Maroc Part Deux
I should probably begin this letter by saying something that has been on my mind for the past couple of days now. I believe with all reason, that this is the most difficult thing I have done in my life. This is not to say that the experience so far has been terrible, but much of it has been very difficult.
Somehow, I seem to be managing with my ability of French. The worst are times when either someone does not understand what I’m saying, or I do not understand what they are saying to me. There have been a couple of times when Julian, one of my bosses who is French and frequently stressed out, comes at me screaming in rapid-fire French, which of course I don’t understand, and I get stressed out and start screaming at him in return in English. Then we both realize that this is going nowhere, and I speak to him in slow, precise manner which he understands. When he is not stressed, though, he is actually pretty cool. I’m taking his apartment when he leaves at the end of the month when he is going back to France.
The person who I fear the most is Ahmed, the Egyptian. At 6 foot five, a massive build, and a booming voice to match, he very well could have been capable of leading a cavalry charge of the Pharaoh’s finest troops had he not been born in the wrong millennium and in charge of transportation at a cultural foundation. He does have the most difficult job however, because there are a ton of people who have been coming and going this week. Everyday there are four packs of cigarettes lined up on the shelf near his desk, and I swear that he smokes every one of them. Every time I go into his office to ask for a chauffeur to pick up someone from the airport, he screams at me, “Adriano, qu’est-ce que tu fais ici?” (Adrian, what are you doing here?)
How I fit into the organisation itself sometimes can be summed up in a simple anecdote. The other day I was at the foundation, and I was wondering where my other colleagues had gone, so I asked the secretary to call Ismael (another person I work with) for me. When Ismael asked who was asking for him, she responded that it was l’étranger. Roughly translated it means “the foreigner” but it can also mean the stranger or the outsider. It’s a feeling I can’t seem to shake.
So let me recap from last week. Monday was my 8th day of work in a row. Last week wrapped up all the preparation for the colloquium, which began on Saturday. I was preparing dossiers, name cards, and information for the people who came here until about Friday, when most of those people arrived.
Saturday, I started work at the desk of the colloquium in the Dar Batha museum, fielding questions in both French and English about what the colloquium was doing that day. Most of my answers can be summed up in a few lines,
“No, the museum is closed for the colloquium.”
“The bathroom is over there.”
“I don’t speak Arabic.”
“Tickets are about 25 euros”.
“I am more than happy to speak English with you.”
“No, I haven’t slept in days.”
“No, I haven’t anything in days.”
Sunday was the worst. I lost my camera in the morning in the medina when I was looking for breakfast, and the incident with the secretary happened. Then this stupid American guy, who was wearing a big dumb hat, safari shirt, and looked every bit like the stereotypical ugly American, came in and started screaming at me when he learned that the Dar Batha museum was closed. It had something to do with the fact that his being a university professor in the states entitled him to visit any museum in the world free of charge, regardless of what was going on there. A few excerpts from that conversation:
“Listen, sir, I’m really sorry that museum is closed this week. There’s a really interesting colloquium going on, and there are really good concerts happening in the afternoons.”
“I’m not interested in concerts! I’m only here for one day! I want to see the museum.”
“Um…I don’t really know what to say…”
“Well, this is just highly insensitive! And I’ll be honest with you, I’ve found the whole country of Morocco to be highly insensitive!”
The guards, who also manned the desk with me, and also only speak Arabic and French, wanted to know what he was so angry about. I told them, and they asked me if I thought he was racist. I said probably so. I really hope he goes back to the small hole he came from and stays there.
Other than that, here are some amazing things I’ve done.
On, Friday night I went to a concert attended by the queen of Jordon, the queen of Morocco, the king of Morocco’s favourite sister, and Madame Chirac. In my personal opinion, I think the queen of Morocco looked the best of them all. Not only incredibly beautiful, but incredibly well put together, which I’m sure she has an entire team of people for. Wow…
I edited the speech in English that introduced everybody famous, but unfortunately the person who read it accidentally introduced Madam Chirac as Madam Mitterrand, a different French politician. I assure you it had nothing to do with me. I still have the original speech, to prove it, which I’ll try to put down later. Later, I watched the king’s guards, who wore white uniforms satin uniforms and carried long sceptres, salute Madam Chirac on a red carpet as she got into her car.
Saturday afternoon, I went to a concert with the queen of Jordon again, as well as Bono and the Edge of U2. I kid you not. I met an American journalist who managed to take a picture of them, who I will email when I get back to the states to see if I can get it from her. I also received inside information later that they are here in Fez recording a new album.
In other news, I bought a new camera yesterday, so there will be pictures eventually. I’m writing postcards, which will come.
I also bought shaving soap in the medina the other day that had a camel on it, and it made me smile. Conn people will understand.
