Family is a funny thing. You cannot choose your relatives and instead are thrust in to a group of them at birth. In this way becoming part of a host family might be an even stranger process. As a full-fledged adult, I filled out a brief form about living preferences and food restrictions and then left it up to Fate, or in my case Doha, the SIT homestay coordinator. At least my family in America and I share a lot of DNA meaning I intuitively understand my family’s quirks, like telling really bad jokes. With my Moroccan host family, on the other hand, I share no bloodline nor a common language nor a general set of customs. Until two days ago we were complete strangers but on Thursday at 5pm I was born in to the Ritel family.
Doha, Fate, or whatever God was in charge of sending me to the Ritel, thank you, you certainly knew what you were doing. I feel like part of the family already. I have my mama, Fouzia; baba, Abdellatif; two brothers, Yassine and Chemseddine; a cousin, who is like a brother, Mourad; and my aunt, Jamila.
Any anxiety I had about fitting in or communicating melted away after my first conversation with my mama and aunt. While sharing in the famous Moroccan tradition of mint tea, which tastes like drinking melted mint candy, I told them about my family in America. (Fun Fact the Moroccan word for mint tea sounds like banana tea, it certainly caused some confusion at first.) My mama then said, “You now have two families, one in America and one in Morocco.” The whole family is so patient with my Arabic and my brothers and aunt are especially helpful in translating my Fusha, or formal Arabic, into Darija, or the Moroccan dialect so that everyone understands my questions.
My brothers who are a constant source of entertainment. They range in age from 5 to 16 and are hilarious. At first we did not speak a lot, but now they constantly try to make me laugh or jump out from behind something and scare me, and I know that I have been accepted. Now my favorite word in Darija, is خويا, or brother since it sounds just like “hoya”. The numerous selfies they demand we take and our discussions of Michael Jackson and surfing have cemented my friendship with my “hoyas.”
I am looking forward to starting my human rights seminar on Monday and settling into a routine in Morocco. But until then I will ride bikes and visit the beach with my family simply soaking in and exploring Moroccan life. Living with a host family is such an integral part of study abroad because your host family can teach you as much about the culture, language, and politics as any class.
The sun set behind my house as my aunt and I stood on the terrace hanging laundry to dry. Admiring the view of the old Medina, I realized that four months in this complicated and vibrant country will go by too fast.
