Blog Vlog

Reflections and experiences from my time in Morocco. Plus, a summer blog I wrote for the Council on Foreign Relations Education website in the Summer od 2026. My oldest posts are at the bottom of this page and my newest are at the top so it would be best if you started from the bottom. Otherwise, you may miss introductions to people I've met along the way.

My "Mo'Rockin" Adventure March 26 - April 11

April 11 - All Caravans Return Home Eventually

Well, I know what you're thinking: “Zack's final blog entries resemble the final Lord of the Rings movie...it just will not end!”

But here I am at JFK International Airport, with a little time to blog before I make my way back to Boston.

Well, the caravan has made its way back home and what I bring back from Morocco is more than photographs, stories, souvenirs, or memories, it is a renewed sense of what it means to learn by sharing the road with others. My experience has shown me that global education is not simply about studying distant places,  it is about building connections, asking better questions, listening to perspectives different from our own, and recognizing how our lives intersect with those of people around the world. Like a caravan, learning becomes richer when we travel together, carrying our own experiences while making room for the experiences of others. I hope to bring that spirit into my classroom by giving students more opportunities to explore global issues, engage with authentic international perspectives, and develop the curiosity, empathy, collaboration, and critical thinking needed to navigate an increasingly interconnected world. Morocco has added new roads to my own journey, and my goal now is to invite my students into the caravan, to help them become curious travelers, thoughtful companions, and confident global citizens who are prepared to find their own paths forward.

April 10 - “Why did you have to come to Casablanca? There are other places.” - Casablanca (1942)

Our last full day in Morocco began with presentations and conferences in the fabulous top-floor conference rooms, where spectacular views of Casablanca provided a fitting backdrop to the final day of our journey. We heard a presentation on Morocco’s Present and Future in Africa and the World, followed by a reflection session on our experiences in our host city. It was a wonderful way to begin wrapping our minds around everything we had seen, learned, and experienced.

Once you go through an experience like this, you inevitably become attached to the place. I certainly have. Morocco is etched on my heart now, and I’ve found myself becoming surprisingly protective of it. One small example of what I mean is I have spent an embarrassing amount of time looking for a map that includes Western Sahara within the Kingdom of Morocco. Why can’t I find a map that shows this? Doesn’t everyone know that?

Of course, no country, society, or people are perfect. But when you travel somewhere new and its people open their hearts and homes to you, it becomes difficult not to feel a certain sense of connection and, yes, even protectiveness. Morocco has become more than just a place I visited. It has become a place that feels, in some small way, like part of my story.

For the rest of the day, a group of us headed down to the Medina of Casablanca to spend the remainder of our dirhams, Morocco’s currency. This was not the Marché Solidaire. Here, very little seemed to have a price tag. Instead, you simply looked around at what caught your eye, and before long, a merchant would appear to chat with you. The price negotiation came at the end.

I actually felt like I did pretty well. Haggling can be a little uncomfortable for a Westerner who is accustomed to everything having a clearly marked price, but once you get used to talking with the merchants, you begin to get the hang of it. It was especially fun for me because I have been slowly learning French for the past five years, and French is widely used in Morocco. I was able to put some of it to use while negotiating, especially since some of the merchants spoke little or no English or knew only the kind of English necessary for price negotiation. I’d like to think my French helped me land a better deal!

Five of us concluded our final day in Casablanca with dinner at Rick’s Café. Yes, it was touristy. But yes, it was also awesome. The atmosphere was perfect for our last night in the city. Being at Rick’s Café, the famous restaurant inspired by the movie Casablanca, got me thinking about a line from the film that has stuck with me. Rick says to Ilsa, “Why did you have to come to Casablanca? There are other places.” He is heartbroken by her return and seems almost incredulous that, of all the places in the world, she somehow ended up in Casablanca.

For Ilsa, it was for safety. For me, it was luck.

This field experience did not give us a choice of location. I could have found myself in Uruguay, Senegal, India, the Philippines, Romania, or any number of other places where Fulbrighters were sent. Instead, I got my first choice. Morocco. But why Morocco? Why was it my first choice? "There are other places." 

I have been fascinated by Morocco ever since visiting Andalusia in southern Spain, where Moorish culture and architecture still endure. I was deeply moved by the blending of cultures I encountered there. I have Moroccan friends, and I have Moroccan students, many of whom are among the most pleasant people I know. I had never been to the African continent, nor had I ever visited a predominantly Muslim country. The list of reasons could go on and on. But ultimately, it came down to a desire to explore, to experience something completely new, and to step outside my comfort zone.

Sure, I could have found that experience in India, Senegal, Uruguay, or somewhere else. But something in me kept pulling me toward Morocco and I am so fortunate that I got Morocco.

I learned so much about students, teaching, myself, culture, and people that I still haven’t fully processed it all. Perhaps that is the nature of an experience like this. Some journeys don't reveal their full meaning until you’ve had time to step away from them and look back.

Morocco did not disappoint. Not even close. And as I sit here on my final night, I already find myself wondering when I will return. In shaa Allah.

April 9 - No Hagglin'? No Problem! Return to Casablanca

Late night, early morning, still people to say goodbye to, and it was time to return to Casablanca. We had an 11:00 a.m. flight, and Abdelsalam assured us that arriving at 10:30 would be perfectly fine. My fellow Fulbrighters and I gasped at the suggestion! In the U.S., as we all know, TSA recommends arriving two hours early for a domestic flight and three hours early for an international one. Abdelsalam was suggesting 30 minutes!? Was he nuts!? Nope.

Hassan I Airport in Laayoune is very small. I’ve been to small airports and have even had to walk out to my plane before, but Hassan I brought “small airport” to a whole new level. Arrival, a final picture with Abdelsalam, check-in, security, coffee, and a bathroom break all took maaaaaybe 20 minutes and then we still had to wait to board our plane!

