F'tour with Khadija

Last week, Tony's friend Khadija had a baby boy. The traditional Moroccan baby-naming ceremony was this week, which I attended with Tony. It was quite an adventure since the only language anybody spoke was Darija (except me and Tony; thank God for Tony!!)


We arrived in the Medina in the morning, and Tony introduced me to the family and all of their adorable children. I love Moroccan kids - the cultural norm is to pat and kiss children all the time, no matter who you are or how well you know them, so most Moroccan kids are super-affectionate. The youngest son was riding on the sacrificial ram. The men wrestled the ram down the street and up to the roof. We women sat in the salon and chatted for an appropriately long time, then joined the men on the roof for the sacrifice. The women (about 15 were present) started a cry, which was answered by Khadija, the baby's mother. The men slit the throat of the ram. To my understanding, the ram is sacrificed in the baby's stead, to protect the child from bad spirits... but my Arabic still needs a lot of work, so forgive me if I am slightly off in this explanation. Actually, please post a correction!
Khadija then dipped her finger in the blood of the ram and put a dot on the baby's forhead, and he was christened Yaasir.

Because of Ramadan, there was no feast, but the party continued all day. Tony and I had errands to attend (like taking care of Eduardo's cat!!) but we promised to return later.

We returned to Khadija's around 5h30 for F'tour, and encountered a room full of women to greet with kisses and children to be tickled and cuddled. It was very active. We took F'tour together, which was a delicious red soup with meat from the ram, dates, shebekia (delicious pastry that actually doesn't have almonds!), and milk mixed with ground strawberries. The women F'tour together in one salon with the children, and the men in another. I fell in love with an adorable curly-haired girl who was scared of my blond hair, but came around to sit in my lap eventually.

We sat in the salon for some time, talking, and just sitting. We Americans are the point where we can follow conversations in Arabic, but aren't really able to form the sentences to respond. It's an interestingly irritating experience to sit with such kind people, and feel so close to them because of the stories they share, but to be essentially mute.

Around 10, the chilren took us up to the roof to look out over the nighttime Medina, lit up with old-fasioned lights that glowed yellow interpersed with the newer bulbs of whiteish-blue light... there's really no way to describe how beautiful it was, like looking over the ruins of a city come back to life. One little girl told a very long and animated story about the wedding of some of her stuffed animals - it reminded me of Rachel and I and our beanie-babies. It's nice to know some of those kid things transcend cultures and hemispheres.


Around midnight, the party for Yaasir began. We all got dressed up - many women went to the salon, and every djellaba had either sequens or extensive beadwork or both, in layers and layers of bright silks. About 70 women were at the party downstairs (the men were upstairs reciting the Qar'ran over the baby) sitting in three salons. After greeting everyone, we sat, and everyone stayed sitting for the rest of the night. I sat next to a student named Salma, who (YAY!) spoke French! I felt such relief at being able to communicate fluently with someone! We talked about growing up Muslim, and her experience in fasting, and the strengths and weaknesses of the Moroccan public school system... she was wonderful.

Around 1am, we all ate again, about 20 women to a plate. There was soooo MUCH food! Eventually Tony and I escaped, since she left for Rabat on the 6am train. The party was such an experience in hospitality. I hope to stay in contact with this family as my Darija improves.