A Quick Outline of Every Moroccan Comedic Play

Part 1: Two options

Every comedy sketch here starts out with either an old, and inevitably senile, married couple or with some important man whose crucial work cannot be disturbed. The old couple will begin by arguing about something which reveals how ludicrously ancient they are while the important dude will just frantically type on a fake laptop as if the work being demanded of him was far too much to ask of one man. Quick side note: the manner in which the character pretends to type instantly reveals that people here have no idea how to do so correctly.

Part 2: Interruption

A homeless, sometimes glue sniffing, character will enter and do dumb things like repeatedly fall over or shake uncontrollably. People laugh. The male character from the first scene flips a shit and screams at any present female characters, then slaps or kicks the interrupter. After ripping a few lines akin to "but I homeless and sniff glue so I want money from you!" in some misguided accent, the interrupter leaves.

Part 3-X: Repeat Part 2 Ad Nauseum with New Stereotypes

Other popular characters include: Rowdy teens, promiscuous girls (always played by guys in drag), and girls who do not want to get married. You may be wondering: How long could this pattern be sustained without exhausting its undeniable comedic value? Well, first off, these kinds of plays usually start off tired and immediately veer into brutality so there is absolutely no value to sustain. Secondly, I was thinking about the answer to that question yesterday about 35 minutes (and 6 interruptions) into a textbook masterpiece and realized the only determinant that ends these mostly ad libbed ordeals is physical fatigue on the part of the male lead. I mean, this dude is up there kicking and screaming at all sorts of seedy peeps and disobedient daughters, basically non-stop for the whole performance. It's kind of impressive in that sense.

Part X+1: The Cliché Finisher Into Unintelligible Arguing

The punishment only ends when the male lead executes the last and traditionally most hackneyed line of the ordeal. By this point this dude has already shot off an assortment of Univision-worthy punchlines and the audience knows what's coming. Thus, the last one has to outdo them all. That at least, is the intent. Usually it's just something like "You should have listened to me!", "I can't believe that failed!" or "Now what are we going to do with this worthless, glue addicted daughter!" Ok, so the last one is completely fake. The point, whatever it may be, stands. After the clinching line, the on stage situation devolves into arguing as everyone exits. It is the annoying, loud-mouthed cousin of the musical fade-out.

Despite all of this, it would a lie to say I never laugh during these. I mean, some of those old-Berber-dude-trying-to-use-a-phone impressions are dead on.

Things that are gay in America but are totally not gay here

- Holding hands with another dude

- Picking flowers for another dude

- Making designs out of said flowers for another dude

- Turning said designs into a crown for another dude

- Having a crown-wearing photo shoot with another dude

Just as a refresher, homosexuality is technically illegal in this Muslim Kingdom.

Spring Camp

Last week most PCVs in Morocco were working at one the various English immersion camps throughout the country. Eight of us lucked out and were assigned work at El Jadida, a beach town with pimp weather and much, much less conservative inhabitants. I guess coming from Bzou that’s not saying a lot but still, when those 16-17 year old girls in sun dresses and tight jeans started showing up and things began to take an interesting turn.

Day 1:

All the kids have been divided up by the English level and I had the luck of being given the highest level group and thus spend the two hours going over song lyrics and playing various loosely language related games.

Cue first teenage girl wardrobe change

Sports time: throw mad TDs after teaching kids a watered down version of what they insist on calling rugby.

Second teenage girl wardrobe change

Lunch: stuff face with free food, don’t wash dishes, scrounge for leftovers as the kids leave

Third teenage girl wardrobe change (I wish I was exaggerating, but there more to come)

Club time: In the camp’s infinite wisdom, myself and two other dudes are assigned to lead a 2 hour dance club. After covering the basics of the chicken dance, country line dancing and (of course) the cupid shuffle, we just threw on some MJ and let those kids break it down for a good hour.

4^th change

This is where things get Moroccan. The next two hours consisted of watching five different AIDS awareness themed plays with the exact same soundtrack, a song much like the theme from The Hunt for Red October. It is difficult to describe how absurdly overacted, and needlessly metaphorical theses skits were, but let it suffice to say that most of them involved some sort of slow-mo street fighter style battle between white blood cells and the HIV. My personal favorite moment was when one kid answered his cell phone while performing. After the last piece an instantaneous dance party breaks out to Akon, Rihanna and what sounded like something out of a Wiggles concert, except in Spanish. (Note: after some research I discovered that the original version of this song was a top 40 hit in the Netherlands 10 years ago. Depressingly enough, the singer, Jody Bernal was actually born in Bogota before being adopted by a Dutch family. Also, a translated version of his Dutch wikipedia entry feels it is important to mention that he has an IQ of 96. As a method of comparison, fellow Colombian Shakira supposedly rocks a score of 140. )

Dinner: see lunch

Last wardrobe change

Talent show: sit through hours of brutality before being dragged on stage to help a girl crumbling under the lights finish off the last bit of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On.” We eight white people finish of the event with an air guitar/karaoke performance of “Don’t Stop Believing.” Immediately after, a second all out dance party breaks out.

So the next few days pretty much fell into this sort of pattern so neatly that the absurdity of it all was almost entirely predictable. Every day came with a promise of increasingly ludicrous Moroccan shenanigans, and usually not by the kids. Example: on the second to last day, the camp was scheduled to go on a field trip to the old, Portuguese city and see its historic cistern. The counselors boarded the bus believing the previous statement to be a fact. Nevertheless, after an hour-long bus ride we found ourselves at an industrial phosphate port which had not even been notified of our visit. All of the day laborers initially seemed absolutely stunned at our presence, (Port Jorf Lasfar not being a popular tourist destination) but soon their faces shaped creepy smirks as they suddenly became excited at the sight of 40 or so scantily (for Moroccan standards) dressed teens. So unprepared was the staff of this place that we couldn’t even get someone to show us around, we just wandered aimlessly beating a drum and chanting songs for 2 hours. This pretty much summed up the effectiveness of our camp’s administration.

The only things that helped me retain my sanity throughout the week were my fellow PCV counselors, the prospect of an all out party upon the camp’s conclusion, and, of course, the fact that on the second day several of us went to the barber and got matching moustaches and mullets. Yup, camp was pretty awesome.