Today I woke up, fiddled around for a bit on the computer and then went downstairs and whipped up a batch of cornbread. I put the cornbread in the oven and went out for my daily run. It's a clear, sunshine filled day today, a huge change from the past two days. For the past two days I haven't been able to see the mountains. Dust. Not just a little wind and a gust of dust, I'm talking dust as far as the eye can see. I can't even see the sky. Most people put plastic over their windows and doors it was so dusty. The locals tell me it came from the Sahara. I believe them.
But, today is clear. And hot. I came back from my run and the cornbread was ready, so I turned the propane tank off, made a cup of coffee and a smoothie and rinsed off. I made the cornbread to take to my host Aunt, Baha. I borrowed her 'bbq' last week and intended to return it to her this morning with the cornbread. She didn't answer when I knocked though, so I divided the cornbread in half and went to Driss's cafe.
Driss 'beeps' me on the phone almost everyday. He is essentially my grandfather here in ToonTown. I know when he beeps me that he wants me to stop by the cafe for a glass or two or three of tea. Today, I take him half the loaf of cornbread and a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt (unisex) that I won't be needing anymore. Before I hand them over to him, he insists that I stay for lunch, I politely decline. I tell him I'm on a diet and that I will eat a salad at my house for lunch. He tells me it's not a problem to eat a little bit of lunch with him. He offers a soda or tea and I ask for a glass of water. He tells me to sit. I sit. He brings me icy cold water from the fridge and I drink three glasses.
I ask him what he has been doing and he tells me he has been washing his cafe. All the dust made it dirty, so he spent the morning washing the walls, the floors and all the tables and chairs. The faded pink walls of the cafe do look good in comparison to before.
I pull out my book and start reading. Driss brings me over a bag of ten fresh eggs. I shuma (shame) him. Driss always gives me eggs and calls me meskina (poor thing).
Driss's cafe only serves tea, soda and water. In the afternoons every chair is occupied by old men playing cards. A pot of tea costs 5 dirhams and is most often split between 5-6 men. The same goes for one bottle of soda. I am always the only female in Driss's cafe. Driss never lets me pay for tea or soda, which is why I don't go every time he beeps me. It doesn't seem fair. I'm not meskina.
Today while I am reading, Driss shuts the doors. I ask him what he is doing, it's just me, Driss and his friend. He tells me his friend helped him wash the cafe, so they are having lunch together at the cafe. I've already told him I'm having lunch at my place so I continue reading. I hear Driss tell his friend, "Sird iffasn sh" (Wash your hands).
Driss walks over and puts a plate of slow-cooked chicken, peppers, onions and tomatoes in front of me. I shuma him again. He brings me a round loaf of bread and tells me to eat. Driss and his friend sit at the table next to me, sharing their own plate of food. I break the bread, whisper Bismillah (In the name of Allah) and begin to eat.
Driss is a good cook. I tell him the food is "yat fut" (delicious). Driss appears next to me with the pot the food was cooked in and tries to ladle me more broth and vegetables. I cover my plate with my hands and tell him, "Safi Barraka, Ly Clef" (Enough it's fine, Blessings be upon you, May Allah replenish you). The whole time I feel awkward that I am not eating from the same plate as they are. I don't expect Driss to treat me differently.
When I finish I start to walk my plate up to the cafe counter, Driss jumps up and grabs it from my hands. I thank him and I ask Allah to bless his parents. I wash my hands and return to my seat. A plate of sliced melon and fresh apricots has been placed in front of me. I look over and see that Driss and his friend are sharing their own plate of fruit. I eat two slices of melon and two apricots and there is still a full plate of fruit in front of me. I scoot towards the men and put my plate of fruit onto their plate. They both tell me to eat more, but I insist that I am full. They finish my plate of fruit.
I offer to help wash up, but Driss won't hear of it. I thank him again, ask Allah to replenish the food that I have eaten and bless his parents one more time. Driss just smiles and laughs at me. He tells me I am always welcome to eat with him.
I ask what he is doing now and he tells me he is going home to nap. We shut the cafe doors together, shake hands, and Driss tells me, "ar aska en challa" (until tomorrow, God Willing).
On my way home, my eyes fill with tears. When I get in my house, the tears stream down my cheeks and I cry. I ask myself why on earth I am crying. Then I realize. I am scared I will forget the two years I have spent here, the people, the generosity. The willingness they have to always give something, even when they have barely anything. And I feel guilty that I am leaving. I realize I am nervous to go back to a world of who has the nicest car, fanciest clothes, biggest house...I am frustrated that where I was born allows me opportunities these people will never have. I cry because I will go home and no one will really know what my two years here was like, more importantly no one will understand what life for the people of Tounfite is.
