Live and Let Live

The first year I traveled with Children’s Global Alliance, I was asked on many occasions what inspired me to volunteer. I would tell people I had a strong desire to help others, and along the way, I was trying to find myself. In the two years since my initial trip, I have learned I was never really “finding myself”. Instead, I have been working to create myself.

Growing up in the Vail Valley, I was seldomly exposed to poverty. Reading about poor countries in textbooks, and seeing them in the news, could not come close to the understanding I received staring into the eyes of a starving boy. Similarly, the situations I put myself in at home have not pushed me to shape my personality as quickly or as deeply as experiencing how people live in other countries.

The families I have had the opportunity to visit in Morocco have taught me about acceptance. A young student, Fatima, kindly welcomed us into her home. After hearing countless stereotypes about Muslims in the United States, I was curious about how people in Morocco would feel about Americans. Fatima’s mother told me she thought Americans were no different from her. She told us, it does not matter what language you speak, what color your skin is, or which people you love. Fatima’s mother accepted others without judging them. She focused only on being a good person herself and allowed others to do what made them happy without any discrimination.

Of course, I have met others who have told me they do not discriminate, but Fatima’s mother was different. Listening to the powerful tone she used to speak and watching her dark eyes become so focused and set in their place helped me understand, this woman truly believed each word she was saying. This impacted me in a way I could not even comprehend at the time. After reflecting upon her wise words, I realized a level of acceptance exists here that does not exist at home.

At the school we teach, the children not only accept foreigners, they accept each other and themselves. In the United States, we would not readily accept anyone into our classroom, especially not anyone from a Muslim country. Alternatively, here the children welcomed every new teacher with open arms and open minds. Watching the children play helped me realize each individual is valued. The kids have friends that they spend time with often. Although, they have their own group of friends, no group acts superior to another. When playing games, every person is invited. Even though the kids are different, they all have the same mindset. To me, it seems this mindset is based on the idea that before we judge others, we must judge ourselves. In the Moroccan culture, people have grown accustom to focusing on improving themselves, not changing others.

As I am working to continue becoming the person I want to be, I am going to integrate the acceptance I have experienced in Morocco. I plan on getting to know each person I meet before assuming who they are. When I meet people who are different from me, I will remember those I have met in the past two weeks and attempt to embrace the differences, as my Moroccan friends have taught me.

"America the Brave Still Fears What We Don't Know"

Everything in our world is separated into groups. Movies, books and music are categorized by genres, stars are grouped into galaxies and people are grouped based on their prominent characteristics. Each group is analyzed and then labeled. In high school, the football players are labeled cool, while the cheerleaders and dancers are pretty and the kids who enjoy learning are nerds. Whether your label is justified or not, each person and each group has more value than a single word can express.

In the United States, I became aware that each person in the Muslim group has the label of a terrorist. Many of my teachers only explained the few violent practices of the Muslim culture and failed to express how beautiful and empowering their deep devotion to themselves, their families and their God truly is. My peers have honestly felt threatened in the presence of a Muslim individual. Millions of hate-crimes have been committed against those peaceful people. I saw a woman in the airport refuse to board a plane simply because a Muslim family was also on the flight. The idea that everyone in the Muslim culture has terrible intentions is heartbreaking, angering and nowhere close to the truth.

In the class I have been teaching, the students have welcomed me and expressed great amounts of love to everyone in the room.  A very intelligent boy who sits in the back of the class, named Zaki is filled with so much compassion and love it is inspiring. Zaki is always excited to learn and is very close to being fluent in English. Every time we learn a new subject, Zaki absorbs the information quickly and then helps his friends understand too. Zaki is patient and humble, he never acts as though he is superior and he helps others simply out of kindness. Zaki explained to me, it is his dream to travel to New York. He aspires to become fluent in English and do any work that will help him get to the United States. Zaki has ambitious goals and in many ways I want to help him reach the. I hope that Zaki gets the opportunity to see the New York City lights at night. I want him to be able to swim in the deep oceans and summit high Rocky Mountain peaks. I think Zaki deserves the opportunity to be surrounded by people who speak the language he has been working so hard to learn. I believe Zaki would love to experience all of the amazing opportunities presented in the U.S, although, if he ever were to go, I would fear for his well-being. Since Zaki is from a Muslim country, he would have great difficulties even entering the United States. Then, in the country Zaki or any other Muslim individual would be hated and feared. He would not be given equal opportunity because he is labeled a “terrorist.” This reality confuses me beyond words. How could you possibly look at a child like Zaki and call them such a malicious word? The idea that Americans could see Zaki and hate him without ever giving him a chance breaks my heart.

I think that the only way this irrational fear will cease to exist is if Americans decide to become more open-minded. People would have to stop just saying they are not racist and truly attempt to understand others before making any judgments or assumptions.  I hope someday Americans will have the courage and the wisdom to look beyond the label of terrorist and accept Muslims as an equal and beautiful group.

Kebda

In Morocco, I have been welcomed into homes filled with love. The people inside have taught me not only about their own lives, but about my life as well. They have explained that nothing would be possible without their kebdas. Kebdas bring love, happiness, support, and purpose to life. In Moroccan Arabic, kebda literally means liver, but the word is also used to refer to your family. It is not possible to function if your liver is absent; similarly, many people in Morocco believe it would not be possible to function without their families.

            It is common to live near your family for the entirety of your life. In Morocco, home is not a building or a town; home is where your family is. This idea was foreign to me.  In the United States the majority of people move away from home at 18 years old, and many never look back. This custom has never seemed abnormal or wrong to me, because it is all I have ever known. Although now, being exposed to families with so much long-lasting love, I cannot imagine wanting to leave forever. A young girl, Fatima-Zahara, allowed me to visit her home. She explained to me, many people want to live near their parents because God has given them parents that make them feel lucky. Fatima-Zahara; who lives in a one-room home with her Mother and Grandmother; who has small amounts of food and water; who owns three pairs of clothes; feels lucky.  She is thankful to her mother for working, for cooking, for cleaning, for loving, and for trying. Seeing Fatima-Zahara be grateful for so little has made me even more grateful for so much. My kebda and ones I have been exposed to are so special because they are comprised of people you can depend on. Children know that their parents will work extremely hard to buy food and water, provide them with education, and keep a roof over their heads.  They put this effort in because they love their children and want the best for them. Children in Morocco are wise and understand their parents’ intentions. This understanding and love keeps the children close to their parents for decades when parents in Morocco become elderly, it is always their children who come to their aid.

            This tradition seems natural to me and I want to take part in it. My parents have already started to follow the tradition and have provided me with so much care. I have been given a wonderful home and have always been blessed with copious amounts of food and water. More importantly, my parents have shown me what love looks like. They have shown me I have importance and should not allow myself to be treated otherwise. They help me up when I fall and teach me how to stay on my feet. I am so thankful for each lesson I have learned and feel like it is right to do my part in the tradition. I will remember that as I age, they age too. Even if I get less dependent on them for basic needs, they may become more dependent on others as they get old. I want to be there for my parents just like Fatima-Zahara and countless other children in Morocco. Even though it is less common in the United States, I hope I can stay close to my kebda for many years.