A Bus Ride In Morocco

Recently on my way back to the town where I live here in the Sahara, I was trying to catch a bus south from Marrakech. I went to the CTM bus station, but found that both of the CTM buses out of Marrakech which would be headed down here were already full. I walked to the SupraTours bus station, but soon learned that the SupraTours bus south to the Sahara was also full. Accordingly, I went to the main bus station there in Marrakech, where I was able to get on a bus back south. At the main bus station, one catches buses less fancy than CTM buses and SupraTours buses. The buses are older and generally less comfortable. PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) refer to these buses as "souq buses," because the driver will let you off wherever you like; thus you can take these buses to the souq, or the farmer's market, whereas CTM buses and SupraTours buses generally won't make special stops for you such as at the farmer's market. 

Once I'd gotten my bus ticket, I found my bus and boarded it. When I ride buses here in Morocco, if I can, I always sit in the row furthest back. On the route I travel south from Marrakech back to the town where I live here in the Sahara, the buses go through the High Atlas mountains, and over the Tichka Pass. The buses make many turns on this curvy route. Consequently many people get motion sickness and become nauseous and end up vomiting. Given that I both don't get motion sickness, and given that I also don't want anyone sitting behind me potentially vomiting on me, I always sit in the row furthest back if there's an empty seat there for me. Thus on this particular day, I was sitting all the way in the back of the bus. Admittedly the spot where I was sitting didn't look that comfortable. Thus the Moroccan man sitting across the aisle from me asked me if I was sitting in a good seat. I replied in Darija, that is, in Moroccan Arabic, that it wasn't a good seat, but that I was a little insane. One is always likely to elicit a laugh if one insinuates that one is crazy. Accordingly, the man laughed, and, as people here do when they think that someone has made a good joke, he shook my hand.

Soon after we had this laugh, we were visited by some folks on the bus who did not end up traveling with us. Moroccans who are not traveling walk onto these less fancy buses and peddle different things, most commonly bottles of water, snacks, shoes and jewelry. Moroccans also walk onto the buses asking for alms. After I'd boarded this bus, there was quite a while until we were going to leave. Thus multiple people boarded the bus trying to sell their various items.

At one point the Moroccan man sitting across the aisle from me was surrounded by four kids, seemingly about eight to twelve years old. They were trying to sell him different things, which I believe included water and gum. Noting the little gathering around him, I suggested to him in Darija, "It's a little market here on the bus." Later, after the kids had left, I joked with him that if someone has to go shopping, he or she doesn't have to go to a hanoot, which is Darija for "grocery store." Rather, all someone has to do is board a souq bus and sit there for a little while before it leaves, and someone can do all of his or her shopping there on the bus. Of course, I exaggerate. One can't buy anything and everything from the folks who board trying to peddle their goods. For example, after my comment that being aboard a souq bus just before it leaves is like being at the market, that fellow sitting across the aisle from me noted that no one had come aboard the bus trying to sell vegetables.

And indeed, people are limited in how many different types of things they can sell on the buses partly due to time constraints. After a while, we were off on our way south from Marrakech and on to the High Atlas mountains. When we were passing through some of the highest spots on that road, I was pleased to yet again spot a waterfall, despite it being so long since the winter, thus with presumably less melting snow to feed a waterfall. Thus I was happy that day not only to get in some good laughs, sharing some humor with one of my fellow passengers, but I was also glad to get to enjoy some natural beauty on my way back south to the Sahara.

Keeping Cool In The Sahara

Here in Morocco, people tend to keep their front doors and street-level front windows shuttered most of the time for privacy. Since the Sahara summer heat set in, I can't help but get the impression that a few people have started opening their front doors and front windows, presumably to give a little relief from the heat.

During the summer I always keep my windows open when I'm in town. Since it's always darker in my front room than it is outside, people can never see into my apartment, even at night. There's a floodlight directly over the front door of my apartment, so even at night people can't see into my apartment, since it's still brighter outside than it is inside my apartment.