We arrived back in Casablanca with the rest of the day free until dinner, giving us plenty of time to wander. It was wonderful to reunite with the other Fulbrighters who had traveled to Safi, Marrakesh, and Chefchaouen. It felt like I hadn’t seen them in ages!

A bunch of us decided to head to Marché Solidaire, which came highly recommended by the IREX staff. The market is dedicated to selling products from Moroccan women’s cooperatives, and for the more timid shopper, there was one major bonus: everything had price tags! No haggling! They had all sorts of products like foodstuffs, spices, clothing, crafts, and more. The prices were good, and we were able to more than satisfy our shopping and souvenir needs.

Later that evening, MACECE took us out for a farewell dinner at Umayya on the coast. It was a beautiful restaurant, and I was admittedly a bit underdressed thanks to the dwindling supply of clean clothes left after my adventures in Laayoune. But it was a conversation with MACECE Director Rebecca Geffner that added an unexpected bit of serendipity to the evening.

Somehow, we got onto the subject of the books we had read before arriving in Morocco. I told her that I had read The Caliph’s House (see my March 25–26 post) and explained how much I had enjoyed it as a pre-departure read. She then casually mentioned that she knew the author, Tahir Shah, that her father and Shah were friends and, incredibly, that she had actually been to the house described in the book. I couldn’t believe the coincidence. I begged her to see if there was any way I could visit the house the next day, our last full day in Morocco. She explained that it would be quite impossible, which I completely understood. Still, I couldn’t help but marvel at the strange little connection.

My journey to Morocco had, in a way, begun with that book. I had read about Shah’s adventures in Casablanca before I ever set foot in the country, and now, near the very end of my own Moroccan adventure, I was sitting at dinner with someone who knew the author and had actually been inside the house I had read about. Sometimes a journey gives you moments that feel almost too perfectly connected to be coincidence. Maybe this adventure really was meant to be.

April 8 - In Shaa Allah

I try not to make this blog a minute-by-minute recap of everything we did here in Morocco. Instead, I’ve been trying to focus more on the cultural and educational experiences I’ve had along the way. But if I were to give a minute-by-minute account of today…well, I could never finish this project. This was a VERY busy day.

It felt as though we were being “carted” around Laayoune, trying to meet as many people as possible before our departure. From the Cités des Métiers et des Compétences, which was incredibly impressive, to the Training for Trainers, and then to three or four different schools, our feet were screaming by the end of it!

The highlight of the day was visiting Alal Ben Abdullah Middle School, or collège, where Abdel teaches and where Mr. Maelainin’s daughter attends. (See yesterday’s post below for their introductions.) The room was decked out with Moroccan and American flags, a stage complete with a traditional tea-pouring ceremony, and all the technology needed to capture what would become some truly impressive presentations. The topics ranged from mitigating the effects of climate change and proposals for restructuring Morocco’s economy to educational opportunities for Moroccans and career readiness. But what really stood out to me were the students themselves. Their soft skills were on full display.

I was deeply impressed. I could not imagine my students back home, especially those at the middle school level, making presentations like these. Yet, as I sat there watching, I felt as though I had stepped into a different universe. I teach high school students, ages 16–18, and, to be quite honest, many of the students I teach would struggle to even think about standing in front of their peers, media, and foreign teachers. I decided then and there that it was time to rethink my guiding question and perhaps even my mission as an educator.

Students need soft skills if they are going to succeed in the workplace someday. We cannot afford to let them hide behind their screens or focus solely on improving their hard skills at the expense of their ability to communicate, collaborate, think critically, and connect with others. We have a responsibility to help students develop those skills so they can actually practice the critical global competencies that our country and our world so desperately needs. The afternoon was simply lovely, and I left feeling honored to have played even a small part in helping this corner of Morocco thrive. Please check out the videos from the event attached to this post.

Eventually, we were finally, quite literally, carted to our hotel, where we were allowed a brief chance to rest before dinner at Abdelsalam’s house. Normally, I am a serious FOMO-type of person. I want to pack every single minute of my travels with exploration, discovery, and new experiences. But not today. Not now. I went to my room and collapsed.

Dinner at Abdelsalam’s house was late. Very late. Well, at least by my standards. At home, I usually eat around 5:30 or 6:00 PM. We didn’t even leave for Abdelsalam’s house until 9:30 PM! His home, much like other Muslim homes I have visited, was simple from the outside but absolutely beautiful within. We sat, talked, exchanged gifts, and did some henna tattooing.

Around 10:30 PM, the appetizers arrived.

Around 11:30 PM, salad and other fruits and vegetables appeared.

Around 12:30 AM, dinner arrived.

Around 1:30 AM, dessert #1 made its appearance, followed by dessert #2 around 2:00 AM.

And, of course, it was also Abdelsalam’s birthday, which meant singing “Happy Birthday” in about three or four different languages! Talk about a wonderful cultural experience. I sincerely hope this isn’t my last. I would very much like to return someday. "In shaa Allah." That is what Abdelsalam said to me: “If God wills it.” I really hope he does.

Walking home around 3:00 AM was a funny and unforgettable experience. I was still wearing the jalabiya Abdelsalam had gifted me, and he had recommended that I wear it back to the hotel late at night to avoid any potential complications that might arise from a Westerner walking through the city at that hour. The area was by no means dangerous, but it was simply the wise thing to do.

I think the combination of extreme exhaustion and so…much…food finally caught up with me. As we started walking, I began wandering down random streets, completely unsure of where I was going. Abdelsalam must have been feeling the exhaustion too because he was laughing hysterically at my increasingly confused sense of direction. It was one of those nights that somehow feels both completely surreal and perfectly real at the same time. A night filled with new friendships, food, laughter, culture, and experiences I never could have planned. A night I will never forget.

