On Intentional Misunderstanding

One of the rare benefits of being new to a language is that you can get a way with a lot of intentional misunderstandings. It is easy to brush aside comments that you would rather not respond to with an, ‘I am new to this language, I don’t understand.’ In a lot of ways it is an empowering technique. For instance, when the Town Crazy or the Town Glue Snifter tries to engage you in conversation in the café, it is a simple matter to act as if you don’t understand their demands for money or to know your American name. In general, whenever anyone tries to pressure you to do something that you would rather not do (such as giving them money or personal information) it is so much easier to fall back on the, ‘mafimtsh (I don’t understand)’ card. That way you don’t have to be rude and contentious by saying ‘no’. People generally lose interest in you faster if they think that they will have to work really hard to try to communicate. Of course, on the other hand, being new to a language, sometimes you don’t have to fake misunderstanding, because you generally are clueless. Just goes to prove ignorance is bliss…

On Windows

I have been to visit a total of five volunteer’s houses. And what strikes me as interesting is the almost universal attitude towards windows. They are, it seems, eternally closed and shuttered. Its as though they are there as a barrier, blocking out the light of a foreign land so that within the internal glow of a more familiar land can reign. It is a reminder, that no matter how long we are here, we will always be foreign, different, the others.

On Dancing

Most Americans are unable to dance in front of other people while sober. This tragic condition can be seen everywhere from college campuses to weddings, where the sober stand against walls, resigned to watch their alcohol encouraged cohorts bust-a-move, potentially embarrassing themselves in the process. So the question should be asked, for how many months must you remove a party-hearty boozey boogier from being able to imbibe before they are willing to attempt dancing while unimpaired?

The answer is six.

The evidence: yesterday new PCVs at a conference finally let go of their self-conscious selves and went wild on the dance floor, dancing to the sounds of studio 54 and more, all without alcohol.

On The Maid

The biggest fear of most Peace Corps Volunteers, after dying alone, in pain, in a foreign land, surrounded by people who can’t speak your language… is being wholly rejected by their host community. Only two Volunteers out of the thousands that have come through Morocco in recent history have died while serving. However many have been accused of being CIA agents or drinking alcohol or doing other shameful things, which has caused their communities to reject them.

            One of the best strategies to prevent these kinds of accusations is to hire a maid. Not only does it mean that you don’t have to do your own laundry or clean your own house, it also means that people trust you more. If people know that you are employing a widow to help her make ends meet, and that she feels that your house is an ok place to work, people will think that you are an ok person. Having someone who turns over every nook and cranny of your house on a regular basis means that the whole community knows you aren’t concealing any spy gadgets, empty alcohol bottles or prostitutes behind your pastel pink shutters. It is helpful to building a good reputation in your community and earning people’s trust.

            Of course having a maid isn’t the typical perception people have of Peace Corps Volunteers. Many PCVs even dismiss the idea as being “Posh Corps.” And it is to an extent, though perhaps no more so then owning a washing machine. However, at the end of the day, a washing machine won’t talk to you if you’re lonely. Therefore having a maid comes highly recommended. 

On Wednesdays

souk |soōk| (also suk, sukh, or suq)

noun

an Arab market or marketplace; a bazaar.

ORIGIN from Arabic sūḳ.

Wednesday is by far the greatest day of the week. The reason is simple. Wednesday is Souk Day, and on Souk Day anything is possible! On Souk Day a small town comes alive with the bustle of commerce. Piles of fruit stand beside tables of trinkets. Empty streets become clogged with denizens from the outlying dwars, bringing their goods tens of kilometers to market and stocking up on supplies for the week. The desolate post office becomes unbearably full. Sleepy restaurants become crazily crowded with those too far from home to make it back in time for lunch. Banter and bargaining flies amongst friends who haven’t seen each other in a week and merchants seeking to unload their wares at the best price.

It is hard to believe that the streets, normally barren with nothing to look at, are suddenly so full of wonderful things that one needs five pairs of eyes to be able to look at everything, all the while avoiding getting run over by the hundreds of donkeys, dozens of old Bedford trucks, random hand carts, motos and the ever speeding grand taxis. And this transformation all takes place overnight and is a memory by the next night. All that is left is muddy tracks, crushed fruit and an empty litter-strewn souk. Until next Wednesday that is.

This week’s souk purchases were:

Two rugs 

A keychain

A Wallet

A Carabineer

A pair of headphones

A pair of slippers

Hummus (aka steamed garbanzo beans)

Half a kilo of Oranges

Half a kilo of Bananas

A bag of popcorn (free!)

On The Rain

The rain. It is grey, and wet. It is also cold. Grey, wet and cold. It comes from above. It stops when it hits buildings or the ground. It forms puddles. It drips inside the house. It turns the street into mud, or makes it muddier then it already was. When will it stop?

On Finding A Wife

“It was a fact, universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.” These words begin Jane Austin’s most famous novel Pride and Prejudice. They are also painting a theme on my life at present, in juxtaposition to the werewolf theme that has been oddly frequent in its occurrences (inside joke.)

Essentially, having established myself and settled into my new house, my community now presumes that I must be in want of a wife. I was invited to lunch by a coworker where it was pointed out that his wife was happy to introduce me to women in the community. In the post office I was introduced to a woman with the aside, in English, that, ‘Brendan if you need someone to cook for you, she could be it.’ Two days ago an employee from the mayor’s office approached me at the café and flat out asked if I needed help finding a wife. Being the normal age for marrying, and presumably fabulously wealthy, as all Americans are, my community is completely unable to fathom why on earth I am still single. I tried to explain but was largely successful. Before my next attempt I shall have to learn the darija for ‘emotionally stunted’ and ‘completely self-centered’…