Kuli! Kuli! Kuli!

Hello! Brace yourselves for a long post, as a lot has happened over the past few days (and this is the first time I've had internet access in ~4 days!) 

On Thursday afternoon we went off for a rainy bus tour of Rabat. The tour gave me a good feel for the city- poor vs. wealthy neighborhoods, clean vs. dirty, congested areas vs. open etc. Abdelhay guided the tour, giving information on apartment prices in different neighborhoods (interestingly, buildings by the water are the poorest neighborhoods and cemeteries), anecdotes on history, and pointed out recent areas of development initiated by the king. I got off the bus from the 2-hour tour enlightened and nauseated, and walked immediately into the center to be picked up by my homestay family.

The main room in the center was divided by Moroccan families and American students, each looking at the other, trying to guess who "belonged" to whom. Fadoua, our program leader, called out names of students and handed them off to their respective families. During all of the anticipation, I turned to the girl next to me and said "what if this was how our actual families were chosen?" Fadoua finally called my name and I went and greeted my host mom with kisses on each cheek. She then introduced me to her daughter, Boutaina, standing shyly next to her. I greeted Boutaina, and then went to get my luggage. They helped me wheel my bags through the narrow streets of the medina, as I anxiously wondered what to say. I asked them if they spoke french and they said they did. We spoke briefly on the walk home, when I found out Boutaina is 12 years old. As we entered the door, we were greeted by my other host-sister, Oumayma.   

This seems like an appropriate time to describe the house, so I will. From what I can tell, it is a sectioned off part of an original harem. There is a little hallway from the door, which is 3/4 wall and 1/4 partially open air/partially covered by a tarp. Immediately to the left of the entrance is a small kitchen with the room with the turkish toilet. Passed the kitchen in the hallway is the main living/sitting/tv room. The sitting room has a traditional Moroccan sectioned couch, a rolling table, and a tv on a tv cabinet. Behind the cabinet, they have sectioned off my "room" with a partially sheer curtain. There is a twin bed with a little plastic dresser. This set-up was far better than what I was expecting! When they said my room was shared, I imagined sleeping on the couch with my host-sisters (an arrangement I know a few other students have). This set up makes me feel as though I have my own room. Off of the living room is the bedroom, which Mbarka, Boutaina, and Oumayma share. It is definitely simple living, but I think I can only benefit from learning to live more simply. (I will try and take pictures for a little house tour sometime soon). 

After I set my suitcases in my "room", I went to sit on the couch, joining Boutaina and Oumayma. It turns out Oumayma speaks fluent french, so we are able to converse very well, but Boutaina speaks only a few words of french (I must learn Arabic for her!). I talked with Oumayma for a little bit, where I used my few learned Arabic words (Smiyti Karin, Ashno smiytek?- that's about all I knew so we switched back to french pretty quickly) where I learned that their mother and father are divorced and they do not have a relationship with their father. Mbarka then brought out some Moroccan tea and about 4 different kinds of bread with spreads of honey, jam, and Laughing Cow cheese. I had been warned about this. Mbarka started slicing the cake-corn bread type thing, and what I thought she was going to slice into three more pieces ended up being what she put on my plate. As we started eating, Mbarka told me she is pleased to welcome me into her house and that I am like one of her daughters. And also, that she will do my laundry. She then gave me the key to her house and told me I can come and go however I please, and that all of my girl-friends are welcome. She said "Please, invite 2, 3, 10, 20 girls over, but no boys". I told her of course, that is not a problem, but then she said it again. I tried to joke that there are only 3 boys in the program so really it shouldn't be a problem. Either the joke did not translate or it was not an appropriate time for joking.

It was also during this conversation that I learned I am the 13th student they are hosting. And that has become evident by all the knickknacks around the house- from the Colorado mug we drink out of during meals to the Baltimore keychain hanging above my bed. We then proceeded to watch 4+ hours of arabic tv. We watched some soap operas and then a graphic American wrestling show to which I said "I hope this is not what you think of Americans". Their response: "Those are Americans?" Around 10 o'clock, I began to wonder if the meal of bread was dinner. A half-hour later, Mbarka asked if we should eat now. She brought small individual bowl of a cucumber-tomato salad, then a big plate of green beans, olives, and chicken.

For those of you who don't know, Moroccan have a unique way of eating. It's family style, with one main dish, from which each person has a "zone". There is also normally no silverware- bread is your utensil. You then scoop up food with bread and your first three right fingers. I was only a few tears into my first section of bread before Mbarka put another one next to me- a whole half-Frisbee size. I have never tried to chew so slowly. I would barely pause eating before the Kuli's began- Kuli Kuli Kuli! Eat! Eat! Eat! They seemed to know I don't eat meat, but Mbarka told me to eat some chicken. I told her "I'm so sorry, I don't eat meat." She responded "I know, but it's chicken. You don't even eat chicken?" After dinner I bonded with my host sisters by playing some card games, trying to teach them Spoons and BS using my newly learned arabic numbers. Mbarka then tucked me in with plenty of blankets.

That first day was long and overwhelming. I went through quite a range of emotions as I stared at the tv for hours on end. I felt good with this family, they were obviously very welcoming and I could tell I would get along well with my host-sisters, but I also couldn't help but think about how long I will be living like this. It was like experiencing those highs and lows again, but every few minutes. As I sat there I recalled how I felt living in France for those few weeks after fifth grade. The feelings are comparable, specifically feeling out of place and removed from real life, but at the same time, I am more comfortable with being uncomfortable this time around. That is the best way that I can describe it, at least for now.  

Since I am running out of steam writing this post, I am going to speed through the other happenings. On Friday, we had arabic again and a homestay debriefing. The debriefing was very nice to have, hearing about other people's similar (or different) experiences. It was also pretty humorous. One kid in our group is named Chase and he said his homestay family thought his name was Cheese, so they decided to call him cheeseburger in arabic. Another girl said her family wouldn’t stop calling her Jones, her last name. 

We then went back to our homes for our first of the weekly Friday couscous tradition. It was delicious! And again filled with Kulis. I went to the library in the afternoon, then my host mom and Boutaina picked me up and took me for a walk by the water, then to the Kasbah (Mbarka holds both of our hands everytime we cross busy streets). We wandered through the neighborhood and garden, and even stopped into a place where women were making rugs. We ate another delicious dinner, and then I crashed. 

The next morning, we had a late breakfast (breakfast is the exact same as tea) and watched more tv. After lunch, we headed out and walked to Sale for the parade for the Prophet's birthday (although I didn't know that is what we were doing at the time). It was neat to see, and definitely no Spicer, MN 4th of July parade, but it was pretty cold and hard to see. We went back home for tea, and then I went to meet up with other students to see a Amiziri concert at the national theater. It was great music and even better dancing, and a crowd that acted like they were at more of a soccer game than a concert. 

I was planning on posting pictures, but it seems to be taking forever and it's getting dark and the medina is scary at night, so I must go. But I promise, as soon as I have a somewhat strong internet connection, you will get pictures! 

Love, 

Karin