Food



Day 1: I lock Apartment 9 in Building C40 at Residence Najd.  I walk down the four flights, two flats on each floor, and out the front entrance.  I remember to turn right and walk out to the street, greeting the complex guard with, “Marhaban.”  In the street, I’m unsure whether to cross or turn and the guard – a middle-aged man with a bit of a belly stretching his short-sleeved, white, button-down shirt – rises from his seat under a shady tree and approaches me with a quizzical expression.  I say, “Makula?” and he motions his hand to his mouth, thinking I am looking for a restaurant.  I say, “La (no) …um …farmacie?” thinking that I don’t know the word for grocery but if I add the French for pharmacy, he will send me where I remember I need to get to.  He points to the blue gate across the street and I say, “Shukran.”  Happily, I walk in that direction and along a walkway, past some motorbikes, and out onto the main street. 
To my right is the produce and butcher shop.  I choose an avocado, a tomato, a zucchini, a peach, a bunch of grapes, a red pepper, a fig, and two oranges.  The fellow gives me a bag for my items and I give him a dirham note and wait for my change.  I go next door to the other grocery and begin to find the other items on my list.  I find coffee, honey, pasta, dish soap, water, olive oil, yogurt, bread, milk, and orange juice.  I cannot find cubed sugar or bar soap.  So, I ask the clerk for sabun (soap), and he offers me Dove or something Moroccan, so I pick the one that’s familiar.  I ask for sucar (sugar) and he shows me a bag of it.  I say saghir and he somehow knows from “small” that I mean sugar cubes and locates a box for me.  Last are eggs, but they are sold loose.  The boy helper begins to place some in a bag for me when I motion to them, and I tell him I want five – khamsa - because I honestly cannot remember the words for any of the other numbers.  The clerk tallies my items and writes the total on a paper that he shows me.  I give him another dirham note and gather my change.  Shukran,” I say. 
Returning along the same route, I notice a man praying on some pieces of cardboard between the motorbikes, and I remember hearing the muezzin calling everyone to prayer just as I was leaving my apartment.  As I pass the guard with my three bags, he nods and smiles, and I smile back.  He motions for me to go to the left and I thank him – shukran – and walk the rest of the way to C40 with a little lift to my step.  Up the five flights, I set down my bags outside the door, enter with them, and close the door behind me.  I have made my first successful shopping trip with my limited Arabic, and I feel like it’s one of the greatest achievements. 
I wash and put away my fruit.  I boil some water for coffee, and enjoy it with my one, succulent fig.  I’ve not been this proud of myself in a long time.  For dinner, I cut up my avocado and halve the red pepper, place them on a plate with some salt and olive oil and half the bread.  The avocado is not quite ripe, but I don’t even care.

Day 5: There is a McDonald’s at the intersection of N7 and N9 in Marrakech.  It’s unlike any I’ve ever seen in the U.S.  It’s two stories, sleek and modern in design, with steel and wood and tinted windows.  It looks out of place here.  Alien.  I think I am like that McDonald’s, though certainly not as new and sleek.  But out of place.  Alien.  No matter how many years I were to live here or how well I were to learn the language, I would never completely fit in.  I am tempted to eat at McDonald’s even though it’s terrible food because at least I know what I’ll get there.  It’s easy.  But I’m not here to do things the easy way.  And even if I don’t fit in, I won’t be defeated.

Day 6: I have discovered the bus.  Hallelujah!  Returning after lessons, though, I took the wrong one.  No matter.  I ended up in Gueliz having a lovely lunch of couscous in a cool room with white tablecloths at my leisure.  What I had planned to eat for lunch at home I’ll have for dinner.  I can catch the bus back the other way if I pay better attention.  Sometimes, when life takes you in an unplanned direction, just go with it.

Day 16: I sit at a table for two, alone, outdoors at Les 2 Freres.  There is a carafe of water and a small glass.  There is a cruet of olive oil.  American and Moroccan dance music plays and the cars and motorbikes scoot by.  Flies are everywhere no matter how much I swat them away.  They land on the brown table and the small glass, the plate of spaghetti, the napkin, and my shoulder.  A woman in floral head scarf and peach caftan eats French fries at the next table with her curly-headed little boy in shorts, a tee, and sandals as he plays with his Spiderman action figure and toy police car.  He doesn’t like when I look at him and pulls a frown.  An elderly man in white, pinstriped shirt and grey trousers waits patiently in a chair for his takeout order.  Delivery boys and wait staff come and go past all of us.  I am waiting a long time after finishing my food for the waitress to present me with my bill.  The pace is slow in Morocco.  The heat makes everyone sluggish.  I stare across the street at the cinnamon and ginger-colored buildings with the couture shop and the optical center, listening to a Maroon 5 song, Adam Levine vowing he’ll only stay with me one more night.  A teenage boy in a Morocco football team shirt sits atop a two-tiered pallet of gas containers for the home and scans his cell phone.  A fly lands on my wrist.  I stare at it as a tabby cat creeps under the next table for shade or food.




Comments

  1. Ellen love your recaps. I can close my eyes and create an image. Your courage is admirable thank you for sharing
    ❤️ To this⬇️
    " I am tempted to eat at McDonald’s even though it’s terrible food because at least I know what I’ll get there. It’s easy. But I’m not here to do things the easy way. And even if I don’t fit in, I won’t be defeated."

    ReplyDelete

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