Drawing to a Close

When I think about how long I’ve been in Morocco and how long it’s been since I’ve seen my family and my husband it strikes me as a little shocking. It’s been more than five months since I left home and more than four since I’ve seen Ali. I miss so many things about home. I miss my daily gym routine,  my apartment, driving a car, seeing my awesome friends for playdates and lunches and spending the occasional day or weekend at my parents’ house, which is still a bastion of comfort to me after all these years of living under my own roof.

I also miss having a full conversation, fully expressing myself and just understanding everything in general. And last but not least I miss reading in bed at night alongside my husband. That makes me sad just to write it.

But with that said, I’ve had a wonderful time here in Marrakesh. I’ve gotten to know my husband’s family better which, believe it or not, can be done despite language difficulties. I’ve integrated myself somewhat fully into this rich and ancient culture here in Morocco, but I still don’t eat with my hands, instead opting to use my forshayta  A.K.A fork. I have also still not worn more than two shirts at a time but I can cop to putting three on my kids when the weather was especially frigid. Sue me I’m a nervous mom!!!

I’ve also seen some more of the country than I have on previous trips. This time around I visited Casablanca and Rabat, both big and nice cities that I would like to spend more time in with the hubby. I also enjoyed just seeing how people live. I realize on my previous trips I really wasn’t very focused on home life but this time around, with no husband and day-to-day living happening, the routine of life was staring me in the face.

That has been the best part of being here, just experiencing a different way of life. I’ve tried to focus on that aspect of my stay here in my blog, and I hope I succeeded with giving you all some insight and maybe a giggle or two. I know I’ve had my ups and downs here but they were always tempered with laughter thanks to my big, varied, slightly crazy yet totally normal Moroccan family!

Now that Ali’s return to Morocco is less than a week away (YAH!!!!!!!)  I find I can barely wait to see him. I’ve grown restless with Skype, which nevertheless has sustained us during our long separation but enough already ya know?! It’s a testament to how long I’ve been here and how accustomed to everything I’ve become that I’m almost thinking of coming home as a vacation. After all, going home means swimming in my parents’ pool, taking a beach vacation, hitting the sauna at the gym and seeing friends I haven’t spent time with for a while. Sounds like a vacation to me!!!

Little Lost American

I like to talk....and talk, and talk and talk. Anyone who knows me can attest to this, and I like to think I'm so interesting that I keep people's rapt attention rather than making them wish for earplugs or a quick yet subtle escape.

I could be wrong.

Anyway, here in Marrakesh, in the land of people daring to speak a language I (barely) know, I have learned about silence. And you know what? It's not golden.

I yearn to talk, to gossip, to whisper, to chat and to wile away the hours with these Moroccan ladies who love to laugh and talk until all hours of the night. My mother-in-law is just full of fun and always attracts a house full of family because we're all drawn to her. I want so badly to have a real conversation. I can tell she does too. We're working on it.

I will say, however, that it is surprising how much you can communicate with a few mutually understood words, some key gestures and a knowing smile or a wink, for which my mother-in-law is famous. She always has a conspiratorial little wink for me. She's so cute!

Sometimes during my prior visits I've taken to slipping out after mealtimes to read a book or to chat with Ali. But now that I've been here so long and on my own I feel I've really become part of the family and feel more comfortable with my silent spells, which are becoming more brief as the language starts to seep into my brain.

I will address what I believe is a real problem with American schooling and that is the fact that we aren't exposed to other languages at a young age. If it were not for the decent-to-good language skills that some of the family over here have I would be completely lost. I mean, after all, the guy I buy my fruit from has no teeth but by God he can speak English with me! Another time a guy stopped me on the street to comment on my great English skills. When I told him I was American and that of course I speak English we had a good laugh because at first glance he thought I was Moroccan. Mind you this was a French-speaking African who came to Morocco because he could speak Arabic and he was conversing with me in English no problemo!Come on Americans get with it!

But I am learning. I am determined to make myself less lost here, and I am convinced that total immersion in a culture is the best way to achieve that, at least in terms of mastering the language. I am learning almost with no effort at all which is fabulous because I surely did not come here to put forth much effort into anything other than having a great time. Mission accomplished by the way! Living in a new land is surely worth any discomfort I may have to deal with or silence I may have to endure! Being a little lost never hurt anybody.

