Fuir

The title of the story we just read in French Literature class was "Fuir".  It was a short story in a collection by Abdellah Taia.  The title means "to flee".  The past two weeks have been very difficult for me with rejection letters from grad schools and an ever-changing lifestyle.  I have found it very difficult to even think about communicating with home because of this distance I feel, as the character of the story felt, between my roots and my identity.  It is time for me to bridge the gap.  Here are some things I have thought about this week:

Soul searching and photo shoot in Challah

1)  News:  Morocco doesn't have an official news station so there is no way to find out about little scuffles and protests around town without actually being present in them.  The other day, while walking home from the hammam, my roommate and I witnessed a turf war outside of our building complex.  Gangs walked up to the tramway from two opposing streets and then hurled grapefruit sized rocks at one another.  We were luckily around the bend when the tussle actually got moving, but it was worrisome.  The trouble is that you never know what is political, what is youth in revolt, and what is more than that.  A good news outlet would help with that.

2)  Money:  The concept of money changes with time.  What I used to see as cheap (40 Dirham for a salad= 5 Dollars), now seems unreasonable.  I try to take the bus instead of a taxi and only shop at the knock-off brand stores.  Shopping in the medina is silly now because we know how cheap quality most of the products are.  A pair of shoes I bought in the first weeks were ruined after one walk in the rain.

3) Laundry:  Clean laundry is hard to come by.  Leah and I have waited for about three weeks for a clean load of laundry.  We would ask to do it ourselves, but there is never time or opportunity.  Instead we wait.  And buy cheap new clothes occasionally to break the monotony.

Photo shoot in Challah

4)  Gender Roles:  As much as we were initially disturbed by the attention from men in Morocco I have become particularly adept to thwarting their advances.  Actually, I have just stopped noticing.  I walk the way I was taught by Nate, which is to walk with a purpose and never look back.  I also look down while walking and scan people by their pants and feet in order not to look up and make eye contact with men.  I don't always look down, but I make a point to at nighttime.  Also, no matter what I don't stop, I don't smile, and I never return a comment.  In my head I make note of the funny ones, and try to only remember those.  When men grab me I don't react unless it is completely inappropriate.  Reactions cause more drama than necessary. My friend makes fun of me because once I didn't even recognize him when I was walking down the street because of my rules.  It takes yelling my name over and over to get my attention.  All of this sounds complicated and annoying, but with a little practice it is easy enough.


5) The only way to get out and learn about this world is to be in this world, and so I am taking opportunities to spend time with Moroccans and go places that I otherwise would be scared to go to.  The area where I teach English is very questionable for a foreigner, but I confidently get myself to class and back.  The people I have met are unique and I am excited by being their English teacher.  More on that later.  I have had couscous in a new friend's house and walked off to get coffee with brand new people more than once.  The opportunities are endless and invigorating.  May that be the excuse for my absence from my blog.