Here Comes the Rain

        Thursday (Nov 25^th), my class went on a ‘field trip’ to the Souk Al Khamise (I think that’s the right name). It was in a more rural area on what seemed to be the outskirts of Rabat. It definitely was far from being a tourist market and seemed more like a great big garage sale, junk yard, and farmer’s market all in one. It didn’t smell great but it was cool to wander around and look at all the strange things that people were trying to sell. There was a group of terrible actors entertaining a crowd and a medicine man excitedly gesturing and trying to convince an interested crowd that his potions and powders worked miracles. We watched the medicine man for a while because he really was quite entertaining. He would flip wildly through his book of pictures that looked as if they’d been cut out of magazines and show the crowd a picture that was supposed to explain or enforce whatever he was saying. We all left pretty fast when he brought out a strange shaped stick and flipped to a particularly graphic picture of reproductive anatomy. The Yocine and Hassan looked rather embarrassed and claimed to have no idea he what he was talking about… hahah. We went through the food market part and crossed the street to get some air and eat oranges while we waited for the bus. I met a girl there who I haven’t seen at the school before and found out that she is an au pair for a family in Morocco. She said that they paid for her flight, her housing, her weekend trips, and much more. She told me that I should look into it because it’s a cheap way to travel and you get paid on top of it… if you find the right family to work for. 

As soon as we got back, we piled back into the van to go to the American club where they were serving a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. We all came as guests of Malaika, who is an American woman married Adil, the owner of the school.  I sat near another American woman who is married to a Moroccan man and it was interesting to hear their stories about their Moroccan in-laws, the shame of owning a microwave, and how much they missed American milk. I got to speak with Malaika’s friend about what it was like being married to a Moroccan man. She told me that she converted to Islam for him and had to give up some freedoms that she was used to having, but she insisted that their love for each-other was more important than anything that she had to give up. She said that when they first started dating he told her that she had to be home by ten o’clock and she was furious at first but then he convinced her that people who stay out later than that are really only looking for one thing. At this point, a girl sitting across the table from me exchanged glances with me and we had a nice little argument about this generalization. We knew why he would say that but really didn’t agree because we stay out much later than that because that’s when we have time to see friends. In the end we had to agree to disagree and the lady’s main point was that if you love someone you are willing to compromise. I wish I had thought to ask her what her husband compromised on to be with her. I would be curious to hear her answer.

The dinner was top notch, a little over priced but it was authentic Thanksgiving dinner and the pecan pie was almost as good as my Nannie’s ;-) After dinner, most of the group left but a few of us stayed behind to have a drink at the bar and watch the Macy’s day parade on the Air Force channel. Malaika stayed with us and told us about how she had recently taken her kids back home and the airport stopped her from taking them without the signature of their father. Apparently this happened after the new family law was passed which makes it unnecessary for the mother to get the father’s permission to take the kids out of the country. She said she knew she could have fought it, but Adil was still in the airport so she just chased him down. I’ve heard other instances where the law may have changed but it is not enforced. It’s quite disappointing that their system takes so long to switch.  When Malaika took us back to school, I just did a little bit of studying but I really wasn’t in the mood and went back to the house.  I was missing my family a little bit, but right before I went to sleep, I remembered to open a letter that my mom had put in my suitcase. It was full of love and pictures and it really made me smile (thank you mommy!!!).

Friday (26^th) is so far away ago that I’m having a hard time remembering what went on. I do know that we talked about superstitions and how most Moroccans believe in spirits or “Gins” as they are called. My favorite example is the one where he said that if you stay in the shower too long or take too many showers the Gins might get you… yikes! I had no idea there were Gins in the shower! I did a little bit of shopping that night but stayed in to get some work done on my portfolio.

Sunday (28^th), I went shopping with Mama Kaltoum and she tried to help me find boots to keep me warm and dry from the rain. She instructed me not to talk in French or English or else the price would go up immediately. So if I saw something I liked, I would tell her good or bad in Arabic and she would talk to the shop owner. Most of the places she took me to stores that had used shoes and I wasn’t quite brave enough to try them. Plus they weren’t charging much less for them than the new ones in the Medina. We didn’t find any, but we did find a bunch of large oranges to make orange juice with and lots of good fresh veggies for the cous cous so all was good with the world. As long as we have our cous cous, we will survive

:-D …After eating, I went to the train station to go to Sale for the Breakdance battle that Mourad was at. The train didn’t leave until too late so I took a petit taxi to find a grand taxi that would take me to Sale. The petit taxis aren’t supposed to cross the river into Sale but they will for the right price. I couldn’t bargain a good price with him so I just had him leave me with a Grand taxi who was heading in that direction. It was all quite complicated but somehow I made it and Mourad met me at the Sale train station and took me to where the battle was going on.

