Savoring the Last Day in Fez

Our school in Fez

As familial strife erupts in the living room, I’m taking refuge in my warm bed until our host brother has been sufficiently chastised for coming home late and our younger host sister (age 7) has stopped bawling since our older host sister stole her favorite pen. Usually our sisters are bubbly, giggly, and far too hyper, but like all siblings they have the occasional spat. Their voices get two octaves higher as they each whine their side to our host mother, who does her best to calm them down. Unfortunately I can’t understand most of the colloquial they say in a normal voice, so when the two girls engage in a verbal race to tell their side first in as high a pitch as possible, I can’t catch even a word. 

The view from my bedroom window

Luckily, though, most of the time is peaceful and full of laughing. My roommate and I finally feel like we belong – and tomorrow we leave for Rabat, to start the process all over again with a new roommate and a new host family! Last night’s dinner, though, was marvelous. The night before we had helped our host mother shell peas, and I’d learned the word – jelbana. My pneumonic device for remembering it was to picture a mountain (jbl) named Anna. So when my host mother set down a beautiful pea and carrot dish for dinner last night, I said, “Hada al-jbelana!” and our host sisters burst into laughter. Imagining the mountain had caused me to switch the order of the consonants, much to their amusement. “La, la!” they said, “No, no! Smeetha jelbana!” and then fell into another pile of giggles. Our older host sister (age 10) then started convincing us that her younger sister was crazy – hukma. The “h” is an aspirated one, which in Moroccan sounds a lot like the “kh” letter, but not quite – it’s more throaty then we learned in class. So our host sisters proceeded to tease us for the next ten minutes about our pronunciation of hukma until my roommate and I pronounced the judgment that they were both crazy.

So today, I’m enjoying my last day in Fez by doing what I’ve done most every day in Fez. The alarm goes off, and I head to brush my teeth. Our sisters are getting ready for school and on my way back from the sink tell me that the shower is ready – i.e., the hot water has been turned on. After fulfilling my silly American habit of showering every day, we sit down to breakfast. Today was a treat: malawi, small fried pancakes delicious with the soft spreadable cheese and the “Pop Cream” carob and 1.5% hazelnut spread. And as always, a steaming pot of sweet mint tea and a basket of fresh baguette. 

the sun streaming in through our bedroom window

Our first class starts at 10:00, Islamic Civilizations. We’ve covered about 1200 years in a week, so we’re all ready for a break even though it’s only been 7 days! We have a test tomorrow, right before leaving for Rabat – it’s a full day when you add in packing and saying goodbyes to our wonderful host family!

We break for lunch at noon, eating around 1:30 or 2. Often we stay at the center for another thirty minutes to study or use the internet, then head to Batha, a main square, to drop off some letters or postcards at the post office and buy stamps at the hanoots across the street.

We were treated to a true vegetarian feast for lunch today: an elaborate and beautiful salad of carrots, artichokes, cabbage, beets, and shredded hard-boiled egg, plus pickled carrots, fava beans cooked in olive tapenade, and potatoes with preserved lemons. And it wouldn’t be a meal without the ubiquitous Moroccan bread!

Now it’s back to school for a Moroccan Arabic class – in Rabat, I’ll have Modern Standard Arabic instead. Today we have a quiz on the verb conjugations, which take some studying. To say “he studies” in Modern Standard Arabic is “yedruss”, but in Darija it is “kaiqraa”. The negative is even more different! I’m glad I had this week of Moroccan Arabic since I can now pick up on the most basic words in my host family’s conversations, and I can visit a hanoot and ask for water like a local.

We’ll probably head back to the old medina one last time today, perhaps buy one last giant macaron cookie or a quarter qilo of shubakiya to share. However, we can take comfort in the fact that all our new favorite things will surely be available in the old souk in Rabat as well. It’ll be hard to reach the high bar set by my Fessi host mother, though. Her shubakiya are the best – and I shamelessly asked her to serve some at our last lunch tomorrow!