Get out more. . . you might discover something new in your own backyard!

So, I got up this morning and brushed my teeth (usually routine), washed my face from the dirty little sleepies that creep into the corners of my eyes and washed the little spots of white that were on my face from last night’s OXY acne medication. Don’t worry, I’m not ziti or anything. Anyways, I came back, changed out of my PJ’s into my clothes for the day and got down on my knees, awake and conscious, to thank heaven for all my many blessings. And so the day began with scripture study and also some reading of the Qur’an. You know, recently I’ve been getting into the Qur’an and I’ve discovered that there are so many things that I find myself really taking to heart and saying “That’s sooooooo true!” I sometimes feel that instead of me reading the Qur’an, the Qur’an is reading me! It’s a really cool feeling and it really brings to mind the writings of Nephi and how merciful God is in giving his word to all of his children. And there’s many things that we can learn from the Qur’an, if we but had an open mind and cast our fears aside. I recommend it to anyone who is interested.

So, after scripture study, I got down to reading my lessons for the day. 2 chapters of this book, 10 pages of my grammar book, 5 pages of my Moroccan Arabic book, 1 chapter of a smaller grammar book, 2 pages of this other book and one chapter of this one book. Yeah, I have a structured little system for myself and I’m working at it consistently, which is something that requires patience, hard work, diligence and a firm mind. Eye of the Tiger baby, Eye of the Tiger! Oh, and if you haven’t seen Rocky III in a while, I recommend doing so along with reading the Qur’an.



Anyways, today, I was studying and I decided to take a walk around my neighborhood, otherwise known as Hayy Al-Amal or the “Neighborhood of Hope.” So I thought I would see what I could see and so I took a different route that the one I usually take and headed towards unknown territory. I got out and I couldn’t believe the vastness that lay before me: green fields and large, open spaces of arable farmland and mounds of dirt in areas that were being prepared for development. And off in the distance, a soccer field of some sort, but mainly spacious fields that were yet to be inhabited. It was crazy! I mean, here I was, at the edge of the ‘Hayy’ on one side, with its buildings of fine exterior and nicely arranged streets of dirt and rocks, while on the other, were open fields of farmland, many sections of which were in the process of being turned into the foundations of new buildings and lovely little homes. 5 months in Hayy al-Amal and I never even knew what lay in my backyard! It was awesome!

You know, the more I take a look at the place that I’m in and each face that I encounter, along with each voice that speaks to me and each place I visit, the more I realize that I’m falling in love little by little with this country called Morocco. Upon finishing my daily studies, I took a Little Red Taxi (super cheap) down to La Ville Nouvelle (or the ‘New City’ which the French built when they got here and which has very distinctive features and architecture) which lies on the outskirts of the Old City (the Medina). I went to La Ville to catch up with my friend Barakat and while I was in the Taxi, and as I looked out my window, I was taken back as I saw the many people who were walking, the many faces that were smiling, and a most beautiful sunset off in the distance. I sat there in my seat, pondering at the providence that had brought me to this place and which was beginning to open my heart that I might see and realize in a very profound and meaningful manner, that these were my brothers and sisters and that the people of Morocco were indeed a blessed people: simple, humble, fraternal, fearful (of God) and happy. It stirred within me such sweet feelings of love and humility which gave me great joy, for as I meditated such within the fibers of my core, I was actually perceiving the world with a new set of eyes. I was actually seeing with my heart and experiencing something new in a very powerful way. At that moment, I was blessed to enjoy the serene impressions that come to the heart when one realizes his own nothingness and the great and abundant Mercy of God in your own life and in the lives all those around you, who in a very real and undeniable sense, are your brothers and sisters. Can anyone dispute that I love Morocco? I challenge anyone to do so!

Oh, so you know: “Carlos! You will learn Arabic!” is what Sanae told me today!

I was down . . . but I’m not out!

