My new Moroccan family

labas labas readers. I am happy to say that I am settling in really well to small town moroccan life. So much has happened in the past half a week since getting to my CBT site I dont even know where to start or end this blog because it could seriously go on for days, yet my host sister Rabab is hovering nearby and may pull me away for some sort of meal at any moment (my day just constant meals).

So I guess I will start at the beginning. I got here on Thursday morning being welcomed to the dar chebab by a band of moroccan drummers and percussionists and a video crew. They played/filmed us walking into this auditorium. I have since watched this video and we all look some sort of mixture of scarred and excited. Then the local breakdancing team did a dance for us--side note: breakdancing and skateboarding and parkour are the hot things to do in my town... as well as pigeon racing, there are pigeons here that are worth over 10 million DH apparently-- afterwards there was an awkward coffee break and then we were matched up with our host siblings. Rabab was there to collect me, she is 19 years old and no one in the family can speak any English. Someone translated our first interaction with eachother and then ever since we have been communicating through my broken arabic and a lot of hand gestures. We went to my new house which is a very typical Moroccan house. By that I mean there is one main room of the house and it is filled wall to wall with those moroccan sofas and pillows. Everything in the house takes place here. We eat here, the rest of the family sleeps here, we all watch moroccan tella novellas here. So the first day for lunch we had chicken with potatoes on top. It seemed very American for a dish but made in a tajine so I didnt know if they were making it especially for me or not. They were warned that some Americans are pickier eaters, but I believe this dish is extremely common because Ive had it a few times since at other people's houses. The rest of the family is extremely nice and patient. I feel like a toddler most of the time because I just point at things and say what they are in arabic and the family all laughs and claps or corrects me. They had to teach me pretty much everything you can possibly think of. The mom taught me how to eat couscous with my  hands without getting it everywhere. Our snacks are filled with bread mostly and they have the best olives and olive oil here you can possibly imagine. Overall I would say that my quality of life has not gone down at all; the moroccans seem to live a lavish personal life although living in an area without basic infrastructure. It is as if people are not impoverished but they live around poverty. It is hard to explain, so dont take that too literally for now, I will make a video of my walk to the dar chebab to explain more.

So everyday I wake up around 7:30 and have breakfast with whoever in the family is awake (and the people who are asleep are literally still in the same room). Then Rabab and I go to the Dar Chebab together (Rabab holds my hand everywhere we go... Im not sure if she thinks Im gonna get lost or if she is doing it to show everyone I am her sister, but whatever reason it is, we sure hold hands everywhere. All of my fellow CBT mates have commented on it and some have taken pictures). I then have language training for the whole morning until noon, then I go to have lunch with the family. Unlike most moroccan families, my family usually has lunch as the biggest meal of their day. After that we go back to the dar chebab, hand in hand, and I have language or culture for the rest of the afternoon. When I get picked up by Rabab, she is usually with a cohort of the cool youth of the city. Sometimes we hang out by the skate park after this. Rabab seems to be the cool girl of the city and the family as a whole seems to be highly regarded...why exactly I am not sure, but I will report back when I find out. So we hang out with the parkour boys (they literally compete in professional parkour competitions). Some of my fellow CBT mates are "siblings" of these people so we can speak english to eachother during this time.

Yesterday we had the full day off, so I got to sleep in until 9 which is the latest Ive slept since coming to Peace Corps. Ive been teaching my youngest sister Aya how to use a couple of apps on my iphone so we have been making silly videos and Aya loves to take selfies of herself.

Rabab needed to get her hair done so me and Aya went with to goof off on my iphone. Rabab usually wears a hijab, but her hair is really really curly so I understand the need to get it done. The salon was a small room with two chairs in it. The two hair dressers were both deaf. I was really surprised to see that everyone coming in seemed to know how to sign to them--I had heard that the treatment of people with mental and physical disabilities in morocco was not great, but I was actually really touched at the communities seemingly positive response to them. Rabab loved her hair and so she asked to borrow my hat while I played soccer... so we snuck her out of the house without her hijab on. I played soccer with a couple of other PCVs and a bunch of moroccans. It felt really good to represent good female soccer players. Our team won and I scored the majority of the goals as the only female on the field. The moroccan guys were not resentful of this at all, they actually seemed to respect me more because I am a good player. It was an awesome experience.

Which brings me to my next experience.... the hamam. Okay so no matter how I explain this, it will not do the hamam justice. So a hamam is a turkish bathhouse... aka a communal shower. So I went to the hamam with my mom. She proceeded to undress me and we both went into the shower room. The room itself was even a shock for me. It was a room packed to the brim with naked women sitting on the floor scrubbing themselves or others around them. My mom sat me down in an area that was completely full and everyone was starring at me and my blonde hair (that in of itself is not weird for me in morocco, but the nakedness made it all the more amplified). My mom then made it clear that I was not washing myself-she was gonna wash me. And she did. Every square inch of my body was scrubbed and scrubbed well my my naked mother. If you want to talk about being baptized into moroccan culture in a very literal sense.... that is what happened to me yesterday. In the meantime, people were coming up to me and kissing my cheeks and saying salam, the little kids were just absolutely in awe of me and some came up and said bonjour (side note- everyone thinks I am french or a french speaker. Most have never met an American and basically assume all foreigners are french speaking). Everyone who knows me will laugh at this next part, but actually my least favorite part of the experience was my mom dressing me. She made me put on about a million layers and a hijab. I was boiled. She wouldnt let me take off any bit of this for hours because she thought I would get sick if I did. I hated it. I was so hot words cannot describe. At the beginning of class, we all usually share funny anecdotes with each other because you really do just have to laugh at yourself here. Even though I thought this would be the most painful part of my PC experience, I am really enjoying it. It is very humbling but also just hilarious. Ive never laughed more than I have these past few days at myself.

Okay Rabab is coming back to lead me home so I will end it here. Hope to blog again soon!!