Oh the funny things...

Thought I would share a few fun moments..

BURPING:: There’s no such thing as “excuse me” here. I’m sitting quietly with my family watching TV and you hear these low rumblings grow into despairingly loud explosions.. and then it’s quiet again. No one even notices. No flinch, no comments, nothing.

HAVING SEX: Apparently if you’re alone with a man, there is absolutely nothing else you could be doing. I arranged to meet a local music teacher and wanted to go to his house to play his violin. He had mentioned bringing a friend along, but for some reason I didn’t even think about it. The whole way to his house he began casually talking about how in such a rural area people get these silly ideas and think that if a man and women are walking to his house, they must be going there to have sex. He kept talking about it and politely laughing. I laughed and agreed how silly it was. Until I realized that he was Moroccan. Moroccans are subtle about things like that. He was telling me that this was absolutely not a good idea. My “father” happened to be at a coffee shop that we passed. He ran out into the the street, “Raja, Raja, snu kat diri!?” I’m going to play violin at his house. Oh.. okay.. and he walked away. The teacher said, “Okay, you stand outside about 100 yards from the house where everyone can see you. Watch where I go.. that is my house. I will bring a book out to you so everyone will think that you just came to pick up a book and will see you walking back home with it.” Okay.. I had no choice but to stand in the middle of the street and wait. I noticed that the once-empty dusty street was filling with little children who lined my path, just watching me. He returned with the book, I took it, laughed, shook his hand, and turned to head home, purposefully displaying it for all the world to see. It was my salvation. A little 3 year old boy braved a “Bonjour” and when I returned a “Salam alaykum” they just stared, waited until I passed, and then doubled in giggles. I walked back home, walked in the door, and sat down in my bedroom. It had taken about an hour to get a book I didn’t want to read and not play violin, which is what I set out to do. Funny sex wasn’t on my mind.

TIDE COMMERCIALS: You’re watching CNN Breaking News and it cuts to commercials. Some happy mom merrily tosses her kid’s grass-stained shirt in the wash, pours in the Tide, and out comes a white shirt. Then it cuts to that inevitable photo of the shirt: half of it washed in Tide and sparklingly white; the other half was washed with “X” brand and is still green with stains. Tranfer this moment to Morocco: You’re watching Al-Jazeera News, it cuts to a break and you’re in the middle of a Nomadic tribal war, men in Jalabas and turbans, brandishing machetes and galloping across the desert on horseback. A box of Tide (pronounced “teed” here) is floating around in the background. They cut to the split screen: two men standing between their horses, both in linen Jalabas. One’s white.. the other’s not.