Culture Clashes

So you've all read my blogs about all the weird and strange things Moroccans do, surely things that would at least qualify them for residency on another planet right? I mean, how many shirts can one person wear in 90-degree heat and a blazing sun? Three apparantly.

But I digress. I thought it would be interesting for you guys to hear what they think is weird about me, and yes they've told me. For one they can't believe I don't speak French. In Morocco the second language is French so that naturally draws many French-speaking people here on vaca which leads them to assume that all white folks speak the language. Not this white girl! When I inform them of my unfortunate unilingual language skills (that would mean virtually zero) they take a second look as if they've never seen such a thing before. A white girl in Morocco who doesn't speak French?! Doesn't her tongue work? They don't know what to make of it.

I've also been told my parenting skills differ from theirs. A week ago we spent a great several days with relatives in Rabat. I was treated to fab cooking, great pastries and breads and housekeeping services! However, one evening over coffee while I was admiring how my kids had taken to a pretend game where they imagined themselves as cartoon characters and were playing quietly but creatively all over the house, bothering noone I assure you, one of the younger English-speaking girls (of course she speaks a third language, she's Moroccan!) told me that I allow my children lots of "freedom" to play in the house and it's not something Moroccan mothers would tolerate. I quickly asked her to explain what she meant-after they all assured me my the kids were not being bad or troublesome-and said that in Morocco mothers want their children to sit when indoors. I can't imagine how this would be accomplished, especially when you've got an active boy like Eli. She said it's just the culture. She said children should play outside and sit inside. Well, show me some playgrounds and I'll be happy to have my kids run themselves silly outdoors but, as I've mentioned before, those are in short supply. So after they assured my once again that my kids were fine and I made some crack about how we Americans love our "freedom" we all laughed and went back to our regular coffee conversation, i.e. not talking about me and my non-indoor-sitting children. But they might have been thinking about it.

I've also been told I don't worry enough about my kids. Like I don't have a freak out if Eli lets go of my hand for one second to run into a hanoot (tiny store) selling suckers. I mean come on, where do you think he's going? He's running in the opposite direction of traffic and heading straight for the sweets. I got this. My mother-in-law is notorious for this. She wants me to have Eli and Drea in vice grips as I drag them along the street all the while yelling "Anduk shanty!" which means "Watch out, the street!"

So there are a few things in a nutshell. I'm sure there are more that maybe they haven't decided to mention to me. But, all in all they respect my wishes and my ways and I do the same for them. After all, you never know what you can learn from other people, even if they are from a different planet.

Come Take a Ride...On My Emotional Roller Coaster

I'm happy, life is fab.
Look at me wrong and you'll regret it.

I'm full, the food here is delicious and satisfying.
If I don't get a pizza, cheeseburger and a slice of chocolate cake pronto there's going to be trouble.

I love Marrakesh, it's so exotic and unique.
Just give me Houston and Wal-Mart any day over endless trips to the store to get food.

I'm doing OK without my husband, but I'll be excited when I finally see him again.
I'm going to strangle the man on site for leaving me along this long.

I enjoy flexing my Arabic-language muscles.
I just want to have a conversation in English, for pete's sake. Oh you didn't understand me? Nothing I can do about that buddy. Sucks for us.

These are just some of the many conflicting emotions I've been having over the past week. I don't know if it's a sign that I'm totally ready to come home or what, but whatever it is I don't like it.

For so long I've been fine here, and in all fairness I still am, but I'm noticing little things are starting to get on my nerves. Food is a big thing. Everyone knows I've been losing weight here and loving it. Part of that is the food is so controlled here in terms of when you eat, there's not too much of it and it's super healthy. That said sometimes I just want a cheeseburger at 7 p.m (way too early for dinner time over here by the way) and a chocolate cake or any baked good for that matter. Is that too much to ask? Apparantly it is.

OK so I'm exagerating, but only a little. There's is a hamburger and pizza joint just a few steps from my door and two large, beautiful and very tempting cake stores no more than a five-minute walk away. For several months now I've relied on eating what my family is providing but in past days I've just wanted comfort food I guess. This first happened when Ali booked his ticket to come back here which for some reason put me in a downward emotional tailspin. I cured that with four slices of cheese pizza, a donut and a late-night snack session complete with Pringles and a chocolate bar and "Dexter." My scale and I weren't friends the next day.

