As I begin writing this post, it is almost 3pm. I woke up merely a half hour ago.
Our stay in Rabat was crazy. We left Friday night, hit up a Senegalese concert and did some dancing, then all 8 of us stayed at a Russian girl's house, who we contacted through couch surfing. But instead of sleeping on her couch (what couch can sleep 8 people? I haven't heard of one), we slept in her salon. It slept seven of us and wrapped around the room. How efficient is that?!
In the morning, everyone with the exception of Terry, who can apparently sleep through anything, woke up to a bird flying around the room. We proceeded to fall asleep immediately, waking up a few more times and moving as it claimed our spots as its own. A little past 12, we finally got up and heading out to a souk, where we bought some fruit for breakfast before our Senegalese meal. What a long day. Our lunch wasn't made until dinner time. My eating schedule is wacked. Breakfast at 3pm today?!
After we left our Senegalese friend's house, with me obtaining contacts with the assurance of a place to stay in Dakar, we left to wander around the Rabat souk and then head to the Shakira concert, the headline of our stay.
The souk was crazy, and we only grazed it. At around 8pm, we passed by five dessert places (which was convenient as our purpose was to obtain some desserts), which nevertheless were so popular that we could barely see the contained goods. We ended up getting 1/4 kilo of cookies that are pictured below. The contained nuts, marzipan and sugar. They were soft and delicious. They were part of my "dinner" of two carrots, a grilled piece of corn, and an apple that I snacked on through the course of the night.
It took us a while to find a taxi, because we were three people. Taxi drivers prefer one person, because then they can pick up one or two individuals, thus gaining more revenue. One trick I learned is to have your friends hide, or stand further away from you, then stick your pointer finger out, signaling one person. As the taxi pulls up, have all your friends run and jump in the car before the
siddi can say anything. Make sure to have him turn on the
contour, as he'll probably be angry. On taxi driver expressed a small grin and then said to me, "that was a good trick. Saying you only need one person, then having two jump in." Ironically, a taxi driver was the one to tell me this trick.
The Shakira concert was somewhat traumatizing. She didn't go on until around 10:45, 45 minutes after expected. I was with Renda (who is a junior from Lewis & Clark, and who was on the Morocco trip this Semester), Sara (who is a Sophomore from Vasser), Terry (who is a junior from LC and who did the Senegal program), and Alex (who is a Sophomore from Smith College), and two Moroccan boys with dreadlocks that Renda met last weekend at the music festival. She kept repeating to us that they are the nicest Moroccans she has ever met.
To say that the concert was crowded is an understatement. People sat on each others shoulders, and brought stools to stand on, so that the stage was blocked from our vision, and even some of the screens that broadcasted Shakira. People towered over us, constantly moving back and forward and to the side. It was mostly men too. That's the reason why it was so stupid that Shakira took off her clothes. She took off her shirt to a humongous group of sexually deprived Moroccan men. Really, how stupid can you be?! Granted, she had a nude bra underneath, but still. Needless to say, things got crazy when she pulled this move. Later on, a fight started to brake out in front of us, so made our way back through the maize of people, holding on tight to each other's hands (no one can say for sure whether there was any association with the two events). For the finale, Shakira played Hips Don't Lie and Waka Waka (which we heard 4 more times throughout the night), which almost made up for the traumatizing night. Feeling safe, and having room to kick our feet and shimmy, we were finally able to dance, and have fun doing so.
After the concert, by the time the group reconnected after the concert, the last train of the night left. So, our Moroccan friends took us to a club in Rabat that has house and Rasta music. When the guards told us tickets for the club are 100dh, Sam, who was exhausted and was in no mood for another taxi ride, turned on her charm, persuasion, and Moroccan haggling skills. I was so impressed. Smiling, she strolled up to the guards, greeted them warmly in Darija, subsequently explaining to them that we are volunteer teachers in Hay Mohammadi who don't make any money. Then, she motioned over to the seven girls, saying that we were zwina, beautiful. The guard eventually declared that we could buy four tickets and enter, but when Sam gestured to Renda, and explained to the guards that Renda is Palestinian, the were sold and we danced until 3:30am until we went to the train station to take the 5:15 train back to Casa.
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