Thursday, July 29, 2010

Whose Feet Are Those?

A five-week trip with strangers is a screenplay waiting to be written. We were winding down and on week four the ladies were invited over our Arabic professor’s home for traditional Friday Couscous. Four ladies packed into one cab and the rest rode with our professor. He just got his driver’s license a few months ago and driving in Morocco is a precarious situation. Place his new driving skills on to the traffic mayhem; just say we were happy to get to the house.

As usual, his wife and family members were more than hospitable and welcomed us like family. They enjoy meeting over food and there was a lot of food to eat and get lazy. I was very tired from the night before. I went to a henna ceremony and did not get in until very late. So, I asked if I could lie down for a few to regain my strength. I was offered the bed of my professor and his wife. Back home in the States that does not happen. Your friends come visit; they sleep in the guest room not in your bed. As I went to the room Q and Kim decided to join me for a quick nap. Q and I laid on the bed and Kim on a make shift bed on the floor. As we talked and laughed at the situation I started to get a whiff of something. I eventually yelled out, “whose feet are those? I hope they are not mine.” See a few days ago Louis came to my room to use the computer and told me that my shoes were funked-da-fied! All the sweating and heat have made our feet rough and not so refreshing. My feet look like I have been kicking rocks. After my question, we all started to smell our feet and then Kim realized that it was here feet. We could not stop laughing. I was just happy they were not mine. Of course Kim said she was going to through out the shoes, but she didn’t. She wore them the next day.

A five-week trip will make you mighty comfortable with the folks you once thought of as strangers. We have become close and accepting of each other in every sense of the word. We should all be this accepting.

1 comment:

  1. Okay, just so you know - the shoes are sitting on a window sill in Fez - left behind so as not to taint any rooms nor closed spaces forevermore.