mary e. robbins :: moth written

health.

nearly every day, we looked at the clock after breakfast had finished with wide eyes, always saying the same thing: '11:47?  how did that happen?'  time oh how it went. 

and so on that second full day we ventured out into the streets for a bit of seeing, a bit of meeting, a bit of searching, a bit of learning.  as i had mentioned, the night before i had sat in the big blue room across the courtyard with omar and chaimae, quietly working on my knitting while we chatted on about school, life, family, and everything inbetween.  chaimae had taken particular interest in the knitting, and i had promised her that i would teach her just as soon as i could the next day.  and so, as it was the next day, nabil and i set out on our errands, knitting supplies on our list.  such joy.

out into the street and the bustling boukrone.  this narrow street is the center of daily health for all who live within a half mile radius.  the very basic, very pure parts of the daily meal: vegetables, fruits, nuts, olives, poultry, meat, fish, spices, oils.  fresh.  items that will spoil soon if you do not eat them because they do not contain any preservatives.  no wax coating, no individual product stickers or labels.  no shrink wrap, no styrofoam, no plastic meat pillows.  rather dirt crusted potatoes and beets, carrots with long tails of green.  strawberries piled high in wooden cartons, dark and thick with juice.  chickens sitting lazily about, at any moment readied for immediate consumption.  butcher shops wielding thick hooks to hang freshly cut lamb shanks.  giant green bunches of parsley.  and the ever present slippery slide of fish scales along the grooved tiles, running into the drains.  sting rays laid out on blue plastic tarps.  thick brown olive oil soap in vats.  and among all of the shifting commerce, each shopper has his or her favorites.  this friend has sold potatoes to nabil's family for as long as i can remember and for much of nabil's life.  he greeted us with smiles and embraces.  bss ha wa raha...to your health and your relaxation.  this phrase, so simple, and so important to moroccans.

after making our way through boukrone nabil and i stopped into the sewing and notions shop near sidi fatah where we found chaimae's knitting needles and some red acrylic yarn.  i was pleased, so pleased.  we continued on to the supermarket outside of the medina by bab alhad, a 'western' style store with aisles and polished floors where shoppers can have the more detatched, sterile shopping experience.  i was looking for a few specific items for my chocolate chip cookie baking plans later that day, and so la bel vie it was, sterile though it is.  to make up for it, we stopped to see nabil's uncle meki at the market on the way back home.  hajj meki, wecall him--old man meki.  with a slow, gentle manner, meki holds a special place in my heart.  he recently became a father for the third time, and yet still holds onto the boyish spirit he gained from being the youngest boy of nine children.  mwe saadiyya has a special call for meki, in her sweet toothless old lady rabatiya voice..."m-ie!  ah m-ie!" she calls...  a favorite.

meki oh how we thank you for always trusting us with your motorcycle...zooming round the city. good memories.

when all of the errands had been completed and all the items gathered for the great cookie baking adventure to commence later that night, chaimae and i settled in for a little knitting lesson.  channeling the lessons my mother had given me when i was about chaimae's age, i carefully cast on a little row for her and started her off...knitting a few rows slowly, chaimae's eyes glued to the needles.  i was truly impressed.  chaimae got it within the first row.  she really did.  she persevered for a few more rows until she dropped a stitch, or things got too tight, or she was distracted...and then the knitting was put away.  oh how she is just like i was.  but from those earliest seeds grew a great current love.  chaimae, if you don't touch your needles for years to come, it's okay.  just remember the earliest rows.  they will always stick with you.

sunday morning.

we awoke to our second full day in morocco with warm sun peeking through the door, softening our sandals for the sleepy early morning trip through the courtyard to join our family members in the kitchen.  naima and sanae (small sanae, not sanae kebira...(who was still fast asleep)) had been up for some time already, finishing the previous night's dish washing, starting the day's laundry, preparing the ghrif and tea for our mid morning breakfast.  there was no schedule, no hurry; but by all means a plan for the day, executed in full grace by the women, always the women.

