Casablanca… the Streets
After living in the city for a month or so, we moved out to a suburb of Casablanca. We had found a nice house with a pool, and it was just around the corner from Pia’s new school. The house had a big wall around it, like all of the houses there. This was to prevent unwanted visitors from getting into the home. The realtor proudly mentioned this as if to reassure us. I wasn’t sure that I felt reassured. Our neighborhood (Californie) was one of the nicest in Casablanca. Regardless of the high standard, there was a shantytown right around the corner from our house. I found this unsettling. A stone’s throw from our front door, people were living in tents with no running water. Because of. this, everyone on the street had a guard. You could see them all sitting on their aluminum chairs in front of the entrance gates. We decided against this as our house came with a man who lived in the garage and took care of the grounds. His name was Hussein and he was friends with all of the guards. They looked out for each other and we decided that Hussein was enough to make us feel protected. We made the right decision as we felt protected by all.
Outside of the Walls
This is was what would happen when I drove out of these walls………
First, there was a woman who sat on the curb right next to my driveway. She was there every day with her hand held out. I decided early on that I could not offer this woman anything. She was probably about 70, and she would look me in the eye every time I drove out of my house. I wouldn’t make eye contact with her. She was too close to my home. I felt like it was like giving milk to a stray cat. If I started giving her money, she would never leave me alone. I faced this every day. I hated it. The guards were necessary.
When I left my home to drive into Casablanca, I would pass the shantytown. At the end of the road I would hit a light. If the light turned red, I would have a stream of people tapping on my window begging me for a coin. The same people were at the traffic light every day, and they all seemed to have their declared territory. Each one held up their index finger, indicating that they were asking for one dirham. I figured out that this equaled about 10 cents. Once I realized how little it was, I kept a pot of coins in my car and would spend the day handing out coins to as many people as I could in the city. It just became part of life. They would do everything to make you feel bad for them. They would bring a disabled person in a wheelchair or a person who had some kind of deformity. I think they must have seen this as a gift from god. The worse the ailment was, the more pity they would receive and the more they could collect from the passersby. After this light, I would get onto the highway where I’d be free of this for a short time. It would all start again once I arrived in the city.
Parking
Once in the city, and being confronted at every light, I’d finally make my way into which ever neighborhood I was going to that day. The next task was parking. Uggh! The streets are tiny and there is never anywhere to park. Throughout these little neighborhoods (and all over Morocco, in fact) there are men standing there in fluorescent vests waiting to find you a spot. This service can be yours for a mere 20 cents. Very early on I understood that I needed to have these guys on my side. As I always gave them 50 cents, they would run all over the neighborhood until they found me a place to park. When they did, they guarded that spot with their life. As I parked they would very diligently guide me into the spot while gesticulating which direction to turn my wheel. They worked hard for their money. Finally parked, they’d ask about how long I’d be and I knew that they would keep an eye on my car. I was now free to roam.
The Ride Home
After I’d spent the day in Casablanca, either teaching English or just doing what one does in a city, I’d find my car and head back home. It was only about 20 minutes but boy was it an interesting ride back. There were a cast of characters that I would have to drive by to make my way back to quiet Californie. The freakiest thing that I ever saw was when a guy in his 40’s came running up to my car when I was stopped at a light. He banged on my car and put one side of his face very close to the windshield. I jumped in my seat and at that very moment, he flipped his face to the other side. As if in slow motion, all I could see was a face that was moving. Loose skin that swung as he moved his head. One half of his face was completely deformed. His eye drooped, his jowls hung and this half of his lip was bulbous and a dark purple. He looked me right in the eye as if to say “please help me”. Although the memory is in slow motion, the action happened in a couple of seconds. He moved fast. I had to catch my breath before I moved ahead towards the green light. I didn’t give him any money because I was so scared that I just wanted to get out of there.
Moving on from the elephant man, I would come to the next light, where there was a McDonald’s stationed on the corner. The exit to the drive-through was on the corner before I’d turn right. There would always be a family sitting at the exit, hoping that someoe would feed them. It was never the same family. They probably did a rotation amongst themselves. If I saw this, I would turn right at the light and then right again into the McDonald’s drive through. I would pick up as many happy meals as I saw kids, along with a couple of sandwiches for the adults. They were always very grateful. I didn’t know how to do otherwise.
Having made it through the jungle, I would finally reach my final light, where I’d be nearing home. There were always about 4 or 5 young boys running around with a spray bottle and a squeegee. Once the light turned red, they would run around to every car, hoping that someone would say yes to a windshield cleaning. The first time I encountered this situation, one of the boys looked right at me with the brightest eyes and the biggest smile. I nodded yes, and he very efficiently cleaned my windshield. I reached into my little pot and grabbed a few coins. He was so grateful and bowed to say thank you. I took a liking to him. He knew how to work with his customers, and he worked very hard. There was a group of them, but he stood out. He was not intrusive and he was always smiling. He was the smart one and I often thought that if he could just be taught how to read, he’d probably find a way to succeed in his life. He had absolutely no chance. This would be his life, and nothing would ever change for him. As days went on, I would give him a dollar or so’s worth of coins each time I saw him (which was a lot. Remember, most people were hoping for 10 cents). Over time, I would just hand him the money and signaled for him not to clean my windshield. Whenever he saw me coming, his eyes lit up and he always said thank you (shukran). He knew I had a special place for him. I often wished that I could kidnap him and take him home.
This would be my commute every time I went back and forth to Casablanca. The people were always there and there were so many more. To describe everyone that I saw would be book worthy. There are too many to mention. Although I did get used to seeing these people every day, I never got used to the fact that there were so many desperate people with absolutely no chance of a better life.
