Although Aid el Kebir was Tuesday, even on Friday there was still celebrating going on. I guess it makes sense considering that most families have an entire sheep that they need to eat while it's fresh; that means lots of gorging for days and days afterwards. Most of the shops were back open by Thursday but the streets were still emptier than usual.
I was quite pleased that I'd been invited into a local's home (Hassan #2, the young kid) for dinner on the main day of celebration but when Hassan (the dimpled one) figured out that I didn't have plans to eat sheep for all the days ensuing, he invited me to join him the following day for a big meal at his sister's house here in Essaouira. At least this time in attending a meal, my presence had been announced so that the family knew to expect me and I was able to bring something instead of show up empty-handed.
I've mentioned how the greetings go between friends and between the opposite sexes with all the hand shaking and heart touching and so forth. But when women greet each other, such as the situation I was in of being greeted by all the women of Hassan's family, there is a lot of kissing involved. It's a bit like in parts of Europe where you lean in and sort of half kiss the air and half kiss the other woman's cheek- first on their right and then on their left side.
But according to family or region or something else I haven't figured out yet, sometimes it's one kiss on the right and two kisses on the left; sometimes it's two right then two left then two more on the right. Basically, this means that I always screw it up. More than once, I have pulled away at the wrong time, thinking the kissing was over only to find myself being kissed more. Even more embarrassing is when I've misjudged the direction from which the next kiss was coming and thus missed my “target.” This happened with one of Hassan's sisters: I caught her on the edge of her lips.
Soon after we arrived and I was getting to know the kids (always a safe bet when you run out of things to talk about with the adults), Hassan got up to go somewhere and was gone an hour or so. I suspect maybe he was going to visit the men of the family who were, perhaps, eating and visiting separately. I had seen a few men drop in to the sister's house but then they soon left. Maybe he was only joining the group of women to accompany me- I don't know.
When Hassan left, the women sitting in the kitchen motioned for me to come join them. We had a few introductions (they pronounced my full name, Tamara Turner, as “Tumahduh Toon”) and then they continued chatting and passionately debating whatever it was they were talking about (I didn't understand), more or less ignoring me. I didn't mind, though. Sometimes it's just easier to be ignored so I can simply watch and observe and not be on the spot. But I do find it fascinating since if I had a guest back home in the US, I would be trying to speak to them and include them in everything. Usually here, I'm totally ignored by the women except for the occasional offer for tea.
It was equally interesting to observe the different women and their reactions to me. One of the women who arrived later was always watching me when I looked up but had such a sweet smile on her face that I took it to mean that she found me fascinating or something. Her toddler had tried to take a bite out of my bare foot earlier so we'd had a good laugh together. One of Hassan's sisters and his aunt were especially warm with me, too; not by talking to me but just by the sweet faces they'd make at me if we made eye contact.
Once again, I was happy to play with the kids. Two of them, Salma and Abdul, both about 7 or 8 years old, took a real liking to me which was not just adorable but a nice way to win over the family. Salma kept coming over to cuddle up against me and grin up at me then say, “Nti zwin!” (you are pretty) to which I would say, “No, YOU are pretty, Salma” and then she'd answer, “No, YOU are pretty;” this went back and forth for much of the afternoon. I played the same game with Abdul but instead of “pretty,” it was “crazy.”
When Hassan got back, the kids tackled him and spent the next hour climbing all over him and singing songs with him which I tried to learn too. Then, finally, after a couple hours had passed, it was time to eat the first course: mutton couscous. Most often everyone eats from the same big platter in the middle of the table. Instead of using a spoon as I was offered, I decided to try and do as everyone else was doing and eat it with my right fingers; no silverware involved.
That turned out to be much harder than it looks. I was quite relieved that the women had sat Hassan and I at different tables so that he didn't have to watch the disaster unfold. Despite observing the other women and thus trying to make a little ball of couscous in my hand before bringing it to my mouth, it would inevitably fall apart all over the table and my lap before I could eat it; there was as much couscous on the table in front of me as in my belly. I apologized to his aunt who was sitting next to me and she reassured me, “oh, no problem! no problem!” and indicated that everyone else had made a mess too, which really wasn't the case.
To add to the adventure, my entire right hand was now coated in couscous. One of the sisters motioned to me to just lick everything away. So, as I was licking my palm, fingers and most of the back of my hand too, I tried not to show my embarrassment, hoping to god that Hassan wasn't watching.
Two more courses of food were brought out: an almond and prune tajine with mutton and then something like angel hair noodles with raisins and mutton. Finally after the third course and after about four hours of being there, Hassan asked me with his expression if I was ready to go which I was, feeling that I'd embarrassed myself enough for one day. Saying goodbye involved another round of kissing all of his sisters and aunts again.
We had a nice long walk on the beach after all the hours of eating and I tried to adequately express my gratitude. The food was by far the best I've had since being in Morocco. I also confessed to him and apologized for having accidentally kissed his sister on her lips. He found it very funny.
I'm not sure what he had told his sisters and aunts about me, but he relayed that his big sister said, “Tamara zwin;” in that context, it generally means I passed the test. I gathered that he was impressed by the effort that I'd made to embrace the traditions because, much to my humiliation, he imitated me licking off my hand, all the while laughing but patting me on the back.
I suppose I deserved that one after laughing at his “Free Hell” shirt.
We finished off the day with wonderful night at Ma'alem Sadik's.
