Anyone got a house? I'd like to live somewhere.

October 23, 1994 Tata house

Ok. I’m cranky. You know...new country, new language. The same ole’ shit. It could be that I daydreamed for too long of how I’d be spending my time in America and faded back into being here, so far away.

I’d drive with the windows down, the CD player blaring Aretha Franklin. I’d go lay out at the lake 'till I get red cheeks. With $100 bucks to blow, I’d check out the local Blockbuster new release rack. I’ll rent four, stop off at 7-Eleven for a six pack now, slurpee later, pack of smokes, People magazine, Austin Chronicle or Dallas Morning News, then hit Burger King for a Full Meal Deal #3, Chicken sandwich, large fries, and large coke.

Ahh , yes. I’d plop myself down on the cushy sofa with remote control in one hand, monster joint in the other, food lying out before me, 6-pack in the freezer....fade... fade.. fade..fade.

I’m sitting on the floor, fly swatter in one hand, pen in the other. Liz is washing clothes in a bucket next to the squat. Sarah is bringing in her sleeping bag from the roof. It was airing out. Bed bugs. We’re waiting for Abdel Aziz to show up for another mint tea and I’m thinking that maybe I’m just staying so that my parents can come visit. I’ve been thinking that a lot lately.

I can leave whenever I want. I’ll just wait one more day.

I can leave whenever I want. I’ll just wait one more day.

I can leave whenever I want. I’ll just wait one more day.

This has become my daily meditation.

So on.

So on

So on.

Whistle whistle a happy tune.

Oh gosh, gee whiz, I hope I have a house. Hey mister! Um...could you....I mean may you.....(you’re in Morocco, dear)...tell 'em like you hear it.

GIVE....ME.....a house.......AAAFFECK!!

BGHIT TIGAMEE!

BGHIT TIGAMEE!

I must gather control. This is a little too manic.

I've been living in a room of the netty in my village, the women's abandoned cooperative that used to have reading classes and sewing classes, but the classes are gone and so are the sewing machines. There are three rooms surrounded by a cracked empty fountain. My bathroom is a small squat and my water comes from the community well across the alley and down a little dirt path. 

All that's here are me and my kitty and the 15 little girls that show up every morning to peek through the holes in my door, trying to catch a glimpse of the first white girl they've seen in real life.

The only available house is being fixed up for me. No one can tell me when it will be ready, so until then, this is the only place for me. I've turned down several offers to move into people's houses, only because I need some privacy. Of course with no locks on the netty, and a door to my room that doesn't shut completely, I'm not sure it makes much of a difference. It's not exactly that private here.

I talked to Dad. He’s just fine. He broke his arm in a bicycle mishap with my little brother, Ben. Ben got up off the ground, looked at Dad, and said, “Dad? You don’t look so good. Let me go get mom.”

It was nice to hear his voice and see that it really is as if no time has passed. I was surprised to hear how good I sounded- stronger, more adjusted, more grown up than I’ve ever felt. Surprised , of course, because that person isn't anywhere around right now. I'll keep my eye out for her.