From the beginning

It's hard to know where to begin, the beginning I suppose? My first flight to Philly was delayed, got an automated call from he airlines while in he car en route to the airport with my dad, my mom didn't want to go to he airport poor thing. So we turned around and went home to wait an hour or so, then went back and I was on my way. Made it to Germany, had a 5 hour layover and of course didn't sleep a wink on the 7 hour flight there but passed out like a dead person once I could get horizontal and missed my flight to Marrakech. Man, so exhausted, super bummed, had to pay  $400 for a new flight and had to go from  Frankfurt to Casablanca to Marrakech but what could I do, I had to get there. I shed a few pitiful tears, the German woman from American airlines said I could step outside and be struck by a bus so off to sit in silence for another 4 hours I went and tried not to think about how much (other people’s) laundry I'd folded and newborn babies I'd tended to for that $400. Flight to Casa was delayed, missed  my flight to Marrakech, rebooked once again and finally made it around 11 pm after over 30 hours of travel.

So the whole time I'm thinking, ok wow, what is it going to be like to see him again? Life the last 3 months has been day by day, moment by moment, some kept together  some completely and utterly in shambles, but all leading to this moment.

And there he was, with a box of sweets. We walked to catch a cab and then through the square, and then to the small quiet riad where I spent my first night. It was the best night's rest I’d had in months...

The next morning we made our way to his home, in a neighborhood near the airport, farther from the old city center.  A quiet neighborhood but with bustling streets packed with produce vendors and small shops. At his home I met his mother, who is living with him for the winter. Hm, ok... I knew that she would be there sometimes, but had absolutely no idea she stayed with HIM pretty much all the time... but why wouldn't she, he is her baby and doesn't have a wife and children to attend to and showers her with love and affection. It really is precious.

His brother Jamal, his wife Fatiha and their 3 boys came for dinner, I giggled with the children and had no idea what anyone was saying (ever) but thoroughly enjoy myself nonetheless. They finally leave, they eat so late, 10 pm, and we, Issmail, Zahra and I lounge on the couch watching tv. It feels like a dream, unreal that I am here, and I'm falling asleep and his mother says “Hassna, Hassna” and rubs my hand.  Her hands are so soft, they feel like my moms, and I wonder how it's possible I can be so comfortable in this place.

Issmail is starting with a new company and had a meeting on Thursday morning, we all had breakfast together, a porridge like soup that tastes like grits but might be buckwheat? Then Zahra and I took a 2+ hour nap together, I'm telling you, this is the life. Then we prepared the tagine for lunch, tried to wait as long as possible to see if Issmail would come home but finally after 3 or so we dug in. We laid head to head on the couch watching Arab soaps and she sings in my ear, melt my cold heart. We both miss him. Then we went out for a bit, walked to where the taxis are and watched the sun set sitting on a pile of cement rocks, with the Atlas Mountains as our backdrop, date palms in the foreground. A pretty epic golden hour, and quite a pair we make as you can imagine. He finally gets home and we are both delighted. It is surely not the experience I anticipated, spending so much time with her, but I am being wonderfully taken care of, feeling light as a feather, and it is surely a fascinating place to explore.

The next day Isma had more meetings so it was me and Lala Zahra again. We went  by bus to Jamal and Fatiha's, I got the impression she had perhaps never done this, and I had absolutely no idea if we were even remotely going the right way, especially when we got off on the last stop and she had no idea how to get to their house. She asked some young girls and they steered us in the right direction. So many opportunities to practice living in the moment and not letting worry, about anything, get the better of you, for there is too much beauty to be found in each present moment. So we went for couscous at Jamal and Fatiha's after they all went to the mosque together, I held down the  fort with the children, sending the little plastic parachute soldier out the window over and over. The couscous was AMAZING and I literally stuffed myself, it's disgusting but I just can't help myself. The women ate with their hands, rolling the couscous with the mashed vegetables into little balls. Tagines I can eat with my hands and bread no problem, but I wasn't quite ready to one handed ball roll, maybe next time. Afterwards we went to his other brother Abdula's house, but no one was home so we relaxed for awhile. Finally we begin to make our way home after another stop at another home, his aunt maybe? I have no clue at this point I just follow where she leads me hand in hand like a happy little shadow.

Missing him something fierce at this point, it's been a lovely couple days with Zahra, but I've hardly spoken to anyone, much less the person I'd traveled 4000 miles to talk to, and I fear if I watch anymore Arabic tv my head will explode. So I practice diligently my moment by moment practice, but it is getting more and more difficult and I just want him to come home. I was getting tired, and Zahra asked (we did quite well at times communicating despite having no common ground) if I wanted to sleep because she could see I was tired but I said no, I think she knew I was sad so out of nowhere she brings in a bowl of buckwheat, some dates  and 2 tangerines to perk me up just as Issmail calls to say he's on his way. He finally gets home, and she and I are both elated. He showers her with love, kisses, just all around amazing affection. I ask if all his friends get to snuggle in his mom's lap and he laughs no, and says I'm the first friend (that is ahem, a girl) that his mother has ever met, but she doesn't know I'm his ahem, friend, "it's ok".

Helping him/watching him prepare food in his tiny kitchen is my favorite, especially when there is a bag of the most delicious olives there for me. He cooks the most incredible food, slightly unusual in this culture where the women are predominantly in charge in the kitchen. The best lunch yet, and also one of the most simple: a tagine of chicken, onions, garlic, herbs and olives plus a plate of green beans, a tomato and pepper salad and more olives. Divine. Lounging on the couch, I am in awe at how thankful I am to be here. I also have to remember to thank myself, when I am in those moments of how is this happening, for listening to myself, and taking the risk, for working hard, and being willing to wade through the swamp of despair and uncertainty and guilt to get here. It feels unbelievably good to just be. To passively let my thoughts come and simply observe is the greatest gift this place gave me. And to have grace with myself, no matter what those thoughts may be, to welcome them without judgement is the greatest gift I can give myself.