Gauche

The life of leisure is no more. The new year came, and along with it a call from an American film shooting here. The British accent at the other end, asked, “I know this isn’t really your area, but would you be interested in working in the set decorating department for the next two months?” Within 36 hours I’d started, and the comedy was not far behind. I’m going to assume that while I’ve not signed any confidentiality agreements, I’m meant to be discreet, so I’ll avoid using the name of the film or individual characters. But as much as we learned about life in Morocco by renovating a house here, working on a film shows another side.

Like all American films that shoot here, the top members of the crew fly into town, while the bulk of the crew is drawn from the local population. I’m hired as a Moroccan, which means that I’m paid in cash each week, and get to follow the Moroccan rules. The situation is complicated by the fact that between the American department heads and the Moroccan workers, there is a second tier of skilled crew from England, and I’ve quickly learned that there are nearly as many cultural differences between Americans and Brits as between Americans and Moroccans. I was hired in the hopes that I would speak fluent English (as many of the Moroccan crew members, even those billed as being Englsih speakers, struggle to understand and be understood). Anyway, I was pretty confident. After all, I know when these people say lorry, they mean truck, and when they say flat, they mean apartment, right? But soon, I’m asked about a pair of fire dogs, only to learn that the items in question are a pair of andirons, and realize this is not going to be easy. Angle poise lamps, anyone?

Breaking bread with the Moroccan crew, I’ve already had my first faux pas, though I’m surprised it’s taken this long. Eating a mid-morning snack of lentils and bread, I reach into the platter with my left hand. No, no, no! I’m scolded. Of course, I’ve read that the right hand is for eating and the left hand is for, ah, personal hygiene, but I’m left handed. I offer this defense (frankly, as good as I can hope for) and I’m told by one fellow that he, too, is left handed. He explains that while he uses his left hand for everything, he taught himself to eat with his right hand. I realize that after 8 months in Morocco, this is my first time eating from a communal bowl, and do my best with my clumsy right hand. There’s lots to learn.