So today was the day that everyone has been dreading. We separate and go off to our own communities. Let me begin with, the only thing I had an issue was my luggage. I was not excited in the least to be lugging a huge duffle bag, a huge hiking backpack, a smaller backpack, my purse, and thanks to Peace Corps a whole new bag of textbooks. I appreciated that, thanks.
Due to some smart planning on a friend’s behalf, a few of us dropped off a couple bags at the bus station two hours early and then we enjoyed some egg sandwiches at our leisure.
So after saying some goodbyes- or see you later- a bunch of made our way to the bus station. We decided to splurge on the nicer bus because, frankly I think we didn’t want to walk all the way to the cheaper bus with all of our bags. So my goal was to make it to Tinghir where I would try to make a transit up to my site. However, because I was informed there might not be a transit, I mostly planned on staying the night with a friend and then heading up in the early morning.
Upon arriving in Tinghir, my friend and I were bombarded with men asking us if where we were going, if we were American, all that jazz. Though one man was very helpful, and helped me find my transit up to my site (luckily there was one). With that, we brought all my luggage over to the van, and then I had about two hours to spare before it left, so I helped my friend bring all her bags to her house. We made our way over there, was welcomed with open arms by her host mom, and enjoyed a great lunch.
Upon getting back to the transit van, I was told another volunteer was taking it as well, which was comforting. Another “Basu” (again, using his Berber name for his privacy reasons) will be living near me, so he had the same intentions as I did with heading up. So we all piled in, and I was encouraged to move up to the front seat so I would have a good view. The van was all men, and they were all intrigued and excited by our being there. Now, a tidbit about Basu- he had given the speech at our swearing in, so with that in mind, his language skills obviously exceed my own. So while he was making conversation swiftly, I myself, was not. Not that I didn’t understand or wasn’t able to talk at all; but it was obvious we were not on the same level. And these guys didn’t let me forget it. So obstacle number one: Language.
The 3 and a half hour ride up continued with questions, a guitar was even taken out for a while, and the obvious stop along the trail for tea time. I was growing tired (from everything) and when I stated the fact, the gentlemen next to me (who by the way, I’m pretty sure wants me to take him to America when I’m done here) offered to move to the back so I could have the whole front seat to sleep. Um, yes please. Then, I was offered a blanket to use as a pillow. This transit ride was catered to me. It would be like if Patrick and Conor were at my beck and call, and did everything I asked while we traveled, (that’d be the day).
Finally we reached Basu’s site. He collected all of his belongings, we said our goodbyes, and he was off. So all by myself, finally, with the four other men in my van, we headed towards my site. Towards my new life. So we’ve got conversation sort of flowing, the music’s going, and life is good. Life is good until I think I hear my phone ringing.
I check my pocket where I had my phone. Nothing.
I check the seat. Nothing
Get the panic button started up. Because my phone is nowhere to be found.
Then I look down and see a huge gap between the door and the rest of the car, and see the road flying by underneath it. Awesome.
So the driver realizes what’s going on, and then the two men behind me join in. We all scramble to look for my phone. We cannot find anything. The driver stops the van, we’re outside looking for it all over the taxi floor. It hits me then, that I remember hearing a thump when I turned around to say goodbye to Basu and I convey this to the men. So my driver asks me if I want to turn around and go back for it. First, I don’t want these guys to do this all for me. But secondly, I need my phone. It’s my only lifeline at this moment. So I say yes.
The men ask me my phone number, so I could call it. Now, usually the first thing your mom has you do as a child is remember your phone number just in case anything happens. DO IT. REMEMBER YOUR PHONE NUMBER. Because I did not. There’s like 10 numbers, and I don’t call myself. So they all think I’m crazy because I don’t remember my phone number and then it clicks I have my phone list somewhere in one of my bags. I find it, find my number, and we call it. Nothing. Walu.
I get Basu’s number, we call him, he didn’t see a phone but can go back and check, but as I’m on the phone with him- my phone is spotted on the side of the road. Thank Allah. We get out of the car, find the phone. Smashed. The screen is cracked and lighting up black and white. There is no keyboard, and it’s not even turning on. It’s over. Obstacle number two: things break.
Now at this moment I have a few thoughts running through my head. What the hell am I going to do now? How am I going to call anyone about getting my stuff done? Do I have the money to get a new phone? Where will I get a new phone? OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAPPEN TO ME. Ali is gonna freak out if he can’t get in touch with me for a few days (we’ll get to Ali another time, just go with it).
And then I just shut it all down and I have new thoughts. It’s just a phone. I can get another. Of course this would happen to me. My friends are going to love this story.
So we pile back into the van and discuss my options. The men agree I need a phone and are more than willing to help me get another. We go over prices (it’s about 250 Dh which is about roughly $31 and I know you’re thinking that’s awesome, but no- I needed this money for other things, but luckily I had some emergency cash saved up), and how they’ll be going back to Tinghir tomorrow and can pick me up a phone. Okay, that’s awesome. Then, the angel old man from the back mentions he knows someone in my town that might have a phone. WHAAAAAAAT??? OLD MAN, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN IN THIS CONVERSATION?!?!
Awesome. A new phone. Tonight. Let’s do it.
So one of the guys in the van and I decide that we’ll try and get me a new phone when I get into town. He’s come with me to make sure I get one and it works and all that jazz. Which I’m so thankful for. So we pull into my town, get out and run to this little tahanut. There’s four kids about 20-ish just chillin’ and then words are exchanged and one runs out. He comes back with a whole container or phones and we sort through them. And when I say we- I mean my new friend. These phones are about 600 Dh; which I do not have. So my friend tells this kid to go get a phone like the one I had, cheaper and not as fancy. He basically demands this kid to go find me a phone.
The kid comes back, with a phone like my nice broken one, and we decide to buy it. Yes, I have a phone. And it’s even a bit nicer than my first; by this I mean it’s grey instead of blue. With phone in hand, feeling accomplished, I head back to the transit and go to my house.
I asked the transit driver if he could drop me off in front of my house, he not only abides by that, he literally pulls up onto the dirt, all the way up to the front of my house until he cannot go any further. I’ve seriously been waited on hand and foot this entire ride. I obviously start dying laughing and tell him it’s fine, my family’s starting to come out of the house wondering what the hell is going on. The two guys heave all my bags out of the van, and start saying goodbye to me. Then, the one guy who had helped me with the phone tells me he has my phone number now. Obstacle number three: Moroccan men. He asks if that’s okay, and tells me he’s gonna call and see how I’m doing. Now, at this point, frankly I don’t care. I tell him it’s fine, he gives me a hug and kiss on the cheek and says goodbye.
I turn around to my family coming down the hill and saying hello and helping me with my bags back to the house. I follow, exhausted and spilling out what little Tam I have to communicate with. We enter my room, get it set up, and I slightly explain what happened and all the tales of my trip. My mom sorta laughs and then tells me to relax. They all leave, and I collapse on my bed.
Such is life in Morocco. Now, where’s my tea?
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