Why would I ever leave my sanctuary now that I have it... or ...Where are we going?

I'm feeling a little guilty. It's a pretty normal phenomenum in this country.

This time it is because I quite love my new little place and don't want to leave. Now that I have a sanctuary it's hard to find a reason to leave, knowing I'll be faced with greeting every person I see on the street and asking them "Salam Elakum, Labas, Labas? Kulshi Bixer? Bixer. Humdullah, labas? Bixer? La u bark fik, Lla Eawn." (Translated: Peace be upon you, no harm? No harm. Everything going well? Everything going well, thanks be to God, no harm? Everything going well? Blessings be upon you - or something, God be with you.") It is a beautiful art of a greeting, but when you're expected to do it over and over again... to people you've met once before, well it gets a little tiring. Then there are the little children in the streets, who see me and call out "Raja! Raja! Bonjour? Ca Va!?" and then the little boys who stop talking, strategically walk to both sides of my path with a stick or something to shout at me and tease me like they're going to hit me. I just politely say "Salam" or ignore them and keep walking. Then I pass several people with whom I'm well acquainted, go through the whole greeting again, and then am prodded as to why I have not come for tea in soooo long. I have kinda held off on my regular tea visits (usually lasting 1-3 hours) for a couple weeks while I move into my apartment and regain a sense of self and sanity. They can remain offended for a little while longer. Once I resume my tea-circuit, they'll forget they were ever offended at my negligence.

In the mean time, I've been to Marakesh, Zagora and Ourzazate to purchase items for my home ... and crate them back, strapped to the top of a taxi. For example, on my last trip, we strapped an 250 Liter refridgerator to the top of a taxi (old yellow Mercedes). The trip before, we rolled up six bamboo carpets and piled them on top, along with three different bamboo shelves on top of that. It is amazing what a taxi can carry.

Highlights from my trips:

MARAKESH: 1) seeing approximately lots of other volunteers (mostly new-to-me, and several friends from my Stage (10 Week Training) and other SBD (Small Business Development) volunteers. 2) Going to a Marjane (=Walmart) to outfit my Martha-Stewart-of-Morocco Kitchen.

ZAGORA: 1) Discovering the beautiful restaurants/hotels 1.5 hours nearer the desert from Agdz. 2) Having a glass of wine (Hashuma, religiously shameful for Moroccans (women)), 3) finding great deals at the Souq, 4) threatening to call the police on the vendor at the souq who gave me the great deals because he went back on his word and demanded more money after we'd already loaded the carpets.

Ourzazate: 1) Realizing that if you allow Moroccans to do you favors, the balance of inconvenience often outweighs any benefit.

One day before I moved out, I realized my host father takes trips in a chicken truck (I thought) to Ourzazate periodically (to get chicken if I understood correctly). I asked if there would be room one day to go with him and buy a fridge. He said it was no problem. He told me we could go the next Monday. I went by on Monday and he said there was no truck. My host sister texted me the next day and said to come by on the following day and we would all go together. I went by at the appointed hour. She was in school and he said there was no truck at present but would call me when there was. I never got a call. A couple days later I went off to hike Kisane and he apparently stopped by after I had left. Yesterday morning I was woken up by the sound of "Raja! Raja! Raja!" outside my window. It was my host father. He said they wanted to go to Ourzazate, but wondered how big the fridge was that I was going to buy. I indicated (1/2 normal fridge size) and wondered what the problem was, a truck should have plenty of room for a small fridge... that was untilI spotted the hatchback little car purring around the corner. It definitely wouldn't fit in that. He said they would be back in an hour to pick me up.

They returned in an hour, and I gathered my things and rushed downstairs, ran down and up the empty 4' deep water channel, and over to the hatchback. Sufi, they said, we've got to get the convocations for the trip first, we'll be back in 1/2 hour. They returned and we finally departed ... in the hatchback. At the gas station, Baba Housane's friend asked me to pay for half the gas, which was the exact same price as taking a taxi to Ourzazate, (so remind me what good it was waiting to go with them? Oh yeah, so I wouldn't have to pay for transport fees for the fridge.. which wouldn't fit, right, I forgot.).

I wake up and we're in Ourzazate..or so I thought. We were stopped at a place I didn't recognize, so I took all my stuff with me, thinking we were going to walk to the center of town. Instead we walked right into a photo developing place and I was introduced to Housane's nephew who ran the store. After a while of chit-chat we walked out. They asked me where we were going. I told them the Super Marche, to buy stuff. They laughed and said, no, no, you're going to Housane's brother's house for lunch. Ooh..darn.

