Monday, January 16, 2012


I have all of a sudden become very "moroccanized". This was a term that used to be thrown around alot in my first year. People (especially my husband) pointing out little details of altered behavior and endearingly calling me "moroccanized". Except when that used to happen, I used to smile and laugh and think "not in a million f'ing years babe"...but now...all of a sudden...I feel totally enraptured by this culture. It is like a freaking switch flipped and I am back to the 19 year old girl that was so obsessively in love with her husband that she would have actually converted to 'moroccan man' if it were a religion that were open to outsiders. It is kind of like I have just awoken and am seeing this country for the first time. Maybe like the culture shock finally wore off and I am reveling in every moment of it. On the other hand, this could all just possibly be the manic of a manic depression rearing its ugly head? Who knows...who cares...I am all about it.

Yesterday, Sunday, I convinced my husband to visit a huge souk outside of Mohammedia...with the girls...As we pushed our way through people, over dirt and mud and trash and various collections of garbage on sell, I whispered in Sophia's ear "this is your country, this is where you are from...but not me". We twisted along in the flow of people under the Midday sun and I realized that we had decided to come to one of the largest souks in the region, at the busiest time of day to souk shop on the busiest day of the week to souk shop. We passed blaring loudspeakers playing the Koran, a multitude of trucks and vans with the back doors flung open spilling out various goods such as shoes, clothing, baby toys, electrical appliances, dilapidated office furniture, broken down chandeliers, used rugs, new Chinese house skippers and various other miscellany. We finally spotted a juice stand through the crowd of people and managed to shuffle our way towards it, squeezing out of the crowd, and there for about 50 cents, we had the most divine fresh squeezed orange and grapefruit juice that we split with the girls. A shady oasis of calm in a frenzied public. We then continued on, carrying the girls on our shoulders so that they could see above the crowds. We spotted these babies right here, bargained, did the walk off and I sure you gather from the picture how that story ended.

All was perfect in the world. We then managed to trek back to the car and seriously contemplated paying one of these guys to carry the girls back in the cart.

Considered as in: discussed the price contemplated and then decided...well...ehhh...ok he's already gone - but next time!

After that we got lost in an open field that led us to a small little village/traditional housing settlement not unlike the peaceful haven where we currently live. The locals spotted us from the rooftop of the structure over looking the cemetery and by the time we  had driven back to them to ask them for directions, one of them was already on his bike for us to follow him out ( love with Morocco). We then made our way to a small three story fish restaurant and ate divine fried calamari, paella and an assortment of other fish, salad and fresh tomato salsa. The restaurant was simple: wooden tables, paper draped over each table with which the remains of the previous customers fish bones is cleared in one fell swoop.

Next up was venezia ice for the  ice cream the girls were screaming for in the car without even knowing what the hell it was, just knowing that I had promised it to them during lunch. "ice keam ice keam ice keam"

After this epic family Sunday full of dust, fish, ice cream and tons of little girl kisses we made our way home to show our beloved home to a potential renter to replace us. The guy is french and I felt on the edge of grabbing him by the collar and yelling in his face "IF YOU GET THIS PLACE YOU ARE SO LUCKY DO YOU KNOW THAT? DO YOU? ARE YOU GOING TO APPRECIATE IT AND TREAT THESE PEOPLE RIGHT HERE? THEY ARE LIKE FAMILY NOW! YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!! NO ONE IS". But of course that would have been a little over the top, so I didn't. I just ran and hid in a different room of the house every time I felt myself swelling with tears. Then the girls woke up frm their nap and thought they had a visitor and the landlord who has just returned after 25 years in Italy said to me "CIAO" and I started crying in front of everyone. And then it was really sad and awkward and the guy was ushered out and the landlord was hugging me and telling Youssef we shouldn't go and asking me to stay. Drama. Moroccan drama at it's best.

We are not staying, this is a part of the process, that's all.

1 comment:

The Loerzels said...