Michelle Betz's Dispatch from Morocco #5
Rabat MoroccoFebruary 8, 2005
Electricity and technology were the players of the week. Let me explain.
This past Monday, I began teaching at the college where I'm scheduled to do a number of courses. I showed up as scheduled and met the professor who was going to introduce me. We waited. We listened to some of the second year students' newscasts. We waited some more.
Finally we called it a day, figuring none of the five students was going to show up. So I left.
I saw my landlord later that evening and explained that I was still waiting for Maroc Telecom to hook up my phone line (through which my DSL/high-speed internet was to connect). He asked for all of my receipts and said he'd pay them a visit the next day. I gave him the receipts, but I seriously wondered how effective he'd be in accomplishing something several people had been working on for a couple of weeks.
Tuesday morning I met with four of the five students -- a group of young women, eager to learn. I had been asked to have the students arrange a couple of debates (this was a radio interviewing skills course) and a couple of topics had been suggested. While I agreed to the debate, I wasn't as keen on the topics. I decided the students would likely have more interest if they chose something they felt passionate about.
We had our discussion about debates. I explained what I wanted and asked them to return the next day with their topics and some other preliminary inforomation. I also told them I would show them some digital editing the next day.
On the way home, I thought I'd finally arrange some more technology -- a TV and satellite dish. I made my way home through the medina (the walled old city - but not as old as the Kasbah where I live) to a little electronics shop. I had talked to the owner previously and he told me it would cost just over 3000dh (about $360) for what I needed. I paid him the money (turned out it was 3400dh) and he assured me the technician would come the next afternoon.
I continued walking home through the medina, crossed the major street that separates it from the Kasbah and meandered through the little community that has become my home. As I made my way to my little house, I saw my front door was open. I figured Hassan, my landlord, was probably there. Sure enough, there he was, with a friend of his, letting the precious heat escape through my open door.
I silently wondered if ever a day would pass without him "dropping by." I love my privacy... and my space.
Those thoughts quickly vanished though when he greeted me with a triumphant, albeit toothless, grin. He grabbed my hand, led me up the steps and to the phone that had been sitting useless for the past month. He picked up the receiver and put it to my ear. A dial tone...finally! What a sweet, sweet sound. I grabbed Haj (he's done the hijra or "pilgrimage" to Mecca and is therefore known as Haj) and gave him a huge hug all the while wondering if this meant my Internet worked as well. I couldn't wait for him to leave so I could check that out.
I was elated, on top of the world. Soon, I thought, I'll be the tech center of the Kasbah...phone (and maybe Internet) today, TV and satellite tomorrow. It all felt a little anachronistic -- the 21st century meets the 12th century -- but who cares?
I didn't even care when Haj told me that the phone technician had needed a small "incentive" of 200dh ($25). I'm willing to pay incentives, but at the same time I wonder how much of this incentive Haj was going to pocket.
Haj and his friend finally left. I flew upstairs, grabbed the computer and modem and connected everything. I waited. On my god... it was incredible... there it was... a live internet connection. I could now work at home, IM my friends and family and simply feel connected with the rest of the world. Wow...
The rest of the evening I caught up on emails and just reveled in my internet connection in the Kasbah. It was incredibly liberating.
The next day found me at the college with the four young women and a young man from Senegal who walked in late. He was the missing fifth person for this class. We discussed the choice of debate topics. One group had chosen virginity (I was impressed that these women were so willing to discuss a topic like that so openly) while the other had a rather vague notion of the Moroccan film industry. I suggested they do more research to come up with a clear focus.
I pulled out the computer again, gave them another lesson on digital editing, left them my mini-disc recorder (they still work with cassettes and edit with razor blades and grease pencils), and made my way home to wait for more technology.
At two minutes to three there was a knock on my door. "Je suis le techicien" (I am the technician), he said. Seems everyone here is a "technician". He checked out the situation, then went back to his vehicle (I presume). A few minutes later, he was back with a guy pushing a wooden cart laden with a sattelite dish and various other pieces of equipment.
After we unloaded, the "technician" went back up to my roof. Turns out there was already a satellite dish up there, but I didn't think it was mine. He installed the receiver and started programming everything. I was impressed... until the power went out. Completely. Everything, from TV to lights to heat!
The technician looked at the fuse box, cursed his fellow Moroccans for such shabby workmanship and then went outside to find the main box. Turns out one of the plugs (I have no idea what they are called, or what they do...) was extremely hot, and clearly shouldn't have been. So after some discussion between the technician and a guy working on the house next door, they told me the wiring was a complete disaster and very dangerous. They did get the TV up and running, though they left the heaters off. At least they know what their priorities are... but I can't say mine are the same!
The technician, whose name turned out to be Hassan, finished programming everything, told me he'd buy my TV when I was ready to leave and made sure to explain how dangerous the wiring was and that I must be sure to get the "patron" (landlord) to deal with this immediately. I said I would.
So now I was left in my little house with even more technology. There I was, this bastion of technology... freezing my butt off. I went to the fusebox and turned them all back on (except the one Hassan had declared as the problem fuse)... I needed heat after all.
Oh, let me go back a step. In the middle of the satellite technician's visit, Paul called to tell me that the ticket I had booked for that Saturday's trip home had been declined by the credit card company. Yes, more technology.
My credit card had been declined at the supermarket twice and I had emailed the credit card company twice and they twice assured me that next time would be the charm and that they understood I was in Morocco and don't worry your credit card is working fine.
Earlier, I had decided that since the following Thursday was yet another holiday here (no sheep involved, however), and because I had nothing on my schedule, I would make a quick trip home. Now, Paul was telling me the ticket had been cancelled thanks to the credit card company. I couldn't believe it. Paul gave me an 800 number to call. I reminded him I couldn't make toll-free calls from here -- he told me not to worry, that he'd take care of this. Little did I realize what a mess it was and what he would have to do to deal with it.
An hour later, I spoke to Paul again and he told me all had been sorted out, directly through Air France. He told me the Internet company that I had originally used, One Travel, had been totally unhelpful and useless. So I'd be on my way home Saturday!
Well, Friday morning the electrician showed up and did some rewiring. The heat was going full blast and my place had never been so warm. My guess things were never going at full amperage (or whatever the electrical term is!). When I awoke in the middle of the night, it was a toasty 69 degrees; usually it would have plummeted down to low 60s or even 50s.
But several hours later, I awoke to an all too familiar chill in the air. I looked at my clock/thermometer... 64 degrees. What was going on? We'd had a wicked thunderstorm during the night and I figured power in the Kasbah got knocked out. I peered out my windows, craned my neck left and right. There was, in fact, a little light. "Crap," I thought, "it's just my place. Figures." I grabbed my flashlight and pushed the on button. I swore and thought about how useless I was for not being prepared. Sure, I had the flashlight, but I had forgotten to put batteries in and now it was too dark to see how to put them in.
Another sigh. Well, at least I was getting on a plane in a few hours. I lit all the candles I had and for the first time in a month I realized I was using them for light, and not for heat (though I could always use the heat as well!).
I finished getting ready, went by Haj's to let him know the electricity was gone (yes, all of it, I explained), grabbed my stuff and went in search of a taxi. I only hoped that Haj would get right on this and not wait until the day I got back, or it would be absolutely freezing and all the stuff in my fridge would be rotten. Oh well, nothing more I could do.
So, everyone, I am writing this from Satellite Beach. I can hear the waves crashing outside, I have power, I have heat, I have my man and my dog... maybe just for a week, but it's absolutely wonderful!
Big hugs
Michelle