Its hard living here, but I’m trying to take life one day at a time.
Somehow, I seem to be managing with my ability of French. The worst are times when either someone does not understand what I’m saying, or I do not understand what they are saying to me. There have been a couple of times when Julian, one of my bosses who is French and frequently stressed out, comes at me screaming in rapid-fire French, which of course I don’t understand, and I get stressed out and start screaming at him in return in English. Then we both realize that this is going nowhere, and I speak to him in slow, precise manner which he understands. When he is not stressed, though, he is actually pretty cool. I’m taking his apartment when he leaves at the end of the month when he is going back to France.
The person who I fear the most is Ahmed, the Egyptian. At 6 foot five, a massive build, and a booming voice to match, he very well could have been capable of leading a cavalry charge of the Pharaoh’s finest troops had he not been born in the wrong millennium and in charge of transportation at a cultural foundation. He does have the most difficult job however, because there are a ton of people who have been coming and going this week. Everyday there are four packs of cigarettes lined up on the shelf near his desk, and I swear that he smokes every one of them. Every time I go into his office to ask for a chauffeur to pick up someone from the airport, he screams at me, “Adriano, qu’est-ce que tu fais ici?” (Adrian, what are you doing here?)
How I fit into the organisation itself sometimes can be summed up in a simple anecdote. The other day I was at the foundation, and I was wondering where my other colleagues had gone, so I asked the secretary to call Ismael (another person I work with) for me. When Ismael asked who was asking for him, she responded that it was l’étranger. Roughly translated it means “the foreigner” but it can also mean the stranger or the outsider. It’s a feeling I can’t seem to shake.
So let me recap from last week. Monday was my 8th day of work in a row. Last week wrapped up all the preparation for the colloquium, which began on Saturday. I was preparing dossiers, name cards, and information for the people who came here until about Friday, when most of those people arrived.
Saturday, I started work at the desk of the colloquium in the Dar Batha museum, fielding questions in both French and English about what the colloquium was doing that day. Most of my answers can be summed up in a few lines,
“No, the museum is closed for the colloquium.”
“The bathroom is over there.”
“I don’t speak Arabic.”
“Tickets are about 25 euros”.
“I am more than happy to speak English with you.”
“No, I haven’t slept in days.”
“No, I haven’t anything in days.”
Sunday was the worst. I lost my camera in the morning in the medina when I was looking for breakfast, and the incident with the secretary happened. Then this stupid American guy, who was wearing a big dumb hat, safari shirt, and looked every bit like the stereotypical ugly American, came in and started screaming at me when he learned that the Dar Batha museum was closed. It had something to do with the fact that his being a university professor in the states entitled him to visit any museum in the world free of charge, regardless of what was going on there. A few excerpts from that conversation:
“Listen, sir, I’m really sorry that museum is closed this week. There’s a really interesting colloquium going on, and there are really good concerts happening in the afternoons.”
“I’m not interested in concerts! I’m only here for one day! I want to see the museum.”
“Um…I don’t really know what to say…”
“Well, this is just highly insensitive! And I’ll be honest with you, I’ve found the whole country of Morocco to be highly insensitive!”
The guards, who also manned the desk with me, and also only speak Arabic and French, wanted to know what he was so angry about. I told them, and they asked me if I thought he was racist. I said probably so. I really hope he goes back to the small hole he came from and stays there.
Other than that, here are some amazing things I’ve done.
On, Friday night I went to a concert attended by the queen of Jordon, the queen of Morocco, the king of Morocco’s favourite sister, and Madame Chirac. In my personal opinion, I think the queen of Morocco looked the best of them all. Not only incredibly beautiful, but incredibly well put together, which I’m sure she has an entire team of people for. Wow…
I edited the speech in English that introduced everybody famous, but unfortunately the person who read it accidentally introduced Madam Chirac as Madam Mitterrand, a different French politician. I assure you it had nothing to do with me. I still have the original speech, to prove it, which I’ll try to put down later. Later, I watched the king’s guards, who wore white uniforms satin uniforms and carried long sceptres, salute Madam Chirac on a red carpet as she got into her car.
Saturday afternoon, I went to a concert with the queen of Jordon again, as well as Bono and the Edge of U2. I kid you not. I met an American journalist who managed to take a picture of them, who I will email when I get back to the states to see if I can get it from her. I also received inside information later that they are here in Fez recording a new album.
In other news, I bought a new camera yesterday, so there will be pictures eventually. I’m writing postcards, which will come.
I also bought shaving soap in the medina the other day that had a camel on it, and it made me smile. Conn people will understand.
Its hard living here, but I’m trying to take life one day at a time.
posted by Adrian's Fabulous Name Goes Here at 7:24 AM
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