Talk
Other than being a very well done Coldplay single that marked both my melancholic depart from France and the same weepy one from Spain, talk is a verb of much glory and signification. And you know me, I talk. A lot. In conditions like the ones here, where being approached by someone means usually you are not a talk buddy but walking money, I got myself reduced to contemplative silence and giving up the languages I can handle for a safer vow of silence or mumbling into Moldavian style Romanian.
Contemplating the restaurants where I had my eating experiences by now ( not very happy gastronomic events) is increasingly becoming a mute man's favorite pastime. First, there are the paintings on the wall, ranging from neoclassical looking ones into very heavily sculpted encadrations to some modern variations on Islamic geometrical art. Then, the customers. There is always the couple table, with them sharing the food, him waiting for her to order as she is going to the washroom first. Then there is the defying couple, with her unveiled, displaying long legs and a very tiny skirt, and both drinking and smoking heavily. Then there is the women's table, with women in traditional clothes sipping Coke or Fanta over some intense conversation. And there is the lonely man, frozen in a praying style position, with his eyes inexpressive and just a coffee in front, waiting for the unknown.
There is also the frustration of not understanding anything, especially in the bus station; where everybopdy was running around, filling some papers, taking luggage, bringing luggage, labelling luggage, shouting at the people next to the luggage. Luckily there was a middle aged man that explained the simple procedure: one buys ticket, goes with ticket at counter, puts bag at counter, gets ticket from the counter, goes with second ticket at first counter and pays for luggage, gets on bus. I love suppressing articles. ( and no, he didn't speak like this, he spoke a perfect French, it's just my articleless mood right now)
We got to sit together on the bus and that proved to be great. Romania? I worked with Romanians before. They were math teachers. Mrs Demsorean i asked, thinking what were the odds ( my math teacher in high school worked in Morocco for two years in the dark communist ages; It was a fierce battle to get there, a lot of competition, but they got it). But no, a quelconque Mr. Something+ escu. And then we talked as the new part of Tanger revealed itself to be thriving, modern, clean, and bright, rather the opposite of the Medina.
As the bus left, the most splendid of songs, reminding me a lot of Byzantine Orthodox tunes, were tuned at the radio, and I asked him what this was. He said, not without pride in his eyes, " This is our religion. This is the Quran". the voice modulations were indeed incredibly beautiful and making all seem solemnal and familiar at the same time.
This morning i noticed how everybody age 30 or more speaks French, while when I asked for some pastry two twenty year olds, they shrugged their shoulders at my parlezvousfrançais or hablasespanol questions. I asked him about that and he told me that before the 1980s, everything otherthan Arabic language and literature was taught in French. Entire generations were taught French literature, French philosophy, Durkheim's sociology; world geography and history, math and physics after French textbooks. But then the government decided to Arabize the schoolsystem, made everything taught in Arabic, so the younger people cannot deal with French as the older generations. I said that for me it would be natural that the teaching language should be Arabic, but his answer proved to be very smart- yes it is, but not when the country's libraries and teachers are not ready for that- the transition was over night, the teachers unprepared, the textbooks oversimplified and the rich supporting materials that were in French were untranslated and so the newer generations lost contact with the wider web of information. If the state would support more publishing and translating into Arabic , that would be something else.
The new generations, he said, have so many people that are unprepared to work and to face the real world. he added- look at Tanger and how miserable things are- all these kids come here only to pass in Europe, as life is supposedly better there and wages higher. There are plenty of jobs in Morocco, but they all want to go away. And then, there are so many- birthrates are going over the roof. And he is right, there are children everywhere, running around, playing football. The opposite of Romania or childless Germany. And there are so many problems into educating all of them.
But then he said that at least Moroccan students are not as American students... Hmmm.. Anti Americanism strikes again. He proved to be actually a English teacher and he came to Boston College for two months in 1995 and to 2002 to give a series of lectures about Islam and Morocco. The Americans, he said, know nothing. Can you believe they don't even have geography departments in their universities?? They consider the earth science and the knowledge of the world non important. I smiled and revealed my Middlebury identity, proudly proclaiming our Geography department's importance within the college. He told me he got so insulted when this American student asked him " What do you eat in Morocco?" ( I don't know why, but this question doesn' t seem at all that weird for me, but remember not to ask that a Moroccan). he answered something like
" we eat on a common plate the fruits of the earth with our bare hands and God into our soul, being thankful for this dinner. We are bathed by the sun and blessed by the sea, carressed by the winds of the desert." And the tone of his voice went up, his passion altogether.
The girl supposedly turned red.
Now I am in Alsilah, on the Atlantic Coast. After being followed by several guys to offer me all the legal and illegal pleasures possible, I arrived luckily free at the Medina Wall, facing the sunset. This guy came and started his speech, I declined accomodation offers, said I don't smoke hashish, nor drink. He left, not before letting a guy next to me laughing at my direct cutoff. No hashish for you? he he. He was like 25 and seemed not from this place, poneytale and all, and was with two American guys. Oh, you're from romania, I worked in germany for two years and i met some Romanians. I switched to German and found out he is actually Moroccan, living in Alsidah but getting to Berlin next month. The Americans asked me whether I wanted to join them for a walk, and I said why not. "I have to close some windows" he said, and he took us in front of this door. And when in opened, again surrealism.
Loud, magical, ambiental music. And the perfect house with the most amazing decorations I've seen, with a fountain in the middle of the patio, washrooms that looked like from the Alhambra, harmony, balance of colors, a splendid rooftop. It wasn't his, he designed it and made it. He is a designer and has worked in Germany as a scenographer. It was something sad in his eyes though, I didn't seem to get. One of the Americans has been living here for two years, and i didn't find out what he's been doing. the other said that he is actually from (whispering) Denmark, not the best place to be in the Muslim world right now... He started a novel about Al Qaeda after September 11, when he was living in NYC, and he moved to Morocco for a while. Hmm
My day will continue. I'm going to dinner and then plunge into some history of Morocco reading. Possibly on the beach. there's a lit spot. Talk to you later.
Contemplating the restaurants where I had my eating experiences by now ( not very happy gastronomic events) is increasingly becoming a mute man's favorite pastime. First, there are the paintings on the wall, ranging from neoclassical looking ones into very heavily sculpted encadrations to some modern variations on Islamic geometrical art. Then, the customers. There is always the couple table, with them sharing the food, him waiting for her to order as she is going to the washroom first. Then there is the defying couple, with her unveiled, displaying long legs and a very tiny skirt, and both drinking and smoking heavily. Then there is the women's table, with women in traditional clothes sipping Coke or Fanta over some intense conversation. And there is the lonely man, frozen in a praying style position, with his eyes inexpressive and just a coffee in front, waiting for the unknown.
There is also the frustration of not understanding anything, especially in the bus station; where everybopdy was running around, filling some papers, taking luggage, bringing luggage, labelling luggage, shouting at the people next to the luggage. Luckily there was a middle aged man that explained the simple procedure: one buys ticket, goes with ticket at counter, puts bag at counter, gets ticket from the counter, goes with second ticket at first counter and pays for luggage, gets on bus. I love suppressing articles. ( and no, he didn't speak like this, he spoke a perfect French, it's just my articleless mood right now)
We got to sit together on the bus and that proved to be great. Romania? I worked with Romanians before. They were math teachers. Mrs Demsorean i asked, thinking what were the odds ( my math teacher in high school worked in Morocco for two years in the dark communist ages; It was a fierce battle to get there, a lot of competition, but they got it). But no, a quelconque Mr. Something+ escu. And then we talked as the new part of Tanger revealed itself to be thriving, modern, clean, and bright, rather the opposite of the Medina.
