I place the bucket under the faucets.
First the cold all the way, then I crank the hot faucet halfway. My
Moroccan host brother say he wanted his water “a little bit cold,”
and I hope this is what he meant. At what point is something cold or
hot? I try to test the water temperature, but the hot and cold
mingle as they slosh into the bucket and I can't tell how cold the
water will be. I switch buckets and fill mine up with colder water
to wash the steam off my body.
An old gentlemen calls my attention.
He sits next to the faucets soaping himself and a grandchild, and
talks to me in Moroccan Arabic. I get nervous and can only reply by
stammering that I don't understand Arabic. He continues to question
me. Even if he was speaking English I would not understand because
of the echo in the room. I figure he wants help scrubbing his back,
not at all unusual in the public bath houses, but I prefer to play
dumb and I tell him that I am sorry and that I don't speak Arabic.
He makes some motions and speaks more seriously; something about
armpits. Before I can stammer another response my Moroccan host
brother comes to my rescue. He explains the situation to the man and
then begins scrubbing his back. I apologize again to the man, give
my brother a thankful look, and take the buckets back to my corner.
I feel rude and pathetic. I refused to
help an old man. It is probably his routine to go to the baths and
ask for help scrubbing his back. Not today though, because today he
got rejected by a foreigner too nervous to help out an aged man.
Anybody else in the baths would have scrubbed his back, but he asked
the one idiot who couldn't do it. Even my American friend Vince
probably would've done it and he has spent less time in the public
bath house than me. However, I would have been terrible at washing
him since I have zero experience in bathing others. Maybe I handled
the situation perfectly as trying to wash him could have been a
disaster. But I still feel lame.
I am at the public bath house in my
neighborhood. It is winter and there is no hot running water at my
house. Showering at home is not an option. Instead, once a week my
family members do a thorough cleaning at the public baths. Moroccans
spend hours in the baths relaxing, sweating, scrubbing, washing,
shampooing, shaving, and rinsing! After scrubbing away the unwanted
layer of dirt, sweat, and dead skin, I don't even recognize the
texture of my own body. I have never been as clean as when I leave
the public bath house. However, the problem with the public bath
house is that it is a public bath house, and bathing in front of
strangers is not the most comfortable process.
I sit in my corner not sure what the
next step is; or if there even is a next step. Usually, I do
whatever my host brother does, but he is busy washing the elder.
I've already scrubbed myself plenty, and I should soap up but I don't
know which bar of soap is mine and which one is my brother's. I
splash myself with my cold water to look like I am doing something.
A friend recognizes me and waves. I smile back, wishing I had
remembered his name, but I don't even know when we met. My friend
wears basketball shorts which I find unusual since everyone else
wears boxers or briefs. He dips his cup into his bucket of water,
wets himself, and then scrubs his arms aggressively with the stupid
sock thing that we wear on our hands. He bathes with his dad in the
room adjacent to mine, but through the wide entrance I can watch.
Next to them, a father scrubs a whining child. And next to them a
gentlemen helps his friend stretch his back. Another does some
stretches on his own. Most everyone else is busy soaping and
shampooing. One person is shaving his face. In the hot room a group
of middle aged men lay on the heat with their eyes closed. The
serious atmosphere presses down.
I sit and try to feel comfortable. I
keep telling myself that there is no reason to feel awkward and I
begin to relax. It is a different culture here, but still the same
species, and we all want to be clean. So if I focus on relaxing and
becoming a clean person it's unlikely I do anything considered taboo.
I am simply at a public bath trying to make myself cleaner. The
procedure is pretty straight forward. Earlier a guy was doing some
weird stretches and making funny noises so I think you are allowed to
do what you please. Last time I was here a teenager was splashing
his friend with water and being pretty annoying, but no one really
cared that much. Besides, I payed three dollars to come in, so I
should be able to enjoy the heat and the water however I see fit.
Once I've gathered my confidence I'm
about to stand to refill my bucket when my brother returns from
scrubbing the older gentlemen.
“Do you want to shave your armpits
now?” He asks.
“My what?”
He motions to his armpits.
“No, that's okay I don't like to
shave my armpits.”
“No, you should shave them.”
“No really, that's okay. I don't
want to.”
He motions me to come closer and
whispers, “In Morocco its bad to have too much hair in your
armpits. Look around.”
I see no armpit hair on anyone and
realize that my armpit hair does not belong in this country. It is
not my style of getting water, or washing, or relaxing that offends
people, it is my physical appearance!
“In America men don't shave their
armpits,” I try to excuse myself.
“But in Morocco we do.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know how to do it?”
“No. But it's okay. It's easy.”
I accept a new razor from him and
wonder how I'm suppose to begin this embarrassing procedure.
