"I almost thought you had forgotten the money." He handed me 250 Dirhams, our agreed upon price for the Arabic textbook Al-kitab 3. The two of us walked inside and approached my former roommate Daniel.
"We come full circle." He smiled as we shook hands.
I had forgotten that day in the summer of 2009 when I met him for the first time. He had walked up those same steps, greeted me, and then we walked down Avenue des FAR to our totally unfurnished shared apartment. Flashes of memories shot through my brain as I turned to greet the other English teachers preparing to leave for the nationwide conference.
Hassan Hassani inquired, "Are you going to Agadir, Chris?"
"No. I just came to say 'goodbye'," I replied.
"Who's going to gamble, win, and buy me beers this year then?"
I turned to Mike, "Maybe this guy will....how much did I win again?"
Without batting an eyelash Hassani responded, "700 Dirhams." Mike nodded, impressed.
Chelsea, the last remaining American teacher, arrived porting a winter cap, scarf and large coat. "It's like the Arctic out there."
I smiled, looking outside at the 50 F weather and thinking of all the Facebook blizzard status updates from my Philadelphia friends this week.
I gave each of them a hug and shared the usual parting banalities, with more or less seriousness.
My almost two years in Meknes are drawing to a close. On Sunday I will take the same train west, and on Tuesday I will leave Morocco. It has become almost a biannual tradition for me to leave a place, its people, its institutions, and its customs. It's always bitter-sweet. To abandon what you know is to prune yourself of some of your best foliage, but it's also an opportunity for relationships, knowledge, and activities to grow back stronger and fuller.
The Moroccan teachers had filtered through the line and out to the tracks, leaving the three Americans behind. I said one final goodbye, turned, and walked down the steps of the Meknes train station, along the park, and onto Avenue des FAR towards home, this time alone.
I gave each of them a hug and shared the usual parting banalities, with more or less seriousness.
My almost two years in Meknes are drawing to a close. On Sunday I will take the same train west, and on Tuesday I will leave Morocco. It has become almost a biannual tradition for me to leave a place, its people, its institutions, and its customs. It's always bitter-sweet. To abandon what you know is to prune yourself of some of your best foliage, but it's also an opportunity for relationships, knowledge, and activities to grow back stronger and fuller.
The Moroccan teachers had filtered through the line and out to the tracks, leaving the three Americans behind. I said one final goodbye, turned, and walked down the steps of the Meknes train station, along the park, and onto Avenue des FAR towards home, this time alone.
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