A visit with a local Moroccan school…

September 27, 2009

My friend Hafida, who is a teacher in a nearby village, invited me to accompany her to school in order to provide insight into the lives of Moroccan children and their education. I was thrilled, as this is the type of thing I enjoy most about traveling: the opportunity to step inside a world radically different than my own, if only for a few moments.

Hafida teaches Classic Arabic in a tiny village about an hour outside of Essaouira. That long commute means that the teachers generally live on-site during the week and return home to their families on the weekend. Many Moroccans don’t own vehicles and the roads are substandard at best- so the journey is long and arduous. We set out for school at 7am, as classes begin at 8:00. As we drove, I saw masses of children on the way to various schools- some in uniform and others not. Most walked on foot, though the lucky few enjoyed riding in on the family donkey. Hafida said that many children in her school walk between 2-4 kilometers each way every day to attend classes. I only wish that I could inspire that kind of dedication to education in my own children.

Local children making their way to school

Classes are held six days a week in two sessions, from 8am-noon and 2-6pm. Children attend one or the other, but not both. While that seems like a brief day, it’s on par or longer than that of my children when one factors in the walk to and from. Boys and girls attend classes together and the education is complimentary, provided that each family can afford the books (approximately $50 USD each year) and uniform, if required. In actuality, that means that most children in large villages attend school, but many girls (and some boys) in the countryside do not- as their family cannot afford to educate all the children and boys are given priority. Those who don’t attend school generally work tending livestock or assisting their mother with errands, laundry and cooking.

Focusing intently on her Arabic studies

Subjects include French, classic Arabic, geography, history, math, sciences and the Koran. This particular school is composed of two stand-alone classrooms which host 156 students in all, making the class size roughly forty pupils to one teacher. The classrooms are decorated with big chalkboards, petite desks, maps and drawings on the walls- very similar to American classrooms, minus all the savvy technology our children enjoy. There are no libraries, no computers, no overhead projectors, etc. The schools have neither heat nor air conditioning, but that didn’t seem to impede the enthusiasm of the children, who raised their hands eagerly to answer questions and show off their knowledge.

Struggling during my Arabic lesson

I was asked to sit in on an Arabic lesson and the children seemed delighted as I entered the building. Stunned, but delighted. Hafida explained that for many of the children- this was the first time they had seen a Western woman, so my style of dress, my light complexion, curly hair and blue eyes were a complete novelty to them. This quickly became apparent when I took a seat at an empty desk next to a little boy who promptly jumped up, ran to this teacher and hid behind her. Apparently, he was nervous about sitting so close to a creature so foreign to him. His teacher said his heart was racing; luckily, a cherub-cheeked little girl offered to switch places with him and we became fast friends. Nothing like an experience such as this one to remind you how incredibly different your life is from that of these children…

Donkeys parked outside the village school

I suffered through the lesson, each mispronounced Arabic word eliciting a soft round of giggles from the other pupils. My new friend next to me took to smuggling me the answers in the form of hushed whispers, which I appreciated as I was drowning quickly. After the lesson was complete, the children were eager to have their picture taken, flooding the school yard to give me their best smiles and a big “CHEESE!”

Smiling faces as the day’s lessons conclude

I lingered for the rest of the day, drinking it all in and making new friends. At the end of our time together, I bid the children farewell and thanked them for hosting me. I was incredibly touched when a small boy approached and asked for my hand. Thinking he wanted to shake it, I extended it- and he promptly bowed and kissed it. That set off a tidal wave of children who, one-by-one, ran up to kiss my hand, a sign of deep respect in the Moroccan culture. Do you ever just feel completely lost in a moment? I was humbled to the point of tears, feeling as though I’d just walked off the pages of a National Geographic. As my car pulled away, the children began to run after us and followed us down the road for a good while…

Running after our car to say goodbye!

I left a piece of my heart at the school that day. Inspired by this visit, I have put some ideas in motion for a philanthropic project I hope will bear fruit for these children and I should have an announcement fairly soon. I was moved by their eagerness and dedication and that of their teachers, who share the most basic of living quarters, sacrificing creature comforts and their families during the week in order to aid in the development of these children. Their salary? Less than $400 per month, which must provide for their transportation to and from each week, their food while at the school, and all of their family expenses at home. The “teacher house” has no heat, no air conditioning, no refrigerator, no computer, no running water, no stove, no cabinetry, only one TV that must date to the 1960’s…and the entire affair is miles from anything else.

The teacher’s quarters-lacking a few creature comforts, no?

When you pull up in the carpool line of your child’s school this afternoon, please send up a small prayer for these delicate souls- that they will be blessed in their eagerness to learn and better themselves. Inchallah.

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