Number 5

Morocco

My name is Mounia

I used to have nicknames: Minouche, Minou, Moumoune, Moon

I was born in Casablanca Morocco on August 9th 1976. Funny enough I'm the only one of my siblings born in Morocco. All my three sisters and my two brothers  were born in France.I am the number 5th of the family. I don't have a strong memory of my early childhood in Morocco as I was only born there and flew to France when I was three months old. But later and at a very young age,  I got to reconnect with my home country visiting my family. Every summer we got to spend one month in Morocco and as we usually spent the month of August it was also a great way to celebrate my birthday in my home country.

Travelling to Casablanca every august, my memory of Morocco will always be linked to the spicy food. An authentic taste of Morocco that from my early childhood memory everything related to Morocco is associated with the smell of the spices and the taste of these unique and unforgettable Moroccan dishes.

From tajine to couscous - the unique blend of spices with Ras el Hanout that gave this warm color and amazing taste that will stick in your mouth for hours; hours of fullness and culinary orgasm. We ate the tajine with the moroccan homemade bread that we cut into pieces to dip in the tajine sauce. The tajine that was made of a big unique plate that we got to all share. The tajine plate with the UFO shape that took us in unique moments out of time.  

Those shared dishes created a warm atmosphere of joy and small fights with my younger brother for the slices of chicken. I remember perfectly that when I was a kid my mom use to make a small ball of the couscous; gathering the couscous seeds with small vegetables that she rolled in her hand and put the little ball in my mouth. I remember exactly the feeling of this ball that will disintegrate in pieces inside my mouth with the explosion of flavors of a mix of carrots, pumpkins, zucchini,  coriander, chickpeas and spices.

And the moroccan crepes and doughnuts that we ate with moroccan mint tea. We were so hungry as we came back of our day at the beach that we were all so happy to find a table full of this amazing moroccan setting: the moroccan couches, the coffee table with the teapot gathered with the small glasses of tea. The smell of mint that enhanced the room and these delicious crepes with honey and butter and the oily doughnuts that we ate so quickly that when we finished we were all lying on our moroccan couches like dead bees.

But also our days at the beach. The beach days were from morning to sunset. We spent all day playing in the sand. I remember rolling all my body in the sands and then running with my cousins and siblings to the sea to clean ourselves with the salty water from the Atlantic sea. The waves that were slamming our faces. My hair, that was so messy with a mix of sands, salt and water. I remember having sands in my bread as sometime we were having our tajine with moroccan bread as a picnic on the beach in Casablanca.

And the moroccan music and all the evening we spent with our big family (my siblings, my parents, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my grandma) it was loud, it was fun, and it was not relaxing at all but I loved it so much that each year I was counting the days to the next summer.

My birthday was always the excuse to have big parties. In moroccan culture music and dance are so present and important. I didn't understand the meanings of the lyrics but I learnt immediately how to dance with these hips circles and arms movements that followed the rhythms of the drums and violons. I was singing and dancing. My birthday parties were always getting bigger each year. I was celebrating it with my cousin who was born the same year but on August 8th. We were twelve hours apart, and we were best friends, when we were kids...

I still remember one of my big birthday party when my sister S and one of my cousin two days before bumped into two guys of a famous moroccan band and asked if they will be available to play for our birthdays. And they did. The party happened at my grandma's big house. We used the rooftop of her house and put all the moroccan couches against the walls, the band in the back and leave the floor for our crazy dances. The food was served inside the house and people were coming and going, from family to friends, to neighbors... In moroccan culture when there is food for ten there is food for hundreds.  Always a warm and energetic atmosphere!

But everything was not perfect...I was a dreamer, an introvert who would rather listen than talk too much. I was never loud and my family was. And I was and I'm still very sensitive.

Spending all my life in France it was not easy to learn to speak darija (the moroccan arabic dialect). My parents were speaking french and from time to time darija especially when some family were visiting us or when my parents were upset and had to scream at us!

So the small knowledge that I had was not enough but still I managed to understand perfectly but to be honest my accent was terrible. So every summer when I went to Morocco I tried to speak but my cousins and uncles were always making fun at me. They were always expecting me to stumble on some words and even asking me to talk in front of the entire family so they can make fun at my french accent. It was terrible especially when you are a kid, harmless and super sensitive. I was very vulnerable because of my age and because of my sensitivity. I still feel the pain and remember locking myself in the bathroom to cry after another humiliation. It was hard as a kid to have all these family members laughing at you when you were trying your best. Especially that I was not learning darija at school but only here and there from songs, or few conversations at home.

One year, I decided not to speak at all. This is another trait of my personality I'm super persistent and even stubborn sometimes. During the entire month of our summer vacation no one got to hear the sound of my voice. Some people were asking my parents if I became mute but my parents told them no, of course. As soon as I step a foot in Morocco I decided to mute myself and just listen and watch quietly. I was five or six years old that year and I managed to stick to my decision. Travelling to Morocco as a family of eight, we were driving from France to Morocco. The travel was a real three days road trip, crossing through France and Spain, then taking the boat from south of Spain to Morocco and then driving all the way to Casablanca. On the way back on this three days journey  to our home in France, as soon as we said goodbye to my family and that my dad turned the engine on, suddenly my voice came back and I spent the entire way back home singing all the song I heard in Darija, and speaking in arabic to my siblings. And this was the first time I experienced the power of my voice, the power of using my voice as I chose to and muting myself an entire month to protect myself. I felt a newfound of confidence as I realized that I have the power and I won't let anyone control my voice. My voice was and is myself expression. The next summers no one made fun at me, I was more intriguing to them. And I just spent my time quietly, watching and recording what I was hearing. And it was also a great way to learn and record what people were saying. When people were considering me weak and fragile, I was actually strong and determined.

But then the other trips to Morocco were always enriching, as I got to reconnect with my culture, my mother tongue, my roots. It has always been normal to go back there every summer and I was spending all year waiting for my trip back to our home country.

And at a very young age I realized the blessing of living in France and being from another culture. As long as we stay connected to our origin and keep this link to our home country while learning about the country we live in. The advantage of speaking two languages since we were born, growing in multicultural environnement is a great privilege that I am well aware of and that I keep maintaining. As you understand I'm proud of my origins and multicultural background. It is very important for me to have these cultural links.  Always being connected to my culture, my mother tongue and roots shaped my understanding of identity and the value of multiculturalism.

Knowing where you come from to know where you are going.