Moroccan highlights Feb. 4
Hello again from Maghreb (aka Morocco aka magareeb or something like that in Arabic)Today a lot of helpful and difficult things came to pass. We learned our first Arabic words, which they've deemed Survival Arabic because it's things like Hello and What is Your Name and Thank You (I've used that one a lot already). Mostly though I'm still relying on French to communicate with people, which has made me realize I'm very slow at French and have forgotten a lot of my vocabulary.
There are 20 something of us in the group, to answer Mama's question. All are students in the US except one from Croatia. One of them is also originally from Sierra Leon, as I learned in today's Arabic lesson (one phrase we learned was ). Arabic is hard, as many people are aware. It's hard because everything has subtle nuances of sound to hear (we haven't learned to write it yet, but they have a habit of writing things in Arabic lettering on the board despite this). We broke into pairs and threes to share rooms at the hotel, so I'm with a girl named Lynn who also happens to be a theatre major, though we haven't discussed theatre at all so far (lots else to discuss instead). We walked around the neighborhood of our hotel yesterday, and I bought a fake Rolex for 100 drihams (12 dollars) because I broke my other watch in New York.
Besides our scant Arabic we also learned how to survive Moroccan home life: things like how the toilets work and dinner etiquette. Apparently most of the toilets are Turkish toilets, meaning that there is nothing to sit on--simply a hole to do your business in and two places to put your feet so you can keep them out of the way (there are also special sandals you wear in case of splashback). You have to flush it yourself with a bucket of water; often there isn't toilet paper so unless you bring your own like a wussy American you have to clean yourself with the water before you flush--hence the the unclean left hand--people only eat with their right hand for this reason. Regarding Mama's bath of Morocco-ness comment: it reminds me of a related subject, which is the Turkish baths. These are public and very popular. You're only supposed to wear a bottom covering (like a bikini) and you go once a week (if you can afford it) and scrub yourself to get really clean, since Moroccans don't usually get a full shower every day--just the ablutions for prayer five times daily. So that's the true Morocco bath.
The most emotionally/mentally straining experience was meeting some of the members of our host families. This happened sooner than I expected even though we won't move in until Sunday. Some people's brothers and sisters came along; mine was just the mother, her youngest daughter who is seven, and her older daughter's small son, who is quite a character. I will also have two other sisters and two brothers, one of whom speaks some english. I was glad the mother spoke French, even though I couldn't understand everything she said, nor did she catch all of my imperfectly phrased questions. I did catch something about pancakes, but the most moving part (which someone translated for me) was a story about another student she had hosted; she became so close that she cried when the girl left--and she was only there for 20 days! She even began crying when the story was retold. I tried to comfort her...I feel a little pressure to live up to that experience, but I know she will be a good mother to me.
In any case my time in the internet cafe is running out if I wish to stay under 1 dirham (not bad for a whole hour--about a quarter in dollars). This French keyboard is more helpful than the American one since the letters actually correspond to what is typed--fewer typos.
To those I love, I love you.
Greta P.S. below
August, your CDs are awesome. I listened to one on the New York Plane and one on the Paris plane; I slept on the Morocco plane. By some twist of fate I mis-set my alarm clock and was woken up at exactly Midnight in Rabat...eerie, huh?
posted by Greta @ 3:46 PM
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