We walk through the mud streets of a neighborhood to a nicer home, and after banging on the door for five to ten minutes (it is amazing the persistence of Moroccans in trying to get someone to come to the door, and the time it takes for the persons inside to answer, without the slightest apology when they finally come). We were led into a large salon and I greeted some relatives, then was urged to go into the kitchen, where the female family members sat huddled around a coal-pot heating tea. They were delighted to learn that I actually spoke a little bit of Dirija (Moroccan Arabic) and puzzled that I didn't understand French. (The same reactions I get everytime I meet someone here.) I was shown about the house and then led into another salon apart from the men, where a niece tried to make conversation with me for about an hour, while lunch was being made. Finally lunch came. We ate. They kept pressing me to stay. Do you have work tomorrow? Stay, we'll do couscous, henna and lots of fun things. Next time I kept responding, thank you.

Finally we left.. about 3:30 in the afternoon.. and we had not even reached the city. Instead of taking Azdeem's hatchback in, we had to pay for a Grande Taxi. He was no where in site. What good was it coming with him, I kept wondering. We got to the city and walked to an area I was familiar with. An irritating nephew accompanied us. Every place I said I wanted to go, he questioned and asked why I would want to go there, there was another place that was better. I was now thinking, okay, so I'm paying more than a taxi, taking four hours to actually get to the city, and now accompanied by two Moroccan men, to whom I had to argue every point and where and why I wanted to go somewhere. We spent the afternoon walking long stretches between appliance stores and buying things at three different Super Marches. At the largest Super Marche, where there were supposedly food items (such as oatmeal) that could not be had anywhere else between there and Marakesh, we discovered the refridgerator prices were much higher and Baba Housane took my arm and promptly led me out before I had a minute to look at the food items. I kept asking where we were going and he said to another Super Marche, bigger and better. It turned out it was much smaller and had very few items I wanted, and no fridges. I was very irritated. It was now too late to return to the other one. More taxi rides and we finally discovered a place that sold the type of oven, in the budget I wanted. It wasn't available, but they would be getting a shipment on Tuesday. I could call in, ask the price, and if I liked it, the owner had a friend who lived in Agdz and would deliver it to me and take my money. Okay. That was figured out.

We returned to another appliance store where I was sure I had found the best price for a fridge. (200 Dirhams less than an identical one down the street from me in Agdz, thought I was saving money by coming to get it in Ourzazate.) They led me back out of the store before I bought or picked it up. Come on, they urged. But where are we going? I kept asking. The question of the day. Across the street a little ways was a vehicle with a brand new fridge already loaded. They drove me to the taxi station. Are we taking a taxi? No, no. They split up and both went to bargain with two different groups of taxi drivers. I just stood there waiting for some agreement. One agreed to ship it to Agdz for 35 Dhs. They loaded it and he demanded 50 Dhs. I had to pay. So now, I was still paying the transit fee, shipping it back via taxi, that I had been trying to avoid all along. We went back into town, I purchased other items at the same shop, left and later realized he had cheated me 100 Dhs, not giving me back enough change.

We phoned Azdeem and waited 45 minutes for him to return. I was thirsty and hungry and walked all around looking for a coke. Couldn't find one. Housane didn't believe me and led me by the arm to all the same shops. No coke, just like I said. I bought another drink, cookies and yogurts for Housane and I. He had indeed taken his whole day to help me. We walked back to his other brother's photo shop and there they all devoured our cookies, my yogurt and everything, (including a begger who wandered off the street at the site of food). I at least had a few cookies and my drink. The irritating nephew who wouldn't leave me alone downed my yogurt before I even noticed. Finally Azdeem returned and we departed.

I woke up and we were parked outside a restaurant. Nope, not Agdz. Azdeem was standing at the doorway chatting with another man. "What is he doing?" I asked Housane. Oh, that's his friend. Oh. Ok. He we are hours and hours behind schedule and he's just chatting with a friend in the middle of nowhere while we wait in the cold. He got back in and started smoking a cigarrette. Mind if I smoke? No problem. Start the car, Housane chided him. He finally started it and we got on our way.

I finally stumbled through my doorway, my safe refuge in this insane place and took a looong hot bath by candlelight (a guilty pleasure here), and fell asleep shortly after some hot tea and soup.

Upon recounted the expenses of the day, I realized I would have actually saved money buying the fridge down the street. In fact that fridge is still closer than the one I bought. The one I bought is sitting at my host families house still.. I have to hire a donkey and cart to transport it back here tomorrow. So much for trying to be cost-conscious and using the help of friends.