I could hear the music from outside and saw kids in fitted hats and crazy tennis-shoes walking around. It was definitely an interesting sight. When we walked in, I was hit by the smell of sweat… he introduced me to a girl who is part of his association and he claims is the best at “popping,” she was one of very few girls there. I watched a guy freestyle to old school music that blasted out of an old school boom box. He wore tight jeans, a button down shirt with a sweater on top and converse all-stars. After a little while, the competition was about to start so Mourad had me sit with him and four other guys on a big black couch where they would judge the competition from. I had a blast taking videos of the crazy things that the guys could do. It was really interesting to watch the way the competitors interacted with each other. They would hug each other before and after but still act completely macho while dancing. It was quite amusing when sometimes one of them would get a little upset at the end and a guy, who must have been dubbed the announcer for his naturally deep voice, would basically tell them to have respect and the guys would hug it out. It was great! It really made me miss dancing.

My favorite part was when they made the judges do a demonstration while the dancers rested. Mourad was the last one to be called up… the “announcer” adjusted his top hat (yes he WAS wearing a top hat… possibly a T-Pain imitation) and announced Mourad as “Diablo.” This made Mourad somewhat embarrassed I could tell. He did a couple high power flips and tricks but took it easy because his wrist and ankle are a bit messed up from his latest battle in the Sahara. I also got to see his friend do her popping demonstration and she was really quite good! I asked Mourad why they called him Diablo since his “dancing name” is really Manex. He said that it’s a reference from an American movie and they only called him that because I was there, apparently someone asked him how “Manuella” is doing and they were referring to me because I looked Hispanic or something. I really don’t understand it still so I must need to see the movie to get it.

Right before the final round we ended up leaving because someone stole another person’s bag and the atmosphere became a little tense. Plus, it was getting late and I needed to do some shopping in the Medina before I went home. Mourad and I crammed into a cab where I was practically sitting on these two ladies’ laps but it was a short ride across the river and we walked the rest of the way to the Souk. The snail stands were especially pungent that night and people crowded around the boiling pots of escargot… I can’t help but wonder what is so appetizing about these creatures that I constantly find on the ground beneath my feet…… blech! We found a nice street stand and ate there, I’m not sure what it was, but we ate it. It was a lovely mix of chopped up meat, spices and maybe peppers too that were grilled then put into bread and covered in some kind of red tomato sauce. While we were eating, we ran into some people from the competition who came up and said hi to us. One guy pounded knuckles with Mourad and turned to me to do the same thing but said that girls do it from the side… this was new to me and I completely messed it up of course but at least I know to pound it from the side in the future. What a relief! Hahah

We didn’t have much luck shopping and it rained on us quite a lot but I didn’t mind because it was at least warmer than the last few days. We took shelter in a perfume shop and Mourad started talking to a Japanese man who worked behind the counter. The man had really long hair and an American accent so I became rather interested in the conversation as well. It turns out that he has family in Japan but was raised in California and has lived all over the place. He has converted to Islam and is trying to make his life in Morocco more permanent because he loves the pace of Moroccan life and the attitude of Moroccan people. Mourad kept plying him with questions about Japan but the guy really didn’t seem to be fond of talking about his country of origin. He would only say how crazy life is in Japan and people bottle up their emotions there so they go crazy almost. It was quite interesting.

After being thoroughly soaked in the medina, we headed back for me to catch a cab and commenced yet another of our religious debates. For some reason I began crying because I was so frustrated by not just our conversation but also because I was tired and stressed out. I always get stupid and emotional when I’m tired and stressed… it sucks. Mourad was devastated that he made me cry and said that I needed to go home lol We shared the cab part way home and he got out before my neighborhood and said goodnight. I didn’t know at that time, but he ended up walking the rest of the way home (about an hour and a half walk) in the rain. I think it was because he didn’t have enough change for the cab. Now I felt awful… it wasn’t the greatest end to the night.

