Oh the holidays!

Its been a long time in coming and full of close calls, but today, finally, I feel like I completely belong here in Tafoghalt and Morocco. When I arrived at my families home this morning, there wasn’t any of the pomp and circumstance that used to mark my arrivals. Just a few quiet, familial greetings and a little surprise at how early I had come. I explained to them that I didn’t want to miss the slaughter of the ram like I did last 3id Kbir. They acknowledged the reply like it made perfect sense, which for me to be understood on the first attempt, is an accomplishment in itself, and continued preparing for the slaughter. For my host father, Ramdan, this meant performing ablution and going to the mosque to pray, for my host mom, Cherifa, it meant getting as much cake and coffee down my throat as possible, and for the my two brothers and sister, it meant waiting patiently. The electric feel in the air pleasantly reminded me of Christmas morning before presents are opened.

I’m not writing this to explain how 3id Kbir (literally translates to “big holiday”) happens, however. The ram was slaughtered, ALL body parts squeezed and cleaned, and lots of fresh meat was eaten. No, I want to shout for joy, to proclaim to the world that this year 3id happened with me not to me! What I mean to say is that I was an active participator. No longer an observer being tiptoed around, I was given tasks, splattered with blood, and had poo exlode out of the intestines all over me. I was in the thick and dirty of it!

This may not sound like a big deal, but in my world where just about every day I get up and am reminded that I’m the Waldo in this picture (one of these people is not like the others), any semblance of being treated like everyone else gives me fortitude like nothing else. It is not a fault that Moroccan’s are so generous, but I am always treated like royalty. I get the most food first. Hosts bring out special treats just for me. I’m almost never allowed to help or do any work in return.

So this morning when Ramdan demanded (not asked) that I grab that ram and help him, I jumped at it like some kid who finally gets to help his father with some new “grownup” task. It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t profusely excused. It was a full on blood and guts job, and for a morning I felt for the first time that language, culture, and everything else that makes me different were put aside and I was, finally, not the guy in the striped shirt.