The immersion experience (readers be warned)

Reader discretion advised, again. I'm candid in this one:

September 9 7:36pm
My general mood: happy, content, satisfied, at home, comfortable.

The story of my homestay experience has been one of social faux pas after cultural faux pas after religious faux pas, then repeat. My first day here I walked onto the family’s carpets with my shoes, which, I found, is a no-no because the family prays on these rugs. One must be bare-foot on the prayer rugs, which are found on the entirety of the floor of every room except the bathroom, kitchen, and front hallway. In the rest of the house, one must wear “slippers”, which for me are my Chi Omega flip-flops and thus everyday shoes for the souk, walking Boulevard Mohammad V, etc. I feel bad wearing my constant street shoes in the house, but it is insisted upon.

And now for what I feel is the worse faux-pas, the one for which I could be embarrassed, very apologetic, and red in the face, for quite some time. Instead, I’m taking it in stride, cleaned up my mistake, and on I go. Actually, I don’t even know if I made a mistake..... I just think I did. Insha’Allah there is no problem.

So, I’m on my period right now, which means I use tampons. (Tangent: I was talking to my sister Fati, who is also on her period, and I asked her if she used pads or tampons. “Pads,” she said, “because I’m still a virgin.” Interesting societal note. I told her, “In America, we use tampons whether or not we are a virgin.” “I know,” she said). For my first tampon change yesterday, I looked to the side of the toilet in the bathroom and saw what looked like a small trash can/bucket, and inside what looked like a pad wrapped in toilet paper. Convenient, I thought, and placed my carefully and discretely wrapped tampon and the equally wrapped trash from the new tampon in the bucket. Today I asked Fati what I should do with my tampon when I’m finished, “Should I put it in the trash can beside the toilet?” “No,” she said, and she proceeded to instruct me that I should take a small trash bag and place it in the bag, and place the bag in a larger trash bag in the kitchen. “Ok,” I said. So I go to the bathroom and realize that the small trash bucket, or what I thought was for trash, is actually a small ceramic bucket. Inside are my used tampons from before, but the blood has seeped out and into the bucket, having been mixed with the water from the shower that had also been in the bucket previously. I noted again the fact that the bucket was ceramic. Dammit, I thought. This is probably what the family uses for ablutions. (Ablutions are the ritual washing of hands and arms and face before performing prayer). Without embarrassment or red face, but with a considerable acknowledgment of my American ignorance, and an extreme disappointment at my ignorance at the rhythm of sacred life within my family — and I’m a student of religion Oh the disgust at my stupidity — I placed the soggy trash from the ablution bucket into the trash bag along with my current trash, and wrapped it carefully and tied the bag shut. Then I ran some water in the sink, rinsing out the ceramic, and used as much soap as I could lather on my hands to scrub the areas the blood had touched. I don’t know if any member of the family had noticed it and been horrified at my offense — no one had said anything, although before when I had made a mistake in walking on the carpets, Fati had calmly corrected me. She hadn’t mentioned anything with this larger offense, so, Insha’Allah, no family member had noticed, or if they had, they took it all in stride as a part of an American adjusting to life here in Morocco. I hope I cleaned the basin well, and I hope that if they did notice, they will not mind too much purifying the basin for use for prayer.

In the end, though, Insha’Allah the basin was not used for ablutions at all.

*Sigh*. The wonders and joys of adjusting to life in Morocco.