In shaa Allah.

April 7 - "I Have Never Seen Blue Eyes"

Abdelsalam strikes again! If I were to do an hour-by-hour reflection of this trip, I’d never finish this blog. Every day seems to bring another unexpected experience, another conversation, or another moment that makes me stop and think.

We started our day at one of only three LYDEX schools in all of Morocco. LYDEX stands for Lycée d’Excellence, or “schools of excellence.” These students were much closer in age to the students I teach back home. Many come from poverty-stricken areas but are academically talented, so they are given the opportunity to attend LYDEX. For those willing to put in the work, attending one of these schools all but guarantees admission to one of Morocco’s prestigious universities.

This was also the day we finally got to interact with students. So far in Laayoune, our interactions had been mostly limited to Abdelsalam’s 18–20 year-old students, so this was a real highlight for me. I gave a brief talk about high schools in the United States, and then we did a See-Think-Wonder activity highlighting some of the strange and quirky traditions of American high schools. The students loved it. It was a hit.

After leaving the classroom, we headed out to the “recess” area, where students were playing all sorts of sports like basketball, volleyball, tennis, and more. Before long, a small group of students had huddled around me, asking questions about my family and my life in the United States. The huddle grew into a small horde, and soon they were teaching me Hasani. (I’m convinced they chose the hardest words they could think of just so they could laugh at me when I inevitably mispronounced them!) Then one student took off my sunglasses, looked directly into my eyes, and said, “I’ve never seen blue eyes up close!”

I don’t know why I focus so much on little moments like this in my blog, but I have a feeling it’s because the person-to-person connection and the exchange of ideas are what really capture my attention. There was something beautiful about that moment, a simple connection between two people from completely different parts of the world, brought together by nothing more than curiosity.

Normally, I don’t get into what I ate here or what I ate there. Moroccan food is delicious (it goes without saying) but food itself doesn’t interest me enough to devote much space to it. This time, however, it was the place where we ate that made the experience worth mentioning. We were invited to the home of Mohamed El Imam Maelainin, Honorary Consul to Côte d’Ivoire. His daughter attends Abdelsalam’s school (see my April 4th post) and would be giving a presentation the following day. More on that later.

Mr. Maelainin does pretty well for himself! His home was stunningly beautiful on the inside, while the exterior was surprisingly simple. I had learned from an earlier lecture that this is quite common among more affluent families in Muslim communities, particularly in cities. Rather than displaying wealth on the outside, the homes may appear simple and unassuming, much like those around them. The real treasures are found inside.

The evening was attended by a highly respected tribal leader from the region spanning Morocco, Mauritania, and the surrounding areas. I didn’t catch his name, but it was immediately apparent that he commanded the respect of everyone in the room. And yet, despite that stature, he was kind, warm, and quite funny. He didn’t speak English, but you didn’t need to understand his words to recognize a good-natured person who seemed completely at peace.

I found myself reflecting on something else that evening. Of the three people in our group, only one of us was Muslim. But to the generous people we dined with, that simply didn’t matter. I often share experiences like this with my students after I travel, because I think they offer lessons that are difficult to teach from a textbook. We may have different religions, languages, cultures, histories, and governments, but at the human level, we often have far more in common with people across the world than we do with the governments that represent us.

That night in Laayoune, we were welcomed with open arms, warm embraces, good food, laughter, and genuine curiosity. And once again, I was reminded that sometimes the most meaningful part of traveling isn’t seeing a famous landmark or checking something off a list. Sometimes it’s simply sitting across a table from someone you have never met, realizing that the distance between your two worlds isn’t nearly as great as you once imagined.

April 6 - School of Hard Skills (and Soft Skills)

Today brought us to Abdelsalam’s school, CPGE. It is essentially a preparatory school for higher education, with a strong focus on STEM and language learning. I’ll take a moment to admit that I was having some difficulty figuring out where I fit into this Laayoune group. The schools we visited were highly technical and STEM-driven, and as a social studies teacher, I was having a tough time finding connections. My original guiding question focused on goal-setting and reflective practices, but I wasn’t seeing much of that either. I was starting to get a little frustrated. Then came a lesson at Abdelsalam’s school that changed everything.

The students were learning about the differences between soft skills and hard skills. Living in a world where technology continues to take over so many aspects of our lives, soft skills can sometimes seem to be playing second fiddle. But watching and working with the students during this lesson got me thinking about my guiding question and, more importantly, about the way I teach. Both, I decided, are going to need some work.

I was deeply impressed by the students at CPGE. In fact, I began to wonder if soft skills might become a new guiding question and mission for the remainder of my time in Laayoune. The way they worked together in groups, participated in class discussions, and interacted with their teacher would have been almost a dream in many of my classes back home in the United States. Their confidence, willingness to engage, and ability to work collaboratively really caught me off guard.

My students, by contrast (granted, they are a bit younger) do not always like working with one another unless they get to choose their own groups. They can be reluctant to interact with their peers during class discussions and would probably never dream of presenting to the entire class without a healthy dose of anxiety. Seeing the students at CPGE made me think more deeply about the very nature of my teaching and the classroom culture I have created.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t exactly the School of Hard Knocks, but it was certainly a wake-up call, a reminder that how we teach students to interact, communicate, collaborate, and engage with one another matters just as much as what we teach them.

Perhaps I could call this chapter of my Laayoune adventure “School of Hard Skills…and Soft Skills!”

April 5 - ROAD TRIP - Tarfaya, Naila, Akhfennir, and Camel Herders

I had a good streak going there. I am not normally one to take videos of myself, but my students were enjoying them, so I continued making them as best as I could. It was just around this time, however, that I became so busy that I barely had time to think about making more videos.

