Lessons from Morocco

By: Allie Sherman

I have never flown internationally before. I can still remember the way my heart was beating as I saw the Eiffel Tower from outside the airplane’s window, thousands of feet above the ground. When we climbed off the plane in Rabat, the ocean breeze called to me: “let’s have an adventure.” I closed my eyes and soaked in the feeling you get from being somewhere strange and new. When I opened them, I saw three soldiers walking on the tarmac. The two on the ends carried automatic weapons. I tried not to be weary because I was aware I would see things that I am not used to, but it still gave me a bit of a jump.

As we carpooled to our first destination, I kept my eyes on the people. I first noticed how happy everyone was. There were beautiful public spaces and people were hustling and bustling about. Some were cloaked in hijabs; some let their hair flow in the wind. There was no shortage of different styles of dress. I even saw more soldiers with weapons walking amongst the citizens, sometimes talking and laughing with each other. The more I saw them, the more comfortable they became to me. Just people doing their job. As citizens interacted with each other on the roadsides, I couldn’t help but imagine how the United States would feel if we were more connected. If we had the time and infrastructure to use cars a little less and our feet a little more.

This trip became a symbol to me of that exact sentiment. What could home look like if we borrowed some lessons from Morocco?

As a student, I went into one of the first RootEd Global programs most excited to learn about Sustainable Energy Practices. Morocco has a desert climate very similar to Utah’s. I remember our director, Easton, looking at me on the bus somewhere between Marrakech and Fes and saying, “looks like home.” Just like Utah, Morocco has been experiencing many years of drought caused by climate change. We learned that Morocco is one of the global leaders in renewable energy goals, and they have committed to being over 52% renewable by 2030. You would think at first that this is very admirable, but upon speaking with university students at the University of Mohammad, we gained a new perspective.

While the students were proud of their country for making this commitment, they are all too aware that the global leaders, such as the US and China, are the countries that contribute the most to climate change while countries in the Global South pay the overwhelming price by experiencing the most natural disasters caused by global pollution. They also mentioned how most of Morocco’s budget has been going to environmental initiatives and the country’s universal healthcare plan suffers for it. Morocco is committing to clean energy initiatives that make little difference in the long run if the United States continues to blast carbon emissions into the atmosphere. It would seem that some young people are starting to think the country would be better off investing in its own citizens’ wellbeing first. It saddened me to think that this is the hopelessness that breeds global division, but it was also a stark reminder to me of the importance of advocating for our planet. There are people all across the world counting on us to be the change, hoping that the United States notices their country’s small, but impactful innovations and commitments. It is our duty to be inspired by them and follow suit.

This cultural exchange put me in a unique and challenging position, but I do love a challenge. The students in Morocco were not afraid to share their very honest perspectives about the United States leaving the Paris Climate Accord and the hostile climate toward foreigners and migration (much of migration is now caused by people being forced to flee their homes due to disasters caused by climate change). I was already aware of these issues, but this experience forced me to look the people it was affecting in the eye. I processed very complicated emotions from that day, different from the everyday shame I had been feeling at home. I had no answers for them, and my apology meant nothing. But we still came together and worked on strategies for solutions. I liked their idea that no solution can be achieved without reparations for the harm caused, and I stated that no solution can be reached without collective action. As a country, we must decide to be better and do better, and I think that crossing the ocean to discuss solutions that benefit everyone is an important step to that process.

During our conversations, Calvin (a member of our team) asked how Morocco typically acts or feels towards migration. The students seemed somewhat confused, but the overall consensus was that although there can be division in the country, most Moroccans treat foreigners even better than they treat themselves. It is a part of their religion and culture to be welcoming and kind, much different to most of the attitudes in the West right now. In that moment, I wasn’t aware of just how much truth that answer held, but we were sure to find out as our journey progressed. I enjoyed the educational experiences of Rabat, including visiting NGO’s and learning more about how the country is democratizing, improving education, and becoming more inclusive and progressive. However, I was not prepared for the sacred and deep lessons waiting for me in the small rural communities of the Atlas Mountains.

