Balima Rabat

... who goes around taking pictures for a fee.

I'm happy I got to hang out with my little guy every day this week. He was really moody at first yesterday, but eventually shook it off. I had a hard time leaving and almost cried when it was time to go, but I didn't. Heather and I received lots of hugs and kisses on the cheek from the kids, so I'm thinking they did know we were leaving - at least the older ones. Either way, life ...

... If I haven't mentioned this before, the playroom is basically a giant petri dish with a glass ceiling and no ventilation. The sun beams down through the glass and makes the room nice and toasty. Abdellah came by to check on us, and commented on the heat - and he was there early! It got much warmer as the morning went on. He said he's going to come back tomorrow and talk to the principle ...

... to the people we were bumping into with our bags. So much for blending in. We couldn't have looked more like clueless tourists if we tried. We jumped off the train, took off running down the platform, and jumped on the 1st class car. We made it with seconds to spare before the train took off. Whew! Thank goodness we made it. Slightly stressful, but we learned our lesson and didn't make that mistake again.

The rest ...

... we had the proper clothing... unlike here. My Jelaba was a god send, if I hadn't of had that I fear I would have been crying icicles. Getting off the main road and onto rocky terrain we drove past a lake and behind a rocky hill before stopping to set up camp. It was only 16:00 the sun was sinking fast and already bitterly cold. We set up tents and gathered firewood before raiding our packs for as ...

... with about six tablespoons of sugar whether you like it or not) before trying another street.  This time we ended up in front of a university when we though we should be at the Medina, so we worked up the courage and asked a group of students that were sitting on a bench.   Brief FYI Recently Morocco has started English classes for university students, so young people and hustlers are generally the only ones who speak some English.  With a mix of French ...

I sometimes forget just how forgetful I am. I can never seem to get a good reference point by which to judge where I'm at, because I'm constantly forgetting where I've been. Maybe that's why I need to write these blogs. But I had the good luck tonight to get a surprising, and very interesting reminder of myself last winter break. Shortly after returning to the States from The Gambia, I could find myself, nose in a book called The Caliph's House, curled up by the fire ...

... care they show me. Sometimes it is my father, sister, and brother poised, pencils ready as I teach them basic English greetings, or a late night translation and exchange of different proverbs with my mother and father, or a slow series of sentences and gestures as I try to cook with my host mom who speaks only Darija and Berber. These events have become everyday to the point that I don't even necessarily notice how much they mean to me. I have felt this ambiguous itch to 'get ...