Insomnia and iPhones

It is Sunday afternoon here in Rabat and I am spending my time reading and jotting down some notes for my independent study project.

My sleep schedule resembles that of a terribly jet-lagged traveler. I prided myself last week when I arrived in Morocco -- I had absolutely no jetlag. I meticulously plotted my sleep schedule on my flights to the country so that when I arrived I did not have to waste time sleeping in.

What goes around, comes around! Because of Ramadan, my host family wakes up at 3:30am to have a small meal of fruit, cheese, bread, and tea to jump-start the fast. We don't go to bed until maybe 1:30am or 2am because dinner is served at midnight (we break the fast with a small meal at 7pm). That said, I have been sleeping intermittedly throughout the day.

Today I woke up at 10:30am and lounged around and read for an hour. I decided I was going to get my phone fixed once and for all (for those of you who haven't heard, I dropped my iPhone in a random bucket of water in a fitting room Wednesday night). I went into the souk and found a modest electronics vendor. The salesman was resistant to try saving my phone once he heard it was dropped in water, but after urging him that it works more often than not, he gave it a whirl.

After about half an hour, he got up off of his chair and motioned for him to follow me. In very hasty Darija (I had to ask for a translation at several points into Lebanese Arabic) he told me he has a friend that could better fix this. We took a 5 minute walk, hiking through very tiny alleyways and parading through markets of vegetables, lingerie, and dates. The only thing going through my mind at this point was the first thing SIT told us at orientation: "Don't follow young men into dark alleyways." Looks like I broke the first rule of studying abroad.

It was midday and there were lots of people around. After squeezing through the last set of shoulders, we arrived at another quaint electronics parts shop. He left it at that and bid adieu. The little boy working with his dad behind the counter handed me a plastic stool to sit on. Thumbing through my French phrasebook in my backpack, I looked up every now and then to check the status of the phone. Customers went in and out. People want the most obscure things for their phone -- a new chain, a forest green backing, a rubber stopper for the headphone jack. Apparently the store had it all. Finally the gentleman told me that the phone needed a program run on it overnight and that I could come back tomorrow to receive it.

Now, my first piece of advice in Morocco was to never trust anyone. But I know myself -- it's pretty difficult to do just that. I said a little prayer, asked a few questions, and surrendered my phone to the stranger. I am not very attached to it anyhow. It's pretty beaten up. We'll see how it goes.

Updates on my adventure tomorrow!