Blessing

Thursday was a gift.

I spent the day with two of my students, Rabab and Fadah. What an honor. When I arrived at their home, the floor was spread with lovely meal of pasta, bread, and potatoes (no such thing as low carb here!). It was absolutely humbling to see the care that Rabab had put into the meal and to be the object of such ferocious hospitality (‘Eat, Teacher! This is your house. Eat some more!’). I have still not gotten over the remarkable dignity and generosity of the people here, even in such circumstances of lack.

The girls are breathtaking. Fadah (18), the youngest, with her dancing brown eyes, mischevious grin, and the confident stride of the well-loved baby sister…always leaning against me or holding my hand.

And Rabab (20)…what a precious girl. In my eyes, she is a true hero. With her father dead and her brothers gone, she’s been a pillar of strength in her family for years—from far too young an age, I believe. She gives endlessly and doesn’t raise a finger on her own behalf, yet works tirelessly for others—cleaning, cooking, working every afternoon, caring for family members and neighbors. But her eyes lack the sparkle of Fadah’s. Why? Is she burdened? Weary? Lonely? I will make it my aim to do what I can to ease whatever silent load she bears. I long to refresh and encourage her the way she does for so many others.

After lunch and a few hours of visiting, a faint sound of music reached our ears. “Teacher! A wedding! Let’s go!” In Saharawi culture, they informed me, weddings are an open event for the entire neighborhood. So we grabbed our scarves and dashed out the door, following the sound of the drums and singing. We discovered the tent a few blocks away and wriggled our way in. I instantly felt as if I had been flown centuries into the past. Women wrapped in dazzling mehlfas, men dancing in brilliant blue dra’as and turbans—I could have easily been in a remote Bedouin tent in some bygone century.

After soaking in the scene for about twenty minutes, the girls drew me outside the tent, where many neighbors, children, and Spanish journalists and human rights workers had gathered. The sun was beginning to dip, and everything was awash with the orange glow of the Maghreb sunset. And we began to dance. Laughing, spinning, clapping, snapping, stumbling…until the sun fell behind the horizon…

And when the girls pressed my hands as we parted that night, our eyes all spoke the same message to one another—“It has been my honor to be with you today.”