Anywhoo, here we go.

Today was road trip day! You never quite know what to expect when you see something written on an itinerary. We left Laayoune and headed north along the Atlantic coast, following Autoroute N1 and stopping in Tarfaya and Naila before eventually making our way to a barbecue lunch in Akhfennir.

This was a gem of a day.

The Atlantic coast in Morocco’s Southern Provinces is stunningly beautiful. Mile after mile of rugged coastline, desert, and ocean stretched out before us. Once again, I found myself feeling incredibly fortunate to be part of this experience. How else would one find themselves here...in the Sahara...with Abdelsalam...in his small 1990 BMW? Magical.

Along the way, we met all sorts of people, including this salt harvester we happened to encounter on the side of the road during one of our breaks. These unexpected encounters are the moments I cherish most. They remind us that travel is not simply about seeing new places but meeting new people, hearing their stories, and developing the empathy that is so valuable to all of us as members of this increasingly connected global community.

Eventually, our barbecue lunch brought us to Akhfennir. Again, the itinerary simply said, “Barbecue lunch.” What is an American supposed to think? Hamburgers? Hot dogs? Steak? A huge fish. Yep. A huge fish.

I honestly don't remember what kind of fish it was, but Abdelsalam assured us it was the best. He then took off to nap and pray, leaving the three of us sitting there with this massive grilled fish. Looking around, we realized there was no silverware. No plasticware, either. I had heard once before that there are three types of people in the world: “Those who eat with forks, those who eat with sticks, and those who eat with their hands.” Well, we were going to be the latter. Another reminder that we were in Morocco’s Southern Provinces. Here, people eat their barbecue fish with their hands. And honestly? It was quite delicious. I ate far more than I thought I would.

On the way back to Laayoune, we spotted camels wandering through the desert. Of course, we stopped the car to have a look and, naturally, take a few pictures. The camels were being herded by a man who happened to be in the middle of his prayers. Not wanting to disturb him, we kept our distance, took our pictures, and got as close to the camels as they would allow. When the herder finished praying, Abdelsalam struck up a conversation with him and began asking about his work. He explained that he was following the animals on behalf of their owners and that he would do this on and off for months at a time. He spoke Hasani, another dialect of Arabic spoken in this part of Morocco.

But what struck me most about the interaction was the cell phone in his hand. Here was a nomadic herder, standing in the middle of the Sahara, surrounded by camels and there he was, holding a smartphone.

The ancient and the modern, existing side by side in the middle of the desert. The reach of the global economy truly knows no bounds.

April 4 - The Only Problem in Laayoune is no Problem

When you see Laayoune (or El Aaiún) on Google Maps (go ahead, look it up), it looks like just another place on the map. But I can assure you, it is not just another place on the map.

The Laayoune group of the Moroccan cohort had the honor of flying to a hotly contested region of the Sahara, known on maps for decades as “Western Sahara.” I’ll save the history lesson for another time (you can read more about it here) but, if I’m being honest, the idea of traveling there made me a little nervous. We did receive a brief security briefing from U.S. Embassy officials, and this was one of the topics. “Do not call it ‘Western Sahara,’” we were told. “They are the ‘Southern Provinces.’” It was a small detail, but one that hinted at the complexities and the surprises that awaited us farther south.

Upon landing, however, that nervousness immediately disappeared. We were greeted with such a wonderful welcome. Our host teacher, Abdelsalam Zouita, was waiting for us alongside his youngest daughter and his friend and colleague, Abdel El Alaoui. They had a sign with our names and Fulbright pictures on it and were ready to introduce us to their city.

We visited Abdelsalam’s school, and little did we know that a local camera crew was waiting to interview these three American teachers who had just shown up in Laayoune. We all looked a little disheveled as the flight had been very early, and we were more than a little tired. But the whole experience was exciting. I had never been interviewed for television before, so this was definitely a first for me! (See interview here). 

As we drove around the city, I asked Abdel questions about Laayoune. He summed it up perfectly: “The only problem in Laayoune is no problem.”

Laayoune is a simple place, at least for now. Perhaps one day it will become a huge megacity showcasing Morocco’s economic ambitions and achievements. Who knows? There was construction everywhere, and if you followed my advice and looked it up on Google Maps, you’ll see what I mean. It almost looks as though Laayoune simply rose out of the desert. It is a simple place, but one filled with potential. There was a sense that something was happening here, like, the city was still becoming itself. We just didn’t know yet how much we were about to see.

Then we drove out into the Sahara to catch the sunset. In that moment, I could not have been farther from home. I had never seen a desert like this, let alone experienced a sunset in the desert. The landscape seemed almost otherworldly, stretching endlessly in every direction as the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon. If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend it. Go at sunset. Take off your shoes. Stand in the sand. Be in the moment. Reflect on just how different this experience is from anything you are used to. And whatever you do, don’t forget to bring a jacket.

Deserts are cold at night...

April 3 - IDMAJ - Amazing work and a Welcoming Belly

This one is a bit long, but it really made an impression. 

Today kicked off with two presentations: one on teaching global competency skills and another on access to education in Morocco. Dr. Ayoub Kdimy’s presentation was particularly refreshing because it was interactive. The point was to teach us critical global competency skills, particularly collaboration and problem-solving. It was here that the term “soft skills” first appeared during my time in Morocco. I didn’t know it yet, but that phrase would completely change both my guiding question and the way I want to teach. More on this later.

I also had the pleasure of sitting down with Dr. Kdimy for lunch and speaking with him at length about his work and the state of the world. I greatly enjoy these moments where I get to sit across the table from someone from another part of the world and simply talk about world affairs. I keep an open mind, and unless I’m asked, I generally avoid offering my opinion on this, that, or the other thing. There is something valuable about simply listening and learning.

