Traveling, Pt. 2

Er Rachidia 2

The pizzas were done. We stood in the kitchen and toasted to ourselves for the beautiful work. As the rest of us prepared to leave, I pulled out the Valentine’s poem I had written a year earlier and reworded to fit the occasion. There was a knock at the door, and the Fulbright student came in. He said he needed to use our oven. We wrapped our pizza, and continued to get ready.

Back in the main room, I turned to the window and watched as Moroccans continued on their daily routine. They don’t have Valentine’s Day here, I thought. And then I remembered that in a few days was the Prophet Mohammad’s birthday. Looking down onto the street made me think of Rabat.

Rabat

Everyone has a balcony in Rabat, but they are used as clotheslines and storage units. Shirts flutter in the wind, rusted satellite dishes rest in the corners, and boxes of things line the walls. At the hotel I am staying in, there is an inner courtyard. people run back and forth through it to get to the other sides of streets more quickly. I sit in what can be described as a hostel style room. The paint on the walls was peeling, and the light above me hummed.

Before leaving, I took a shower. There is not hot water where I live, so bathing is a treat for me, especially in winter. The steam rose from the floor to the ceiling, until the entire room was one massive fog. In that hotel, however, there was no warm; there was only cold and hot. It didn’t matter; I needed to get clean. I emerged from the bathroom, and the fog rose from my skin as though I had just emerged from some other world.

The administration building was across town. I needed a taxi. The thing about riding in a taxi in Morocco is that even if the driver uses a meter, I have no way of knowing the city streets, so I don’t know if he is taking a direct way or a scenic route. After a day here, I had already paid three different prices to get back and forth to the same places. When I arrived at the administration office, I noticed the surveillance cameras at the edges of the walls. A metal door was the only way in. I rang the bell and was ushered in through the metal detector to the courtyard, where I saw a volunteer reading a book on the grass, surrounded by white, purple, and blue flowers. The administration building used to be owned by a lord, or some other powerful figure.

The medical session was successful.

I returned to the hotel and decided to get dinner. I had heard of the many great restaurants in Rabat, but because I was by myself, I decided it would be better to stay near the hotel. There was a McDonald’s nearby, but when I walked in, I could barely move from the mass of people. As I went in further, a very familiar feeling crept up on me. My breathing became very shallow, and it became more difficult to move. I managed to make it to the counter to place my order. It wasn’t until after I received my food that I noticed my hands were white from gripping the counter. I saw only a mass of faces in the restaurant, and wondered why I had to come to such a busy place. I left McDonald’s as quickly as possible, and as I breathed in the fresh air, my pulse finally slowed down, and the color returned to my face. I decided I would wait to explore Rabat until I had someone to enjoy it with.