Courtesy: Gene Autry - "America's Favorite Signing Cowboy"
I'm back in the saddle again (for year 3)
Out where a friend is a friend (though, you never know where a helping hand will/not come from)
Where thelonghorn cattle (sheep) feed (til next month, anyway)
On the lowly Jimson weed (is that a nickname for hashish or shisha?)
Back in the saddle (yet) again
Ridin' the range once more
Totin' my old 44 (lmfao - no 2nd Amendment rights in this country)
Where you (can't get a good night's) sleep...every night
And the only law is right (actually, the cops are crooked, and are rightfully disrespected at every turn)
Back in the saddle again
The first full week of the school year is in the books. I've only been back for a few weeks, yet in seems like a few months. Not a complaint, just seems like it's been forever since I was kickin' it Stateside. The joint is jumping - the school is bursting at the seams, and there is lots going on. A whole of new colleagues. I'll be darned - there are a pair of guys in my age range! Couple of real characters. Nice to have some people I can better relate to.
I am doing my same ol' thing again, working with 6th-12th graders. Also, I just started coaching the middle school girls' basketball team (the sports seasons here are wacky). In mid-October is the tournament in the capital city of Rabat. I am also going to try to revive the school's National Honor Society chapter. They say a rolling stone gathers no moss, right? Well, there is no grass growing under these feet. Besides, it's harder to hit a moving target ;)
I moved to a new apartment, same neighborhood, just a few blocks away. The decor is, well, um...you decide for yourself:
I would NOT want to have a few cold ones and then stare at the 3D ceiling. Not so sure about the entrance-way, either. If this isn't the highlight, the this is...
This is called a frash (pron. 'frosh'), a Moroccan divan, if you will. No arms or backs, just cushions on a low-slung base, sections next to one another, and up against the wall. A very traditional piece of furniture. This particular pattern is even more garish in person, the camera didn't capture the sheen of the shiny fabric.
The thin balcony runs behind the bedrooms, along the street. You can see the product of the roommate's green thumb, and one of the drying racks (dryers are virtually non-existent in city life, and the washers minuscule). Noisy street, the highlight of which is the guy pushing a cart, repeatedly making a sound like "meep". Apparently, this guy will make a trade or give cash for an item you're looking to get rid of - he's a rolling one-man flea market!
No matter where you are in the kingdom of Morocco, you can hear the call to prayer (adhan) blared from mosque loudspeakers 5 times, day (and night). I can hear the one at the end of the street pictured above. It is a tiny corner building you would have trouble noticing, if not for the reserved area cordoned on the street.
Around the corner is the same grocery store I used last year; it has a liquor store attached (for the tourists, is the party line). Corner cafes abound; probably 3-4 days per week I find my way to one. I usually go for a cafe au lait (coffee cut with steamed milk). Other colleagues favor cafe noir (espresso). Mint tea is the national drink. I'll pass.
Wild day yesterday. Went downtown to the regional transfusion center to get a pint of red drawn in the early a.m. then went straight to the orphanage to play with the kids under the sun. Should've had a little more to eat for breakfast. Then again, maybe it was good that I didn't - I might've lost it when a donated sheep was slaughtered, right in front of the toddlers.
In second place for craziest story of the day, I'm on the turnpike, in the backseat of a colleagues car; she is in the passenger seat, and a Moroccan staff is at the wheel. We get pulled over as we approach the tollbooth (like the time we had to pay a 100 dirham bribe). Our man gets out of the car with the vehicle's documents to speak with the officer, who apparently wanted to give a 400 dirham ticket for me not having a seatbelt in the back while outside the city on the highway (since when?!?!). Mustafa is a genius - he tells the guy that he is a hired driver for the Anglo woman passenger who owns the car, and the American guy in the back is related to the ambassador. It worked!! BAHAHAHA!!!
