A Small Favor

In my favorite cafe, there are only two positions women are eligible for: cleaning and manning (womanning?) the cash register. This is par for the course--men make the coffee and serve it; women keep track of the money to pay for the coffee and tidy up the mess coffee-drinkers make. In both cases, the women work either the morning shift (till 2:30 PM or so) or the afternoon/evening shift (till closing).

Today Safae was working the morning shift. A pale, petite Moroccan, she wears the headscarf when it's cold, studies English at Moulay Ismail University, and rolls her eyes at the men's incessant joking. Occasionally, she even participates. Mostly though, she just observes, always ready to adjudicate a waiter's sanity for me. When things get out of hand, she lifts her right hand to her head and rolls her wrist, mouthing the word "7ma9" ("crazy") to me, as she glances askance at the guilty waiter.

Today, during a lull in the playfulness, Safae approached my table and, speaking in English, asked me a favor.

"For my class at the university I have to write a paper about Hamlet. Have you read it?"

"Yes," I replied cautiously.

"I haven't. Could you write me a summary of the plot?"

I flashed back to my high school days. The majority of my class didn't read Hamlet either; they read the Sparknotes. "You know there are good summaries online," I replied.

"Yes, I know. But every time I copy something from the internet the professor knows and gives me a zero."

At that point, I switched to Darija, "I can help you with something you don't understand. I'd even be happy to revise something you write. But I'm not going to do your homework for you."

She looked around and then responded in English, restating her favor. I responded in Darija again. What followed was, if my memory serves me right, my first public argument in Darija.

If her embarrassed retreat to the cash register serves as any indication, I do believe I won.

A Regular

After vacation I walked in my favorite local cafe. I said hello to the server as we made eye contact, "Peace be upon you."

"And upon you peace."

He headed to the counter, his tray full with dirty glasses and cups. I sat down and pulled out The Economist.

A minute or so later I saw him approaching out of the corner of my eye. I lifted my head to order, "Half..."

He laid down a half and half. "To your health."

"God give you health."

He turned and walked away.

I smiled and began to sip my coffee.

Coffee With My Class

My Proficiency class had no syllabus this semester--I made up the curriculum as I went along. A benefit of this set-up was that I could write my own final. I chose to make the combined score of their final presentation and their last essay count as their final grade, thus freeing up our last class session. So instead of meeting the last session, we went to a local cafe to chat in English.

The entire experience was very encouraging for me. After a number of discouraging events and encounters recently, it was great to talk with highly educated, highly motivated Moroccan youth.

One of my students, who speaks English very well and who also, incidentally, wears the head scarf, told me her goal is to eventually become CEO of an important Moroccan company. Another wants to go to France or the US for graduate studies. One student, in her essays and her speeches, has outlined what Morocco needs to do to improve the situation of women. Another has spoken eloquently about the beauty of Morocco and the pride all Moroccans should feel for it...and what that pride should entail in their daily life.

One thing I found a bit strange about our weekend coffee was the meeting place. I asked them where they wanted to meet, and the consensus pick was the local supermarket complex. This surprised me. There are dozens of excellent cafes in Meknes, but my students wanted to go to a cafe above the supermarket, filled with shabby green chairs and dirty tables.

I asked them why they wanted to meet there, and they told me that it was the most comfortable for the girls in the class. All the traditional cafes are filled with older men or couples. The environment created by the Western setup made it more friendly to a group of young individuals, male and female.

It's a similar story with McDonalds. In these places, designed with Western standards, there is a space for non-traditional interactions between the genders. More and more Moroccans grow up with an expectation that these sort of interactions and relationships are possible...but only in certain spaces: Western restaurant chains, supermarkets, and malls.

A Beautiful Sunday

I teach at 3 PM on Sundays, usually the quietest day of the week here.

Today, after taking care of some things around the house, I went to my favorite newsstand and picked up "The Economist" and "Tel Quel", a liberal, French-language Moroccan weekly.

Then I made my way over to one of the fancier cafes in town, the Salamanca (I guess "Spanish" = "fancy" here). I sat down on the front row of tables and chairs, facing the large plaza and park next to Ciy Hall.

As the waiter approached, I decided to preempt his French, "Salaamu 'Alaykum". A smile lit up his face and his attitude changed from seriousness to playfulness. In Arabic I ordered a cafe latte and then asked if they had Marakshias, my favorite local pastry. He smiled again, "Why, of course we do."

A little later he brought out the coffee and pastry, along with the tap water that accompanies every hot drink here in Morocco. He asked where I was from and we chatted a bit in Arabic.

Smiling, I opened "The Economist", and sipping my coffee, I began to read in the Moroccan sunlight.

Catching a Game

My roommate Daniel is a huge soccer fan. He played in high school and college, and since then he has found it very useful for developing relationships in his time abroad in Brazil, Vietnam and France.

My experience has been similar. When I learned how to talk soccer, door after door began to be opened. I can't claim to be nearly as talented as Daniel or to possess his knowledge of the sport, but the desire is there.

So, last night, I readily consented when Daniel asked if I wanted to go to a cafe to watch the Barcelona - Zaragoza match on TV. We set out intending to look far and wide to find a cafe showing the game, but we didn't have to go any farther than the cafe on the corner of our street. In Morocco, the biggest soccer game of the year is the Real Madrid - Barcelona game, and almost every adult male is a rabid supporter of one of the two clubs. So most cafes show all the regular season games on their big screens.

I found the coverage of the game quite interesting. The commentary here is generally in Fusha, the modern standard form of Arabic. So if a Moroccan hasn't completed his education (as is the case with many Moroccans), he can't understand follow it as we might John Madden and Pat Summerall discussing American football.

What was even stranger was the halftime show. The main commentator spoke in Fusha, but the guest expert was actually Spanish. He responded to the questions in Spanish and his responses were dubbed over in Fusha. I have no idea if he was reading a translation of the questions or if he spoke Arabic or what. But it gave the halftime discussion a really strange dynamic, like a much more boring version of an old Jackie Chan movie.

Barcelona was up 4-1 late in the game when one of the Moroccans near us leaned over and struck up a conversation in English. His English was not perfect, but pretty good. We tried to say a few things in Arabic and French, but mostly we talked in English. The last twenty minutes of the game or so, we talked about soccer and Meknes and traveling (he claims that he is the only Moroccan ever crazy enough to travel to Algeria for a vacation; not only is it a dangerous place, it also has very poor relations with Morocco). He also mentioned a soccer league that he plays in around town; Daniel sounded very interested. As we left the cafe after the game (Barcelona won 6-1), we discovered that he lives in the building right next to us. In typical Moroccan hospitality, he said that if we needed absolutely anything we should just let him know.

In the next few weeks, I think Daniel and I will be taking him up on his offer and asking more about that soccer league.