Meskina

In Morocco, Friday is couscous day. Families start a big batch of couscous, go to Friday sermon at the mosque, and then come home for the weekly couscous feast. I had planned to arrive at Salma's by 1:30 p.m.

I took Bus 3 as instructed. Salma had pointed out where the bus would drop me off, but she didn't say that it took a circular route to get there.

As soon as I realized that the bus had strayed from the path with which I was familiar, I got off. I thought that if I walked back to the last block that was familiar to me, I'd be able to find my way home.

I found myself at a 5-point corner that was very familar -- the only problem was that I couldn't remember which road would lead me home.

So I bought a phone card and tried to call Salma. No luck -- her cell phone is disconnected. I tried to call her mom -- no answer. I tried to call the center. Nope. The whole time men were bothering me, saying things to me, coming up to me and following me, not leaving me but an inch or two of personal space. I ducked into a teleboutique -- and my earring broke as soon as I put the telephone to my ear. After a long day and no clue of how to get home, I finally broke down in the telephone booth.

After about a half hour, I finally remember the name of the hammam near the house. In a desperate attempt, I asked the man attending the boutique if he knew of the hammam. He said it wasn't too far and gave me directions. I jumped in a taxi and arrived home safely, but an hour late for couscous.

The worried family greeted me at the door. "Where were you?" they asked while hugging and kissing me.

"Meskina Jennifer!" I pouted, my eyes tearing up, unable to remember how to say that I got lost. The family couldn't help but burst out into laughter at my display: I had essentially shown up on the doorstep and said, "Me poor thing!"

The family still laughs and calls me meskina whenever they get the chance.

Posted 09:29 PM (GMT)