Full Circle

Our 'hot mess shot' of the final Small Business Development Volunteers at our Close of Service Conference...I'm kind of in love with this photo.

My last day in Toon Town.

Where did the past two years go?

My last day....nope it still doesn't feel real. Maybe when I'm no longer in Morocco it will sink in that I am no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer.

I woke up and went to Driss’s Café where we had sweet green tea and milwee (fried bread) for breakfast. Then I stopped by the gendarmes (police station) to let them know that I have finished my service and would be leaving in the afternoon. They all gathered into the Chief’s office and told me to stay another year. I smiled and told them that two years of volunteering has left me meskina (poor little thing) and that now I need to go and make some money.

They understood, but still insisted that I stay another year. The police chief then said “walayni shuf décor’ngh” (but, look at our décor) and turned the pen holder on his desk around to reveal four of my passport size photos which had been taped to it. So that’s why they asked me to get 17 passport-sized photos when it was time to renew my Carte Sejour (ID card) last January. Good to know.

After the gendarmes, I headed to the post office to say my goodbyes and get the last of my mail. When I returned to my house, I packed up the last of my belongings and assisted my ladies from the cooperative in getting the things they were taking from my house to their homes. Heaps of people I have never seen before kept showing up at my door, blessing me, calling me meskina and lingering awkwardly in the hopes that they too would get some of the taromeet’s (foreigner’s) things.

When the last of the ladies had left, Rabha stayed behind and she and I gave the house a good sweep and mop. After that, sweaty and filthy, I headed to the hemam (public bath house) for one last Toon Town bath. It was about one o’clock when I finished and I headed straight to my host family’s house for a final lunch.

After lunch, I went back to my house to grab my bags and when I got there all of my coop ladies, my landlady and Driss were waiting on my doorstep to say their final farewell’s. I unlocked my door and we all went in. I went into the room my bags were in and the tears started to stream down my face. It is always so sad saying goodbye.  I still can’t believe it’s all over.

I had four rather large bags as I was heading to Ait Hamza for a final visit with my original host family, the ones who have all my heart and love.  Since I was stopping in at my host family’s in Ait Hamza I packed up two very large bags of clothes, kitchen things and odds and ends to take to them. The coop ladies and Driss helped me to carry my bags to the taxi stand and I gave everyone one last tear-filled hug, before setting off for Boumia.

Rabha insisted on riding to Boumia with me, which was very kind and sweet of her. It was a teary taxi ride and once in Boumia I had to wait an hour for a taxi onto Zaida and so there was an hour more of tears and hugs. When the taxi to Zaida was finally full, I gave Rabha one last hug and squeezed into my place among three women who had been working in the apple orchards in Boumia.

There were four of us in the back seat and two more women sharing the passenger seat up front, and of course the driver. I blew Rabha a final kiss and the tears kept flowing. The women all coo’ed over me and told me “safi safi meskina ghors tasans” (it’s okay, enough, poor thing, she has her liver--liver is used in place of heart to show fondness here) the tears and sniffles continued and the women turned to the driver and said “mani l’musica darurui an naqs l’qnndns” (where is the music, we must get rid of her sadness). That awful reverb tin can music that I’ve grown to love blasted through the taxi and the women continued to pat me and meskina me for the entire taxi ride. When we all got out of the taxi in Zaida they blew me kisses as they walked off into the distance.

From Zaida, I took another taxi to Timhidite. At first the taxi driver refused to take me when he saw all my baggage, but after blessing his parents (llay arhem lwalidin) a few times and offering 20 dirhams ($2.50) extra he finally agreed to take me. I got in the back of the taxi and squeezed into my place against the door. As soon as the driver shut my door, the guy next to me started in my ear. “Mani attudut?” (Where are you going?) to which, I responded to see my family in Ait Hamza. He turned to me and said, don’t go there, come to Meknes with me. Obviously, I politely declined his invitation and at the same time pulled my iPod and headphones out as it was clear that this was going to be a long taxi ride. As soon as I got the headphones in my ears, the guy boldly took the headphone out of my right ear and placed it in his. Okay then, it’s going to be a long ride to Timhidite...

From there the conversation went something like this:

Him: “Is tiwilt?” (Are you married?)

Him: “Is trit atiwilti?” (Do you want to marry me?)

Me: “La shukran” (No, thank you)

Him: “Magh?” (Why not?)

Me: “Ellakash” (Because…)

Him (while attempting to seat dance with his shoulders):  “Ghras addud s Meknes” (Just come to Meknes)

Me: “La Shukran” (No, thank you)

Him: “Addud s Meknes, ansirs l’henna, anjaema d familanu, anwiil”  (Come to Meknes, we will put henna on you, gather with my family,  we will get married)

Me: La Shukran

Him: Is ghorm shan tamdakalt yadnin tra atiwil? (Do you have a friend who wants to marry me?)

Me: “Eh, stawil” (yes, hang on) and an attempt to call Marisa and pass the phone over to her for pure entertainment puposes…she didn’t answer.

