(^One of the less than lifelike and more than creepy mannequins in Rabat’s medina)
Apologies for this deadspace lately. Things will continue to be spotty for the indefinite future (read: two months or so). Right now I’m in Rabat, Morocco for an intensive Arabic program and the internet connection here is unreliable and elusive at best. I hope to drop some more content soon in shah allah, but no promises.
… and a bonus conversation: I got a haircut a few weeks ago and this is the story that the barber told me. When he was younger, the barber was a soft drink rep. in mid-michigan. One of his favorite clients happened to be an Iraqi man. His name was Hasid and he owned a convenience store in Flint. His party store had done fairly well, but when the Iranian hostage crisis hit, red-blooded American patriotism kicked in and Hasid was suddenly “Iranian.” The reactions sounded hellish. The barber left mid-michigan around this time and didn’t get a chance to say farewell to his friend. Later in life he was in the area and went out of his way to stop by, but found a different party store in Hasid’s location. It was called “Chico’s” and was draped in Mexican everything. A little disappointed, he went inside to get a drink anyways. Hasid sat behind the counter full of tacos and nachos. On his chest was a name tag that read “Chico.” His wife and children had “latino names” as well. Apparently after the hostage crisis Hasid “became” Mexican. He claimed that after the switch business was better than ever.