Two weeks as a local (Part II)

The hotel was closed by the time the wedding was interrupted so I stayed at Aziz's house. I was woken up at 7:30 by Aziz's mother yelling at us in Berber. From the tone it sounded like she was accusing us of being very lazy, especially since she had made tea for the breakfast and wasn't about to let it get cold. We ignored the first two attempts to get us up, but on the third she took Aziz's blankets away and we got up and had breakfast.

I spent the early morning in a butcher shop with Aziz and Mohammed, never quite learning the purpose of our visit other than a visit. When we left Aziz got nervous when he spotted a police officer and took off telling me to meet him at 3. In Morocco there is some degree of crackdown on the hustlers, particularly in the more cosmopolitan areas such as Rabat and Agadir, where Aziz studies. Technically it is illegal for a Moroccan to 'accompany' a foreigner, and can land you in jail with some fines. Aziz was well aware of all this and said when I go to visit in Agadir that we have to go to the police station and get a paper saying he is allowed to 'accompany' me.

I took care of some business, mostly planning for my coming up grand adventure through the mountains. At half past three I showed up at the store and waited. To summarize, the day kind of crawled. I waited for six hours, with Aziz showing up halfway in between only to disappear shortly after he appeared. I spent a good deal of time talking while I watched the day pass with Aziz's friends. Although I don't have permission, I'd like to tell you a bit about everyone there.

Across the street from the 'store' is a photo shop selling film and postcards. The owner is a nice guy about my age if not a bit older. He was always very smartly dressed with wire-rim glasses and a casual yet refined look. He had a nice bike and was always closing his shop to take off up or down the street for no clear reason. When he returned he always had time for a few words with me and anyone else hanging about. Next to that store was an internet cafe. This was run my a guy with squishy sandals. They squeeked when he walked and shot water onto the ground. There was a brief moment of specks of rain and at first I blamed his shoes. When he learned that I was walking to Imilchil, his response was that he'd go if he had money. Without even a pause to reflect on the idea he finished his sentence and went on looking down the street. The 'store' was run by Nasar. He was a nice older man with four kids, which Rachid explained by saying that Nasar doesn't think too much. A few of the kids were always hanging out, running up and down the street. Nasar's store was an odd mixture. It had a display case in the front, containing the following items: several plastic toys, soap and beauty products, 5 or 6 watchbands, a cellphone, one pair of Nike sandals, and some faux oil lamps. One of the lamps was out of the package on top of the counter and seemed to attract a look every now and then. Behind the counter was an old couch, on top of which was a large box of banana pudding mix, although I assumed it was empty from the age of the box. Behind the couch was a white sheet, in front of which was hung four or five articles of clothing. Nasar spent downtime lovingly arranging his inventory. While I was there he straightened up the clothes a few time, and whenever someone looked at something he carefully repackaged it and put it back in its place. As I said a few people looked at the oil lamp, and the squeaky sandaled guy tried on the Nike sandals. That was the closest anyone came to buying anything that day. The internet cafe got one visitor looking for a phone book.

I spent several hours in two separate conversations with another man named Rachid. Rachid was 32, six feet with a strong but gentle appearance. He spoke a lot about women in the first conversation. His dream was to marry a foreign woman, and preferably a very fat foreign woman. He pronounced the word fat as a very emphatic phat creating a ripple of smiles on the other men attempting to decipher the conversation. Eventually we got to talking about our countries and we went back and forth sharing problems. He ended it by saying that everywhere there are problems and closed with a delaration that he doesn't understand this life. After a moment I readjourned and brought up health care which we had forgotten. Rachid expressed it quite well,'In Morocco everything is good if you're healthy, but if you are sick you suffer... day and night you suffer.' The doctor costs money and that is the one thing no one has. Food and shelter are easy with friends everywhere and family even further and a mosque at every corner willing to push you onward. We both went back to thinking again.

At 9:30 Rachid came back a third time to fill me in on some news. The neighbors of the groom had passed away and out of respect the wedding would be once again postponed. Aziz still hadn't shown up so I went back to my hotel. The next day I decided it was time to leave and packed my gear and checked out. I went back to the store because Nasar had invited me to tea, but he never showed up. Rachid showed up wearing a tie. He said today he works, and tomorrow... tomorrow is another day. Three tour buses showed up and the packed seats emptied their contents into a neighboring restaurant which needed the extra help so picked up Rachid for a few hours. The tourists came and went, a few of which stopped at the camera store, although I don't think anyone bought anything. The folks hanging about didn't much mind and spent the time flirting with all the women, and in the end were quite happy the buses came. I said bye to Aziz and promised to make it to Agadir and headed for my grand adventure, 75 miles through the mountains bouncing between villages and who knows what else.