From the Archives: June ‘19

A Long Way from the Signal

From the field, Morocco and the Sahara

A tagine takes its time.

Vegetables, spices, and meat cook slowly beneath a heavy clay lid while everyone gets hungry. There is bread on the table. Tea gets poured. You settle in.

For a group of students accustomed to having almost anything available immediately, that waiting can be part of the education.

So can dinner.

Over the years, leading students abroad has given me plenty of reasons to believe in getting young people out into the world. Morocco brings that belief into focus. There is a great deal to take in, and some of it requires you to sit still long enough to notice.

A meal is a good place to start.

You learn something by eating food prepared differently from what you know. You learn more by asking about it. Who taught someone to cook this way? What goes into the pot first? What do families make at home?

Questions you might never think to ask in a classroom suddenly seem worth asking over dinner.

And without a phone to reach for, there is time to hear and truly listen to the answer.

On student expeditions, I believe in putting the phones away. No internet. No social media. A stretch of time when the people back home have to wait until later to hear about it.

It takes some getting used to, though the students adapt quickly. When you remove the phones, suddenly a deck of cards comes out, personal interactions are on the rise. It’s magical to behold.

Look out the window. Talk to the person beside you. Ask your guide a question. Let the conversation wander somewhere you hadn’t expected.

There are empty moments. Long journeys. The impulse to check something, followed by the realization that there is nothing to check.

You have to find another way to spend the time.

That is often where a trip starts to get interesting.

As an educator, I can prepare lessons about geography, history, and culture. I can give students context and help them ask better questions. But I also have to leave room for the people we meet to teach us things I couldn’t have planned.

Our hosts have their own lives, concerns, humor, and opinions. Getting to know even a little of that takes more than passing through with a camera.

It takes attention.

Farther into the western reaches of the Sahara, the landscape asks for attention too.

Distances become harder to judge. The light changes. Sand finds its way into your belongings and makes a fairly convincing argument to stay there for eternity.

It is easy to arrive thinking about the desert as an enormous empty place.

Then you begin learning about the people who call it home.

The Bedouin traditions of the communities we encoutner carry generations of knowledge about movement, livestock, weather, and hospitality. There is a great deal a visitor doesn’t understand. Even knowing which questions to ask (and which not to ask) can take some assistance.

Tea offers a starting point.

In the bedouin hospitality, preparing and sharing tea gives people time together. Conversation has room to unfold. For students used to watching the clock—or watching a screen—that pace is worth experiencing.

You sit. You listen. You accept another glass.

You begin to understand how little a quick photograph can tell you about the place where you took it.

I don’t expect a student to come home from an expedition understanding an entire culture. I would be concerned if they thought they did.

I hope they return curious.

I hope they remember the person who cooked their dinner, the question they struggled to ask, and the generosity of someone willing to explain something unfamiliar. I hope they become a little slower to make assumptions about people whose lives look different from their own.

I also recognize that they may not be capable of the appreciation and gratitude in the moment. Reflection is the key. They get home and hopefully have time to think. They will tell their freshman year roommate about the experience and they will see the jealousy on their face.

And I hope they remember that they managed perfectly well for a while without everyone knowing where they were and what they were doing.

There is freedom in that.

You can be awkward. Mispronounce a word. Try something unfamiliar. Change your mind. Have an experience before finding the words for it.

For a young person, that is valuable space.

For the adults leading them, too.

There will be time to share the photographs when we get home.

While we are there, I want students to have both feet in the experience: eating what our hosts have prepared, listening to what they choose to share, and paying attention to a world much larger than the one they already know.

That is a large part of why I keep taking students out into it.

A shared meal. A long conversation. Somewhere unfamiliar.

Enough time to let it matter.

Yours in Exploration,
Brian Facemire, Founder
Vagabond Expeditions