Crossroads of Culture | A Personal Reflection by Oona '27

In a sea of smiles and tears, I stood looking around me. It was the last night of what had been one of my favorite travel experiences yet. If I had told that to myself at the beginning of the program — when I had to break silence with awkward laughs, rack my brain for engaging questions that might merit more than one-word answers, felt disappointed at the group’s inability to connect — I would not have believed myself. And yet there I was, tears streaming down my face, heart full of memories I will never forget. 

Morocco was my first global education trip with Friends. I went on the annual lobbying in my sophomore year, but there is quite a difference between traveling by Amtrak to Washington D.C. and boarding an eight-hour flight to Africa. Looking back, I think some of the group’s biggest bonding moments happened in transit: in buses, airports, trains. Sitting in the same place for hours on end kind of forces you to bond, and I’m glad that was an element of the program. 

The first feeling I remember might be a common one to experience when seeing wonders of the world: awe. One of our first stops was to the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca, the second largest mosque in all of Africa. I was stunned by the intricacy and greatness of the interior. Two hundred-foot ceilings soared over me as I walked on soft velvety carpet. I remember thinking about how incredible it was that human hands had built this masterpiece. Appreciating human creation soon became an overarching theme of the trip, whether that was a gigantic mosque, a delicious home-cooked meal, or beautiful Arabic calligraphy. 

We were lucky enough to see many more beautiful sites. The Jardin Marjolle, Yves Saint-Laurent’s garden, was our first stop in Marrakesh and it blew all of us away. Every area of the garden was so thoughtfully landscaped and full of a wide array of plants: vines, flowers, cacti, and more. The small synagogue we saw the next day, one of only two in Marrakech, was also stunning. Blue and white tiles covered every wall in a courtyard with a fountain at the center. It felt almost like a small piece of Spain, with the tiles in a style much different from the other tiling we saw at the Bahia Palace and various other historic landmarks in the city. That other tiling was less geometric and more intricate. It often had a mix of Arabic calligraphy, many different patterns that overlapped, and a huge variety of color. There were multiple times I had to catch up to the group because I lost track of time staring at ceilings. They fascinated me.

Another feeling I remember was having an appreciation for the variety of life, and getting a glimpse at how much of the world I have yet to see. When the group took a tour of Rabat City on our first full day, I felt the energy of the group. Our wonderful tour guides, Otman, Saffa and Miriam, made us feel so welcome, and I felt reassured that I would enjoy myself no matter what happened. I really appreciated the free time we were given to explore at our own pace; that really allowed us to see what we really wanted to and let our curiosity guide us, rather than sticking to any sort of rigid itinerary. I loved people-watching: seeing children run on the beach, teenagers my age joking around, men selling refreshing treats in the scorching sun (some of us were lucky enough to get donuts and this quickly became a sensitive topic for those who did not). Moments like these urged me to think outside of myself. At a time in my life when I am forced to do deep self-reflection and figure out what I want for my future, I am deeply grateful to have had the opportunity to release myself from all that pressure and open my mind. 

Throughout the entire program, I felt a bizarre sense of belonging in a place I had never been before. I attribute that entirely to all the lovely people we met and how welcoming they were to all of us foreigners. At our host family’s house, I could not believe how willing they were to take all of us into their home, almost as their own. We took off our shoes at the top of the stairs, hugged a smiley, elderly woman who cooked us dinner, and sat on the couches that circled the room. I don’t think there was one person who didn’t appreciate the hospitality that was shown to all of us, who were, again, complete strangers to them. Before knowing the first thing about us, the host family seemed to have full faith that we would be respectful and well-mannared in their home. This was where we learned how to do wood-painting, speak some Darija (the Moroccan dialect of Arabic), danced, laughed, ate some delicious food and drank traditional Moroccan tea, and most of all, enjoyed each other’s company. 

Great hospitality continued to be shown to us, and through it a new theme emerged: the power of community. This really came to light on my favorite part of the trip: our excursion to the Atlas Mountains to visit the village of Imlil, where many of the indigenous peoples of Morocco (the Amazeigh) reside. That day, we woke up quite early and took a lengthy bus ride out of the city and up to the mountains. The weather was cloudy and a bit rainy, so definitely not the best hiking weather. We walked through rocky terrain on a winding path that took us to a little shop located next to a school. Up until that point, we had been virtually alone. Now, we were surrounded by little kids running and playing. We each picked out an item to bring to the host family, and put all the snacks and groceries into bags. 

