Family Reunions/Mergings, Little Hellions, and Sentimentalizations.

Listening to: Elf Power; Album: Self Titled ; Year: 2010

Let me state this for the record. I have never been to a family reunion. (Unless you consider marriages and funerals family reunions of sort, which in a way, they are adequate places for reuniting, and celebrations of family.) If I were to go to a family reunion, I would probably be labeled as “that guy,” and “who invited him, shouldn’t he get a haircut and take that thing out of his tongue first. Didn’t he see clause one of the ‘Family Reunion Contract.'” However, I have never been to a reunion… maybe the rest of the family has had one and I wasn’t invited for the above reasons. Anyway, this trend continues in Morocco.

I love my family though, and miss them all. However, rest assured actual family in the US, I have a loving family here in Morocco too. They take good care of me, as one of their own. Being accepted with such open arms, and parting with tears can be a moving, emotional experience.

This past week, my host sister, all of 23 or 24, got hitched, tied the knot… got married. I was invited by my host family (I will just call them family from now on okay.) Initially, I was against going. Too busy, work picking up, and wanting to get back into the groove of things (As Madonna, my birthday sharing singer tells us.) However, I thought about how my family raised me, took me in, made me comfortable, gave me the foundations of language and culture. Essentially they raised me from the age of 2, where I was learning to speak, until around the age of 12… which is where I feel my language skills might be at today (some days I feel like I am 5. Maybe others 16.)

This unconditional, non blood-related type love drove me to reunite with them. Thinking of my sister, and this being potentially one of, if not the most important day of her life (as it is with many Moroccan women,) there was not even another correct choice. Also, I missed my family, my friends, and the environment immensely. I have been busy, but not busy enough to miss her day.

Moroccan weddings are in some ways similar to US, and western type weddings. Certainly there are differences. I will try not to be too wordy, however, there is much to discuss. I also have pictures to accompany, but for time constraints, those will have to wait.

When I arrived, a day before the wedding, it was an onslaught and outpouring of hugs and greetings. I was prepared for this, but not for what I think were 40 people wanted to greet and say hello. Many of these folks I had never met. I was immediately inundated in conversation for the next 4 hours, from everyone. Luckily, I can now have conversations with these old friends, and it was rewarding to catch up.

Before I discuss the wedding day, a couple of things. This was an arranged marriage, and the groom was from a big city (Casablanca.) In just a couple of days after the wedding, my sister would be moving from a town of 200 to a city of 5 million. She has MAYBE been to a city of 100,000 (I stress the maybe again,) and she does not really know her new husband. Imagine having to make that move. There is not intimate family nearby for her now. Some people in the family did not even know much about the groom. This led me to hope that my sister is happy, and truly taken care of not just monetarily (which is probably the main reason for the marriage), and at times throughout the day I tried to gauge her face to figure out what she was thinking. She was awash with happiness, nervousness, and sadness to be leaving. It is just an accepted way of life here.

Thursday was a new day…wedding day…and I was up early with the sun (slept on the roof) and began by erecting a huge tent over the roof, where the festivities would take place. It was hot, sunny and humid. We got everything set up, and it was just an hour or so before people began arriving. There were three distinct celebrations over the day. The first was for the women. Second for the men. Third, for the family (men and women.)

The women gather, dressed in their best celebration clothes, and commence with what is known as an A-Hadus dance and song. Traditional, and repetitive, these songs are helped along by clapping and drums and dancing… hence NO MEN ALLOWED (except the groom, and family.) The bride gets dressed in an ornate gown, the groom in a suit. The dress of both changes 3 times at least throughout the day, traditional at times (Kaftan for bride and Djellaba for groom.) Henna, which is a semi-permanent tattoo, is placed on the feet and hands of the bride. Super detailed, and gorgeous. The bride keeps this green paste on for a while, and then washes it off, revealing brown markings wherever it is applied. Henna is used for many holidays and celebrations, and for the wedding, it is used as the “marking of the bride.”

This whole time women are dancing, and singing, and just having a good time. Everyone has brought gifts, (which I will get to in a minute.) A few times, the bride and groom retreat to the downstairs, change clothes, and have another processional upstairs, to all sorts of singing and traditional chanting. This continues for a long while, and then the women eat. After food, there are two more pieces of the women’s celebration.

The first is the gift giving. Typical gifts are blankets, plates and pottery (home-type goods), and money. Gifts are announced to everyone, and to whom they are from. Even the money, which as an American, I found so different, as we back home are so caught up on money gifts. Imagine a graduation party, where the graduate announces who gave what, and how much. Yeah, money gifts are discrete in the states.

After the gift giving, some thanks are given, a couple of people in the family say thank you to everyone, and congrats to the couple (I was forced to say something, and roughly I said those things.)

Finally, there is a traditional throwing of candies. This is very similar to US culture, where the bride throws the flowers. Except with the candies, she is face forward, and anyone can grab them. It’s a good time, and kids get to have their fill of candy. I happened to be spotted, and my sister threw the last one to me. Special feeling abounded.

Pictures are then taken with various members of the family, never the whole family together (too too many people, and the culture of picture taking in Morocco would never allow the patience to create a large family photo!!! People have enough trouble looking at the camera with just a couple of folks present.)

