel is in the vicinity of the desired destination.
3. The Rabat bus system was very practical (before the strike in October 2009 leading up to the French company takeover—it is less so now, all in the name of progress) and the bus numbers are large and intelligible. Amman buses are nightmarishly complicated for foreigners (there are no route maps). Cairo buses do have the bus numbers posted, but in Eastern Arabic numerals. For all cities, bus routes are available only in guidebooks and by word-of-mouth.
To be continued…
1. Rabat is completely walkable. Although it’s a bit unfair to compare Rabat (pop. 2 million, 5321/km2 (13781.3/sq mi)) to Cairo (pop. 17 million, 31582/km2 (81797/sq mi)), it beats Amman (pop. 2.5 million, 1680 km2 (648.7 sq mi)) despite its smaller size because it is flat and paved. Amman started on 7 hills and now includes 19 hills, and few of the neighborhoods have serviceable pedestrian paths. Even in a hurry, transportation in Rabat is a dream.
2. Taxi drivers in Rabat not only turn on the meter without prompting (almost always), they give change without bitching! In Cairo, meters, when not broken, are based on gas prices at 1960s values. Thus negotiating is standard, and there is no guarantee that a wily driver won’t spit on a savvy, insistent foreign passenger when it comes to paying the appropriate fare. Amman taxi rides often require a request for the meter and require the passenger to know which hill or circle or major hotel is in the vicinity of the desired destination.
3. The Rabat bus system was very practical (before the strike in October 2009 leading up to the French company takeover—it is less so now, all in the name of progress) and the bus numbers are large and intelligible. Amman buses are nightmarishly complicated for foreigners (there are no route maps). Cairo buses do have the bus numbers posted, but in Eastern Arabic numerals. For all cities, bus routes are available only in guidebooks and by word-of-mouth.
To be continued…
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