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Becky Schulthies
Morocco
July 2004
View Previous Submission by Becky Schulthies
To Hear and Be Heard
It was a summer day in the south, with the heat and humidity near the Tiznit coast blurring the outlines of the Anti-Atlas mountain ridges in the near distance. I was driving with a colleague through a region I had not seen previously, following a visit to one of my research sites. The roads were narrow and winding, climbing past small Amazigh (Berber) villages painted with bright earth tones; we saw almost no road traffic for the space of several hours.
As I rounded a bend in the road I swerved to miss an elderly Berber fellow with a beautiful weathered face, leaning precariously on his ornately-carved cane in the middle of the road. I wondered how he had made it as far as he had, given that he was so far from any town and the speed of his motion was a turtle-esque shuffle. I offered him a lift and eased the little rental car over a mountainous gravel road to a village where he planned to visit an old friend, about four kilometers off the beaten path.
He immediately asked where we were from, only to tell me, "What you did in Iraq was not very good." After a short exchange about people and politics that lasted all of 30 seconds, he offered profuse thanks to us for giving him a ride in the most polite and genuine manner, then proceeded to talk about the villages in the area, where he was from, and other forms of travel chat. I was, and continue to be, struck by that contact moment. There was no question about how a foreign woman would know Arabic, no talk of the weather, just a simple statement of awareness, an opportunity to express and comment on current events that impinged on both of our lives.
While my research has focused on how families make sense of media content in the home, there is no part of Morocco where I have not been confronted by this awareness of current events, and exposed to personal sentiments about them. Perhaps it is my own mobility (physical and social), my language ability, and my nationality that raises these issues to the fore. I've cultivated the art of listening, realized the cathartic power released by freedom of expression, and deepened my gratitude for the principles of tolerance, acceptance, human dignity and adaptability.
Learning Moroccan Arabic has not been easy, but the rewards for making the effort have been more than simply easing my data collection and/or analysis. Arabic has literally opened the doors to families and institutional contacts that I would not have had otherwise.
One of the highlights of this year was volunteering as an artist escort during the Fes Festival for Sacred Music. I was the only non-Moroccan escort, and was assigned to work with a Moroccan group that spoke no English as well as a South African band. The conversations were delightful, full of stories about past performances; philosophies about the artist as a psychologist who observes and treats the illnesses of people through music; shared moments melting in the Moroccan sun; laughing with the sound crew; and enjoying the strains of profound music to a backdrop of storks and a brilliant sunset. But truly, the most valuable experience has been simply talking and listening to everyday Moroccans, families and individuals who are making the best out of difficult circumstances, trying to reconcile their experiences with their faith, and living each day.
The Fulbright experience has laid the foundation for my future research. I've received two grants (CAORC and Wenner-Gren, both of which I credit partially to Fulbright's valuable contribution to my academic résumé) to continue studying in Morocco; I also will be expanding my research to include a comparison with the interpretive practices of Lebanese families. While I will not be returning to live in the U.S. for at least a year, I know that my Fulbright year in Morocco has aided not only my future academic career, but also deepened my appreciation for the complexity and beauty found in trying to hear and be heard.
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