OH BABY!

        Monday (the 22nd of November), was a tiring day. I was exhausted and in no mood to go to class. It was a bad Arabic day for me too for some reason. Despite all the studying and the massive amounts of vocab I had learned over the weekend, I had a hard time putting even three words together. I've decided that my brain must have been in overload mode and going on strike from learning for the day. I did get some rest though and I decided to take Mourad up on his invitation to a "Baby Party" that evening. I'm not exactly sure what the actual name is for this type of party, but I had heard about it from Khadija when she was telling us about culture and traditions in Morocco. It's like a baby shower that tons of family and friends attend... and I heard that when Moroccans throw a party, they do it big :D I thought it would be a good cultural experience and a welcome break from studying while I knew I would have to practice some Arabic there so it was an easy decision. He met me in Yousseffia and we walked all the way there since we had plenty of time and the weather was nice. I asked him how long we would be there since I didn't want to be out too late because of school in the morning. He said that we could stay as long as I liked but probably about 2 hours or so. This must be what they call "Moroccan time" because the party started at 8:00 and somehow I didn't leave until almost 1:00 a.m. 

        As we got got closer to the house we saw cars parked everywhere and the amount of children playing in the street increased as we neared the door. Mourad was immediately tackled by a little girl who was the child of a cousin I think, and after receiving a plethora of kisses she happily skipped away. We walked past the door of the house and over to a big tent set up on the side of the road (on the sidewalk) where men were setting up chairs and instruments and I got introduced to more cousins than I could count. Many of them started speaking Arabic with me and were confused when I didn't understand them, Mourad said that I looked Moroccan to them. Since nobody was sitting yet, we went into the house which was apartment style and many levels where I think various branches of the family lived. After about four flights of stairs I was kissed and hugged by a line of random ladies that were leaving a small room, after passing them, we headed into the room and I met Mourad's mom, sister, aunt and some other random old lady. The brought out tea and I attempted to speak with them while Mourad went to the corner of the room to "ooh and ahhh" over the new baby. Before I had time to object, the baby was given to me and I was told to kiss it. I gave it a fake kiss and played with it's tiny feet for a minute and handed it back... baby's scare me. I must say that this baby was absolutely angelic looking and beautiful, I could look at it all day.

        After a little while, we went back downstairs and Mourad told me to go with his sister and mom. I didn't want to be away from him, but I did it anyways since I knew he probably wanted to hang out with the guys and even in family parties the men and women keep pretty segregated. I went and sat with his mom and all the old ladies. It was really rather boring since his mom only spoke darija and my darija is limited to a few numbers, "okay," "thank you very much," "cold," and "lets go." So we were more amused by watching the little boys take turns bravely running up to the microphone, saying something, and running back to the group to giggle and look around to see people's reactions to their antics. Unfortunately for the boys, the old ladies were indifferent and not very reactionary so the most attention they got was when their fathers would run into the tent and scold them from time to time. Mourad poked his head in to check on me every once in a while and I smiled and nodded like I was having a great time but secretly hoping he would give me a reason to get up and walk around. The tent began to fill up around 9:00 and the band set up at about 10:00... I was sitting for a loooong time. The band was very good; I learned later that the singer was a good friend of the baby's father and had come from Spain with the family to celebrate with them. The family with the new baby is from Spain... sorry, I forgot to mention that. I was surprised to see a few ladies get up and dance, and these women shook their stuff if you know what I mean :-P ...I had more fun watching a little boy near the front look in amazement and confusion at one rather large lady's rear as she danced near him like it was the strangest thing he had seen in his life. Hilarious! Some of the men got up and danced together and for a few short minutes the parents of the baby danced with the singer. It was very fun to watch. I also wondered what was going on when many of the women, old and young, would run up to the singer with 20 DH bills and stick them in his collar! I learned later that this is just a sign that they really enjoyed his singing... not some indecent proposition ;-)

