Did I just introduce myself to, a lady of the night?

Scene: Cafe G with the Moroccan Actor and his friend.


Moroccan Actor: talk talk talk talk
Moroccan Actor's Friend: talk talk talk talk
Me: (damn I wish I knew more Darija)


Woman comes up and asks Moroccan Actor's Friend for a cigarette.


Woman: Salam.
Me: Salam! (excited to see another woman in the place, maybe we could be friends!?)
Woman: (in Arabic) Oh, she speaks Arabic?
Me. Iyeah! Shnu smitk? (Yes! What is your name?)


There is an awkward silence. 


Me: (hmm, maybe she didn't understand?) Shnu smitk?
Moroccan Actor: (in Arabic) She is asking you what your name is.
Woman: (says something I don't understand)
Me: Mutchirfin! (nice to meet you!)


Another awkward silence and woman walks away laughing. A few seconds go by...


Me: Did I just introduce myself to, a lady of the night?
Moroccan Actor: Yes.
Me: Oh, I thought this was an honest place.
Moroccan Actor: It is, but sometimes she comes here.
Me: Ok, so do people think I am a lady of the night for coming here?
Moroccan Actor: No, you don't have the look of a prostitute.
Me: Ok, thanks.  So, I guess we aren't going to be friends then.  It is a shame, she seemed very nice.
Moroccan Actor: I am sure she is, she is a prostitute. 


The End.

Shabbat Shalom!

This last Friday, I attended Shabbat services at Synagogue Beth-El in Marrakech.  Yes, there are Jews in Morocco, that song I learned in Hebrew School "Wherever You Go There is Always Someone Jewish" turns out to be true.  There are actually a lot of Jews in Morocco, ok, not A LOT, but there are about 7,000-6,000, mostly in Casablanca, but there are a few in Marrakech (260, most over the age of 60).  

I was raised both Christian and Reformist Jew, which makes me very versatile, and I figured if I attended church in Marrakech for Christmas I should be fair and attend Synagogue.  I contacted the President of the Jewish Community of Marrakech-Essoruia to make sure I didn't need a reservation (this question is going to seem very funny a few sentences from now), confirmed the time, and told him I was excited to meet him at services.


So, I get there.  The guard points me to the women's section (right, this is an Orthodox Synagogue), I walk in, no one.  Nope, no one in the women's section, just me.  I stand there.  I look at the bibles, all in Hebrew, no English or transliteration for the Reformist Jews.  Just Hebrew.  I grab a lace hair piece, stick it on, grab a bible that has SOME French in it and sit down.


The service, from what I can understand, is very democratic with each man (all six in attendance) in the man's section (good thing they don't ask the women or I would have been SCREWED!) read part of the service.  So it is not entirely led by the Rabbi.  I sit there for a good 15 minutes by myself until a woman walks in, we both stare at each other, and she asks if I am American, and I say YES! AND YOU! She says YES! and I am saved!  The American (a Fulbright Scholar named Sarah) tells me she is going to Shabbat dinner at the house of the President of the Jewish community and I should come, he is very nice, speaks English, and would enjoy talking to someone else who is interested in the History of the Moroccan Jews.


Services end and we meet in the courtyard with the men.  The President isn't there, his brother is, he comes up and says "Sarah?  You come with me.  Cucinotta, you go with him."  (Um, WHAT).  I give Sarah a look but she is already walking out the door, they turn one direction, and I go the other.  


We walk for about 15 minutes, and I tell them my life story in DARIJA (the whole time thinking I can't believe they understand me).  We get to his house, meet his family, eat (there is hallah!!!), and everything is going really well until they find out I am 27 and not married.  "WHAT? YOU ARE NOT MARRIED! You should have been married at 25!" they tell me.  I say I have lots and lots of time, in America we get married at 30-35 (ok, this might be a lie, but I really have no idea).  They laugh at me, silly American (btw why does everyone think I am so silly?). Turns out I have no time, I need to be married.  


