Settling In

Shopping here is an exercise in math. Prices are often quoted in ryals which don’t exist. The money used is the dirham which is 1/20th of a ryal. To complicate matters further, the sellers see our foreign faces and give us the price in French numbers, so we have to translate the number into darija and divide by 20, then try to bargain. I’m terrible at bargaining so if a price sounds fair to me, I just accept it. As I was concentrating on the money part of the transaction, I managed to buy a pair of orange fuzzy slippers without noticing that the large applique design on the toe was a marijuana leaf. I hope our host family doesn’t notice either as I wear them around the house.

We’ve encountered some really nice people lately. A little girl found a book that Doug had lost and chased us down the street the next day to give it back. A couple of young men in a hardware hanut didn’t have any oil that Doug wanted for a squeaky hinge so they gave him the oil they use and just asked him to return it the next day. It’s nice to know people are so honest and trusting. I don’t know how the little girl knew the book was Doug’s, but most everyone in this part of town knows who we are. Having done my share of rooftop surveillance, I can guarantee that there’s always someone watching what’s going on.

I guess I am acclimating to life in Morocco as I no longer hear the barking of the roaming dog packs in the night or the early call to prayer. I like waking up to the cooing of doves and clucking of chickens. It makes me think I’m on a farm. Two buckets showers a week seem normal. I’ve also discovered the many advantages of wearing a headscarf. I now walk in the streets like everyone else because even if there is a sidewalk, it usually ends abruptly in a mud hole or a steep drop-off. My host sister or host mom and I sometimes walk hand in hand as is the custom with both men and women. The language remains a big challenge because there are few vowels in darija and the pronunciation is difficult. There is only a matter of emphasis between saying “spend the night” and “armpit”. .

Our weekend get-away last Sunday was to a nearby lake. There was not a tree in sight, the shoreline was rocky, and the wind blew constantly but the water was a startling blue and the setting had a harsh beauty. When we arrived, the guards would not let us drive down the paved road to the lake so we lugged all our stuff including the “portable” butane stove and cooking pots over the rocks to a suitably level place. Shortly after we set up the cooking apparatus, one of the guards came climbing over the rocks to our spot. I thought he was going to tell us to move or something, but it turns out he was just there to bask on the rocks in the sun and wait for the food to cook. He hung out with us for at least two hours and shared our lunch, but mashi mushkil as there was nothing to guard against-- only one other car showed up as we were leaving. On the way back we stopped at a posh hotel on the edge of town and had cokes in the lounge just to see how the tourists live

A PCV who’s nearly done with her service came to visit us this week. Her stories and advice had us all enthralled for the entire morning. One of the many things she learned was how many donkey loads of wood it took to heat her house for a month. I found her inspiring because she successfully dealt with a challenging site and was, to our ears, fluent in darija. I like knowing it’s possible to go from here to there.