destroyed by naivety

so my last entry was pretty long. i fear it's detered some from reading it. either that or i've just been forgotten, swept into the past and given up for lost. anyway, the comments at least have been slacking. this is a two-way relationship people. and right now i'm giving a lot more than i'm recieving. see there, i've even set up a nice and easy gay joke for you. i actually swapped numbers with a moroccan guy the other day who is definatly gay. he sang for me and liked to hold my arm as we walked. i think i'll go visit him this week and take him shopping with me. it's down to gift-buying time here. well, i mainly wanted to tell you all about how easily i'm taken advantage of (see, another one. i'm expecting some good stuff here.) so anyway, i'll keep this one short. i was out walking today, looking for a pirated copy of the new harry potter movie and some bannanas when this guy walks up to me and says he recognizes me from the hotel. well, not wanting to embarass him since he seems to be so happy about seeing me, i just play along. "oh yeah, i love my room. it's been great. such a nice hotel." and he tells me that the manager is a hard-nosed jew and that he's soon quitting his job. well, we walk around for a while and he's pointing things out to me, just like a tour guide. he actually shows me this really cool morning market i didn't know existed where they sell fruit and birds and flowers and beer. yeah, beer in a muslim country. it's true. "for when i want to relax" he says. he also shows me a bookstore that actually sells english books. another place whose existence i was unaware of. so, after about half an hour of this and after seeing the "largest mosque in the world" (bullcrap) he says something about a gift for his son who has just turned four. he'd like to buy him a picture book. and i'm not really sure if he means he'd like to buy one or if he'd like me to buy one. it becomes pretty clear when he drags me back to the bookstore and picks out a nice, thick picture book and says this would be a great gift for me to buy. well, i can't very well back out now. after all, he did just show me the largest mosque in the world. and so i give him almost all i have on me, 50 dirhams (about six dollars) and even though this doesn't cover the entire cost he assures me he can pay the rest. so i'm feeling very good about myself, thinking of the joy on this poor child's face who lives in the mountains and may never have seen such a beautiful book, when my friend (mustafa was his name, so he told me) puts the book back down and leaves. doesn't even pretend to buy it. doesn't even pull the wal-mart trick and take it back the next day. no way, he goes straight off with my money, laughing the whole time. probably back to the beer market. what a fool i am. oh well, let God judge i suppose. i won't be the one burning in eternal fire for so shamelessly decieving a hapless american. man i'm an idiot. i just need to go back to the camels and desert people where no one knows what money is and where no one speaks english well enough to decieve me.

the random events that are my life

alright, so i've been out of the wilderness now for a couple of weeks and unfortunatly fes doesn't offer much in the way of spectacular landscapes and stars and camels and funny old men in neat houses. so you'll have to content yourselves reading about some of the less impressive, but more random, events of my life. i have three for you. may they be progressivly funnier and more random and bring cheer to your otherwise cubicled lives.

