Measuring the march of time, culture in Morocco

TERRE HAUTE — I spent 10 days in Morocco in October. We were planning a study abroad trip for May 2013. My impression of Morocco, after a couple of days, was both familiar and “mysterious.” Familiar due to its French influences, Morocco was a French colony until 1956. In the capital city of Rabat it was hard not to think I was in a European city. That French was spoken, that signage was in French, that buildings reminded me of New Orleans, all made the first days in Morocco familiar and comfortable.

Just as my college French seemed to be coming back to me, as I got familiar with bon jour, oui, merci beaucoup and si’l vous plait, we moved from Rabat and its meetings with government officials to smaller towns, university officials, back-street cafes, and bold, stark landscapes. Then something happened. New feelings pushed in, as the familiar gave way to the unfamiliar … the more Arabic aspects of Morocco.

In Marrakesh we visited the largest public square in Morocco. The square and the large open-air market adjoining the square, has a frenetic energy. No fancy malls, no slick advertising, no sales promotions, just the raw energy of buyers and sellers negotiating a deal to mutual satisfaction.

In Essaouira I began to relax and feel comfortable with mysterious Morocco. Essaouira is a very old walled city on the Atlantic coast. Founded by the Portuguese in the 14th century, we stayed in an old Spanish style villa in the old medina. There we sat at a café, drinking atay, the traditional mint tea, watching the locals and tourists in the market, hearing the call to prayer at the three nearby mosques. On our way from Marrakesh, our driver, Mustafa, showed us various economic development projects, one a winery. We bought a bottle and after the sun was down, and the air cooler, we sat in the courtyard of the villa, the Riad Al Madina, enjoying the wine. Later, I restfully slept with the windows open to the cool dry air, with the deep, rough, powerful Atlantic but a few hundred yards away. I changed in Essaouira, I was beginning to see the real Moroc (as Morocco is called by Moroccans).

I’m fascinated by the way time is experienced in the culture of the land I am visiting. At first, Moroc felt like the industrial time that is America, an unrelenting industrial drum beat of time. Americans, even the laid back ones, are in a rush. Schedules, meetings, appointments, rush, rush, rush, in constant motion rushing from one thing to another. That was how our first days in Rabat were, rushing from meeting to meeting, place to place.

Moroccans, however, build in time for the pleasures of life, like eating. In Moroc, the most delicious and “artful” food can be served to you in McDonald’s-like time. On the streets and back alleys, a tajine (a conical-shaped “crock pot” cooked over hot coals) cooks all morning so as to be ready for lunch. One actually inspects the particular tajine, negotiates its price, then it’s served at your table. If it were McDonald’s, the food would be served then, and 10-12 minutes later, we’d be off to the next appointment. Not in Moroc. Time is really the secret spice in Moroccan cuisine. No meal is “fast.” “Hurry up” spoils the meal. Table talk is as important as the khobz (bread) served with every meal.

Order atay (Moroccan mint tea) and you get a small metal pot of boiling green tea with fresh mint and several large sugar cubes. It is not served ready to drink. The fresh mint must be added and let steep. Sugar must be added and mixed. Mixing is done by pouring the tea into a small, shot-glass sized glass, from a rather high distance to put a frothy head on the tea and then that is poured back into the pot, over and over and over. Until it is right. Time to get it right. Not clock time, but right to the taste.

Amidst the frenetic energy of the medina, the traffic of the boulevard, the time intensive march of modernity, Moroccans wait for the tea to be just right. How much have we lost in the U.S., especially in the important relationships in our lives, because time either rushes things or we find we don’t have enough time to get it right?

Experiencing the cultural concept of time

previously published in the Terre Haute Tribune Star, 14 August 2011

I spent most of July in Thailand as part of a unique study abroad program. Several ISU faculty and students joined faculty and students from two Chinese universities on a study abroad program focused on sustainable development, experiential learning, and community engagement. Our program moved across Thailand using four different universities as classrooms.

The administrators, faculty and staff from Suan Sunandha Rajabaht University, Chiang Mai Rajabaht University, Pibulsongkram Rajabaht University, and Rajabaht Maha Sarakam University were gracious and most helpful in making our program a success.

Do you experience time as an external force pushing you and others along like a river or the wind? Do you anticipate events, plan, and daydream about doing other things? Do you “chase the clock?” Or do you live in the moment, ignore the clock and focus on the experience? Do you eat when it is time or when you are hungry?

Psychologists tell us that different individuals experience time in different ways, but after nearly three weeks in Thailand, there is a significant cultural effect on how individuals experience time. Psychologists also tell us that daydreaming, reminiscing, and planning instead of “living in the moment” makes us unhappy. Perhaps this explains the seeming happiness and general contentment of the Thai people I met.

For instance, how often do you do one thing while daydreaming of doing another? Countless times this summer as I sat working, I thought, “this is a beautiful day, why am I not outside doing x, y, or z?” How many anticipate the weekend as we trudge through the week?

I asked many of our Thai hosts, as they took us to see Royal agricultural projects or grand historical and cultural sites, “if you weren’t doing this today with us, what would you be doing?” It is not that the words were not understood, but the concept seemed foreign. Each person I asked this answered similarly: “I am here doing this with you.” I don’t think this was Thai niceness, rather, I don’t think Thais comparatively evaluate the passing of time the way we do. “Today I am going with these Americans and Chinese to the Golden Teak Palace.” Whereas, an American might think, “I wonder how Jimmie Johnson is doing in the big race today, which I can’t watch because I am taking these visitors to the local museum.”

Thais are aware that they treat and experience time differently than we time-obsessed Americans. “Thai time” was on plain display when an interpreter asked the convener of the conference we were attending what time things would begin the next morning. The answer was typically Thai: “Definitely 8:30, maybe 9.” The conference began the next day at 8:45. The clock didn’t determine when things began, the conference began when the convener was ready and the speaker was in place, not a moment before or after that. The clock was mostly irrelevant. Schedules were only approximate and changes were not uncommon.

The needs of the moment dictate action. While crossing the country from west to east, the air conditioner in our van broke down. It was hot, and with a van full of people, it was very uncomfortable. Our driver, along with two other vans, all headed into a town to get our AC repaired.

If this were in the U.S., the others would have gone ahead, but we all stuck together. After a refrigerant recharge, we headed off. Thirty minutes later the AC failed again, indicating a need for a more extensive repair. Despite the unlikelihood of getting the AC repaired that day, the driver kept trying. We suggested just continuing on with the windows down, but the need of the moment was to fix the van. The driver kept seeking a repair until both our driver and host sensed the Americans were getting upset, changing the needs of the moment; now the guests were getting restless.

It is important to note, it was the Americans who were getting restless, not the Chinese.

For a few hours today I lived in the moment. I went for an early morning paddle on the Wabash. I didn’t think about the work I “should” be doing or the workplace crisis of the moment. Just what was in front of me, a heron or an eagle, the smooth glide of my kayak as it cut through the murky Wabash waters, and I deliberately forgot my watch.

Time was marked by putting the kayak in and taking it out of the water