Seriously?

So, I tried very hard (perhaps in vain) to get out and take some pictures of Rabat, because I have no pictures of Rabat yet. I was ready and armed: camera, very large jacket, scarf and hat! And off I went, through the blue streets of the Oudayas and towards the ocean. There is a very good view of the sea just minutes from where I live, so I stopped to reflect and to watch the crazy man who was surfing in January.

Now, I have gotten quite used to the cat-calls and the pick-up lines and the pester-y men who somehow feel as though it is alright to bother every woman they see (regardless of nationality) on the street. So when Mr. CreepFace first approached me, I thought nothing of it and acted as though I couldn't hear him, I pretended to be lost in the beauty and the magic of the crashing waves, I imagined him falling helplessly into the ocean, yaddayaddayadda. CreepFace (let's take off the polite salutation, as you will soon learn that he does not deserve such recognition) like some men in this country, was relentless. (By the way, my absolute favorite relentless-tactic that these men use is the no-fail "Say the Word 'Beautiful' or the Words: 'How are You?' In Every Language You Know, Until Her Face Glimmers Some Sort of Recognition" routine. 'A' for Effort? They wish...) CreepFace was basically impossible to ignore. I gave him a curt and emotionless: "Ca va" lacking in intonation, hoping that this would give him no reason to respond. Of course he responded (of course!) and started in on the questions.

"Whoareyouwhereareyoufromwhatdoyouspeakwhyareyouhere?" I answered his questions politely, figuring that:

1. He didn't look like a total whackjob;
2. He may be entirely harmless and just looking for a conversation and;
3. I could beat him up if I needed to.

So, this "harmless" gentleman and I engaged in basic no-frills conversation in a melange of french and arabic and I scolded myself for being so cynical. And at that moment, CreepFace felt it "necessary" to "inform me" that quite often Moroccan women engage in sexual relations with several men during the same period of time (4 or 5!), and that no one takes any of this "sex-stuff" really seriously, and that even I could pursue the same sorts of relationships in MY life! Quelle idee! What an enlightening man, except for the obvious facts that 1. THIS IS NOT TRUE, and; 2. even if it were true, I AM NOT NOT NOT INTERESTED! I told him such and he told me "Not To Worry" and that I could of course have loads and loads of sex in Morocco and he wouldn't think of me as a "prostitute" at all! "Seriously?" I sarcastically asked, right before telling him: "I am almost certain you are lying." And I made it very clear that I really really was not interested and that I was engaged to an American man (sometimes, one must lie). This seemed to shut him up, and we stood there awkwardly while I thought about escape scenarios.

And then, ever the relentless bastard, he asked me if I wanted to go dancing with him sometime (I said 'no') and then he apologized for being so forward. I half-smiled and rolled my eyes and he started blabbing away in quick arabic. I couldn't understand what he was saying exactly, but I picked up on: Casablanca, the verb for "to go" in the second person feminine, and the words: 'with', 'me', 'train' and 'now'. Schnou??? I asked him what in the world he was talking about and he explained in french that I should really go with him to Casa on the train, that afternoon. He said he would go get some coffee, come back and pick me up and off we would run... I said "No, thank you, that's impossible" and he leaned in and told me (in as far as I can translate): "But you must." That was the moment that I finally cracked and explained to him that he would be best off leaving me alone and going away. I even used some very nice english terminology, the kind of words that I was lucky enough to pick up from my lovely tutees in inner-city Baltimore (ahh, Home Sweet Home) and CreepFace sulked away looking shocked. I win! Sort of.

Anyway. Another day in Morocco, featuring one more awkward experience resulting in me being disgusted and angered. Some days are perfectly lovely, and then days like today happen, but I take comfort in knowing that I can handle them.

I do wish I could have taken more photos to share than the measly three below, but at least they come with a story.










Some houses in the neigborhood



















The view of the beach!












The lone January surfer, crushed under the waves. I feel ya, buddy.