I had to run to catch up with my host mom, Laila, as she led me past a blur of colors and sounds through the heart of the medina. Every now and then she would stop and point at something to use as a landmark to remember the route home.
“Souika,” She pronounced the name of the main street slowly, so that I could hear each syllable.
“Souika,” I repeated in attempt to commit the name to memory. Souika, Souika, Souika… Shweeka… Shweekna… or was it Shweela? Shoot.
Laila took a sharp left off of Souika where a colorful souk selling a variety of fish, tiny turtles, and song birds marked the otherwise unremarkable corridor that led to my new home in Morocco.
We approached a large barrel-arched door and climbed three stories to my host family’s residence. I learned later that the two lower stories housed the mother of my host dad and his brother’s respective family. In fact, it is not uncommon for extended families to live together in this manner. Each family occupies one level or section—as in the case of a riad, (a traditional Moroccan house with three or four walls centered around an open terrace).
On our floor, a small kitchen about the size of a walk-in closet is directly to the right of the entrance. Despite the size, the kitchen is equipped with all the essentials: a small sink, a fridge, three burners, a microwave and a small confection oven. Across from the kitchen, is the bathroom sink, which is installed just outside the bathroom. The bathroom, itself, makes no distinction between the shower and the toilet. But I can’t complain because my family has the comforts of hot water and a western-style toilet!
Just past the kitchen and the bathroom is the main salon, where we take all of our meals and entertain guests who stop by. The salon is traditionally Moroccan. Large cushions pad three sides of the blue and green-tiled salon walls. A matching rug occupies the space underneath a rolling table in the middle. A large flat-screen TV is installed in one corner of the room. Usually, a Bollywood movie or Turkish soap opera plays as background noise.
*My host brother watches a movie.
Another TV and a PC are set up in my host parents’ bedroom. Consequently, the bedroom serves as another common area for the family, especially during football(soccer) games when everyone piles on the queen bed to cheer on Madrid (I made the mistake of supporting Barcelona at first—simply because it is the only city in Spain that I have visited—but I’ve since been converted!).
My room is directly across from the parents’ bedroom. Ample closet space means that I can completely unpack and make myself at home. Two beds with mattresses just like the cushions in the salon are dressed with thick polar fleece blankets and can accommodate up to two volunteers. I can only assume that the bedroom usually belongs to the two youngest children when the family is not hosting volunteers. Currently, they sleep on the large salon cushions and share closet space with their parents. I felt very guilty about “stealing” their bedroom when I first arrived. However, I’ve since learned that it is quite common for Moroccans to sleep in this common area, and the kids seem not to mind at all. The eldest son, however, has a detached room to himself on the outside attic terrace, which seems appropriate for an 18-yr old university student.
Perhaps the most unique feature of our cozy little home is the huge fish tank opposite the salon. The tank is filled with five orange fish slightly smaller than my palm. Despite their color, I don’t think they are goldfish. The fish tank provides great distraction when everyone at dinner is speaking in Darija, and I have no clue what is going on. I can just gaze at the tank, watching the power dynamics that occur in their tiny world. For instance, when one of the fish laid eggs, I watched both parents aggressively guard the babies from being gobbled by the other fish. Unfortunately, the eggs were eventually eaten. Perhaps to compensate for this loss, my host dad bought two more giant fish to add to the tank. Each fish is slightly bigger than my whole hand and has tiny little teeth that protrude from a gaping mouth. My host brother gleefully informed me that they were piranhas!
“Won’t they eat the other fish?” I asked
My host brother shrugged, trying to fight back a grin.
“Wait, do you want them to eat the other fish?”
He replied, “It’s just like in National Geographic,” and we both laughed.
For the record, the piranhas have not eaten the gold fish. In fact, I’ve noticed that the smaller fish gang together to provoke the piranhas. Both piranhas are looking a little worse-for-wear these days…
My host dad has a soft spot for animals, so we have more than just fish in the house. On top of the fish tank are two birdcages, each housing a tiny finch. They are very sweet birds that make the tinniest chirping sounds, which means they do not wake me up early in the morning! On the roof terrace, there is a hen house with a few chickens. I think they may be for eating, but I have not asked… A lone turtle named Donatello keeps the chickens company on the roof. He has no cage, but rather wanders the terrace as he pleases. I often go up to visit Donatello just to make sure he is still there.