        After quite a bit of this there was a break where Mourad's sister came and rescued me. We went to a little room in the house littered with shoes, clothes, kaftans, purses... I think they must be using it as a changing room for the party. She got me water and I talked a little bit easier with her than I did with her mother because she knew a little more Fursa and a little bit of French. Every once in a while, a family member would pop their head into the room and say hello to us and try to converse in whatever language came to mind, I had a few people come in and say "hola!" to me which really caught me off guard. When I commented on how beautiful one woman's Kaftan was, Fatiha (Mourad's sister) offered to give me her Kaftan but luckily at the time I didn't understand what she was offering and didn't take it with me. Mourad informed me later what she was trying to do and I told him to thank her for me but I couldn't possibly take something like that! Yikes! I started to get restless and wished I knew where Mourad was. It was getting really late and I wasn't sure if I could find a taxi very easily if it got much later. Eventually Mourad and his cousin that he calls "The crazy one in the family" waltzed in and talked for a while until someone said that we would eat soon. I turned to Mourad and said that I needed to go and I needed sleep to which he looked confused and asked if I didn't want to eat. It's almost unheard of for someone to visit a Moroccan home and not eat, but I had already had a full dinner with the Marouazis and was not hungry at all. I also felt bad eating and leaving right away. Mourad decided that this was a good time to tell me that the party goes on all night and nobody sleeps... wow! I told him that I had to get sleep for school and I really had to go but somehow, a little while later, I ended up in the dining room crammed between his sister and a large boisterous aunt with a Tagine and bread in front of me. I took a few bites and ate slowly to make it look like I was eating more but I was being watched too closely and my cover was blown by the boisterous aunt who ordered someone to bring me a plate because she thought I didn't want to eat from the same dish as all of them! I was SOOOO embarrassed because that was NOT the impression I wanted to give them. I knew the food was hot and good and I'm used to eating out of the same tagine as my host family but my limited darija and acting skills failed to convey to them that I had already eaten and really wasn't hungry! Boisterous aunt took it upon herself to carve up my meat for me and pile it on my plate while continuously ordering me to "eat eat!". Finally when the Tagine was finished and all scraps were stuffed in bread and the ladies' purses (I kid you not... they put leftovers in their purses!), Mourad leaned forward and with a mischievous smile, he informed me that it was time for the second course! I laughed and sarcastically said "Oh good! because I'm so so hungry!" ...I didn't think he was serious about the second course thing... but he was... and boisterous aunt made sure I ate it. I almost thought that I would die from my stomach exploding.

        Finally when they were done force feeding me the third course of fruit, I was given a gift box full of cookies and was able to escape out the door. Mourad's uncle or cousin and another girl were kind enough to drive me back to Yousseffia and despite my protests, Mourad walked me to my street to make sure I was safe. I did some homework and went to sleep around 2:00... what a night.

        On Tuesday (23rd) I was strangely alert and able to function. We also had a pretty interesting conversation in class about drugs and alcohol since we were learning food and drink vocabulary. Our teacher, Hassan, is really good at talking about interesting subjects in Arabic but in very simple vocabulary that we understand. It is really helping me learn more vocabulary because I can hear him say things in context. He told us that many Muslims believe that alcohol is forbidden, a small amount think it's not forbidden, and a good amount of them just don't know or don't care. According to him, there is room for interpretation or misinterpretation because the matter is rather unclear in general. He doesn't drink because he believes that the prophet specifically instructed his followers to steer clear of things that intoxicate (alcohol, drugs etc..) mainly for health and self control reasons. He says that the teachings are more specific that say Muslims are forbidden to enter into prayer while intoxicated because they are unable to think clearly. This makes more sense because if Muslims pray five times per day, they wouldn't have much time to actually be intoxicated if they did drink. Very interesting stuff...

        I really didn't do much that day other than catch up on work and I stayed late at school to talk to my crazy family on skype for a little while. I'm still unsure on whether I should forgive them for going to Florida to see my Nannie and Pappa without me. It's just not cool people :( ...It was so good to talk to them and hear their voices though, it has been weird to not talk to them much while I'm here.

