There are a lot of things that I do everyday – that I also did everyday back in the States – that really aren’t the same. I haven’t talked about them, though, because they’re ordinary to me now, and we don’t very often think to talk about the things we take for granted. I’ve had some guests come visit lately, and it’s made me realize just how different some of these things were to my American self when I too first got here. Here’s a sample:
1 – Traditionally, when I wanted to buy something, I would go to a store that I knew carried the product (possibly after having done some research into where such a place might be), locate the item in question, examine its quality, perform a sort of economic calculation of its price and the price of not purchasing it, and then act on that decision. You probably do something similar, and, to be fair, a lot of that’s also the same here in Morocco – but not all of it. At no point in all this is the step “spend 5-50 minutes bantering with the merchant about how although it’s beautiful (whatever it is), it’s just entirely impossible for me to buy it at that price, unless, God protect him, he can lower the price, most likely by two thirds or more.” Fortunately, however, you can usually find more of the same product in the generally immediate area. Some people criticize the Moroccan marketplace for its tendency to lump all the rugs together, or the jelabas, or the hardware stores, but it makes shopping so much easier. Since you’re likely to have to see three or four merchants of the same product to find one who’ll give you a reasonable price, it certainly helps if you don’t have to walk across town in the process.
2 – I’d say that most Americans consider doing their laundry to be a “chore.” You have to collect the dirty clothes, sort them by color and fabric and washing process, take them to the washing machine, put them in the machine with the appropriate detergents, softeners, starches, and scents, turn on the machine, come back a half-hour later and put them into the dryer, add the necessary anti-static cling products or wooden paddles to beat the clothing into submission, wait another hour or so until it’s dry, and then fold. It’s a complicated process with very little credit, and, if you’re unlucky enough, you might have to pay a machine for the privilege of doing all of the above. Washing clothes is a lot easier out here. All you need to do is grab a couple giant tubs capable of holding 5-10 gallons of liquid, fill them water, laundry detergent, and as much clothing as possible, and then (if you’re me) spend the next hour-and-a-half manhandling them aggressively and using Buddhist meditations to convince yourself that the stains are going to come out. You have one basin for soapy water and another for rinsing, and you don’t have to worry about the dryer at all since there aren’t any – you just put everything up to air dry. There are times, however, when I feel a little nostalgic for all the nonsense involved in American washing, particularly when I’m lugging a 70-pound tub of water from the bathroom to the living room or when I’m flaying my hands with granulated Tide detergent or the two straight months of winter when the sun doesn’t come out preventing me from drying clothes and thus being completely unable to wash at all. It’s times like that when I feel like I could find the mental and physical strength to turn some dials and carry a laundry hamper to the basement and back again.
3 – Social commentators in America like to tell us about how much time we spend waiting in lines, and there are those guys who’ll just start standing in a line on the street simply to get other more sheep-like people to fall in line behind them without even knowing what the wait’s for. They probably have a point; Morocco would have a much harder time getting it. The streets of Morocco are lined with storefronts, and the economy is such that they attract pretty good traffic, but, unlike most storefronts back home, it’s the minority that you actually walk into in Morocco. You’re standard convenience store is set up so that you walk right to the counter that opens on the street, tell the guy what you want, and then he gets it for you. It’s very efficient, and absolutely second nature once you get used to it, except for one thing: there are no cash register lanes to get into when you’re ready to go – there’s usually no cash register at all. It’s just a counter, which doesn’t really have a “paying” or a “just browsing” end, and the owner is running around getting things for people, so there’s no way of really creating a “line.” This, I believe, is the origins of the informal “no lines policy” in Morocco. It doesn’t matter who got there first, or who’s already talking to the salesman, or who’s trying to do something complicated or who’s just got a really simple transaction. Everyone just goes up to the guy, tells him what they want, and let him figure out how to please all his customers. There are a few exceptions, of course, like the bank and the post office. If it’s really busy, people have to “line up” by putting their business on the counter, usually in the form of their national identity card. It’s hard enough for us newcomers to be defensive shoppers at a regular corner store; it’s terrifying to plop your passport down on the counter and be left only to pray it’s still there when you it’s your turn after being crowded away by another hundred people doing the same. The irony, though, is that despite how frustrating it is to come from a society where you’re bred to patiently wait your turn and find yourself blocking off the old lady from getting her bread and eggs before you, you can’t really side with the people who joke about “Moroccan lines.” In reality, and once you figure out how to work in the system, the majority of time everyone’s being served. The guy will be getting money from one person while finding cigarettes for another and planning the quickest way to the milk cooler to fill your order. All at the same time.
