Fes on a Sunday during Ramadan is as dead as the cats in the garbage piles. Fan and I spent most of the day doing homework at McDonalds. What wee didn’t realize was that since children typically don’t fast, and McDonalds is one of the only restaurants open during Ramadan, every parent in the city must have taken their child to McDonalds today. It was crawling with children. They were like cats. Or chandeliers. They were everywhere.
Iftar had some sort of Pierogi-type dish, which was delicious, but other than that, it was nothing new.
My host mom’s favorite tv show is a program about three families living next-door to each other. I don’t know what it’s actually called because the title card is really fast, but I call it Moroccern Family. Tonight on Moroccern Family, there was a B-plot about a white, American traveler who visits one of the families, and the running joke was that everyone tries to talk to her in French (most white people in Morocco are tourists from France), but she doesn’t speak French, she speaks Arabic. I have never understood what it feels like to be a minority and get excited about a relatable representation in the media until today. This is my Black Panther. This is my every day.
Also, on candid camera, a guy pretended to be paralyzed, asked people for help crossing the street in his wheelchair, and then got out and helped push when it got stuck on the curb. These shows are wild.
And now, the age-old study abroad dilemma: to shave or not to shave. On one hand, I have nine weeks to try to grow a cool beard, and no one I know is here to make fun of me if it looks stupid or doesn’t work out. On the other hand, one of the girls in my group is rather attractive. In life, there are no easy answers.
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