Let me walk you through my new host home here in small town, rural Morocco. My Moroccan Dar (house) sits about 30 feet off of the one main (nameless) road. Our house is perched on the edge of an open dirt “playground” which is made up of piles of rocks and dirt with little streams of run-off water from the nearby houses that divide up the open territory. When I walk home it takes me a few hundred “salams” (Hi) and a dozen high fives with the kids in this open dirt fantasy world until I can reach my front gate.
Ninety percent of the time when I am within sight of my house, the word has already spread of my approach and my 10 year old host sister is outside waiting for me. I greet her in our front walkway and she always laughs as I stumble to remove my shoes before I enter the house --a sign of respect in Moroccan homes, yet also harder to do than you would think, perched on my dirt front step, unhooking my “cute” but uncooperative sandals.
Then off I go to personally greet everyone in the house. This consists of either a series of cheek kisses for the women; or a handshake followed by a hand over my heart for each of the men. The number of people waiting for my arrival any given day could include anywhere from my 5 host family members to upwards of 15 of the neighbors and relatives of the neighborhood.
After the numerous greetings I slide into my room to drop off my school bags. In my cozy room right off the livingroom I have a bed made of two pushed together couch pieces, a table for my books and such, a bureau for clothes and a cute little couch to entertain my guests on. Most evenings when I’m doing homework my siblings, host mom and the countless other kids I find wandering the rooms of our house find themselves perched on that couch or reclined on my bed. Sometimes they are quiet and try to do homework or crafts while I do my work. However, I must admit, I think that most of them are around for the not so quiet times when we all laugh about my hilarious attempts to say key phrases such as “please don’t feed me anything more or else I will explode”. Many of these sessions include pantomiming…. Let me tell you, although my vocabulary does not yet reach to sophisticated terms such as “to explode” my puffed out cheeks, flapping hands and look of pure distress sure do the trick ☺
I barely frequent the other parts of our house however, I have recently discovered that we do indeed have a second story to the building that is under construction as well as a roof that houses our “pet” rabbits and birds. I use the “” around the word pet because I have been warned that those cute furry bunnies can often times appear in our tajine!!!I haven’t identified one yet, but I will be sure to let you know if I do!
As I sit here scribbling all of this in my journal I am chillaxed on my couch/bed with my little host sister Fatima playing with my ipod touch, under my covers, nodding off for a late afternoon nap. My little brother Marouan has made his way into my room and is sitting on the floor next to my bed trying desperately to unzip my school bag. I can hear the boys outside still playing football (soccer) even though the last streaks of sunlight are fading quickly. And the ever present aromas of the beginnings of another meal are wafting from the kitchen where the hushed voices of my mother and brother can be heard discussing a subject in which I catch just about every 20th word or so. Just another Saturday afternoon in my new home in small town Morocco!