I'll deal with the dust which blows into the apartment, because it really is much more comfortable in the apartment when the windows are open. Moroccans often throw water onto the dirt in front of their homes, to prevent it from blowing into their homes. That's one way to try to prevent the dust and dirt from coming inside.

In addition to keeping the windows open, I've also been keeping cool by taking slightly cool showers. I'm certainly grateful that I have a shower in my apartment! Given how feebly the water trickles out of it, I don't feel bad about taking as many showers as I take, since I'm not using a lot of water when I shower! And at the meager rate of 2.37 dirhams per cubic meter (about 19 cents per cubic meter), after taxes and fees, my water bill runs around 50 dirhams, or around 6 dollars, for each three-month period. Usually I've split the water bill with whatever neighbor I've had in the apartment building. My most recent neighbor, who had been teaching French at the local primary school, got his transfer approved to a school out west on the coast, and he moved there, so I'm back to living in the building by myself. Even paying the water bill by myself, it's still easily a manageable expense! So I'm certainly thankful to God that I have running water and can take cool showers in this heat!

Summer In The Sahara

Down here in the town where I live in the Sahara, the summer is in full swing. I haven't been here for a significant part of it, since I was traveling, and then I was off working in cooler, coastal climates. Given that I've used up all of my vacation time, and that I didn't set up any work outside of town for right now, I'm here in town for the time being.

The dar shebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center") is closed for part of the summer, so I'm currently working very little. I've been spending much of my copious free time reading, which I've been enjoying. I'm currently reading, among other volumes, an anthology of Christian poetry which includes works by Sir Walter Raleigh, William Blake, Longfellow, Tennyson, Christina Rossetti, Emily Dickinson, T.S. Eliot and Edna St. Vincent Millay.

It helps to have something sedentary to occupy one's time. I've found that I don't have to move around a lot to start sweating in this heat! Even if I stay relatively still, nevertheless I start sweating, but at least I avoid sweating for a little while!

It's remarkable what a difference not many degrees can make. In the last week or so, at one point it was 98° Fahrenheit in my apartment. I was sweating profusely in such heat. In the summer, but especially in the highest temperatures, I've been utilizing my fridge and freezer a lot, letting water almost freeze and then drinking it. But in the last few days, the temperature has been inexplicably dropping. This morning it dipped below 91° in my apartment, and it's often been 93°. Even though the temperatures are still in the nineties, I'm finding the heat to be much less oppressive!

Electricity and Running Water

I count electricity and running water among the blessings I have in my apartment. Knowing that not all PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) around the world have electricity and running water, I feel grateful.

When the water or electricity goes out, it's usually only been for a day or two at a time, at least thus far during my time here in my town. And that's only happened a few times since I've been living here. So I essentially always have electricity and running water, virtually without interruption.

Most of Morocco has potable water. Indeed, one of the places I go to pay my water bill is the ONEP office, or the "Office National d'Eau Potable," which is French for the "National Office of Drinkable Water." I also sometimes pay my water bill at the same place where I pay my electricity bill, at Espaces Services, a company which processes payments of utility bills.

Either my neighbor, Ahmed, or I pay our water and electricity bills. I have only one neighbor in my apartment building; Ahmed is a French teacher here in town. He also lives on the first floor, right across the hall from me. Ahmed and I split both the water bill and the electricity bill, so we each pay half of each bill.

Last week, I went to pay the electricity bill at the Espaces Services office. By now, I've started to get a little bit better at positioning myself when I go to buy something at a store or pay a bill at an office. When I went to the Espaces Services office the other day, there was another guy standing in the office, and the woman working behind the counter had a few bills in her hand which it appeared she was processing. I walked right up to the window, rather than standing behind him, to avoid the risk that someone else would walk in past me up to the window. When another man walked into the office, I stuck my bill in through the window, so that he wouldn't stick his bill in through the window, so I wouldn't have to wait until he had paid his bill.

