Shit Happens

The beach near Akkari, where I work, is to say the least, treacherous. Lacking any sort of sand, it's more a collection of cliffs, small pools, and craggy rocks, beset by a rather nasty Atlantic Ocean that frequently whips waves at the shore. Given that, I was somewhat surprised to find out that it was also a popular local swimming destination for primarily the male residents of Akkari.

Local activities include wave dodging on the craggy rocks, taking dips in the low pools, and balls-out swimming in the roiling ocean. Admittedly, they don't throw people unprepared into the sea, but no matter how you swing it, it's one dangerous pasttime. Last time I was down there with some buddies, I managed to scratch up my leg dodging a ridiculously large wave, while Badre received a nasty cut all the way down his right forearm that'll leave a serious scar.

Given all of this, and other behavior I've seen here that one might file under Culture Shock, I've been reevaluting what's important. After seeing how people cross streets/highways, drive, eat medina food, and regard life, I've hopefully come away with a modicum of perspective on the subject.

Americans are undoubtedly concerned with personal security - one might even argue to such an extent that it can actually inhibit enjoying life. I've already talked about my toning down of my squeamishness quotient - to what extent can one enjoy life without regard for the possibility of negative consequences. Should I jump off that cliff into the ocean, should I climb onto the back of Ahmed's rickety Peugeot moped without a helmet, should I try running across the street before the bus gets there? These types of questions have come to permeate every day here, and the longer I stay, the more I've been apt to err on the dangerous side (don't worry Mom).

I guess there's a way to do things safely, there's a way to do things without regard for consequences, and there's a middle road where sometimes shit can happen. Now I just have to figure out how to walk the line.