Who Knew Circumcisions Were So Much Fun?

Delila's Fessi-style Henna

Kids playing with the ill-fated sheep

Delila and Me at her home before dinner.

Abdl 'Ali and son Hisham riding to the second location of the party.

Atman and his father, Driss.

Delila with Hisham and Atman.

Fatima Zahra and Me in our Kuftans

Partying hard...with one of the house's beautiful doorways in the background.

The proud parents.

Atman passed-out during the party.
I didn't realize what a big ordeal this circumcision party would be. It was just as big if not bigger than a wedding! Two nights before the party, I got my hands done in henna tattoos with Fatima Zahra and her cousin Delila (the mother of Atman whose party it was). The women who do the henna amaze me because they do everything free-hand in these really intricate designs that takes hours! It was really fun...and it turned out very nicely and should stay for at least a couple of weeks since I left it on overnight. The next day, we went back to the house along with the sheep, and two large boxes of oil and sugar for gifts. The family gathered outside the house and visited until Atman came down and we all chanted the traditional Moroccan "'slaa...'slaam..etc". The chant is hard to describe...it is like singing Happy Birthday or something...it is always sung at celebrations...the same thing at weddings, baby-showers, etc. We had mint tea and cookies and visited the family and stayed the night there.
After a very busy day, it was time for the party to start. I didn't see all the waiters and guests arrive because I was waiting in the salon to get my hair done for the occasion. Fatima Zhara and I arrived close to 10pm, which was fine because the party had barely begun. We put on our kuftans; mine was a green-silk number, hers a gold and brown one, and Fatima in all black. The house was extremely hot and the heat was only exaggerated by the 100 odd bodies crammed together in the small space. We ate delicious Moroccan bastella which is like a sweet chicken-almond-onion pie, followed by a beef dish and then a fruit platter for dessert. We all hurried downstairs and gathered out in front of the house around Atman and his father, Driss, who were on a white horse, waiting to depart to a beautiful old ryad down the road where the second half of the party was to be held. Another little boy in Atman's family who was visiting from London decided to get in on the action too, and him and his father Abdl 'Ali were also dressed up and on a white horse. Then the band started to play, and we all started chanting...the women ululating...and we marched in a big procession to the other house.
This house was amazing...three stories with a huge skylight and all the doors and windows were ordained in intricate woodwork and arches...just breath taking. All night we were being served by the hired waiters...cookies, baklavah, tea, coffee, smoothies, fish pastry, and even traditional Moroccan soup called "harira" for breakfast around 5 am. The band played live all night long, and we danced and ate and danced and ate...by the time it was over it was 7am and the sun was up. The two little boys had passed out by then...they had had a big night...crying at times from the confusion of it all. I'll tell you, Moroccan know how to have a good time. We were all exhausted and sweaty and trudged back to Delilas in good spirits...only to all crash on the many couches until the afternoon. I am still recovering...but there is no rest in Morocco in August! Not just the heat...but there is always another party to get ready for. See, in Morocco, everyone has vacation in August, so not only does everyone flock to the vacation spots, but this is the time to throw any kind of party, too. Tonight we are going to a party for a friend of the family's new baby...and we have been helping with the cooking for the past two days. The madness is a little overwhelming, but it is fun to be involved in it all. I'm getting better and better at cooking and cleaning floors...just like a real Moroccan woman! In fact...I shouldn't be dallying on the computer...
until next time...ma'salaama.

Photos

Me and Fatima Zahra...so happy to be at the beach.


The Mediterranean with Algeria in the background.


In Saidia

The ladies in Zoweeya

Koawtar, Sara and Friend in the courtyard.

The tomb of Ibn Sayeed

The village of Zoweeya

Swimming in the Sea

Like any border town, Ouijda and the surrounding areas are full of contraband goods from the neighboring country(in this case Algeria), and people flock here to shop due to the cheaper prices. We stayed with Samira's mother and father-in-law in their family's house in Ouijda. It is not the best city, but it had its highlights. Almost all the cars I saw on the street had French, Spanish, or Dutch license plates. This is the case in most cities in Morocco during the summer, but it seemed especially true here. All the Moroccans living abroad drive down through Europe to spend their summers here(I would too if I could). But there is a certain air about these European Moroccans. They don't quite fit in with the locals with their Western style clothes and they are usually always speaking in French. We met a lady on the train whose daughter didn't really speak Arabic at all, only French. I haven't really heard any one openly say any thing about this sub-group but I get the feeling they are slightly resented.
We drove up into the Beni Snassen mountains to a community outside the village of Tafogault. The community is called Zoweeya and it is hidden in hills covered in pine and wild herbs (which the locals harvest for their medicinal properties). We arrived the day before the Moussem of Ibn Saeed. A moussem is basically what I would describe as a pilgrimage to the grave of a respected Muslim man. I want to say it is like the equivalent of a saint...but it is different. Its a shaky gray area since Islam forbids the worship of any one/thing other than Allah. People come from all around and camp in the hills or stay with friends and family and the men spend all night in the mosque listening to Qur'an recitation. I was disappointed that women were not aloud to attend this. Then the next day, Friday, all the households of Zoweeya prepare vast amounts of traditional Friday cous-cous to feed the foreigners. It is really quite a production, with everyone emerging from their homes with huge clay dishes full of cous-cous and hauling them to the middle of the town where all the hungry visitors await their free meal. There were hundreds of people sprawled under olive trees and even on the dirt enjoying stuffing themselves on the delicious feast. It was really amazing to see such a communal effort to feed all the pilgrims. I took a few pictures despite the sign telling me not to (I was encourage to, alright?) but they didn't really turn out.
And the family I stayed with was so fantastic! They fed and housed not only us, but about 50 people for those two nights. The Moroccan hospitality is nothing like I have ever experienced. The ladies of the housed cooked and cooked and cleaned and cleaned for those two days, and still managed to be smiling and pleasant the entire time. All the women slept and ate together, and all the men. There was no mixing of the sexes in Zoweeya. Although we were all staying in the same house, I rarely saw any of the men. At tea-time, we sat on separate ends of the courtyard and chatted and gossiped respectively. I felt like I was in a different time...it was great. When it was time to leave, I was sad to go, and received many invitations to stay and also to return when ever I like.
A couple days after we returned to Ouijda, Fatima Zahra and I took a bus to Saidia, a popular summer spot amongst Moroccans on the Mediterranean Sea. I couldn't stop saying to her, "I can't believe I'm swimming in the Mediterranean!" It was so beautiful and the weather was perfect and I wanted to stay there and never leave. We spent the entire day on the beach under an umbrella we rented for about 1.5 dollars. We ate shawarma and fig cookies for lunch, then lounged about until we left on the 6:00 bus.
Now I'm back in Fes and preparing for a busy week ahead. We have a circumcision party or Saturday, a wedding on Sunday, a breakfast for a new baby on Monday and the same baby's party Wednesday night. Fatima bought a sheep for her niece's son's circumcision party...and I can hear it bleating in the garden as I type. Poor little guy. I don't think I'll be eating any mutton at the party...

*Peace and Love*



the couscous