Imane’s House and Force-Feeding in Morocco

We Americans (how’s that for a sentence starter?) were invited to have lunch at Mira’s language partner’s home, which was really special and generous. Her name is Imane and she has 2 sisters, a little brother who’s 5 and “chaotic good” as Mira so accurately describes him, and two parents.

We only saw her father briefly, but he made sure to shake all of our hands. Imane really respects her father and asked that we all thank him and clap for him when he entered (we were going to thank him anyways, but the thank-you sounded way better when we did it in unison).

Imane also asked that we thank her mother multiple times for making the food, and we also made a thank-you video for her when she left the room. I was very impressed and warmed by the gratitude that Imane has for her family.

Anyways, force-feeding is a HUGE part of Moroccan culture, and when I say “force-feeding,” I’m talking about sitting down in somebody else’s home for a meal (even if it’s for the billionth time @myhostmom) and being told “cooli, cooli” long after you’ve become full and content. LOOOONG after. Although I have found this aspect of the meals very frustrating and annoying at times (especially when recovering from my food poisoning), I also understand that eating a lot of food is a sign of respect because you are appreciating what they have provided for you.

The reason I bring force-feeding up is because I learned from Imane’s house, where there were 15-20 people eating from the same dish, that there is a lot less force-feeding of each individual guest, but that specific victims are chosen. Jeremy -- our poor, sweet, innocent Jeremy -- was the only male American so he stood out, and was ultimately chosen as the victim. I kid you not, his face would be stuffed with food, and they’d yell at him to eat more. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing somebody else suffer for once… sorry Jeremy!! No I’m not!!

After we ate our AMAZING meal of rfisa (bite-sized pieces of msemmen, lentils, some sauce that tastes like liquid joy, and other things I can’t identify with my uncultured American eyes), we sang some songs in Arabic because yesterday was the Islamic New Year (1441), then drank tea and explored the souq in Sale.