It’s 11:11, make a wish. (Does it count though since I’m on a 24 hour clock?)
I just got home from my first f’tour, chez the Larouissi’s. Chakib, the gentleman of the maison was well missed, but then again, who can blame him as he accompanies the King wherever he goes. Soraya, his wife, who works for Royal Air Maroc, regardless, invited me to her home tonight, to break the fast of Ramadan with her, her son Driss and his friend Sami. Driss and Sami are totally adorable teenagers, who attend the impressive, semi-private, Lycée Française and who actually speak English quite well.
I smell right now of Moroccan oil, as Soraya insisted I put some on in the car on the way home. It’s quite strong.
In any case, I was very nervous about this dinner, and I think that it could have gone slightly smoother, as my French was unstable, but I think I passed. Soraya only invited me five times to come and live with them. I think she was also concerned when she dropped me off at my apartment.
At 6:30, we broke the fast – on the table (remember, there are four of us) was herera – a traditional lentil soup, surrounded by little plates filled with pastries and small bites. All around, so much food. I ate the soup, which was very good, as well as some sort of crèpe filled with cheese. I was prepared in advance to pace myself as I haven’t been eating much as it is, and the process of f’tour and dinner could be rather long. I mean, to be honest, I could have called it a night after the soup and crepe. But that was only the beginning…
After the f’tour – the f’tour is only the initial break, we paused to have mint tea, and chat. This took place upstairs in one of their many Moroccan salons. About two hours later we descended again for the actual dinner. Dinner consisted of salad and something like tabouli, as well as roasted eggplant. These were all fantastic – filled with flavor and spices. The main course was a kefta tagine – the kefta was cooked in tomato sauce. At this point, we chose to put away the silverware and eat like true Moroccans – with our hands. I had my first lesson in how to do it…yes, there is a right and a wrong way! Three fingers are used – two hold the bread and scoop up the kefta, and then the thumb swoops in to hold it all in place. After my first bite, I got it down pretty well. This was all served with grape juice…which tasted amazing. I mean, it wasn’t like a Welch’s juice or anything - it was simply freshly pressed grapes sans additives.
My Moroccan friend, Badre, last night forewarned me that I was most likely entering a “new” Moroccan family atmosphere, as they call it. In this sense, he simply meant that there would certainly be silverware.
I wasn’t forced to eat anything, but everything that was served I did try, with the exception of all the mini plates in the f’tour. So luckily, I don’t feel as though I consumed three meals, and the way we ate was well paced, to allow proper digestion of course. How I’ll feel tomorrow is another story.
Let’s jump back a little…
So, Soraya, her son Driss and his classmate Sami, picked me up in their Renault. It seemed like a normal vehicle. We drove up toward Souissi, where I happen to work, and I pointed this out, at which time Soraya informed me that they actually live only a few minutes from my office. Well, my office is quite nice, as is the area that surrounds it, so I expected luxe quoi. We drove up and eventually came into their street, pulled into their driveway, which was hidden behind these magnificent wood and metal carved doors, and parked in front of their other car – a new Mercedes.
Now, many traditional Moroccan families have several children running about. Soraya and Chakib have only Driss (well, in fact they have older twins who live in France). Their house, or villa maybe it would be dubbed, is gorgeous. Spotless, as if it’s scrubbed daily (which wouldn’t surprise me), featuring carved stone and woodwork all around. On the main floor was a small dining area, a large traditional Moroccan salon and a smaller adjoining, more informal one, as well as an enclave that looked as if it was meant for prayer. It was decorated throughout with traditional Moroccan artisan work, as well as collected items from around the world. Downstairs is the very large and well equipped kitchen, along with the sitting area (which probably could have sat about 50 people) and a smaller sitting room next to it. Unfortunately I missed the tour of the upstairs, but I did see the library that was exposed…and very appealing (from which I later borrowed two books).
The household maintains one servant, Aisha I think her name is, who speaks only Arabic, and caters after your every need. She didn’t smile once, although I suppose if I were in her place I would find no reason to smile either…
I learned how to say cockroach, olives, table and glass tonight. I also watched Star Academy and a show from Qatar on Islam and Ramadan. I learned that each year (which, in the Islamic calendar, determined on the moon, is shortened by three days) there is a theme to Ramadan. Last year it was the Prophet. This year it’s the 94 names of God (i.e. the Pardonner, the Creator, etc.).
I still can’t get over how kind everyone is. Soraya insisted I call both my parents during our break in eating. She patiently listened to my weak French, and informed me of many marvels that contribute to the Moroccan identity, as well as the Muslim one. Driss and Sami spoke English with me for a few minutes, and I think they were excited to have an American girl come to eat with them. It was Sami that tought me how to say cockroach.
It was a little uncomfortable, but I think only I felt that discomfort. Soraya called Michael, our mutual contact, and told him that I was completely cute and very nice. It’s so touching to meet people that automatically care, as if it’s their default emotion, and who wish to extend whatever they are able in order to make your life better and make you happier.
J’ai de la chance. Grave.
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