Michelle Betz's Dispatch from Morocco #4
Rabat MoroccoJanuary 30, 2005 I thought this week I could teach you all a few words in Arabic.
The first word that comes to mind is brd. This one’s easy to remember, just think of brrrrrrrrrrrrrd. You see, brd means cold and it has been absolutely freezing here. Some parts of Morocco, particularly in the east towards Algeria, have seen over a meter of snow, creating havoc on the roads. While we haven’t see any snow here in Rabat we saw some very brd days and nights. My handy little thermometer showed me just how cold it was (low 50s inside -- and that was with all the heaters on). I slept with every blanket I could find and wore several layers of clothing. The only thing that felt a bit brd was my nose.
On one of the coldest days, Friday, I had a little incident. I came home and thought I would finally brave the frigid air and bring in my laundry that Fatna had hung out to dry the day before. I opened the door to the upper balcony off my bedroom and started collecting the dry, but stiff, clothes. I turned around to go back inside and saw that the door had closed on me. I pulled. No luck. I threw the clothes onto the terrace below and took the four precarious metal footholds down and tried the door there. It was locked. I just stood there wondering what the hell I was going to do and thinking how, of course, this would happen on the coldest day. Yes, very brd. But not very fun.
I climbed back up and pulled the door again, willing it to open. And it did, but definitely not the way I expected.
Suddenly -- I can’t remember if I saw it first or heard first or maybe it was simultaneous -- I saw the glass break, kind of in slow motion, and I heard the tinkling of a million pieces of glass flying all around me. I just stood there. Disbelief, I think, was the overwhelming emotion. Here it was, the coldest of days, and I’d just broken this massive door of glass that, until that moment, had protected my bedroom from the brd. And it was a Friday, the Muslim equivalent to our Sunday.
But the door now opened so I was no longer locked out. I suppose that was the silver lining.
I quickly threw on a few more layers and ran to the landlord’s house. I tried to explain to Fatna (his wife) what had happened-- "al-bab" was all I could mutter. The door. She called for her son Youness and I told him in French about my little disaster. He came with me to inspect. Little did I know he came prepared -- he pulled out a tape measure and began measuring, as if he had done this before.
Indeed, he told me a short while later that he had and even knew how much it was going to cost to replace –- 220 dirhams (about $27).
After we cleaned up the glass, which seemed to be everywhere, Youness said he was going to find some glass. It was then he told me how much money he needed. (Don’t worry Knight folks, I didn’t expense this one!)
I crawled onto the couch and threw some blankets over me and waited. And waited. He finally came back. By now it was at least 4:30 and it was getting really chilly. He brought the pane of glass upstairs and quickly noted that it was a hair too big. He had to go get it recut. On his way down the stairs he banged the glass. We both started laughing.
He left. I crawled under the blankets again.
He came back again. Finally by close to 6 p.m. (some 3 hours after the original incident) he finished and the brd air finally stopped blowing into my bedroom. By this time the thermometer hovered somewhere in the 50s. I lit all the candles I could find, grabbed every blanket, threw them on my bed, crawled in and settled in for the night.
It’s now Sunday and I’m still trying to warm up my little house. The last time I remember being this brd was not in Canada, but in a little apartment I rented one winter in a small Italian fishing village. I always forget this part of the world can get so incredibly brd.
And then there’s "inshallah."
Almost every sentence, every reference to something in the future is followed by a muttered inshallah. As I write this I suddenly think maybe I should do a radio piece on inshallah! A kind of inshallah montage.
I’ve even found myself saying it as well. In a way it makes perfect sense... "God willing." To me it’s like saying “I hope it’s warmer tomorrow” and, so you don’t jinx yourself, you add “inshallah”. It becomes, “I hope it’s warmer tomorrow, inshallah.”
Another example. Grabbing a taxi home I say to the taxi driver, “To the Kasbah”. He repeats, “to the Kasbah” but adds inshallah. And now I see why. The way they drive here I find myself praying the entire way home! It’s like a big free for all. I don’t know why they’ve bothered painting lines on the roads as no one pays them any heed. Traffic lights? I’ve seen a few but usually they’re just blinking yellow. There are tons of traffic cops and I think that must be one of the most dangerous jobs in the country. I hear PSAs on the radio telling people to drive safely. I understand why.
Sometimes I think inshallah means something like “yeah, right... in your dreams”. Like when I talk to a woman at work who’s been trying to help me arrange a phone line for my house. I paid Maroc Telecom a nice hefty sum of cash two weeks ago and I’m still waiting for a dial tone. I say to Fatna as I leave for the day that maybe Maroc Telecom will show up the next day. “Inshallah”, she says... like, "yeah right, you’re dealing with Maroc Telecom so start praying!"
So there you go folks, your Arabic lesson for the week.
Have a good one. And stay out of the brd, inshallah.
hugs
michelle
