Part 2: Another Wedding

Since its been a while I have a lot more to write. I have basically become a wedding crasher in this country. People are getting married left and right... and I am dancing all over the place. This story goes to show that one can crash a wedding in this country even when they are not even looking for one. Before I start, a culinary tidbit. Beet juice, with enough sugar, is actually failry tasty. Ma, you would be proud!

(For lack of a better transition...) I woke up and met some other PCTs in Sefrou. The plan for the day was a leisurely hike up a mountain to visit a small Amazigh (Berber) village. I wore sandals and carried my lunch (bread, cheese, and water) in a purple plastic bag. Sunglasses on and ready to go, about 15 PCTs followed one of the local Sefrouians up the mountain. Apparently we were literally hiking in his backyard as his grandfather owned the farm land. After about an hour and a half of hiking in beautiful scenery (rolling, green hills and clear sky) we stumbled upon a small group of people who our Moroccan friend knew. They we all holding small round fruit looking things which turned out to be figs. We were offered these delicious fruits and devoured them. We were then invited up to the house. I must remind you here that we were hiking in the countryside. This was the first house we stumbled upon and there was not another in site. Basically, we were pretty isolated. Because of this, I was not expecting to find much of anything. However, as we approached this house it became evident that something was happening.

When we walked behind the house we saw a large rectangular tent with a flat blue tarp as a roof. The walls we constructed of colorful blankets with sequins all over them. Under the tent sat a large group of people on top of psychedelic carpets. Apparently, Jimi Hendrix has still not left the country. As is usually, the men were sitting on one side of the tent and the girls on the opposite side. We were invited into the tent and then quickly discovered that it was a wedding. The bride sat on the opposite side of the tent in full regalia and, as is customary in Moroccan weddings, was not smiling at all. Needless to say the wedding attendees were just as surprised to find 15 Americans as we were to be sitting in a tent that I can only describe as “Disneyland-esque”. Then the drumming and singing began. The singing was all in Amazigh. However, you can dance in any language. All of the PCTs got up, began clapping, and danced. It was great. We learned some new techniques. A little line dancing, some shoulder shrugs, and complex hand-holding! The night clubs in New York are not going to see this one coming. But in 25 months when I return... LOOK OUT.

After some group dancing, they asked for two volunteers. Two of my fellow PCTs were dressed in classic Amazigh garb sat down and, for lack of a better term, married. We sang and danced around them and all had a bit of Henna placed on the palm of our right hand which apparently indicates you are engaged or will be married some day. I’m not sure of the exact definition... I should probably check that out since I use that hand to wave everyday and the Henna is not disappearing anytime soon. I don’t want to give any Moroccan the wrong idea. After the “fake” marriage we were offered tea. We drank a bit of tea and then politely excused ourselves as we needed to continue our hike.

We ventured a bit further down the trail to a very small Amazigh village. There we dinned on our bread, cheese, and water. We rode a horse around the town for a bit and then decided to begin our hike back. When we passed the house that was holding the wedding, our friends invited us back to dine with them. In Morocco its really really really hard to refuse an invitation, especially for food. Thus, we graciously accepted. When we reached the grand tent again everybody had left. It was empty, save a few older men. We all entered the tent and tables were brought in. Then a large couscous dish with a sweet raisin, chickpea sauce, a turkey and lamb tagine, and a huge bowl of grapes were brought out to the tables. We feasted for about a half an hour on the delicious, very authentic (the lamb and turkey were raised on their property) cuisine of Morocco. Anthony Bourdain would be jealous.

Forget the freshmen 15, Im putting on the Moroccan 40. The consumption of food in this country seems to be continuous and never ending. On a side note, its still about 80 degrees here everyday which is AWESOME, except for the fact that Im in a classroom from 830 a.m. until 6 p.m.

Hope all is well in the states!