An Abundance of Hebebes

In the past 7 days I’ve gained 1 carpet, 2 books, 5 hebebes, and multiple band-aids.  It’s just been one of those weeks.

Our group excursion this past Tuesday was to Khemisset, a small village with a famous weekly carpet souk. I really wanted a rug. I asked the group leader for her book on traditional Moroccan carpets because I find them so fascinating. I read the whole thing. I love carpets. The way in which they make each of the dyes, create each carpets to reflect the region it originated from, and how the whole lifestyle of those who weave carpets play out is so incredibly interesting. So I was really pumped about finding a rug.

The problem was that my mother also told me that if I found a rug for the house, I should get it.

I couldn't handle that kind of pressure. I found a rug for myself, but I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. It neither fits my bedroom or my dorm, I just loved it. I didn't, however, see a rug I liked for the house. I needed like a dark green, or maybe a light purple of some kind. These bold reds and oranges didn't match and it tore me apart on the inside. I was disappointed that I didn't find anything, but there’s always Marrakech (this is becoming my new catch-phrase).

Our familial trip this week was when our host mother took us to a city nicknamed “The City of Beautiful Art.” All of these artisans had gathered into a city and put all of their works on display: paintings, woodwork, metal work, and every item you can think of in clay form. These clay pots were everywhere, drying on roofs and swallowing the entrances of their respective stores in huge piles. It was quite impressive to see the amount of artisans in this city in one concentrated location. It was also neat to see all the stages of the clay posts- from the shaping to the drying to the finished product.

I feel like an uncultured swine at my house. Elizabeth and Catherine are constantly reading books with lofty titles like “The General’s Daughter” or “Dune.” I love reading, don’t get me wrong, but I also love binge-watching Netflix. They actually make me feel bad with how little TV they've even heard of. (“No M*A*S*H*? No ‘I Love Lucy’? No ‘The Office’? Or ‘Andy Griffith Show’ or ‘Community’ or ‘Breaking Bad’ or ‘Monk’? Guys?)

So since they don’t have that much TV under their belt, we talk a lot about their books. Whenever we talk about books, they’re all about these left-wing utopias they just read while my latest contribution is Mindy Kaling’s “Is Everyone Hanging out without Me? (And Other Concerns)”. While Kaling’s book was hilarious and I highly recommend it, by no means did this book serve as a parallel metaphor to Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. So I've resolved to fix this problem. I asked our group leader, Sarah, for a book from her traveling collection. I now intend to actually march around the house carrying James Joyce’s “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” (You may have heard of James Joyce because of, oh, you know, Ulysses). Whenever someone asks me what I’m reading, I also intended to introduce it that way. “I’m reading James Joyce’s ‘A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.’ James Joyce, as you know, wrote Ulysses. Yes, Ulysses. No, I have no idea how I got to be so cultured.” Maybe then I’ll stop feeling so bad that I have some episodes of the Cosby show down by heart.

This week could only be described by the term “an abundance of hebebes.” Hebebe, as I have chosen to transliterate it, is technically “one true love” in Arabic. On this trip however, we’re choosing to use it to describe a person who has expressed interest in a girl in the program. Certain female members have many, others have few. I didn't really enter the hebebe game until this week. A group of us decided to go down to the beach where we met some Moroccans sitting around in a circle strumming guitars. Eventually we joined them in singing some American songs.

Truth be told, I was a little mystified by what is popular here. Songs like “All of Me” and “One More Night” have hit it big, and I understand that. What I don’t get is The Dixie Chicks and John Mayer being huge name artists with the young population. These kids at the beach did “Daughters,” which I knew, but after that I was pretty much done for a while. They also played some Stromae and I discovered, years behind everyone else, that I really like Stromae. I've played a cycle of “Papaoutai,” “Tous Les Memes” and “Alors On Danse” all of this week.

I absolutely loved hearing how they mixed these genres of songs together. It was a testament through song to how Rabat melts so many cultures together. They played some more traditional sounding songs for us as well, the most popular being “Zina,” which I’ve heard quite a few times since being here.

It was a fantastic experience and I loved it. But I know what you’re thinking- where do the hebebes tie into this? What a good question.

My family shuts off the wi-fi every night anywhere from 12:30 to 2:00, so the first opportunity I had to check Facebook was the next morning. I should preface this with saying that they only knew that my name was pronounced “Kyra.” Not how to spell it, not my last name, my age, my state, really not very much to go on. I woke up with 3 friend requests and various messages about how they had loved that night. I immediately sent screenshots to my father because of our ongoing gag that I am going to get married in Morocco. I just wanted to let him know that his joke might be realized here shortly. Anyway, I’ve racked up about 2 more hebebes now. We went back to the beach later that week and strummed and sang again. The beach is my absolute favorite spot in Rabat. The vast beauty truly is astonishing, and I love the people there.

