I was stumbling into my outdoor sandals, ready to start the
day, when my host mom stopped me with a flood of anxious words. My Darija is
still poor, but I knew it was some kind of warning or prohibition, and it had
something to do with the bus.
“I
don’t go by bus today?” I attempted in weak Darija.
“La,
la, take the bus, but don’t take a lot of money today. Just enough for the bus
ride to school, and home, and food. And don’t take important documents.” (All
this in Darija--it took quite a lot of charades to get “documents” across.)
“Why?”
“Eid
Kabir is coming, and there are a lot of thieves on the bus. They want money to
buy a sheep to—“ and an emphatic finger across the throat, signifying
slaughter. “Fhemti? Fhemti mizyan?” Do you understand?
“Naam,
fhemt mizyan.”
I was a
little later to school than I had intended, but at least my wallet was safe.
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