On our way to Zerkten, we stopped at some ruins and met with leaders from a large nonprofit organization. We were taken on a tour of the grounds by an old groundskeeper. Here, there was a tomb which housed a Jewish Saint. We were able to see the Jewish Synagogue and the Jewish cemetery, but the fascinating part was that we could also see the Muslim structures. This community, which was abandoned within the groundskeeper’s lifetime, used to be

home to both Jewish and Muslim people alike. They lived together peacefully, and now that the Jewish population has gone, the remaining Muslim population still care for the Jewish structures and the tomb of the Saint left behind. It was a remarkable example of interfaith connections. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the conflict between Israel and Palestine. I thought about how much violence in history could have been avoided if the world could have seen this place and been inspired by it as I had. As humans, we can love and appreciate one another and respect each other’s beliefs and differences.

The nonprofit also explained how they acquire land and plant olive & almond trees and medicinal herbs there. This is for the creation or benefit of what they call “cooperatives” or “co-ops”. Many of these co-ops are for women. It gives them a place to grow crops, increase their valuation by turning them into products, such as oils, and sell them for profit. Co-ops are all over the country and have been created as a way to help women empower themselves and rural communities have a reliable source of income during droughts where rural villages who grow their own food would be left destitute. The most fascinating part about these co-ops, NGO’s, and the overall voluntary sector of Morocco is that most of these people are operating without pay. The people helping co-ops begin, the NGO’s like Tiflet Young Leaders, and volunteers in the Atlas Mountains do what they do because they have a strong passion to improve the lives of their neighbors and the conditions of their communities. I still think about how much we could get done at home if we could love and care for each other as much as these people do. If we still valued community the way that Moroccans do.

We were lucky to be able to work with some local volunteers and plant some of the almond trees for a rural village. I looked out over the edge of a steep mountainside at one of the most beautiful sights I have laid my eyes on. The valley below was a mix of red dirt and green vegetation. Small villages with dirt homes hugged the mountainsides about every half mile to a mile. We were told that the dirt road had only been built a few years prior, to help volunteers reach villages that were impacted by the devastating earthquake of 2023. Just another example of the commitment to helping those in need.

I still remember the feeling of holding my little almond tree in my hands. The vibrant green leaves are like a beacon of life itself. Its little branches like ten fingers and toes. It felt like holding a newborn baby and sending your teenager off to college all in one moment. Moroccans use the land and terrain strategically to farm, using the mountainside to capture water. It is very impressive. We held our little baby trees tightly as we climbed down the steep mountains, pickaxed holes in the ground, and shoveled red dirt over the roots, solidifying their permanent homes. All this work we did in pairs, each of us with a local partner. Mine was named Soufian. Soufian and I had to learn how to communicate and build trust without knowing each other’s language so that we could successfully plant our trees without tumbling down the mountain. This experience was very spiritual for me as I tended to the plants and became a responsible steward of the land there.

When we had completed our task, the village leader (I don’t know the correct terminology), felt moved and asked us all (about 20 of us) to come into his home and have what he referred to as a “snack”. As we sat on cushioned benches built into the wall and got to know each other more, he would periodically poke in and tell us in his language how happy he was that we were there and that we were very welcome in his home. He served us large platters of nuts, oils, and other snacks. Then he brought us two giant dishes of couscous (which is special because they typically only eat couscous on Fridays for religious purposes), complete with Moroccan breads. These platters really were enormous. I think if I curled up into a ball, I could fit inside that dish in a bed of couscous.

The village leader thanked us and reminded us again that we are welcome in his home. He told us to come again, to bring our families, and he would be happy to host us. We decided to get adventurous and rode down the mountain on the top of the bus, holding onto the handrails, bouncing along the rocky path, feeling the wind on our faces. We sang songs with each other, performed our national anthems, and shared smiles and laughter. This day was special to me, because I learned something that can’t be read in a book. Something that can’t be discussed at a university desk. I learned something that can only be experienced by looking at your new friends, smiling, unable to speak, and just feeling the way that the earth has connected you.

