Funny things

You know what every house needs? A table with roots...

As we infidels eat food during the day in Ramadan at Micky D's (oh the shame) the Koran channel is playing on the TV behind us...

I know it's a little dark but wow, do I hope you can read the instructions on the back of this bathroom hook...

At a local travelling bookstore I came across this gem... ?????

Unsafe

Oh how Morocco abounds with the unsafe. A health department investigator would go crazy over the medina food, an OSHA officer couldn’t handle the construction methods, and an injury lawyer would be in heaven… if there was a legal system wherein litigation was possible.

So what’s so unsafe you ask? Well let me paint you a picture. Imagine Laura and Chris are walking down the street, talking about our Arabic class when a moped drives by. It didn’t really phase us that the rider wasn’t wearing a helmet, that smoke was pouring out of the exhaust pipe, or that the moped looked like it was surplus from WWI. What made us stare in amazement was that the man riding it was carrying a pile of 2x4s across his lap, piled up so high that only the tips of his fingers could reach over top of the pile and touch that handlebars… Our first reaction was “Can he see over the pile?” and “wow, those 2x4s take up two lanes in width, what if someone comes driving in the other direction?” this was followed by “wonder if he’ll take out any pedestrians?” then “What happens if he needs to turn? That is clearly not possible given his position” and lastly “If he is going to put himself on a very small bike, with dozens of long planks of wood on his lap, piled up so high that he can’t steer, let alone turn, and the lane isn’t big enough for his load, WHY BOTHER WITH A HELMET?”

So this little event inspired us to start a photo contest to see who can take a picture of the most dangerous thing in Morocco. Within 24 hours we had lots of good entries. We are toying with the idea of having an award ceremony at the end of the grant period and voting on the best pictures in each category… possible categories include “most dangerous thing to transport by donkey” “least road worthy vehicle” “building on the verge of collapse, yet still being used” “most overloaded vehicle” and “just because this canister is really old and filled with propane doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do this with it”.

On the topic of things that are dangerous, now’s a good time to tell you about my latest near death taxi experience. Please remember back to my list of top ways I’m going to die… I still maintain taxi death at #1. So we took a taxi from Fes to Rabat and planned to leave in the morning while the drivers were still energized. The taxi driver was all about passing long strings of cars by crossing where the double yellow line would be if that existed here. That didn’t really bother me b/c I wanted to get their soon and he usually abstained from doing it around curves. The problem arose when there was a string of four vehicles that my cabby decided to try to pass, at exacty the same moment that the car in front of him decided to do the same thing… so the car in front of us pulls out into the oncoming traffic lane which pushes us out so we’re straddling the opposite shoulder of the road, when the big truck coming towards us starts to flash his brights. But we can’t get back into our lane until the other car gets back in and it was like a game of chicken. The sound of gravel under tires since we are half off the road, oncoming headlights flashing, driver next to us unphased and me staring forward in disbelief. At the last second a space opens up to let us squeeze back into the lane and I exhale as the truck passed… and a solid 3 seconds later we were in the other lane again, passing the car that almost killed us. Instead of freaking out that we almost died, or flipping off the jerk who pushed us out of the lane, the driver just looks at the other driver and says “shnu?” (what?) and does the accompanying hand gesture turning both palms upward (which of course entailed letting go of the wheel). Would be funny if it happened to someone else.

Best pick up line of the week: “Hey sister do you want to go downtown?”

Best mental image: A donkey was walking through the medina, stacked sky high with propane tanks. All I could think of was “what if someone lit a cigarette?”
leaky old propane tanks on donkey + fire = boom
…and then the medina would be covered with donkey guts. And the real question is, would it look any different?

Best find: If any of you are looking for massive posters of “wet wet wet” or “take that” I know where you can find them

Have a stain on your shirt? You should go to the grocery store and buy ‘black power’. Who names this stuff?

Medina moment that sums up Morocco: Lost in the medina as usual we ask a guy which way to the exit. We’re at an intersection and he says “nishan” (straight) and points in one direction. Then he says “nishan” and points down the street at a 90 degree angle to that one. In disbelief I repeated ‘so if I go straight this way, I get there but if I go straight in the other direction I get to the same place?’ He thought it was very funny that I was having trouble wrapping my head around this. Only in Morocco can you go straight down streets in different directions and end up at the same spot.

