Home Sweet Home
A close-up of the bars on my bedroom window, with the Middle Atlas mountains beyond
So, this post is way overdue, but I have found myself in an apartment in Iceland for the holidays with my family… a perk of that situation is lightning-fast wireless internet, a mythical occurrence I vaguely remember from the United States of yore, which I intend to take FULL advantage of (as to that “yore” business, I’ll get to Iceland later).
A few months ago I finally moved into my very own small house in town, and what a wonderful development it was. After a long summer of misunderstandings over my future accommodation (both cultural and lingual), the word “victory” doesn’t begin to cover my feelings on carrying my belongings to a final destination. Sure, the cinderblock, cement and thatch house might seem quite humble, but to me it represents a haven and the few month’s I’ve had in it have seen large steps towards the shift from house to home: purchasing “ponjes” (low, long moroccan couches) for my living room, hanging a shelf for clothes in my room, and taping up pictures and cards from family and friends.
The pictures and move-in process were pretty straight forward, but there is a wonderful story here that I couldn’t wait to share almost immediately after it happened. It was one of those rare moments where it’s possible to actually recognize how far (in a good direction) a previously difficult relationship of yours has come… it was with my host father.
A few days before my house was ready for move-in, I stopped by to see how construction/door adjustment/lock installation/etc was going (and to drop off cupcakes), to see that they were already whitewashing the inner walls! I had expected the bare minimum out of this building project, as (understandably) funds are scarce in the Men’s association treasury. Well, to see them white-washing the walls was great, as I was only facing buying a bit of colored paint to perk up the lower half of the walls (like wainscoting. but not.) Now, any Volunteer in Morocco can tell you that, though paint is relatively expensive on our salary, it’s worth it to have a cheery living space. With all of this in mind, I turned to my host father and (after profusely thanking him for the whitewash) asked how much he thought paint might cost me for half-way up all of the walls.
This was met with a confused look.
When I persisted in questioning, he asked two men to “bring them in, so she can see them”, which resulted in three huge cans of paint being brought into the house so I could see that they not only planned on white-washing, but also painting a layer over it. This is really above and beyond, and I was so grateful, but it got so much better.
When I mentioned that maybe I could buy a tube of tint (the way paint is colored here, and the source of most of the paint expense) so the walls would be colored, my host dad brought out a tube of forest-green paint-tint. Hm. WONDERFUL that they are doing such a nice thing for me, but maybe not the shade I’d have chosen…. it was so dark. Reflecting on the difficulty of the summer, however, I realized how blatantly obvious it was that this was a “beggars can’t be choosers” moment, and said “thank you SO much, it’s beautiful!”. I was told to come back the next day to see it all finished. I was apprehensive, but decided to just let it go. Green is a great color and it couldn’t be that dark.
Back I went the next day, late in the morning, and my host father opened the front door for me to a house entirely painted in my favorite shade of aqua. Wait! What?! I looked at him in surprise, having expected a dark, dark green interior, and he looked at me as if to say “what now, crazy girl?”. I asked how he had made it that color from the green, and he said that they got only ONE tube of the tint, so that the green would be diluted down to my favorite color.
They picked my favorite color on purpose! But, “how did they know it was my favorite color?” I asked….
My host father looked at me again, as if to say “really now….?” and simply pointed to my scarf (the exact same shade as the walls and, coincidentally, my favorite scarf) and said “you wear that all the time, I figured I should pick the same color”
And then my heart melted. I was at the point of tears over such a small thing, but in so many ways, such a big thing. I love how far him and I have come and this is just one example of how we have moved from misunderstanding to a really positive relationship. Complicated still, but punctuated with moments of fatherliness that I appreciate so, so much.
So here it is, room-by-room. As my grandma Coco would say, “my little house by the side of the road” (though its more of a path than a road)
Marhaba bikum! (You are all welcome!)
My digs
my bedroom
living room
my kitchen
bathroom
view from my front door of the Middle Atlas Mountains
