Another Marriage Proposal

I am at the suq, the open air marketplace, looking for bargains on fruits and vegetables.  As always, I am with the mother of my Moroccan family.  One of the vendors knows her and her family.  He knows that I am American.  He is delighted to meet me and right away proposes marriage.

We should get married and move to America.  He practices what may be his only English word on me.  Money. Money. He mimics putting a ring on his finger.  Finally, he thinks to ask my companion what my name is.

He is handsome and charming. I laugh and say no, no.  No, no. No.  He throws in an extra potato or two into my bag.  He gives me a small cabbage and a pomegranate. This brief flirtation nets me about 10 pounds of various vegetables at bargain prices.

Later, I am slightly stunned to discover that both the mother and father of my Moroccan family are taking the proposal seriously.  My would-be suitor is known to be a good Muslim man.  Divorced.  Eligible.  A good catch.  Do I want them to invite him over for tea so we can meet?  Their son would act as translator.

When I first came to Morocco, I thought that I would find a husband here. I have found, however, that being an American here is like being a Hollywood celebrity or a millionaire.  People often don't see you, they see a door to a fantastical material world to which they don't otherwise have access.  It is human nature, is it not, to want to better our lives?  There is no fault in it.  But what I want is to be a companion, not a door to another world.

Another Eid al-Fitr in Marrakech

By 7 a.m, thousands of people already filled the boulevard.  The street was lined with plastic woven mats for people to sit and pray on, but the crowds were larger and spilled over onto the sidewalks, the island dividing the street, the doorway of the police station and the small sports arena.  People moved the barricades to make more room.  Men and women place their own small prayer rugs over the plastic mats and then directly on the street where the mats have ended. Eventually, there were probably ten thousand people there.

The cool morning breeze competed with the intense rays of the sun rising almost directly in front of us. The temperature, already in the 80's, was expected to climb to 107 degrees. People began turning their backs to the sun's rays while they waited for the prayer to start. Some of the women shaded themselves with the ends of their scarves.  Some put their prayer rugs over their heads to block what seemed to be laser-like heat from boring directly down into their skulls.  Female volunteers carried cups and gallons of water through the crowd of women, providing water to whichever women or children signalled for a drink.

Most of the men were dressed in long thobes--white, beige, grey, brown, black, striped, even plaid.  The women wore every color and pattern imaginable.  Not just black or brown, but magenta, teal, green, blue, turquoise, rose, and lavender in solids, geometric designs, flowered patterns of cotton, silk, synthetic materials.

At 6 a.m. the call over the loudspeakers had started:  Allahu Akbar, Subhanallah, Allahu Akbar. I could hear it clearly from my house 2 blocks away. Last year the crowd could hear the imam perfectly. Unfortunately this Eid, the 2nd speaker system--where we were seated and about more than a city block from the imam--had degraded in quality as time went on.  At a little past by 7:30 a.m. when the time the prayer started, pretty much all we could make out were the Allahu Akbars and the Salaams at the end.  There was just no hope of hearing the khutbah, and at least a couple of thousand of us left right after the salat.

Yet even with the technical failure, I realized afterward that when we stood and made the prayer, I had forgotten all about the heat of the still rising sun.  During the prayer, it just wasn't hot anymore.

Ramadan Eating in the Town of Yousouffia, Morocco

Tagine in a meal cooked slowly in a clay dish over a low fire

Every Ramadan is different.  There is no way of knowing at the start of any Ramadan what blessings will come from it, what lessons will be learned, or what difficulties will be relieved.  Ramadan has been so full for me this year, I don't even know where to start.  There is my Moroccan family, which welcomes me and will feed me so much that, if I'm not careful, I could find myself gaining weight even though I'm fasting. 

There are new friends.  I spent the second week of Ramadan in a small city called Yousouffia. The food at the end of a day's fast, was excellent.  I had a Moroccan vegetable for the first time, the Arabic name of which I've unfortunately forgotten, that looks and tastes almost exactly like a cucumber.  It's a bit longer than a regular cucumber and even though it's the same dark green on the outside and light green on the inside, it has slight furrows or ridges down the length of it, like a pumpkin.  It's served grated and chilled, with a tiny bit or sugar or some other preferred seasoning.

