Today I got to see the inside of our local jail/police station/grade B movie set. Luckily there were no convicts there. I DID NOT tell them that I worked in a prison.
After receiving a call from someone in the station that finally the Chief was going to be in the office for a few minutes, Latifa and I rushed out of the house and walked again the 1/4 mile to the station to hopefully finally get my document of perd (loss). First the Chief looked at me very sternly and asked me in French if I was sure that I lost it and that someone didn't steal it and then he said was I sure that I lost it in Asni (to which of course I answered yes because if I didn't he would send me all the way to Marrakesh). He then proceeded to ask me questions about my residence, my parents names (which seems to be a big thing here) etc. After about 20 minutes he handed me over to someone else and Latifa went outside because she said she was not allowed to be with me. I started to get a little concerned. It was feeling a bit like my rug experience and I was taken to a half empty room with a 50 year old typewriter on the desk and a laptop computer that had seen better days. The computer wasn't even used during the interview. That man just asked me questions that were already on my passport like where I was born and when I was born etc (the date of my birth generated some sort of conversation between the two men working on my document but I couldn't tell if it was "wow, she doesn't look that old" or "how is this woman still standing at her age?".). The man interviewing me spoke a little French and lots of Arabic so we did some sign language. I did manage to get from him that he loved California. Needless to say, we did not have a discussion about earthquakes. You don't joke with these guys. He then proceeded to ask me again about my parents first and last names and paused over the name Scheinbaum. I thought that I was gone for...but apparently it is not as obvious what sort of a name it is....I just had to try and explain why I had a different name than my parents etc. And when I said I was retired they looked envious and when I said I was divorced they once again looked suspicious. And everything was written by hand into a notebook that he kept on the desk. Then the two men took me into another room with another man who began to actually type something and...voila, my document finally appeared after about and hour or so. When I then looked at the document it said Ann Puth Lopata which is obviously the name that I am staying with because they insisted that the copy of my passport looked like Puth and they couldn't change it without filling out some more forms and questions. Hopefully the American consulate will be understanding. Or I will just have a name change.
Tomorrow we are having our fete for International Womens Day and having macaroni and cheese and artichokes and coucous and dancing the Macarena until dawn, at which point we will break into the Education For All Morocco version of We are the World.
After receiving a call from someone in the station that finally the Chief was going to be in the office for a few minutes, Latifa and I rushed out of the house and walked again the 1/4 mile to the station to hopefully finally get my document of perd (loss). First the Chief looked at me very sternly and asked me in French if I was sure that I lost it and that someone didn't steal it and then he said was I sure that I lost it in Asni (to which of course I answered yes because if I didn't he would send me all the way to Marrakesh). He then proceeded to ask me questions about my residence, my parents names (which seems to be a big thing here) etc. After about 20 minutes he handed me over to someone else and Latifa went outside because she said she was not allowed to be with me. I started to get a little concerned. It was feeling a bit like my rug experience and I was taken to a half empty room with a 50 year old typewriter on the desk and a laptop computer that had seen better days. The computer wasn't even used during the interview. That man just asked me questions that were already on my passport like where I was born and when I was born etc (the date of my birth generated some sort of conversation between the two men working on my document but I couldn't tell if it was "wow, she doesn't look that old" or "how is this woman still standing at her age?".). The man interviewing me spoke a little French and lots of Arabic so we did some sign language. I did manage to get from him that he loved California. Needless to say, we did not have a discussion about earthquakes. You don't joke with these guys. He then proceeded to ask me again about my parents first and last names and paused over the name Scheinbaum. I thought that I was gone for...but apparently it is not as obvious what sort of a name it is....I just had to try and explain why I had a different name than my parents etc. And when I said I was retired they looked envious and when I said I was divorced they once again looked suspicious. And everything was written by hand into a notebook that he kept on the desk. Then the two men took me into another room with another man who began to actually type something and...voila, my document finally appeared after about and hour or so. When I then looked at the document it said Ann Puth Lopata which is obviously the name that I am staying with because they insisted that the copy of my passport looked like Puth and they couldn't change it without filling out some more forms and questions. Hopefully the American consulate will be understanding. Or I will just have a name change.
Tomorrow we are having our fete for International Womens Day and having macaroni and cheese and artichokes and coucous and dancing the Macarena until dawn, at which point we will break into the Education For All Morocco version of We are the World.
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