Sweet as Sucar

Some thoughts from the past few weeks...

7 July
Yesterday was my first full day on my own without a translator.  It was harder than I thought it would be.  As it was Friday, most shops were closed from 12-3 for the sabbath.  In the afternoon, I went up to the avenue to buy an onion for dinner and some toilet paper and paper towels and bottled water.  I asked for papier toilette and got what I needed, but the word I had for napkin was wrong.  I then tried papier macula and made a mouth-wiping motion.  He understood, my local grocer, a kind man maybe in his 40s.  After depositing my items at home, I went back out and found a taxi.  The driver was kind and helpful.  I showed him the name and address of the shop.  I’m in a residential area, so I had to walk a bit to find and flag down a yellow petit taxi.  I asked him to use the meter, which he did, no problem – mashi mushkilah.  He picked up another passenger along the way, a Moroccan man, so I just listened to them talk.  It cost only 14dh (about $1-2).  At the computer store, Bestmark, I used the few words I have – salaam alaykoum (hello), ana makenedharsh b darija mezyaan (I don’t speak Darija well), and katehdar b lingliziya (do you speak English?).  Fortunately, they did speak a little.  I successfully purchased a router for the apartment and paid for a service plan for a month and the whole only cost about $50.  A young woman and man helped me.  She asked if I was working here and I explained that I am a student (ana talaba).  I decided to rest at nearby Cafe al Ousra with a qahwa nuss nuss (half coffee, half milk) to check my email and watch the Brazil vs. Belgium match.  A coffee with a small bottled water is only 9dh (about $1).  I felt so good at that point that I might as well have landed on the moon.  

Deciding to walk home, I first made my way down the avenue, turning right to connect to Rue Lt. Mohammed Zeroual.  I had to walk along this busy highway in the heat and was glad for my trusty straw hat.  Because my friend Hassan told me it was smarter to cover my legs and shoulders, I wore jeans and a white sleeveless sweater with my kimono cover-up.  The route took me past a high hill and walled fortress on my left.  Finally crossing the intersection at Blvd. Abdelkrim al Khattabi, and taking the first exit off the roundabout, I turned left down a quaint, quiet residential street and found the black door, 102 Bis, Arset, entry to the salmon building of Lessane Arabi Center where I will begin my lessons on Monday.  Snapping a photo of it, I walked back down the lane, confident that I could get there again.  I took a photo of every turn on the way back home, so I could retrace my steps.  Before setting out on the next 30-minute leg of the journey, I stopped at a small, neighborhood, bodega-type store and bought a lemon-flavored water for 4dh (about 40 cents) from the little boys working there.  The shorter route took me through a construction site and abandoned lots with piles of garbage, a stray dog, and a homeless man.  Deciding it was unwise to continue, I hurried through and back out to the main road of N9, turning left onto N7 at the roundabout past the McDonald's.  I saw that there were some cafes, pizza shops, bakeries, and a sushi place.  I saw women in short dresses with no scarf and envied them as I continually patted my cheeks and brow with the sleeve of my kimono.  I also saw women in hijabs and kaftans and thought, “Why must we be so uncomfortable in this heat?”  The road was long and the walkway uneven with broken pavement or just dirt and stones.  But it was not long before I reached Acharaf Avenue and the auto lavage (car wash).  On the left was a hair salon, and on the right the Café R & M, where I asked a man standing near the crowded entrance and he told me that Belgium had just beaten Brazil.  I continued past Les 2 Freres eatery and then saw my local grocer just past Damane Cash and Zidwi fast food.  I thought to myself, “This is my neighborhood.”

10 July

Yesterday, I learned that yulyuz is July.  I like my teacher, Saida.  She is 24, kind, and patient.  She is Amazigh and wears a head scarf.  She knows all the languages my friend Hassan knows and says that teaching is her dream.  I want so much for her to have her dream.

17 July

My teacher is as sweet as sucar.  When I talked to her about my daughter, she said, anti ‘umm hanun, meaning “You are a soft-hearted mother.”  We talk about many things in between lessons.  Morocco, America, teaching, learning, religion, immigration, freedom, destiny.  I drew her a map of the U.S. and she asked where certain cities are: NYC, DC, Miami.  We talked about different kinds of people, including Amish, Mormons, Jehovah’s Witness – and what it is like for Muslims living in America.  Even as I write this I see her lovely smiling face surrounded by her hijab and I want to use the words amrykyh, almaghribi, kalimat, maktub, qadar, alhurrayya, nas.  I want to learn and remember just to hear her say, jayed, Ellen.  Good, Ellen.

18 July

I am walking to the bus stop, and it is already in the 80s.  I see that the bus is already there, but there is a red light.  The driver sees me and waits.  This is a small blessing but appreciated.  The bus is crowded.  No seats.  But there is an open window and a breeze when we are moving.  I close my eyes and enjoy this small blessing.  A woman bends to kiss the infant in her arms.  When she looks up, our eyes meet.  She smiles at me, another small gift this day.  There is a café near where I disembark.  I am early for my lessons.  I have time for a coffee and croissant, to sit for awhile to think, to see, to write, to be in the shade and in the shadow among men who do not notice me.  These are all blessings.

20 July

I am early.  Today, I treated myself to a cab ride.  I stopped at Amoud Patisserie and bought a Tarte Fine du Pommes for Saida and a less fancy apple turnover for myself.  There is the slightest of breezes and this is much appreciated as I sit here and listen to the midday/ sabbath call.  When I talked with Saida and told her how strongly I believe in charity and not eating pork and other meats, she asked, “Why are you not Muslim?”  How could I explain?  I don’t know the answer myself.