Him: “she numeronm” (give me your number)

Me: “La addibii aska sbaH” (no it will be disconnected tomorrow morning”

Him (after numerous more attempts to get my number and at least half an hours worth of marriage proposals): “amz numeronu” (take my number)

Me: “Waxxa” (okay) (Number given) “Mismins? (What’s your name?)

Him: sirs “bu sheiky” Me: uncontainable giggle, bu sheiky means ‘the owner of the fancy/poshness”

After a good hour of nonstop persistence, the women sitting in the front turn around and congratulate us. At this point I’d given in and said yes I will marry you, just to shush him. The plan backfired and now the entire taxi begins “ah-heydussing” which is a chanting/singing that is done at weddings and other special occasions. The driver is now blowing kisses in the rear-view mirror at me.  All I could do was wish that Marisa was sitting beside me to witness the most ridiculous taxi ride of my two years.

When I got out in Timhidite, so did everyone else and they enclosed me in a circle while singing and dancing and laughing. I’ll admit it was so ridiculous it was hilarious. Even more so when I realized my future husband didn’t even reach my shoulders. I managed to wiggle my way out of the circle, waved goodbye to them all and got into the next taxi which took me onto Ait Hamza, where I was reunited with my original host family and my service came full circle.

I can’t put into words the place that my family in Ait Hamza has in my heart. Hafida hasn’t stopped insisting that she finds me a husband here so that I can stay and not worry about working, since my new husband will be the one that works. She presented me with a rug she weaved for me and it is fantastic, I couldn’t stop crying when she gave it to me. She weaved her and Mimoun’s name, along with my two brother’s, Omar and Hamza , and my name, Maryem. It’s amazing.

Every five minutes they are offering to pack up a crate of onions for me to take to England. Since Mimoun works in the onion fields they get a free supply of onions. If it isn’t onions, Hafida is offering to bake bread and cakes for me to take to my family in England so they can taste ‘real Moroccan food’. And if it isn’t bread, cake or onions on offer, it’s a dollhouse size replica of a nomad tent that Moroccan’s love to put in their houses as decoration. I’ve told the over and over again, I have no room to take anything else, but God bless their parents.

Sadly, my host grandmother had a stroke while she was sleeping last month and the medicine and scans she has had and continues to have to have, are racking up a large debt. Mimoun recently smashed his middle finger to pieces while working in the onion fields and so he is out of work until that heals. Hafida is five months pregnant and barely has a half an hour to sit down and rest each day. But, they are humble in their struggles and march-on as that’s what must be done to put food on the table each day.

I’ve been trying my best to not spoil them as I know that it won’t do any good once I leave. But I do sneak out each day and buy them milk and a chicken and yogurt for the kids. Ait Hamza doesn’t have a place to buy meat other than chicken, or vegetables or fruit, so contributions of milk and chicken are the best I can do along with the two large bags of clothes and house hold items I brought from my house.

This afternoon we are going to the fields to pick corn, which they hope will provide enough income to get them through the winter. Leid K’Bir ( the Christmas of Islam) and a new baby are on the way though, so Mimoun is determined to be back in the onion fields as soon as possible.

I had some Jell-o and Pudding mix packets and a bag of marshmallows leftover from a care package and so I made that for desert last night. I put canned pineapple in the Jell-o and then put the pudding on top with marshmallows and a sprinkling of shaved coconut. Everything but the coconut was a first for them. Omar picked and the marshmallows out and ate them and then made a mess of the rest of his playing with it.  Everyone seemed to enjoy it and Hafida asked if I could send more marshmallows when I am back in the states, which I happily agreed to do.

Tomorrow is my last day with them and I can’t even start to think about it. It’s going to be extremely sad, as goodbyes always are.  But I keep telling them (as they keep telling me to stay until Leid K’Bir has passed later this month) that it isn’t “Bslama” (goodbye), it’s just “ar men bed” (until later) as I will most certainly return to visit. And then we all chime in together and say “en challa” (God-willing).

Until next time,

Miriam xXx

Coop Ladies and their new spinning wheel and carding machine

Going away party with the Coop Ladies

Fatima (with her new baby) & her mother Fadima Hddu

Me and baby Abdullah

Me and the girls

More of me and the girls

My final time cooking for the host family...they requested Shepherd's Pie and Bill and Jo joined us

Saying goodbye to my good friend Skku, who owns a paper shop with printing/scanning facilities 

A women's cooperative (from Al Hoceima) who help women in rural villages, they came to visit Cooperative Chorouk on my second to last day in ToonTown. 

Saying goodbye to the Maluki brothers, they own a hanut (corner store) and I visited them daily

Hafida and I Skyping with Granddad...Hafida's first time Skyping!

Hamza and MiMi the 'mush' (cat) who Mimoun has trained to be a 'Western cat'...he has a name and comes when you call him and lets you pet him and mold him into strange positions which he will stay in for hours! 

MiMi the 'mush' (cat

Hamza, Hafida and Omar trying Peanut Butter for the first time.

Eating peanut butter by the spoonful