Roadside Signs

This Morning we drove out to Ben Silmane, a one-hour drive into the countryside of Morocco. The road was lined with vineyards, cows, sheep and lush green landscape. You may have similar sights in the countryside of upstate New York, Wisconsin, or California, but here, in Morocco, the roadside signs point you in the direction of French, Spanish and Moroccan dialects. We arrived at a conference for the Moroccan Association of Teachers of English, who we were to present our work and discuss the topic of teaching English through music and hip-hop. After a brief sound check we waited underneath the shade of orange trees hiding from the glare of the country sunshine until show time. They received us well, and at the close of our ten minute performance they applauded us with a chant of sorts, it made me feel more appreciated then the clapping of hands ever have. Afterwards we returned to the shade of the orange tree, where we took pictures and Mildred received a lesson in singing an Arabic song from our driver Abdul. Not our driver in the sense of “Driving Ms. Daisy”, more like the brother that’s been driving us around Morocco and we are sharing special moments with. I should have said our friend Abdul. So why don’t I just edit that part out, because I’m an American and sometimes my roadside signs point me in the way of arrogance.