Tales from Morocco, p. 2 The Homestay

So where was I...right!  The real Morocco!  Part of Morocco Exchange was placing us in Host Families.  Before we got to Rabat, we divided into groups of three.  I think that the host family experience I had really did a lot to open my eyes to the realities I'd been hearing about, been telling myself.  That I was blessed.

middle courtyard area with door to kitchen

The two other girls I was staying with from my group and I were staying in what felt like a house of children.  The oldest sister was our age, and she put us all to shame.  Her name was Besmah, and she learned nearly flawless english in three years by watching english television.  The youngest sister was seven and named Zainab, and was both sweet and feisty at the same time.  In the little I knew of standard arabic (which is very different from the Moroccan dialect, mind you) I did manage to ask her name that first night, and then tell her all our names, but that endeared all us to her.  There were also two other sisters and a brother.  Also a french speaking scholar father.  We aren't really sure where the mother was, Besmah told that she was away taking care of a sick grandfather and would return the next day, but she told us that each day.  It was a noisy household, and I liked that.

middle courtyard with door to sitting room/ breakfast area

But staying with Besmah gave me a lot to think about.  It was another shock of how much I'd taken for granted my entire life, and how much thought I'd been giving to things that didn't matter as much as I'd thought.  Besmah and her family lived on the bottom floor of a house.  There were two sitting rooms, the father's office, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the middle courtyard room.  It doesn't sound small when I type it, but seeing it, it gave me pause.  I hesitate say they were poor, because I don't know.  Clearly money was tight.  Besmah to only traveled an hour to college every day, but seemed to support the family as well.  We weren't entirely sure what the father did.  And Besmah was always anxious to make sure we like the food, the house, where we slept, etc.  She couldn't have been more hospitable.  In fact, Im glad I had the chance to stay with her, and experience the life of the lower middle class in Morocco, instead of the upper middle class.  It felt more real somehow.

where we slept/ sitting room #2 (with our luggage)

Our first night at dinner Zainab wore two bracelets made of simple plastic beads.  One was pink and one was red.  As we all sat there eating and laughing, Zainab slipped the red one off and handed it to me.  I tried to give it back a little later, but she refused it.  So now I wear it, to remind myself of the kindness I found in Morocco, not just from Besmah and Zainab, but from everyone I met.