Food

On Friday of last week, (after touring Olealys Olive Oil Plant), our class was split up into small groups of two to spend the afternoon with a rural Moroccan family.

My friend Laila and I were put together with a family who lived far out on the Olive Tree farm – all of which only spoke Darija (the local dialect). It was a family with two daughters, Zarah and Soukayna, and والدة | mother and والد | Father. Zarah and Soukayna were my age, Zarah was 21 and and Soukayna was 16. They greeted us with kisses, grabbed mine and Laila’s hand to show us their home, and wouldn’t let our hands go until the second we had to leave. I felt so welcome.

The goal of the class was to learn how communication is more than language – and learning how to milk a cow, pick olives and learn how to prepare and cook the famous Moroccan breakfast, Malawi.

First things first; sifting flour – which I might add I’m awful at. The whole family laughed at me attempting to shake the pan back and forth – hey whatever makes them happy amiright? After dropping the pan numerous times, I let my Laila step in for me.

After sifting the flour, water is added to make one big dough ball. Zarah quickly formed the small individual dough balls, rubbed them with olive oil from olives they had picked themselves, and let them sit and rise for a few minutes before flattening them out into thin pancakes.

Not soon after, Laila and I were swept away into the other room where the girls insisted on dressing us up in their clothing and wrapping our hair like a ‘true Moroccan girl.’

They kept telling us we were جميلة جدا | very beautiful.

Now that we were properly dressed, we were allowed back into the kitchen to help finish cooking the Malawi. Surprisingly, even though Laila could sift flour, I was the one who mastered the art of rolling up the Malawi “Cocoons,” and in turn receiving numerous rounds of applause (okay maybe only a couple), and was then asked if I was able to marry their older brother who is in his late 20’s.

Yep, that escalated quickly. That’s usually how conversations go in Morocco!

It was also funny to notice the small, tiny, cultural differences that you would never think of coming up. The girls kept pointing to all my piercings and laughing, giving me strange looks as if I was alien for having a tiny piece of metal through my nose. They also insisted on playing MTV Cribs on their small television set for us and playing American rap music. At one point the dad was singing to an old Britney Spears song – Laila and I could not stop laughing at how weird it was! American culture is such a huge influence on everyone, and it’s not until moments like these, where I’m in the middle of nowhere, with no wi-fi, no central heating, only the bare necessities, that truly make me realize it.

After cooking and eating, the rest of the day was filled with dancing and henna. The dad left for a second and came back into the kitchen with a barret on looked at us and said, “Ca Va? Bonjour?” in a really snotty French accent pretending to twirl his barely noticeable mustache. It made us all laugh hysterically!

After our fill of dancing, eating, laughing and henna, the family finished out the night with a bonfire. They saw that we were cold and grabbed as much brush from outside to make a fire – it was a really awesome gesture that I think a lot of people would overlook, but I thought it was the most welcoming wonderful gesture that the family could have done for us.

Overall, I learned the importance of non-verbal communication (which was ultimately the task of our class that day). There are so many other ways to learn about a person and communicate with them besides having a common language! It’s something that I have really valued and adapted to since being abroad – and further a characteristic I’ve gained that will come in handy throughout my entire life.

Spending the day with this family was beautiful and a memory I will remember for the rest of my life. Even if it’s awkward at times trying to communicate with someone who doesn’t speak your language, everyone, at some point in their life, should push themselves to get out of their comfort zone… you won’t regret it.

One of the classes I’m enrolled in at Moulay Ismail University is an Intercultural Development class. The class is meant to help me, as a study abroad student, adapt and adjust to studying abroad in a place as unique and different as Morocco.

Our final class yesterday was a field trip to Olealys, known for being one of the best producers of Extra Virgin Olive Oil in the world.

We were allowed a tour of the plant, learning step by step how the Olive Oil is produced and bottled. We even got to go out into the field and meet some of the women who picked olives for a living.

This was particularly awesome for me, because I love olives. I could see how a field trip like this could be boring for someone who wasn’t an olive aficionado.

The entire process was described to me in French, so there are definitely aspects of the process I missed, but for the most part, I understood the basics. It ultimately starts at the ground level, with women out in the fields picking olives from the trees. They fill buckets and bring them up the main factory line where they are laid on the beginning platform and further sorted.

After being sorted, they’re dragged up on a conveyor belt and dropped down into a spinning vat to crush into paste.

After the conveyor belt, the olive oil “mush” is separated from the oil it produces. Then the oil spits out into a big red vat.

Depending on the olives that were crushed that day will determine what storage tank it will be put into before being bottled.

The tour was followed by a taste testing, which, let’s be real, was my favorite part. They have numerous flavors, but the different arrays of spicy olive oils were my favorite. And, at the end of the tour we each got a small complimentary bottle of oil to take home to the states – it was a really great experience!

We ended the day with Couscous, prepared by some of the women who reside near the Olive Oil plant. Couscous is always made on Friday in Muslim countries because it is the Holy Day, or “Vacation Day,” and Couscous takes a long time to prepare. Lets just say that I have never had a more delicious meal than I do on Couscous Friday.

Sitting on the roof top, ~~trying~~ failing to communicating in Darija and French, was a great end to the tour.

With our bellies filled to maximum capacity, we waddled our way back to the car and headed off for another learning experience that truly deserves its own blog post. To be continued…