passport blues

as many of you known i've been going through a bit of a rough time lately. through some dumb moves on my part i had my bag stolen. left it on a chair while dancing at a night club with some tourists i had just met. in it was: my passport, my wallet, my camera, my phone, my house keys, and last and barely least my favorite black hoodie. pretty much everything important in my life.

and of course it was like the one weekend that both of my roommates and all of my american friends were out of town- fulbright conference/ american school spring break.

pretty shitty situation all around. i'll spare you the details of the epic 24 hours that followed but will say that they included sleeping at a stranger's house, hours in the stupid police station, some public tears, and a very crazy maura.

in retrospect, now that i have things somewhat under control, i can appreciate that some parts of the experience were actually sort of funny. well, ridiculous anyhow. most notably was the morning when i woke up on a couch in the same room as a 90 year old man.

i had met his son, racheed at the police station in the middle of the night the evening before- where i went when i realized i had no way to get into my apartment and the hotel of my new friends would no let me stay without a passport or any id. anyways, racheed had let me sleep at his father's house and that is where i woke up. very confused.

i was stifled under about 10 blankets because he had kept piling them on top of me in an attempt to be hospitable. i should preface any more talk about racheed by saying that he is pretty crazy in a sort of endearing way, and had also spent the night drinking beers instead of sleeping because he was "so very very worried." so yeah, after being shaken awake after about 3 hours of sleep, i battled through the blankets and found racheed and his 90 year old father hovering over me like i was a baby bird coming out of a shell or some sort of strange specimen they had just discovered. after orienting myself a bit i noticed that they had like 3 clocks in the room all saying different times.

me: "racheed, what time is it?"
racheed: "can't you see? its 11:30."
me: "ok. why does that clock say its 7:15?"
racheed (looking at the clock): "yes ok, its 7:15 then. really, does it matter?"

after a moment of thought i decided that all things considered, no it didn't really matter.

clearly i wasn't in the mood for small talk or hanging around. now that i was awake i was pretty desperate to try and get in my apartment and go to the police to get things figured out. racheed however had a very different plan in mind. first he insisted that i take breakfast with his father. fair enough, they had put me up for the night, it was the least i could do.

his father is a very round man with spikey white hair and at this point is wearing a tad-too-small sweat suit. and he sort of has a old man baby face if you can imagine. as racheed said himself, "yes, baba is 90. i know you probably can't believe it because his face is so pretty. baba! your face is so pretty!"

this sort of precious man's breakfasting position of choice seems to be a queen-like lounge across the couch, head pearched on one hand. he popped olives and figs in his mouth and sort of stared at me while i drank the coffee i was given. meanwhile racheed is pacing around the room and rambling on about god knows what.

after finally convincing him that no, i did not want to meet or marry his nephew, nor did i want to have tea with the neighbors, nor did i want to go to his sister's house, or to see where he worked racheed took me home. the rest of the battle is somewhat boring, but nonetheless frusterating. including some long long hours at the police station, a battle with a drunk racheed, and some wonderful neighborhood cooperation to get me back into my apartment. but do not worry, i am safe and unharmed and little by little things are getting worked out. right now i'm in casablanca waiting for the consulate to open so i can get the passport figured out.

and don't worry, i've also been scolded for my trusting, forgetful ways. the moroccan response in general has been sort of refreshing if blunt. most of the people i have told have said something to the effect of, "yes, there are theifs. but really it's your fault. why would you leave your things like that?" fair enough. lesson learned.

lost in translation

today a student of mine wanted to teach me a moroccan proverb. we were doing a lesson on vegetables. so she told me with wide eyes and a genuine smile, "in morocco we say that life is like an onion. you peel away the layers and at the end it's still bitter and makes you cry." i sort of looked at her blankly, not really sure how to react. you try and decipher that into something that's not totally depressing.

ha, and also today i was greeting a woman who apparently likes to do two kisses on each cheek sometimes instead of one. i had no idea this was like something that happened, so i turned and ended up kissing her on the lips! i of course turned red and she pinched my cheek and patted my head like i was a five-year-old and laughed sort of with me, but more at me.

misunderstandings all around. keeps things interesting.

i've been trying to learn arabic. sort of. i'm not in a class so my learning has been totally haphazard and random. i've got the bare-bone basics down, and the rest is just through interaction. the guy who works at the kiosk across the street has been eagerly trying to get me to increase my vocab. now he only lets me tell him what i want in arabic- so i know the words for toilet paper, milk, and ground coffee. not really a hot conversation topics.

anyways, i'm continuing to enjoy my time here. and as you may have seen from my last post, it looks like i'll be staying next year. maura ewing, fourth grade teacher. i haven't totally committed to the school yet. but in my mind i'm pretty set on staying. huzzah!

-maura-