1.) An evening of “Ramadon’ts” with Zahara (thanks to Dan Connolly for the terminology).

Around a year ago, I wrote a blog entry about a particularly awkward and ridiculous situation I got myself into with a new neighbor, made even more ridiculous by a pretty huge language nuance misunderstanding (to read that story, click here). Luckily for me, that neighbor has remained a close friend for the last year and has endured countless other, undocumented silly situations as a direct result of my presence. Zahara is one of the easiest people in my village to just hang out with. She’s low key without being boring and speaks slowly and clearly in the baby-arabic that I can understand without me even having to request it. Basically… a saint. Anyway, she stars in a blog entry once again this Ramadan due to the evening she invited me over to her house early to “help” her prepare the break-fast meal and learn how to cook all of the things according to her recipes.

On the menu was freshly baked bread, Harira (Moroccan tomato soup with lentils and chickpeas), dates, a variety of sweet condiments (jam, chocolate spread, olive oil, etc) sweet tea and warm sweet milk. Things got off to a relatively normal start, as I’ve seen all of these things prepared hundreds of times, the only difference was that I was actually given responsibilities this turn around… which, let’s just say, could have gone more smoothly.

Now, it started going downhill around 5:45, by which I had been fasting for just under 12 hours already. I’m not above pathetic excuses. Anyway, I was left in charge of simply making sure that the bread didn’t burn in the oven. Let me clarify the simplicity of this task, relative to the entirety of actually preparing the bread. Zahara kneaded the dough from hand, let it rise, carefully measured out balls of dough,  shaped them into two perfectly round discs and slid them into the preheated oven like a pro. She then had to go feed the goats, and left me in charge of simply watching the bread to make sure it didn’t burn (the ovens here are basically just open flames in a metal box). I did really well for the first five minutes, if I do say so myself. But then I found myself staring at the wall, and before I knew it, Zahara was back, she was asking me if I was watching the bread, I started out of my wall-staring stupor, said “I forgot!” and out of the oven came a nicely charred disc of what was supposed to be bread. Zahara, ever forgiving, laughed and told me that Moroccans like things more “red” as they say (though this usually applies to nicely browned perfect loaves of bread, or perfectly fried chickens that take on a golden brown-red color…. Not loaves of my bread that could double as charcoal).

Anyway, I didn’t stop there…  Before leaving the kitchen I was called up from my child-sized seat on the kitchen floor to help put the spices in the Harira soup, reaching for what I thought was “bazaar” (a mix of mostly black pepper, but some other seasonings), I went to confidently add a spoonful with an air of “now THIS I’ve seen a hundred times! No problem!” only to have Zahara, laughing, grab my arm to stop me and tell me that it was cinnamon. Right. Not a great addition to salty tomato bean soup. Within five minutes I was helping to put dates on a plate, and proceeded to drop the lot of them on the dirt kitchen floor, at which point  Zahara started to really get the giggles, and insisted that it wasn’t a problem and the dates just “knew we were going to eat them and were running away”. Anddddd finally, as we carried the completed, partially burned, break-fast meal into the living room, I sat down in my usual place and started to wash my hands and quietly wait to hear the call to prayer, before hearing a loud “Who is THERE?!? KAOUTAR??” from the back  right corner of the room. It was Zahara’s mother-in-law who is verrrry old and verrry frail and verrrry blind. I didn’t notice her in the corner because she prefers to be covered in a sheet and sit quietly in the corner all day long. This last faux pas was minor, but a faux pas nonetheless, as it’s considered common courtesy to greet  every person in a room once you enter. Whoops. As previously noted, however, I could not have been such a klutz in a more forgiving household.

2.) Evening Milk Delivery

Now, this one is just sweet. Around the second week of Ramadan this year, I noticed my little host cousin, Marwan, holding out a plastic bag in my host family’s kitchen as I walked up the path to their door. My host mother was filling his bag with six half-liter bottles of milk. I asked why she was doing that, and she told me that he was taking them to the neighbors who don’t have cows before the call to prayer broke fast for the day.

This requires a bit of explanation. Firstly, milk and milk products are a luxury in my town. Families must own a cow to get milk, must buy milk from our souq town an hour away, or go without it. This is how things generally go throughout the year. As buying milk from town is often too expensive and inconvenient, the families with cows in town are usually the only homes that have a consistent supply of milk, buttermilk and butter (the last two are made by hand-churning at home). Only a handful of families in town own cows. My host family is one of them.