As the bus left, the most splendid of songs, reminding me a lot of Byzantine Orthodox tunes, were tuned at the radio, and I asked him what this was. He said, not without pride in his eyes, " This is our religion. This is the Quran". the voice modulations were indeed incredibly beautiful and making all seem solemnal and familiar at the same time.
This morning i noticed how everybody age 30 or more speaks French, while when I asked for some pastry two twenty year olds, they shrugged their shoulders at my parlezvousfrançais or hablasespanol questions. I asked him about that and he told me that before the 1980s, everything otherthan Arabic language and literature was taught in French. Entire generations were taught French literature, French philosophy, Durkheim's sociology; world geography and history, math and physics after French textbooks. But then the government decided to Arabize the schoolsystem, made everything taught in Arabic, so the younger people cannot deal with French as the older generations. I said that for me it would be natural that the teaching language should be Arabic, but his answer proved to be very smart- yes it is, but not when the country's libraries and teachers are not ready for that- the transition was over night, the teachers unprepared, the textbooks oversimplified and the rich supporting materials that were in French were untranslated and so the newer generations lost contact with the wider web of information. If the state would support more publishing and translating into Arabic , that would be something else.
The new generations, he said, have so many people that are unprepared to work and to face the real world. he added- look at Tanger and how miserable things are- all these kids come here only to pass in Europe, as life is supposedly better there and wages higher. There are plenty of jobs in Morocco, but they all want to go away. And then, there are so many- birthrates are going over the roof. And he is right, there are children everywhere, running around, playing football. The opposite of Romania or childless Germany. And there are so many problems into educating all of them.
But then he said that at least Moroccan students are not as American students... Hmmm.. Anti Americanism strikes again. He proved to be actually a English teacher and he came to Boston College for two months in 1995 and to 2002 to give a series of lectures about Islam and Morocco. The Americans, he said, know nothing. Can you believe they don't even have geography departments in their universities?? They consider the earth science and the knowledge of the world non important. I smiled and revealed my Middlebury identity, proudly proclaiming our Geography department's importance within the college. He told me he got so insulted when this American student asked him " What do you eat in Morocco?" ( I don't know why, but this question doesn' t seem at all that weird for me, but remember not to ask that a Moroccan). he answered something like
" we eat on a common plate the fruits of the earth with our bare hands and God into our soul, being thankful for this dinner. We are bathed by the sun and blessed by the sea, carressed by the winds of the desert." And the tone of his voice went up, his passion altogether.
The girl supposedly turned red.
Now I am in Alsilah, on the Atlantic Coast. After being followed by several guys to offer me all the legal and illegal pleasures possible, I arrived luckily free at the Medina Wall, facing the sunset. This guy came and started his speech, I declined accomodation offers, said I don't smoke hashish, nor drink. He left, not before letting a guy next to me laughing at my direct cutoff. No hashish for you? he he. He was like 25 and seemed not from this place, poneytale and all, and was with two American guys. Oh, you're from romania, I worked in germany for two years and i met some Romanians. I switched to German and found out he is actually Moroccan, living in Alsidah but getting to Berlin next month. The Americans asked me whether I wanted to join them for a walk, and I said why not. "I have to close some windows" he said, and he took us in front of this door. And when in opened, again surrealism.
Loud, magical, ambiental music. And the perfect house with the most amazing decorations I've seen, with a fountain in the middle of the patio, washrooms that looked like from the Alhambra, harmony, balance of colors, a splendid rooftop. It wasn't his, he designed it and made it. He is a designer and has worked in Germany as a scenographer. It was something sad in his eyes though, I didn't seem to get. One of the Americans has been living here for two years, and i didn't find out what he's been doing. the other said that he is actually from (whispering) Denmark, not the best place to be in the Muslim world right now... He started a novel about Al Qaeda after September 11, when he was living in NYC, and he moved to Morocco for a while. Hmm
My day will continue. I'm going to dinner and then plunge into some history of Morocco reading. Possibly on the beach. there's a lit spot. Talk to you later.
posted by Gruia Badescu at 11:33 AM
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