4 – If you dig deep enough, almost everyone has some sort of special talent. Some people can juggle or do bird calls, while others can actually solve a Rubik’s Cube without the use of magic markers. My skill is finding money on the ground. It’s pretty much an innate ability; my grandfather was the same way. I’ve done a few parties and small charity events, and get the occasional emergency call about lost keys, and I can tell you that I have never in my life been in a place with so little lost change as Morocco. In fact, in my sixteen months in this country I have found exactly two coins on the ground. One was a 5 centime coin, the only one I have ever seen, and the lowest denomination possible in the Kingdom. And I can only count that on a technicality, as it has no practical monetary value at all. There is no price tag in all of Morocco that has a value in the hundredth’s place after its decimal. I’ve talked about this change problem of mine with other volunteers, and I’ve heard surprisingly similar accounts from across the country. No one has any plausible explanation, though there are theories. Some claim that the atomic density of the Atlas limestone creates a reverse magnetic field which resists metallic change, others that Moroccans are generally more conscientious about their coins. The debate will certainly not be resolved anytime soon.
5 – There is no topic more discussed, nor event more feared by newly arrived trainees, than using the bathroom in Morocco. Morocco is a meeting ground of cultures, and in no area is this more readily apparent than her toilets. It’s certainly possible to find the Western sitting toilets that we’re so used to, but this is certainly not the norm. Much more likely (practically guaranteed outside of tourist restaurants and hotels) are the Turkish style, the “Turk” or “Turkish Delight” in colloquial language. The Turkish toilet is an incredibly efficient machine. It’s merely a ceramic plate with two raised platforms to interface with the user’s feet and a sloped basin leading to the simplest plumbing imaginable: a hole. There are no complicating levers or seat hinges, nor inscrutable floating devices in the back tank. Flushing is as easy as pouring a bucket with water down the hole and letting the pipes dispose of the evidence, and since it’s shameful for people to hear what you’re doing in there, you can fill the bucket to cover the sound while you’re working. It’s the Spartan ideal of toilet technology, though it does clash with our American bathroom hedonism. Whereas we have whole department stores devoted solely to the beautification of the bath and specialists trained to maximize the toilet-tub-sink aesthetic, the Moroccan restroom is more closely related to a political prison. We can agree on its importance in society, but that doesn’t mean we want to go there or talk about it, and we clean it only whenever we think someone from the outside might come by for a surprise inspection. But that doesn’t happen very often, most likely because no one wants to deal with the embarrassment of asking someone else to use their bathroom. In fact, a friend says the kids in her town don’t drink water specifically so that they won’t have to ask for the facilities while visiting a friend’s house. And this could have something to do with the fact that my Turk is a lot more work than your Western. There’s no where to sit, so you’ve got to squat the whole time, which is great for your calves, but not so good for instilling a sense of relaxing tranquility. And you certainly can’t read the newspaper.
6 – Did you ever find yourself needing to just run over to a friend’s house for a quick second to take care of some business or another? Pop by to say hello while you’re on the way somewhere else? I feel like that all the time; unfortunately, that’s pretty much impossible for me here. I would say that Morocco has a pretty communal culture – particularly in comparison with what I’ve grown accustomed to in America – and visiting friends and relatives is a fairly important part of the social contract. Especially during holidays. Ironically, though, that’s when it becomes the biggest problem. Let’s say that you’re an American Peace Corps volunteer living in a small Moroccan town on Eid Seghir (the “small holiday” – or Eid al-Fitr in standard Arabic – the end of Ramadan). On Eid Seghir there are two things you do: eat and visit. But you’re connected all across your town, and have people everywhere who’ve helped you in innumerable ways throughout the year without asking for anything in return. You pretty much have to visit them all, so you do, which isn’t a problem since they’re your friends and you like them. It’s just that you’re running on a really tight schedule because you’ve got about thirty key places, not to mention all the other stops you’ll be making that you forgot to write into your agenda, which leaves room for about a 10-15 minute visit with everyone. Long enough to come in, shake hands with everyone, offer some congratulatory remarks, eat a few cookies with a glass of tea, and be on your way. Three houses in, with ten glasses of tea and hundreds of cookies down, and two hours later, you’ll remember that this is impossible. You can’t pop in and out; you need to drink tea, make small talk, eat whatever they give you, and then repeat until you’re basically begging for permission to leave. And this isn’t just during holidays, this is all the time. If I’m in a hurry, I’ll take every back road I can think of just to avoid major stops where I know I’ll get trapped by self-appointed surrogate mothers. Sometimes bicycling helps, but you pretty much just have to lay back and accept that you’re going to be late, or that you’re only going to doing half the things on your to-do list for the day. Then again, you could do worse than never-ending free lunches.
