The ol’ blog’s been quiet lately. Nothing much going on that I feel like blogging about. Donn was gone all last week on a photo excursion in the region of Morocco south of Marrakech and Agadir, returning exhausted from photographing sunrises and with two new rugs for the house, handmade berber rugs in sunrise colours of oranges, yellows, and blues. (I will photograph them once I get batteries for the camera) So the kids and I had a quiet week, eating less meat, staying up later and reading during meals. I never know how much of daily life to post about, but I doubt you want to hear about me rereading an Agatha Christie till 1 a.m., or about how none of the teens showed up for my class last week and how most of the business-people skipped theirs too. All was quiet here in the land of the sunset (which is what Morocco’s name in Arabic, “Maghreb” means. Makes sense, since we’re at the western extreme of the Arab world).

Yesterday something blogworthy happened. I was on my way to class. Twice a week, I teach a group of business-people in their office, which is downtown. Parking is nonexistent at best, often simply imaginary, so I usually take taxis. I am a very organized person and never get involved reading a book or blogs and so have to stress about finding a taxi…cough…but exceptionally, yesterday, I was running late. And, as is usual when one is running late, there were no taxis to be found, not for love or money. (It was only money I was offering, in case you’re wondering) To be more exact, there were plenty of taxis, but all full, or not heading in my direction.

I was starting to feel somewhat panicky when a nice car pulled up in front of me, and a woman I’d never seen before said to me, in French then in English, “Where are you going?” Agdal, I told her. “Get in!” she said.

Obviously I must know her, so I got in, racking my brains as to where we could possibly have met and who she could be. “I live nearby,” she said, gesturing at the neighbourhood on the other side of the main avenue. “I know how hard it is to find a taxi around here!” Ironically, I think we live in a good area for taxis, unless you’re late of course.

I realized that I did not actually know her, but we introduced ourselves and chatted away, quickly finding that my French was better than her English. She was really nice! We established that she’s a fan of America, and that her dream is to become a photographer, and that I live in Rabat and have 3 kids and teach English.

We made good time down that street with all the schools, and at the end she ran a red light and got stuck in the middle of an intersection! If I’d been one of the other drivers, I’d have been enraged, but from my new and improved perspective, I just laughed. She carried on a conversation by gesture with a policeman who was eyeing her askance, and she laughed at herself for doing such a thing with an American passenger. “What will you think of me?” she said, but I reassured her.

She dropped me off near the office and gave me her business card. I promised to call her. After all, it’s not every day you make a new friend when you’re just trying to catch a taxi to work.

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