“Took quite a fall, didn’t we, Master Bruce?”
“And why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up”
Excerpt from a conversation between Thomas Wayne and his son Bruce, who is and will forever be known as Batman

So, two weeks and a half ago, I was in the Old City of Fès (the Medina as we say) and I visited an old friend who works there on one of the main business streets: Tala’ Kibeera. There’s Tala’ Kibeera (the Big Rise) and Tala’ Saghera (the Little Rise) and my friend Rashid works there on the big one. He’s an expert tailor and he makes some of the prettiest little shirts for guys and dolls, so if you’re ever in town, be sure to stop by Rashid’s place (if you need the address, just let me know). Anyways, to make a long story short, we visited, caught up, had some laughs and then some tea. Moroccans are sooooooo hospitable and it’s one of the things I love the most abut who they are. They make you feel right at home, comfortable, at ease. It’s such a good feeling when you’re a stranger in a strange land. So, we had some tea together, some mint tea to be exact (which I have learned to enjoy down to the very last sip). Right after that, I remember feeling a little queasy in the belly. I felt it on and off throughout the day and at night, well . . . it sorta of all came out. Yeah, it wasn’t good. I was sick for about 2 weeks and it really sucked.

It just so happens that sometimes when you go to a new country and your body is adjusting, you get a little rumbly in the tummy. But this time is was “twice the fun” (I sound like a Wrigley’s Doublemint gum commercial) being rumbly and also having the delightful experience of unwanted regurgitation. So yeah, I got sick . . . Boo Hoo! So what! I’m all better now, Al-Hamdu Lillah (Praises be to Allah) and I’m here commencing this blog once again. I know I’ve let some of you down with my temporary withdrawal from the cyber-scene, but please excuse my lack of respect for you. My mama always said (Gosh! And now I’m sounding like Forrest Gump) “Son you always have to finish what you start” so here I am folks!

The past two weeks have been great, despite the sickness. I have been resting, but I’ve been walking around and traveling by foot, by train, by car, and by bus. I’ve been able to take a TON of good pictures, which if you have Facebook, you’ll be able to see in an instant. As for those of you who are still without that cool little invention, I extend an invitation to do so. But be careful, it can be addicting!

Well, what can I say? Morocco is definitely a BEAUTIFUL country in ever sense of the word. I don’t think that any other country in the entire Arab world (well, maybe Lebanon) enjoys such a richness as does Morocco. I think the part that I love the most is the fact that I look like one of them and people consider me to be one of them. I always get asked in the street, “Can I have some of your water, Khuya?” Khuya is Dereeja (Moroccan Arabic) for brother and it’s so great that people always refer to each other with such great respect. You call each other “Khuya” or “Akhay” (both which mean brother), “Khuti” (sister), “Shreef” (said to older men, meaning “Noble One”), Lella (Grandmother, but said as a term of respect to the older women), “SaHibi” (friend) and many other names. It really creates unity, brotherhood and this kind of kinship because of the fact that you are Moroccan, thus uniting you in bonds that are stronger than blood. Now don’t get me wrong, Morocco and its people aren’t perfect! People still get mad and fight and there’s still crime, but because we don’t focus on those things, we overlook them in the sense that we know they exist, but we don’t think of them when we think of this place or that. We focus on the good, the positive, the lovely, the inspiring and the uplifting.

I just got back from Casablanca on a two-day trip there and it was okay. Too busy, too crowded, no real Medina, too expensive . . . just a lot to what I’m not down with. You know, I’ve been doing some touring lately, to the neighboring city of Meknès and now to Casablanca, and the only thing I can say is that they were alright. I remember last October when we took a tour around Morocco, to all the major cities in the Kingdom and they were nice; I mean they each had distinct and different aspects that made them attractive. But when it really comes down to it, when I really think about it and consider each of the cities and then compare them to Fès, I must say that Fès always comes out on top, hands down! I think I’ll write more about Fès in my next entry, but for now, I log off and commending you to all that is good on the earth. Is-salaamu 3aleykum wa RaHmatullahi Ta3ala wa barakaatu (May peace be upon you and may the Grace and Blessings of God [also] come to you)

Expect the Unexpected . . .

