I like to make lists.

Jam du jour: Free Fallin and other Tom Petty classics

And now, a list.

You are starting to adapt to life here when:

1. It’s 50 degrees out and you are wearing long underwear (by choice, even. Not because your host mom made you.)
2. Every sentence you utter, whether in Darija or English, ends with a “yek?”, “fahimTIni?”, or “wakha?” (“yeah?” “do you understand me?” “okay?”)
3. Many sentences you utter begin with a “Mohim…” (“important…”)
4. Every time you shake someone’s hand you immediately tap your chest afterward.
5. You wear crappy plastic sandals around your own house.
6. Bread is dawuri (absolutely necessary) at every meal.
7. If it’s raining, you probably aren’t going to work. Let’s be honest.
8. You know how to use a squeegee attached to a broomstick correctly enough so that a Moroccan doesn’t forcibly remove it from you and start showing you how it’s done.
9. You know when to pretend like you don’t speak a lick of Darija (example: when the creepy man in the taxi that keeps ‘accidentally’ rubbing your arm tries to start up a conversation).
10. Upon seeing you do something ghetto (ie hording plastic bags and using and reusing them) a Moroccan actually tells you “welliti magribiya,” or “you became Moroccan.”


That said, I shudder at the thought of how far I have to go.

This week: planning meetings for a big environment/art project, "Make (insert my town's name here) Beautiful," planning meetings for a big reading race I;m organizing for April, running/walking club with some ladies, and tutoring my 16-year-old cousin. By that I mean eating lunch with her family, drinking tea with them, then teaching her to say "smell ya later."