When we arrived at the house, we all piled in in a small living room with windows overlooking where we had just walked. The ceilings were very low so we had to duck. We were greeted by the whole family, who were thankful of the food we brought them and seemingly very excited to have us. 

Our time with the family and in their home was brief but precious. The mother demonstrated how she makes carpets and tapestries, the same ones that covered the tables we sat beside and the floors beneath us. We watched as she carefully wove thick yarn between the weft of the loom. Her daughter used a tool to compress the new row of yarn down, and a few people were able to do so as well. We were all captivated by the woman’s mastery at this skill, the joy she seemed to take in it, and the pride she had sharing her craft with all of us. We then sat and enjoyed some Moroccan tea, which I had become obsessed with, and listened to the father of the family talk about his family’s life in Imlil. 

The Amazeigh lifestyle could not be more different than mine growing up in New York City. Whereas I take the train to school, everyone walks there, under a clear blue sky and miles of rocky mountain terrain. There is no litter. No noise pollution. No New York City-craziness. Just the power of a community that wants the best life for everyone in it. This is what the man emphasized: without that desire to see everyone thrive, and without the will to make that happen, the simplistic Amazeigh lifestyle would fail. They rely on each other to ensure the stability of their homes, the success of their crops, and the education of their children. They have frequent meetings at the mosque to discuss what is working and what isn’t. The mosque is also where they pray. We were there for the call to prayer, and listened as a man in the nearby minaret hollered out the prayer for the village to hear. His voice echoed through the mountains as we all sat on the hand-woven carpet. It was completely silent and a truly beautiful moment. 

Visiting the family made me reflect once again on the variety of life. Never before had I witnessed a lifestyle like the Amazeigh in real life. It appeared to me as some sort of paradise; a life without social media, academic competition, economic fears, or a fixation on material goods. And while it seemed so distinct from the rest of the world, they did not seem lonely or isolated. They seemed totally free.

I don’t mean to make it seem like their lives are perfect, because I know they are not. The father of the family emphasized how hard it can be to find a fulfilling education, and that most end up moving to Marrakesh at some point in their lives. In other words, the Amazeigh lifestyle had its impracticalities. But that does not mean it doesn’t have value. I thought about how as a society, we tend to value lifestyles and careers based on measures of success and busyness. To be a work-a-holic appears to be the goal, or at the very least to have a new project at every moment that you can tell everyone about. If we are not already putting pressure on ourselves, society makes sure we understand what we are meant to do. In comparison, the Amazeigh do not work for bragging rights or a resume. They work to better themselves and their community. And for them, that appears to be simple: weaving blankets, trading crops, building homes. But the effect, at least it seemed, is that they all feel inextricably connected. 

Thinking about all of this almost brought me to tears later that day, when we had a Meeting for Worship on the patio of the restaurant where we had lunch. I thought about how peaceful I felt, and how much I longed to experience that feeling more often. I shared with the group that beautiful places like the Atlas Mountains, which evoke such strong feelings of serenity, make me both extremely happy and sad for when that feeling leaves me. I decided I would store the memory of that feeling somewhere inside of me, ready to unlock when I need it. 

When I was crying along with everyone else on the last night of the trip, I remember saying to my friend Gigi how sweet I thought it was that everyone cared so much. I really meant everyone: my friends and all the students on the trip who showed themselves and me such compassion; the faculty, Mouna, Kara, and Joseph,  who took every step to ensure an amazing program for all of us; and all the incredible people we met in Morocco — from our host family to our tour guides to the founders of the girls school — who were empathetic and understanding from the second we got there. 

I remember saying that I wished the world had more people as kind as those I had met in Morocco. But I think there are plenty of truly incredible people on this planet, and experiences like the Morocco trip and my music camps over the summers have taught me that. Simultaneously, I think that evil powers can have a tendency to strip away good from public consciousness. At least right now, our country is governed by people blinded by selfishness and apathy. Events like the ICE raids forced us to confront cruelty up close, but also may have pushed us – well me, I should say – into a cynical mindset. It’s very easy to focus on the bad when there is so much of it. I was very grateful to be reminded of the good.

If I had to take away one thing from my trip, it would be that individuals are nothing without strong, loving communities. It is not a bad thing that we rely so much on each other. Being even more reliant would probably force us to reckon more with others’ problems which, while we’re always saying are not our own, have everything to do with us. I will take these lessons with me for the rest of my life, and I eagerly await the day I can return to Morocco.

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