The History of Zakarum

In ages past, the Archangel Yaerius visited a young man ascetic man named Akarat and revealed to him the tenets of what was to become the religion of Zakarum. These teachings stressed the necessity of resisting all things evil and embracing, with total devotion, the Light. The angel appointed Akarat to be the prophet of these new teachings, and bade him to take the Word to the people of all lands. This new religion spoke directly to the common man, and the people of Kurast soon embraced it. They sent disciples throughout Kehjistan to spread the Word. Popular religious leaders soon sprung up, endorsed by the new Church, and within half a century Zakarum was the dominant order of faith and binding political force in the East.

During the mid-twelfth century, after the Church of Zakarum had gained prominence in the East, the Church decreed that the visions of Akarat would be spread throughout the known world in order to redeem the masses. Thus, the Church selected a group of its most charismatic and devoted priests and sent them on a mission to proselytize the people of the West.

Unfortunately, the Church had not prepared these men for the rigors of travel nor the hazards of the world. The priests that survived their missions recounted tales of harsh weather, inadequate supplies, attacks from bandits and even encounters with horrible monsters. To ensure the success of future missions, the Church set about training holy warriors, Paladins, to accompany and safeguard their missionaries. In practice, these “Protectors of the Word” proved to be more successful at converting the native peoples than the Priests they were assigned to defend. Impressing the locals with daring deeds, powerful weapons, and martial prowess was far more convincing than the condemnations of a soft-spoken monk. However, once the Word had been spread to every major city of the West, the “Protectors of the Word” faded from public view.

Some decades later, Paladins were again called into service. During the height of the Time of Troubles, the Church commenced a second campaign of conversion. This time, however, the inconvincible were deemed evil. The Zakarum Inquisition spread through the land like a tempest, laying waste to all suspected of demonic possession or corruption. Leading this crusade was a new generation of Paladins, known as the “Hand of Zakarum.” These Cavaliers of Righteousness swept through the lands, expunging the taint of demonic contamination wherever they found it.

In the midst of this bloody crusade, a rebellion arose within the ranks of the Paladins of Zakarum. The rebels condemned the methods of the Inquisition, proclaiming that the new Order of Paladins should protect the innocent, and that the evil corruption was rooted in their forebears’ failure. They resolved to fight the true source if corruption, the Three Prime Evils: Diablo, Baal and Mephisto. And so, these rebellious Paladins left their Zakarum brethren and ventured West.

It was in the West that these rebellious knights traveled and spread the Zakarum religion as it was meant to be done by Akarat. Several libraries and abbeys were built in Khanduras and Westmarch, the two predominant kingdoms in the West.

Defenders of Truth; Warriors of Light

I am a Paladin; a Paladin in training, nevertheless a Paladin. For those among you who are still ignorant about who or what a Paladin is, allow me to shed some light on your knowledge and understanding of what such a title truly merits, while extending an invitation to you, who now read my words, to live up to what a Paladin truly entails.

Paladin: a battle-ready Knight who takes faith as his shield and protection, he fights for all that is good and stands for all which is right. A Holy Warrior of Virtue, his steadfastness gives him powers to do good upon his friends and to wreak cruel justice upon his enemies. Verily, as it is written, he is a Knight-errant who defends all that is just in the name of God.

Paladins are pure at the heart and follow closely the teachings of Zakarum, otherwise known as the religion of the Light. This Holy Warrior of Virtue is bent on driving the blinding darkness of temptation and the crippling power of corruption from before his face, by making Light and Truth his strongest allies. In a by-gone age, they hailed form the Church of Zakarum, deep within the walls of Westmarch, and were known throughout the land as the “Knights of Westmarch,” the heavenly-aided hosts that felled the corrupt armies of mighty Leoric, King of Khanduras.

Maintaining strictly ordered lives and constantly upholding the cause of Virtue and Light, they must never succumb to worldly temptation lest they risk being deceived into following “False Lights” – demons masquerading as heavenly beings.

