Happy Halloween, Grayson County

October 31 11:00pm
The roller coaster of life in Morocco continues and only gets more exhilirating. Happy Halloween from Al-Maghrib

Tonight we had a Halloween party at school, and just as the Early 1990's music dance party was getting underway, my friend TaReva pulled me aside and said, “Allison, I wanted to tell you... My family hosted two of the Elderhostel ladies for dinner, and one of them was from Kentucky. I told her about you.” “No way ” I said. “I’d love to meet her.” TaReva lives within a stone’s throw of the Center (the Markez, as we call it), and so she grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go. They’re having fruit for dessert. We can go visit right now.”

I walked into the family’s sitting room, the characteristic Moroccan room for entertaining guests with couches lining every wall. The two Elderhostel guests sat in the far end of the room, and were easily identifiable by their whiteness and relative silence. (I remember those first few weeks in Morocco, being the quiet white person in the corner. It still happens sometimes, but at least I’m able to give some input into conversations now, even if I have to poorly construct a sentence using three languages...). I gave the standard Moroccan greeting to every Moroccan in the room:

“Salaam aleikum, lebaas, hamdulilah, lebaas, nta kulshae mezyaan, hamdulilah, Ana bechayr shokrun...” and on and on, to each member of the family, Mama, Baba (who were both in the late 70's), sister, sister, and cousin.

Then I approached the precious elderly white ladies sitting timidly in the corner. “Which of you is from Kentucky?” The small woman on the right suspiciously responded, “I am.” And thus began a rapid conversation that still makes me smile and brings tears to my eyes.

“You’re from Kentucky, oh my gosh, I’m SO glad to meet you ” I gave her a big hug.
“I’m glad to meet you too, dear Are you the girl from Berea?”
“No, I’m from Lexington.”
“Oh, so you’re from Transylvania... I saw the map with all the pins and saw one from Berea and one from Transy.”
“Yes, that’s me. What town are you from?”
“Well I’m from a small place called Falls of Rough.”
I inched closer to her, excited and in disbelief.
“Falls of Rough? In Grayson County?”
“Why yes.”
“My boyfriend is from Grayson County ”
“Oh no,” she laughed.
“He’s from Millwood ” I smiled bigger than I’ve smiled in a while. I was (and am) unspeakably happy.
“Oh no,” she repeated.
I laughed in response and collapsed on the couch next to me. I kept smiling and fed off the amazing “Hamdulilah” vibe that I felt and that I’m sure others in the room felt as well. Even the non-English speakers in the Moroccan family seemed to know that something exciting was happening, and they smiled a lot too. Trying to collect my thoughts, I talked to the other Elderhostel woman for a brief moment, learning that her name was Alison as well, and that she’d lived in New Zealand, England, Canada, and was now in California. She was delightful.
“What’s your name?” I asked my new Kentucky friend.
“Doralee St. Clair. What’s your name?
“Allison Asay.”
“And what’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“Clay Duvall. His dad is Barry Duvall.”
“Oh, I know the name. I can’t that I know any Duvall by first name, but I know that last name.”
“His mother passed away when he was sixteen, and her maiden name was Watkins.”
“Now that’s a Grayson County name.”

And we began discussing US-62 and the main road through Leitchfield off the Western Kentucky Parkway, the Duvall Real Estate Agency (we thought it was) and the Watkins Insurance Agency (we also thought it was) which is located right on US-62 after you turn off the main Leitchfield road. She talked about driving US-54 more often than US-62, but passing through Caneyville every once in a while.

“If you blink your eyes when driving down US-62, you’ll miss Millwood.”
I laughed.
“You’re right My boyfriend lives just a few houses after you pass the ‘Welcome to Millwood’ sign, and then after you pass his house, you’re out of Millwood.”
She laughed. It was a delightful conversation. We both kept smiling and jabbering on and on about Kentucky and Grayson County and how she was enjoying Morocco. I told her how glad I was to meet a fellow Kentuckian.
“I’m from Minnesota,” I said, “but I’ve lived in Kentucky since I was three, and I consider myself a Kentuckian. I love Kentucky.”
“You’re not a Kentuckian. You don’t sound like one.”

Fact.

“Please give me your contact information. I’ll be in Grayson County for Christmas with the boyfriend’s family, and I would love to come wish you a Merry Christmas.”

I got her address, and she got mine.

“Write down your boyfriend’s name, too.”

And so now she has Clay’s name and phone number. Sorry, Clay, but a cute little old lady named Doralee really wanted it.

“Now, I’ll be sure to email you about all the news in Grayson County,” she laughed as she and Alison from New Zealand/California picked up their things to go meet their tour bus.
“Please do I would love it, even if it’s that someone’s cow ran away.”

We both laughed.

I gave the entire Moroccan family kisses and hugs and “metsherrfin, laila saida, bslaama”s, and TaReva and I walked Doralee and Alison to the bus. I kissed and hugged both of them and promised Doralee that I’d stay in touch and that I would see her for Christmas. She told me the same.

And then I walked back to TaReva’s house, hand in hand with her adorable septuagenarian father, whom I told “Allahu akbar Aleeyom al-hamdulilah. Aleeyom mezyaan bezzef ” (God is great, thank God for today, today was very good). And he responded to each with al-hamdulilah, al-hamdulilah.

As we approached his house he put his arm around my back and told me, in simplified Arabic, that there are good people and bad people in every country, but that I was good, and I was his daughter.

Calling someone binti, or “my daughter”, is one of the highest compliments to be paid to a foreigner, and I feel especially an American.

I kissed him goodnight, I kissed TaReva’s sister goodnight, and I walked back (or, rather, skipped back) to the Markez to dance to N’Sync’s “Bye Bye Bye” and Hanson’s “Mmm-bop” before returning home for bed.

Happy Halloween. Al-hamdulilah for Morocco and Grayson County.