Headscarves, Raw Cow Hooves and American Rap Music, Al-Hamdumilah!

A-salaam! Le Bas!? (enthusiastic air kiss on each cheek) Al-Hamdumilah! Greetings once again from Morocco, but from a new world: homestay in the Medina. On Saturday we moved in with our new Moroccan families to our homes within the walls. Each of us have our own host family, but somehow there is only one degree of separation between all of us. For example, I live on the second floor of a home, while my friend Danny lives downstairs with another family. Asia lives next door, Stephanie lives at the end of the "block" (if anything in the Medina could really qualify as such), her homestay mother is my homestay mother's cousin, and Stacey is over all the time downstairs because Danny's homestay mom is her grandmother. All of this demonstates the connections I have learned as of yet; I'm sure there are a million I've yet to learn. Speaking of learning, I'm on another French/Arabic keyboard, which is severely trying my patience--better still, it is a very worn-down cyber café keyboard so that I can't see all the letters, but I feel it is just another small test in study abroad, and I am determined to accept all challenges as blessings.

So life in the Medina is simply incomparable to any experience I have ever had, or might wish to have again. I've discovered almost everything is cheaper in the Medina, and if it doesn't start that way, you baragan until it is (always good to have the homestay sisters as back-up on that; my bargaining in derija is just not up to par...yet). Throughout this small space, which incidentally includes the old Arab/Islamic part of the city and the Jewish quarter, known as the "Mellah," there are smaller divisions, made by items sold in that corridor--the fish market, meat market, sewing market, etc. I live in the northeastern part of the Medina, near the Mellah and the fish market. Each of these corridors, as might be expected, has an accompanying smell; spices, fish, raw meat (yum), and the distinct snail-soup carts, which are always remarkably busy. Unique sounds also accompany these smells; pumping American music (my "cyber" is currently playing Akon), "Ashara! Ashara! Ashara!" ("10 dirhams," the local currency), or sizzles from the enormous kabob stands. Everyday is a challenge to not pick up or coo over the dozens of street kittens, as well as ignore the catcalls. Catcalling is a sport here in Morocco, and men spend long hours practicing their technique in several languages ("Bonjour," "Zwina," "Hola, Querida" "Hello, how are you?") alongside scooters or car doors or public fountains. At first it really annoyed me, but now it justs amuses. Another distinctive feature of life here is a consistent eye on the ground for small children or big puddles. Lots of times kids will have tops or strings or cars that happen to skid out under your feet, or vendors will wash the street by their stall with huge, sloshed buckets of water, leaving rivulets of murky waste down the entire street. Slowly, some of the day's rhythms are starting to make sense, though the streets are still a labyrtine haze, especially at night, when the Medina is another place all together. It's happily starting to come together; unless the street's a dead end, it will at some point open out onto one of three main streets. If you haven't guessed yet, I adore it all, and we've just gotten here.