It has taken me a little while to get used to this practice of not forming lines in stores and offices here in Morocco. Not what I would do in the USA, but, obviously, I'm not in the USA!

How To Get Repeat Customers

Arriving in Marrakech today, I was exhausted. When I exited the bus station, I saw some vendors selling fresh-squeezed orange juice. Thinking about how exhausted I was, and how I didn't think I'd want to venture out later for fresh squeezed orange juice like I usually do in Marrakech, I thought that perhaps I should just enjoy some orange juice right away, there adjacent to the bus station. So I asked one of the vendors if his orange juice had sugar. He said it didn't. Later I realized that if an orange juice vendor in Marrakech pours the orange juice immediately out of a pitcher for you, it probably is adulterated, since many fresh squeezed orange juice vendors in Marrakech add water and sugar to the orange juice they sell. (Keep in mind that Moroccans add sugar to many of their drinks).

Dissatisfied with the orange juice I drank at that stand adjacent to the bus station, later in the day I went to a stand I had patronized weeks ago, where the young vendor actually had squeezed the oranges for me while I waited. Today when I approached his stand, I gestured to the pitcher, and asked him in Arabic if there was sugar in it. He replied that yes, there was a little sugar in it. I asked him for some orange juice without sugar in it. He proceeded to squeeze the oranges for me while I waited. And that's why I'm going to keep going back and giving him business.

Thunder and Lightning

It rained in my town over the winter. And in the spring. Never a lot. If you go by the definition of a desert as receiving less than 10 inches of rain per year, then I live in a desert, which, as you probably already know, is the Sahara.

I talked with this one guy in Marrakech months ago and when I told him in which town I live, and that it's in the Sahara, he replied that my town is not in the Sahara. And then he mentioned the name of a town where the landscape turns to nothing but sand and human construction ends, and he told me that that's the desert. However, according to the definition of a desert which is delineated by the amount of rainfall, I live in the Sahara.

But I digress. As I had been saying, it rained in the winter and spring. I had been figuring that now that the summer has arrived, we wouldn't have any more rain until the end of the year, if not the beginning of next year. I was teaching an English class with one of my better students recently, when I then saw that it was raining. Since I hadn't been expecting rain, I was definitely surprised. I used the occasion to introduce him to the phrase "I couldn't believe my eyes."

Something else I didn't expect in connection with the rain here: thunder and lightning. While I grew up experiencing thunder and lightning, there wasn't any in California, where I lived right before I moved here to Morocco, so I had been missing it when I lived in California. And, since I had been missing it, I enjoy it now when I get to experience it.

In addition to being unexpected, the rain now is a welcome relief from the heat. While I haven't been finding the heat oppressive, the rain is nevertheless refreshing, since it cools things down. Indeed, these days, when it starts raining, I'm often glad if I happen to be outside because then some of the drops fall on me and help me to cool off a little bit.

At the same time, though, the heat hasn't been bothering me very much, I think partially because I was expecting it to be hotter by now. I mentioned to a friend who's another PCV in Morocco, who's in his second year of service, that I'm surprised when I suddenly realize that my back is drenched in sweat. He replied, "So the heat is affecting your body more than your psyche." I thought that that was a good way of putting it, which also adeptly described how the heat affects me where I live.

But to look at another facet of the heat in my life now, though, I must admit that I sometimes now decide not to go outside because it's hot out. So while I haven't been finding the heat unbearable, I also wouldn't say that it has been having no effect on me.

Of course, I certainly have been drinking more water lately. With the guidance we have received from Peace Corps medical staff, I know that I've been drinking enough water. I just find it remarkable when I drink gulps and gulps of water one after another. And that despite how much water I drink, I urinate only a little. However, I know that both of these phenomena are due to how much I'm sweating out of me. Knowing that I am sweating as much as I am, I consequently and consciously drink a lot of water. Even though the heat hasn't been as bad as I expected it to be, I still am respecting the desert and the attendant heat, and taking care of myself accordingly.

