Friday Funnies and the Fiefdom of Harrison Ford

"I had a friend who lived in the United States once. New Jersey. She didn't like it there, so she moved to Indiana Jones. She likes it better there. It's hotter." I smiled and suppressed my giggle, as I was being escorted by an extremely friendly woman to the university where I will be working. She had been enlisted by her husband to give the clueless American a campus tour and to deliver her to a conference room before 9:00.

My corner of the American Corner 

Things are starting to get rolling on the job front, and I find, more often than not, that I am not really sure what to expect as my day unfolds. I have appointments and meetings with people I don't know in places I don't know how to find. So, I was more than grateful to have a personal escort to the university to help me find the building and room where I would attend a lecture. Amal showed me the gate to the university and where to park my bicycle (assuming I can find my way there on my own at some point). She got someone to unlock the library, so I could see the piles of books and the computer lab. She got someone else to unlock the American Corner so I could see that space as well. And, finally, she delivered me to my lecture on time with a promise to take me for Friday couscous at her family's home after I had finished with my meetings. I realized I had met a Moroccan Fairy Godmother and did a little happy dance to celebrate my good fortune.

After a lecture, a few different meetings to plan teacher training and to get my class assignments for the semester, I had a tour of the campus to meet all of the important people who will make my job run smoothly. I met the "paper guy," who distributes the paper, the "copier guy," who makes the photocopies once you have visited the "paper guy" to get your paper, the "key guy," who will open my classroom door,  and the "microphone guy," who will give me the microphone before my class. With lots of luck, I will remember all of these players and where to find them when I need them most next week. Inshallah.

The morning provided many opportunities to put my three phrases of Darija to use in an effort to make friends with all of these key players. Next, the real Moroccan treat of the day was waiting. I met Amal, and we drove to her mother's home, where they welcomed me to enjoy Friday couscous with the family. It was a treat to have a glimpse inside a Moroccan home - built four stories high around a central courtyard, with the dog and the pet turtle lounging on the uppermost floor. I was relieved to learn that the turtle (which the dog uses as a toy) was just a pet. We have seen many caged turtles in the medina and were unsure if they were for sale as soup ingredients or as pets. Amal assured me that they are just pets.

On the third floor, where the family spends most of their time, we enjoyed a family-style couscous feast. Amal offered me a spoon and plate, but the rest of the women and girls dug in with their hands. The four-year-old giggled at me because I was using a spoon. Apparently men normally use spoons while women use their hands. Amal explained the ingredients of the delicious looking dish, which featured two types of meat: the meat from the sheep which had been slaughtered for Eid (in September) and the contents of that sheep's intestines which had been cooked and wrapped in the sheep's stomach lining. They generously offered me the latter. I smiled and dug in with my spoon, chewed, and washed it down with a gulp of leben. Never has fermented milk tasted so good!

After returning home, I decided it was time to put my new wheels to use and test my traffic dodging skills on the bike. After a perplexing 15 minutes of agonizing over what I could actually wear to go biking (nixing bike shorts, running shorts, all shorts, form-fitting leggings, and baggy pajama bottoms), I ended up in an odd outfit of long hiking pants with rubber bands at the ankles and the most floppy shirt I could find. When I asked Brianna if I could use her grey sneakers because I didn't want to wear my bright red running sneakers with my outfit, she gave me a once-over and sighed. "Are you really worried about fashion when you are looking like that?" Whatever. The girl had a point. I looked part clown, part fashion disaster. The good news is that someone in Rabat told me during my orientation that if I planned on biking in Marrakech it would be fine, since I was really considered a third sex anyway - freaky, tall American woman. Add a bike to the mix, and it really wouldn't matter. It's all just weird.

With a day of biking under his belt, Andy took to the road in front of me and I tried to stay close and stay alive. My sweet little bell sounds woefully inadequate in the buzz of traffic, and, quite honestly, I usually forget how to ring it when I need it most. We managed to weave our way through heavy traffic for a couple of miles, and then we were out - moving beyond the madness of the city and into the Palmeraie, where we could see blue sky and mountains, palm trees, camels, golf courses, and resorts. It was a nice change from the bustle and busyness of downtown Marrakesh. Old men and young boys make up most of the biking population on the roads in Marrakech. When we hit some open road in the Palmeraie, a young boy looked over his shoulder and saw me coming behind him. He crouched down and pedaled as fast as he could. Of course, I took the bait and raced behind him, as he looked back over his shoulder laughing and then returned to the effort of keeping me behind. When he finally ran out of steam, and I cruised by, we shared a high five and a laugh. Third sex? Maybe. But I'll make sure they remember I'm fast as well as fashionable!

The things you find when you go out for a ride. This is NOT the 802.

And, yes, we did tip the photographer for this headless camel shot.