as naima and sanae shooed us off with kisses to relax while they finished the morning preparations, insisting that i was not allowed to help until at least three days had passed, nabil and my sister in law chaimae began taking items from our bags, finding the books we had brought her.  children in morocco need to buy their books for public school, an expense many families find difficult to meet.  i always reflect on this as we breeze through the aisle of coloring books, workbooks, pens, pencils, crayons, and stickers at our local dollar store here in portland--items we buy and take for granted.  this is always followed by a half smile on my face as i remember nabil's recollection of pens and notebooks he used for school growing up...opening up a pen and biting on the inner ink tube to squeeze every last milliliter out through the tip...salvaging paper from his uncle's work and creating his own notebooks, bound together with string. 

when nabil and his brother were small, his father sent them to a private french school, an enormous expense for which the family sacrificed much, living in one room with the family in the medina.  chaimae came along much later, after their father had retired, and there is simply no money to afford private school.  and so chaimae is in public school, a world away from nabil's experience.  she is finding a hard time learning french, having just started it at age 8 or 9 as opposed to age 4 in nabil's school.  i can see her frustration and shame as she struggles with it, eventually moving over to math or arabic to soothe her nerves.  she often talks about how she wants to do well, to study hard and please her parents so that she may come visit the united states .  "mary, will i get diarrhea when i come to the u.s.?" she asks me.  i just had to laugh.  poor thing--not everyone has the weakest digestive system in the world like me.

and so on this morning, nabil and chaimae did some math and coloring together, no shame nor frustration at all.

sitting with us was omar, just a bit older than chaimae at 12 years old and always number one or two in his class. the night before, i sat with omar in the room across the courtyard while he studied--a saturday night.  omar is always "10/10" on exams, 100%.  not only is he completely self-motivated and driven with math, arabic, science, and french alike, he is also teaching himself english, and he told me that he wants to go to college in the u.s..  you can make it happen, omar, i'm sure. 

alae brought in the tea and breakfast commenced.  he is 17 years old now, adnane's little brother.  he is getting a tiny 'my first mustache' and his voice has settled into the deeper register.  when did this happen? 

harira for breakfast --the heartiest way to start a morning. 

games and rituals.

he once was a little boy, a pre-pubescent, awkward teen.  the first day i met adnane he shyly ducked his head upon seeing me and spoke only when nabil poked him in the belly --'bonjour,' he whispered, and shuffled off silently, hoping to disappear into the walls.  there was no disappearance then and there is absolutely no disappearance now--where once adnane and i joke-sparred in the courtyard, i now fear him.  his is tall and formidable and his voice echoes throughout the house.  he is a man.  but he still remembers the hand-slap game i taught him, including all of the moves and gestures, and even some of the song...'abc --  just as easy as 1-2-3 -- my momma takes care of me -- baby you an' me...'   now he needs to teach his little sister, salma.

as the day went on and younes took his leave to go to his night job, adnane returned from an afternoon soccer game and sanae kebira ('big' sanae as she is known, to distinguish the two in the family who live in the house) came home from the hammam with her daughters imane and hiba.

sanae is the family scapegoat; the jester, married to nabil's uncle (saadiyya's son).   i instantly bonded with her all those years back--she is streetwise and hilarious, and she feels no need at all to adhere to gender or social mores.  she'll be the first to say that she shaves her facial hair, and will laugh it up with you if you offer her some shaving cream.  she has no shame in the most wonderful, totally fresh and open way.  she knows that the family finds her at times equally hilarious, perplexing, and frustrating, but lives on with gusto and wild abandon.  so what if the laundry isn't done?  her plate is full with love, life, and laughter.  so what if neglected household responsibilities invoke frenzied, screaming, dish breaking/ wall-punching marital arguments?  life goes on for sanae and her husband simohammed, yaa zmani, her love for always. and in just half an hour's time, he'll be sweet as can be, calling her his zmanti as well.

hiba is her youngest, the third child.  here they are having just returned from the hammam, wrapped up in scarves and layers to keep the warmth in, the cold out.  it was not long before hiba had stripped off the lilac djellaba and headscarf and was running around in cable tights and a short sweatshirt, but at least the initial heat was kept in.