We had other presentations in the highest room of the hotel, with spectacular views of Casablanca, but I’d like to use the rest of this post to reflect on our visit to the IDMAJ Foundation for Development.

IDMAJ is a nonprofit organization committed to empowering vulnerable children, youth, and women living in disadvantaged and underserved neighborhoods. Its president, Mr. Boubker Mazoz, shared with us the story behind the organization. He spoke about the young men who carried out the terrorist attacks in Casablanca in 2003 and how they came from the very neighborhood where one of IDMAJ’s centers now operates. His conclusion was both profound. The young people had grown up with very little opportunity. So, he asked himself, why not create a place where young people could receive an education, find support, and (perhaps most importantly) find hope and opportunity?

I was touched by his presentation and, more than anything, by his genuine care for the disadvantaged members of his community. We had the privilege of touring the facilities, including one that appeared to serve children and young people ranging in age from about 4 to 18. This was a real treat. We walked into several classrooms and had the opportunity to talk with children and teenagers. In one of the rooms, an outgoing young girl, probably about four years old, decided to welcome us by showing us her belly. My mind immediately went back to Massachusetts, where my own four-year-old daughter has a habit of greeting people in much the same way. I wondered how the two of them would get along.

I already knew the answer. They would be besties.

Our other stop was a Center for the Socioeconomic Inclusion of Women in Precarious Conditions, a residential facility offering education, vocational training, and psychological support to women facing challenging circumstances. The goal is to help foster greater socioeconomic stability and independence.

I’m really glad we came here. There was something powerful about seeing this work firsthand rather than simply hearing about it in a presentation or reading about it online. I couldn’t immediately think of any organization in the Boston area doing this exact kind of work. I’m sure there are organizations doing similar things, but none came immediately to mind. Perhaps that says more about what I know than what exists. Eventually, we made our way outside to the basketball courts, where we took some pictures and said our goodbyes. Before leaving, I asked Mr. Mazoz for a job. He laughed and said, “Anytime. Send me an email or give me a call.” Then he handed me his business card.

I was only half joking. The question came from a place of genuine admiration for what I had seen that day. But honestly, the thought hasn’t left my mind.

Maybe it was the work they were doing. Maybe it was the people I met. Maybe it was the feeling that, for just a few hours, I had been given a glimpse into a completely different corner of the world and a reminder of how much good can happen when someone decides to create an opportunity where one didn’t previously exist.

Either way, I tucked that business card into my bag.

I had a feeling I might want to keep it.

April 2 - Architecture, Mosques, Judo, and Flying Planes

Moroccan architecture has always fascinated me. My wife and I once spent time traveling through southern Spain, where the legacy of Al-Andalus reveals just how deeply Moroccan culture has shaped the region. So it felt especially meaningful to learn firsthand from Ms. Hamoudou, an architect here in Morocco.

What stayed with me most from her presentation was the contrast between how Moroccans traditionally built their homes in the medina and how the French approached urban design during the colonial period. In the medina, homes reflect a deeply communal way of life. From the outside, you can’t tell who is wealthy and who is not, there’s a sense of community to it. But step through the door, and a different world opens up. Some homes are simple, while others reveal stunning riad courtyards, fountains, and intricate tilework that feels almost magical. In contrast, the French built grand structures along wide boulevards, with large balconies that openly display wealth. I find myself drawn to the Moroccan style as it feels like a quiet, powerful statement about the value of community over display.

Later in the day, we visited the Direction Provinciale and heard from the director, Ms. Bouchra Arrif. She spoke about the key priorities of Morocco’s education reform one being elevating teaching as a respected profession. It made me reflect on the United States and how we view our own educators. While I feel strong support within my community, I’m not sure we consistently attract the very best and brightest into our schools. That’s something Morocco is intentionally working to change.

It left me wondering: what would it take for us to do the same? Higher salaries? Better incentives? Or something deeper, a cultural shift in how we value education? I think about professions like medicine in the U.S., where trust and respect run deep. If a doctor tells you to take medication, you likely will. If a teacher tells you to review your notes, would you respond the same way? I don’t have the answer, but it’s clear Morocco is asking these questions and acting on them.

We also heard from a young student who shared her experience in Moroccan schools. I didn’t catch her name, but her story stayed with me. She spoke about learning English from scratch, balancing the demands of school, excelling in judo as a champion, and dreaming of one day becoming a pilot. There was something incredibly inspiring about her determination and even more so seeing her mother there, listening with pride!

Conversations with Moroccan students have easily been the highlight of this journey.

April 1 - Networking, Moroccan Style

Visiting the Rabat American School was truly inspiring. I’ve long imagined what it might be like to work at an American school abroad, and there was something invigorating about finally stepping into one here in Rabat. Dr. Ken Fernandez guided us around campus, sharing the school’s mission and vision. We had the chance to sit in on classes and connect with both teachers and students, which made the experience feel especially real. I observed an Economics class and a Global Politics class, both led by impressive, engaging educators.

What struck me most was the familiarity. In many ways, it felt just like being back in a classroom in the U.S., which makes sense, of course, but there was something deeper at play. Students and teachers from all over the world were learning and growing together, building a strong, unified community despite their different backgrounds. That sense of global connection was powerful. I got to chat with students and they were all very friendly and present. One asked if I planned to teach there next year and my only reply was, "I sure hope so!"

At one point, I caught myself thinking, “This is it, this is what I want. I want to teach in a place like this.” But then came a moment of importance. These students already live within a global mindset because they’re immersed in it every day. Perhaps my role is different. Perhaps my work is needed back home, where those perspectives are still developing and where helping students build global awareness and competence can truly make an bigger impact.

