It's been five months since I left Morocco.
I must admit that I hit the ground running after my time there. I immediately was thrown into the craziness surrounding wedding planning, then the actual madness of two weddings, then the stress surrounding home shopping and then the house closing and then the first days of work. These last months have been spent on adjusting to married life, Canadian life and post-university life. And so, Morocco has been left on the back burner. I simply didn't have time to let the implications of my departure settle. I was too excited to see Lucas again to really let the loss of friendship and cultural immersion really hit me. But now, as memories begin to resurface amidst the extreme quietness of my life, I am faced with the undeniable fact that I miss Morocco.
I had forgotten how cold Rabat had been in January and February. If I close my eyes, I can re-live the nerves and jitters I felt right before meeting my host family and the frustrations surrounding language learning. I still laugh at the intense culture shock experienced in the public baths (hammams) and those precious moments when I was able to love Moroccan children. I'm still fighting the extra pounds I gained thanks to the enormous appetite I found in Morocco and the delicious food that was constantly before me. And then my heart is burdened by the real pain I witnessed.
Glancing through my blog seems to press the "rewind" button. I feel that I could be there again, just by simply imagining and remembering it. And yet, these blogs were in no way comprehensive. How could I possibly express how dear of a friend Oumaima became to me? All of our sleepovers and pancake-making parties? How could I convey the loss of knowing that I'll never live there again? But having all these posts to click through, months after having left, is such a blessing. Moments that would probably have faded are immortalized in writing.
My ears perk up when I hear Arabic. There's a convenience store by my house and so far, all the men who work there speak Arabic. I learned they're from Iraq. I watched GirlRising last night and one of the girls is from Egypt. Though her story was heart-breaking, my heart swelled inside of me as I picked up several words from the authentic Egyptian dialogue.
I miss Morocco and the experiences I had while I was there. I desire to live outside of my own familiar cultures again. I cannot wait to consistently be surrounded by those different than I, that I may see my own culture and values through their lenses. I try to hold on to the small, precious lessons I learned from four months in that beautiful, beautiful country... Morocco.
I must admit that I hit the ground running after my time there. I immediately was thrown into the craziness surrounding wedding planning, then the actual madness of two weddings, then the stress surrounding home shopping and then the house closing and then the first days of work. These last months have been spent on adjusting to married life, Canadian life and post-university life. And so, Morocco has been left on the back burner. I simply didn't have time to let the implications of my departure settle. I was too excited to see Lucas again to really let the loss of friendship and cultural immersion really hit me. But now, as memories begin to resurface amidst the extreme quietness of my life, I am faced with the undeniable fact that I miss Morocco.
I had forgotten how cold Rabat had been in January and February. If I close my eyes, I can re-live the nerves and jitters I felt right before meeting my host family and the frustrations surrounding language learning. I still laugh at the intense culture shock experienced in the public baths (hammams) and those precious moments when I was able to love Moroccan children. I'm still fighting the extra pounds I gained thanks to the enormous appetite I found in Morocco and the delicious food that was constantly before me. And then my heart is burdened by the real pain I witnessed.
Glancing through my blog seems to press the "rewind" button. I feel that I could be there again, just by simply imagining and remembering it. And yet, these blogs were in no way comprehensive. How could I possibly express how dear of a friend Oumaima became to me? All of our sleepovers and pancake-making parties? How could I convey the loss of knowing that I'll never live there again? But having all these posts to click through, months after having left, is such a blessing. Moments that would probably have faded are immortalized in writing.
My ears perk up when I hear Arabic. There's a convenience store by my house and so far, all the men who work there speak Arabic. I learned they're from Iraq. I watched GirlRising last night and one of the girls is from Egypt. Though her story was heart-breaking, my heart swelled inside of me as I picked up several words from the authentic Egyptian dialogue.
I miss Morocco and the experiences I had while I was there. I desire to live outside of my own familiar cultures again. I cannot wait to consistently be surrounded by those different than I, that I may see my own culture and values through their lenses. I try to hold on to the small, precious lessons I learned from four months in that beautiful, beautiful country... Morocco.
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