Woops. I forgot to name this.

I had a whole idea to tie the title of this specific blog post to the Lion King but it doesn’t really work at all if this blog isn’t posted in the morning, which just meant I was going to post it where it was most likely morning time in the ol’ America but then I missed that up as well and it’s like afternoon so I’m starting from scratch and making this up as I go along. Was that a run on sentence? Of course it was but I’m in a pickle here, the title is what makes the blog. You guys might not think that except it’s not like any of you are professionals so your opinion doesn’t really matter much. And I know you expect narrative structures out of my blogs because it’s more entertaining and people are more entranced by that than just a plain listing of facts. But I can’t always appease your needs, sometimes I don’t always have a story to tell and I just need to give y’all some information. I want to make sure that people think my time in Morocco isn’t just trials and tribulations. Initially, not ideal. Though that was then, and this is now. Has it gotten better like I said it would? Of course it has. It couldn’t get much worse unless than cab driver came back to find me and stab me like he originally intended. I don’t think he ever actually intended that. He seemed nice. Though he was a Barcelona fan and I did say Real Madrid. Only because I bought a backpack from them. I’d still choose Messi in a heartbeat. Oh deary, there’s me getting distracted again. Let’s see. Volunteering! I did spend the first four months working with spanish toddlers and now I’ve kind of done a bit of a 180. Now I’m working with severely disabled children that range from probably around 3-40. Disabled both mentally and physically, the director of the Morocco program apparently threw up twice the first time he ever worked with the children. That seems a bit extreme to me but I’m not here to judge. It was quite the sight, but hey, these kids are people too. Not implying he didn’t think they weren’t people. Who cares? Moving on. It does seem being a boy helps you out in these places though. Or at least the boys do like me. Though I’ll be the first to admit, because the other woman volunteer did too, we can’t exactly tell all of which are boys and which are girls. All the hair is cut short and with some of the deformities, it’s a bit hard to recognize. The walking ones like me is what I’m saying. The walking ones, that sounds also like a bad descriptor of people that are much more than what their legs can do but it is true that around 85-90% of these people are wheelchair bound or immobile without the use of a wheelchair. We feed them, we push them around in wheelchairs and I contemplate my life with them, I play tag, I play with legos, sometimes painting is involved, sometimes a good ol’ toss of a stuffed frog. Am I being shown up in tag? I am. I even try and a boy with an extreme limp, that walks in ways I can’t even imagine being humanly possible runs faster than I do. And Nadir. Nimble Nadir. The true lover of tag. The lover of hugs. The lover of kisses. The master of sign language. Very quick. Very into grabbing me by the hand and taking me to a variety of different people just so he can chat with them, or attempt to, and then rush after me anytime I try to excuse myself. Or Nadia. Nadia who loves high fives and thinks even pointing a finger is so hilarious. Or all the other kids of whose names I don’t know yet because I’ve only been there a few days and Arabic names are a lot harder to remember than Spanish. Oh, and speaking of Arabic…when you’re a white person, they seem to assume that you don’t know Arabic (which would be correct) and instead that you know French (which would not be correct.) So I’m just the white guy that they know they can’t communicate with in language #1, so then they bust out #2 and I’m still just as lost as before. I know how to say thanks and hello in both languages and that’s about my extent in regards to either one. I never was fluent in Spanish, but by the end of my four months I had a decent grasp and I could string sentences and have an idea what people were saying. Now I’m completely lost just doing what I can to pretend to look like I can comprehend something. What else? What else? Moroccan food is great. I’m finding myself eating foods I haven’t eaten on the regular before except for that that could apply to almost my whole trip. Olives though. I had them for the first time in Madrid, real fancy nice ones at a wine/bar restaurant and they weren’t half bad. Realizing the green ones aren’t still that good but they aren’t as disgusting as I thought. Radishes. I’ve had them before but I actually ate them. Mushrooms? No. Still gross. Peppers, I mean they’re not as bad as I’ve always thought. Spices my mother hates? Sure, why not? Lather them on me. I feel I just listed some pretty basic foods but c’mon man, I’m not a picky eater but some things I just despise. Those being the main ones. I’d eat guinea pig in a heartbeat but a mushroom? No thanks. I’m going on a trip this weekend. I’m going on a trip next weekend too! I’d list the cities but I know I’d just end up spelling the names wrong so I won’t. I’ll write about them later after the fact and actually tell their names. Anything else? Hmm. Madrid was great fun. I’m sitting on a top bunk now. That’s interesting. To someone. Maybe. I could understand it not being interesting to anyone either. Any Asian recommendations? I’m open to all possibilities. This content isn’t up to my journalistic standards. Let’s quit before I ramble on too much more. So it goes.

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