My original plan upon arriving in Fes was to stay in the Arabic Language Institute (ALIF) dorms, directly across the street from the school.
Unfortunately, they were ful
l.
I was pretty disappointed, and wary of committing to a homestay with a Moroccan family.
I’m not quite adventurous enough to want to pee in a hole in the floor for 3 months.
But I went ahead and set up a homestay through the school.
In fact, I went in Monday morning and they told me to be ready to move in by 1 pm.
Saida, the mother of my homestay family, met Dad and I at ALIF and we walked to her home.
The family lives in the Ville Nouvelle, the same part of town as the school.
It’s about a fifteen minute walk.
Upon our arrival, we met the two daughters, Fatima (15) and Zeneb(17).
The father, Ali, is an artisan who works in mosaics.
Saida is an Arabic and Islamic Studies teacher in a primary school.
The homestay was a bit difficult to get used to.
My family speaks little English, and I speak little French.
So communication is a bit like playing charades.
Moroccans are well-known for their hospitality.
This really presented itself in the enormous amount of food I was expected to consume at every meal.
I honestly thought I was going to be hospitalized.
I actually considered forcing myself to throw up a few times, because of how uncomfortable it was.
And after every meal, I was expected to eat a few pieces of fruit.
I have never eaten so many oranges in my life.
Moroccan families eat out of the same dish, generally using bread to eat with, rather than utensils.
Many meals are tagines, which are a sort of stew with meat and vegetables, named for the cone-shaped dish in which they are cooked.
After classes started, I went to a lecture called “Moroccan Survival Tips.”
The teacher explained exactly how to eat a meal in Morocco, and it has been a lifesaver.
After eating a little bit of food, you sit back and appear to be finished.
The mother will inevitably say, “kuli,” which means “eat.”
You then acquiesce, and eat a little more.
Then sit back.
She says “kuli.”
You eat a little more.
When she says “kuli” again, you sit back, put your hands to your stomach and say “l’hamdulillah.”
Which literally means, “praise to God,” but essentially politely signals that you are full.
Works like a charm
.
Praise be to God.
Because there was no way I could consume that much food every day for three months.
I would have died.
The homestay took about a week to get used to, but I’m really enjoying it now.
Fatima is learning English, so she and I speak to each other in English and watch Hollywood Insider every night, which I find fairly entertaining.
I also end up explaining a lot of things in roundabout ways.
For example, she was watching an awful Vin Diesel movie called “Find me Guilty.”
It took about twenty minutes to explain what the title meant, and that no one was actually trying to find guilty people.
I ended up creating a courtroom in the living room, and explaining juries and verdicts.
Oh man….while I am writing this, they just gave me something to drink which I think is the liquid leftover from when they make butter…?
That seems to be the explanation I’m getting.
It tastes like sour milk.
I get bonus points for trying new things today.
Anyway, the non-dietary challenges of the ho
mestay include the bathroom.
There’s a bidet, which I don’t use.
However, sometimes I have to use the second bathroom when the main one is occupied.
This is a closet with a glorified hole in the floor.
Showering is a whole other issue.
While the shower appears to be a western bathtub, the water has to be heated by gas for each shower.
In the tub are a stool, a couple of buckets and a bowl.
You fill the bucket with hot water, and use the bowl to pour water over yourself.
I am used to showering about twice a day…so this has been the biggest change.
I don’t want to impose and use a lot of gas by showering every morning, so I generally wash my hair in cold water most mornings, and shower every third day.
I think I may start taking secret showers at my friends’ apartment.
Don’t tell.
All in all, the homestay is fantastic.
The view from my room is great, and the food is amazing.
And I think it will continually supply hilarious stories to tell…
l. I was pretty disappointed, and wary of committing to a homestay with a Moroccan family. I’m not quite adventurous enough to want to pee in a hole in the floor for 3 months. But I went ahead and set up a homestay through the school. In fact, I went in Monday morning and they told me to be ready to move in by 1 pm. Saida, the mother of my homestay family, met Dad and I at ALIF and we walked to her home. The family lives in the Ville Nouvelle, the same part of town as the school. It’s about a fifteen minute walk. Upon our arrival, we met the two daughters, Fatima (15) and Zeneb(17). The father, Ali, is an artisan who works in mosaics. Saida is an Arabic and Islamic Studies teacher in a primary school. 
The homestay was a bit difficult to get used to. My family speaks little English, and I speak little French. So communication is a bit like playing charades. Moroccans are well-known for their hospitality. This really presented itself in the enormous amount of food I was expected to consume at every meal. I honestly thought I was going to be hospitalized. I actually considered forcing myself to throw up a few times, because of how uncomfortable it was. And after every meal, I was expected to eat a few pieces of fruit. I have never eaten so many oranges in my life. Moroccan families eat out of the same dish, generally using bread to eat with, rather than utensils. 
Many meals are tagines, which are a sort of stew with meat and vegetables, named for the cone-shaped dish in which they are cooked. After classes started, I went to a lecture called “Moroccan Survival Tips.” The teacher explained exactly how to eat a meal in Morocco, and it has been a lifesaver. After eating a little bit of food, you sit back and appear to be finished. The mother will inevitably say, “kuli,” which means “eat.” You then acquiesce, and eat a little more. Then sit back. She says “kuli.” You eat a little more. When she says “kuli” again, you sit back, put your hands to your stomach and say “l’hamdulillah.” Which literally means, “praise to God,” but essentially politely signals that you are full. Works like a charm
. Praise be to God. Because there was no way I could consume that much food every day for three months. I would have died. The homestay took about a week to get used to, but I’m really enjoying it now. Fatima is learning English, so she and I speak to each other in English and watch Hollywood Insider every night, which I find fairly entertaining. I also end up explaining a lot of things in roundabout ways. For example, she was watching an awful Vin Diesel movie called “Find me Guilty.” It took about twenty minutes to explain what the title meant, and that no one was actually trying to find guilty people. I ended up creating a courtroom in the living room, and explaining juries and verdicts. Oh man….while I am writing this, they just gave me something to drink which I think is the liquid leftover from when they make butter…? That seems to be the explanation I’m getting. It tastes like sour milk. I get bonus points for trying new things today. Anyway, the non-dietary challenges of the ho
mestay include the bathroom. There’s a bidet, which I don’t use. However, sometimes I have to use the second bathroom when the main one is occupied. This is a closet with a glorified hole in the floor. Showering is a whole other issue. While the shower appears to be a western bathtub, the water has to be heated by gas for each shower. In the tub are a stool, a couple of buckets and a bowl. You fill the bucket with hot water, and use the bowl to pour water over yourself. I am used to showering about twice a day…so this has been the biggest change. I don’t want to impose and use a lot of gas by showering every morning, so I generally wash my hair in cold water most mornings, and shower every third day. 
I think I may start taking secret showers at my friends’ apartment. Don’t tell. All in all, the homestay is fantastic. The view from my room is great, and the food is amazing. And I think it will continually supply hilarious stories to tell…
1 comment:
You don't use the bidet? What's that about. I have been spraying my butt out with a peri-bottle since I gave birth. I would LOVE a bidet right about now. Sadly, you'll never know how I feel since you will be buying your children from various corners of the world. Bonne Chance avec les francais.
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