Now, Ramadan is a time where Muslims are meant to reflect on their blessings, but also to think about those who have very little. It is a time of almsgiving and sharing among people. Mosques and associations host large drives in our region where people donate food, clothing, house goods, and sums of money that help poor people in the area on a relatively grand scale, but what I love about this milk-sharing example from my village is that it isn’t necessarily a huge gesture… and people barely give it an afterthought.

Marwan ran around to 6 houses within view of the front stoop of my host family’s house, and delivered the milk to young women at each door, while my host mother smilingly explained to me that “It’s Ramadan, and if people don’t have milk to break the daily fast with, they need some, don’t they?” In the two weeks since I first noticed Marwan with the milk bottles, I now see a few other kids around the same time every day (about half an hour before the breaking of fast) carrying large bags full of bottles of milk around to houses. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it last year, but I really love that my village is so tight-knit and people care about and take care of each other in small ways like this.

3.) Assia with the Harira

Assia is 3 and a half and is hilarious. Perhaps part of the reason I love her so much is that every time I see her in town, she greets me by running head-long at me and jumping into my arms. It’s so nice to have someone so excited to see you! Anyway… she’s my little host-cousin and one evening last week I was invited by her parents to break fast with them at their home. At the end of the fast breaking meal, we were served the usual bowl of Harira, and I was seated next to Assia at the low family table. Her mom was behind her, and her dad across the room, consumed in a conversation with a friend about their work. Her older brother, Ali, was immediately on the other side of Assia with his own bowl of Harira, but he was called away by someone outside to run a quick errand…. And that’s when Assia struck.

She first looked back to check her mother, who was not paying her any attention. Check.

Next she looked forward and made sure her dad was still distracted. Check.

Then she looked up at me…. And smiled her HUGE, mischievous smile before slooooowly sliding her half-empty soup bowl over to her brother’s place and moving his full bowl in front of her. Her half-empty bowl was practically full of beans, and she had eaten all the tomato broth. NOW… after switching the bowls, she proceeded to spoon all the beans from her brother’s bowl into her old one, successfully landing herself with a soup bowl full of her favorite part: the broth… minus her leas favorite part: the beans.

Ali came back and didn’t even notice. Assia and I giggled. Perhaps this wouldn’t have entertained anyone else, but I thought it was awesome. And impressive. It reminded me of the time I once picked all the cookie dough balls from the carton of cookie dough ice cream and ABSOLUTELY got caught. Assia is way better than me and I was probably twice her age at the time of my crime.

4.) Figs

FIGS. Delicious. So, so, so delicious and refreshing. With the exception of “Fig Newtons”, I don’t think I had ever had a fig before coming to Morocco. I was missing out. Fig season falls in mid-august into September… and luckily for me… the fields in my village have many, many fig trees. Every home in town has baskets of freshly picked figs every night to break fast with and it is just so lovely. The (slightly blurry) photo below is of me with the most perfect fig I have eaten this season (photo courtesy of Phil, thank you!). It was so tangy and sweet and delicious and perfect looking, it warranted a photo.

blurry fig, happy Caity

5.) Breaking fast for Avery’s Birthday

We have been good this time around about trying to group together a few times as Americans and break fast with some of our own recipes, as both an activity to pass the time in the Ramadan hum-drum, and a way to celebrate Avery’s birthday! We have broken fast together as a group a few times this Ramadan, but Avery’s birthday was by far the best. We made Channa Masala from scratch (with the help of our gourmet friend Adam’s fantastic recipe), and feasted all evening on fruit, freezing cold beverages, Betty Crocker Funfetti birthday cake (compliments of Molly and her recent trip to America) and a variety of other delicious things. It was literally a party from dusk ‘til dawn, as we all passed out around 5am, full and happy (if perhaps, a liiiiitle too hot…. Summer in the desert will get ya). As much as I LOVE breaking fast with people in my community every other night of the week, it was a really nice change to be among Americans and kind of blend the traditions a bit. Despite the obvious cultural differences and adjustments, it really felt like a true birthday party… and that always makes me happy.

Breaking fast in our souq town for Avery's 27th birthday

And there they are, my five Ramadan highlights this year. About a week to go, and I have to say that although I really love Harira, I’m ready to re-introduce morning coffee and snack time into my life. On the countdown!

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