you might say that my supervisor and i have clashing personalities. really, they're more like bitter arch enemies; those pairs in nature like the lion and water buffalo who are born to fight each other until one dies. he is extremely controlling, completely inflexable, and has lived long enough to have gained perfect wisdom in all areas of life. so naturally, everything should be done his way. for example, he asks that i wash my bedsheets at least ocnce a week and even asks about it when he comes over, "so, have you done laundry lately?" when i was about to leave for my trip to The desert he says, "now, i don't want you taking my camera and getting sand all over it but you can take your camera if you'd like." well thank you, kind, merciful sir for giving me permission to take my own camera somewhere. what would i do without you asking me to make a log of every hour of the day and what i plan on doing with it? you can tell i'm slightly bitter. so he comes over the other day and asks to see the storyboard i had been working on. i show him what i have (it's more like a general outline of what i wnat to do with the video with some stcik figures and such) and he throws a fit. he says this is not what he asked for, he needs a complete, shot by shot layout of the entire production. and i say it's really hard for me to work that way. i'd rather go get some footage, see what it looks like and then produce the video from there. you know, a more organic aproach; let it take a life of its own. well, we'd been at odds for quite a while now with me openly contradicting things he's suggested and arguing in defense over the slighest disagreement in the wording of my script. he sits me down and looks at me and says "i can tell you have some issues in your life. you have a problem with authority. and i can tell you don't like me so let's just have out with it." haha. i have issues? i have issues? what about you, mister "please make out a will before your trip" ? so we sit there for about three hours arguing over life philosophies and the amount of control you should have over people's lives. and finally he says, "i'm old, i'm more set in my ways and this is my show so we'll do things my way." we haven't gotten anywhere. so i give up. but we're not finished. he says he thinks he can get to the root of my problems if i'm willing to let him help me. and so i'm interested in what he thinks is really wrong with me so i say sure. haha, he has me sit back on the couch and starts asking about my childhood and my relationship with my parents. i barely keep myself from laughing but i indulge him and now he thinks, "we've made some progress." he probably thinks of me as a troubled youth with a dark past, always conflicting with those in charge of me and being generally hard to get along with. i think he's been trying to catch a peek of prison tatoos under my shirt and looking up my permanent record online for juvenile offences like vandalism and attempted arson of my father's house. i almost told him about last year's songfest but then thought better of it.

incedent number two: people often yell at me in the street, usually in french, but rarely do they ever attempt to save my obviously condemned-to-hell white soul. so this chain-smoking, younger guy stops me the other day. i tell him i don't speak french and only a little arabic but he is determined. i'll spare you the boring details (we stood there for a good twenty minutes) and i didn't understand most of what he said. but this is the gist of it: i am obviously american since i don't speak french. but besides that, being white means i have a cross painted on my chest and lots of people around here don't like christians, especially american ones. god often tells them to kill people like me. i am marked for death. he pointed to his forehead and made a bull's eye. then he showed me various scars on his arms and face (probably from where he cut himself in a drug induced trance) and makes slashing motions across his throat. but he can help me; he wants to help me. if only i will turn to god, when i die at least i'll end up in heaven. he stabs my stomach a few times, points to the ground and then up to the sky. become a muslim and i'll go to heaven when i'm killed by osama ben laden. then he says "say this," and tries to have me recite the muslim confession. so finally i tell him no and start to walk away. but he grabs my arm and shows me a casset tape he is holding. it's the muslim equivelent of gospel music. it has a picture of a fat, bearded imam with sun glasses on, super-imposed on a picture of mecca. he tells me this guy can help. pray to god. be saved. finally i just walk away and he keeps yelling "say it!" and i keep yelling "god-willing!" (the cultural equivalent of saying, "no way." or, "only if god possess my body and forces me to.") yes, he tried, but when ole osama comes for me i'm afraid my soul is bound for hell. tough luck.

imagine my suprise when this text shows up on my phone (all spelling and grammatical errors are accurate to the message) "Hey boo i have a bottele johny walker wiskey if u want we drinkin in your home its not probleme or.?" i laughed for a good five minutes before i could compose myself to write back. so i ask "who is this?" and the reply, "In your house .Me and you" it's like some really crappy rap song. where did this guy learn english?maybe he's got me confused with his american girlfriend. so i write back, in french, "what's your name?" and if it isn't my friend, the fake khalid, mr. "he called me john," the guy i accidentally called and spent the evening with a few weeks ago. and for a while i contemplate having him over and having a drink with him. what could be funnier than watching a preppy young moroccan guy get drunk in your apartment? one who barely speaks english and, with a few in him, might suggest that we, "go halla at shorty and get our freak on." but no, even with the words of dh in the back of my mind, don't be afraid to do things no one else would, i think better of it and tell him we'll have to find somewhere else to enjoy johny walker. this boo just can't have pimps and playas all up in his crib. unfortunatly he never calls me back and i spend the evening watching a meril streep, robert redford movie and looking through my french dictionary and the french grammer book dwayne gave me. almost up to johny's standards, but not quite pimp'n it. well, he did learn his english from the backstreet boys. god bless america.