        On Wednesday (24th) we had yet another good discussion in class but this one included everything from why they don't eat pigs to how many Muslims believe in evolution, or at least some sort of man existing before Adam and Eve. Forgive me if I completely mess this up, but they think that the Angels were begging God not to make Adam which leads them to think that there must have been man before Adam. I'm sure I'm missing part of the story here but that's about all I got from it. That evening I went out with Mourad to meet up with his cousin and his cousin's wife for the evening. They would be leaving for Spain in a few days and wanted to meet me since they hadn't gotten to really meet me at the party for their baby. The four of us plus their 6 or 7 year old boy and the baby crammed into their little car and I attempted to speak Arabic with the wife. The Arabic was immediately deemed useless when she didn't understand a word I said. Mourad said that she doesn't speak Fursa and only a little Darija because she is Spanish and not Moroccan. So I wracked my poor brain for all the Spanish I had learned when I was little so that I could talk to her. I was surprised at how much I remembered and even more surprised at how much I understood. I never thought I'd say this, but thank you dad for speaking Spanish all the time, listening to Spanish music and programming your navigator in the car to speak Spanish. I am very grateful now. I found out that they live in Toledo and we realized that we had very similar taste in actors since she LOVES American films... her favorite is Denzel Washington! New Best Friend!
        We went to the Mega Mall for a while and just talked about a million different subjects in a million different languages. We would go from Spanish to Arabic to French and then their little boy would throw in a little English here and there because he was VERY proud of the fact that he is in English classes. I got along very well with the little boy and we would take turns tapping each other on the shoulder and pretending it wasn't us. That's always a fun game ;-D We talked about religion a little bit and I learned that the wife is not Muslim but is studying it because she wants to be Muslim like her husband. It was interesting to hear her point of view though I had a feeling that she was trying to convince me that Muslims are not bad people which is not something I need to be convinced of after living with and becoming friends with so many of them :) After talking for a while, another cousin and his wife showed up and we all walked around the mall for a little bit then they decided we needed to go out to eat (even though it was 9:30). I told Mourad that I wasn't hungry but I would tag along as long as I didn't get home too late. Silly me, when we got to the restaurant I was force-fed yet again. I should have expected it though. Mourad told me that I should order something or they might order something for me. I ordered a chwarma because it was the cheapest thing on the menu and I had a feeling that I would not be allowed to pay. I still got a salad in front of me somehow because I guess the schwarma wasn't enough food for me. Even though I insisted that I had already eaten dinner, they must have been convinced that I was really starving. The shwarma wasn't very good and they passed around my plate so everyone could try it and agree on how bad it was. This launched a debate on who makes the best shwarma, I insisted that it was the Lebanese and Mourad's older cousin said that Turkish shwarma was much better. We agreed to disagree and they commenced the great fight over the bill. There was money thrown down by all people and when change was dispersed, Mourad and I got ALL our money back and eventually with much bribing of the waiter, the older cousin and his wife ended up paying the whole bill. It was quite amusing. They got me home at a decent hour this time so I was able to get a little more sleep... yayyyy :D I really do love Moroccan families, they make anyone feel welcome and like part of the family. They are so much more strongly connected and involved in each other's lives which at times is a little overwhelming but very cool.

How To Give Your Family A Heart Attack: 101

        On Saturday night, after dropping my things off at the hotel room I went to get dinner on the beach. Instead of walking down the boardwalk, I decided to walk along the beach to get there because the soccer games had finished and I could walk more peacefully there. It was lit up from the lights on the boardwalk which was nice... and mostly couples walked down on the beach which gave me relief from avoiding groups of giggling spikey-haired boys. I only got approached once but the guy gave up pretty easily and left me alone. I had a panini for dinner that really didn't taste as good as it looked but I had a really good cup of Verveine tea (which is my new favorite thanks to Mama Marouazi), and that made up for it I suppose. I texted Mo Mo to see what was up and he agreed to meet me by the restaurant when I was done eating. As I was paying the waiter, I heard a ton of noise consisting of off beat chanting, banging of drums, scuffling of feet and laughing. Down the steps to the beach and right by my table came a parade of kids looking very pleased with themselves as they followed some boys beating on drums and yelling. Nobody seemed particularly interested in the children so I just drank the rest of my tea and left to find Mo Mo. I walked a little ways down because I didn’t want to just stand around and give guys an excuse to come up to me. This did not work of course because I talked to about 4 guys in about 10 minutes and finally just sat down to call Mo Mo and see where he was. As soon as I sat down someone plopped down next to me and I just started laughing, I know he had seen me shoo away the other guys but apparently he didn’t care. My laughing confused him so I apologized and told him I wasn’t laughing at him, I explained that I just wanted to be left alone but that seemed impossible in El Jadida. He laughed and agreed with me then proceeded to try to talk to me still. Luckily Mo Mo called and I escaped pretty easily. Mo Mo had gone down the steps to the café so I went back down and was followed by yet another guy… I reached the bottom and realized that Mo Mo must have gone back up to meet me so I did an about face and walked back up the stairs while the guy also did an about face and followed me back up. Way to be obvious dude. I was just about to go crazy when finally I saw Mo Mo coming and he laughed at me because he saw me avoiding the guy following on my heels. Jerk.

