not interested, seriously

Posted in Uncategorized by Diana on February 21, 2011

Following this afternoon’s meeting with the Essa crew, I proceeded to finish my errands before hopping in a taxi to head back to site.

I went to my regular fish stall only to find it with a line going out the door. First time this has happened. No problem, I think, I’ll wait it out. Besides, a new batch of fish was being fried – perfect for taking back to the bled!

No surprise, I tend to cause a scene or at least appear as a spectacle to Moroccans who haven’t had the pleasure (as I’ll call it) of meeting me. I was such the site for the ahem*dirty filthy*ahem man standing in front of me. Not wanting to be rude, I said, “Salaam wa3alaykum.”

Immediately, he started talking to me. In French. Instantly, I caught the creeper vibe. Gross.

Lucky for me, I speak (nor understand) neither French nor Arabic, the former not at all and latter not enough to communicate beyond greetings. So, that’s what I told him:

“Anna ma fhmesh t’francis…anna ma fhmesh l’arabia” (I don’t understand French…I don’t understand Arabic). Yes, I was playing the ignorant card.

From what I was able to catch, however, this is the “message” he was trying to give me: He doesn’t live in Essaouira. He is traveling. He wants to have sex and has got it in his head somehow that the interest is mutual.

Gross, gross, and gross. Sometimes I wish I could barf on impulse, seriously. Then again, I’d likely be known as the Chinoi who barfed everywhere. Hahaha.

I kept going with the “I don’t know” phrases until the line of people disappeared and only this fool was standing in front of me. Since he wasn’t budging, I walked around him and stepped into the fish stall.

Once inside, I greeted the workers who instantly recognized me and returned the cordial greetings. I quickly ordered my fish to go, paid for it, and left – all while the creeper was still wrapping his head around who/what just happened. Sucka.

Of course, I also stopped at my donut stand. Both my produce stands. And my peanut/dry goods man before exiting the medina. Before crossing to the taxi stand, I also went to my fruit guy whose stand is across the street from the taxis.

Prompted by an annoying Moroccan man trying to “kunichiwa” and “Korea?” me, my fruit man found an opportunity to learn a little bit about me. In a friendly, non-offensive tone, he asked if I was Chinoi.

La (no), Amerikania,” I told him. His reaction was of genuine surprise, almost disbelief when I told him. I told him the story of my parents growing up in China when they were young and me always living in America. He was still genuinely surprised by the time I was finished paying for my fruit.

That kind of distracted me and caused me to forget to buy a bundle of fresh mint. Darn it, haha. Oh well, at least I educated another Moroccan vendor who I regularly interact with.


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