Clown Cars

They say that to truly understand someone you have to walk in their shoes. According to that principle I have become quite the expert of the life of a canned sardine. Confused? I have two words for y’all: Grand Taxi. Still confused? I would be too if I were you because before this week I didn’t realize that squeezing five people into the backseat of a 30 year old Mercedes and 2 passengers in the front seat was a thing here. In Morocco, there are two kinds of taxis: Grand and Petit. The Petit Taxis are different colors in every city in Morocco; in Rabat they are royal blue, and in Sale they are light yellow for example. These are the taxis that we normally take to school and around Rabat because they most resemble the idea of a taxi in the States. There are some key differences however. In the US, once someone is in a cab, the cab no longer stops to take other passengers. In Morocco however, the cab will stop as many times as it wants until it reaches capacity while going in the first passenger’s general (and I use that term loosely) direction. The capacity of a Petit Taxi is generally accepted as three people, and the capacity of a Grand Taxis seems to be as many people that can fit (comfortably was thoughtfully omitted from that phrase). My first experience in the Grand Taxi was thankfully with my host family. We were all going to have f’tour with my host khaala, or maternal aunt, who lives in a different neighborhood (Hiy) of Rabat. Grand Taxis are less expensive when traveling long distances so we all went to one of the “stops” (i.e. random pileups of gts on the street) to pile into one along with two other strangers. The combination of claustrophobia and reckless Moroccan taxi driving made me very thankful that I can take the tram to school.

After the interesting ride there, we had a very fun time at our aunt's house. Although we had a hard time communicating, I found myself understanding much more of the conversation around the dinner table than I first did when I arrived. So much more in fact, that I managed to even make a few jokes. Visiting my aunts and cousin for f'tour was a welcome change in my everyday routine, but I found myself missing Mama's Harira and briwatts that we eat at home. 

Only two weeks left, and I am torn between wanting to return to my home of 17 years and wanting to stay in the place that I have learned to call home for the past month. 

Ma3 Salama!- KT