        We walked up to the main street where I had been earlier that day and he pointed to a place on the corner of a street and said we were going there. I looked at the place skeptically because it was dark, smoky, full of men and I am not kidding when I say the name of the place was “Le Tit”… Yeah that looks like a winner. I was about to say hasta lavista baby and head back to my hotel but he grabbed my arm and pulled me and my skeptical expression away from the place and across the street. He looked very proud of himself and I realized (with great relief!) that he was just messing with me. I repressed the urge to slug him and asked where we were really going. He said he knew a good place to get a beer that had more foreigners and wasn’t nasty and creepy. This sounded better but I asked him if he was allowed to drink beer since it’s technically forbidden to Muslims. He informed me that he is berber, from the desert and his people aren’t Muslim (for the most part). He told me that he rarely wears the style he was wearing that day (Fitted faded jeans, t-shirt and track jacket) because he is a “blue man”. I recognized the term but asked him what a blue man was. He replied that he always wears the long blue kaftan and blue head wrap. I remembered seeing people dressed like this in Merzouga when I went there so this made sense. We arrived at the door of a hotel and walked back to a little courtyard covered by a tarp with people sitting around drinking beer and watching “footy” on TV. There were a few girls there so I agreed to hang out there for a while. We sat with an acquaintance of his, a small man eating pomegranate seeds and drinking a glass of red wine. The man was small and seemed to be very shy and soft spoken. Mo Mo went to order some beer and I attempted to talk to the man in Arabic which seemed to make him happy. He told me he used to speak English but hasn’t practiced in a long time. When Mo Mo came back I found out that this guy was a tax investigator who was very well known for being nice. The man explained that he was sitting at work one day when a man who had worked in the business for years and years came back to do something. He said that the man had been very strict and harsh with the people he investigated and nobody liked him. When he returned to the office the man received no welcome and nobody cared that he was there. Mo Mo’s friend got very emphatic at this point and said that if people he investigates are nice to him, he will let them pay less or pay at another time if they don’t have the money. He pointed out that when he saw this man come into his office, he realized that the government and coworkers don’t care about you after you’re done working and old. The people he helps and makes friends with will help him and care about him when he is old while people at his job and in the government won’t care about him or reward him. I felt the positive vibes flowing out of Mo Mo as he talked about unity, acceptance and respect. He is a very easy-going and happy person who claims to be “with all religions” and just loves people. The small tax investigator man looked very pleased with Mo Mo’s speech and kept nodding and saying “Rrrrrespect! Yes!” every once in a while. After about an hour of peace love and care-bears, he bought our drinks, informed us that we were great people and announced that he was going to bed. Mo Mo and I only stayed a little bit longer then headed out.

        The next place on our agenda was apparently a hookah café where I was pleasantly surprised to have a large hookah placed on the table instead of tea. I thought he said that we would drink tea but apparently in the Arabic language, they say that they “drink” the hookah and they call hookahs “shishas.” It’s an easy mistake to make I guess… It was good but it was apple and annis flavored. I hate annis and licorice flavoring but the apple made it bearable I guess. There was also an adorable cat that I became good friends with right away. I didn’t have any food for it but it came on my lap and just wanted attention… Sooo cute! So I was in heaven for a while, talking about peace, love and respect with my new hippie friend, smoking hookah and cuddling with a cute kitty.  After we were done there, he wanted to show me another place but it was getting late and I needed to get some studying done. He wanted very badly to give me something from his berber tribe for my brother (I won’t say what it is so I don’t ruin gift) but in order to get this gift I had to go back to the Portuguese City where Mo Mo lived so he could get it. I fought with myself quite a lot over whether or not I should go with Mo Mo. I mean, how much did I really know this guy? Could I trust him to actually want to give me a gift? Or did he want something else? Was it a trick? How could I get out of the situation if it turned bad? Did I know my way back if I had to run? Etc… Okay so I know that my family in particular is probably going to be frightened by this next part BUT I will tell it all because you all know that I am currently safe and sound typing away in my little Arabic School in Rabat. RELAX! Heheh…

