Becoming a Siraj

When last we spoke, orientation had just begun along with a whirlwind of "first Moroccan experiences." However, the most important first was yet to come, as Wednesday we met and moved in with our Moroccan host families.
I (and my classmate Raechel Banks) were placed with a retired couple named Khalifa and Aziza Siraj, who live with their 12 year-old granddaughter Yasmine in the same neighborhood as our school. Yasmine is currently on vacation with her aunt in Barcelona, but makes her highly anticipated return this coming Wednesday. However, when we first arrived at our little apartment, there was no Yasmine but rather her uncle, 26 year-old Mehdi, a pilot for Tunisian Air. After a brief tour through the lovely home, we were shoved in to our bedroom and told to rest and unpack. Bewildered, Raechel and I began to explore. We found that the apartment was mostly Western in style, with the exception of the beautiful Moroccan design of the salon and TV room. My favorite part is the pretty little patio that extends out over the courtyard from our bedroom. A supercool Jonas brothers poster adorned the wall of our bedroom, proving that tweens are the same all around the world!
The family is quiet and fairly reserved, but we are slowly working toward longer and longer conversations with them and Mehdi. They speak no English, so my French is proving a vital assistant to our Arabic conversations. A major part of the Moroccan day is centered around the television, and we have watched such gems as a Mexican soap opera set in New York City dubbed in Arabic, a cowboys and indians series complete with silky button-down shirts and pink cowboy pants, and very gorey Moroccan horror film. From a combination of French and Arabic programs I have learned such useful terms/phrases as "dimples," "she is imprisoned because she has cocaine," and "money is the religion of the Zionists."We've also taken a trip to a Moroccan supermarket, spent a full 20 minutes sniffing menthol-scented tissues with our host grandpa, and learned to make delicious mint tea. I anticipate a highly valuable education in this household!
Ftour (the breaking of the Ramadan fast each day at sunset) has been incredible each day, with harira (traditional Ramadan soup), all kinds of bread, eggs, sweets, dates, figs and pastilles. In addition to the time we've spent at home, we've also done a great deal of exploring Rabat. Finding food during Ramadan is a challenge, as only hanouts (corner stores) and some fast food chains remain open. An even greater task, after acquiring said food, is to find a discreet place to eat it. The weather has remained woefully above 100 degrees each day, but taking a gulp of water in front of fasting Moroccans is not only rude, but just plain cruel. On one particular day we sought refuge on the steps of a synagogue to munch on our spoils, and we're quickly accosted by a woman who seems to be its guardian. I was the only member of the group who spoke French, and after telling us about how she is discriminated against as a Jew in Morocco and how her husband is deaf and mute (but still smokes a pack a day), she proceeded to claim two sandwiches, a bag of grapes and an entire pack of cigarettes as her reward for chatting with us. We Amideast students just make friends everywhere we go.
Lovely nights at the beach have continued, along with more meanderings around the Souk and Medina. We ran in to a new friend (the concierge from our hotel) on the pier one night, and he called us his family, invited us to Ftour at his house, and gave us each Arabic names (mine is Noor, meaning "light"). We explored the beautiful exotic gardens just outside of the city, I bought a leather bag for my schoolbooks at the Souk, and classes began bright and early Monday morning. All excitement aside, my favorite part of Moroccan life thus far remains falling asleep to the call to prayer that comes loud and clear through my window each night.