Pastilla

Yesterday was fun. The entirety of Rabat was without Internet for a few hours. Arabic class was really sad because our teacher, Hanane, asked us what we would want to do during our last two weeks of class. We gave a few half-hearted responses, as we had been very taken aback by the abrupt realization that the semester is essentially done with. Seven classes of Arabic remain and three each of the elective classes.

I went home to find Mohammed all dolled up, as if the fête was going to continue for a third day. This was not the case, however. He just dressed up for once. Y'all need to understand that 95% of Moroccans either stay in their pajamas all day or that they put on their day clothes on top of their pajamas as they go about their usual business. We ate dinner of the ever-fabulous pastilla (in case you don't know, it's a pastry dish stuffed with pigeon or chicken, egg, cinnamon, saffron, ginger and is a delicacy reserved only for big celebrations), sheep, fruit, Coke, and Miranda (carbonated lemonade).

The forecast claims that it will be sunny and in the mid-sixties for the remainder of our time. As there are only eleven days remaining, that means only eleven days until I am gone from this country. It makes me ill at ease to think of this because of the likelihood that I will never return to Morocco. It would be different if I had just visited it for a week, like the tourists do. But I have lived here. I've gotten to know and understand it. I can get along speaking to anyone but a Berber. I know the right way to walk, to talk, to introduce myself, to cross the street, to eat (whether utensils present or not), to go to the bathroom, to shop, to barter, to do laundry by hand, and so many other things. I have called this place home for three months now. I bet y'all didn't count on hearing this from me, but I don't want to leave.