I Don't Have A Lot Of Money

I think I've finally gotten used to Moroccans figuring that I have a lot of money. Certainly there are other non-Moroccans, including citizens of the USA, here in Morocco who spend more money than I do on my relatively meager budget as a PCV.

Last week, after I left my friend's apartment in a town near Marrakech, I briefly visited the mountain town of Imlil. From Imlil, ambitious hikers launch their attempts at climbing Mount Toubkal, which, at over 13,000 feet, is the highest peak not only in Morocco but in all of North Africa.

As a sidebar, for those of you who know me fairly well, and know that I love to hike, to answer the question which might have just arisen in your minds, no, I didn't hike to the top of Mount Toubkal. I hadn't been doing training hikes to prepare for a multi-day hike involving such distance and elevation gain. Furthermore, I wouldn't have been able to buy enough food to provide the energy necessary to complete such a strenuous hike.

But I still wanted to get a bit closer to the mountains. I've enjoyed fantastic views of the High Atlas mountains many times whilst on the bus from Ouarzazate to Marrakech, especially in the vicinity of the Tichka Pass. I've been grateful that I can enjoy repeatedly such sweeping panoramic views here in Morocco.

So after leaving my friend's apartment about an hour from Marrakech, I took a taxi down to Imlil. I found a restaurant there in Imlil where I got a scrambled egg sandwich for 10 dirhams. Soon after I ate lunch, I headed back to the grand taxi stand to catch a taxi back to Marrakech. Insofar as I arrived back at the taxi stand during lunchtime, I had to wait for a taxi to Marrakech to fill up. During lunchtime, fewer people are taking taxis since they're at home eating. As I was sitting at the taxi stand, waiting for five other people to show up to fill a taxi with me, the taxi driver told me I could pay for all six spots to Marrakech and ride just with him to Marrakech. Other taxi drivers in other locations here in Morocco have also suggested that option to me when I've been waiting for a taxi to fill up. I imagine that other folks from the USA visiting Morocco have probably bought out the other seats in taxis. I suspect that that's why grand taxi drivers suggest the idea to me as I wait for a taxi to fill up. I suppose I often have the money to do so. However, I don't have a lot of money to spare. So it would strain my resources to pay for all six seats and ride the taxi with just the driver, so I don't do it.

Another instance during my recent travels when a Moroccan has seemed to think that I've got a lot of money to burn: I spent some time last week in the town of Sidi Ifni, on the Atlantic coast. It's a quiet beach town, much of which is set up high on some cliffs. Being on the coast, it was usually cool, which was a welcome respite from the heat in the town in which I live down in the Sahara. A mool-hanoot (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery storekeeper") in Sidi Ifni as much as acknowledged the pleasant difference in climate soon after he started asking me some basic questions about myself. I told him that I've lived here in Morocco since September 2010, but that I live several hours south of Marrakech, in the Sahara. He opined that the climate is much nicer and more hospitable in Sidi Ifni than in Ouarzazate. He then suggested that I consider renting an apartment in Sidi Ifni rather than staying in a hotel in Sidi Ifni. He told me thst I could rent an apartment in Sidi Ifni for 2000 dirhams per month. I calmly told him that I didn't have that much money. Again, there probably have been other foreigners who have spent a lot more in Sidi Ifni than I did. So I understand why he may have thought I could afford to pay that much to rent an apartment.

And another instance on this most recent trip when I thought that a Moroccan may have figured that I had a lot to spend: on my way north from Sidi Ifni, the bus on which I was traveling stopped in the town of Tiznit to drop off and pick up passengers. It either made a second stop in Tiznit, or a stop just north of Tiznit, at a gas station which had a plaza with a couple of restaurants. Normally I don't get out and eat lunch at such places where the bus stops. When I was just in Tiznit, though, we were stopped in the middle of the lunch hour. I also knew I wasn't going to get another chance to eat lunch until I arrived in the city of Agadir. So I got off the bus to check out the lunch options.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that I could buy a quarter kilogram of grilled ground meat for a scant 8 dirhams. Immediately I ordered the quarter kilo of meat. After I'd ordered it, I thought about how I'd need some carbohydrates along with the bread to avoid digestive difficulties. When the waiter brought my grilled meat, I asked him if I could have some bread with the meat. He brought me a small round loaf of bread. I asked him how much for the bread; he made a motion with his hand which I took to mean that it was complimentary with the grilled meat. When lunch places here serve bread with lunch, it's typically for no charge. In any event, the waiter didn't tell me any number in response to my question. I used the bread as a pita, filling it with the grilled meat, onions, tomatoes and parsley I'd been served.

