For your listening pleasure: The Black Keys, “Magic Potion”
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I was recently criticized by my mother for wearing a hat with a headscarf in a picture that I sent home (I live in Africa and I make no apologies, mom), and then I got to thinking about how many hats I wear here.
I have a baseball cap, and a floppy beach hat à la my Aunt Renee.
I’m also a taromit, or foreigner. I have to wear that one on my shoulder because if people don’t know you here, they’ll ask blatantly, “who are you?”. Moroccans answer with “oh, I’m the son/daughter of so-and-so,” but I’m left to answer, “taromit adgigh — I’m a foreigner.”
I get called tobamat occasionally as well, which never fails to remind me of my patriotic duty (as well as the second goal of Peace Corps). Tobamat literally means, “female Obama.” When asked if I know Obama personally, I usually answer that he’s my neighbor, but I don’t see him often because he’s very busy.
I was called CIA just this past week, rather than Nicole/Licole/Micole/Nitool/any other reasonable deviation of my name. That brought up a variety of emotions.
Other hats I wear also include child (when dealing with old people), adult (when dealing with children), teacher, doctor, nurse, pharmacist, political analyst, IT specialist, dance instructor and deejay.
You should see my hat hair.
