11/17/2023 Bikepacking Morocco Day 101 : Thumbs Up!

It’s a completely different Morocco now.
Oh how sweet it is to be off the tourist trail this morning. Today while I was eating yogurt, several women carrying sticks on top of their heads stopped to talk. The eldest woman reached out her hand, motioning towards my 2nd unopened yogurt. Her manner seemed different than the kids, so I handed it to her. She examined it carefully, rotating it like a Rubiks Cube. Her hands were covered in light brown tattoos - maybe henna. It almost seemed as if she had never seen a yogurt cup before, and after some careful thought, she smiled and handed it back to me.

The younger bespectacled woman looked to be in her 30s. She looked like a black mother of Jesus with a baby blue head covering. Her name was Dariya, and she smiled brightly trying to say something. I pulled out my phone, and as soon as the older women saw it, they recoiled rapidly as if I were wielding a light saber. They bumped into each other like clumsy new born puppies, somehow managing to maintain the balance of the objects on their heads. I’ve noticed this almost every time I withdraw my phone… and I know why it happens: the camera. I always make slow movements and hold the phone flat in my palm as I show it - at attempt to signal that I’m not trying to steal a photo - but the reaction still happens.

I would love to bring you photos of these people and their attire. The men and the women all have such unique dress. In each town, the women dress very differently… but more on that later.

I held my phone towards Dariya so she could use the translator. She grabbed my flattened hand with the phone and pulled it close to speak boldly into the microphone. I resisted the temptation to jerk back. When would she realize that men and women aren’t supposed to have physical contact in public? She didn’t let go until she finished speaking. Just to be safe, the next few times, I just handed her the phone… but I realized that not everything you read online about Muslim culture is correct. (I think it is safe to assume they were Muslim, as all were wearing the Hijab). This makes me feel better, because a big mistake I keep doing is pointing with my finger and also using the thumbs up gesture. I read online that this means “up your butt!” - so I was a bit relieved to see Brahim also giving me thumbs up yesterday… (and, no, you snarky commenters, he wasn’t trying to say “up your butt, Brian”).

Dariya concluded our conversation with “May God bless you; happy to meet you; God bless you”

Speaking of yogurt, now that I know the secret code for “carbohydrates” I always get the sugar-free stuff. Each time I withdraw the yogurt from the (rarely cold) fridge, a big ruckus ensues. I was warned three times today alone, “n'y a pas de sucre!!” (No have sugar). This became story-worthy when one guy today rushed out from behind the counter, grabbed the yogurt from my hand in a panic, and replaced it with a sugary one from the fridge. “Sucre! Sucre!!” He exclaimed. What is it with these people and sugar? I swapped it back and showed him my finger stabber as if that were an explanation. He nodded in understanding. Perhaps this is also why the Rubiks Cube woman returned my yogurt cup.

Powered by yogurt, I met another Mohammed (not joking) on a bike. He rode alongside me; he was moving quickly and asking questions. I’m minutes, we were in a pack of school children - all riding their bikes to school. There were bicycles everywhere today! Our co-ed peloton consisted of 20; I got the feeling that Mohammed was showing off his “new friend” to his classmates. They were all friendly, using the few polite French words they knew. Then we came to an incline, and Mohammed said something that sounded like “see Bob!” I had no idea what that meant, but he gave me the Lance Armstrong “look” and I knew it was race time. He narrowly beat me to the top with my 80% effort. Ahhgh, Achilles. Whether it be my niece and nephew on the slip and slide, or Moroccan children on bikes, kids really know how to break me to pieces.

I’m not exactly sure how the school schedule works here. Sometimes I see kids in school. Other times, across the street from the classroom where I see kids studying, boys are leaning in the dirt, playing with bikes. I stopped to help a kid named Ali with his broken derailleur. I know that some of my audience isn’t familiar with bicycles, so let me anthropomorphize the condition of this machine: This bike would be a cancer survivor who decided to do one more parachute jump, but as he did, he had a heart attack on the way down because his chute didn’t open. He happened to crash in a mine field, and in spite of several exploding on him, he managed to crawl to a town, and became this kid’s bike. I surveyed the patient, recognizing that there were a lot bigger problems than just a broken derailleur, but I gave Ali my tool to work on it. He quickly figured out the screwdriver part, but I had to put the pulleys in and thread the chain correctly through the assembly. I went to my bike to give him a replacement nut that I saw was missing, but then they found the original in the dirt. Upon completion, he jumped up, magically rode a brief circle, came back smiling and asked me for a Dirham for helping him. Ok, it wasn’t all good today, but I’m glad I kept my spare nut now.

Further South, the dress changed. You probably already know what hijab 🧕 is; it’s a general term for the covering over the hair in the Islamic world. In this Southern reach of Morocco, I began to see the more strict “Burka” This attire makes a woman look like she is piloting a tank. You know there is a little person inside because you can see two eyes peering out the thin slits like a periscope. Because they look like artillery tanks, you don’t expect them to be friendly, but plenty of these obfuscated women waved at me today; I have no idea if they were smiling.

All in all, it was a great day. Hot and dry. My only complaint is my Achilles, which continues to nag… and the omnipresent wind from the South West. Historically, wind should be coming from the North, but apparently Qebui didn’t get the memo. 4th night camping under starry skies.