Yesterday
was Friday and my last day at the orphanage. It was business as usual though,
and I didn’t want to make a big deal that I was leaving—the children and nurses
see volunteers come and go all the time. But nonetheless, I was sad to go. I
spent extra time inside with a few of the children singing French songs and
dancing. It was a welcome change from running around. Right before we left, the
two English speaking women we met the other day offered to show us around the orphanage
building that houses the children up for adoption. Oh my babies. They were
ridiculously adorable. The atmosphere in this area of the orphanage was much
different than the special needs ward. The walls had more pictures and the
place just seemed brighter. Maybe I was making it up, but it seemed happier. We
didn’t stay for long because the nurses seemed a little annoyed that we were
there, they probably recognized the I-want-to-steal-a-baby-look on all our
faces. I can only hope that all the babies find good homes, and soon.
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| Bye-bye Lalla Meryam Orphanage! |
Back
at the Home Base, some people left for Fes for the weekend while others (like
me) started to pack for home. After lunch and an unofficial naptime, we had tea
and then departed for one of our biggest adventures yet. We were on our way to
the Hammam! The Hammam is a community “bath” that most Moroccan women visit
once a week. With absolutely no idea what to expect, we packed our shampoo and
a towel, Malone and I dragging Kate and Meghan kicking and screaming to the
cab.
The outside of the Hammam was
completely inconspicuous. In fact, we had driven past it almost every day for
the past few weeks! When we walked in, saying we stood out was an
understatement. Behind the counter in the main room were older Moroccan women,
large and topless to say the least. I tried to speak to them in French, asking
for the scrubbing mitt and soap I knew we needed, but she was not having it.
Luckily, a nice younger woman who spoke English came over, laughing, and helped
us pay for the mitt and a woman to scrub each of us. Immediately after we paid,
large, naked women—seemingly fighting over who would get each of us as a
client—surrounded us. We quickly stripped down and were lead by the wrist into
the Hammam.
Oh man. The washrooms were unlike
anything I’ve ever seen before. It was made up of two large, tiled rooms with
domed ceilings. Scattered about the two rooms were naked women scrubbing
themselves and being scrubbed by the Hammam massagers. Khadija told us
previously that many women wash themselves at the Hammam, but for first timers,
you need to hire one of the women. ;) The room was intensely hot and humid,
like a sauna, with heated tile floors. My scrubber led me into the second from
and told me to sit on the floor. I watched as she filled buckets of water from
across the room. Malone and Kate were nearby in the room, Meghan in the other
room, and we couldn’t help but laugh when we looked at each other.
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| What it looked like, minus all the white people Source |
She sat down nest to me and began
to scrub my arms with the mitt. You could see the dead skin sloughing off. It
was gross, but super cool. This woman knew what she was doing—she scrubbed my
arms, my torso, my sides, my back, my legs, my neck, until my skin felt like
butter. I thought that the scrubbing would hurt, but it honestly felt really
good—like a pedicure, but on your entire body. Usually in Morocco, they use the
black soap after they exfoliate, but they had run out and used the soap we
brought instead. She massaged me again with the soap and washed my hair too. At
this point, I never wanted to leave. I can only imagine what we looked like
though, being pushed and rolled around naked by large Moroccan women. It was
certainly quite the sight. But walking out of the room 40 minutes or so later,
I felt like a new person! No wonder the Moroccan women go once a week! Talk
about being pampered, we all LOVED it. Bummer that I’m leaving this week, or I definitely would
have gone again! No worries though, I got to keep my scrubby glove and intend
to use it again.
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| What it looked like, minus the men, the white people, and all the clothes :) Source |
When we got back to the house,
Khadija had the henna ready for me. Khadija gives henna tattoos to all of the
volunteers before they leave the house. Watching her make the designs was
captivating. She says she just makes it up as she goes along and gained the
skill through hours of practice with her friends in high school. So cool, I
wish I was Moroccan. She made designs on each of my palms because it lasts longer than the back of the hands. The dye itself is made from a plant and is mixed with lemon and sugar. She said some people drink it, ew, it looks like mud to me. Henna is only done
on the feet of married women in Morocco, so mine are henna-less, haha. I let it
sit for about an hour, eating dinner using only my three un-designed fingers,
then it began to fall off, revealing an orange design that should last about
two weeks.
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| Zweena! |
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| Henna on a freshly scrubbed body! |
For my last night in Rabat, we
decided to go—where else?—to the Glacerie Ice. Once again, I had a chocolate
crepe, yum, while the others had some ice cream and hot chocolate. The
highlight of the night, though, was when our best friend waiter came over to
the table. He asked if I spoke French, which he knew I did because I always
help the others order—haha. He looked nervous and I was afraid he was going to
tell us something bad, but instead, he started asking us about the United
States. Not about the country, but about how foreigners like living in America,
if there are a lot of Muslims, where they live, etc etc. Kate, with knowledge
of all things Muslim, had an answer to all of these questions, to which I would
translate to French. He kept the questions coming, asking if everyone in the
United States was rich like Brad Pitt (his exact words). Hahahah. We told him
that there are more opportunities in the USA for those who speak English (or
are bilingual) and have a university degree. This was the deepest conversation
I’ve had in French thus far, and was SO proud of myself. Anyway, when we got
back to the house, Kate decided that she was going to write him a letter about
Muslims and job opportunities in America, as well as some resources in Rabat
where he could learn English (two of which are classes taught by CCS
volunteers). I helped to translate it into French, and they’re going to give it
to him the next time they get dessert, which I’m sure will be soon. It will be really cool if he decides to
take the English classes through CCS, but even if he doesn’t, it feels really
good to have answered all his questions and educated him a little more.
Whew. Well that was my last day.
This morning, Kate, Malone, and Meghan left for Fes and I finished packing and
am currently waiting for lunch. I leave for Paris in an hour and a half. I can’t
believe my time here is coming to a close. I had so much more fun and learned
so much more than I expected to. I will definitely be back.
Next time you hear from me, I’ll be in Paris!
Next time you hear from me, I’ll be in Paris!
Au revoir!
-Allie
