"Suds In The Bucket"

...left the suds in the bucket
and the clothes hangin' out on the line...

     I'm initially selected this Sara Evans song because I happened to be doing laundry right then.  Then I thought of the lyrics and saw more than a little bit of irony.  The tune is about a girl who at 18 up and leaves her parents to run off with a guy.  In my case, add a quarter-century (and subtract the guy).

     A good friend of mine once upon a time didn't know I was within earshot just around a corner when he remarked that "It takes Jack a while warm up to people, but once he takes you in, he'll treat you like a brother".  I have to concede the first part is true; I hope the second part is, too.  Anyway, coming here to start life anew, alone, was is a challenge.  Accepting the graciousness and hospitality of others doesn't come easy; just last week I declined an impromptu dinner invitation by a family here on campus for no good reason other than...well, when I think of one, I'll let you know.

     It's been said by those who have been here for a while that here in Morocco "It's all about relationships."  Whatever.  Yet, for some reason, recently I was really struck when a young colleague said he appreciates the relationship he has built with the man who owns the hanout (ha-NEWT) by his apartment.  It made me think.  There is a hanoot, think a 7-11 the size of a deluxe walk-in closet, about 100 yds outside the gate here.  I almost never went there.  I now go there to get some of the little things I would otherwise pick up on my big shopping trips.  The 2 men who run the place speak Arabic first, then French.  English, no.  But, I'm trying - and I noticed something one day last week.

     I have a weakness for Swedish fish, gummy bears and the like.  I went to the hanoot the other day and placed a coin on the counter and pointed to one of the plastic jugs holding candies and asked for what the amount that coin would purchase.  I'm barely paying attention when I just happened to see the older man addressing the younger one.  My Arabic is next-to-nothing, but I could tell what was happening.  The old man was telling the other one to not get the older, more stale candy from the jug right there on the counter, but to get it instead from a newer one in the back.  That was nice.

     I took some photos this week of other people who live here that I have regular contact with, but they are atrocious I can't fathom the thought of posting them.  Sorry, I'm exerting executive privilege here.  If I had posted photos...

     I've been taking weekly private French lessons since the fall.  My tutor's name is Pascale.  She's crazy.  I love her.  My main man Soufiane works in the kitchen and hooks me up with a perfect cafe au lait and cinnamon roll that he knows I'l order when he sees me enter the cafeteria at break time.  The security guards are all nice guys, but there are two who are particularly good men that I've become very friendly with.  Actually, their picture wasn't half-bad.

     Update - just got home from Easter Sunday Mass at a Catholic church way downtown.  It is called Eglise du Christ Roi - Church of Christ the King.  On Sundays at 6pm they have the only English-language services of the small handful of Catholic churches in Casa.  It was a tiny, non-descript building that was SRO this evening with about 175 people, a very large percentage of them Filipino.  There was a good bit of singing, some of it in Tagalog.  Interesting experience.

     Anyway, I'm getting tired, so it's time to roll on out of here.  Gotta get ready for the desert next week - see ya in two weeks!!