Dead rats

July 7, 1994 Rabat training

I would like to say that this whole experience could be written down, that this Peace Corps experience is documented, but I know always pieces and parts will pass in my memory, pass over these pages unwritten.

Our second day we left this safe haven compound to go into the city and I haven’t wanted to leave since, afraid of the culture and language I will face. Today in our cross cultural training we were sent on a scavenger hunt out into Rabat and given a certain task in groups of four. My group was to check out the fruits and vegetables in the market.

We went all through the medina. We couldn’t find any fruit or vegetable stands so Rhonda said she heard we should walk down one of the urban alleyways just to experience it. It was a winding maze of three story buildings. You can stand in the middle of the alley and touch both walls on either side. I was claustrophobic and exhilarated at the same time.

We walked through a maze of cobblestone alleys and girls peeking from inside cracked doors leading to empty rooms with beautifully colored and patterned tiled walls and floors.

Children were playing with balls as a huge dead rat lay off to the side and two scooters passed us by. Huge wooden and metal doors with little small square slots as windows lined the narrow streets. The street signs are plaques on the corners of the buildings. In the inner medina are clothes stores, jewelry shops, spices, dishes, shoes, leather bags and wallets. There were stores upon stores of spools and thread. There were men with turbans, wearing no shoes or fancy shoes. Women were fully veiled, or in shorts, blind and begging, or in business suits with a purpose. Small girls held small girls on their backs, strapped in by a cloth wrapped around them. Old women walked with large bags of grain balanced perfectly on the tops of their heads.

As we walked out of the narrow street the chanter was chanting his prayer over all of Rabat, his Arabic prayer, and people were going about as if ignoring. I wondered if they were supposed to stop and pray or anything, because it didn’t appear that they were listening. As we walked about down this larger street, Maya stopped me to look at a building with large open doors. Men and women were hurriedly walking up to the doors, taking off their shoes, smoothly and effortlessly picking them up and walking in. I was seeing a mosque at prayer time and realized I was not allowed in.

There is so much going on around this compound. We live at a teacher university, not like one we’re used to. There are about 100 people living on campus: 40 staff and 72 trainees. There are seven rooms and one bathroom on each wing and two people per room. Our rooms have four beds, two mattresses, a desk and a chair. We have a window without glass. Looking through the bars, you see the courtyard with an empty fountain in the middle.

Laundry is done by local women by washboard and hung to dry. We have a cook that cooks our meals. There are basketball, volleyball, and soccer courts. There is no air conditioning anywhere and god knows how much money the United States government is paying o send us here and have us live. We got paid 100 dirhams ($11) Monday and get 200 dirhams for the next week.

The Arabs answer for everything is “if God wills it.” Everything happens if God wills it and nothing can be expected until it happens. That is why they have time for everything. I have never seen so many men sitting outside of cafes at all times of the day and doing nothing. I wonder how all the women feel and picture them tired and sweating, cleaning, cooking, taking care of children, while these men, sipping their mint teas, whistle as I walk by.

Do all people honk their horns in Morocco? I was told that they don’t, but when we women walk the streets, the horns honk, the men whistle and click, making their sexual comments. Even the little boys have picked up on it. It is harassment and I’m not flattered.

Two weeks ago on the streets of Austin, with an ego from hell, I strutted past a group of bums on the drag. I wore a black tank top showing my tan arms. As I walked by them without looking, they stared and whistled. I heard a deep voice say, “That’s a job and a half there.”

I smiled. I smile now. Men are the same.

I had my first trip Tuesday to a Moroccan bar. We were the only women. Sitting on the patio and on the inside, the men with beers in hand watched intently the TV. in the corner. At one point they all jumped up screaming and dancing around because Nigeria had just played well in the World Cup. Sports and men are the same everywhere.

I will end tonight on this note. I am listening to Counting Crows and the air is cool outside near this dim light in the courtyard. The stars are out and once, on a porch in Austin, Texas, the air was cool and the stars were out. “Anna Begins” was playing then as it is now. Andrew and I were not falling in love because we were not ready for this sort of thing and I am not worried and I am not overly concerned.