7 – Mopping, in its most basic form, is pretty much the same no matter where you go. You use some kind of long-handled device that has an attachment at one end for moving water about on the floor so as to remove grime and other filth. In America we have several kinds of mop. Most notable are the sponge mop with a built in water-wringing device and the yarn strand model that can also serve as a costume wig in community theatre and off-Broadway musicals. Every floor I’ve seen in Morocco has been either tile or concrete, and, as there are no vacuums that I know of, the mop has a pretty solid monopoly on the floor-cleaning products market. There are two very important things to know about Moroccan mops. First, they have a couple names. We call them karrata up here, which is a very cool word, though others say jafaffa, which, as best as I can figure, translates literally as “droughter.” Even more excellent, however, is that no matter what you call it, it’s pretty much a giant squeegee. That’s awesome.
8 – We’ve got a few different kinds of handshake in America. There’s the standard, the two-hand shake, and the handshake with a hand on the arm, not to mention the thousands of informal pounds and high fives. And when you meet someone in the States, unless you’re a politician or meeting for the first time, chances are you’re not actually going to “shake hands.” You could just as easily get by with a wave, head nod, or nothing at all. Morocco, on the other hand, has pretty much only one handshake, the standard (though there are other types of greeting, used particularly for elders and other respected individuals, such as a hand or forehead kiss). It’s not really all that interesting that Moroccans shake hands. What is interesting is the frequency and ceremony involved. When you first meet someone, obviously you should shake their hand, but what’s unusual for us is that out here, you’ll continue to shake their hand pretty much every time you run into them again in the future. What’s more, if you shake one person’s hand in a group of people, you have to shake everyone’s. This can be a real endeavor if, for example, you walk into a wedding or other massive social gathering, and there have been plenty of times when students have walked into class late and I’ve made the mistake of shaking their hand, which means that they then have to go down the lines shaking every other student’s hand in the process (some do that anyway because they think it’s funny). But that’s not the end of the ritualization. Moroccan culture, descending from Islamic tradition, exalts the right and frowns upon the left. Not only do we shake with our right hand, but we shake hands with the group from right to left. A group of Americans will usually shake with whoever’s the most convenient at any particular moment until everyone’s shaken with everyone else. This means that everyone once in a while, you might find yourself with your hand just sticking out there waiting for the guy coming, especially if, like us, you’re new to the whole circle of shaking. But that’s better than not shaking; you can definitely get called out for failure to shake. The only time you don’t is if the “shakee” in question is a conservative woman, in which case it’s best to wait for her to offer a hand and to just smile and be polite until – if – she does.
9 – America is a milk country. The “Does a Body Good” and “Got Milk” ads have been some of the most successful campaigns of all time, and “milk and cookies” and “cereal and milk” are two of the most essential staples of our diet. Morocco is not. It goes into coffee a lot, as well as the occasional glass of hot chocolate, and gets mixed into fruit juices in the summer, but I’ve never seen anyone sit down with just a glass of milk. That’s not really that big a deal for me since I too don’t really ever sit down with just a glass of milk, whether I’m in Morocco or America. What does matter, however, is that my milk, like any other red-blooded American, is cold (unless it’s hot chocolate). You won’t find that here. Any glass of milk you ask for is going to be heated as though you were about to add the chocolate in to it, and a request for a cold glass is likely to get you a funny look and the assumption that you’ve clearly mistaken in your language. And a glass of warm milk.
