The big day has come and gone; I am now moved in with my host family for the semester. I am only staying with two people – mama Nezha and Amine (her 30 something year old son) – but there is a huge extended family that I’m only beginning to discover. When I first arrived at the apartment, grandma (mama Nezha’s mom) was sprawled out on the couch in the salon watching Moroccan soap operas. At first I thought she was also staying at the apartment, because she stayed and had lunch with us, which was an amazing kefta tajine with salad and boiled potatoes and carrots, and was still there after I had gone to bed.
Before going any further, it’s important to know a little about Moroccan meal times. Lunch is the biggest and most important meal of the day, which is eaten at about 2 or 3 in the afternoon. Then between about 5 and 7 they usually have tea and cookies and use it as an excuse to get together, socialize, and catch up with each other. Because of the late lunch, dinner usually is not eaten until 10 or 11 at night, and is usually something light like a soup or a salad. With this in mind, this next part should make a little more sense, or at least not seem so bizarre.
Just a few hours after lunch, mama Nezha’s brother and his wife came over for tea (from this point onwards, whenever I mention tea, assume it is Moroccan mint tea unless I say otherwise) and stayed for one or two hours, just to talk. During the visit, I think I found out that mama Nezha’s late husband was the Moroccan ambassador to France and that my host uncle has a pool; I say “I think” because no one in the room, except for Amine who left early on during the visit, spoke English, only French or Darija (Moroccan Arabic). Shortly after my host aunt and uncle left, one of Nezha’s sisters came over and seemed to have some sort of break down/girl talk with Nezha and grandma (I knew it was about something bad because grandma frequently made the Moroccan hand gesture for shame, which is called shuma). I was sitting in the salon right next to these three women while all this was going on, trying not to intrude on what I thought was a private conversation by diverting my attention to the TV which was showing Numbers with Arabic subtitles.
After almost an hour of just sitting there quietly, I finally mustered the courage to get up and go to my room to study the Darija phrases I had learned earlier that day. It may not seem like it should have been a big deal to just get up and walk out of the room, but it was, at least at the time. The Moroccan people are very hospitable, but this hospitality comes at a price: you have to make sure that you don’t offend them. Doing anything from not eating enough to not asking how someone is doing is enough to incur the wrath of shuma (shame). So sitting in that room I felt like I was paralyzed because I didn’t know the right thing to say or do to excuse myself; but as it turned out, I guess it was okay for me to just leave the room because I am a foreigner and don’t yet know the proper etiquette.
Finally, I ended this exhausting day by eating dinner what I thought was a late dinner at 8:30 (this was before I found out just how late Moroccans eat dinner) all by myself while the women were still talking away in the salon and Amine was off doing his own thing. This may not seem very hospitable, but for my family it was, because they were just trying to accommodate my preferences and habits. There are a lot of things that I’m going to have to get used to in Morocco; the late eating times may be one of the hardest.
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