I'm treated like a child fairly often in Morocco.
Sometimes it's awkward, like when my landlord musses up my hair and claps me on the back so hard I stumble forward a few paces.
Sometimes it's humiliating, like that time I went to the hammam and was bathed by a naked stranger, then ordered to sit obediently in my underwear next to my host brother until our mom came.
And sometimes, some glorious times, it really works in my favor.
Yesterday morning I had to go to Rabat. Usually, getting to Rabat from where I live is almost comically easy. Grand taxis go straight there and back ALLLL day long.
Unfortunately, you can't depend on anything in this crazy world. According to a society of Cartographers for Social Equality, you can't even depend on latitude and longitude! Likewise, I arrived at the taxi stand yesterday morning to find at least 50 stranded hopefuls with no car in sight. Sucks to be us!
Actually, it sucks to be them, because when I walked up to the guy in charge of things to ask if he had any idea when a taxi might show up, he ordered me to sit next to him on the curb so that when the taxi DID come he could grab me and run to ensure I got a seat.
And that is exactly what we did.
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Sometimes I feel guilty about this prevalent phenomenon. Our appearance of helplessness urges some to take us under their wings and prioritize us on things like transport. We've got one of these guys in Khemisset that does this for us EVERY time we're there. In order to get us in-demand seating, his tactics are not limited to trickery, deviousness, and general dishonesty towards his fellow countrymen. I love that guy!
ReplyDeleteHaha! Yeah, I always feel really guilty, too. Yet not guilty enough to tell the guy not to help me.
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