Infidel moment of the week: So I’m pretty proud of myself because it is not often that I am mistaken for a Moroccan but I was the other day. I was buying flowers for my host fam and could ask the basics in Arabic and smiled and nodded whenever the store clerk was saying things I didn’t understand. She was telling me how nice it was that I was buying flowers for my family, not understanding that they weren’t my real family. Eventually the jig was up when I was signing the card and had to ask how to spell ‘family’. She asked if I was illiterate and needed her to write the card and I said no, not illiterate, just American. She paused for a second and then said “American? Are you Muslim?” to which I said no… she looked at me with genuine concern and if a comic strip bubble could have popped out of her head it would have said “oh, she’s kind of nice- too bad she’s going to burn in hell” and then she resolved her worry and turned to me and said “maybe you’ll become Muslim soon”. Moomkin (maybe), Really all I could say. “God willing” was her response with a nod.

Moment I wished I had a camera: random guy in the medina on a rainy day with a ziplock bag covering the top of his head.

Disallusion of the week: Every time I hear a donkey making noises that sound like he is in incredible pain and dying, I just tell myself “maybe that’s what a donkey orgasm sounds like” and pretend that it is a happy noise.

Mabroke Ramadan

Ramadan has begun... the time of no eating while the sun is up and stuffing to the brink at sun down. My body is slowly starting to adjust, my mood is coming more slowly. So here's how Ramadan works, at 4:30 am the fam wakes up and eats yogurt and pancakes and drinks luke warm water (should you be stupid Laura and try to drink cold water, you will be reprimanded) and then we rush to the bathroom and desperately try to brush our teeth before the call to prayer signalling that the fast has started. Don't tell anyone but I brushed my teeth late today... I'm such a bad fake Muslim. So all the hours for classes and stores and the like shift a little forward so that people can sleep in a bit and not be totally aware of how hungry they are for an extra hour or so... then it's business as usual (plus a few extra prayers).

Around 5pm the most dangerous thing you can do is get in a cab here, as if cabs weren't dangerous enough... but when the drivers have low blood sugar, are pissy, and just want to get home to break their fasts it gets intense (and poor little pedestrian Laura must be very very careful as she crosses the street). So 6pm rolls around and the fam watches a little Qu'ran channel or my personal favorite, the "all mecca all the time" channel (can't tell you how fascinating it is to watch people walk in a circle for hours) and then we dig in. Interestingly, sometimes my host fam doesn't jump on the food the moment the prayer sounds which I don't understand. I basically sit there and say in my head "can we eat now? now? how about now? maybe now? now?" and then am ready to pounce at the first 'Allahoo Akbar'. Again, I'm such a bad muslim.

Night life picks up a lot during Ramadan since people are happy and eating a lot so that is pretty fun... though I've been given a curfew of 9pm which is a little weird for me. I defied it last night by sleeping over a friend's house and felt so free! We went up on the terrace of some dude's house and drank "moroccan whiskey" AKA mint tea while he played the Oud and we all sang campfire style.

In other news, there is a commercial here that I think is ridiculous. It's basically a Pert Plus commercial like any in the states, where a girl washes her hair and then walks down the street and turns heads because men simply can't help but be attracted to her incredibly clean hair. Now this theme kinda works in the US where its actually a feat to turn someone's head... but here you basically just have to be a female... plus if you're showing your hair, hands down-you turn every head, even if you haven't washed your hair in a month. This commercial annoys me almost as much as the 2.5 minute long advertisement for Gloria brand food products.

Armageddon

So this morning at 7:40 AM, it was Armageddon in Morocco... or a solar eclipse but the two seem to be interchangeable. The panic started last night when the Moroccan news showed over and over all the damage that looking directly at the sun can do to your eyes at that exact moment. Consequently every school in the country shut down today. They are worried that children will stare at the sun and turn into a pile of dust.

So I tried to explain to my host family that my classes were not cancelled, and in fact started at 8am so I would have to be walking there at 7:40 and this was just absolutely out of the question. Firstly, they insisted that there was no way I had class. Secondly, they had no intention of letting me leave the house for 20 minutes on either side of that magical moment.

