Jaree al-jadeed

School has been getting real busy in preparation for finals week (which looks to be the worst finals week I have ever endured) and so yesterday during my lunch break I searched for a restaurant near the language center rather than returning to my home stay to eat.
As I've mentioned before, poverty is a big problem in Morocco, and beggars abound in the streets. Many of them are older women, perhaps who have lost husbands due to death or divorce. So yesterday I found myself wandering the streets in search of food while women veiled in the niqaab accosted me at every corner. It was a little like playing Pacman.

Yes, I'm aware that I'm a terrible person.

 I found a restaurant and bought a plate of chicken with rice. When I paid on the way out, I made the mistake of walking outside before I put my change in my pocket. A woman practically leaped out at me with her hand extended, as if to say, "That's mine." I shook my head at her, embarrassed, muttering Allah yasehhel ("may God make it easier for you") as I ran away.

I'm not really supposed to talk about this, but if you've been following the blog for a bit, you know that a friend of mine posted a video in Arabic that went viral. While she said nothing negative about the government, apparently this was enough to draw the attention of the state police, who contacted our program head and basically told him not to let it happen again.

That night I sat with my host family in their living room while Turkish soap operas played on TV (they're dubbed into Syrian Arabic). My host mom's aunt laid long strips of cloth on the table in front of her, using scissors to cut through the cloth. I asked her what she was making and she said that she makes jalabat, a traditional hooded robe worn by Moroccan men and women. She proudly said, "I studied fashion and sewing at university" and went on to say that she sells her clothing in a small hanoot in the Hamariya. She invited me to go with her to see it one day and I gratefully accepted.

Today I met with my language partner, which was pretty much as awkward as ever. On top of that, she was feeling very sick, and so refused to talk very much. Fortunately I'm getting plenty of practice speaking darija (Moroccan Arabic) at my home stay.

And that's where I am at the moment, sitting in the living room with my host family as they prepare grains that look like anise seeds by hand. They tell me that these grains are only eaten during Ramadan and only in Morocco, so I'm excited to try the food during al-Iftar, the meal that Muslims eat at sunset to break their daily fast during Ramadan.

And the last piece of news is that a student in my program is moving in with yet another branch of my host family one floor below me. I don't know him very well, but hopefully we'll get more acquainted over the next couple of weeks.