one more night

one of the most comical things i have ever wittnessed: an american girl smashed in between a near-tears Catelonian boy, his face burried in her neck and strange Catelonian curses popping out between bumps in the road, and a similarly attatched French girl, also near tears and also holding on for her life while the Brazilian driver steers as close to the edge of the road, and the respective cliff, as he can and flies around the corners in the highest gear possible, laughing all the while and reminding me of a cowboy having a good go at the rodeo. me; my head (and most of my upper torso) is out the window trying to get a better view of the valley below. the valley a few hundred feet below. and it's not hard, let me tell you, the "road" being barely wide enough for the truck. we stopped at one point because andreu had to pee. but when he got out, he said it wouldn't work because he was too nervous. oh, but it was beautiful. the mountais we were heading for had a bit of snow on the peaks and the valley villiages we were flying above were green and filled with palm trees. it took us almost four hours to get to where we were staying four hours of cliff-hugging dirt roads no wider than the trucck. i'm not sure what we would have done if we would have needed to pass someone.

the villiage in which we spent the night was possibly the most beautiul place on earth. this little valley with a stream running through it, everything was green except for the trees which were just turning bright orange. there were little stone fences all over the place with men working in the feilds and women doing wash in the stream. the valley came to a point at the foot of a huge, snow-capped mountain built out of red rock. there was one winding path up the middle of it all, just wide enough for the occasional donkey. it reminded my of a Hobbit villiage. so yes, it felt like home.

we stayed the night in this amazing old house with a wrinkled old man who laughed alot and wore a blue jellaba (sort of like a traveling cloak. they look like something a jedi would wear. naturally i've purchased my own. oh, and what a nerd i am having now used both star wars and lord of the rings to reference real-life.) his house had low ceilings, wooden rafters, and looked as if it were just carved out of a large rock. the stairs were winding and steep and the rooms were lit by candle and lantern (there being no electricity) with the floors covered in great rugs and pillows. we slept right above the donkey, ate above the sheep and stepped over the chikens and their chicks everywhere we walked. the middle was open to the sky. at night the stars once again put on a brilliant show, there being no ground-light to interfere, and they twinkled; i mean they litteraly almost blinked in and out of existence. i stood there alone in the middle of the night, staring up through the courtyard for quiet a while, completely transfixed. i was alone in the universe. just the stars and i.

the next day we hiked up the valley to the foot of the great mountain. it (the valley) came to a sharp end between the lesser mountains, but there were a small, green, almost terraced pastures zig-zagging further up the slopes where herds of sheep were out for the day. on the left was a small watterfall that fed the stream running into the valley below. and sweeping doown at us from the snow and rocks was an amazingly strong wind. so i climbed up a small side of the mountain and down into one of the green pastures where the wind was at it's strongest and just stood there. here and there a random goat would stroll by, and maybe a donkey or two. but mostly, it was me and the wind. and that mountain. i could have died there. in fact, if i do die before finding a more beautiful slice of earth, bury me there. bury me with the wind and rocks and snow and grass and goats. and again and always, the silence. whether in the desert or on top of a mountain the silence is what really stands out. no humming electricity. no passing cars. no screaming people. nothing but the wind.

coming back down i stuck my head in the waterfall an almost froze to death. but it was refreshing. i was so sad to leave that valley and that laughing old man. but it was entertaining watching andreu and sophie almost wet themselves with fear and imagining that somehow holding onto helen would save them from death if we were to jump the cliff. but i rode the whole way back with my head in the wind, wishing i could fly. and if i could, i'd fly right back to that little valley. away from all this mess and fuss that is "real" life; back to where i can see God. back to where i don't need to see Him because i can feel Him, in everything. but especially in the wind. and the ever-profound silence. oh how i love that silence.

