THE MOROCCAN LOVE POT: Couscous

"Can I call you on Saturday?", he asked. That sounded like a good idea that no matter what, I had no tangible reason to turn it down — it's the weekend! This was the first time I actually got an open invitation to a Moroccan home to taste Moroccan cuisine, home-prepared  with lots of love. (who doesn't love some  "home cho"? ). I thought to myself that it was a good opportunity for me to immerse myself in the culture, at the very least reveling in it. It's 11 o'clock in the morning, I'm still in bed half-awake when the call from an unknown number came through. I figured it might be Marwan since I hardly receive phone calls from my number. This was not far from truth as the person at the other end of the phone bellowed "weeeesh". "Oh yeah what's up ? How's it going ? You already had breakfast ?" Breakfast you said?  I don't recall the very last time I made time to eat a hearty breakfast; It's just faded into distant memory. After the exchange of pleasantries, we planned to meet at the Tram  station since it's most convenient for me. I was still late, but you know you can't blame me-- It's just this thing called GMT (Ghana Man Time). He thought I was going to bail out at the eleventh hour when I didn't pick up all three of his calls... I was taking a shower, bear with me. That was a truthful lie. 

Fast forward an hour later we found ourselves home. Before entering, there were so many thoughts going through my mind (mostly about how the family was going to be like). I've got many fears but the most apparent one is change. Be it changing places, or meeting new people. I usually feel like a fish-- probably a Tilapia-- taken out of water. However, today felt different. I gingerly moved to meet the family.

Upon entering, I was greeted by his sister with the usual "Salut ça va ?". I had really wanted to show off my croissant prowess but Marwan killed the zeal by telling her I speak English . Quite disappointing hein? The aura of the surroundings was a calm, comfortable one. I felt so much at home, perhaps, due to the fact that the aroma emanating from kitchen was so very much alike to my mom's rice fried in oil (I don't know if it has an English name). Then, the person making the magic finally came out and I deemed it was time to do the "ahohyehye". Salam walaykum, اسلام عليكم in Arabic, was the start of pleasantries. It means hello but literally means peace be unto you (If you would like to Start learning any African language today, Ayekoo Afrique got you covered!). One intriguing thing about Moroccan style of greeting is how they could use about four to five expressions having the same meaning as "how're you?" in Arabic. Indeed their linguistic flair is admirable. So I also replied in Moroccan Arabic (Darija); saying "kolshi mzian" meaning All is well or Everything is fine. She was impressed, and asked if I speak Darija. "Chwiiiiiiiya", I said. Met the rest of the family and had great conversations from Archaeology to Zoology. 

THE DAY'S AGENDA: COUSCOUS 

Well, I was told of a very thick Moroccan milk I should taste called Leben لبن. It's partially fermented milk used as an accompaniment to couscous. I thought it was going to taste like Burkina. Good news is, I had a brain freeze! It was sour but I have taste buds strong enough to neutralise the reaction. The table was set, and then came a mountain of tantalising Coucous garnished with a variety of fruits and vegetables, as well as meat. I knew this was going to be sumptuous, you don't need to be told.
 I went for the Chickpeas first with the intention of  reserving the best part for last. Very delicious they were. Then carrot, cabbage. And the COUSCOUS, yummy, took  me home again. "It tastes familiar", I remarked. Deliciously familiar. After I had tasted that morsel, I yearned for more; C'est très chic. Before I forget, there was spicy pumpkin in there. Isn't pumpkin supposed to be a fruit ? Mama was trying to show me how couscous is eaten traditionally with our natural spoons— the hand. It's not new to me because we eat with our hands back home too; yet I decided to go with the spoon since I didn't want to unleash the Ghanaian demons in me. In all honesty, I ate to my fill    not until I had to say baraka. As though  that was not enough, an assortment of fruits were brought-- sweets after meals you got it.

Although I had promised myself not to eat Moroccan cuisine as a staple, things are going to change and that's just the tip of an iceberg. This is definitely love cooked in a Moroccan pot; you can quote me!

All said and done, the experience was so unique.Perhaps even beyond perfect as there's no word I can think of that can do justice to this very experience. I'm really grateful and much overwhelmed. The atmosphere only was a banger, très beau et chic. I entreat you to try the Moroccan couscous BAM!

I rest my case here. It's Sunday morning and I have to go to church. There surely will be an update. Bislama!

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HOW TO MAKE THE BEST PIZZA, by Priscilla.

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