Morocco Bound

Close Encounters of a Hamam Kind

Wow, I haven’t posted in forever. Sorry about that!

Anyway, while I was in Fez, the cultural and religion capital in Morocco, a couple of friends and I took an afternoon to go to a Hamam. For those of you who don’t know what a Hamam is, it’s a communal shower/bathroom thing. But not really. In a shower, you go about your own business, loofah, sponge… what ever you want. In a hamam, someone washes you. With a Brillo pad (not really that rough, but it does take off your skin like one would). 

So, we’ve all been told that a Hamam experience entails and we were all for it. Through a sketchy door and down a flight of steps, we entered into a locker room where through broken french and derija, we explain that we would like the rub down and they indicate for us to strip and follow them further into the recesses of the Hamam. We are all a lot closer as friends as a direct result of this experience. :)

Moroccan women have no shame being naked in front of other women. As for the four American students in a  Hamam, this was not the case.   Shuffling along, we were lead down through a steamy narrow room into the main bathing facility. Facility makes it sound sterile, something found in a gym. False. This was a dingy, dimly lit, covered in water room filled with perspiring middle aged Moroccan women. Instead of showers or a swimming pool/ bathtub, we had buckets  and on one side, two huge water tubs, one hot and one cold. Fill up your bucket and start sudsing up!  

For further bonding, we each washed each others hair before a heavy set elderly woman came to rub us down.  In the mean time, I had made friends with a middle aged lady who spoke french, was a student, lived with her brother’s family, and desperately wanted company (anyone who came over an visited would get couscous!). Unfortunately, we were to leave in two days, but I don’t think I was able to convey that to her (hopefully she wasn’t too disappointed). 

By the time I had learned about my Moroccan friend’s life story, it was time for the rub down. The elderly woman grabbed me and sat me on the wet ground and went at my back with the Brillo pad thing. Before you know it, she jerked me back into her lap and I stare awkwardly about because I was in the lap of a naked old lady with absolutely no shame who was scrubbing me everywhere. Oh, everywhere.  But it was worth it, my skin sloughed off along  with an insane amount of dirt and grime.  

One last bucket of cold water dumped on our heads and we were all set. This was seriously the best micro dermabraision that wasn’t micro at all, I’ve ever had (and much cheaper too!)

I think macrodermabrasion could catch on in the states…

Mezzian Bezzeff and Kul. Lots of Kul.

Alrighty, I made it to Rabat and Fez. Like a pro. This was my first time crossing the Atlantic on my own and the only difficult part was in the Charles de Gaulle airport which is super confusing. Thanks to a nice man in his fifties who helped me get to the right terminal (and told me that if he ever were to run in an election, his political platform would include adding more women’s bathrooms until the wait time was comparable for the men’s), and meeting some other students before getting on the plane, I made it to the Rabat airport without hyperventilating.

By the way, the airport in Rabat is just about 40 feet wide. So my mother didn’t have to worry at all about how I was going to find the instructors of my study abroad program. Especially since there were about 20 of obvious Americans at the airport. at once.

But this post is not about traveling, which I’ve done a lot of these past few days, but about “Kul.”

For those not familiar with Modern Standard Arabic or Darija (the Moroccan Dialect), Kul is Darija for “eat.” My host mother, who is a lovely Moroccan mom with two children, a husband, and a passion for stuffing everyone with food the moment they pass through the threshold of her apartment.   This might be her (and nearly every Moroccan mother’s) favorite word. The first night I and my roommate (she’ll be Anne until I ask her if she minds if I use her name) got to our home in Fez, we had two dinners.

The first was spaghetti- delicious. Something to note about Moroccan’s eating habits- they rarely use silverware, individual plates, or multiple glasses (for water with dinner). Which makes cleanup a two minuet job! You eat what is placed in front of you with your bare hands or bread. They eat so much bread. Also delicious. So, eating spaghetti with bread and your hand (the right one is used primarily and the left is only a helper hand with food), not too bad. Anne and I eat what we want and stop only to hear our host mom say “Kul, Kul!” We have been warned that this would happen. I smile and eat some more, I don’t want to offend her- the food is really good, anyways.

Time passes by and I seriously feel like my stomach has stretched out another 3 inches in diameter. Again, I slow down and again, she says “Kul, Kul, kuli!” Oh my god, how can they expect me to eat any more food? Everyone else is done except for Anne and me. I’m thanking god in my head that we were taught how to say “I’m full” which is “Safi shbaat, Shukran.”  Which we use. Of course, it’s not until we say that a few times and say “Praise God for making us full,” that she starts to clear away the dishes. 

We’re not done. She brings out a plate of fruit- the juiciest melon and grapes ever. Moroccans eat fruit separately as dessert which is a great idea and the whole meal would be filling an healthy if they didn’t load everything else up with sugar. Sugar makes it’s way into (some) Moroccan food (Today I had a meal that was almost like watery mac ‘n’ cheese, but substitute the cheese for milk and pour some spoonfuls of sugar on that bad boy), and is key in their coffee, and tea.

We think we’re home free, until their relatives come over. Then, this all happens again with an addition of a meat plate (thank God, they understand that I’m a vegetarian).

So much for my plan for losing weight in Morocco- it ain’t happening. Not that I’m going to complain, everything is delicious- only a few small plates of something have been things that I didn’t care for. Everything else is mouth watering and so fresh! No preservatives or anything.

Tomorrow is Friday and Friday is always Couscous day which I like- mezzian bezzeff (translation- very good/wonderful, my darija consists of only a few phrases). Mezzian Bezzeff pretty much covers my experience so far- I couldn’t have picked a better place to study abroad. 

Couscous Friday- Bring it on!

allaboutmorocco asked: Hello :)

Regarding your doubt about mosques, it depends on the mosque. Non-Muslims are permitted in some, but I think most of them are exclusively for Muslims. I can tell you that non-Muslims are not allowed in the Hassan II mosque in Casablanca and in the Koutobia Mosque in Marrakesh. But perhaps it would be better to ask someone when you arrive in Morocco. :)

Thanks so much! It sounds like I will be able to visit at least one mosque while I’m there.  Love your blog by the way :)