Paladins are endowed with power from on high and grow in the might and stature of this power according to their level of righteousness. To reflect the powers of the High Heavens given to him, a Paladin must refine his acquired combat skills, which range from tactical attacks to spirtually-enhanced measures of protection. A Paladin uses these skills to increase his prowess with sword and shield, as well as lending blessing “Auras” to enhance his equipped items and armor, thus increasing the effectiveness of his attacks and offering increased protection to himself and the righteous Followers of Light who cross his path. Auras are intangible “Halos” of spiritual protection which emanate from the Paladin and which affect any and all whom they come into contact with (either positively or negatively) depending on the aura and the intentions of those who enter his sphere of influence, whether they be bearers of good or agents of evil.

There are those who call the Paladin an overwrought zealot, but others recognize in him the strength and goodness of the Light. “Faith is a shield in battle. The holiness of the Light, above all else, is sacred and must be upheld. Spiritual cleanliness of mind and body is the cornerstone of our lives. Strength of body is there only when there is no peaceful resolve. We fight to preserve and spread the Word of the Light and let nothing stand in our way or oppress our people or beliefs, or it shall face a wrath the likes it has never seen nor will survive to tell about!”

Final Destination: Al-Maghreb Al-Aqsa

So I’ve been flying for the past two days. . . Yeah, sounds great, huh? I flew from Los Angeles to New York, and from New York to Germany. Note to self: Fly British Airways next time. Don’t get me wrong, Lufthansa was okay, but I prefer the luxury of having my own t.v. and choosing what I want to watch. The food tastes better on BA anyways and the girls are a little prettier (maybe) and there’s more Arabs to talk to. By the way, Barakat (my friend) is telling me that it’s probably more enjoyable flying BA, because you’re bound to see some Arab guy walking around with his black, attractive bag, causing you to get all freaked out because at that moment, the only thing that crosses your mind is that your next bite will be your last (Boom! Boom! Get me?)

Anyways. . . so we got to Frankfurt and man, was I hungry! It was barely 11 a.m. and my flight didn’t leave until 10 p.m. and I was so bored and so tired and you know how expensive airports are! So I got me out of that place and took a train into downtown Frankfurt where I walked around in the cold, bitter rain. I stuck out like a sore thumb with my PASHiON shirt and my small carry-on bag! I found a delicious little sandwich shop which I thoroughly enjoyed after 2 big sandwiches and then headed back to airport again. I was hoping to see Hitler’s ghost on the train back to the airport, but sadly enough, our meeting will have to wait till the next time I’m in Germany. I got back to the airport and slept a little bit, just in time to start boarding the plane bound for Casablanca, or as we say in Moroccan Arabic, Caza.

I got into Caza at 11:30 p.m. and to my wonderful surprise, there were no more trains, which meant that I had to wait till 5:50 the next morning for the first train to come. So I had to sleep in the airport, which of course didn’t happen; I tried fervishly to get some rest, but only managed to get one hour of sleep. So, I duked it out til 5:45 when I walked down to the ticket counter, bought my ticket and got on the train headed to Casa Voyageurs, where I got off and transferred over to the next platform and got on the train headed for Fez. It was good to hear Arabic again, as I began to talk to those around me. Gosh, I’ve forgotten so much, but Al-Hamdu Lillah (Praise be to God) I’m back and I’ll soon pick it up again In Shaa Allah (If God Wills). The train was brand spanking new (it was one of those two-storey trains), the windows were clean and without any scratches on them, and the seats were soft, clean and comfortable! Holy HFAC, it was totally worth the extra eight dirhams (roughly equivalent to $1). Goodbye old Alcatraz Train! Plus it was super fast; it got me to Fez in roughly three hours, whereas the old train usually took 5 to 6 hours! I got in at about 10:30 and got home at about 11. It’s great to be home and to be with those I love and who love me! “Nobody loves you!” is what Barakat “gently” told me, as he sits next to me while I’m writing this entry. The important thing is that I arrived safely in one piece, Mr. Barakat! Anyways, here’s to this summer in Morocco: “In yanSurkom Allahu, falaa ghaaliba lakum!”