In other news, I bit the dust pretty hard this week. One night, on the way back from the beach (not a night we were singing with the Moroccan group though), I had a slight problem crossing the road. To get home, I have to cross over a highway of sorts. There are 6 lanes and they are divided into three sections by two lane meridians. On my way across, I tripped over the first lane meridian. While tripping, I slammed my toe on one side of the meridian. I then crashed over the top and skidded into the middle of this busy road. I stumbled across the rest of the highway with one suddenly very slick shoe. I didn’t get hit by a car, but I had taken off a lot of the skin on my toe. It was actually looked pretty awful, and happened at a really inconvenient time (about 20 minutes before my curfew, and I was across town). I called Elizabeth and said something along the lines of “I don’t want to say my foot is gushing blood, but it’s a pretty steady stream so I’m probably going to be late.” I don’t want to freak my mom out though, so full disclosure, I’m fine. But anyway, I limped to the tram stop to discover that I had missed the last tram and there were no more coming until morning. So then I dragged myself down Mohammed V Avenue until I found where the late-night taxi drivers wait for customers to come over. I got home, just around 40 minutes late, so it took me over and hour to make a normally 20 minute trip. My whole host family was sitting in the main room waiting for me. They said it was no problem and introduced me to the cousin from Tokyo who was visiting like nothing had happened. So yeah, I quickly depleted my band-aid supply, so alhamdulilah for hanoots.

One thing we learned this week in Arabic 101 was how to talk about specializations, like “sociology” and “anthropology.” I took Spanish for 3 years and never learned those words. The way our textbook is organized is that you learn things like “to work” in the same vocab sheet as “United Nations.” Not that this is bad, now I can tell people my brother is specializing in engineering, but I also really need to learn how to tell my host mom that I will actually explode if I eat any more food. Usually we have this fun “Coolie” (Eat), “Sbat” (I’m full), “Kyra, Coolie,” “Sbat,” “Coolie!” “Sbat!” exchange, so I need some more graphic terms to use. They always go after me because I am such an easy target. I am so weak in the face of Moroccan food. I have gained like 20 pounds through cheese and bread alone. Not to mention our host mom has started putting Nutella out at every single meal, so I’m pretty much a lost cause.

This week, a group from the program also went to visit the second-hand souk in Sale (spelled with a accented "e" at the end). Sale is the sister city to Rabat known for its cheap cost of living. Many live in Sale and will commute in Rabat. The point of this being that Sale is a 20 minute tram ride away. When we got to this souk though, the whole feel was different. When they show you pictures of the poverty in Africa, they take pictures of places that look like Sale. Huge piles of trash, some dilapidated houses, and these small crowded markets. I was with a group who was not about a second-hand souk in the least bit, so we walked through the whole thing rather quickly. The souk was like a Goodwill if everything had been laid out on tables under colored tents. It was old shirts, bags, books, and games. I thought it was really interesting that we see so many pictures of cities like Sale and so few pictures of places like Rabat. Not that Sale is a bad city by any means. It felt much more cultural, and I know a lot of people who are in love with Sale. It was just interesting that this was 20 minutes away and yet it was a whole different world.

During the week we also interacted with some kids who were going with YES Abroad to America next year. I met a girl who just returned from Davenport and one girl who was headed to Ames. I have the small problem of being in love with my state, so I kind of flipped out when they let me talk to her and tell her about Iowa. Everyone seems to think it’s really funny that someone could love Iowa, but it’s not my fault that it’s the best state in the nation. I can’t help that. Now I’ll get the occasional “Hey Kyra, are you from Iowa? Do you like it there? I couldn’t tell,” and some have started calling me “Iowa.” Sorry about it, I don’t even mind. You wish your state was this cool. I did accidentally tell the girl to go to Hickory Park and get pulled pork. Oops.

In other news, we are currently headed to Marrakech, where I am planning on getting everyone souvenirs. Everyone basically told me to wait to get souvenirs in Marrakech, so that’s what I’m doing. I would like to point out that I am a pretty fantastic daughter for planning to get my family things even when they’re on vacation right now without me. Thanks, guys.

Anyway, I have to go back to reading “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” by James Joyce. You may have heard of James Joyce because of, oh, I don’t know, “Ulysses”?  Yeah, that’s right, “Ulysses.”  I am so gosh darn cultured.