It has been pointed out to me that this blog "needs some love." In an effort to keep my public happy and avoid another moment-by-moment retelling of some trip, I am including what I call "Moroccan Thoughts." I've been walking around with a notebook in my pocket filled with Arabic vocabulary and that same notebook has served as a place to jot down notes about interesting things that I see before I have a chance to forget. So, without further ado:

• This weekend I spent the better part of a Saturday hanging out in an apartment some of us rent off campus. Both Moroccan and American students were there. A guy named Ibrahim taught me the darija (Moroccan dialect of Arabic) phrase, “Do you think I’m stupid?” It’s idiomatic slang and should convince overzealous shopkeepers that I have SOME idea of what I should be paying for a wool hat or a taxi ride. Here’s hoping.

• That same weekend, a student named Yassin told me the story of why humans have differently colored skin. As he carefully explained to me, there is a story of how God put all of humanity in the oven to let us bake to life. Some people came out sooner, and some later, thus darkening their skin more. “So,” he went on, “Blacks from Africa stayed in the longest, and Arabs somewhere in the middle, and then, well . . .” His voice trailed off because the conclusion was obvious. The story-telling had been triggered by the sight of my pallor, sunning myself on the balcony.

• One interesting thing about Moroccan culture that I have observed almost every time I’ve entered a medina is a good old-fashioned shouting match. Here’s how it works: You’re walking through a narrow street with merchants on either side peddling their wares. All of a sudden, you’ll hear a commotion from around some a corner, turn it and see a crowd eying a pair of men whose voices are rapidly escalating in volume. The fight’s catalyst is impossible to determine, but money or a faulty weighing device is usually the culprit. The two men are now really into each other’s faces, gesticulating wildly and looking skyward, imploring the Almighty for justice. Just because they are nose-to-nose, though, doesn’t mean that a fight is about to break out. People here can hold this pose (while yelling at the top of their lungs) for an impressive amount of time. In the States, it would seem, someone would have backed down or thrown a punch long ago. Different ways of resolving conflict, I guess.