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First days in Fez

After about a week in Fez, I finally feel settled in. I'm so much more familiar with my host family's routines as well as the family its self. There are the parents, Mohammad and Samira, who both speak only darija. There are also four children, two girls and two guys. One of the sisters is 26 and lives in London with her two children. The other daughter is 23 and speaks french, so I can easily communicate with her. The two brothers are 17 and 28, and they also speak french. Sena, the younger of the sisters, is works in the New City, but she is home often, and I eat most of my meals with her and the parents. They are all extremely nice and accomidating, especially when I was sick. The other day, due to a combination of dehydration and something I ate, I was unable to start my ISP, which will be pottery and Islamic art. I'm fairly sure that for the rest of the trip, I will be sure to drink plenty of water, because that was a horrible experience. I think that was the only time so far that I actually felt that I wanted to be home, where I could be totally in my comfort zone, in an uncomfortable situation. However, I'm enjoying living with the family; I can practice my french while learning words in darija.

The other day, on our way back from a lecture on Islam (which was great), Stewart, Kempie and I got a cab back to the Medina. It was getting dark and we had a to wait a while to find one, but eventually, we hopped into a cab and headed off to Bab Rcif. Kempie talked to the driver in the front seat while Stewart and I relaxed in the back, until suddently we pulled over. Except we really just stopped in the right lane as the driver hopped out and ran across four lanes of traffic to the rest stop across the way. Kempie tried to stop him and for a while Stewart and I were merely confused. I thought there was something wrong with the car until Kempie explained that he had gone to buy water. This was such a ridiculous idea to me that I couldn't help but to laugh. When he got back, he offered us some of the dates he had just bough, I declined as I thought of how unneccessary this stop was. As he started the car, he chugged down the milk he had also bought. He told us that he too was on his way home, but for some reason could not wait until he got there to eat. Eventually I made it home, after a swirving ride around the Medina, all the while the driver was eating and turning around to talk to us. While it may not have been the most comfortable ride, I don't think I'll ever forget it.

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