When I went to college, I was close enough to go home easily but the school suggested and therefore my mom enforced no going home until Thanksgiving. So that you gave yourself a real chance at getting adjusted, to making friends, to finding a rhythm. I’ve imposed the same sort of rule on myself at the apartment. No going to the Medina where I have routines and consequential strangers. I need to establish them here. This rule takes some pressure off me. It narrows my perimeter. I walk the neighborhood, learn the grocery store, find a liquor store, seek out the cafes, meet the hanout man. Get lost on purpose.
Liquor here is a strange thing. It is forbidden in Islam and not served in most places. There are tourist restaurants that serve it and it’s available if you know where to look. There are places called The Cave inside one chain of grocery store. Near my house, surprisingly and happily is a Liquor Store. The entire place is windows that are blacked out…the door is narrower than a regular door….like if you’re hiding it, then it’s not really there. It feels like a sneaky thing, buying a bottle of wine, like you’re committing some sort of crime. But being a westerner, it’s ok. One time there was a holiday, something to do with the king and you couldn’t buy alcohol. But if you went to the biggest Carrefour with your passport and had the number recorded in a book, you could buy alcohol. The outside was crowded with locals begging everyone entering to buy something for them. I’m in the rhythm of not really drinking here. I can tell the nights I have a glass of wine…the next day the heat is definitely harder to deal with.
The grocery store is like any large grocery. It has groceries, prepared foods, a pastry counter, flowers, electronics, clothes, and home décor like tables, mirrors, fake trees. All produce is put into a brown paper bags and then taken to a lady on an end cap with a scale. She types in the code, weighs it and puts a sticker on it so the checkout people can just scan it. I know what I can buy at the hanout below my building and so save those things to buy there. Plus, it’s a half mile walk back to the apartment in the heat so the lighter the better.
There is a cute café I want to try but my first day there is a large group of men, and they all turn in unison and give me crusty looks as I approach so I keep walking. It’s really intimidating entering a café I think….it’s 98% men and all the chairs are facing out, so it really feels like everyone is watching you as you enter. Like you’re on a stage. Two doors down is a less cute café but the vibe is better. The waiter is friendly, and the coffee is good. The second day, the same table of staring men so I continue on to the alternate cafe. This time it’s a new waiter and he doesn’t understand my Darija. I have no other way to ask for a coffee. He can’t hear me. My Darija teacher said this can happen…people don’t believe that you would be speaking their language, and they can’t hear you. So, he brings me some weird coffee drink that is not an espresso. And now I do not want to come back here. I decide the next day table of men be damned, I have the same right to be there as they do and I’m going in. And they were not there!! And the waiter was a dear! And I ordered everything in Darija, and he was patient and kind with me! Success. So now I have a coffee shop. The next time I go, the men are not there again, but they all start arriving as I’m finishing. They all take turns staring as they arrive. I realize it maybe wasn’t crusty, the looks before, but they were checking me out. Because today they all take turns looking at me and looking a little too long and then looking quickly away. But I’m already sitting so I don’t care. And it’s a good lesson….I felt daunted and insecure, and I think I read their looks wrong the first day. Still intimidating to have a full table of men staring in unison no matter the intention.
The neighborhood is very suburban, very local. I haven’t seen another tourist or another western person in a week. I wander. Hanouts, coffee shops, a crepe place, lots of patisseries, a few restaurants. Lots of bougainvillea. My street has a few car repair shops, so the street is lined with old dead cars that are seemingly slowly being taken apart for parts. They are so dusty, and weeds are growing around their tires. Next door an apartment is being built and there is a steady back drop of hammering and banging all day long. Down the street is a large hole in the ground, maybe they started making an apartment and stopped. Beyond is an open field, which is just dirt and some small plants. Packs of dogs roam here and lone men on motor bikes pass through. Beyond is more Marrakech, mosques dotting the horizon. And the sunset. I make a point to be on my balcony at sunset. The light stains the buildings a dusty pink. Call to prayer starts ringing out in waves from all the mosques. It’s my favorite time of day.
In all my time in Morocco I’ve really only ever seen runners near the military base in the desert. Training. But here! Yes! Runners!! No female runners, but I’ll take it. People still stare at you like you’re half out of your mind. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of things done for sport here. Feels a little like a luxury, to have the time to run. I love running in foreign places…you see more areas faster than walking and in the early morning, especially in Morocco, you have the world to yourself. It helps me feel connected to this place. A man, I’m going to say Swedish, exuberantly waved and said hello to me as he ran past the other morning. A little connection!
I didn’t like it here at first; too far out, too industrial on my street, not the Medina, not touristy. But now after a week of forced perimeter I think it’s perfect. I found a yoga studio 4k away. It’s in Gueliz, the new city and where more foreigners are. It reminds me of NYC. It’s where I meant to find an apartment. Lots of cute places, book shops, patisseries, cafes that look like they’re from Europe. And going there makes me happy I am in my very Moroccan neighborhood.
I walked one day to try to find a language school to sign up for classes. Google maps had me going through a very construction site full of tons of men, staring. I would have needed to enter the construction site, hop a fence and cross a field. So no. I tried another way and it just felt like I was swimming upstream. Checking my map, only one mile to go, you can do this and I thought to myself…yes, but do you want to do this everyday? I do not. So I turned around and found a café full of trees and a fountain and drank espresso and a fresh squeezed orange juice. Sometimes we have to abandon our plans. I found a yarn store after the café. Why knit the project you brought when you could buy more yarn and start something else? When it’s 100 degrees. To be fair, they had turquoise yarn with sparkles in it, sort of hard to turn that down. My walk home Google maps got me very lost again, off day they were having….but!! I knew where I was! I recognized a hanout awning from earlier wanders. That feels amazing…to find you know where you are when you’re lost!
The yoga studio is a little oasis…a very yoga feeling place with healthy juices and lunches, homemade chocolate chip cookies. People on their laptops working. I’ve purchased a month unlimited….it’s nice to have a place to go, to move your body, people who speak English and remember your name. The man at the desk lets me try out more Darija with him. Words beyond restaurant and food words! Wow!! On the walk home today in 100 degrees at two in the afternoon, I am one of the only people out. A few men on motorbikes stop to ask if I’m ok or if I need a ride anywhere. I want to take them up on it, but don’t. A man from Cameroon stops me to talk…where are you from? America. His eyes get huge! You never hear of anyone from America! That is too far away, wow!! I tell him I’m hot and have to keep walking…he tells me God bless you and then yells, “I love you!” as I get further down the street. I turn and wave and he waves and smiles. This place is nuts and I love it.
