Oops

The most awkward incident of my trip so far happened just about three hours ago. To everyone who thought I could last this entire trip without doing something to embarrass myself (probably not many of you, I am well aware) you have been proven incorrect.

Where should I began. Well from the beginning of course. My friend Nick and I decided it was time for a haircut late this afternoon. While at lunch today, all I could notice was my hair, and how annoyingly long it was in the back. I know very well that I have certain fits of anal retentiveness and this long in the back look spawned one. Easy fix, right? Nick and I took off for the marche to get some new hair at about 6:00 pm. After the usual 20 minute walk into the Marche, we approached the usual street corner where we eat our weekly tajine. Their is a classy looking salon right across the way (the marche doesn't not have streets, it looks more like an outdoor mall.) The salon has nice furniture (which is usually hidden by lacy curtains that span the length of the boutique's ceiling to floor windows) and all of the salon technician's (coincidentally all women) seem very professional. Wearing traditional hijab's and white coveralls, they look as if they could cut hair for weeks on end without getting any of the pesky hair debris in their clothing. Surely, these are the people that should be cutting our hair. Or at least that is what we thought. Nick and I strolled into the marche as if we were regulars. Hell, we have been in Ifrane for about three weeks now, we ARE the regulars, at least at our little tajine shop. I remember being surprised at the ease with which we knew our way around. It seems like just yesterday I could not find my way around that crowded little marketplace, without being solicited by souvenir shop owners and/or gawked at by restaurant patrons for looking so out of place. But I digress...

Nick and I were both reluctant about asking for a hair cut in a strange tongue. I, for one, do not know how to ask for a haircut in Arabic. Asking for some chicken? That is no problem, but we haven't spent any class time learning to say obscure things like "take a little off the top please." But Nick and I remained dedicated to looking spiffy. As we approached the little salon across from the tajine place, I noticed that all of the flowing vanilla curtains were stretched width-wise, completely blocking the outside world's gaze, or maybe to keep the sun out. The door was ajar, so it could not have been closed. Nick led the way, and gently eased the door open. He pulled the curtains back, and we saw several women getting their hair cut, and a couple of salon technician's waiting around for additional business. We were met with awkward gazes from several of the beautician's and even more female patrons, whose hijab's were neatly folded in their laps. OH CRAP!!!!! The curtains are drawn because women have their traditional hair coverings off to cut their hair.... We were quickly, and dare I say forcefully, shooed out of the salon, and the curtains were drawn swiftly behind us. Of course it is faux pas (and in some situations more than that) for a woman to expose that much of herself to a strange man.... and that was us.

So, having realized that we may be the biggest idiots on the planet, Nick and I walked to the MALE hair salon (perhaps I will call it a barber shop), where we struggled to speak enough French/Arabic/Darija (Reminds me of the Adam Sandler movie Spanglish...perhaps we will call this quasi-mutant language Frarija) to ask for some new does. I was impressed with my stylist, who humored me as I used a lot of hand gestures and sputtered out a few sentence fragments in frarija. He pulled out an old-school, blade razor to detail the area around my hair (getting all of that loose stuff that grows independently of a hairstyle) whilst stopping with regularity to turn up the television and comment about the artist whose music video was on at the time. I didn't think I would ever hear the song "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas ever again, so that was a mighty fine treat.

I paid my 20 dirham (less than $3) , I was wished SaBaHa (basically wishing me good health to go along with my foxy new hairstyle) and Nick and I took the long walk back to campus, still a little ashamed of our cultural insensitivity, hoping we would never be so audacious again.

P.S. I will try and put up new pics from my class trip to the Souk in Azrou. Not much to report from that trip, except to marvel at the expansiveness of the tent village. Considering it is a one day a week market, it is really something.

Until Next Time

Dick