The house in Youseffia was a large, rambling single-story home with a large yard that tended to stay about 20 degrees cooler inside than outside, even without air-conditioning.  The yard is landscaped, with lime trees, grass, and potted plants.  In the backyard, there is a pen with space for turkeys, chickens and a rabbit.

The mother was a well-organized cook who prepared meals early in the day that were chilled or easily reheated for breaking the fast.  Each day she made and then chilled yogurt for the next morning's meal.    She prepared her version of traditional Ramadan tomato-based soup with lentils or garbanzo beans, called harira, for dinner each day, letting it simmer slowly for hours.  Homemade pizza or meat-filled turnovers were baked in the oven outside the back door (which kept the heat out of house).   

She made bread in her backyard oven as well, or made pancakes called beghrir or pan-breads early in the afternoon. There were also sweets and a sort of Moroccan granola, called seelo, that she made and stored beforehand in huge quantities enough to last the whole month of Ramadan.  Seelo is toasted wheat, not oats, so it has a finer texture.   All of that food, except for the morning yogurt and ceelo, were ready for iftar, our first meal when we broke fast at sunset.

After Maghrib, the sunset prayer, and the food, we left for the big mosque for Isha, the night prayer, and taraweh, the special Ramadan prayers. Walking slowly and talking with friends most of the way, we generally arrived home around 11 pm.

The main course, to be eaten around midnight after all of the special Ramadan prayers were done, was often a tagine, a meal of meat, chicken or fish and slow-cooked with potatoes or other vegetables in a clay cooker over a slow fire.  This was also cooked early in the day and heated to a finger-burning hotness when it was time to eat. 

The Marrakech-Menara Airport

The airport in Marrakech is small, with plenty of parking. It is located right within the city, making it easily accessible by bus or taxi.  Although there is a project underway to add a second terminal building, for now it is just the one terminal.

The Marrakech-Menara Airport is small, with ample parking, and is traveller-friendly

Flights from here go everywhere--within Morocco and internationally, but the airport is rarely crowded and usually the airline counter check-in is the only line that may take more than a few minutes to get through.

One day I was actually able to go from airline counter check-in, exchange my currency, and pass through security all in less than 20 minutes.

The airport has only 8 gates, so that a gate change for a flight simply means moving from one end to the other of what amounts to just a large room.  It is the  only waiting area for outgoing flights.

When it's time to board your flight, you walk outside, cross the tarmac, and climb a set of narrow, metal, portable stairs to get into the plane.  Strictly old-school.

All airports should be this easy to navigate.







 

 

 

 

 

 

Turkish TV in Morocco

 

The Turkish title of this soap  is Hanımın Çiftliği or Lady's Farm. In Arabic it is called Matensanich (Don't Forget Me). 

Everywhere I went, all the women and some of the men stopped what they're doing when it was time to watch Kholoud, the Arabic name given to the much-put-upon heroine of this limited run Turkish soap opera. Dubbed into Arabic and technically know as a telenovela, it is the serialization of a novel by the Turkish author Orhan Kemal. The series ran for a little under 2 years, and I have to admit that I got hooked. 

The story arcs were generally  short--often just 5 or 6 episodes--with kidnappings, murders, extortion, and adultery being ever so popular. Victims at death's door from being shot, stabbed or beaten on Monday  were totally healed by Friday.  One kidnapper who was shot in the leg, limped around for maybe 4 episodes and then just got over it, without any medical treatment whatsoever, simply because he had more a lot more bad guy stuff to do before finally getting caught and committing suicide.

The over the top melodrama and simplicity of the story lines made it perfect for someone with limited Arabic language skills. Just like a small child, if I couldn't figure out the words, all I had to do was look at the pictures.

The end of the series came with all story lines feeding into that of Khadijah, the  evil former sister-in-law, whose only purpose in life was to kill, betray, sabotage or destroy everything and everyone Kholoud loved.  And how often have I wanted to know what happened to the characters after the end of the story? The finale, which aired just before Ramadan, showed  all  of the characters 10 years down the road.

The Turkish series was so popular in Morocco, I've seen little girls dressed in Kholoud t-shirts. Kholoud shows up in songs. The series was so popular, in fact, that it has just started all over again. I started watching the series near it's end, so the genesis of the storyline is new to me.  I just saw episode 3 tonight.  I know a lot of Morocco is watching with me.

