On The Weather As A Topic of Conversation

My darija language skills are not great. I realized today I don’t know the word stairs. Something I walk up and down ten times a day and I don’t know the word for. However, I know ten different ways to observe that the weather is miserable: Kayn stha. Ila Ansar. Brrd. Fogg. Firedon. Tilj bezzaf! Dema stha! Dwab rammadi. Diehea dyal la ma. Le jw, stha, Lahemdullah.

Conversely, I also know a couple ways of saying that the weather is nice such as: Shimsh, Shimsh Bezzaf, Shimsh schon bezzaf. Le jw zween. 

The reason I know all this about the weather is that it is perfect topic of conversation. I know I have made this assertion before to my friends and been told that you only talk to people about the weather when you have nothing else to talk about. They may be right but that does not prevent the weather from being my favorite thing to talk about. Here is why:

1. Everybody has access to it. Unlike current events or sports teams or most any other topic, everybody can talk about the weather because all they have to do to access it is look outside.
2. It affects everybody. This is more true in less developed places where if it rains there are no roads, only big puddles where roads used to be. Or if it snows, since houses aren’t heated, you are going to be colder and more miserable the otherwise.

So speaking of weather, I stopped wearing a watch. Why? Because it is almost always time-to-stay-inside-because-its-raining-so-hard-outside-that-if-you-leave-the-house-you-will-get-wet-and-it-will-be-days-before-you-are-warm-and-dry-again o’clock.

On The Right Point Of View

When venturing on the experience of a lifetime it is important to have the right point of view. That point of view is one with a lot of perspective on your present situation. It is easy to get caught up in the moment and go about your day as if it were a normal day, without reflecting too much. But if you do this you miss those moments when it hits you, “wow I am haggling, in darija, over how much it will cost to borrow a donkey to get a bottle of propane to my house.”

My New Home

I moved into my house today. Three months and twenty-nine days after leaving America, I finally have a place that I can call entirely my own. The past three months and twenty-nine days were spent living out of a suitcase, a peripatetic wonderer, marveling and moving and being a guest and saying goodbye. But no more!

Now there is a place where I can put on my cowboy hat and dance to some good ol’ country music (yeah, that’s really what I did. I have no idea why since I never did that in the states.) Where I can brew an honest to goodness cup of tea with milk and sugar (and believe me, I am so jazzed right now, four months without that kind of caffeine will make you pretty excited!) And of course, put up my maps and hang my Estonian flag (random I know, but it’s the only one I own).  

On Refrigeration

Things tend not to be refrigerated in Morocco. Milk, cheese, yogurt, eggs and sodas are all purchased at room temperature. Most stores have refrigerators, however they are generally not turned on, presumably to conserve on the energy bill. All this leads one to believe that either there is special knowledge here on the preservation of dairy products, or the American obsession with refrigeration is entirely unnecessary.

On New Years

Ten….   Nine….  Ashera….  Tsude….   Sanc….  Quatro….  Dos…. Dou….   Wait what language…? What time do you have? Could we synchronize? Well I have 12:10am so I guess that means it’s a new year. Enough? I’m going to bed now.

On Christmas

                        merry christmas?

On Alcohol

In some countries imbibing excessive amounts of alcohol is a disease, in others it is shameful, and in others it is a way of life. Morocco falls in the second category and in Morocco an excessive amount of alcohol is considered any at all (which is why everyone in America is a drunk in Moroccan eyes.) Thus those who do drink alcohol in Morocco, even a little, have to be very careful not to let anyone else be the wiser, or else they will be forever shamed. This leads to a litter problem. Because if you don’t want anyone to know about your Hsuma (Moroccan for ‘shame’ when combined with the pointer finger below the eye suggesting ‘I see you’) you can’t throw your empty alcohol bottles and cans away, in the all too public trash. Which is why it is disappointingly normal, when hiking, to find the most wonderful secluded spots littered with broken cans and bottles, keeping the secret of who drank them to themselves.