The earth is not the only way we can feel connected. We also spent time with a hundred or so students at the local nonprofit boarding school that focuses on preparing rural students in the High Atlas for formal education. We went out there with the goal of teaching them American games. We taught them foursquare, connected with them through chalk art, and played kickball. I remember looking over at one point to see Dean (another member of our team) hidden behind a sea of young boys, arms up, moving like a tidal wave to catch the kickball high in the air. A little later, I saw a young girl playing with rocks on the ground. I’d seen this game before, and Mehmet, our USU professor, told me he had seen children playing it earlier. I asked the girl if she could show me how to play. Slowly, more and more children accumulated near me as I failed and succeeded at throwing and picking up rocks. At one point, the teacher came by and asked about my tattoo on my forearm which reads “I am no man” (from Lord of the Rings). I explained that it was a tattoo for women empowerment, which he translated to the children. The girls were very impressed by that. But then when he asked me my name, Allie, and shared it with the children, they all laughed and giggled because Ali is a boy’s name in Arabic. The tattoo was then, sort of ironic.

After I had successfully played an entire round of the rock game without failing, the girls wanted to teach me some of their other games. They were pretty similar to American games. They had a version of red rover, down by the banks, and other singing games. The girls helped to teach me how to sing the songs in their language. When they told us it was time, I was bummed. I had been having so much fun. We went to take a group picture at the amphitheater, and the girls wanted to hold our hands as we walked. Their eyes were shining and full of admiration and curiosity. I never wanted to leave them. I thought about youtuber Ms. Rachel and her recent messages she has been spreading about children, especially children who have died or been injured in Gaza. How children are the same everywhere, they just want to play and learn, all around the world, and it is our job to protect them. I was consistently holding back tears for the remainder of the day, trying to stave off these very powerful and moving experiences so I didn’t get caught bawling in a picture.

To make the day even more emotional, we visited a women’s co-op in a very poor region. These women worked in a dirt building with traditional stone tools. The younger ones had babies strapped to their backs that stared at us with big brown eyes. The women taught us how to make couscous. Making couscous is actually quite tedious. You have to gently roll the tiny balls of grain in a dish while adding small amounts of flour and water. When you have some the right consistency, you use a sifter to get it out, then pour the rest back in and start again. I thought back to the massive dishes of couscous that were made for us by the village leader’s wife. Not only had they welcomed us into their home and fed us more than they probably had, but they also took the time to prepare such a time-consuming dish.

The women from this co-op were quick to invite us to participate, and then randomly they brought dresses into the room and asked for us to put them on. They were traditional Amazigh clothing that they said they only wore for special events. They dressed us up and called us beautiful and smiled as we took pictures and admired their clothing. I asked our translator to tell them how much I truly appreciated their kindness and giving us the lovely experience they gave us, and their response was that they wanted to thank us for caring enough to come and see what they are doing and to support their work. I was so moved by that response and in the moment, I couldn’t understand why, but I realized it is because those women didn’t even realize how valuable that experience was for me, they would never truly know how much it meant to me. By the end of this day, I had experienced so much hospitality and human connection during my stay in Morocco that all I could do was find a safe place to sit alone and cry.

I went to Morocco to learn, but I came home with more than just knowledge. Every day from now on I will think of my counterparts from across the globe, who are deserving of everything this life has to offer. The world deserves better than what we have been giving it, humans, animals, even rocks and streams. As Americans, we are living in a unique time where so much of the future depends on what we do. And if we don’t adapt, it will still get done, but we will be left behind. It is high time that we commit to international dialogue and acceptance of global migration patterns caused by violence, including climate violence. It is never too late to value our collective differences and use them to build a better world.

I think we can feel pride and shame simultaneously. I think we can be critical without being cynical. Being critical of EVERY country and their practices is how we improve the way that we live and the way that we care for our Earth and its habitants. Learning from each other, accepting our differences, and connecting through the universal experience of being human is how we create lasting unity and a global culture of respect, and it’s the first step to healing the planet we all call home.

“Cultural differences should not separate us from each other, but rather cultural diversity brings a collective strength that can benefit all of humanity.” – Robert Alan