The Everyday

Because I have stayed so busy with formal excursions and experiences, most of my posts on Morocco so far have dealt with specific happenings.  However, one of the richest parts of the journey has been the everyday joy and intrigue of being in the heart of Moroccan life.  As someone staying for an extended period, I have the opportunity to immerse myself in a way that would be impossible for a tourist.  Much of this privilege is thanks to my host family’s generosity in welcoming me into their daily life, but I have also noticed things on my own that beg me to keep exploring.

Take, for example, my walk to and from school.  At first, it was daunting because my house is at least seven minutes and five windy turns into the fringes of the medina.  Many other students live closer to school, just off the main road, where the route is familiar and direct.  Given my lackluster sense of direction, the closer proximity would have been easier, but I have come to appreciate my winding path home. 

Each day, I pass through one of the medina’s largest vegetable and meat markets on my way to school.  In the morning, the shopkeepers are already wide awake and arranging their stands.  Many sell oranges, lettuce, beets, and other fresh produce.  There are some stands for spices and dried fruit, others for candy bars.  Behind three different counters are shelves full of chickens (still clucking), which will likely be eaten within the day.  Different smells waft from each stand.  Walking down this souk road is an experience that requires all of my senses, but it’s distinctly Moroccan.

Coming home, life maintains its Moroccan flavor.  Sometimes, the language barrier and lack of privacy requires some flexibility, but the rewards are rich.  Apart from the communication and, of course, the delicious food, there are some other little quirks that distinguish my home arrangements.  For example, a large portion of our central courtyard is uncovered, which means that when it rains, it reaches all the way to our tiled floors.  This week alone, we’ve had several thunderstorms, which have meant lots of moisture on my walk to the kitchen and bathroom.  It’s something that’s mildly inconvenient, but it’s also not anything that would ever happen at home.  The charm still hasn’t faded, nor do I expect that it will.

Here’s another snapshot: an afternoon at the hammam.  In Rabat, everyone is convinced that temperatures below 50 degrees are freezing, consequently making the quick bucket showers less appealing.  Instead of taking their daily 10 minutes in the shower, as most Americans do, Moroccans go instead to the hammam.  A hammam is a public bath open to men and women at alternate times each day.  There are three rooms in each hammam, one sauna-hot, another warm, and the last slightly cooler.  Each invites guests to sit, decompress, and be clean.

The hammam process is just that, a process, one that I’ve enjoyed around five times now.  You must bring a stool for seating in the steam room, a giant bucket to fill with water, and a scooper to ladle the water over yourself.  Upon arrival, you pay a small fee (around $1) and strip down to everything but your underwear.  Then, you choose a room, sit down, and spend up to three hours enjoying the longest, most satisfying shower of your life.  The end goal is to scrub hard enough to remove sheets of dead skin, and if your host mother doesn’t help you with this task, as mine does, then you can pay another naked person to give you a full body scrub.  Admittedly, this experience was a bit of an adjustment for me, but it’s one that I’ve come to enjoy with my host family, on my own, and with friends from school.  Walking to and from the hammam with my giant bucket in tow, I’m bound to hear one of Morocco’s favorite phrases, “B’SaHa wa raHa,” meaning “To your health and happiness.”  How can I help but feel relaxed after an experience like that?

To be sure, my everyday experiences in Morocco are very different, serving as a constant reminder that I’ve ventured outside of my American comfort zone.  But this is why I travel, and it’s why I’ve chosen to spend a semester in such a distinctly different place.  Being in Morocco reminds me that life exists in many different forms and that I am one piece of this complicated, beautiful, exciting mosaic of a world.