The Pay-As-You-Go Moroccan Wedding





The costs of a Muslim wedding fall to the groom and his family, not to the bride and her family. In Morocco, wedding planning includes food, musicians, waiters...sounds familiar, right?  Once the prices have been negotiated and the money has been paid, it's time to enjoy the event?  Wrong.  All the money spent beforehand seems to have nothing to do with the amount the family is expected to spend while the ceremony is going on.

 

Here is an example: wedding singers accompany the groom, his family, and his gifts to the bride through the streets to the tent where the bride and guests await.  Each of the singers, perhaps 4, 6, or 8 of them, expect 20, 50 or 100 dirham bills will be places into their shirt collars several times along the route.

 

The Moroccan wedding singers are in the foreground.  One of the musicians is seated behind and one of the wedding ladies is the green dress

 

Pay each of the musicans liberally throughout the evening.  And all of the waiters as they bring and remove each course.

 





Don't forget the guys who may herald the approach of the wedding couple, and who will carry the bride and groom on their shoulders while doing a little dance step of their own.  Money in the collars right now, please.  After all, they are holding your child in the air.

 

 

They carry the groom on their shoulders throughout the tent while turning and waving their capes in time to the music

 

 

Pay the wedding ladies, or neggafates, who dress the bride through all of her dress changes and make sure every fold and drape and line on both the bride and the groom is perfect for picture-taking.

 

 

The wedding lady arranges the brides dress just so





Satisfied, she moves to the rear so the bride can be held aloft.

 

Then there's the photographer, the videographer...am I leaving anybody out?

 

You may as well be good-natured about it all.  You can't be stingy.  The denominations are color-coded so everyone can see at a glance how much you're shelling out.

 

Besides, the guests are free to stick money in collars, and they do.  They also compliment each other by giving money the same way to other guests who cut a fine figure on the dance floor. 

 

Relax.  Enjoy.  Dance.  Eat.  Get into as many of the pictures being taken as you can.  Just bring several thousand dhirham with you.  In small bills.

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 



Cooking and Eating Out in Morocco

The owner of this 5 burner stove spends a minimum of 4 hours in  the kitchen daily

One of the most striking things about Moroccan people is that they while the love most things American, they have not embraced our fast food culture.  Meals are prepared all day, every day from scratch.  Most women bake their on bread several times a week.  For mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks, there is tea time at home.  Shops will close and schools empty as workers, teachers and students go on break at midday.  Families eat most of their meals together--breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Moroccan women spend 4 to 6 hours in the kitchen everyday, more if there is a special occasion such as an engagement party, or if relatives have come to town to stay for a few days.  At such times, the women will divide the tasks and work together.  For all-out shindigs like weddings, they will hire extra women and rent restaurant-size pots and serving platters.



Left over from party preparation: a propane tank, one of the stand-alone burners, and assorted pots that were too large to fit on the stove.

Prep time takes longer when everything is made from scratch. Fruits and vegetable are generally fresh, in season, not frozen or canned.  You want green beans?  You have to snap them.  Peas?  You get to shell them.  Think you'll want strawberries this winter?  I hope you remember to freeze some last spring.  The incentive to do-it-yourself is simple economics: frozen foods cost probably 3 times as much as fresh.  Who can afford that on a regular basis?

When you travel to someone's home, they would never presume that you picked up a burger and fries along the way.  They will immediately serve you tea or coffee, breads and pastries.  Then they will cook a big meal.  Then they will feed you more tea, coffee, breads or pastries to send you on your way.

Don't get me wrong, stores sell plenty of chocolate, chips and soda.  You can find all sorts of restaurants and American fast-food franchises.  There are desert shops that sell cake by the slice along with banana and avacado smoothies. There are lots of reputable street vendors whose wares are, fortunately, much better than those of  Terry Pratchett's Dibbler.  But generally speaking, there are only 3 reasons for eating out: as a necessity, as a special occasion, or as an unconscionable waste of money. 

So if you feel that cooking is a big headache, then come as a visitor.  If you're planning to stay in Morocco, you better bring your apron.