and here she is with beautiful imane, sanae's oldest child.  imane is 15 years old now, becoming ever more ladylike by the moment.  when womanhood struck me ever so ungently halfway through this stay in morocco, nabil sent imane to the corner hanout to buy me what are known throughout the arab world simply as 'always' -- those ubiquitous winged items we women are so lucky to have as part of our lives.  nabil told me that she blushed and looked down, "which kind does she want?" imane asked him, as if he would know... "just get her the best kind," nabil said, hurriedly passing a handful of dirhams her way.  imane brought me my always--we women know how to take care of each other.

old friend.

aya rollerskated ahead of us as we made our way back to the central house, always mwe saadiyya's house.  clomping along in her unfastened skates, no knee pads, no helmet,  and unfettered when she inevitably fell, collapsing into an intoxicating fit of giggles, her eyeglasses askew.  where is the reason to cry?  there is always someone near to pick you up. 

at the house we found one of nabil's oldest and closest friends, younes boudy. we sat with fadwa and mwe and talked, drank tea, laughed.  since last we saw younes he became a father, moved to sale, and took on new work, meaning that he works both days and nights these days to support his wife sanae and their five month old daughter sundus.  with so little sleep and his mind so filled with responsibility, younes maintains the same light heart i remember so well, the boyish laugh in lilting high cracks, as though he never quite made it through the humanizing years of puberty.  when nabil and i were first settling into life in our very first apartment, younes was there by our side with paintbrush and his tools, fixing everything just so...and when projects were beyond his capability, he would sit with me and wait for the plumber or electrician while nabil was at work, making little simple jokes for me in darija and offering up that laugh...that laugh.

within the past 5 years or so, the united arab emirates has come and made its presence well known in rabat.  emiratis took interest in rabat as a beautiful coastal city with wonderful development possibilities, investing hefty sums of money and energy into revitalizing and transforming the area into a modern, ultra-attractive tourist destination and real estate center.  on our last visit to morocco two years ago, the project was well under way, and younes was working with them, brick by brick.  another part of the emiratis' plan was to revitalize a section of the medina called mellah, traditionally where the jewish settlers [granted asylum during the war] lived, and to this day a poorer, more gritty section of the walled in city.  younes grew up in mellah, and his family was among the many original inhabitants who were 'bought out' by the emiratis to move from mellah and resettle elsewhere.  and so a few years ago, younes uprooted, moving 28 years of life and memories to sale jadida.

not too long ago, the emiratis realized that much of the money they were investing in morocco for project use was being stolen by the moroccans put in charge to oversee.  with this realization, the emiratis took their money and left.  a story all too familiar for native moroccans, where corruption, bribery, and a thick slice of inequity are served daily.  younes sat with us and told us of what he had seen and learned from working with the project, and his own hopes for their return.  the emiratis are speaking with the king, and want to create a binding contract.  we hope things will start up once again.

and younes told us of sundus, his 5 month old baby. his little girl.  the reason he works from early morning to late afternoon and then early evening until midnight, taking the bus back home before starting all over again.  the smile stretched from ear to ear.

waking up.

that first full morning in the medina.  waking up to the sounds of running water in the bathroom, coughs, noses blowing.  the call to prayer before the light breaks.  the birds to follow.

that morning we went to visit soumiya, nabil's aunt and saadiyya's youngest daughter.  she lives just a short 5 minute walk from saadiyya's house, and we made our way through tiny streets, avoiding the bustle and social interaction of the vegetable, fruit, meat and poultry market of boukrone.  and still, along those tiny unpopulated streets, there were greetings and kisses. 

this is soumiya.  whenever nabil and i wanted to purchase something for our apartment in hassan, soumiya was top of the list to accompany us.  soumiya, quite simply, doesn't take any crap, and she gets the best price, hands down.  on sundays we occasionally went with soumiya to jotiya in sale to paw through piles of second hand clothing, where i once found the most perfect pair of pink polka dotted pants for 3 dirhams...that's 30 cents, folks.
and when we first moved into each of the two places we rented during those few years in rabat, soumiya came right away with her bucket, her scrubbers, her sani-croix, and a hefty amount of energy to help thoroughly clean our living space.  we never asked her, she simply came, ready to ravage the dust dirt and mold.  and always with a laugh.

