End of Training

Are they really crying? The last two months have been a struggle, and my departure should be a relief. I interrupted their routine. I claimed their living room as my space. They fed me. They washed my clothes. They cleaned up after me. All I was able to give back was a smile. Are they crying because they will miss my smile?

During training I've noticed that Moroccans do not hide their emotions. Conversations in my household would generally consist of both yelling and laughter. My host mom would make it clear if she was upset at me or happy for me. I've seen Moroccans embrace confrontation, and I've seen many disputes on the verge of getting physical. At parties, Moroccans can dance without the encouragement of alcohol. And now that it is time for goodbyes, my family is not ashamed to let the tears flow. They are passionate people.

I hug and kiss my sobbing brother and mother. I was a burden on them of course, but I was also a reward. They deserve as much credit as anyone for my new ability to navigate Moroccan culture. They watched me grow up in two short months. The journey filled them with pride, as they made it possible for America and Morocco to connect intimately. It was an intense experience for all of us, and the challenges it presented has forged a bond between us. This is a form of love.