Living with Otman in Mermoz has been wonderful. I have the freedom to do as I please in a place that I like with a person that I like. Mermoz is a quiet residential neighborhood with prayer-chanting soirees only once a week. We have a large terrace where the laundry is hung out to dry and where we BBQ and host gatherings.
Living with Otman has been easier and more agreeable than I had ever imagined. We complement each other in expected and unexpected ways:
He kills cockroaches; I kill flies
He takes the garbage out; I fold the laundry
He teaches me Moroccan Arabic; I teach him American English
He has a weird chronic sneezing disorder; I have a weird chronic stomach disorder
He annoys me; I nag him to death
He rarely washes his dishes; I rarely mop up the water in the bathroom
He fixes the sink when it is clogged; I dump out the nasty gray water with the clogging culprits
He repairs any electrical item when it breaks (with lots of tape); I provide the tape and the broken items
He can see in the dark; I cannot see in the dark
He likes dark meat; I like light meat
He makes friends with everyone; I talk to everyone
He goes to the fresh fish and meat markets that make me gag; I go to the boutiques and supermarkets for the prepackaged goods
He makes Moroccan dishes; I bake cakes and cookies
He watches inordinate amounts of soccer; I use my computer for inordinate amounts of time
I buy fabric and gifts; he bargains for me
I have to ask him a million times to bring things home, but when he does it is in quantities that rival Costco. For example he has brought home 15 kilos of soap, a cardboard box full of sponges, 65 clothespins, and about 20 rolls of fancy toilet paper.
And the list goes on and on…
However, Tarik, Otman’s younger brother recently moved in with us. He had supposedly moved back to Morocco for good to pursue his studies; however, twenty days after leaving, he returned to Senegal to continue working. Apparently, everyone he spoke to in Morocco thought that he was an idiot for leaving his good paying job in Dakar. Getting a university degree does not mean that he will have access to a good job in Morocco since it is more important that you know someone in your field than your training. The unemployment rate for young people is unbelievably high. So homesick and lovesick Tarik is back in Dakar and inhabiting my house.
Tarik sleeps in our living room or in the room on the terrace. He eats with us, clears the dishes from the table, and goes to our local mosque. He also goes to the cyber café very often to talk to his girlfriend, Saida, in Morocco.
I like Tarik a lot. In fact, I consider him like a younger brother and we get along very well. He confides in me things that he could never tell his brothers and asks me advice. However, he is selfish and inconsiderate of Otman’s future plans, and sucks him dry of both energy and money.
I am worried that my little sunny apartment and the harmony it has produced will be blown away by the gel wearing, MSN messenger chatter, mosque going, hookah smoking, little Lahlimi.
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