Notes on My Philosophy and an Affirmative Coincidence

A few days ago as I walked by goats heads, flopping chickens, and piles of dates and figs galore, I promised myself that I would not allow my mind and body to fall into a regular routine here. For a long time I have connected falling into a regular routine (like the routine I have at home) with missing out on all of the special things around me. Granted, decapitated goat's heads might take a longer time than new fruits, for example, to adjust to. But it is the everyday things-- like the way my host mother laughs at me when I fail miserably at pronouncing the difference between ¨to study¨and ¨bottle, or the smells of her harira that heartily welcome me when I arrive home at night, or the beautiful view of the hills beyond Fez that reveals itself when my taxi driver takes a certain left from the ville nouvelle to head down to Bab Ziat-- that I am afraid I will begin to take for granted.

I have been thinking a lot about this promise to myself. And I have decided that it is time for me to finally learn a lesson that you probably haven't needed to come to Morocco to learn. I came here to live life. Part of living life is inherently adapting to a schedule, whether you are a nomad or a homebody. If I didn't fall into a rythm here i would be avoiding the essence of what I came here to do: to live like a local to whatever extent possible. The trick is to be able to allow myself to fall into a routine and still appreciate the little things (of course I have always told myself this, but I have never actually lived by it). It may sound naive, but it's at least a little less so than my promise to myself. Whether it be harira in my host mother's kitchen in Fez, Morocco or matzoh ball soup a la Chudi kitchen in Brookline, MA, I think I have finally learned to relax, observe, participate, and enjoy.

The world is here around me. And it is my job to reach out and grab it. I had a dream the other night: I was chilling in a swivel chair in the middle of an infinite library and I could turn in any direction and pull sights, sounds, smells, feelings, textures, tastes, people, places, etc off of enormous cedar shelves (probably cedar because it is the most populous tree in Morocco). I pulled off everything that I wanted, and often got things that I could never have imagined. Then the dream ended. And here I am. I happen to be sitting in a swivel chair in a small internet cafe with impossible French keyboards in Africa. Coincidence?


bislama (with peace),
lauren