Best. Birthday Eve. EVER.
That poor sentence structure was entirely necessary, I
assure you. If the day before my birthday is any indication of how the actual
day will go, I am about to have the best birthday of my life.
This morning I got to be a bum and sleep in until ten. Then
I was off to meet Amina for my couscous cooking lesson. She actually ended up
taking me to her sister’s house in Bassatine where a host of family members
were waiting to greet us. The entire party included Amina, her sister Fati and her
husband, her sister Iman, her mother, and both of her children. Couscous Friday
is quite the family affair. Fatee’s house is absolutely beautiful and I felt so
blessed to be welcomed into her home as a stranger. They have a particularly
impressive “family” room, which is one of my favorite things about Moroccan
homes. They typically have a room in which the walls are lined with couches and
maybe a small coffee table in the middle. This room’s sole purpose is meeting
with friends for conversation and tea. A lot of homes also have this set up for
their “dining” room, with couches around a table, because meals are meant to be
a bonding experience for the family and their friends. And what a bonding
experience today’s lunch was.
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| You can't see my face, but the room is the point here. |
Fati and Amina showed me all the ins and outs of preparing the
traditional Friday meal. Friday is the Islamic holy day, and it’s essentially a
holiday every week. The meal is a large communal dish with couscous on the
bottom, a whole chicken in the middle, vegetables piled on top, and
spices/sauce all over everything. It was amazing. I did, however, fall prey to
that awkward social situation where a meal is full of a food you are intolerant
to and you don’t want to be rude so you just take one for the team. The results
are in – tomatoes still make me really, really sick. But that was a small
downside to an otherwise excellent day, so I’ll take it.
Things that are absolutely true about Moroccans: One, they
love food. Two, they eat a lot of food. Three, they will expect you to eat a
lot of food as well. Four, they will laugh at you and your “Americaness” when
you cannot eat another bite without exploding and they put more on your plate
anyway, urging you to “mange.” And five, Moroccans love to celebrate, welcome,
and give.
It came up in conversation that tomorrow is my birthday, and
everyone was so excited. I wasn’t entirely sure what was being said because I
am notably terrible at Arabic, but Amina’s son ran out the door only to come
back some twenty minutes later with a box of henna powder. As it turns out, Amina’s
sister Iman paints henna and she wanted to paint my hands for my birthday. I
honestly could have cried. I think I said thank you in six languages just to
make sure I got the point across. It came out so beautiful.
So, obviously, I was feeling pretty great all afternoon. I
spent most of the day there, then got home and did a whole lot of nothing lying
around the house with my roommates. We decided to try our luck with Pizza Hut
for dinner (I know. Americans.), but the only pizza they had without tomato
sauce was called “Fruit de Mar” – a.k.a, seafood pizza. But I decided I was up
for a culinary adventure, and it didn’t turn out too bad. A little weird, but
enjoyable nonetheless.
Then, just as I was getting my laptop out to blog, three of
my roommates – Carol, Katie, and Cassie – came out of the kitchen with an ice
cream cake and a bouquet of roses singing a gorgeous rendition of “Happy
Birthday.” I truly could not believe it. I’m usually not a fan of surprises,
but this one absolutely made me feel better about being away from home for my
birthday. I’ve only known these girls two weeks and they did one of the nicest
things for me that I can remember. I think it’s safe to say – Best. Roommates.
Ever.
Now, I’m off to bed. When I wake up, I won’t be twenty
anymore!
Goodbye, twenty!
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