Invest. Discover. Reflect.: Morocco, round two: a second chance

This time around it was a much more profound and meaningful experience. I made more important relationships with my host family and I learned more about the culture that I never got around to understanding the first time. A week is not enough. Two weeks are not enough. But if you're lucky and you meet the right people who let you in and share their lives with you, you will see another side to Morocco. Many people when they go to Morocco say, "It's dirty, it's smelly, blah blah blah." Sure by Western standards it is much dirtier and smellier, hygiene is a different concept and toilets are holes in the ground and if you happen to find a public toilet that is 1. Western and/or has a flush and 2. has toilet paper, you've hit the jackpot. This combined with the fact that the families make you eat SO MUCH FOOD and you maayyyy get digestive issues as a side treat... it can make your "adventure" in Morocco... strategic haha. This kind of took away from my first experience, to be completely honest. I had some criticism for the country and the trip that was organized for us. But this time, by the end of the week, I was like, "Hey, I could live here in the medina with no shower or Western toilet, no room to myself and no heating at home. I could go to the hammam every Friday and I could learn to negotiate in the markets. I could learn to respect the female-male relations and the restrictions - and joys- of the religion." Do I want to ? Not particularly... my heart lies in Marseille. But there is a part of me that thinks in a parallel life I'd do pretty dang well in Morocco. I am sure that I will go back now as I made meaningful relationships with my host family and I now know I always have a home in Fez. WHEN I will come back to France, I will most certainly come back to Morocco as well, it's kind of a package deal. At the end of my stay, I didn't expect to cry, but as I saw all the girls in the family begin to cry, I couldn't stop myself. I realized the impact they had made on me and perhaps the impact I made on them. It was such a lovely feeling. And I do truly miss them already.

My family was large. Fatiha lives with her two sisters and her brother and her father, that's 5. Her sister Nadia has a husband 6 children: 3 girls 3 boys: that's 7. Her brother has a wife and three children, that's 4 more. They also live with an older couple who rents a room, that's 2 more. Each time I count I get a different number but I think the final number is 18. EIGHTEEN people lived in that giant and beautiful old riad. And no one was ever alone. At one point 12 members of the family were all in the living room at once, laughing and talking, conversations overlapping and cries of the young ones interrupting. It was a chaotic harmony and it was great. We spent our evenings watching Mexican soap operas dubbed in Arabic. Watching The Voice and Arab Idol and X Factor- All Arabic versions. We talked (through Fatiha as my Arabic is extremely limited- although I was able to follow the subjects of conversations as I could understand several words) about the contestants and they were impressed when I followed who was winning and who was voted off. We shared funny moments and cute 5 year old Adam danced a la marocaine for everyone. We talked about cultural differences and all kinds of things. And although I couldn't directly communicate with each member of the family, I never felt uncomfortable, I always felt welcomed and accepted as part of the family. It meant a lot to me.

By the end of the week I was able to lead the way home. The medina is a complicated MAZE and we had to go through tiny passage ways and tunnels to find her home. I should have taken a video of the walk home. Dammit! That would have been cool... but just imagine a medieval village with small twisting passage ways and shortcuts and tunnels and heavy but small doors that are hidden in the shadows, that open up to bright and decorated courtyards. It's magical.

I was disappointed to not be with the group for most of the week as Brenda and I were at the orphanage, but I still wouldn't change a thing. Brenda and I had the time to reflect on what we observed and absorb what we were experiencing... the children have a good situation for what it is. They go to school, they have three meals a day and snacks, they have nurses who "mother" them and regulate their days, they have janitors that keep the conditions clean and healthy, they have activities and excursions and sports. They have a balanced life. All except for the fact that they don't have a family structure and in many children you could tell their behavior was just a pleading cry for attention and love. It's basic child psychology. And sometimes they were mean. They were too smart for their own good. And as males, they are allowed to be a certain way that wouldn't be acceptable in the Western world (10 year old boys sticking their hands in your shirt, 5 year old boys pulling your shirt to see down it or just plain grabbing your chest, or just staring at your body in general). And I wonder, without a family structure, what are these boys going to grow up to be? What men will they be in ten, fifteen, twenty years? It's kind of a scary thought.

There were 125 boys and only 2 girls. Most of the children are born out of wedlock or in an affair and are therefore (because of Muslim society) abandoned. They live at the hospital until the age of three and are sent to an orphanage until the age of 12. If they find a place to go at age 12, they are taken care of until 18. At 18, I believe the government has little to no options for them. But even the 12 year olds at Dar Atfal did not know where they would soon end up. It was heartbreaking. I will never forget 7 year old Hind who said, "You have a mom?" to Brenda, and 5 year old Asharaf who was given up by his mom the week we got there, and 12 year old Wahid who schooled me and Brenda in French grammar- he was so dang smart. We had the chance to talk with the nurses, which is one of my favorite parts of the mini job shadow/internship.
A lot of kids ask about their parents, but have never known a parents love...

Here are the my favorite photos from my week: