The second day we woke up and had a giant breakfast of fresh bread and cookies made by our host mother in the bakery. Mmm they were so good; l-makla bnina. One of the best parts of eating breakfast there was being able to see the sunshine on the roof/deck through the kitchen door.
Our family's house was...interesting. I think it was pretty typical for a Moroccan house. A big wooden door on the street opened to a short passageway leading to a courtyard, which I assume is shared with other families. Another door in the passageway opened to a winding staircase that went up to our family's house. The bathroom, equipped with a turkish toilet, was half-way up the stairs. Once you reached the top of the stairs there was a long, skinny room with a TV and couches lining the walls. The kitchen was through a doorway on the right. There was a small bedroom at the far end of the TV room and another large sitting room down there and to the right. We slept in this large room. Couches lined the walls all the way around this room too, with a large round table in the center. A course structure had been built out on the roof, which also held a bed. Most of the family slept on the couches lining the walls, as we did. Katy said that was the norm. Beds weren't usually common.
In the mornings, around 0500h, you could hear the call to prayer. I'm not sure if anyone in our family went. We asked the young sister whether or not people would go back to sleep after going to prayer or if they would start their days. She said it depended on the person's job, and if they went to prayer or not. A sure sign of how lax people are about their religion, though it still dominates their lives.
After breakfast we met up with the rest of the group to go to a “facilitated discussion” with different Moroccan students about stereotypes between the west and Islamic countries. It was pretty fascinating. There were a lot of stereotypes towards Americans that I already knew about, like that we're fat and greedy. One boy (in a really nice shirt that I wish I had been able to examine more closely) was trying to say something without being offensive. “I'm going to say something, but it's not what I think, and it's not nice. But American women are, in the movies they...some people think the women are easy. Do you understand me?” I think he felt relieved when we all nodded our heads and said yes so he didn't have to go into further detail. But I was quite shocked to hear one boy say, “If there's a problem in the world, there's always an American behind it.” That's a pretty strong statement. And just goes to show how, far too often, Americans act without thinking about the consequences their actions might have somewhere else.
Moroccans, and probably most non-western countries, seem to think that we don't get along with our parents, that we fight a lot. The reason for this is that we move out of our parents' house as soon as possible instead of living with them until we are married. I'm glad we got the chance to explain to them that our parents wanted us to move out and be independent; it was what they raised us to do. That, while in Morocco it was considered respectful and good to the family, living at home for a long time was seen as lazy or incompetent.
After our discussion, we had another round of tea (my fourth glass of the day) and cookies before driving to the Roman ruins of Chellah and a brief stop at the Mausoleum of King Mohammed V. The ruins were really cool. It's amazing to think that people lived there thousands of years ago and their building still survive.
After lunch with our families, we spent the afternoon walking around and exploring Rabat in small groups with more Moroccan students. We sat in a cafe for a while and just chatted about differences in life in America and Morocco. We told them about maple syrup.
That night was one of the most exciting parts of the visit to Morocco. We had the option of going to a Moroccan bath, called a Hammam. Clearly, I went because I was filthy and there are few things more relaxing than a bath. I had expected something like the thermal baths I had been to in Romania with the choir. But this was much different. It was just one small room (plus the changing room) that was super hot and steamy. There was a set of faucets where you would fill up your bucket to wash yourself. They gave everyone a special loofa-glove and soap to use, and we all stripped down to our panties and went inside.
I paid something around 5€ to have a lady scrub me down. And she was thorough. First she laid me down on my stomach to scrub all of my back, including my butt cheeks, which required giving me a giant wedgie. Then she made me flip over to get the front. She even scrubbed my armpits. And I have never seen so much dead skin come off my body. I was so soft and glowing after that trip.
On the walk back to our house, we kept hearing men say something to us. My jaded brain thought they were probably cat-calling us. But when we got home, we asked the sister what they were saying. “Bsshha,” she said, “It means 'to your health.'”
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