The day also brought us back to Moroccan-American Commission for Educational & Cultural Exchange (MACECE, in case I haven’t explained the acronym yet) for lunch and some meaningful networking time. I connected with several Fulbright alumni—individuals educated in Morocco who had spent time in the U.S. as students or as teachers of Arabic. One especially exciting connection was with Aziz, an English teacher in Morocco who enjoys organizing video conferences with classrooms around the world. I’ve done similar exchanges with Ukrainian students, both in Ukraine and abroad, discussing their experiences during the current conflict. I’m really looking forward to collaborating with Aziz and creating opportunities for our students to explore global issues together.

Next stop: Casablanca.

March 31 - Students will be Students

Moroccan–American relations stretch back to 1777. Really, 1777! There was not yet a United States of America, and still Morocco recognized it that year, before France, Spain, Russia, the Netherlands, and Great Britain. Dr. Karim Bejjit, a professor of English and American Studies at Abdelmalek Essaâdi University in Tetouan, walked us through this remarkable history. His presentation spanned Morocco’s early recognition of the U.S., the longest unbroken treaty in U.S. history (signed in 1786, something I definitely want to dig into more), the Monroe Doctrine and European imperialism, World War II, the Cold War, and into the present day. (https://macece.ma/). 

It was also a chance for me to connect with Dr. Bejjit about his teaching and research. He has written on the U.S. presence in Morocco during World War II, something I’m excited to follow up on. I can already feel a new lesson taking shape, one that highlights Morocco’s often-overlooked importance in the Second World War. Moments like this are why we need to travel.

Next, we visited Colegio Español, (https://colegioderabat.educacion.es/en/) a Spanish international school, and it was a delight. The students were incredibly curious about these American teachers passing through. During a brief meeting with one of the faculty members, a cluster of faces began popping up in the window outside, one after another. Mr. Felix Gaspar responded with a mock scowl and shooed them away, a instantly universal teacher moment anyone in the profession would understand. Adorable.

We stepped into a class in session, where I noticed two things. First, students were studying French. I leaned over and asked one student, “Qu’est-ce que tu apprends?”==what are you learning? She showed me her notebook: they were working on the subjunctive, and her notes were some of the most beautifully organized I have ever seen (with a few creative doodles sprinkled in, of course). Second, I spotted some very explicit graffiti on the back wall so explicit I won’t repeat it here. Proof that students will be students no matter where you are in the world.

And for a bit of humor: as we were leaving, one of the teachers traveling with me spotted a group of students in the hallway and called out, “67!” Instantly, they all turned around and if you know, you know. It was a perfect, unscripted moment of connection.

The day ended with a visit to L’École Normale Supérieure, (https://ens.um5.ac.ma/) a teacher-training college. We heard from faculty, students, and even a few of my fellow travelers. What struck me most was how intentionally they prepare their teachers. Their student teachers are actually paid for the work they do in classrooms which was something that genuinely amazed me. I had to pay to student teach. Beyond that, much of their training mirrors what we do in the United States, but with a strong emphasis on the English language.

Nearly everyone we met spoke English, and when I tried to use French, they gently shifted into English. They were hungry to practice, to connect, to engage. That energy was amazing.

My biggest takeaway? My eyes are wide open. Seeing how education unfolds in different corners of the world, especially here in Morocco, has reshaped how I think about teaching. This experience hasn’t just given me ideas, it’s given me perspective, and a renewed sense of purpose for the classroom I’ll return to.

March 30 - Education System and Languages: Wampanoag and the Amazigh

I learned a great deal about the education system in Morocco and in ways that stayed with me long after the conversations ended. First and foremost, there is a law known as Framework Law 51.17, which establishes education as a legal obligation regardless of who serves as Minister of Education. I found this both striking and profound. In the United States, no such law exists. As teachers, we are often subject to the priorities of whoever is elected. Some Secretaries of Education are deeply experienced and committed to public education, while others arrive with little background in the field at all.

Perhaps that sounds a bit skeptical but it’s hard not to notice how much can shift depending on leadership. At times, there are efforts to reshape education in ways that lean more toward privatization, which in some contexts has its advantages. Still, I want to believe that those in these positions are striving to do what is best.

In Morocco, however, there is a different feeling, one that of steadiness and shared purpose. Education is a national priority, a collective commitment to preparing Moroccan youth for the opportunities and challenges of a 21st-century global economy.

And yet, like anywhere, inequities remain.

Morocco is far from linguistically uniform. Not everyone is Arab, nor does everyone speak Arabic. Many people speak Darija, a Moroccan dialect of Arabic used in daily life. There is also a vibrant cultural and linguistic community known in the West as Berber, but to Moroccans as the Amazigh. Their language is entirely distinct from Arabic, spoken by some, unfamiliar to others.

During our visit to the Royal Institute of Amazigh Culture, I witnessed something interesting a deliberate and thoughtful effort to preserve and elevate the Amazigh language. Scholars and educators have developed a standardized written system, now taught in schools and displayed on public buildings in an act rooted in equity, recognition, and cultural pride. Looking at the script (see picture), I was struck by its resemblance to Greek, though it is a phonetic alphabet with roots tracing back to Afro-Phoenician scripts. It felt both ancient and newly alive at the same time.

As I stood there, I found my thoughts drifting home. Before I continue, I am no linguist, but I couldn’t help thinking about the Wampanoag language, native to the region where I teach. Curious, I looked into whether there were efforts to preserve it and discovered the Wampanoag Language Reclamation Project, an initiative working to bring the language back to life.