When I'd finished eating, and went to pay, the cashier asked me what I'd had. I told him I'd ordered a quarter kilo of meat. He asked another restaurant worker, who told him I'd had a sandwich. The cashier told me it was 30 dirhams. Not pointing out how the sandwiches ran only up to 20 dirhams, I pointed to where the menu said that a quarter kilo of meat was 8 dirhams. He told me I'd had a sandwich, and then told me I had to pay 24 dirhams. I explained how I ordered a quarter kilo of meat, then asked the waiter how much the bread was, and how he had seemed to say that the bread was included with the meal I'd ordered. I left the 8 dirhams on the counter and walked back to the bus.

I certainly can imagine how the cashier could have had a similar conversation with a Moroccan who could order a quarter kilo of meat, ask for bread, make a sandwich with it, be seen eating a sandwich, and then be told that he'd had a sandwich, and be quoted the price for a sandwich. However, I suspect that I was being treated differently than Moroccans, because the cashier told me I had to pay prices for sandwiches which weren't on the menu.

I can understand being perceived as having more money than many Moroccans. I'm less accepting of being quoted prices more than Moroccans are given. I've come to the conclusion that perceptions are one thing; often it's reasonable to have certain perceptions. What people do with those perceptions is another story, and often reflect the values of the people with those perceptions.

Turn Off The TV

As I've mentioned, this week I've been spending time with brand new PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) who have just started living close to me down here in the Sahara. One of them, a man, lives here in the same town as me; the other, a woman, lives a half dozen kilometers south of us.

Yesterday we were walking through her village, getting to know members of her community and visiting apartments which she could potentially rent. She informed my site mate, who is the other PCV living in the same town as me, and I, that we had been invited to someone's house in her community for lunch. We arrived at his home at noon, which is early compared to when Moroccans usually eat lunch, typically around 2:00 p.m. First we were treated to tea and cookies, followed by a meal of couscous, vegetables and beef, both of which as the television was playing different movies made in the US. In retrospect, I concluded that the TV had been rather distracting; or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that we let it distract us.

In any event, after we left our host's home, we continued walking around her village. She spotted a building which she suspected contained an apartment. We asked some people nearby where we could find the landlord, and got directed to his home. We were welcomed into his home. Soon after we sat down, our hosts served us tea. Then I heard our host say that it was time for lunch. We had actually arrived at his house right at the typical lunch hour, a little after 2:00 p.m. Consequently, we were served individual servings of diced tomato, onions and green peppers. There were also a couple plates of sliced cucumbers on the low, round table around which we were sitting, as well as a couple of plates of lettuce. And of course there was the main communal dish. In it during this particular meal was beef topped with French fries, all sitting in a delectable oily sauce in which we dipped pieces of bread, which we also used to grab fries and pieces of meat for ourselves.

During our stay at this second house, we were talking a lot with our hosts, a father and mother, a couple of their daughters, and a couple of their sons. As PCVs, we were explaining the Peace Corps to them. The father was telling us how he had traveled to a variety of countries in the Arab world. We were asking and telling each other our ages. One of the sons was smiling and laughing a lot, so I joked with him that he could be a teacher of smiling and laughing. After we had been there at their home for a while, feeling so comfortable, and greatly enjoying their company, I suddenly realized that there was no TV in the room. I noted its absence first to my fellow PCVs. Then I told our hosts that because there was no TV in the room, we had been getting to know each other much better than if there had been a TV in the room. I left their home grateful to have met them, having immensely enjoyed the time with them, and appreciative also that they didn't have a TV on where we had been dining with them!

The Luxury of ATMs in My Town

In writing my blog, I've been trying to think of things in my life which, for various reasons, don't even strike me as noteworthy, but which would interest folks living in the USA. I've been asking myself this question since my family and friends back in the USA have said to me that they want to be able to visualize my life here in Morocco, and learn about Morocco. It was in this line of inquiry that it recently occurred to me that I should mention ATMs (and, yes, this acronym does, in fact, stand for the same things which you almost certainly just envisioned, "automatic teller machines").

Not every PCV in Morocco has an ATM in his or her town, and there are certainly PCVs posted in other countries who don't have ATMs in their towns. I'm fortunate to have two ATMs in my town, which has a population probably of around 9,000 people living in it. When you add in the people living in the surrounding douars (villages), that figure probably rises to over 20,000 people living in the immediate, contiguous area, to provide a little context for my commentary here.

Thus, I think that I have a couple of ATMs in my town because of the size of my town. By contrast, my friend Ben, living in a smaller, nearby town, has no ATMs in his town of less than 5,000.

Last night, Ben was here in my town, since he needed to stay overnight at my apartment on his way up north. We went out in the early evening, first to a cafe, where we ordered a couple of small pizzas. Given that the cafe worker said that the pizzas wouldn't be ready for another hour, Ben suggested we go for a walk. I suggested this particular hill here in town, which is fairly close to that cafe where we ordered the pizzas, and which I visit from time to time for some pleasing views. We completed the short walk to and up the hill in perhaps ten minutes. As we sat on top of the hill, we were enjoying our view of the town and the palmerie, the huge grove of palm trees which extends through and beyond the town on both sides, as the sun was setting. We were talking about a variety of things: the hike we had done months ago to the top of a mountain here in town; what we could see from the top of the hill on which we were currently sitting; and how often we leave our towns. He explained to me that he always has to leave his town at least once every four weeks, to withdraw cash at an ATM, to be able to pay his rent and his other monthly expenses. I can count ATMs among the conveniences which I have here in my town, which I wouldn't have had, had I been placed in a different site here in Morocco.