But after that I was back on the horse and feeling fine and me and the scale made up. But the other day, and much too quickly after my previous low, I'm feeling a little shaky again. I was grumbling about dinner not being served until 9:30 (but come on who can blame me, I'm starving here!) and then of course they served red meat again. They have this thing about serving only meat at parties (and little else believe me) and serving meat to guests. I get that this is how you do things and it's meant to be respectful and welcoming but I'm really not a big meat eater and especially not red meat. Just give me veggies and the occasional sweet treat and I'm fine.

So now the kids are finished with week one of their two-week vacation from school (and who dreamed up this crap anyway???) and I'm trying to come up with ways to fill the days instead of watching my kids mindlessly zone out in front of cartoons, although that does come in handy when I need to exercise. So it looks like it's going to be trips to the mall with the pay-out-your-butt for a time-limited excursion in an indoor playground, or trek to the local gas station/restaurant/free playground with an order of the cheapest thing on the menu (cause that's the way I roll) or maybe I'll make another trip to Jemaa al Fna to soak up the local culture/craziness.

Or maybe I'll just dye my hair and load up on Snicker bars in case of emotional emergencies.

Morocco-Modern or Middle Ages?

After my first trip to Marrakesh in 2005, someone asked me if they had "real" roads here. I simply smiled and said yes, of course there are "real" roads. The roads are, I assure you, very modern and normal, however you will see a donkey pulling a fruit cart fairly often as a Mercedes flies by. But that's all part of the charm and I quite enjoy it!

I recently recounted this conversation to Ali's brother to see his reaction. He looked at me and said, with a smile and a shake of the head (presumably in responce to the "Are there roads?" question), "This is Morocco."

His answer is simple but says a lot. We Americans see so many immigrants come to our country and of course the States is rich in immigrant history. But we may forget that other countries are desirable as well, perhaps for far different reasons that those that entice people to the good ole US of A.

I see a lot of "Africans" here. I use quotes because this is how Moroccans refer to black people from different parts of Africa who come here, usually to study. Most Moroccans are definitely not black, they're typically mocha-colored, so you can easily spot the foreigners here, including me There are also a good deal of French people who live here either part time or year round. As French is the second language here in Morocco, it makes sense that so many of the French find their way to Morocco.

Morocco seems to be a study in contrasts. There are many modern aspects, primarily the influence of technology, but so many of the traditions remain and don't seem to be going anywhere. Most people seem to favor eating at home, you can still catch a whiff of homemade bread wafting from people's windows each and every day, the mint tea is still served in every home (I would wager), and negotiating for everything from fruits to furniture is still common practice.

So in light of what I've written here, did any of you have any preconceived notions of Morocco when I told her I would be coming here to live? I'd love to here about it!

Sameness

I've been a little hesitant in writing this post for fear that it would be taken as a criticism to the Moroccan people, but now that I'm over that worry I figured I'd go for it!

Morocco is an ancient culture. No I'm not going to give you a history lesson but in a country with a mosque more than 1,000 years old I realize I'm dealing with centuries of tradition. And it is tradition, or rather, sameness that I want to address here in this blog. You, dear reader, can make the distinction between tradition or sameness for yourself.

It seems to me that in so many things Moroccans are the same. First thing is the way they eat. They all eat bread along with every bite of their food (with rare exceptions). It's as if they can eat nothing if they aren't scoooping it up with bread. Because of this method of eating they do not use forks, instead using the bread to grab the food. I had a bit of fun with this the other day. We were sitting down to eat and the food had been placed on the table but not yet the bread. Of course Ali's grandmother was quick to point this out to her daughter-in-law (Ali's mother) and she was calling for her to bring the bread. Just to see what she would do, I handed her my fork (which I always use while eating because I'm the crazy American who just can't fathom eating that much bread) and encouraged her to eat from it without the bread. She shook her head no, smiled at me and said "shooma" which means shame. Good grief!

