Yes, you read correctly. Today, was circumcision day at the clinic and there was quite a bit of celebrating to accompany the procedures. All last week, people in town would stop me and ask if I was going to the hospital on Sunday. They would hold up their pointer and index fingers on one hand and mimic a scissors with the other hand. “They are cutting the boys,” was the message I took away from these interactions.
This morning, I walked to the clinic to find a large group of women gathered outside and some kids hanging around. I had my usual group of girls accompanying me and we hung around outside for a while. My host father noticed me and invited me to come into the hospital. I was a little nervous about what I would see, but figured I should check things out since everyone made such a big deal about it.
Thankfully, there were a lot of men from town milling around and drinking tea, and they stopped me to chat for a few minutes. I learned that they bring in a handful of doctors from the larger hospital in Khenifra about once per year to perform the procedure. They were surprised to learn that in America, most boys are circumcised before they leave the hospital. The boys here are circumcised anywhere from 6 months to 4 or 5 years old. Families from the surrounding countryside traveled to the Sisterhood for the procedure.
As for the actual procedure, I have no basis of comparison to what happens in the U.S. In my village, they had desks from the school set up as operating tables, which were covered with plastic. Each boy was propped up on a pillow and held spread eagle by a male member of the community – not a family member (they waited outside). The doctor performed the procedure and then bandaged the boy, who was returned to his mother with a “goody bag.” The goody bags had yogurt, a hard boiled egg and some bread.
I didn't have the stomach to watch an entire procedure, so I watched the end of one and it was gruesome enough for me. The interesting part was that the pillow the boy was laying on matched the set in my room at my host families house! I thought, “No, someone else must have the same set,” but when I returned home, a pillow was missing from the room!
Back to the hospital. I was struck by the less than sterile environment. One doctor had a pile of peanuts and a cup of tea on the edge of his “operating” table. They would wipe the surface off after each procedure, but it didn't look like they were disinfecting anything, merely washing things off.
I went outside to see what was happening and found the women singing and celebrating. It was a small Haduse, involving drums and singing. Some of the younger girls were dancing. I couldn't help but notice one boy who wouldn't stop crying. He was strapped onto his mother's back and it must have been putting pressure on his recent wound. I felt so bad for him, but his mother seemed oblivious to his cries.
After the last of the surgeries, I hung out for a while chatting with the doctors. Several of them spoke English and I was a bit of a novelty, We talked about life in Morocco and life in America and compared notes. They were surprised that I liked living in my village. We went to lunch at the home of a prominent community member. It was a bit surreal as I was one of 2 females – the other was a nurse from Khenifra who had helped earlier in the day. Lunch was a dish that must be reserved for special occasions – its a large chunk of meat (I don't know what kind, maybe lamb or beef) served over a bed of onions and topped with stewed dates. This obviously doesn't leave much for me to eat, but I dug into the onions and dates and when someone noticed that I wasn't eating the meat, we got into quite a discussion.
Normally, I tell people that eating meat makes me sick. While not entirely true, after 8 years of not eating it, I'm sure it would make me sick. This usually works on the women in my village, but this was a room full of doctors! They weren't buying it, but I insisted and told them that I didn't eat meat in America either, which seemed to satisfy them.
After lunch a man started chanting and the others joined in. I wasn't sure what was happening, but this continued for a couple minutes with the men bowing their heads and placing their hands palms up, one on top of the other. Afterwards, they explained that they were chanting a verse from the Qu'ran and the man who initiated it was the Imam. A short time later, the festivities broke up and I headed home to join my family for a nap.
This morning, I walked to the clinic to find a large group of women gathered outside and some kids hanging around. I had my usual group of girls accompanying me and we hung around outside for a while. My host father noticed me and invited me to come into the hospital. I was a little nervous about what I would see, but figured I should check things out since everyone made such a big deal about it.
Thankfully, there were a lot of men from town milling around and drinking tea, and they stopped me to chat for a few minutes. I learned that they bring in a handful of doctors from the larger hospital in Khenifra about once per year to perform the procedure. They were surprised to learn that in America, most boys are circumcised before they leave the hospital. The boys here are circumcised anywhere from 6 months to 4 or 5 years old. Families from the surrounding countryside traveled to the Sisterhood for the procedure.
As for the actual procedure, I have no basis of comparison to what happens in the U.S. In my village, they had desks from the school set up as operating tables, which were covered with plastic. Each boy was propped up on a pillow and held spread eagle by a male member of the community – not a family member (they waited outside). The doctor performed the procedure and then bandaged the boy, who was returned to his mother with a “goody bag.” The goody bags had yogurt, a hard boiled egg and some bread.
I didn't have the stomach to watch an entire procedure, so I watched the end of one and it was gruesome enough for me. The interesting part was that the pillow the boy was laying on matched the set in my room at my host families house! I thought, “No, someone else must have the same set,” but when I returned home, a pillow was missing from the room!
Back to the hospital. I was struck by the less than sterile environment. One doctor had a pile of peanuts and a cup of tea on the edge of his “operating” table. They would wipe the surface off after each procedure, but it didn't look like they were disinfecting anything, merely washing things off.
I went outside to see what was happening and found the women singing and celebrating. It was a small Haduse, involving drums and singing. Some of the younger girls were dancing. I couldn't help but notice one boy who wouldn't stop crying. He was strapped onto his mother's back and it must have been putting pressure on his recent wound. I felt so bad for him, but his mother seemed oblivious to his cries.
After the last of the surgeries, I hung out for a while chatting with the doctors. Several of them spoke English and I was a bit of a novelty, We talked about life in Morocco and life in America and compared notes. They were surprised that I liked living in my village. We went to lunch at the home of a prominent community member. It was a bit surreal as I was one of 2 females – the other was a nurse from Khenifra who had helped earlier in the day. Lunch was a dish that must be reserved for special occasions – its a large chunk of meat (I don't know what kind, maybe lamb or beef) served over a bed of onions and topped with stewed dates. This obviously doesn't leave much for me to eat, but I dug into the onions and dates and when someone noticed that I wasn't eating the meat, we got into quite a discussion.
Normally, I tell people that eating meat makes me sick. While not entirely true, after 8 years of not eating it, I'm sure it would make me sick. This usually works on the women in my village, but this was a room full of doctors! They weren't buying it, but I insisted and told them that I didn't eat meat in America either, which seemed to satisfy them.
After lunch a man started chanting and the others joined in. I wasn't sure what was happening, but this continued for a couple minutes with the men bowing their heads and placing their hands palms up, one on top of the other. Afterwards, they explained that they were chanting a verse from the Qu'ran and the man who initiated it was the Imam. A short time later, the festivities broke up and I headed home to join my family for a nap.
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