However, I also thought of blogging about ATMs for another reason other than that they are a convenience I have here in my town. A few blog entries ago, I had mentioned that Moroccans tend not to stand in lines when they go to a store. People just walk up to the store and ask for what they want, regardless of whether there are people already standing there, rather than forming a line. However, Moroccans do stand in lines when waiting to use ATMs. I find it an interesting exception to the general practice concerning lines, or lack thereof, in Morocco.

Epiphany

This morning I got a phone call from Stan, my site mate (that is, the other PCV, or Peace Corps Volunteer, who also lives in my site, or town), asking me to meet him and his host father at an apartment they were visiting to see if perhaps Stan might move into it. Stan had previously said to me that he felt that I could help in translating for him when he goes to look at apartments, since I know more Darija than he does. So I got up and went to meet Stan and his host father. Given that the apartment was only a few blocks away from my apartment, I didn't have to walk far to meet them.

The apparent owner showed us into the apartment. First he brought us into a carpeted room with many pillows on the floor, common in Morocco. We all removed our shoes, as one typically does when stepping into a carpeted room in a Moroccan home. He offered tea and pastries to Stan and me. I appreciated that he asked if I wanted tea with or without sugar. Given that Moroccans typically sweeten their tea more than I like, I asked for tea without sugar.

Moroccans typically sit down with the person with whom they might potentially do business, and have tea and something accompanying it, like pastries in this case, or perhaps peanuts, before getting down to business. So, once I had had some tea and a pastry, we stood up and left that room, and went to see and discuss the rest of the apartment.

Though at this point, I must clarify that it turned out to not be an apartment, but rather two rooms in the apparent owner's home, unseparated from the rest of the house. In one of the rooms, a doorway with no door in it, and the shape of a window, with no window in it, led from the space which the owner wanted to rent, into the space which would not be rented. He said he would complete the wall so that the doorway and the window would be closed up and filled up by a wall.

Although this arrangement seemed a bit sketchy to me, Stan requested that I ask the apparent owner how much he wanted to charge for rent. The apparent owner replied with a rate that was more than twice the usual amount of rent for an apartment here in town. Given that the Peace Corps sets a ceiling for the amount of rent money they'll give us PCVs to pay our rent, and that this proposed rent amount was well above that ceiling, a counter-bargain clearly had to be forthcoming if Stan was going to rent this space. So he asked me to tell the apparent owner that because I rent an apartment with four rooms, that he would pay a certain amount he suggested, which was less than what I pay for my apartment. I can't say that I was surprised that this particular logic was not successful with this particular man who was showing us this space for rent, because he initially proposed such a high amount of rent. Essentially I felt that today provided another instance of how some Moroccans try to charge more for something when they are interacting with someone from the USA.

So, in the end, we left the building without having found someplace for Stan to rent. We walked along until we reached the main road, where we ran into a Moroccan teacher I had met a few months ago. He organized the festival of student talent, which I had briefly mentioned in my first blog entry in June of this year, with a PCV who lives in the town where he lives. It was good to see him. Notably, he speaks English fairly well. So, the vast majority of our conversation with him was in English. We spoke about a variety of topics, including some projects involving youth on which he has worked. At one point, when we were discussing development work, he said that he feels that it is more important for students to develop skills and abilities than it is for a community to receive gifts of money and property. I thanked him for acknowledging the value of developing oneself as compared with receiving cash and goods. It encourages me when I interact with Moroccans, certainly including Moroccan teachers, who recognize and express this principle.

I also enjoyed his easygoing, welcoming, familiar and jocular manner. At one point, he said to Stan and me that you don't see a lot of dogs in Morocco. He said that Moroccans are not fond of dogs, so that they don't treat them that well.

Then he said to us,

"OK, I'm going to tell you a joke.

So there was this exchange program between Morocco and the USA. A Moroccan dog went to the USA for a year, and an American dog came to Morocco for a year. After the year was over, the two dogs met in the airport in Casablanca.

The American dog asked the Moroccan dog, 'So, what did you think of the US?'

The Moroccan dog replied, 'It's a great place. There is a lot of beautiful scenery; there is a lot of diversity, people of many different origins, like Japanese, Mexican, Irish. So, yes, it was very interesting.' The Moroccan dog then asked the American dog, 'So, what did you think of Morocco?'

The American dog replied, 'You know, I never realized that I was a dog until I came to Morocco.'"