One of the most rewarding aspect of researching and writing the book was my growing realization of the central role of gender in social and political life, in the Arab world and elsewhere. Reality television animated the discussion of gender by featuring unmarried young men and women dancing, singing, eating, and (in some shows) living together under one roof.

That’s Marwan Kraidy in part two of an interview by Henry Jenkins.

That’s something I noticed while in Morocco. Morocco is a comparatively moderate, Arabic-speaking, north African country. And yet, the rigidity of gender lines compared to the United States amazed me. Men were highly visible in public spaces. Cafés are almost exclusively male. We were two of a handful of women on the beach in Casablanca. Most of the Moroccan women we saw were accompanied by a man, though there were also plenty of women wearing t-shirts and jeans and walking around solo. I didn’t get the sense that women were repressed, mind you, just that they lacked visibility compared to men there and to women here.

Kraidy and Jenkins don’t just discuss gender in the interview (also see part 1), however. Kraidy also talks about reality television and the Arab world and how it relates to Arab struggles around national identity versus pan-Arab identity, and resisting Western cultural influence.

But that answer wasn’t always the most satisfying one for the asker. You see, I am black, but my skin tone is kind of beige. I’m the same shade of golden tan as most North Africans. S. is what Brits would call Desi. She’s 100% of Indian descent, but several generations removed from Indian culture and customs. To the Moroccans we encountered, our appearance and our answers were more confusing than enlightening. And for us, it raised old questions about our own ethnic identity.

In my case, "the United States," or "American" is the shortest, truest response to the questions "Where are you from?" and "What’s your ethnicity?" I have a sense of place here. The roots of my family tree reach down at least five generations into U.S. soil. My family’s history is murky, obscured by time and slavery, but it’s American — distinctly so.

In the rest of the world, however, people have an ethnicity or a nationality, even if their nation doesn’t have its own state. When I answered "American," the follow-up question was, as often as not, "but what are you?" particularly because I looked like a long-lost cousin. I’m not even brown-skinned like the images of black people we send abroad. But "black" is as good an answer as I can give.

S.‘s family history, however, is entirely clear. She knows that her great-great-great grandparents left India for Guyana as indentured servants. Her peoples are straight-up "GuyanIndian." Yet she was born in the United Kingdom, becoming a U.S. citizen when she was six. What’s murky is her ethnic and national identity. From which of India’s 14 major ethno-linguistic groups does she hail? Are her family’s traditions Indian, Guyanese, or some fusion of the two? And how accurate an answer is "American" when she’s the immigrant child of parents who emigrated to the country of her birth?

Define “black”

I remember a conversation from years ago that I had with a Malian woman named Fanta about blackness. She said "In Mali, there is no such thing as ‘black.’" In places where everyone has the same skin color, notions of ‘black’ or ‘white’ are unnecessary and non-existent (though, as with the Roma in Europe, ethnic markers still hold sway). Fanta said that when she came to the U.S., she found herself wrestling with a new set of expectations, assumptions, unspoken rules, and judgements — ‘blackness’ —that were applied to her as a dark skinned African woman in the United States.

Our conversation taught me that concepts of race, color, and ethnic identity are often fluid, culturally-dependent, and self-determined.

There are black people in Morocco, mind you: the Gnawa. The Gnawa are an oft-marginalized group descended from sub-Saharan African peoples, some of whom were slaves, some of whom were merchants along cross-dessert routes. They even have their own distinctive form of music. Y’all know that’s about as black as black gets.

But race is a culturally-specific concept, isn’t it? And I got the sense that in Morocco, race and color is almost wholly replaced by ethnic identity. The Gnawa aren’t "black" per se. They’re "Gnawa." Arabs and Berbers aren’t "white," they’re Arabs and Berbers.

So when you say "black" in Morocco, what does the listener hear and understand?

Does she/he have a concept of what "black" means in the States? Does she/he know that any African ancestor in your known family tree makes you legally black no matter what your phenotype says? Does she/he understand that blackness in the U.S.. often comes sans ethnicity? Does she/he realize that you, your parents, your grandparents, and probably your great- and great-great-grandparents grandparents come from United States and/or parts unknown?

Or does she/he view it through African eyes — eyes that think of "black" as "from the south side of the desert and a few shades darker than you?"

So you’re not Indian?

And what to make of S.? She is racially (for lack of a better way to put it) Indian, but not ethnically so. While I am wholly convinced that her peoples are descended from some long lost tribe of Indian nomads with all the continent hopping they do, S., has never been sure of how to define her ethnic identity.

I remember having mad conversations about it when we were checking boxes on our college applications. "Asian" wasn’t culturally accurate. For her, it didn’t even feel racially accurate. To this day, even calling herself Indian, she says, makes her feel like an imposter (Guyanese isn’t much better).

But because of her Indian looks (which, like mine, also look a little bit Latina depending on who’s doing the looking) she was pressed quite a few times about where she was from — you know, really from.

For both of us, "American" was not enough.

Thanks to George for inspiring the title.

At least the hotel was a 2 minute walk from the beach.

We spent our last two days in Morocco at Club Val d’Anfa Hotel, located in the La Corniche / Aïn Diab section of Casablanca. The hotel sits at the corner of Boulevard Ocean and Boulevard Corniche, and backs up to the beach. You can even see the ocean from some of the hotel’s rooms.

Its proximity to the beach, however, means that it’s pretty far from the center of the city. Taxis are cheap, but if your plan is to hit the Habous or visit the Hassan II Mosque, you are better off staying somewhere else.

The room was clean, and nicely outfitted with twin beds, a minibar and satellite television. All rooms also come with free WiFi, and it’s pretty reliable. Some of the bed linens were old and worn, but the beds were quite comfortable.

The hotel itself was in the midst of being renovated. Contractors were working on the hallway outside of our room. We were there on the weekend, so work noise was minimal. Unfortunately that’s not the only source of noise at Club Val d’Anfa Hotel. The neighborhood surrounding the hotel features lots of nightclubs, bars and restaurants. It’s also very close to a major intersection. Saturday night, we heard lots of honking horns and loud bus motors, even though we were on the third floor and our windows were closed.

It got better — or should I say worse? Our room was also over a Moroccan restaurant that featured a roughly 45-minute belly dance performance. Ordinarily, this would not be a problem. But according to S., the music was so loud Saturday night that the room was vibrating (I managed to sleep through it thanks to some Tylenol PM and a serious cold).

The worst part is that when S. went down to talk to the front desk about the noise, they shrugged it off, telling her it would be over in 30 minutes. Now while I don’t expect the hotel to shut down the restaurant because we wanted to sleep (it was about 10 or 11 pm local time when the music started), I do expect better soundproofing and/or a room that isn’t directly over a restaurant that plays music loud enough to make your bed thump.

Given the location and the noise, I’d suggest passing on a stay at Club Val d’Anfa.