7/9 Juggling family life and medicine

Only class in the morning today, - we read newspapers for the second half of class (I got all the letters down, and can at least pronounce the words I have no idea the meaning of). After a quick change at the house I ran to surfing at 1:30. Waves were perfect for beginners today, and I really felt like I got it down. I was jumping up just fine with the push-up today, and I even pulled off a 180-fakie… once. Back home everyone was napping (generally from 3-5ish), so I ate the leftovers alone. Sadly, these “peaceful” lunches remind me of eating back in America in between classes. Quick memory lapses like this keep my going. I snag a quick hour nap before Hemsa and I go to the beach to play soccer. I am torn between having to apply to medschool, which rips me away from hanging out with the family, so I made today about spending time with Hemsa (as the other young male he is the one I “should” bond the most with).

We met up with Marjuan and juggle/pass around in the tiny beach high-tide left us. Others join in, and we break the out of bounds water rule, as our keep away extends into the Atlantic. Eventually four of us end up playing ‘monkey in the middle’ to tippie-toe depth. It was here I met my Habeebatee. Kareema, and Kareem joined our game, and Kareema wanted to practice her English while we played, so I talked with her about school and what I studied and was doing here, etc. At one point our game went a little too far deep, and she started struggling to stay up. I gave her my arm as a buoy, while we came back in a little, and afterwards she told me she loved me. Awkward. I tried as best I could to “let her down easy”, as I first thought she was joking. She seemed adamant, however, and really wanted to come to America (which most likely led to her aforementioned confession of passion). Her tone was a little too serious for me, so I thanked ‘my friend’ and kept changing the subject. To top it all off, I had to juggle this conversation speaking in French, while Hemsa and Marjuan and Kareem all laughed in the back. Eventually they got too cold (the water was freezing), and we made it back to the shore while my 'lover' decided to stay in the pond. We went back to juggling, which we kept at for about an hour (the water was really cold, and the high-tide kept the beach too packed to really get a game going). At one point in time they passed to a girl dressed in a skater outfit (minus the shoes), and I was happy to see someone of the opposite sex join in for a while (she was even better than a couple of our group-members). On the way back home, Marjuan invited me to join them in going to “the street,” which I later learned was Mohammed V.

Back at the house we met up with Modolu and headed to the hammam. This time there were more people, and it literally served as the “guy night” for all the Moroccan men, as I thought it would. I couldn’t quite make out what they were talking about, but my father joined in, while I explained to Modolu everything I had figured out about the hammam. We leave squeaky clean (I opted out of the masseuse this time, saving up my 30 DH for souvenirs), and I take a picture of ‘the guys.’ Back at the house Modolu and I join Hemsa’s friends and end up walking all the way to the park between a church and mosque. On the way I talk to the friends in French, and we compare school systems. At the park I whip out the hackysack, and show them how it’s done. One of them calls me Beckham, as I show off the different moves one can do. Curiously enough, though they all play soccer, only one could really keep the sack up, as they weren’t used to the sand sack / size. We leave after a while, and my legs were pounding with fatigue. Then, sadly, Hemsa’s group saw a group of three girls walking down a main street which happened to be mostly empty. Three of the group take off with a brisk walk to catch up to the girls, one whistling, one actually whistling (with a whistle), and another muttering some type of catcall. Modolu and I were not pleased, but only really knew how to show our displeasure saying "la" [no] and not following their amble of disrespect, despite the fact that Marjuan tried to pull us to keep up and join in. The girls duck into a Pastry shop which was closing, and I glance in to see their reaction as I follow a ways behind Hemsa’s group. To my surprise, the girls were not pissed off, but rather interested to see who was checking them out. I'm not sure if this is the Moroccan girl way of ‘checking someone out,’ but I did see Marjuan giving Hemsa a highfive after whispering something to him about the girls. Lastly, Marjuan and I had a long conversation about different nations (I can’t believe how useful country names in French are), and he jokes that many come to Morocco looking for jobs, but Moroccans don’t even have jobs. I think back to the protesters and laugh along with him. Back home Hemsa, Modolu, and I have a midnight dinner, before Modolu leaves and I die after finishing my homework.