So in the interest of not losing you in a love letter to the Medina itself, I will continue on about my family, or "a'ila'ti," in derija. I have about six members to my family, and I'd like to give each of them a short introduction:
Widad
Widad is my beautiful 16 year old sister. She goes to the Thanawiyya Hassan II (high school), and speaks some English. She is my mainstay when I need to explain something important to anyone else in the family; we get by on pidgin English/Derija/French/Fusha (standard Arabic). Her English puts my Derija knowledge to shame, so I think she amuses herself (good-naturedly)by allowing me to hobble through in some Derija-body language dance, and then guesses my meaning in English. Much like any 16 year old, she loves shopping and looking at makeup and meeting her friends. She's very jealous that my 16 year old brother has learned to drive. She has a secret boyfriend I'm not to tell her parents about, and we spent an hour yesterday ooohing and ahhing over all the ringtones on her new cell phone. She has a friend who goes to Duke, and always wants to know if I am familiar with the brands of clothes she sends home as gifts.
Sabah
Sabah is my incredibly sweet 20 year old sister (It's funny that they should be equivalent ages to my brother and myself). She was in a very severe accident when she as younger that has left her scarred and with a prosthetic leg, but she is so very graceful about it, and she gives me so much to admire. Neverthless, it has made her much shyer than Widad, and she speaks less English, so we have a more difficult time communicating. She spends a lot of her time texting friends on her cell phone, or helping with the 24 hour cooking in our house. She was my companion the first days, when I didn't have the directions to the house down. Both girls represent one of the polar spectrums of dress here; spaghetti strap tanktops (and in Widad's case, knee-length skirts). The spectrum of female dress is so incredibly diverse here, and within all age ranges. Many girls wear jellabas and headscarves, but many wear jeans and tight shirts (sometimes with a headscarf), and still others dress in low-cut shirts or tank tops. It's actually interesting to see how our generation's women have actually become more conservative in many cases.
Mama Naima
Mama is wonderful and patient with my looks of incomprehension to many questions. Aside from speaking/understanding both versions of Arabic, she also speaks French, which daily makes me lament my almost total ignorance of that language. Right now, she is in the midst of preparing a, hmmm...can't even find an adjective to describe, a veritable army of Ramadan cookies, which will start Thursday or Friday (and will certainly merit at least one blog in itself), and last night let me help. She's promised that I can learn anything that she makes, which is exciting, but rather daunting, considering the scope of Moroccan cooking.
Baba Lahsen
So my homestay Dad has one of the best laughs I've ever heard; it's rumbly and genuine, and I always look forward to it in a conversation I'm attempting to understand between him and one of our innumberable guests. I got to hear it last night in a universal event of family bonding (pain and bruises). When my Mom asked me to help with the cookie-making last night, I went to hop over the shoes piled at the door of the room to wash my hands in the kitchen, and smacked the brains out of my head on the doorway (I have a lovely lump on the back end of my skull, mercifully hidden by hair). I re-entered somewhere between laughing and crying, and they all got a laugh out of my insistent "meshi mushkeen" ("not a problem"). He went to grab some ice and helped me rub my head. Other than this, our main bonding has been at the table; "kuli, kuli" ("eat, eat"), and teaching me the names of fruits in Arabic. We have also had several conversations about the tv, which I will get to now.
TV
As our homestay coordinator, Doha, put it, "TV is master of the house, you may not be watching, but you never turn him off." This is very true, TV eats with us, sits with us, has tea with us, and, very reluctantly, sleeps when we do. TV consists mainly of channel 1 and channel 2, though there are others. I was told by my Arabic professor at the Hillel that Mexican telenovelas are often imported to Morocco and dubbed into Derija. Given prior experience with the telenovela, I was very surprised to hear this, but now understand. Though Moroccan-made programming closely emulates the sound effects and stylings of the telenovela, it simply can't recreate the drama and over-acted passions of the telenovela. Moroccan tv is shown in FusHa (news, some sports or travel programes), Derija (soaps, tv movies, local programs), and French (American movies, American tv shows for children). While eating (which we do at least four times a day), it is best to stare intently at TV, acknowledging his mastery. I actually sat through a good portion of "Phenomené Raven," better known to all of you as "That's So Raven" during tea on Sunday, because, important point, it doesn't matter what's on, it matters that it's on.
Others
In the average Moroccan household, it is so very common to have guests that they, as an entity, should actually be considered a part of the family. These guests are composed of anyone from the cousin down the street to the man selling cell phones to the, well, I don't really know how they are connected to my family. They are generally very nice, but each expects me to understand more then I do of rapid-fire French or Arabic interrogation, leaving a sort of dazed look across my face that I don't know how to explain (unless you've been there yourself). The most amusing guests by far are the women. Generally, they come in from the street wearing headscarves or robes or hoods, which are instantaneously thrown off or hiked up once they reach the tea table. The decible level for every woman I've met increases tenfold upon entry as well (which is certainly counter-intuitive, given the noise of the street). A conversation is generally Loud, Loud, Loud, until my Dad interjects with a quiet comment, and then it becomes LOUD, LOUD, LOUD--in amusement or anger, I haven't figured; I assume the former. Then, as they descend the stairs, they return their garments to their intended positions, and I might not recognize them if I saw them out.

All in all, I love all the family members; quirky to say the least...

Anyway, this has all taken an incredibly long time to type, though I'm getting better, and though I have so much more I want to share, I will save it for another time. Some future topics include: the joys of a Turkish toilet and a small compartive session on Derija and FusHa, as well as the aforementioned Ramadan entry (and hopefully an upcoming experience at the local Hammam). Anyway, the CCCL (Center for Cross-Cultural Learning, or Merkaz al-Tuwasul al-Taqafat) is throwing us a special dinner tonight, so I must get ready. Thanks for reading, and b'slaama!