My raison d'être -

One of the last conversations we had with our host, who'd gone out his way for the billionth time to take us to the Old Medina in search of authentic Moroccan spices to bring home with us, was about his family.

Moroccans love in ways I can't fathom - their sweetness, their kindness - it knows no bounds. Our host teacher and his wife look at each other with love and adoration - never the flashy, over the top kind, either. It's the quiet kind. The kind that lasts.

His daughters - which were such a light in our week here in Taza - are no different. Sweet to their core and genuinely good to one another and to their parents. While I'm sure they're subject to the same sibling troubles all kids face - there's this sense of forgiveness that permeates their relationship both with each other and with their parents.

They care for and about one another - and they work as a team. Their busy days - which would make any American cringe - the back and forth from school to home to extra school to home again - it's a whirlwind many would complain about. They don't. They embrace it as time together - as little Lilia gets in the car after her second trip to school for the day - her father says "Hi sweetheart" as she kisses his cheek. Tiny details - tiny moments that remind me what it is to love another and care for them.

In that last conversation - I shared these sentiments with our host teacher and thanked him for sharing his family with us this week. Seeing them together was, for me, more transformative than any tourist sight we've seen - any shopping we've done, any presentation we've heard. Genuine love - more sincere than I've seen in so long. It is contagious.

After I thanked him - he waved his hand as he often does - and said "you are welcome - but it is nothing. They are, how do you say, my raison d'être." 

Then he explained - the French have this phrase, and because France permeates so much of this country - their language is just as embedded in most Moroccans as Arabic is. In fact - nearly everyone - including young students - speak three languages - Arabic, French, and English. 


The phrase means reason for being - for existing. His family is his reason. His kids, his reason. And because now, we are part of that family - that remarkable family, so rooted together in gratitude - we're part of that reason, too. 

I've picked up so many special souvenirs in my time here - gifts for others, a few things for myself. None compare to being part of someone's raison d'être. All I can do is add him to my raison d'être - and to never forget this week we've had as family.

Today we return to Rabat - we leave these mountains, which have, figuratively and literally, been the most challenging gift I've ever received. A student yesterday asked me how my perspective of Morocco had changed since being here - she was asking about the stereotypes (based in ignorance and intolerance) that come along with a Muslim country. I told her that nothing had changed - I'd been purposeful about staying open to this place and its people. What has changed - and I shared this - is my perception of the United States. 

We've got a lot of work to do - to love, and tolerate, and understand the way that Moroccans do. That work starts with me.