soumiya has three children--fadwa (the very namesake of the fadwa clutch), aya, and rabie.  and in the past two years, she has invited new american daughters into her home, hosting students through the SIT program.  here she holds 'snow' a baby chick named for their current student's favorite seasonal form of precipitation.  they also have a tortoise, who i believe is also named snow--?  i could be wrong about that.

you can buy live, neon-colored baby chicks (also available in blue and pink) in the souk for 1 dirham.  nabil raised a few chickens this way in his earliest years.

aya, pictured below, was the first family baby i held in my arms eight years ago.  upon my first arrival, she was just a few months old.  look at her now.  she speaks darija with the distinctive rabatiya pronunciation, leaving off k's and q's--coca cola becomes 'oh-ah oh-la' with a long string of giggles attached.  she is small for her age, and weighs just a few pounds more than her brother who is several years younger.  but true to her genes, this little one won't take any crap from anyone, and possesses the humour and grit of her mother. 

simohammed reghai is aya's father and soumiya's husband.  he is a very busy man, so he says.  this bald, heavily moustachoied look is new to me, but the self-admitted hamaq or craziness remains the same.  he took our jabs and calling him 'matrix' in good spirits.  in the end we all know who runs the show: soumiya.

onward.

following our 10-plus mile walk through paris, nabil and i collapsed into deep and most necessary sleep. on our final morning in paris before heading to morocco, we enjoyed the perfect weather and sat in the park near the chatelet les halles train station among the dog walkers, nannies, and young couples.  we digested our breakfast of crepes, coffee, and coconut cake, and leaned into each other.  we talked about our hopes for the time in morocco.  we rested, and we prepared.  and in just a few hours' time after a quick bite to eat at a halal shawarma house near our hotel, we were once again pulling our massive bags through the streets, the train tunnels, the airport, and the check in line. 

the plane from paris to morocco was filled with the warm and constant hum of moroccan darija, lulling my brain back into the rhythm of of life as we live it in rabat.  the serenity of everpresent community.  humanity.  family.  hanane. it is the exact feeling that seduced me on that very first stay eight years ago.  in the complete moment.

we touched down, disembarked and fell straight back into it.

dark, cool, humid night as we rolled our bags through the grooved tiled streets of the medina, naima's hands gently guiding from the crook of our arms. 

into the house and kisses all around.  the children had grown so much, once again.  and the house was at once refreshed, for the hundredth time that day, with new words, new laughter, new smiles.  a fresh pot of green tea with mint leaves and sugar.  small sweets lovingly prepared ahead of time by naima.  bodies pressed into a circle around a small table.

the night we arrived, the family gave me flowers, and chaimae gave me a black and red scarf--oh how they know me.  that book in the corner of the photo that i so studiously brought along with me to read--?  did not crack it.  it was the beginning of a very full two weeks.  more to come.

paris blink.

we spent just one exhausted but exhilirating day in paris following an overnight red eye flight.  we walked...and walked....and walked.

upon our arrival and a painful/comic dragging of way too much luggage through paris, we found our room at the hotel tiquetonne not yet prepared.  and so off we went.  a walk all the way down rue sebastopol to the seine, where here nabil sits.

and along the seine to the louvre.  venus de milo.  we did not see the mona lisa.  at about 11 am i started to feel that i was in another dimension from lack of sleep and we returned to the hotel, where a few hour nap was had.

but we did see the entire egyptian exhibit. 

and rested outside the entrance to the museum.

water is everywhere in paris--my favorite calming ambience.  fountains.  beautiful.

on our walk back to the hotel we passed this soccer shop with a signed zidane jersey. 

after our nap we changed clothes and headed back out for a long afternoon of walking along the seine on our way to the eiffel tower.  it was long.  it was worth it.

and finally, nutella crepes. 

we slept very very well.  the next morning we went out and about for a bit, ate breakfast, bought some little gifts for the family at a grocery store, and packed up our things for another round of luggage carrying excitement to charles de gaulles airport.  two such beautiful days. 

