My buddy Olivia is going to walk into this café and we are going to HANG OUT.
This will be a quick post.
“Hanging out” is a concept very foreign to Moroccans. It’s quite difficult to explain, because one can hang out without doing anything or meeting anyone. One can also hang out with a bunch of people doing lots of things, or go to a popular hangout, or (you know) just…hang out. It’s a surprisingly nuanced concept, and I just googled it to justify my inability to adequately explain it to the Moroccan youth who are so curious about English.
(insert a few hours of hanging out with Olivia, who is awesome).
I’m sitting in one of the cafés in the Rabat train station, which is pretty much the only source of reliable internet in this entire city. They’re playing a Lenny Kravitz/Jack Johnson mix turned up to drown out the trains. I’m attempting to write things (coherent academic things), but it’s about 9,984 degrees CELSIUS and humid and I keep getting distracted by the Internet and just how many colors you can use in Paint. THERE ARE SO MANY COLORS. So I picked red.
This is what I see going home, or leaving home if I turn around. That is my door. That is the view. That is where I live.
The arrow pointing to “Rabat” was going to say “mausoleum where Mohammed V is buried” but I realized I didn’t want to write all that out in Paint, so I just said Rabat. But everything to the right of it is also Rabat.
If I walk out of my Kasbah, down along the outer wall, cross some dangerous traffic, walk down the boardwalk, and then turn around, this is what I see. Cooool.
OKAY so here’s the sitch. I leave this country Friday morning.
You’d think that I’d be getting emotional about leaving, but all I can think about is eating a bagel. A real bagel. A real bagel.
And running around in as little clothing as possible and having it not be weird. YEAH.
We’ve cycled back to Lenny Kravitz on this playlist.
They sell iced tea here.
I’m having trouble with coherent thought and compound sentences right now, so let’s have another dance party!