I never believed in callings or true love or things of that nature, because it all seemed colored and romanticized.
So, the day in Morocco when I caught myself saying, “I seriously just found my calling,” I was disappointed in my choice of words, but then didn’t really care because a gut feeling is a gut feeling.
If you read the post about Mimi Bradley, the wild parliament woman, and how she taught me to judge context, this might seem a little contradictory, but it’s the 21st century. This is how it goes.
Though Mimi was a controversial figure in our group, it was during a discussion with her that my instant love of Morocco, my desire to revive my French, the inspiration instilled by its people and their network of NGO’s enveloped me at once and revealed I was meant to return to Maroc for my career.
I sat across from Mimi with only a small unstable café table between us. Each person introduced themselves with names and majors or positions to start the discussion.
When I said journalism was my major, she slammed her coke down and pointed her finger at me exclaiming, “I need you here; we need your help.”
After the rest of the introductions, Mimi sparked the conversation with the desperate need of American reporters in Morocco.
She said there is no international interest in Moroccan news, and those who do read it, consume the articles written through the European lens, which is not the accurate angle.
Mimi continued that even if there was interest, there is no style or channel that appeals to Americans’ news taste.
There is a current beneath Morocco’s façade that is churning harder with each decade toward a more democratic and social rights society. The country is against the force of its own government but also the misunderstood stereotype placed upon it from other nations.
As ground level groups and democratic politicians strive for this change, they lack any acknowledgement not only from their own media but especially from international ones that could attract interest and investment to their cause.
My Moroccan adoration and newfound career path slammed against me like a wall.
Once I recovered from the initial shock of this “calling,” I sat down with Mimi personally.
I told her that if I was to really return, it wouldn’t be for another two years. I asked if I should be doing anything until then.
Proud of her impact on me, she said to go back home and write. Write about everything I saw and breathed in Morocco and share why I want to come back.
Then she advised staying up to date and researching the Sahara issue, particularly for women’s rights there. She said if I took the time to write and do the research, she would publish me both with her connections in Florida as well as in Morocco.
Even if she couldn’t fulfill that promise, it’s always savoring to hear someone say they will publish you.
After the shock of Mimi and the whole café experience, the floating and burning feeling in my blood did not fade the rest of the night. I was nervous, giddy, couldn’t really speak, and pure happiness fired my eyes to have narrowed in on my aspirations.
Later at dinner, I asked Lotfi how real the need is for my work here. Was Mimi just being Mimi or is this something to pursue?
In his sweet Lotfi say, he had a calmer but similar reaction as she did. He said that whenever I am ready to come back, they would be here to get me started and connect me with whomever I needed.
“Whenever you are ready,” he repeated.
So, the day in Morocco when I caught myself saying, “I seriously just found my calling,” I was disappointed in my choice of words, but then didn’t really care because a gut feeling is a gut feeling.
If you read the post about Mimi Bradley, the wild parliament woman, and how she taught me to judge context, this might seem a little contradictory, but it’s the 21st century. This is how it goes.
Though Mimi was a controversial figure in our group, it was during a discussion with her that my instant love of Morocco, my desire to revive my French, the inspiration instilled by its people and their network of NGO’s enveloped me at once and revealed I was meant to return to Maroc for my career.
I sat across from Mimi with only a small unstable café table between us. Each person introduced themselves with names and majors or positions to start the discussion.
When I said journalism was my major, she slammed her coke down and pointed her finger at me exclaiming, “I need you here; we need your help.”
After the rest of the introductions, Mimi sparked the conversation with the desperate need of American reporters in Morocco.
She said there is no international interest in Moroccan news, and those who do read it, consume the articles written through the European lens, which is not the accurate angle.
Mimi continued that even if there was interest, there is no style or channel that appeals to Americans’ news taste.
There is a current beneath Morocco’s façade that is churning harder with each decade toward a more democratic and social rights society. The country is against the force of its own government but also the misunderstood stereotype placed upon it from other nations.
As ground level groups and democratic politicians strive for this change, they lack any acknowledgement not only from their own media but especially from international ones that could attract interest and investment to their cause.
My Moroccan adoration and newfound career path slammed against me like a wall.
Once I recovered from the initial shock of this “calling,” I sat down with Mimi personally.
I told her that if I was to really return, it wouldn’t be for another two years. I asked if I should be doing anything until then.
Proud of her impact on me, she said to go back home and write. Write about everything I saw and breathed in Morocco and share why I want to come back.
Then she advised staying up to date and researching the Sahara issue, particularly for women’s rights there. She said if I took the time to write and do the research, she would publish me both with her connections in Florida as well as in Morocco.
Even if she couldn’t fulfill that promise, it’s always savoring to hear someone say they will publish you.
After the shock of Mimi and the whole café experience, the floating and burning feeling in my blood did not fade the rest of the night. I was nervous, giddy, couldn’t really speak, and pure happiness fired my eyes to have narrowed in on my aspirations.
Later at dinner, I asked Lotfi how real the need is for my work here. Was Mimi just being Mimi or is this something to pursue?
In his sweet Lotfi say, he had a calmer but similar reaction as she did. He said that whenever I am ready to come back, they would be here to get me started and connect me with whomever I needed.
“Whenever you are ready,” he repeated.
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