The Names of My Daily Life

So so many names, where do I start?

There are three Fatima's, one of them my daughter, the other her grandmother and the other a maid. There is a Sophia, my first born daughter, a Safia, my first Moroccan friend here and a Soumia my closest sister in law. Soumia has a Sara and there is another Sara that is my good friend. There are two Souad's, one of them a name I say everyday all day as she is my daughters' nanny. There are two Leenas and one Lila. There is a Riyad, who brought me here. There is a Hasnaa and a Houda and an Asmaa and a Mounia. There is another Fatima who is kind and meek that I work with. There is a Boubcar that I get copies from and a Karim that prints out pages for my lessons. There is a an Anouar that assigns me classes I don't want and a Hassan that I am constantly trying to get money from (the accountant). There are two Aicha's and one Jasmina. One Kenza and two Zinebs. There are two Ghitas (pronounced Rita). There is a Hamid and two Mustaphas and one Martin. There is a Faiza and an Issam. There is an Abdel Haq and a Nabil who were there when I married (again) There is only one Youssef, one Mae and one Sophia. I am the only Carrie I know.

This does not include all of the students, oh the students beautiful names: Ghizlane and Camelia and Khalid and Khadija and Ayoub and Alla Eddine... so many others!

The streets that I walk on and the neighborhoods I inhabit: There is Ziroui which I live on and you pronounce that Zirwowi. It intersects with Zerktouni which takes you to the Maarif and you do all of your shopping there. For the beach there is Bouznika and Tamaris and Ain Diab for ice cream. There is Ghautier, the neighborhood I work in and Souktani and Jean Juares the streets that intersect at l'embassie Italien. There is Jean Jaquesman and my favortie rue Dejla. There was a Galilee that I went to everyday but then Jill left and now Martin May lives there but I don't go to visit him. There is a Nousair which intersects with Galilee and there lies our favorite bakery. There is Moulay Youssef just up the street from that. It is lined with beautiful palm trees, looks like california and holds the American Embassy. There is the park de league Arab, one of Casablanca's only green spaces. Around the corner is Oliveri which has the best ice cream in town. I wrote the frst letter to my daughters there after I found out I was pregnant, in between teaching a class at Axa, the major insurance company who I covered with.

Now there are new names and neighborhoods. There is a Oasis in my life now, pronounced like Waziz. There is a rue de Papillion which I am so excited about because it means butterfly street. Now Brahim Roudani and blvd. Ghandi will be in my daily life as well.

So many many many names. This is a glimpse into the string of vowels and consonants that pass through my lips each day.

Bergamots

Ummm, total update on the lemon post!!!!!!! They are called Bergamots and they are totally a thing. I thing that is usually used to flavor earl grey tea actually!!! So excited to live in a country where BERGAMOTS are this plentifull!!!

Thanks David Lebovitz!!

These are my mornings

I wake each morning sandwiched between two little souls, their mouths puckered and gulping periodically throughout the night. I pull each one to the contour of my body and take the greatest pleasure in rubbing the lines on the perfect casing for their little hearts and veins and brains and breath. In the night if one cries and the other is just fed I whisper to Youssef , “quick pull that one over, hand me this one, shh, quite, is she moved yet, hurry before the other one wakes”. We are in it together and it feels like we are robbing a parent or something like that and have to hurry quick before someone turns around or comes in a room we shouldn’t be in.
When Youssef rises for the day, he takes one with him, whichever one I just finished feeding and he changes her diaper and I hear all kinds of going and gahhing and laughing and “oh my god Carrie you have to see what she is doing” coming from the bathroom. Then he will bring the one back and take the other or if he is ahead of the clock that morning he will put the dry one in a stroller and take the other one and then take them both out of the room. This morning he left me with both, but brought coffee to make it better.

I finally crawled my way out of the mountain of blankets and pillows on our bed and found my way to my slippers, half disappeared under the edge of the bed. My legs stiff and muscles sore from yesterday’s return to working out. I stretch and slowly make my way to the kitchen to make him breakfast. I relish in doing so, to be able to do something so little but so important for him.
Because he does so very much for me.

So many dinners and lunches. So much paper work and taking care of business, his whole life seems dedicated to working for us. So I love making him his breakfast in the morning. My favorite part of doing it is when I fold the aluminum foil over the breakfast sandwich and fold two little paper napkins onto each other and put the whole thing into a nice plastic sack that we have saved from the previous evening’s baguette. I set the precious goods on the table and he finds it and takes it with him.

Each morning as I am folding the napkins, I think about two things: One- I should really write him a little love letter on one of these napkins. And Two: I wonder if he notices the extra touch of my napkin fold, I wonder if he knows it means I love you and I think you deserve a folded napkin each morning with your egg sandwich.
After that there is usually laughter and conversation and sometimes I follow him around as he is getting ready, sometimes I am already back in bed with the brats sucking away at me again, Sometimes I say good bye a the door and then over come with emotion swing the door open and yell after to him to be careful on his motor bike, to come back safe to me, to please protect our happiness. Protect himself.