Last week in Morocco

I began my last week in Morocco this morning with the above view. This is the main garden just inside the school gate. (The steps on the left is the entrance to the school building itself).

The person behind the camera would be me, drinking coffee with milk at 7:25 am, the exact same vantage point I’ve had since coming here six weeks ago. I savored the precious few minutes I have in having the place mostly to myself, sipping the hot coffee in peace, before all the other students come in droves ten minutes later. And then I would go up to our classroom at exactly 8am.

That sort of mini-routine enabled me to get a glimpse of how annoying most people are in the morning and maybe, especially in the morning. One classmate of mine, a junior at UNC, would always ask me if I’m ok. Nevermind that I’m just quietly sitting there, reading the textbook. And I would just answer that it’s 740am. Enough said. Nonetheless, I will miss a lot of things in this place even though I am very much looking forward to leaving on Friday.

I will miss the three-minute walk from my bedroom to the classroom. It enabled me to enjoy a precious few more minutes of sleep in the morning, gave me escape from the oppressive noonday sun especially during the six-hour break in between classes, and allowed me to generally have a very comfortable stay here in Morocco, notwithstanding flying cockroaches and prowling cats and all. I will also miss the smiles of the shopkeepers in our usual food places – Mohammad, Omar, Karim, The Rain Guy, The Donut guy and that other guy in the place which serves very good harira soup. Their handshakes, greetings and the sheer delight at seeing us come back every so often seems heartfelt and genuine. This certainly offsets the  fact that food was so-so – the perennial choices of roast chicken, potatoes and rice, tagine, couscous, brochette and harira.

This constituted my food options for my entire six-week stay here though how can one complain if the most expensive dish I can get was only five dollars? I will also miss the carefree days I’ve had here. The routine of class, small amount of work, lunch, nap, class, dinner and endless chats into the night by the porch of the house is something I would appreciate more once the pressure sets in again in Cambridge.

I will miss (but maybe not really) crossing streets in Morocco. That sort of activity has thus far trained my senses to be more alert, and my reflexes agile. The crosswalks are a sham since nobody really stops and/or slows down. Sometimes I wonder about the percentage of car accidents here. But that made it fun and a bit more thrilling. I will also miss the ogling and the catcalls, not because I like them  (it certainly bothered me at first) but because I find it hilarious that nobody ever guessed correctly what my ethnicity is and especially the fact that the only Asian race people here are aware of seems to be Japanese. I was told later that Morocco only gets Japanese shows on their cable TV.

This is a picture of the Mohammed V boulevard, which is about a 10-minute walk from our place.