dreams almost come true

so there we were, (what a great way to start a story) a few hundred kilometers from home about to venture into The desert. the unforgiving and forbidding anvil of the sun, the Sahara. and we're lost. oh, what a great way to start a story. we know somewhere in this border town, this oasis bridging the inhabitable with the formidable, there is a road that leads out to the desert. we're just not sure where. so these two guys, both straddling the same tiny old scooter and reminding me of the ambiguously gay duo, very proffesionally and gracefully (one is wearing an obviously american-made how to grow it yourself shirt showing us all how to grow our own weed. globalization; thank you america) ride alongside our car, dodging oncoming traffic-since they're in the next lane-and offer us their assistance: "we can show you through the desert. you will die there alone. two people died last year trying to go on their own. for merely 100 dirhams (about 11 dollars) we will help you. what is 100 dirhams compared to your life? save yourselves. buy your life." so of course we blew them off...and found the road on our own. so off to the desert.

we're supposed to meet some people in this small town in the middle of nowhere and hire a guide to take us, on camels, out into the dunes for the night. so we're driving and driving and driving. and nothing. finally we spot ahead of us about five other land roavers. by this time the nicely paved road has turned to gravel and is pitted with dangerous looking holes and probably quick sand (so i'd like to think.) so we decide to follow these guys cause they obviously know what they're doing. so we're behind one of them when suddenly, and i mean this happend all at once, no lie, they all swerved off in different directions. it was like they were talking to one another and decided our little red land rover was a threat to their big, rough white ones and they were going to lose us. not one to be intmidated, our brazilian driver smashed down on the gas peddle and headed off road in close pursuit. well, off road was even worse than on. we're all bouncing everywhere, hitting our heads on the ceiling, our bags in the back are flying around and more than once the vehicle slams into a particularly nasty hole and threatens to roll over. all the while, the rough, white, old man of the desert land roaver ahead of us seperates itself further and further. finally we give up and stop the truck. so we're sitting there, in the middle of the desert, off road and off map wondering what to do. and just when i think my dreams have been realized and we're going to have to aimlessly wander the wilderness, facing bandits and death, another truck pulls up behind us and offers to show us the way. curse them. and their stupid white truck. so we end up following them, not to the place we had intended to go, but to their own desert compound and their own guide company. but they're cheaper so we agree to let these perfect strangers take us out into the dunes for the night.

so there we are, the five of us on camels in the middle of the bright orange, nearly red, erg cherbi dunes. nothing but sand. as far as we can see. mountains of it. and i literally mean mountains. the sand was piled so high and steep, it often looked insurmountable. it was dusk and our guide stopped to do his evening prayers. behind us the sun was setting and the sky was turning various shades of red; from bright pink to brilliant orange. and not a sound. the stillness was palpable. with our white-robed guide bowing to the sunset, camels at hand taking their rest, it was easy to imagine we were in some other century, some other world. and i was happy. darkness fell. it too was so complete as to be felt. ahh, but then the stars came out. first just one. you know that one star that is always first, and brightest; the one that seems to have been awarded a speacial position in heaven because it's the only one that gets to wittness the entire night in all it's glory, even unto the grey morning? that one was out. but it was soon followed by them all; by every single star hevean has tucked away in it's infinate vastness. they were all there. every single one... then our guide got lost. yes, lost. we were all wondering how he knew where he was going, especially in the dark. well, apparently he didn't. so we backtracked. and turned a different way. and then backtracked some more. and then our camels got tired. so we had to walk. but once again my dream was cruely snatched away and we stumbled into camp.

but that night i woke up, too hot to be in a tent and walked outside. the moon was out and the orange desert was now blue. so i wandered a ways from camp, past the sleeping camels and climbed a dune. on one side was the valley with our tent asleep at the bottom, a few hundred yards away, on the other side the rolling dunes, stretching away to meet an anonymous range of mountains. and everywhere, the stillness. not a sound. nothing. it was amazing. like being deaf. and then i started to wonder what actually lived in the desert. and what that shadow over there was. and exactly what sort of animal made those tracks and what caused it to leap off the side of the dune so suddenly as it apparently had. thus i found myself running back to camp. and falling on my face. and smashing underfoot a variety of animal droppings. and startling a sleepy herd of camels. but i fell alseep in that silence, on that blue sand, under those amazing stars. and had amazingly quiet, beautiful dreams. God bless those camels and their quiet dreams. i wish i were still with them.