Taking Turns

I always tell myself I should walk more. The surrounding olive groves and pastures make for excellent terrain, sprawling out from town center for hours to the east and west. North will take you back to the main road to Marrakesh (N.B. not the lyrical Marrakesh Express of Crosby, Stills, and Nash; I don't live on the train line); trek south for nearly an hour and voila, the Middle Atlas. Ample hiking opportunities lie at my feet, yet I rarely take advantage of them.

Women in Foum Oudi rarely go on excursions alone. Groups of women wash their laundry in the irrigation canals that cut a path through the douwars (villages). They usually walk to souq together or are accompanied by (presumably) a male family member. These outings all have a purpose.

My attempts during homestay to take community walks, to explore my new environment were at first confounding. Inevitably, my host mother asked: Where are you going? The response in Darija directly translates to I'm just taking a turn, which I love for its Austen-like timbre. An outdoor jaunt for the mere purpose that one enjoys the sensation of putting one foot in front of the other drew confused looks. My host brother usually served as my escort.

Now that I live on my own—with greater name recognition in town, more developed language skills, and some semblance of independence—I could get away with long walks by myself. I may be a single woman, but I'm American, after all; I need not acquiesce to every cultural norm. The notion still makes me uncomfortable, though. As the sole American in town, most of my movements—bike rides, lunches, meetings—often appear to be fodder for town news, as my host family and neighbors regularly seem aware of my doings before I report them.

I rode my bike for the first time in February. Later that day over tea, my host father greeted me with I heard you rode your bike this morning. Where were you going? Luckily, I was confident in my purpose: I had visited an association in another douwar to discuss future collaboration. He nodded, satisfied, and then reminded me I shouldn’t be out alone after dark.

Remaining culturally appropriate has been a priority, so I try to avoid situations—like solo excursions—that are abnormal and attract more attention. I have relished every visit from fellow volunteers since it provided the perfect excuse for a day of wandering. But cultural exchange is always a give and take, and now that spring is in bloom, I think it’s time I take a turn.