I have gotten some pretty intense reactions from Muslim Moroccans about not being married, but when you combine the Moroccan culture with the yenta business in a shrinking Jewish community who needs babies to stay in existence, you have a pretty interesting reaction to unmarried young Jewish women and men.  "Do you want to get married?" they ask.  "Um, yeah, but I have time?" I reply.  "No, you have no time." they say.  "Ok" I respond awkwardly, "what do I do if I have no time?".  "You need to find a nice Jewish husband, do you want a nice Jewish husband?" they ask.  "Sure, as long as he can cook" I respond. Silence. They didn't get the joke, note to self, do not try to joke in Darija, your language is not that good.   


Dinner is finished, we say our goodbyes and I thank them for their hospitality and kindness.  On my walk home I realize that I might have mistakenly agree for them to find me a nice Jewish husband...but I guess as long as he can cook it might not be that bad.

Yes, of course I know John Cena?

John Cena is American.  I am American.  John Cena was born in Massachusetts which is located on the East Coast.  I was also born on the East Coast, in a little place called New Jersey.  Therefore, John Cena and I know each other, we are actually BEST FRIENDS FOREVER.  


Or at least that is what my students think.  I mean, we are both American, how can we NOT know each other. Duh.  Plus, John Cena likes pizza and I like pizza.  Actually, ALL WWE Superstars likes pizza according to my students, so that means I must know them too.  Well, the Undertake doesn't like pizza.  I am not sure if you knew that, but he doesn't.  The Big Show MIGHT like pizza, but we haven't come to any definite conclusion, but he definitely does NOT like sandwiches.  Nope, no sandwiches for the Big Show.  But the Big Show and I aren't friends anyway, I mean, we are both American but he is very big, very very big.  Therefore we don't know each other.  How can we?  He is just so big and I am just so short.  


And this is what my students and I talk about in my beginner English conversation class.  Which WWE Superstar I am friends with and which I am not.  It doesn't matter that I don't ACTUALLY know any WWE Superstars, because I obviously have no idea what I am talking about, silly American.  I mean, since I am one of the only Americans my students have met in person, and the WWE Superstars are their favorite Americans they see on TV, we must know each other, which is actually very sweet when you think about it...


But not the Big Show, the Big Show and I aren't friends.  He is too big, and I am too short, WAY too short.  But we agreed that if the Big Show and I tried, we would get along quite well.  

So this is a joke, but not really...

I just returned from In Service Training in Mehidiya where I re-leanred everything I knew about Logic Models and Monitoring and Evaluation.  I honestly really enjoyed it, so much so that I made a Logic Model for my Peace Corps Service!  Let's just say work has been slow.  Don't get me wrong, I have work, it is just not what I am used to in America, so I have what I feel like is a lot of spare time, so I made myself a Logic Model.  Ok, it  is kind of a joke, but not really, so I thought I would share with everyone how much I love Logic Models so you can all snicker at just how much of a dork I am.

Enjoy!

So, a funny thing happened to me the other day...

Scene: Walking down Mohammed V Avenue with a friend during a day trip to Marrakech.


Me: *saying something of no particular importance*
Friend: *saying something of no particular importance*
Me: (thinking to myself: why does that man have such a funny look on his face?) 
*look down*
(thinking to myself: holy s***, is that his penis?)  
You know what , I think that weird guy is showing us his penis.
Friend: What?!
Me: Yes, I think that guy is jerking off to us.
Friend: What?! Why would he be doing something like that?
Me: I don't know, but it is a strange thing to be doing during the middle of the day on a main road like this don't you think?
Friend: Yes it is.
*both turn around to see the guy is looking at us with his penis hanging out*
Me: I don't understand? Why would he do that? I mean look at it, it is a really sad penis, if I were him I wouldn't be showing that to too many people, it is just so sad.
Friend: I agree.  
Me: You know, in my 27 years of life I have never seen anything as strange as that, and I am from New Jersey, so you know, that is saying a lot.  
Friend: Yes it is.
Me: Actually, I did see a guy take a poop in Lafayette Park in D.C. and then get arrested, but I think he was on drugs.  This however, it just doesn't make any sense, I mean at least the guy taking the poop was probably on drugs.  What do you think this guy's excuse is?
Friend: I honestly have no idea.
*both start to laugh, man is embarrassed that we are laughing at his sad penis, and we spend the rest of the walk to the Grand Taxi stand making fun of him and his sad, sad penis*


The End.

