We drink a tea called 'Eggplant Brother'

End of semester exams have approached quickly. This past week was all chapter endings and reviews, some which I was not completely prepared for, though I performed sufficiently. Exams are worth 70% of the grade. I'm only concerned about one class, whose behavior this entire semester has been turbulent at best. But this Saturday I put the fear of god in them and thus had their rapt attention for all two hours of the review.

This week's house guest brought the heat. Matt's a med student working for centimes in a Pediatric Oncology center in Rabat. He's got a fidgety physicality about him; He tugs on his torso a lot while he shifts his weight from one leg to another. We housed him for the week while he attended a conference on progress and results. It's hard to articulate the friendship we all formed, but it started with awkward fifteen minute dance parties and ended with a Honduran feast, vital-chicken-organ-consumption, and mixing beats for 'our flows.' You cannot imagine our sadness at his departure. Luckily, we took a lot of pictures of him while he was sleeping. And even more pictures of us wearing his clothes while he was working.

The Honduran Feast was roast chicken, white beans and rice, pico de gallo, avocado, fromage rouge(we cant get anything else here)...I think that's it. Matt put what turned out to be a chicken lung on my plate as a joke. I looked at the plate, picked up the organ, said 'what's this?', broke off a piece and ate it. This is my new second nature. I didn't realize what I'd done till everyone else pointed it out to me; screaming and waving their fingers in my face. I proceeded to eat in leviathan portions until I was forced to stop. That meal had the feeling of thanksgiving. The more I ate, the more I piled back onto my plate. If I added more cheese, then I needed more beans to melt it. And if I added more beans, then I needed more tomatoes and such. It was a constant balance of proportions. Matt's boss was in Marrakesh from the states and that fantastic meal can be attributed primarily to her, Carmen. She was also an excellent guest, though I for the first time experienced cultural confusion. It started with the presence of forks and knives on the table. I couldn't decide if her American sensibilities were going to be scandalized by my grabbing a handful of cheese from across the table, ignoring the spoon she placed in it with care. For the first few minutes I was able to mind my 'manners' and pay great attention to the WASPy niceties and habits I had when I got here, only two months ago.
But the chicken lung incident kindof blew my cover. So as I spooned melty rice, beans, and avocado into my mouth with increasing volume and frequency, I cared less and less whether she feared my germs. I was shocked when she filled her own glass with the communal soda and not everyone else's. In the states it's considered good manners to ask if anyone else would like some, but here its mandatory. I made the mistake once; it's unwaveringly shameful.
In conclusion that evening was like a placement test. Just to see how far I've come, what behaviors I have acquired and discarded. Matt experienced a similar joy in choosing the chicken that should be killed for our meal and in the cleaning, gutting and carving of it.
This place will change you.