Another "sameness" quality is the aprons a lot of the older women wear. Ali's grandmother and her sister both wear these all day even though they do absolutely no cooking. This is a garment that has to be tied around the waist and I would imagine it's not the most comfortable thing in the world but damned if they don't take them off...EVER!

This next one is an extension of the aprons as it deals with clothing. In Morocco there is a unique garment called the jilaba (that's not how to spell it but I tried to go with phonetic spelling). It's a long dress for women and a similar style for men, expect the men's style comes to the ankles and the women's is a little longer. Most jilabas sport a hood and embroidery down the center front of the garment. You can spot them anywhere in the world and know they came from Morocco. Now don't get me wrong, many of them are very beautiful and they come in a dizzying array of styles, colors and patterns. But they are essestially all the same.

Now on to cleaning attire. I've seen several ladies of the family and ladies of the neighborhood cleaning in and outside of their homes and, again, it's all the same. They all roll up their pants, put on their plastic houseshoes, tie up all their hair in a rag and go at it. They all look the same pushing a broom or a mop.

Also, they all cover their hair completely when they go to the hamaam (public baths) or bathe inside the home. And this is regardless of whether or not they routinely cover their hair for religious purposes or not. For instance, Ali's youngest sister doesn't cover her hair but I can always tell when she's had a shower because she'll have her hair wrapped in a scarf for the rest of the day. I think this goes back to their fear of cold but I don't know. I always just towel dry my hair and then pull it up into a ponytail while damp but call me crazy. I also let Drea leave the hamaam with towel-dried but non-covered hair and I'm sure the ladies are all silent condemning me for my negligent mothering. Ah well.

Another thing is shoes. They wear them in the house but not on rugs and carpets. Now I totally get and agree with this as several studies have shown that walking with shoes on carpets traps a lot of dirt and dust in your home and can trigger allergy attacks and other problems. But it's still a funny sight to see a serviceman walk into your home and take off his shoes before he fixes your power outlet in your room or, even funnier, to see someone drop to their knees on the rug in the room your sitting in and "knee walk" to you because they need to greet you (with a kiss of course) and they don't want to take off their shoes because they don't intend on staying in the room you're in. I have seen this done on more than one occasion and it's funny!

I've also talked to my sister-in-law about the type of food that's served in Morocco. She agreed with me that if you walk into any home they are likely having tea at the same time we are, having coffee the same time we are and so on.

Now having said all this I'm sure we can chalk a lot of this "sameness" up to tradition, something I feel is a little lacking in America simply due to its youth.  Now many of you may not agree with me on that point but having seen something of other cultures I can tell you it's true, as least in my Moroccan experience. But feel free to share your own.

The Hanoot Rules

First off folks, sorry for the delay in updating my blog but the Internet connection has been giving me trouble for the better part of two weeks and once I had had it and suffered a semi-nervous breakdown I suppose the gods decided to smile down upon me and restore my connection.

So now that I'm back up and running I'm trying to condence all that I've had in my head during that time and put it down into words. Since I've decided I can't do that I'll just start with a story of the local hanoots, or the little stores that dot the streets and neighborhoods of Marrakesh.

First let me explain how the city is set up and then you can understand how the hanoot fits in. Marrakech is a lot like New York City with its block-length buildings that are then divided into residences and stores. So a hanoot is just a little slip of a space in which is packed a multitude of items-usually snacks, toiletries and household items. However, there are specialty hanoots and it is these that I'm going to talk about.

Since Marrakesh is a walking city most things, if not all, that one might need on a daily basis are within walking distance. For instance, in my neighborhood and not more than a two-minute walk away are hanoots for cell phones and their accessories, laptop computers and their accessories, locks and keys, bike repair, beauty products, medicines and probably some other stuff I can't think of right now or haven't noticed yet. Essentially it's like living amongst a divided Wal-Mart that sectioned off each one of its departments into small shops along the street.

Even better along the streets are what I call the "convenience kitchens." Just steps from my door you can find men cooking soups and donuts or women making bread, right there at the cusp of the sidewalk. Each day as I bring my children to and from school I am greeted by the smells of baked or fried bread, the sizzle of hot soups being served at a makeshift sidewalk cafe and, of course, the endless drone of car horns. A Marrakesh street wouldn't be complete without the near-constant "beep beed" of oncoming cars.