        It really isn’t that exciting honestly, but as you’ve probably guessed, I went ahead with him back to the Portuguese City. On the way he told me a story about when he had been held up at knife point when he had first moved to the city from the desert. The man who held him up was extremely drunk and Mo Mo confessed that he was rather “high.” Mo Mo pointed out that he tends to get very scared when he is high and nearly soiled himself when the man asked him for his wallet. Somehow he convinced the man that he really didn’t want to go to jail for killing someone for a little bit of money and offered to buy the guy a beer if he left him alone. Mo Mo turned to me and said “man, nobody wants to kill … they just wanna get drunk or high, it’s sad sometimes but true.” Hahah ohhh the wise words of Mo Mo... I wish I had taken notes on what he said so I could repeat it all. As we entered the Portuguese City and we passed his store and the Cistern, I knew exactly where I was. He lived right down a side street from the Cistern and as we went down it, I grabbed the pocket knife that I keep in my pocket and unfolded the biggest blade. I did not feel threatened mind you, Mo Mo was still rambling on, but I knew I could get away quick if I needed to with the help of a knife. Yikes, I felt like such a violent person… then I felt a wave of guilt when we walked through the doorway and he handed me the gift from his tribe. I wasn’t guilty but I felt like I should be for not trusting him. Better safe than sorry ;-)  Anyways, His apartment was tiny and I could see all of it from where I stood at the door. He showed me how he had just painted and installed a new window and wall fixtures and was building a few beds in his living room. He said that he is going to host couch surfers when he is finished fixing it up! Here’s the link to the couch surfing website if you don’t know what it is: http://www.couchsurfing.org/   . I have friends who have done this in cities around the US but I had no idea that it was world-wide! Very very cool. After talking about that Mo Mo tried to tell my fortune with his fortune cards but most of the things just confused me. Apparently I will buy a really nice house in the next 5 years though so I’m looking forward to that, or more looking forward to the job that gives me the money for buying a nice house in the next 5 years! Hahah…We left, he called me a cab, and I went back to face my flash cards and Arabic notes. It was a lovely night and I’m glad I was brave (and slightly stupid), because I wouldn’t have so many good memories. Sorry mom!

        Sunday morning, I threw open my window to see that the weather was gorgeous and warm. I wanted so badly to extend my stay another night, go rent a surfboard and enjoy the day, but I studied some more (patting myself on the back now… I’m such a good little girl) then packed up my stuff to go home. After checking out, the friendly hotel manager offered to call me a cab and marveled once again at the “very strange henna” on my hands that he had never seen in his life. I got to the train station way too early so I sat in the little café and drank verveine tea while eating a really weird croissant filled with apricot jam or something. I realized that my train changed in a different station than it had on the trip there so I spent the time puzzling over whether the internet was correct or my ticket. The internet schedule said that the trains change in Casa Port (where I had changed before), and my ticket stated that I would change trains in the other Casa station. I decided I would go with my ticket since it would be easier to wave that emphatically in an official’s face and get another way home than waving my computer around. Good logic if I do say so myself ;-D  It turns out my ticket was right and I fortunately didn’t need to wave anything in anyone’s face, I just had to sit on the cold hard cement for an hour and a half because my train was delayed 45 minutes.

        When I arrived in Rabat, I was happy to see Mourad waiting for me and even happier to assign him to watch my stuff so I could use the bathroom without taking everything into the stall with me hahah… I ate at the pizza hut in the station and showed Mourad my pictures while he told me about his progress in planning an international breakdancing event/ battle. He already has sponsors lined up and people flying in from New York, France and other places. He said how important it is for him to get the sponsors on board because he is covering the travel, lodging, and food costs for the special people he’s bringing in. He has also booked the largest theatre in Rabat so it sounds like this thing will be pretty awesome. I wish I could be around to see it!

        We didn’t hang out too long because I was exhausted and still wanted to review some more flash cards before bed so I thanked him for meeting me and I grabbed a taxi back to the hood (Yousseffia!).  It was good to see the Marouazis and they were glad that I was still alive… I think :)

 I’m now a week behind on posts but I will catch up this week… Hopefully! BEAR with me ;-D