somewhere inbetween.

last night, nabil and i returned to south portland.  dad picked us up from the bus station and drove us home, our travel weary bones pulled in two separate directions as our goodbyes, so recent, seared bright and fresh in our hearts.  we entered the quiet house, startlingly still.  it was a wonderful trip.

mum came and brought gus.  his kisses were plentiful and the jumping round was joyous, a welcomed return of activity as we slowly brought items from our bags, relishing their smells and touch, the reminders of good good days and nights across the ocean. 

nabil took a shower and i fell asleep on the couch at 9:30.  i slept there until 4 am, in the exact same position, unmoved.  i went to bed and joined my husband, sleeping through to 9 am, dragging out of bed no less than 3 hours past my usual hour of awakening.  i still wanted to sleep.  but the day called.

water will not touch my hands or feet for some time.  i will keep the henna fresh for as long as i can.   it will fade, and eventually even the slightest traces will wear off my skin, waiting for the next loving touches of sanae's hands and her henna needle.  with no henna on my skin, the stain on my fingernails will remain to remind me, incrementally leaving with each clipping, until all evidence of this ritual has been exhausted.

it was, just as i had expected, filled with the complete range of human emotion.  and included, much to my surprise, a newfound calm and comfort.  time.  it has now been nearly 8 years since i first met my family in morocco, more than a quarter of my life.

with almost 600 photos, i have much to share.  and over the next month, i will do so, bit by bit.  this cold in my chest will leave me, the buds on the trees will turn to lilacs, and the memories will remain.

it was beautiful, it is beautiful, it will be beautiful

i will not say a lot -- our time here is too precious.  paris was beautiful.  seeing the family again, and meeting our newest members has been beautiful.  and all of the time to come will be beautiful.  signing off until another day.  much love from morocco.

a naima naima tote for naima :: more gift sewing :: sentiment on the surface :: and how to swear in arabic

in the last lap before takeoff, i am finding myself flailing in a sea of last minute details.  the lists are multiplying and the items being checked off are not as satisfying as i want them to be.  i do this, i am good at it.  in our family we call it tizzying. 

standing in front of my fabric closet yesterday afternoon, one hundred things simultaneously running through my head, trying to find solace in the dreams of crafting to come and the neatly folded piles, i set to work on a very important bit of sewing : the very first naima tote to reach the hands of her namesake.  and so in the middle of a messy kitchen i brought out my piles of fabrics, bias tape, threads, interfacing, iron, ironing board, zippers, pinking shears, and a tall glass of water and set to work.   carefully stitched with all of the experience i have gained over the past year--the culmination of so many little tricks that have gone into the naima tote process.  and here it is.  for her hands to hold, for her groceries to fill as she strolls the market, for her heart to keep long past our return flight to maine.

a naima tote for naima, and a fadwa clutch for fadwa.  i have not yet decided which fadwa clutch will go to her, but i am thinking perhaps black.  in the meantime, some smaller zippered fadwa clutch lookalikes sneakily made their way through the sewing machine last night and are ready to be gifted--the pink to fatiha, the flowers to soumiya. 

i have been overcome during the past few days with the rushing waves of emotion that come before a trip to morocco.  a caucophanous fusion of happiness and too-muched-ness...resulting in that small ball of near-tears that gathers in the pit of my throat.  wondering how i can make the most of my time to save up all of the sentiment until next we can travel...how i can remain with feet so clearly planted on two sides of the ocean.  i am saying small things to myself--be calm.  be well.  let it be.  as nabil's grandmother saadiyya says, 'it's not time that goes quickly, it's life.  just live it.  you can make life hard or make it easy.'

and so with so much to do, i let myself sew.  and it was the most swear-free sewing i have done.  i once asked nabil if his mother used to swear at her sewing machine when she worked on orders as a young mother.  'yup.' he said.  its universal, apparently--swearing at our singers across the globe.  how to say shit in arabic--??--khra.

i do now know when next i will have the chance to post here.  i sincerely hope to do so while traveling, and i will do my best to try.  i am heading to the place that serves as inspiration for much of moth designs.  thank you for reading.