Bad Cia, Bad!

For those of you who know me well, know I have a little thing for men in uniform.  I am not sure what it is, perhaps it is the AMAZING abs, the cute butt, the sparkly medals on the uniform, or the assumption that they have already been vetted by the U.S. government so they must be good catches.   Whatever it is, I have a thing for men in uniform.  


For those of you who know me also know that I have given up men in uniform, with extreme difficulty.  No more men in uniform for Cia!  This was a difficult decision I had to make, but it turns out the U.S. doesn't vet them enough and my experiences have never ended well.  Ok, this could have something to do with my inability to end a relationship without blowing up the bridge in a fiery ball of disaster, but that is beside the point.  Lets just say the reason I don't date men in uniform anymore is a long story that I don't want to get into right now...but it has something to do with breaking the cycle.


Anyway, the point of all this is that on my recent trip to Rabat I heard of this place called the Marine House which is a house filled with Marines who also serve beer.  HOLY S***!  And then I remembered that I am not allowed to date men in uniform anymore...s***.  Wait, but I can look, right?  I can even talk to one, right?  No harm done!  So off I  went with some fellow PCVs who know of my predicament and promise to keep me in line.


Let me just say that the Marine House is AMAZING!  And not for the reasons you might think based off of what I wrote above.  It is a house with five Marines who open their doors and serve beer like Sam Adams so people can have a good time.  And a good time was had!  We danced all night to great music that I remember from middle school, I drank Sam Adams, met some really nice people, and felt like I was back in D.C. at a house party. 


So, thank you Marines at the Marine House.  Thank you for playing good music, thank you for serving Sam Adams, and thank you for showing me your abs, they are very nice :)  

When did I become illiterate?

I am an educated woman.  I am a well traveled woman.  I have quite a few friends (and perhaps one or two enemies).  I like cheese and fine wines as well as long walks on the beach.  I read, I don't read as much as I should, but I read.  Usually historical fictions, poetry, and the occasional mystery book because we all need a little excitement in our lives.  So I was surprised to realize one day that I am, in fact, illiterate.  


When I go to the post office, I am not exactly sure what the form is I am filling out.  On my walks to the Center where I work, I can't read any of the street signs (which isn't that big of a deal because I really didn't read signs in the States either).  When I go to the grocery store, I am the one to ask the owner "is this salt?" and be embarrassed as they look at me like I am crazy (which isn't that big of a deal either because most people here look at me like I am crazy).  But, you know, it looked like salt, but I didn't know for sure, so I had to ask, because I couldn't read the label, because it was in ARABIC.  


Ok, so I am not totally illiterate.  I can read anything that is based off the latin alphabet, so you know, not too shabby.  But when it comes to Arabic, I am illiterate, and it is difficult being illiterate.  Actually, it sucks being illiterate.  It really, really sucks being illiterate.  


However, for Morocco with an estimated country wide literacy rate of 39.6% for women and 65.7% for men, I fit right in (United States Department of State, 2011).  I am not sure how I feel about that, but there it is, a glaring reality of a compulsory education system that is not always enforced or supported with the adequate infrastructure to make it realistic.  But there is quite a bit of hope with this new government, and a lot of changes are happening in Morocco, so we will see, maybe after two years I will become the minority.


You really learn something new everyday, don't you?


 United States Department of State. (2011). Background note: Morocco. Retrieved from: http://www.state.gov/r/pa/ei/bgn/5431.htm