Descriptions of family life

(writing from 5:00pm September 9. Not good writing, but descriptive nonetheless).

I’ve been looking for the right moment to write for two days now. Whenever I am in an incredibly extreme mood to type, I am occupied. So now, I will try to wax interesting, perhaps philosophical as well, even though the writing bug has not quite bitten me.

This is my third homestay; the first two were in the states for Junior Miss competitions. I consider myself fairly experienced at the homestay, and as such, take it as a very good sign that (1) I feel comfortable enough and (2) the family is quite pleased that yesterday I helped dry the dishes and today washed and dried my own. I’m acclimating to this life quite easily, keeping my things very organized, neat, and together, and I’ve already mastered Moroccan table manners. I can eat with only the three fingers of my right hand quite proficiently.

My host family is wonderful. Fatimazahra, my 20 year old sister, speaks nearly fluent English and is a great help when I can’t express my meaning to other members of the family. Zeinab is my 13 year old sister, and she and I share a room. My family’s home is quite small; the total floor space of the apartment is less than that of my 472 Second Street apartment. Mama Amina and Baba Boubker sleep in one room, which also contains the closets of clothing for the whole family. Fatimazahra has her own room, but her bed is about the size of a large armchair, and her room doubles as the computer room. They have a computer and the internet, which is very very nice. The kitchen is very compact, and all the appliances are at least 75% the size of their American counterparts. Zeinab and I sleep in a large and long room, the perimeter of which is lined with beautiful navy blue and gold pillows and couches. At least one room in each Moroccan house is decorated in this way, with something of a sectional sofa lining every wall. The room is kept very clean and ready for entertaining. At night Zeinab and I remove some pillows and place sheets and pillows on the couches, and they become our beds. A round table is in the center of the room, and my belongings are hidden underneath, folded into neat piles and divided into zones.

The only other room in the house is something of a family room, again with large long sofas surrounding the perimeter. There is a TV and a DVD player in this room, and the kids are often in here to watch TV, listen to music and dance. Yassine, my eighteen year old brother, sleeps here at night.

I think my family is rather affluent, by Moroccan standards. They have four TV’s; one in my parents’ room, one with DVD player in the “family” room, one in Fati’s room, and a very small one in the kitchen. They have a computer, the internet, and a digital camera, a Western toilet and shower in their bathroom. If not affluent, they are progressive. Fati wears very cute Western clothes, and yesterday I taught her the phrase “dressed to the nines”. She looks more Western than I do, in terms of our dress. I want to wear traditional Moroccan clothing, and she wants to look like she’s a sorority girl. Very interesting.

I have been amazed at the compact-ness of things here. The bathroom has half the floor space of my bathroom at 3200 Blenheim Way, or the bathroom at 472 West Second Street. (It’s smaller than Rosenthal bathrooms, for Transy kids). The toilet is in the shower itself, so each time someone takes a shower, the toilet paper is placed outside the shower stall so as not to get wet, and the toilet seat is closed. The sink looks to hold at most a pint and a half —definitely not more than a quart — of water, almost the size of an airplane lavatory sink. The shower head is the size of the “sprayer” on American kitchen sinks. The laundry machine, which is in the kitchen, is about the size of my American family’s trash compacter.

(and the writing had to stop so I could help my family with something).