But, today is clear. And hot. I came back from my run and the cornbread was ready, so I turned the propane tank off, made a cup of coffee and a smoothie and rinsed off. I made the cornbread to take to my host Aunt, Baha. I borrowed her 'bbq' last week and intended to return it to her this morning with the cornbread. She didn't answer when I knocked though, so I divided the cornbread in half and went to Driss's cafe.
Driss 'beeps' me on the phone almost everyday. He is essentially my grandfather here in ToonTown. I know when he beeps me that he wants me to stop by the cafe for a glass or two or three of tea. Today, I take him half the loaf of cornbread and a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt (unisex) that I won't be needing anymore. Before I hand them over to him, he insists that I stay for lunch, I politely decline. I tell him I'm on a diet and that I will eat a salad at my house for lunch. He tells me it's not a problem to eat a little bit of lunch with him. He offers a soda or tea and I ask for a glass of water. He tells me to sit. I sit. He brings me icy cold water from the fridge and I drink three glasses.
I ask him what he has been doing and he tells me he has been washing his cafe. All the dust made it dirty, so he spent the morning washing the walls, the floors and all the tables and chairs. The faded pink walls of the cafe do look good in comparison to before.
I pull out my book and start reading. Driss brings me over a bag of ten fresh eggs. I shuma (shame) him. Driss always gives me eggs and calls me meskina (poor thing).
Driss's cafe only serves tea, soda and water. In the afternoons every chair is occupied by old men playing cards. A pot of tea costs 5 dirhams and is most often split between 5-6 men. The same goes for one bottle of soda. I am always the only female in Driss's cafe. Driss never lets me pay for tea or soda, which is why I don't go every time he beeps me. It doesn't seem fair. I'm not meskina.
Today while I am reading, Driss shuts the doors. I ask him what he is doing, it's just me, Driss and his friend. He tells me his friend helped him wash the cafe, so they are having lunch together at the cafe. I've already told him I'm having lunch at my place so I continue reading. I hear Driss tell his friend, "Sird iffasn sh" (Wash your hands).
Driss walks over and puts a plate of slow-cooked chicken, peppers, onions and tomatoes in front of me. I shuma him again. He brings me a round loaf of bread and tells me to eat. Driss and his friend sit at the table next to me, sharing their own plate of food. I break the bread, whisper Bismillah (In the name of Allah) and begin to eat.
Driss is a good cook. I tell him the food is "yat fut" (delicious). Driss appears next to me with the pot the food was cooked in and tries to ladle me more broth and vegetables. I cover my plate with my hands and tell him, "Safi Barraka, Ly Clef" (Enough it's fine, Blessings be upon you, May Allah replenish you). The whole time I feel awkward that I am not eating from the same plate as they are. I don't expect Driss to treat me differently.
When I finish I start to walk my plate up to the cafe counter, Driss jumps up and grabs it from my hands. I thank him and I ask Allah to bless his parents. I wash my hands and return to my seat. A plate of sliced melon and fresh apricots has been placed in front of me. I look over and see that Driss and his friend are sharing their own plate of fruit. I eat two slices of melon and two apricots and there is still a full plate of fruit in front of me. I scoot towards the men and put my plate of fruit onto their plate. They both tell me to eat more, but I insist that I am full. They finish my plate of fruit.
I offer to help wash up, but Driss won't hear of it. I thank him again, ask Allah to replenish the food that I have eaten and bless his parents one more time. Driss just smiles and laughs at me. He tells me I am always welcome to eat with him.
I ask what he is doing now and he tells me he is going home to nap. We shut the cafe doors together, shake hands, and Driss tells me, "ar aska en challa" (until tomorrow, God Willing).
On my way home, my eyes fill with tears. When I get in my house, the tears stream down my cheeks and I cry. I ask myself why on earth I am crying. Then I realize. I am scared I will forget the two years I have spent here, the people, the generosity. The willingness they have to always give something, even when they have barely anything. And I feel guilty that I am leaving. I realize I am nervous to go back to a world of who has the nicest car, fanciest clothes, biggest house...I am frustrated that where I was born allows me opportunities these people will never have. I cry because I will go home and no one will really know what my two years here was like, more importantly no one will understand what life for the people of Tounfite is.
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| Me & Driss |
