Well.
I can take four, and this past week I've been getting them their paperwork so they can get parental permission, ID photos, birth certificates, etc. The plan is for them to get everything filled out and turned into me so I can bring their files to my Ministry of Youth and Sport (they are paying for the scholarship students) representative on Monday. It should be a pretty simple task, right? All four of them know where my house is, so all they need to do is gather their paperwork and drop it off with me by Sunday-ish. And if it takes longer, it's no big deal. Camp isn't until August and my representative lives about an hour away. Easy peas.
At least, that's how I saw the situation. Apparently one kid sees things quite differently. The following is a text message I received at 6:52 am on Monday:
FIN NTI DABA ALLIIIIIII
In English, this translates to "WHERE ARE YOU NOW ALLIIIIIII" and no, I'm not exaggerating on the number of i's there. I counted. Seven.
When I crabbily responded I was at my house, he wrote back, totally normal, that he'd be by at ten to drop off his folder with me. When he showed up at 9:57 I asked him what his deal was and he said someone had told him (very mean-spiritedly) that I left to travel and he wouldn't get to go to camp now because I wasn't around to turn in his forms.
All I can say is this camp better be out-of-this-world fun for the amount of stress it's causing this poor kid.
Next order of business. I carried a watermelon! My boo Donniell already made a Dirty Dancing/watermelon reference in her blog (we like our watermelon in Morocco) but I don't care. It's just too easy.
But yeah, I finally sucked it up and bought my own watermelon. I had recently had this conversation with another volunteer:
Erika: i watched lord of the rings today
me: i cleaned and reorganized my entire house
OMG
SHUT UP
Erika: and ate way too much watermelon
me: I DID TOO
lord of the rinfs (sic)
Erika: REAAAAAALY!
me: not watermelon
Erika: schwing!
me: i'm too lazy to carry watermelon to my house
Erika: i was at someone elses house
and i small-girled* some little bitches to carry it to their house
That bolded part there makes me feel like a big fat liar, because the VERY NEXT DAY I was shopping and the watermelon man offered me a free sample. After trying to just buy part of a watermelon (not happening) I asked him for the smallest one. Next thing I know, I am lugging 10.5 kilos of watermelon to my house. Worth the sweat and sore arm muscles? I think so...it's been two days and I've eaten 2/3 of it.
Another thing. I'm worried about myself, because Single Ladies is slowly taking hold of my brain. I watch it everyday and yet come no closer to learning the dance. I keep hoping if I just kind of stare at it I will absorb the choreography, similar to Professor Harold Hill's method for learning to play music, but with less swindling and capital T Trouble in River City.
Back to the point: Single Ladies is on my mind all the time. For example, when I saw this photograph the first thought that went through my mind was "that statue knows the dance better than I do."
(photo credit: my dazzling cousin, Janie Taylor. Google her, she's kind of a big deal in the ballet world--and should be a big deal in the photography world.)
In closing,
*to "small-girl" or "small-boy" something is to find a small child to do a task that you are too lazy to do. It's a common practice in Morocco...just yesterday I was celebrating the USA win over Algeria and small-boyed a kid to bring an extra glass for tea.
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