Sorry about the lack of blogging. These past couple of weeks have been busy with anxiety, hope, sprained feet, and pregnant women. I decided that for my re-entry into the blogging community I’d just talk about a bunch of my favorite happenings since I've been here.
First, I need to talk about the dogs at my last site in Ait Heloaune. The bathroom of the house was a little shack located outside of our house on the far side from where my room was located, and I had to go out in the middle of the night to use it. On my way to the bathroom, two large shadows about 10 feet from me appeared and started snarling in that sort of, "insane-dog-that-is-going-to-bite-you-so-run!" sort of way. I decided that my bladder could stand to wait till daylight and headed back to my room. But as I approached my room’s door I heard one of the large shadows move around the back of the bathroom to my side of the house and cut off my route just before I could reach the door. The snarling began again but on both sides this time and now at full force. I desperately began searching for a rock or something to protect myself with when I saw my host mother's light turn on. Normally I would think, "awesome, she'll call the dogs off," until I realized that I was standing in just my boxers and sandals. It is a huge insult just to wear shorts in this country let alone your skivvies with hershy stains and all. I had to make a quick decision, risk the dog and get to my room or horrify my Moroccan mother with how furry I really am. I chose to kick that damn dog in the face and entered my room just as my host mother stepped out. I have always used the bathroom before going to bed since then (when I had a bathroom).
Next, I have been at my site for a month now and am getting to know the people. Their favorite question to ask is whether or not you're married (or Muslim). I always reply “no, I haven’t got a girl” and the usual response is, “don’t worry, you’ll find one here in Morocco.” One night while sitting with a bunch of construction workers in my town I was asked this question which was followed with the usual response. Again, the answer to my reply was, “you should get one here in Morocco” and then it got suddenly quiet for a few moments…”but don’t take a girl from here!” I instantly burst out laughing. You know you’re in a hard hit village when even blue-collar (or turban in this case) construction workers don’t think the girls are worth fooling around with.
Continuing on the topic of women, I happened to bring my ipod touch with me to Morocco. This is great for sharing hundreds of pictures of friends and family to Moroccans. I have an incredible amount of pictures of myself hanging out with my closest friends, many of which are girls. Hundreds of pictures of me with an arm around a girlfriend at a café, at a ballgame, or some random party, and with each picture I would say “tamduklt-inu (my female friend).” As I would say this, I couldn’t figure out why all the guys smiled broader and broader and the women’s faces would grow red. I soon discovered there is a stark contrast in the interaction between the sexes here in the Moroccan bled (country side) compared to in America. You don’t hang out with girls or even necessarily talk to them without the intent of marrying or fooling around with them in some way. Needless to say, there are many Moroccans who believe they have met the biggest player ever from America!
It is difficult to know how to enter into a community. Luckily a friend of mine gave me an American soccer ball just before he left to return for America. I can’t speak the language but you don’t entirely need to in order to play soccer. I try to play three to four times a week now with the local kids and I think this has given me a great name in the village. After a game of soccer one day I told a group of children I was going out for a run. Several five and ten year olds asked to join me and I agreed to it thinking that they would pitter out after I blew by them in the first five minutes. I didn’t care to look back at the fading specks as I ran out of the village, but looking back after stopping to stretch I noticed three small figures on the horizon getting closer to me. I couldn’t believe these kids followed me all the way out of town and fully expected to run with me. Once they got to where I was stretching I told them to go home as I was going to run for a longer amount of time and possibly to a farther out village. After much deliberation I got them to understand and took off. I ran for about twenty minutes and stretched and took an easy walk for another thirty (mountain running is difficult). When I got back to the outer city limits after about fifty minutes I noticed that these kids had been waiting for me the entire time. We walked holding hands (which is what buddies do here in Morocco) back to the village. I think I’ve made an impact on at least someone in this village and hope I can platform off of that.
The other day my doctor and I decided to help teach some of the smaller boys of the village how to play soccer. We walked through the middle of town and instantly attracted about thirty knee-high Moroccan children who were mesmerized by the sight of our quality American soccer ball. We split the children into three teams. Two battled it out on the field while the other sat on the sidelines waiting for their turn at glory. Because I had a sprained ankle from the week before, I sat on the sidelines explaining to the children the dangers of cigarettes. For a good half an hour I tried to explain what was wrong with cigarettes, “they kill more people in one year than all the wars in the world,” or, “you’ll fill up your lungs with terrible things,” and still better yet, “they make you tired so that you can’t play soccer.” I tried to use my best explanations in Tamazight and even recruited some of the older boys to explain. Not thirty minutes after my explanations I looked back to the children who were trying to light some old discarded cigarette butts with an even more tired lighter. “Son of a bitch!” was my first thought but it was shortly followed with the realization that you can’t change behavior patterns with an hour lecture in broken Tamazight. Rome wasn’t built in a day and I guarantee that my work won’t be completed in one day either.
I hope that you enjoy these short stories or at best, got to kill some of that precious time that you Americans hold so dear. Take care and good luck over there in the land of the free.
