Fake chewing

Living in a conservative, Muslim home in Morocco is almost completely different from living at a liberal-arts college in New York City. For instance, I have a curfew at 7pm most nights! I'm still nervous, so I'm acting with much care at home, but even still, I'm sure I have offended my host family several times already. At dinner tonight, I noticed two conversations in Arabic that were unmistakably about me. I often wonder what incentive these families in the Medina have to take in gauche American students. I wouldn't be surprised if the only thing we provide is something at which to laugh.

At least we break up the monotony of days spent only watching TV! Moroccan homes seem to center around TV, even more so than American ones. The TV in my Moroccan house is on from the moment I wake up until after I go to bed, and the family members spend the whole day in front of it. The women in my house live an especially unenviable life. The farthest distance I've seen most of them travel is from the kitchen to the TV room.

We have all been eating so much here. If I stop eating for even a second, all the family members prod me: "Kooli! Mangez!" ("Eat!" in Darija and French). Dinner is usually at 10pm, so I'm never in the mood to eat anyway. After talking with a friend from the program, I realized I am not the only one who has resorted to pretending to chew so as not to have to eat any more. But even that doesn't always work. I have basically started fasting from 9am to 9pm in preparation for these dinners. I guess I'll have to find a new strategy though, because my host mom still told me tonight that I don't eat very much.

The highlight of my homestay so far has been the only time I went out with a family member. My host brother, Youssef, took me on a tour of the Bouregreg river, which divides Rabat and its sister city, Sale. The walk was so pleasant-- the sun was setting and for once I didn't have to worry about street harassment because a man was with me. Youssef taught me about Moroccan music and played some of his favorite songs while we sat on the rocks beside the river. This was when I knew I was going to be happy here despite all the cultural adjustments. Youssef's wife grabbed my hand later in the souk so I wouldn't get lost. For me, that small gesture made Morocco more of a home.