Never a dull day here - time for a late lunch before playing hoops and watching NFL openers thru an illicit website :)
Whoopi-ty-aye-oh
Rockin' to and fro
Back in the saddle again
Whoopi-ty-aye-yay
I go my way
Back in the saddle again
I'm back in the saddle again (for year 3)
Out where a friend is a friend (though, you never know where a helping hand will/not come from)
Where the
On the lowly Jimson weed (is that a nickname for hashish or shisha?)
Back in the saddle (yet) again
Ridin' the range once more
Totin' my old 44 (lmfao - no 2nd Amendment rights in this country)
Where you (can't get a good night's) sleep...every night
And the only law is right (actually, the cops are crooked, and are rightfully disrespected at every turn)
Back in the saddle again
The first full week of the school year is in the books. I've only been back for a few weeks, yet in seems like a few months. Not a complaint, just seems like it's been forever since I was kickin' it Stateside. The joint is jumping - the school is bursting at the seams, and there is lots going on. A whole of new colleagues. I'll be darned - there are a pair of guys in my age range! Couple of real characters. Nice to have some people I can better relate to.
I am doing my same ol' thing again, working with 6th-12th graders. Also, I just started coaching the middle school girls' basketball team (the sports seasons here are wacky). In mid-October is the tournament in the capital city of Rabat. I am also going to try to revive the school's National Honor Society chapter. They say a rolling stone gathers no moss, right? Well, there is no grass growing under these feet. Besides, it's harder to hit a moving target ;)
I moved to a new apartment, same neighborhood, just a few blocks away. The decor is, well, um...you decide for yourself:
I would NOT want to have a few cold ones and then stare at the 3D ceiling. Not so sure about the entrance-way, either. If this isn't the highlight, the this is...
This is called a frash (pron. 'frosh'), a Moroccan divan, if you will. No arms or backs, just cushions on a low-slung base, sections next to one another, and up against the wall. A very traditional piece of furniture. This particular pattern is even more garish in person, the camera didn't capture the sheen of the shiny fabric.
The thin balcony runs behind the bedrooms, along the street. You can see the product of the roommate's green thumb, and one of the drying racks (dryers are virtually non-existent in city life, and the washers minuscule). Noisy street, the highlight of which is the guy pushing a cart, repeatedly making a sound like "meep". Apparently, this guy will make a trade or give cash for an item you're looking to get rid of - he's a rolling one-man flea market!
No matter where you are in the kingdom of Morocco, you can hear the call to prayer (adhan) blared from mosque loudspeakers 5 times, day (and night). I can hear the one at the end of the street pictured above. It is a tiny corner building you would have trouble noticing, if not for the reserved area cordoned on the street.
Around the corner is the same grocery store I used last year; it has a liquor store attached (for the tourists, is the party line). Corner cafes abound; probably 3-4 days per week I find my way to one. I usually go for a cafe au lait (coffee cut with steamed milk). Other colleagues favor cafe noir (espresso). Mint tea is the national drink. I'll pass.
Wild day yesterday. Went downtown to the regional transfusion center to get a pint of red drawn in the early a.m. then went straight to the orphanage to play with the kids under the sun. Should've had a little more to eat for breakfast. Then again, maybe it was good that I didn't - I might've lost it when a donated sheep was slaughtered, right in front of the toddlers.
In second place for craziest story of the day, I'm on the turnpike, in the backseat of a colleagues car; she is in the passenger seat, and a Moroccan staff is at the wheel. We get pulled over as we approach the tollbooth (like the time we had to pay a 100 dirham bribe). Our man gets out of the car with the vehicle's documents to speak with the officer, who apparently wanted to give a 400 dirham ticket for me not having a seatbelt in the back while outside the city on the highway (since when?!?!). Mustafa is a genius - he tells the guy that he is a hired driver for the Anglo woman passenger who owns the car, and the American guy in the back is related to the ambassador. It worked!! BAHAHAHA!!!
Never a dull day here - time for a late lunch before playing hoops and watching NFL openers thru an illicit website :)
Whoopi-ty-aye-oh
Rockin' to and fro
Back in the saddle again
Whoopi-ty-aye-yay
I go my way
Back in the saddle again
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