My Blog, or “Yassin Ahjam Fan Club”
Aimee recently commented that she was sorry to have missed my earlier posts (perhaps when I was still over at Blogspot), but believe me when I tell all of you that they were entirely forgettable. It consisted of me mooning over Morocco and my new Moroccan prince, who both turned out to be less than I thought but more than I imagined. Or something like that.
After all that schmaltz, I dove right into the five stages of culture shock.
The honeymoon, or tourist, stage
Me to self – “Oh, don’t I look cute in a head scarf, it makes my eyes stand out, eh?”
The irritation-to-anger stage
Me to husband – “Why are your friends always around? Can’t we have a single date to ourselves?”
The rejection/regression stage
Me to husband – “If you don’t buy me Pringles at the shop in town, I’ll starve. I hate tajine, hate it, hate it, hate it! And if you don’t replace the gas bottle in the heater, I’ll make sure you suffer.”
The integration/assimilation stage
Talking to husband on my mobile – “I’m at your father’s house, honey. Yes, they invited me for lunch. Pick me up when you come to town this afternoon.”
The reverse, or reentry, stage
Talking to husband on my mobile from Essaouria – “Honey, I’ll probably stay another couple of days here by the ocean – yes, I know which bus to take to Marrakech. [pause] Yes, I have enough money. [pause] Yes, I’m sorry you have to work, next time we’ll go together. [pause] What’s that? You won’t invite any of your minions, just the two of us? [pause] Ok, deal.” Interrupted by passer-by – “No, I’m not Muslim. The head scarf is to protect my hair from being turned into a red frizzy mess by the sun and wind. Now go away, will you. Seer!” Back to husband – “Gotta run, the vultures are starting to circle. N’moot alik, ohaibuk, ciao!“