deep deep south

I believe I was indirectly propositioned for marriage this morning. I was sitting in an Internet café, making small talk with the waiter about him being Amazigh (Berber), me being Indian, etc etc. You know, the usual. Then he asked me the following questions in succession: (1) Are you married? (2) Are you looking for a husband? and (3) Can I get your number? To the first two questions I answered “no” and “absolutely not.” The third I dodged by taking his number on a slip of paper and silently vowing to avoid said Internet café. Not because I’m scared. Just that attention like this sometimes makes me blush. :-P

Since arriving in Laayoune I have found nothing but kindness from the people I have interacted with. Starting with the guy at the hotel reception desk who let me borrow his phone charger because I stupidly forgot mine in Rabat. And ending with all the associations I have been introduced to here who tell me over and over again that I am to feel so welcome as if I am a daughter or sister. Marhaba. I’ve said Shoukran so many times, I’m pretty sure the entire Sahara thinks it’s the only word of Arabic I know.

A few days ago, the first time I checked my email here, I saw that I had received a somewhat panicky message from my mother telling me that she can’t believe I decided to come here (here being the Western Sahara) by myself. Then, later that night I received a similar panicky phone call. I can’t lie; the idea of traveling alone gives me the same uneasy jolt that I’m sure my mother’s stomach is feeling right about now. Only now it’s been a few days since my entry into Laayoune and when I look around I can’t help but see just another city where kids play soccer in the street. In fact, if it weren’t for the white jeeps with their big black “UN” labels sitting outside the Hotel Nagjir, I might forget about the conflict altogether.

Someone told me tonight that if I were to keep my mouth shut and not say a word, people would mistake me for a native Saharan. Unfortunately, I get this blank stare on my face when someone shoots me a rapid question in Arabic and it kind of throws off the whole act. Not that I mind revealing my true identity. As it turns out, Shah Rukh Khan is a sensation that’s hit ALL of Morocco, including its most southern parts. My “Indian origin” is a straight path into the hearts of the Moroccan people.