My November guests

In November, three guests traversed the Atlantic to visit me: my mom, my brother, and my friend. Some of our adventures included:

Finding each other at the airport… and managing to convince security that I was not a risk
Traipsing around the city as each phone place we had been directed to directed us to someone else
Arguing with taxi drivers who were even more stubborn than I
Tasting the old medina, literally and figuratively
Posing for awkward pictures
Sampling camel burgers and a salad that tasted “like donkeys”
Wiggling cooked snails out of their shells with wooden toothpicks…and sampling them too
Long talks
Laughing until we cried
Visiting my friends for tea, dinner, or just to say “hi”
Tasting uncured olives that pickled our mouths
Eating most of our meals standing around in the kitchen
Souvenir shopping in the rain
Souvenir shopping in the rain again
A long train ride in the rain
Walking along the bay in the rain
Two nights of cold showers
Spending a night snuggled in the musty hotel blankets
Staying in a concrete hotel room which reverberated with the early morning call to prayer and reading of the Qur’an
Crossing the Strait of Gibraltar by ferry only to find that the rain in Spain does not stay mainly on the plain!
A long bus ride around many many roundabouts…in the rain
A bus break-down which seemed to temporarily mend itself
A few days in Spain with friends, church, a birthday party, an open air market, olives, churros, pastries, cocido, and tapas
Goodbyes

30

Turning thirty is means that I have a fair amount of life under my belt. Instead of being sad that I am leaving the 20s behind, I’m pondering the things I would like to do during my 31st year. You might call it a bucket list. You might not.

See more parts of this North African country
Finish language and culture study (well, the official stage anyway)
Learn how to cook North African food
Spend lots of time with family
Meet my nephew and make him fall as in love with me as I am with him
Renew friendships and relationships at home
Gather the required paperwork for my Spanish residence visa
Daily recognize my reliance upon One who loves me completely

Picky eater

“Picky eeeeeater!”

I heard that phrase a lot as a child, mostly from older siblings. As I grew up, I learned to like more foods, as most children do. But living here in North Africa, I have come to a deeper understanding of “picky eater.” North Africans are the pickiest eaters I have encountered in my limited international experience.

Why? Well, that’s the question I have been asking myself since I arrived.

In my opinion, most of the answer can be found in the pride the people have for their own cuisine. On my last trip home from Spain, I sat beside two men on the plane–one from North Africa and another from South America. This was the conversation:

South American: Is the food here good?
North African: It is the best in the world!

They hadn’t asked my opinion, so I sat, pondering the unmasked pride of the North African. Granted, the food here is good; I love it. But I also know that there are other flavors out there besides cumin, olive, dried fruit, lemon, and garlic. And how many other cuisines had this particular North African tasted?

In fact, how many ethnic restaurants does my city have? The few scattered here and there have to be sniffed out by a detective. Unless the three fast food restaurants count as American. There is also a pasta place in the mall. Italian, I suppose?

But the other restaurants seem to have exactly the same menu. It’s like the few things they do, they do well…but they remain few. And that’s all the people have ever known. So anything foreign is unwelcome because, of course, it could never measure up anyway!

When I make food for local friends, I select recipes with care. Something North African would not suit because as a foreigner, I wouldn’t prepare it correctly. Therefore, I must try something American but with the prominent North African flavors.

But once, a friend came to visit me unexpectedly. Although hesitant, I offered her some of the stir-fry I had just made. She tasted it and has been talking about that “salad” ever since, hoping to replicate it in her own kitchen.

That gives me hope that with more globalization will come more exposure to various cuisines and hence fewer picky eaters in North Africa!

Ramadan blues

“Am I hungry or just bored?” I muse as I peer into the refrigerator.

Summer has set in where the nights rarely descend with a breath of cool air. It is warm all of the time. And what is worse is that I feel trapped inside. And what is even worse is that my roommate chose this month to travel to Germany, another friend left forever, one classmate is in the UK and another classmate is in Spain. I am trapped with myself.

I make plans here and there, but the reality is that any plans are contingent upon the time of day. The hours that are too hot are off limits because street robbers might prey on the few people who are out. The hours right before the breaking of fast are even worse; there are hardly any people or cars to be seen and a fog of silence enshrouds the street.

Even if I do go out, most stores would be closed anyway. And the cafés and restaurants definitely are.

Why didn’t I just go home for part of the summer? Never mind the long journey or the money. Maybe that would have cured some of my recent homesickness.

I am tired of studying on my own, reviewing, practicing, listening, jotting down notes. I am tired of the food in my fridge. I am tired of sleeping.

For a melancholy, boredom breeds self-pity. At least it does in this melancholy. The light at the end of the tunnel is fading. Ramadan will NEVER end! Instead of thinking how hard it would be to fast for thirty days, I think about how unfair it is to plan my life around those who are fasting.

Selfishness. Yes, it all comes down to a perspective saturated in selfishness. Time to go count my blessings.

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash