On Hathi Ghayba

Feen hathi ghayba?

I’m asked this question a lot. It literally translates to “Where is this absence?” But carries the meaning, “Where have you been?”

Every morning I stumble into one of three establishments that serve coffee. Before 10am I can barely speak English, let alone Arabic, but somehow I spit out the words: Qahwa...Kehla...Qasha. Bla sucar. Laikhaleek. Which means, “Coffee...Black...Strong. Without Sugar. Please.”

After the first sip my strong, black, sugarless coffee I perk up a little bit and get chatty. Suddenly whoever gave me the coffee is my new best friend. I start jabbering away in darija and I don’t shut up until I scamper off to class.

But of course, there are days when my schedule doesn’t allow such interaction, and I skip a day at the Cafe. On those days, my coffee people miss me, and the next time I come in I get interrogated on my absence.

Usually I find the “where have you been” question stressful. I never know where I’ve been. I'm always running from one place to another, I never feel like I have enough time with anyone or anything. I always feel like I need to (and want to) spend more time with my Moroccan friends...and with my American friends...and with the Khattabis...and talking to people from back home...and studying...and reading...and traveling. When someone asks where I’ve been, the answer is usually, “I have no idea. But I want to come visit you very soon.”

This week, though, Feen hathi ghayba? has been my favorite question. I went to Rabat last weekend. Even though I was only gone for a couple days (and had a wonderful time), I missed Fez. When I got back, I realized I, too, had been missed. Little brother Hamza, who usually feigns indifference to me, came in my room and said, “Really, Megan...I missed you so much.” It warmed my heart a little bit. Just a little.

And it went right down to the parking attendant in Batha. "Feen hathi ghayba?” He asked me. I told him I had been in Rabat, and he said, “Oh...I was worried that you went back to America and didn’t say goodbye.”

Not to get all cheesy and emotional on you or anything, but starting to be treated like a part of the community is really special. And, of course, if the parking guy were to disappear...I’m pretty sure I’d miss him too.