A Walkabout and A Wedding

This morning my host cousin, Hind, came to my room to eat her breakfast. I immediately started a conversation with her because she is the only one in my family that speaks English.

I asked, “Beyonce, you know her?”

Hind responded, “Of course.”

After our brief conversation I revealed to her that Queen Bey had released a new song over the weekend. Then we sat and watched the Queen twerk to a song about hot sauce. Next we watched Jason Derulo sing in carpool karaoke. Followed by a lengthy discussion on the men of One Direction. Turns out, Liam’s hotness is undeniable world wide.

After eventually confessing to Hind that I didn’t know how to navigate the Medina from my new home, she offered to show me around. Little did I know, this tour would evolve into a hip walkabout.

She showed me how to take the tram to where the cool kids “chill,” where the best mini pizzas are served, and most of all, a beautiful neighborhood overlooking the beach.

I found heaven.

The blue walled maze held surfers with folded wet suits maneuvering their boards through the tiny allies, kitties with perfect green eyes tiptoeing over the tile floors, and the aroma of fresh squeezed orange juice lingering in the air. What more could a girl want?

After exploring the avenues, I came home to an invitation to attend a “wedding party.” Unsure of what the term meant but interested, I agreed.

As I put on my finest outfit, which in all honesty, was not that fine, it became apparent that my clothes lacked a certain pizzazz. Quickly I became the Barbie my host sister never had. I tried on my host mom’s “grandma-esque Kaftan” then Halima ultimately decided on the younger “butterfly gown” for me. I was bejeweled and still unsure of what I was attending.

Seeing as my host cousin had school the next day she was unable to attend the party so I was SOL… Shit Out of Luck as no one spoke English.

As I tried not to dwell on the fact that I would most likely be silent all evening, we all got into the car for Rashid to drive us to L’Ocean neighborhood. Upon arrival, we climbed 4 flights of stairs and by the time we reached the second floor, I could hear the beats dropping. The women sang and the floor shook.

What did I get myself into?

I walked into a magenta decorated room with a princess sitting at the head of the table as her aunts, cousins, and friends danced for her. The princess, I’m still unsure of her name, sat in a beaded pink dress with a poised smirk on her face. Perhaps clinging to the same sense of wonder I had about her, she invited me to sit beside her. So that I did. I placed my hand next to hers on the plush pearl pillow. We locked eyes and giggled. Sitting at the head of the table next to my new friend, I watched middle-aged women shed their head coverings and gyrate to the overwhelmingly loud speakers. It was a wild time and there was never a drip of alcohol nor the scent of a man.