Cold Showers and Squat Toilets

In the last few weeks, it has gotten a little bit hotter at my site here in the Sahara Desert. So I have been enjoying cold showers more than I previously had been enjoying them.

Which brings me to the bathroom I have in my apartment. I am fortunate enough to have a shower in my apartment. While the shower head and shower cord seem fairly old, causing the water to fall out of the shower head as well as be propelled weakly out, I am just grateful to even have a shower at all!

The water from the shower runs onto the floor of the bathroom, which is tiled like walls of showers in the USA are tiled. The water from the shower then makes its way to the drain in the toilet, which is immediately adjacent to the shower. However, unlike the toilets most commonly seen in the USA, in the bathroom in my apartment is a squat toilet. The squat toilet is a square of porcelain a couple of feet wide on each side. It has a couple of grooved foot pads, on which you can step and stand while you use the toilet, which are parallel to, and at the same height as, the floor. The porcelain in the rest of the squat toilet slopes downward toward the drain in the squat toilet. As most of you probably already know, there is no seat; one uses it by squatting over it, rather than sitting as in the USA. And one "flushes" it by pouring a bucket of water into the drain in the middle of the squat toilet.

Earlier this month, while taking a shower, the thing I had most feared for months finally happened: I dropped the bar of soap. While that isn't necessarily a problem when it happens, it can be, given that the shower is so close to the squat toilet, and that the shower water drains into the squat toilet. I turned around just in time to see the bar of soap disappearing from view as it descended into the drain. The next thing I thought was, "Well, that's one bar of soap that I'll never see again."

Road Show

This past weekend, I went on a bicycle trek with a half dozen other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers), a Moroccan counterpart of mine, who is a high school sports teacher, and a half dozen other Moroccans. We rode our bicycles to surrounding villages nearby my town to educate local community members and play sports with local youths. One other PCV, Hanna, was a Health PCV; one other PCV, Jeff, was a SBD (Small Business Development) PCV. Both of them speak Berber, which is helpful, as many people speak Berber in this region. The rest of us PCVs on the bike trek, Katy, Molly, Ben, Olivia and I, were YD (Youth Development) PCVs.

I should first note that my counterpart has done this bicycle trek multiple times in past years. So, I was working with the benefit of this event having previously happened.

However, I still wanted to make sure that certain logistics had been addressed. For example, in helping my counterpart plan this activity, I asked if there would be places to stop for water along the way. Since I found that there were not any businesses along the route, I accordingly told PCVs to bring along sufficient water and snacks for the ride.

We started out this past Saturday morning on our bicycles. Before we had gone a few hundred meters, the vast majority of the houses started to just be houses made of mud and straw. After a couple of kilometers, there were virtually no businesses, except for an occasional one where one could buy credit for one's cell phone. After a few kilometers from the start of the ride, we stopped in a douar (outlying village). The two PCVs who speak Berber did presentations on hand washing and toothbrushing to Moroccan kids who are probably three, four and five years old. These kids are so cute, and I was so glad that we were helping them given how impoverished they are, that I had to keep myself from starting to cry while those presentations were being done. In that village, the female PCVs, thus including the Health PCV, met with local women about women's health issues.

After eating lunch in that village, we continued on our bicycles. We rode for a good deal of the afternoon. Finally we arrived at our destination, a beautiful gorge near another village. We camped in the gorge. The next morning, after having breakfast in the gorge, we hiked back up out of the gorge to the village.

In the village, we played some sports with some of the local youths there, including playing frisbee. PCVs and Moroccans split the kids into groups, so we had a few different groups of kids doing different activities at the same time. At one point, my Moroccan counterpart sports teacher was playing volleyball with some kids, though without a net.

A little later, we had lunch in that village. After lunch, the female PCVs again met with local women to educate them about women's health issues. There is no hospital, or even a clinic, in either of these villages we visited, so it seemed helpful that the female PCVs conducted these women's health education sessions.

After these educational sessions, all of us on the bike trek rode our bicycles back to my town. I was happy that we got to help some people living a little further away from resources in the area.