With Thanksgiving

A belated Happy Thanksgiving to you all!!!

Our chaplain, Karen, organized a meal Thursday night at the university. All the American exchange students, staff and faculty were invited and were welcome to bring their Moroccan friends too. The university kitchen made six turkeys and the mashed potatoes - and we all made the rest. About 115 people came and we had a fun, busy time.

Today we went down to have another Thanksgiving dinner with my brother, Ron, his family, and about 30 other American friends in the area. A visitor from the USA had brought a HAM (a.k.a. forbidden meat) which we enjoyed very much. Gerald might have enjoyed it too much…

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Earlier this week, I went to the neighboring town’s souq (farmer’s market) with my friend, Asmaa, to buy large amounts of fruit for the Thanksgiving table decorations. Winding our way past cars, trucks, taxis and people in a downpour of rain, I finally looked out from under my hood to see 15-20 full-sized trucks FULL of Clementine oranges! We buy them by the kilo all through the season from our own little souq and eat them like candy, but I had never seen so many in my life!

Moving on from that lovely sight, we began our shopping. The first thing that always becomes clear is that no matter how cold it is, you can’t really wear gloves at the souq. You are constantly dealing with small change or selecting muddy vegetables - so it is simply not practical. After a while, a seller stopped me to tell me that my potato bag had a hole in it and that I had been losing them all along. He took the bag from me and I watched as he willed his red, raw, freezing hands to tie up the hole for me. Moved by his kindness, I went on to the potato guy who thoughtfully washed off my new batch of potatoes in some rainwater. Next, water was first carefully poured out of the scales by the apple guy to ensure I did not pay for one extra gram. And all along, Asmaa hovered close by to make sure I got a good deal vs. the rip-the-gullible-foreigner-off price.

Soaking wet through my rain jacket, its lining, my sweater and long underwear – I sloshed through muddy puddles, dodged the cart stacked high with deluxe donkey saddles, squatted down in the mud to select my produce from the tarps laid on the ground, and protected myself from the wind and driving rain. That is when I had a very distinct thought: This would have been easier at Dillons.

But as I looked around me at the muddy, wet, miserable people, I was thankful to be there. Though I can easily shop at a more expensive covered market any time I want, this weekly souq is the only affordable place most people can go. Passing the pickup truck full of pitifully wet donkeys, I knew I was heading to a warm car. Watching people set out for the long walk home, burdened under their loads of produce, I was humbled at the thought of being only short drive from home – complete with heat, warm food, and a washing machine for my muddy clothes. This was a fun little adventure for me – but for them, this was their life.

So I am thankful - for our newly-fixed car, warm clothes, and enough money, for the little kindnesses shown to me by strangers and friends, for an abundance of produce signalling a bountiful harvest, and for another glimpse into the lives of Moroccans.