While there are far fewer Wampanoag speakers in Massachusetts than Amazigh speakers in Morocco, the parallels are interesting. Across continents, communities are reaching back into history, reclaiming identity through language, and ensuring it carries forward.

What does Wampanoag look like?

“Mâach8sut.”

Massachusetts—“Land of the Great Blue Hills.”

Feeling very grateful to be able to learn all this.

March 29 – Medina All Day: A Squeeze on the Knee?

We were dropped off at Kasbah Oudaya this morning. It’s 10:30, and the weather is perfect, warm, gentle, and inviting. We’re standing above a stretch of stunning scenery, the air crisp and clear. Ahead of us lies the old Medina of Rabat, and I’m not quite sure what to expect. I’ve wandered through many “Old Towns” in my travels, but never in the Maghreb.

As we step inside, one thing immediately stands out: it’s incredibly clean, remarkably so. Our tour guide explains that Rabat’s mayor, Fatiha El Moudni, has made cleanliness a priority. I find that both impressive and refreshing, proof that even small details can reflect larger civic pride.

Walking through the Medina is a sensory experience. Merchants line the narrow streets, displaying their goods and calling out to passersby, each hoping to catch the eye of a curious traveler. I’m a bit nervous about haggling, it feels like an art I haven’t quite mastered, but I’m told it’s essential if you want the right price. Still, locals reassure us that in Rabat, fairness tends to win out anyway.

By the end of it, I’ve gathered quite the collection: a beautifully crafted Moroccan rug, a caftan, clothes for my kids, hats, and a handful of small trinkets, all at what I’m told are famous Rabat good prices. Whether or not I mastered the art of bargaining remains up for debate, but the experience alone was worth it.

Some of the other teachers decided to hop on a Tuk-Tuk tour to explore food corners of the Medina (if you’ve never seen one, it’s worth looking up, I’ll try to post a video). Before arriving in Morocco, we’d heard all the usual cautions (avoid fresh foods, watch how meals are prepared, be careful.) On this tour, we did the opposite, we threw caution to the wind and embraced it all. And I have to say, even as someone who doesn’t consider themselves a foodie, the cuisine here is outstanding. Easily some of the best I’ve ever had.

Then came one of the most unexpected moments of the day.

The Medina becomes very crowded, especially around prayer time when nearby mosques draw people in. After our Tuk-Tuk ride, we ventured back in for more shopping. It was packed, shoulder to shoulder, a sea of movement and voices. And then, out of nowhere, I felt a small squeeze on my knee, you know, right in that ticklish spot.

I froze for a second. What was that? Is this what pick-pocketing is like!?

I looked down, and there was a little girl, laughing, eyes bright with mischief. I said hello in Arabic and she said hello in, well, English. Adorable moment when you just had a security briefing in how pickpocketing is common in Morocco and you're watching your back carefully only to have this beautiful moment.

Strangely enough, that simple, fleeting moment became my favorite part of the day. To me, it captured something deeper, a child seeing a foreigner in her country, reaching out in the simplest, most human way just to say hello. No hesitation, no barriers, just friendly.

The warmth and hospitality of Morocco continue to surprise me. And sometimes, it’s the smallest gestures like a quick smile or a playful squeeze that leave the biggest impression.

March 28 - "Allah ya-tik s-ha" الله يعطيك الصحة 

This is Morocco.

Standing in Chellah this morning, I was struck by the sense that this place has always been a crossroads of cultures, long before today’s globalized world. Over the centuries, this land has welcomed and absorbed countless peoples, languages, and traditions, the native Amazigh, followed by Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Spanish, Portuguese, and the French. You can feel it in the air, layered like history itself.

It makes Morocco the perfect place to deepen my understanding of a region I’ve only studied from afar. I came prepared, having done my historical research, but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing. You don’t truly understand a place until you stand in it, walk through it, and listen to the stories it still tells in the Medina over mint tea.

The legacy of colonialism lingers here in subtle but powerful ways. A few of the most fascinating examples came during last night’s dinner preparation and cooking lesson at Roots Academy Rabat. Side funny story and speaking of connections, I found out our host Eva was born in Minneapolis ... and in the same hospital as me! Moroccan cuisine is rich, vibrant, and deeply tied to the land. It is among the finest in the world. For the most part, it has remained authentic to its roots, shaped locally rather than by Western influence (aside from the importation of certain spices).

And yet, traces of history appear in unexpected ways. Moroccans developed a taste for pâtisserie and baguettes, but even that carries weight. I learned that referring to bread as a “baguette” can feel loaded, as the word recalls the batons used by French colonizers against “unruly” Moroccans. A more appropriate term is khobz, meaning round bread. It’s a small detail, one you won’t often find in textbooks, but it speaks volumes. These are the kinds of insights you only gain by being here.

Language itself carries history. I also learned that the term “Berber” is considered outdated by many. “Amazigh” is the more accurate and respectful term, as “Berber” comes from a Western label loosely meaning “barbarian.” Even familiar terms like “Moor,” which I’ve often encountered in my study of Spain and its history, take on new meaning here. That label, too, was imposed by the Spanish on the North African peoples who ruled parts of the Iberian Peninsula for centuries.

Spain would go on to become a dominant global power, shaping language and culture worldwide. But many historians describe the period of Moroccan and broader Muslim rule in Spain as a “Golden Age,” a time of intellectual, cultural, and scientific flourishing.

So what do I do with all of this?

As a teacher, it’s a reminder to be more intentional with the language I use. The labels we attach to people and cultures matter. I want to spend more time unpacking colonization, not as a single sweeping narrative, but through focused case studies, with Morocco as a specific example. There is so many voices that deserve to be heard more clearly.

This was an inspiring full day. I learned more than I expected, and in ways I didn’t anticipate.

The key, I’m realizing, is simple, talk to people. Listen to locals. That’s where the real learning begins.

