Party Dress

I spent most of today at souk and meeting with my counterpart Said, who was in the Sisterhood. By the time I returned home, it was tea time and I joined my family in the family room. Souk days are a bit crazy at my host family's house – their family from the nearby village comes to town for souk and uses the house as a home base. There are usually 5 to 10 more adults and a handful of kids around. Throughout the day, their purchases pile up in the entryway, so I didn't really make much of the ubiquitous black plastic bags that were stacked in the hallway when I arrived.

After tea, nobody got up and left like they usually do. The conversation turned to me – I couldn't quite figure out what they were saying, but someone told Zuhir to go get the bag. He quickly returned and handed me one of the black plastic bags. “Open it!” everyone told me. My host sister, Sumia, had the biggest smile on her face and everyone else was watching me expectantly. I opened the bag to find a polyester outfit in maroon with black flowers! I had absolutely no idea what to do. I must have looked confused because they told me to go try it on. Still rather confused, I tried it on and discovered that the skirt was tight. Thinking this was my “out” I returned to the living room with the shirt and my own pants on and explained the situation.

The only solution was to return to souk and find a bigger size. By this time it was early evening and the vendors were starting to pack up. Despite this, Sumia, my host uncle and Zuhir and I quickly headed to souk and found the vendor nearly completely packed up. He gladly opened one of his large boxes to reveal several versions of the outfit I had just tried on – white with gold flowers, black with gold flowers, black with white flowers and another to match mine. None of them had sizes, so I suggested holding up the skirt I had tried on to see if any of them were larger. This was interpreted as taking all of them home and trying them on. We rushed back home and all the women in the house ushered into my room for the fashion show. There I was with my host mom, aunt, cousin and Sumia – all of them watching and waiting for me to start modeling.

Seeing no other option, I grabbed the first outfit and tried it on. We went through all of them, my host mom reassuring me that the skirts were not too tight and me protesting as best I could in Tamazight. Without a full length mirror, I was relying on their judgment of what was appropriate or too tight. I try to call as little attention to myself with my clothing by wearing long, flowing skirts that don't hug my hips or loose-fitting pants that don't draw attention to my backside. This new skirt was decidedly hugging my hips and would probably have been completely fine if I was at home, but I am in Morocco where the men stare and tell me how beautiful I am when I'm in an over-sized t-shirt and sweatpants. By the time we got to the last skirt, which was identical to the one my family picked out, I was holding out hope that none would fit. But as soon as I slipped it on, my host mom smiled and said this was the one. It was indeed looser fitting than the others and didn't hug my hips.

We dashed back to souk, where my host uncle was waiting. He wouldn't let me pay or even help to pay for the outfit, which was rather expensive. We returned home and I wondered what would happen to the matching outfit that was still sitting at home. I didn't have to wonder for long, because my host mom handed it to Sumia and she took it home with her. My next mission was to find out why I needed a new party dress and I asked Mamaw, my host-cousin. She told me there was a baby-naming party over the weekend. For good measure, I also asked my host mom, who told me that a cousin I had met previously was moving to France and there was a going away party for her. Turns out the party is on Saturday evening in a nearby village.