And then there was the time...

- I tried to exit a restaurant and was accosted by the waiter as to my status (married or single) and asking me if I wanted to get married. Who wouldn't drop everything and marry their waiter when accosted?

- I arrived at one hotel with my parents and realized we had left our passports at another hotel in another city.

- I jumped in a taxi before the driver and grabbed the window-opener from the dashboard before the taxi driver could hide it from me, and then refused to return it to him until all our windows were completely rolled down, despite his insistence.

- I got a text message from my host family that they wanted me to bring them the shwar. I assumed it was a cake pan they had loaned me. I made a carrot cake in the pan and returned it to them, only to discover that was not a shwar, and that it was something for hair, as best I could tell from their gestures, scissors. I returned later that evening and benevolently set my hair-cutting scissors on the table stating, “Here’s a present for you!” After thirty minutes of visiting, my host sister gingerly indicated that this was not what she was looking for and made a motion that appeared to be brushing her hair. I laughed, “Oh! That’s not what you wanted, you wanted a brush?” My host mother explained she wanted to straighten her hair with it. Oh. Not a hairbrush, my curling iron. Thankfully I figured out the last one before making another trip with my hairbrush.
- I spent four hours in a taxi (as usual, packed seven to the car) leaning forward or otherwise avoiding the intentions of the punk teenager crammed next to me, who repeatedly tried to wrap his arm around me and caress my arm. On the next leg of the trip, I was crammed next to a(n approx.) 10 year old boy who (I could not determine which) repeatedly tried to look down my shirt, or missed his mamma and just wanted to lean on my shoulder the whole way.
- Eija. Eija is 6’ who knows what. Every time I see her in the weekly market she does something to terrorize me. One week Antoine was standing next to me at a vegetable stand when he saw a large bony hand reach between us and under my arm, poking me in the ribs. He almost grabbed the hand and broke it, but recognized its owner… Eija. Another week, I was buying cilantro and the same bony hand grabbed the cilantro out of mine. When my parents were here, I warily wandered around the souq, wondering what stunt she would pull in their presence. We never saw her, left souq and headed home. Out of nowhere, a towering figure, with its face conspicuously covered, loomed toward me. Its loud voice moaned like a ghost. Eija of course. She always follows the introduction by the usual five minutes of inquiring as to my health, my family, the weather, etc. and the abruptly departing. One day, I was out of town and another volunteer was visiting Antoine, also with blonde hair and similar build. They were walking along the river when a figure pulled the same stunt, moaning like a ghost. When Eija got close, she stopped short and pulled the cloth from her face. Uh, she grunted, realizing the girl wasn’t me.
- Antoine, my site mate, has an apartment directly below mine, and our complex is like a wonderful little American Oasis in the middle of Agdz. Although we are good friends, with a 100% platonic relationship, I pretty much assume that all the locals think we’re sleeping together no matter what we tell them. They do not allow men and women to associate alone in a house, let alone, live alone right next to each other in complete privacy. It is just unfathomable that two persons in such a condition would remain platonic. I find the questions quite amusing. Last time I visited my host family, I told my host mother that the weather was splendid and that they should all sleep on the roof. I do most nights now. My host mother immediately blurted out, “Where does Antoine sleep?” It was really tempting to feed her fantasies, but I restrained myself.