Ramadan/Eid Mubarak Sayeed!! and "leh shokran ala wejib"

Last Friday we celebrated Eid, the end of the Islamic month of Ramadan where people don't eat or drink until sundown.  The call to prayer sounds from the minarets and after a quick prayer (or long, depending on religious preferences and customs-- my family isn't extremely religious), the family rushes to the dinner table to break the fast with ftour.  Hamid (baba) would rush into the room, yell "Allahu akbar!" (God is great!), and then run to the table to eat.  It's an extremely difficult thing to do, I can only imagine a whole month of this.  Nora and I decided to fast for the last few days of Ramadan, which only ended up being 2 days because Eid came on time; they weren't sure if it would be Friday or Saturday, because of the lunar cycle-- this further exemplifies the use of "inshallah" for anything in the future, because the future is uncertain.  Anyways, I found during fasting that you aren't hungry all the time, just tired and devoid of energy. Nora found that she got thirsty more than hungry, and I would have hunger pains occaisionally but then find a way to distract myself.  What made it difficult for us was the fact that we had to get up early to be at school for 8:30am.  Most people, during Ramadan, are allowed a modified work schedule, and school doesn't start until after Ramadan.  I can only imagine the Muslim people on  my program; one of my friends was fasting during the orientation day where we had our Rabat Challenge in the 110 degree heat, and had to go home early.  But our family, notably our host brother Yacine, would sleep until mid afternoon.  That helps a lot, because then you only have to wait a few hours until you can eat.  He would occaisionally go for a run right before ftour, which to me seems like a death wish but I guess it keeps his mind off the hunger.  Our second day of fasting, Nora and I came home from a 7 hour day of classes and slept right up until ftour time.  When we woke up, Mama Rachida said she was worried that we had "stopped breathing" because of the hunger!  But the whole family was impressed and pleased that we participated.  It's such a cultural thing here, not only religions-- even if you're not actively fasting, you basically involuntarily have to unless you can make your own food during the day (or have your amazing host mother pack you a lunch...).

We expected to have a big family gathering and lots of activity on Friday for Eid, but the family took a very relaxed approach.  We woke up late and had breakfast (that was maybe the hardest part of our 2 days of fasting-- I love breakfast in the morning), and stayed around the house expecting to go to Sale (the neighboring city) to visit Rachida's family whom we've visited before.  Nora and I took a walk after a few hours of relaxing, and when we came back Rachida informed us that we weren't going to Sale because she didn't feel well, but that Yacine was going to take us out.  We have a very busy social life compared to most people on our program, by virtue of our siblings and our good friends on the program, but we think Rachida thinks we don't do anything but homework.  False bizzzzefff...

The ladies: Loubneh, Rihab, Hajjar, Rachida, Nora

Last Monday, we went to Sale for our little cousin's 3rd birthday party.  His name is Nasser, and he is zwiin bizzeff (very cute).  I love babies and kids, but I think Moroccan babies might be the cutest... they all have big brown eyes and curly dark hair and little picket-fence teeth, and are super affectionate.  Nasser had a Spider Man-themed party, and it turns out that all little boys are obsessed with Spider Man here.  Because it was Ramadan, we didn't get over there until about 10pm, and didn't cut the cake until almost midnight.  All the kids were still running around and rough housing, like all boys do, that late at night.  Nora and I sat with the kids while the adults and our host siblings visited in the kitchen, as happy birthday music played continually from an extremely loud stereo.  The family lives in an apartment, and all I could think was that in the US there would have been a noise complaint immediately, between the music and the kids and all their noise.  Everyone seemed to know and understand that it was a birthday party, and people kept coming and going. 

Ryad, Rihab, and Nasser (birthday boy/Spider Man)

Ryad trying to blow out Nasser's fireworks candle

A word about gender relations/being a woman in Morocco:  Having a Moroccan man in your group of friends is a magical thing-- no other man will look at you twice.  Situation number one:  Nora and I were walking home from a cafe the last night of Ramadan, and as we walked men kept calling to us and would walk behind us a few paces, then as we didn't engage they would leave.  Two men were following us for a while at one point, so we made a beeline for a womens and children's shoe store and pretended to be engrossed in the plastic sandals at teh back of the shop.  We stayed in there for about 10 minutes, and then the shopkeeper man looked at us and nodded, making the sign that the men were gone. Needless to say, if we ever need plastic sandals, he's our guy.  A little while later, another man was following us closely and talking at us.  I was busy staring straight ahead and walking with a purpose, but Nora had reached a breaking point and rolled her eyes.  He noticed this, and asked "what's wrong?", and she turned around, held up her hand, and firmly, loudly said,  "baad minnee afaak!" ("Get away from me, please!").  Mr. Man was stunned, repeated, "baad minnee...?" and stood still as we walked away.  Good to know that the phrases they taught us in Survival Moroccan Arabic do in fact work, especially when coupled with the good old American "hand".  This is just a fact of life here, though.  There's no point in being here if you're going to hide in your room as soon as the sun goes down.  It's how you learn, and being able to take care yourself and navigate these kinds of situations is an invaluable skill.  Moroccan women get the same treatment, but because they are part of this culture, they have different ways of dealing and avoiding.  As Americans, we can  do some things that only men do here (like hang out at pool halls and cafes late at night, providing we have a Moroccan male friend with us, of course), but we get harassed like women.  It's a strange strange world, but for every challenge and difficulty, there's a kind shop owner or our brother's friends who tolerate our lame attempts at Darija. 

This is where my new favorite phrase comes into play:  "Leh shokran ala wejib", the response to shokran ("thank you") and meaning "Don't thank me for something I want to do."  The shoe store owner said this to us, the Meditel teleboutique man who recharges my internet modem and my cell phone says this to me, people use this response regularly and I think it is beautiful.  In a phrase, it encompasses the Moroccan sense of hospitality and kindness.  Even the shabaab (young men) use this phrase, when they're not too busy cat-calling to white girls.  Bismallah!

View of our table in our room, set up with coffee and sweets-- this is how we do our homework.  Oh, Mama Rachida...