I have been asked a lot of strange questions since arriving here. Is it your first time in Morocco? In African country? Before coming did you know Morocco existed? And at dinner today, do your parents know where Morocco is? I hope so...
Of course all these questions come in French or translated from Moroccan arabic through Hamza. Today I met two uncles and an aunt, and a bunch of sister's friends. They laughed at Hamza's sister, 'Is he really your brother?' because he is nearly fluent in English and none of them can really manage sentences. They have a strange sense of humour... even when he tries to translate what they are laughing at, 'you really need some backround to understand'... I have found this to be absolutely true. His brother is really a joker, yesterday he kept telling the maid strange translations of what I was saying, and they all were laughing hysterically. For example I was imitating how people from Hong Kong speak English, and they told her I was angry because I didn't like her food.
This morning for breakfast we had what Hamza called crepes, which were a bit like extra holey pancakes. I had to use the 'three finger cutting method' to rip off pieces to eat, no need for cutlery.
We went for another drive after breakfast to the old market (Habbous?) owned by the mosque in the area. Tons of shiny and glittery things, like fancy platters, paintings, caftans, slippers/traditional shoes, huge carpets, bowls...
After we stopped at a cafe and I had a big glass of thick papaya juice. Mmmmmmm. Next time I will try the avocado juice!!
We went back for a lunch of tuna and tomato salad followed by the best yellow-coloured chicken I've ever had with deep fried potato bits (again in a big platter, eaten with bread using three fingers).
The rest of the day we sort of hung around, bought some 'dvds' from the stall across the street (in plastic envelopes with a printout of the russian version of the movie cover), then went to meet Hamza's friend at a cafe. I had a nutellino, which apparently is espresso with a spoonful of nutella in the bottom? She ordered avocado juice. Looks like a happy planet smoothie. We chatted about school, and she was jealous of my studies in environmental science, she would have loved to study that but her parents forbade her, 'you must study economics to get a job'. Hamza and both his siblings also study economics. There are no environmental jobs in Morocco they say, they don't even have recycling deposits. 'We are not that far yet.' The city is hideously dirty, plastic and garbage everywhere, and in the shantytowns there are literally fields of trash.
Did I mention stray cats are everywhere? Well, they are everywhere. Tiny kittens, scrawny old scruffy things, all kinds. Chilling out in the sun or curled up behind palm trees...
And another thing, food mysteriously (or not) appears on my plate at the dinner table. Muslims must accept and feed guests for at least three days (or they are bad muslims). So as I'm sitting next to father at the table, he keeps putting things on my plate, dates, apricots, yogurt, turkey...
Of course all these questions come in French or translated from Moroccan arabic through Hamza. Today I met two uncles and an aunt, and a bunch of sister's friends. They laughed at Hamza's sister, 'Is he really your brother?' because he is nearly fluent in English and none of them can really manage sentences. They have a strange sense of humour... even when he tries to translate what they are laughing at, 'you really need some backround to understand'... I have found this to be absolutely true. His brother is really a joker, yesterday he kept telling the maid strange translations of what I was saying, and they all were laughing hysterically. For example I was imitating how people from Hong Kong speak English, and they told her I was angry because I didn't like her food.
This morning for breakfast we had what Hamza called crepes, which were a bit like extra holey pancakes. I had to use the 'three finger cutting method' to rip off pieces to eat, no need for cutlery.
We went for another drive after breakfast to the old market (Habbous?) owned by the mosque in the area. Tons of shiny and glittery things, like fancy platters, paintings, caftans, slippers/traditional shoes, huge carpets, bowls...
After we stopped at a cafe and I had a big glass of thick papaya juice. Mmmmmmm. Next time I will try the avocado juice!!
We went back for a lunch of tuna and tomato salad followed by the best yellow-coloured chicken I've ever had with deep fried potato bits (again in a big platter, eaten with bread using three fingers).
The rest of the day we sort of hung around, bought some 'dvds' from the stall across the street (in plastic envelopes with a printout of the russian version of the movie cover), then went to meet Hamza's friend at a cafe. I had a nutellino, which apparently is espresso with a spoonful of nutella in the bottom? She ordered avocado juice. Looks like a happy planet smoothie. We chatted about school, and she was jealous of my studies in environmental science, she would have loved to study that but her parents forbade her, 'you must study economics to get a job'. Hamza and both his siblings also study economics. There are no environmental jobs in Morocco they say, they don't even have recycling deposits. 'We are not that far yet.' The city is hideously dirty, plastic and garbage everywhere, and in the shantytowns there are literally fields of trash.
Did I mention stray cats are everywhere? Well, they are everywhere. Tiny kittens, scrawny old scruffy things, all kinds. Chilling out in the sun or curled up behind palm trees...
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| Stray kitty at the old market |
And another thing, food mysteriously (or not) appears on my plate at the dinner table. Muslims must accept and feed guests for at least three days (or they are bad muslims). So as I'm sitting next to father at the table, he keeps putting things on my plate, dates, apricots, yogurt, turkey...
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