Catch up #2

There are three CCCL buildings. The annex for Arabic classes (Marassa) is fairly simple, but I love the library (Legza) building with its fireplace and colorful leather cushions. The main CCCL building (Lalou) is gorgeous! It is a Spanish-Moroccan riad in the ancienne medina. The traditional courtyard is covered so it can be used in foul weather and there is a beautiful terrace that offers views of all of Rabat and Salé. I think I'll be photographing it throughout the trip, trying to capture its beauty. We've already enjoyed lectures with a doctor and a religious scholar, a welcome dinner, and a musical performance in the courtyard.

Early in the orientation we were given a few free hours to explore. Some of my fellow student journalists and I walked through the Medina's souk and wandered out to the Kasbah, which is being converted to a museum. Some friends joined in a soccer game with some young boys while the rest of us walked on the beach and visited an art gallery.

On the final orientation day we were given a bus tour lead by the CCCL's director. He never stopped sharing information for one minute throughout the two hour tour. I'm so excited to visit some of the areas he pointed out and he gave me a few ideas for possible stories. Even before we've officially started, Mary always reminds us all to bring our notebooks and recorders everywhere; stories abound. On the tour, we even got the chance to drive around the palace compound, which is not easily visited.

Then orientation ended and in came a period filled with anxiety. The students gathered together in the CCCL waiting for our host families to arrive. It felt like we were being adopted and it was hard for us to contain our nervousness and excitement. Badr put us all at ease by making jokes and, when the time came, introducing us to our new families. I felt prepared to a degree. Doha, our homestay coordinator had given us a session preparing us for squatting over the turkish toilets we would possibly have, taking showers with boiled water and a bucket, and properly disposing of sanitary napkins (since it is a shuma, shame, for someone to see another's menstrual blood). She was so uninhibited, squatting before us on her imaginary turkish toilet. Doha even gave us a card that described our family. My card said I'd be living with Fatima and her daughter, Fatima Zahra. I'd have a western toilet, a shared room, and they spoke French.

Fatima picked me up that fateful day as my preparation began to fall from the window. I tried speaking to my new host mother in French, but she just smiled, nodded, and spoke in Dhirija, Moroccan Arabic. On the way to her home we met up with Fatima Zahra, toting her six year old son by the hand. I did not expect Zahra to be an adult, let alone that she'd have a child. It also turns out that she does not live with us. It is just me and Fatima and we do not share a room. There is also no French spoken, nor understood. At first, I was a little disappointed. I could handle everything else, but I had requested a French speaking host family, which are not at all far and few between, from the very beginning. To add to my sadness, I was called to the table at seven, but only bread was served. I thought the worst, that Fatima just needed the money my stay would provide her with, she didn't care about me. Then I was called back at 10 for a true dinner! "Oh, she does care about me!"

Fatima and I started slowly. I was disappointed, but am never one to complain and always try to make the best of things. Luckily, I didn't even need to, as everything fell into place. Every day my host mother surprises me with how caring she is: making room for my clothes, giving me an extra blanket, trying to communicate. We may be silent a lot of the time, but I feel comfortable, safe, and cared for. I'm also not too worried about the French, practice at home is ideal, but I'll use it in class and seem to be speaking it a lot when communicating with Rabatis.

My apartment is small, but homey. As in many Moroccan houses, tile climbs the walls and mats cover the floor. Couches with lovely patterns turn into beds at night when blankets and a pillow are added. The meals are delicious and carbohydrate laden. Friday lunches are special. This week we had tajine and cous cous! The 'dinner' at 7 is a snack, followed by a dinner that is late even by European standards, but I'm never hungry. Visitors come in and out all day. Fatima's son and daughter have come by and her cousins are frequent visitors.

One cousin, 19 year old Souad, lives close by and her hostee sister, Ashton, is a friend from the journalism program (MOJ). Today, they called to invite me to the hammam! Doha had taught us that Moroccans don't really take showers as often as we do. In fact, they may even view us as somewhat dirty because they take one major shower once a week and smaller ones throughout the week. The major one lasts an hour or more at the communal hammam. Fatima helped me pack a kit with multiple scrubbers, soap, a stool, shampoo and conditioner, a change of clothes, etc. My cousins came to pick me up and we stopped in the souk where Souad bought some herbs before we entered the bath house. Souad taught Ashton and me everything! We paid, stripped down to nothing, and entered the steam rooms. Starting in the hottest room, we filled water buckets, sat against the wall on our stools, and doused ourselves. Souad made a concoction with the herbs and we used it as an exfoliant, scrubbing each other's backs. The skin rolled off. Some elderly ladies laid on the floor as their family members scrubbed head to toe. I loved the communal aspect! You can really feel someone's care for, and support of, you when they are scrubbing you. Tired, but very clean, we made our way to my cousins' house wrapped in informal hijabs Souad had tied for us to keep us warm. Souad is just so nice. She speaks a little english and almost impeccable French so I often translate between her and Ashton. The two are perfectly matched and are already so close; they smile at each other and laugh about the "food babies" they developed at lunch and often say "I love you, my sister" to each other. My host mother came to pick me up at their house where we enjoyed our pre dinner dinner. Souad told me that her house was my house and that I'll often go on outings with her and Ashton.

Tomorrow is my birthday and a holiday, Aid Mawlid-the prophet Mohammed's birthday, which we will have Monday off for. I know very little about the celebrations other than that there will be a candlelight parade, delicious cookies, and white clothing everywhere. So now you're all caught up-welcome to Morocco!