March 27 — "Marhaba" مرحباً.

The day of travel is always a little stressful for me. My wife likes to joke that I’m the guy who wants to get to the airport four hours early, no matter where I’m going. I’m a “better safe than sorry” kind of traveler. And with this journey, there’s a lot ahead. Boston to New York, then on to Casablanca. TSA lines to navigate, fellow Fulbrighters to find, and that constant hope that everything unfolds exactly as planned. Not to mention, the lingering tales from Dar Khalifa still echoing in the back of my mind.

Of course, the best-laid plans don’t always come together perfectly.

I made it to my gate and found everyone without issue, but not before having to rebook, recheck my bags at JFK, and endure a long TSA line. Typical airport chaos, nothing unusual, but still enough to raise the stress level.

But then, something unexpected happened.

On my flight to Casablanca, I found myself seated next to a Moroccan man named Rudy. He was incredibly kind, and we quickly fell into conversation about the AFCON match between Morocco and Senegal, the business he runs in the States, our families, and more. We talked right through boarding and takeoff.

What stayed with me most, though, was the story of his father back in Morocco. At 91 years old, Rudy had secured him a green card so he could come live in the United States. But his father chose to stay. He wanted the Medina, his mosque, tea with friends, and the comfort of a life rooted in a place he knows and loves. There was something powerful in that for me, something grounding. I remember thinking, Morocco must be pretty special.

After our conversation, I did something I rarely do on flights, I slept.

And then, just like that, we were here.

Morocco is stunning. Truly stunning. The people are warm and welcoming, the food is rich and comforting, and there’s an undeniable sense of positivity in the air. On an evening walk, a young boy passed by us, smiled, and said, “Welcome to Morocco!” and I think he meant it. It made me wonder if our own students back home would do the same for a visitor. It’s a small gesture, but it says so much.

And wow, there are cats everywhere, which we found oddly delightful.

Our first day was an easy one. We wandered, took in the sights and sounds of Rabat, and let ourselves simply be present in a new place. Tomorrow brings guided tours and even some kayaking. I'm currently in bed listening to the call to prayer, wow, what an experience this is.

The adventure is just beginning. Stay tuned.

Predeparture and Preparations

March 25-26 - Yup, feeling anxious and excited all at once. I’m not entirely sure what to expect, but I have a strong sense that this experience will change me and the way I teach.

As I think about how it might shape my classroom, I sometimes feel a bit lost and overwhelmed. More than anything, I keep wondering, what will it actually be like? I’ve never been to Africa or to a predominantly Muslim country, so naturally, my curiosity is running high. What is the education system like there? And how can I bring what I learn back into my own teaching in a meaningful way?

Lately, I’ve been reading The Caliph’s House (Dar Khalifa) by Tahir Shah. It’s both hilarious and unsettling. Without giving too much away, Shah moves his family from London to Casablanca to restore an old house in the city’s bidonville. The humor comes from the fascinating (and sometimes bizarre) people he encounters. The tension comes from the constant challenges of rebuilding something that feels almost impossible to tame. It leaves me wondering, what on earth is Morocco really going to be like?

Right now, I’m surrounded by half-packed bags, trying to figure out how to fit my life into two carry-ons. I took the day off before departure, which I would highly recommend to any future Fulbrighters. It gives you the space to get organized, tie up loose ends, and mentally ground yourself before the journey begins. I’ve heard some people work right up until the day they leave. I respect that, but I know I couldn’t do it.

And then there’s the hardest part. Saying goodbye, even temporarily. I’ll really miss my kids. Leaving behind my 6- and 3-year-old has definitely added another layer of emotion to all of this.

Anyway, 24 hours until takeoff. Morocco, here I come!

March 7, 2026 - Strange, isn’t it? Here I am, over one year later, back at the Model UN Conference. I’m currently hunkered down working on the blog and vlog series that will serve as my Fulbright capstone project, and the irony of the situation isn't lost on me.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on a question that has circled my mind for months: "Why me? Why did I receive this Fulbright scholarship?" I’ve come to realize the answer lies in a path I never wanted to take. Years ago, I transitioned from East Middle School to Braintree High School. One of my first assignments was an elective Economics course, mostly filled with seniors. I was terrified. I had zero experience in the subject, and I was pivoting from teaching thirteen-year-olds to managing eighteen-year-olds who already had one foot out the door.

To be honest, I was far from enthusiastic. I’m a History teacher at heart! For a long time, I actually resented the assignment. I spent several semesters constantly petitioning my director to take the course off my plate and let me get back to my "expertise."

But life has a funny way of rerouting your journey. Twelve years later, not only do I love teaching Economics, but I’m almost certain it’s the very thing that earned me a spot in the Fulbright Teachers for Global Classrooms program. I am the reluctant economist.

If there’s one thing this journey has taught me, it’s this: Never say no to a teaching opportunity. What feels like a burden today might just be the ticket to your next great adventure tomorrow. You never truly know where the road is going to lead you until you're willing to take it.

December 7,2024 - I never imagined I would be granted a scholarship to the esteemed Fulbright Teachers for Global Classrooms program. But, there I was, seated at a bustling Model UN conference, when the Fulbright exchange for students was distributed to club moderators. Curious, I opened the webpage, intending only to gather information to share with my club at our usual Wednesday gathering. Yet as I scrolled, I stumbled upon a section meant not for students, but for teachers.

The stack of grading beside me loomed like an unconquered peak, but its call faded as another path revealed itself. I found myself quietly enthralled by the possibility of stepping beyond my own classroom and into a wider world of learning. And so, rather than returning to the climb of papers before me, I chose the road less certain.

I applied! And from that small, almost accidental turning of the page, the journey began.