Things I Miss About My Host Family
Towards the end of my study abroad experience, I was abruptly forced out of my host family’s home. I am so grateful to have built an incredibly strong network of some of the closest and most reliable friends in the world here in Morocco, which allowed for me to find emergency accommodations quickly. As I rushed to move my things from Rabat to Mohammedia, where I ended up staying for the last week of the program, I had to shove my emotions to the back of my mind in favor of practicality and efficiency. Knowing that I would be in Morocco for yet another month and that this was not goodbye with anyone, I quickly left the house and ran to the Rabat Ville train station so I could get to Mohammedia before dark.
It wasn’t until after I left, then went back to visit to break iftar, that I came to realize just how many things I missed and took for granted while living with my host family. Here are just a few of them.
Freedom: This freedom came from the acceptance that my family and I had for each other. I felt free to come and go as I wished, as I knew that my family would not judge me for staying out too late, bringing friends over, or staying elsewhere for a night. I never felt like I was intruding when I stepped into the kitchen to grab a fork, or when I stepped into my host sister’s bedroom to watch her cook rghaif (Moroccan pancakes). I knew that if I craved solitude, I could take my dinner in my room without feeling like I was being disrespectful. I could keep the lights on or turn them off. The list goes on. Reflecting on just how little anxiety I had about how my host family might judge me about something I do made me see just how close of a bond we did form. I learned that this freedom from anxiety is what makes someone your family.
Soukaina: Soukaina is my 14-year-old younger host sister. Though I spoke and shared with her about my life decidedly less than I did with Naima, my older host sister, she was a presence that truly brightened my each and every day. I miss enveloping her in hugs and kisses every day while taking breaths to say “Habiba, kibida, khenuza dyaaaaaaali!!! Wesh ça va? Limuuuunti labas?” I would repeat various combinations of this while smothering her with kisses. I loved asking her about each and every subject at school. She was always proud of her grades in English (always top marks!), and giggled while giving me a thumbs down when I asked about French or math. She’s a big fan of FRIENDS, Havana, and, most recently, a particularly vulgar Cardi B number. Almost daily, I would yell “HSHUMA!” (a term invoking shame) when she belted out the curse words while singing. I miss all these little interactions and more with my little bubble of love and energy.
Music: There was always a song in the background in my host home. It would either be playing loudly from speakers or sung proudly by various family members. Naima had a light voice that could improvise a run just perfectly. It was untrained, yet perfectly in tune. My host mom was the energetic one, complementing Naima or Mustapha’s song with the necessary background parts. The background noise bothered me at times, but I see now just what a comfort it was to hear voices in the background that I recognized and trusted. Even if I wanted to be alone, I knew that companionship was there just beyond my door if I needed it.
