moroccan hospitality

Being a proud member of the hospitality industry by choice, and actually focusing a great deal on hospitality, I place great importance on that skill-set. Though I have not yet gone to such lengths, I find myself debating whether to mimic Whitney's (EB's sister) distribution of feedback forms to close friends and loved ones. So, naturally, I am always on the lookout for new ways to give myself and to be hospitable. Even still, I am occasionally frequently taken aback by what I find here. Let me be frank: I am in a country where I rightfully and automatically assume the locals are out to part me from my money. I have mentioned it before: I don't trust many of the men (the women tend to be far less pushy and crooked) out here. Call me jaded, I call it realistic. Don't get me wrong, I don't dwell on the issue, it's just a part of life out here. Which is what makes the opposite extreme stand out that much more.

I have already written about the incident of the free pastry in Chefchaoen and Lora's hero of the night at the Casablanca bus station. Though I am unemployed, the generous exchange rate allows me to enjoy an affordably posh lifestyle. So when it comes to paying, I feel the need to pay my own way. It is rather charming, but incredibly frustrating to be constantly beat at the paying game. When grocery shopping with Mo (unemployment is contagious, and so recently we have found ourselves privileged to spend more time with him) for dinner and the like, it has become an endless fight to avoid his paying for things. Here we are, automatically rich Americans, being treated left and right by the locals who know no other way than to offer themselves  to us completely.

Food in general

The Yemenite side of my family primed me for what I could expect from Morocco and its people--Arab hospitality is like quite no other. The lengths they go to, however, still bear mentioning. By now I am already part of Mo's family. With or without EB, I am frequently invited to the house for lunch and dinner (breakfast on the weekends), and as the guidebook suggests, I have the choice morsels of meat and goodies thrust in front of me every time. I had lunch at his grandparents' house last weekend. Mo has even invited me to stay as an extended houseguest in case I decide to overstay my welcome at EB's place.

Having been invited to Miriam's place for dinner, we promptly met her and rode in a taxi to her neighborhood of Fez. The area was hopping with food stands and restaurants grilling along the main road where we were let off. Her house was vacant--her family was to have been cooking, but apparently somehow our dinner date had gone forgotten. Not a big deal--we would gladly go eat at one of the numerous places on the main drag. Fast-forward ten minutes as Mom and Sister come home. Already alerted by Miriam through the miracle of text messaging, they arrive bearing some vegetables and frozen chicken. They will have nothing of our idea to eat on the street-we are their guests, and we shall be well fed. And so we get comfortable, entertained be her young niece, snacking on pastries and sipping the ubiquitous mint tea. We end up feasting on a truly wonderful meal of tender chicken and amazing foul (braised fava beans), salads and fries. This is Moroccan hospitality.

Guide book says: if you want to eat on the train/bus, you should be prepared to offer to share your snack with all your neighbors. We offered some of our chocolate. Denied. We offered some cheese. Denied. We took out our yogurt and were hospialitily (sic)embarrassed when our neighbor offered (and we accepted) a small spoon from her purse. She offered (and we accepted) some cookies. Final seconds: we shoot, we score, as our clementines are accepted by all in the compartment.

A final show of hospitality

About a month ago, an American friend of mine was mugged--robbed with a knife to his neck. Though the first man just wanted his cash, the second intervened and took the rest of his valuables. And here's the kicker: even through a robbery, Moroccan hospitality shines--before parting, the lead robber gave him a kiss on each cheek and delivered a sincere "m'a salaama (peace to you)."