Hot bezef

The wind and the heat has officially arrived in Morocco. It is most beautiful and bearable in the mornings. On my way to the bus I step out of my apartment building to hear an orchestra of birds singing. Quite a way to start the day. I hobble down to the bus stop like Quasimodo under the weight of the 2 litres of water I carry to work each day. I do this because you can not drink the water from the taps at school.

Then the winds began. I had Parent/Teacher conferences today so I thought I would open the windows and let some fresh air in. All that I managed to actually do was give myself an 80's style blowave and the lucky parent I was meeting with and distribute children's confidential documentation to every corner of my room.

The windows were shut soon after. While making my way to the bus stop this evening a friend informed me that we are expecting a low of twenty this evening. Low? I do love a good injection of heat and have welcomed the warmer weather. I wonder if my entries will reflect this in the midst of August, during Ramadan and the official Summer months.

Ana Mashi Tourist

So the term 'Ana mashi tourist' should be in the Morocco survival guide. It literally means 'I am not a tourist'. It can help at the most oppurtune times. Haggling in the souk, catching a taxi, digging in your heels and finding your own way home in the winding alleyways of just about every medina in Morocco.

It took moving here for me to actually learn that phrase, thanks to my wonderful and inspiring friend who is also the Arabic teacher to the majority of my students. If it is quickly followed by 'Ana kanskon hna' - I live here, or 'Dir l'kontur afak' - turn the counter on please (only to be used in taxis as it wouldn't make much sense when getting a leg wax!), people generally know that you mean business.

As for me I love interacting with the locals. Who wouldn't? I find an open approach is the best approach.

A few months back I would timidly enter my hanout (milkbar) like a ninja pulling off a top secret project of some sort, not wanting to be noticed. My perfectly rehearsed Darija (Moroccan dialect) conversation floating around in my head. As soon as I had successfully butchered the language I was greeted with a huge smile and something that sounded unlike anything I had heard before. Or at least not the 20 Darija words I had up my sleeve. I soon realised that it's not just English speaking countries who speak louder to others in the hope that they may understand what they are saying at a higher volume. Decision time. I rallied a few other enthusiastic ex pats and embarked on Darija classes in a great little school in Guilez, where I live. There's no better way to learn than on the job, or in the country for that matter. For some people, in particular locals, this opportunity is not available. A lot of the time the locals want this exchange too. I find that the locals speak very good survival English as their livelihood depends on it. For some not for all. Conversing with English speakers is a chance to practice English in a non threatening environment and it's free. Learning languages over here is not the cheapest hobby and if you don't have the means to support the tuition fees it's on the street where you can learn it.

I put this to you dear readers, walk the walk and talk the talk with the locals. On most occasions you will be pleasantly surprised.

Take Two

Finding time in Morocco is more difficult than I was expecting. Hence, this is why after six months here I have finally got round to creating a blog. Where it will take me, you, us is anyone's guess. Will be interesting to find out though.

I started blogging a few months back and was sure that I would be able to dedicate a little time each day in telling the world how wonderful, exotic and hilarious my experiences are of re locating to Morocco.

Well, to be honest that just didn't happen. In a country where time is savoured and everything takes an eternity to get done, I just found myself unable to commit to the five minutes a day I'd promised myself and perhaps the one person I believed would follow this blog. The follower answers to the name Mum, on most occasions.

But here goes, armed with my latest toy, a new Apple Mac I am up for the adventure. Anyone who would like to join me or is curious as to know how a thirty something teacher ends up finding herself living in Morocco is more than welcome to join me. Marhaba.