After this, the women friends leave, go on their way, and the area is cleaned up for the men to arrive. Just after dark, they arrive. Completely contrasting with the womens’ celebration, the men are super-formal, and the celebration is stern, strict, and well…not fun. It is more of a chance to get together and discuss various social and political issues, and these large gatherings are a good forum for that. The men get together, read the Quran, say some prayers, drink a lot of tea, talk, eat food, drink more tea, talk, pray, drink tea, read the Quran, drink tea, talk, then leave.

I don’t know about you… but that sounds exciting eh???

For me, as part of the family, I was helping out. I was serving food and tea, mainly in the background. I ventured up a few times during the women’s celebration to snap pictures, talk to some people I knew, and see the action. However, I am not a women, and I did not want to make women who did not know me uncomfortable. So I did my best to create a balance. I did however enjoy being able to talk to the family more, catch up, and make new friends with those I did not know, but were part of my family. During the men’s time, I stayed away, not wanting to get stuck upstairs, and just stayed in the background. I also had some good conversations about comparing weddings in the US and weddings here. There were assumptions, for example that all weddings in the states are religious, and in a church. Such cultural conversations are good to have. And for those wondering… the tradition of the “bloody sheet” is no longer here in Morocco. So this did not occur.

After the men left, we cleaned everything up, and by then it was 2am. After being up all day we were exhausted. BUT, we also wanted to celebrate, and celebrate we did. Dancing and singing, men and women and children (family!) it was a great time. Many of the older men did not dance (and older women too), it was typically a 30 and under sort of thing. I was certainly expected to dance, as I think people wanted to see if I could dance. (The typical “Dance, Monkey, dance!” moniker came into my mind humorously a couple of times.) But it was a great time, and we danced until 5am in the morning. Many people fell asleep as well while we drove onward. Eventually, we all slept, having to get up in the morning at like 8am to clean everything up. WOW I WAS EXHAUSTED. The combo of strenuous work, thinking and speaking in three languages, and just the emotion of being there was crazy-tiring.

I must must must mention this little hellion child that was running around the entire day. He was maybe two (picture to come later) and was maybe the happiest kid I have ever seen. However, parenting here in different, and lax (in an old school fashion,) so for me, this kid had no supervision. It is also expected that everyone in the family be watching out for the kids. But, if the kid fell, bumped his head, he was expected to shrug it off. I kind of like that old school parenting as well.

This child got into EVERYTHING. He would wander up onto a roof, and peer over the edge. He would try to get down stairs, looking as if he was going to tumble down. He would climb on everything. He took his pants off at some point, just because, and walked around. BUT, he was so happy, yet a little hellion. He also had the most energy of any child, and maybe any adult (definitely he did pound for pound.) Running around all day, taking a small 4 hour nap in the late afternoon, then getting up and staying up until 4 IN THE MORNING running around. He certainly caused me a lot of comedy relief, as he was romping around. (Maybe a few scares as well, which is why my attention was on him, having to stop him a few times from tumbling, or keeping him out of areas he was not allowed.)

That is why I HAD to mention him!

The next day we cleaned up, and I was able to spend some quality time with the family that was left. The following next day came to leave, and I left feeling as if a piece of my heart was left there. There were tears of parting and sadness from my host mom, as well as her sister (who I did not know… but they are an emotional bunch, an exception really here in Morocco.) I was invited back for the big holiday, and told to come back many times as well. Even my grumpy old, poor health having host father was smiling and happy yet sad to see me leave, and this in turn made me happy. I was also finally able to really understand him, and we had a couple of good conversations. I am sure the fact that my host sister leaving as well was hard, as she has been “in training” to become a housewife, and essentially taking care of the family’s cooking, cleaning etc.

For me, I made the long 2km walk to the main road to catch a bus. I instead caught a taxi. During the walk, and mainly the taxi ride, I was rushed with emotions. I was sad to be leaving, and wish I could stay, not only to be with special people, but to actually do work with the community and give something back to these people that have given so much to me, and really helped me become my “Moroccan self.” It was one of the few times I have had tears in my eyes since being here. I couldn’t help thinking of some of the conversations I had with friends, people who had no choice but to live in the village (having been finished with school or taken out etc.) or get married, while their friends went away to live/work. I know that this will not be the last time I return, or see some of my family, but certainly I will not be seeing everyone again. This also makes me sad.

I think what I was also tearful about was happiness, and joy for the people I call my family here. I can look at them, call them “my family, mom, dad, brother, sister,” and it is likewise from them. I was happy in the fact I am so accepted, as one of them, and I thought to myself many times before and during that taxi ride how I wish my family back home could meet my family in Morocco. I know that they would have many things to discuss, that there are many personality similarities, which I will not go into, but in a broad sense it boils down to two things… and those are love and caring. I have both of those things here, and I am forever grateful for that.

When I talk to my family back home in the states, they often wonder how I am doing, emotionally, as well as physically. I don’t think I can stress enough how well taken care of I am here by my family in Morocco (both my original host family in my training village, but what I call my host family here in my current village.) I can still see the smiles, the tears, and the joys that we shared when I went “home” and reunite with them for the wedding.

Easily, this is one of my most rewarding experiences I have had in Morocco.

Much Love.