Gendarmes of Rachidia

Characters:

Policeman #1
Policeman #2
Young American Man

Setting: The hot streets of Ksar El Barrani, around one o'clock in the afternoon. The Young American Man is walking to the store, tired and dirty after a long morning of wheat harvesting. He notices a police jeep, thinks that their presence is strange in this small town that rarely, if ever, sees police. He greets the police and continues walking.

Note: Most of the following conversation takes place in Darija, the local Arabic Dialect. This is a simplified and shortened version of the original, much longer conversation.

Policeman #1: Hey, you, come here.
Policeman #1: How are you?
YAM: Well, thank you. And you?
Policeman #1: Fine, thanks be to God. What are you doing here?
YAM: I am a tourist.
Policeman #1: You are not from the Peace Corps or another organization?
YAM: No, I am a tourist.
Policeman #1: How long have you been here?
YAM: About a week.
Policeman #1: And how long will you stay here?
YAM: About another week.
Policeman #1: And what are you doing here?
<em>YAM: I am a tourist.
Policeman #1: Where are you staying?
YAM: In my friend's house.
Policeman #1: Where does your friend live?
YAM: (pointing in the general direction of the house) Over there.
Policeman #1: Where over there?
YAM: (pointing again, now wondering what the policeman would like to hear, since their are no street names, no landmarks, no way of describing the placement of a house besides "over there") Over there.
Policeman #1: Okay, and your papers?
YAM: In the house.
Policeman #1: Go get them and then come back here.

FIN

Follow Up:

I left the police and began walking toward the house, not worried at all, since I had done nothing wrong, but annoyed that I was being asked to furnish my documents for no reason. As it turned out, the whole process was painless. I got to Driss's house at the same time as the cops (they followed me in the jeep), showed them my paperwork, and they left soon after, explaining that this was all "for my safety".

I tried to imagine what exactly they could or would do for me in case of some sort of act that would contribute to any personal danger to me. I could think of nothing.

But Morocco is like this. I must register with my passport at every hotel, and the relavant paperwork is delivered by the hotel personnel to the local police station every evening. Here, the term "Big Brother" is not a big exaggeration, and I am sure somewhere there is probably a file on my comings and goings between Morocco and other countries.

What was truly amazing about this whole occurence was the reaction of my various host families here in Ksar El Barrani. While I felt bad to have brought the police to the home of my friend, Driss's parents were adamant about the fact that I had done nothing wrong, and in fact worked to rectify the situation within the town.

You see, they were sure that the police had not just happened to see me on the road, but rather that they had been alerted to the presence of a foreigner, and had come looking for me to find out the reason for my being there. In fact, just the day before, the semi-official mayor and professional police snitch had stopped by the house to check on some "routine paperwork". Driss's parents found this coincidence a bit too coincidental, and one day after the run-in with the police, I came home to find the Snitch-Man sipping tea with the family.

They had confronted him, told him to stay out of their business (and also, in order to discuss this all in a civilized fashion), invited him over for tea. He, of course, denied the whole thing, though they remain convinced, and he has now got the message.

Abdelhak's family was just as supportive (word travels fast in the town). His mother told me that next time the police ask what I am doing in the town, I should tell them: "My mother lives just over there. This is my town and my family is here. My brothers live in that house, and my aunt is there. Now Goodbye."

I am truly amazed at the way in which these people treat me, as if I were honestly a member of the family, and not just some random Westerner that somehow happened upon this crazy, hot, dusty place in the South of Morocco. Every single day I am surprised and grateful for everything that I have here, so thankful to my Moroccan "Mothers" and the rest of my Moroccan "family".