The Flood

So, I was aware that Moroccan houses would be fairly damp during the rainy season (winter). I was even prepared for some possible leaks within the house. But I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for this morning’s adventure.

I can remember waking up around 7:00 AM a little bit cold, so I walked over to the empty bed across the room from mine and took a blanket to keep me a bit warmer. I remember hearing the rain on our roof (which is covered by plastic but open to the air on the sides), but my room was still dry.

Around 8:00, however, I was awakened by some slight sprinkling. At first I figured that it must just be some strange dream, so I pulled up the covers and rolled back over. After another 10 seconds, though, the fact was undeniable: it was raining inside my room. And after another few minutes, it was more like a downpour.

I jumped up from my bed, switched on the lights, and saw that I had not just a leak, but water streaming from various points around the ceiling. One of these rivulets hit a small ledge over my bed, propelling the precipitation over a wide area of my bed (which was quickly becoming saturated with water); another was just over the doorway, creating a waterfall effect blocking my exit. Meanwhile, the fallen rain was beginning to pool and spread across the tiled floor toward me. For a moment I felt like I was part of a crazy house-possessed-by-a-vengeful-poltergeist horror movie.

After reserving a moment to just think, “What the…?” I snapped into action, grabbing my backpack (with my laptop) and moving it outside the room, where it was still dry, making sure that my charging cell phone was out of the water, and covering up my exposed books with a towel. At first, I’d assumed that the problem was spread throughout the entire house, but quickly discovered that, no; my room was the only one hemorrhaging water from every corner.

Fortunately, my suitcases were all standing up on their wheels, giving them an inch or so of space above the rapidly deepening puddles on the ground. For about a minute, I stood in my pajamas in the driest square foot of space that I could find, hopelessly staring as the water rained down.

Then my family kicked into action.

My host brothers and sister, noticing either the light coming from my room or the noise of cascading water and my own desperate shuffling, charged in and helped me move the rest of my belongings from the room and into the dry sanctuary of the sitting room (where they all slept). By this point, the water on the floor was about an inch deep throughout the room, and my sandals and shoes (which had been on the floor near the bed) were thoroughly soaked through. But fortunately, all of my clothes in the dresser were untouched, and except for some slight dampness, the rest of my belongings in my bags were fine.

Judging by my family’s slight confusion, I assumed that this sort of thing had not happened before. And after some stern talking with a woman who came in, I learned from Yassine that apparently the house next door (directly attached to one side of my room) was undergoing some construction. And at some point in the night (it had been raining since at least midnight) the volume of water just became too much, and it began to spill into our building and through my ceiling. I didn’t press for details on the logistics – I actually had to get to class by 9:00 – but I was reassured by the fact that the rain both outside and inside seemed to be letting up.

So I hope that I didn’t over-dramatize the whole event for you guys. This was by no means a regular event – the rain last night was torrential and unexpected – later in the afternoon we caught a news report about flooding throughout Rabat. And my ceiling had managed to hold up through all but the storm’s final hour – at least I wasn’t awakened at 3 AM! Again I’ll emphasize, too, that none of my things were damaged, and Yassine assured me that not only would it never happen again, but they fully intended to get to the bottom of everything and call in the police to investigate, if necessary. I’m sure they want to figure out what’s damaging their house even more than I do….

Fortunately, there is a quasi-happy ending to the story. First off, there’s always the bonding experience inherent in any crisis situation – I feel like the utter ridiculousness of the situation helped me connect a little better with my host siblings, despite the language barrier. And they seem to feel really bad about what happened. By the time I returned from classes at 4:30 PM, the room had been bailed out, with the beds stripped, mattresses airing out, and only a slight puddle remaining in the sunken area just beyond the door.

But even better, it looks like I won’t have to return to the haunted room: they prepared a new bed for me within the small bedroom near the kitchen in which, until this afternoon, they had been installing new decorative tiles on the walls. So it looks like, until further notice (and perhaps for the rest of the semester…) I will be bunking next to my host brother Mourad, and I will be dry, rain or shine!