Morocco Diary

Morocco Diary - First day - March 4

In the 1940s, women in Morocco lived much as they do in the rest of the Arab world—covered head to toe by a jilaba, the long, traditional dress with a hood, and a veil. After independence, things began to change. In 1957, family law was rewritten, and women could work and be educated. Women (some of whom were educated in France) began to demand more rights. Requests included raising the marriage age from 15 to 18, abolishing polygamy, abolishing verbal divorce (a man could just say, “I divorce you,” and it was done), women able to instigate divorce, and a divorced woman should not be thrown out.

Changes didn’t come until 2003! Now a man can have only two wives, but it’s not an automatic right; he must make a request of a judge, and he is granted a second wife only if the first wife cannot have children. Divorce is still easier for men, but is now possible for women. Women have more protection and can run businesses. They can vote and serve in Parliament—and they are beginning to be able to express opinions. More and more women are becoming interested in politics and voting. Life is not completely free, but life is much better than in other Arab countries. A sympathetic (and monogamous) king, the young Mohammad VI, has moved things along.

Morocco never did have female circumcision or honor killing.

Women still have to be careful. Dating can hurt your likelihood of getting married. A man may date a woman for two years, and then decide to marry, and he won’t want to marry the woman he has been dating—he’ll want a woman who has never dated.

Women are now being encouraged to report sexual abuse in the family. However, a woman who is raped is not considered a victim if she is over 18 years of age.

Morocco is almost entirely Sunni, and Sunni is more open to change and progress.

Marriages are all arranged. Even if you pick your own partner, families have to meet and agree on terms and give permission.

Education is compulsory until age 10.

After thanking Amina for her fascinating presentation, it was time to head off to dinner. We drove past the gate to the medina that we had exited after our walking tour and parked nearby, at another entrance into the ancient labyrinth. We continued on foot through long, narrow alleys with massive doors. A tall man in red who wore a fez and carried an old, brass lantern greeted us halfway down a final alley, and we were welcomed into Dinarjat, a famous restaurant in an old mansion inside the medina. Magnificent arches, tile work, vaulted ceilings, pillars—just gorgeous. The tables were beautifully set with linen and silver, with rose petals scattered everywhere.  Magnificently embroidered sofas curved around the tables. It was simply glorious.

The meal started with traditional hand washing, as meals are eaten with hands (traditionally—it was not expected of us). A silver bowl filled with rose petals was held beneath our hands as warm rosewater was poured over our fingers from a silver kettle. Then dinner was served.

Whole, round loaves of whole-grain bread were brought to the tables, as were bowls of olives, both black and spicy green with herbs and chilies. For the salad course, there were seven traditional salads: potato with cilantro, cucumber with tomato, spinach, eggplant, beets with onion and cilantro, fava beans, and peppers with onions. (Cucumber, eggplant, beet, and pepper were my four favorites.)

Next, we were served the famed Moroccan specialty, bestila, a pigeon pie with a flaky, phyllo crust, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon—a classic Arab combination of sweet and savory to which our Western palates are generally unaccustomed. It was delightful.

Next came the briwat, small, fried pastries filled with meat. One was generously flavored with cumin, the other had a curry-like flavor.

Musicians had begun playing by this time: one playing the oud (a stringed, mandolin-like instrument), one the bendir (a drum), and one the kanun (somewhat like a large zither).

The main course was now brought out—three tagines! One was lamb with raisins and almonds, one was beef with artichoke bottoms, and the final one was chicken with preserved lemon and preserved brown olives. Wow. What a feast.

Dessert was jawhara—a stack of crispy phyllo rounds layered with cream and milk, honey, almonds, and rosewater. Surprisingly, it was not over sweet. It was delicious, the rosewater giving it an almost ethereal quality. I was particularly delighted because the airline magazine had had a two-page feature extolling the glories of this very dessert, and here I was enjoying it in such spectacular surroundings.

An exceedingly tall and quite handsome young man came out with the mint tea, and we all applauded (and photographed) as he poured it from high over his head into the small glasses on his silver tray. What a show. And after only two meals, I’m officially addicted to mint tea.

The meal ended when one of our attractive, red-robed servers sprinkled our hands and heads with rosewater, using a beautiful, silver sprinkling bottle. This just keeps getting better.

To top it off, we were led back through the narrow alleys by the tall, red-robed man in the fez who had welcomed us. His lantern was in his hand. Too perfect.

Back to the hotel and to bed. We have an early start tomorrow.