My house went into lock down last night. They closed all windows and curtains and even put rags under the doors in rooms that had windows to be sure that not a drop of that poisonous sunlight hit the family at 7:40. So I woke up in a pitch black house and snuck into the forbidden kitchen (where there is a skylight) while the others were sleeping so I could get my breakfast. I had to call my friend at class and have him tell me that he was sitting in class and did not melt from the sun's rays and finally they let me go to class, superlate. It was ridonk! When I came home for lunch I thought they were going to give me an eye exam! Instead each separate member inquired as to the well being of my sight. Glad they care I guess.

In other news, I spent the weekend in Bhalil which is a tiny town inhabited by one peace corps dude with a sweet house (with walls that were far from meeting at 90 degree angles). We had a huge barbecue America style and gorged ourselves on hamburgers and nachos and then hiked through treacherous terrain to see some waterfalls.

The reasons I appreciate my fellow Fulbrighters/Peace Corps crowd were magnified during this time and they are as follows:
1) No fewer than one time a day is the phrase "dumps like a truck" used
2) Everyone knows all the lyrics to "America Fuck Yeah" from Team America
3) Any pause in conversation is swiftly filled by "Ateni Machine Gun"in Sylvester Stalone voice from Rambo 3 (where he is in Afghanistan so it makes even less sense that he asks for it in Arabic)
4) All the boys know how to cook things from scratch and willingly do so (fresh guac, homemade salsa, nachos...)
5) There is no mercy among us and every stupid comment gets archived for mockery forthcoming.

The internet cafe is currently playing the Ketchup Song in Arabic.

Laura

COLUMN: Where is the garbage can?

I have been living in a Moroccan host family for two weeks now and life has been going very smoothly. I have quickly adapted to the lack of privacy and personal space and have replaced those needs with a fondness for the tight family and the constant background noise of the television and seven voices. The major obstacles have been surmounted, I can now work the toilet, bidet, and shower. However there is one mystery that I’ve been having more difficulty with- where is the garbage can?
In my house in Guilderland there is at the very least a wastepaper basket in every room. There is a gallon size trash can in every bathroom, a massive trashcan in the kitchen, and two large trash bins in the garage, where the week’s garbage is collected until Tuesday mornings when it is picked up at dawn. Here, however, finding the garbage can is a little more complicated.
There certainly isn’t a trash receptacle in my room, nor is there one in the salon and common spaces. There is no trash can in the bathroom, I’m sure of this. Every time I blow my nose in one of the Kleenex I brought I am hard pressed to find a place to put it. Intensive investigation lead me to find a tiny, bagless basket in the corner of the kitchen that contained some onion peels and egg shells. This is the trash can for the family of 7 who are living in this apartment.
At first I was amazed at how this could possibly be. I rewound in my brain to fourth grade when one of our activities for our unit on the environment was to wear a garbage bag around all day and see how much waste we produce. That was just me, armed with a tall kitchen-sized bag. Now there are 7 people and a garbage basket that might just hold 7 apples.
However, taking a closer look at the lifestyle here, I am one by one able to eliminate the sources of trash. There aren’t paper towels in use, just rags and sponges. The food is bought daily in the market and thus there is no packaging. The thought of how much of my garbage is food wrappers is striking- the plastic from my individually wrapped slices of cheese, the bag from my frozen veggies, the twisty ties, the paper boxes of cereal with plastic bags inside them. All these things seem to be eliminated here. Furthermore, the night’s leftovers aren’t scraped down the garbage disposal but rather fed to the dog or if there is enough, put out on the street for the poor. There is no food waste either.
Closer looks show creative use of would-be garbage. When I buy roasted chick peas at a local vender he creates a little cone out of the old pages of a child’s school work book. While my sense of sanitation is slightly put off by this, my inner environmentalist gives him kudos.
That slogan that was pounded into our heads as young students, ‘Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle’ keeps echoing in my brain. Perhaps in Morocco these words aren’t just a slogan but rather a way of life. It’s no wonder garbage cans aren’t a ubiquitous feature.