Happy Birthday, Mohammed

I Got My Mind Settttt Onnnnnnn Youuuu (RIP George)

This morning I was woken up by a phone call from my 11-year-old host brother, basically telling me to get my ass out of bed and to his house for breakfast.

Today is the birthday of the Prophet Mohammed. It’s not celebrated as intensely as L3id Kebir (as in, no animals were harmed on this day) but it’s still kind of a big deal. I told my host mom earlier this week I’d be over for breakfast, but when I said that I meant at like 9 or 9:30. I didn’t expect to get reprimanded by a child for not being dressed and ready to stuff my face at 8:30 am on a Saturday.

And wow, did I stuff my face.

My host aunt made the Moroccan equivalent of funnel cake (get in my belly) and then there was the cake. And Moroccan crepes (beghrir). And another pancake thing I forget the name of (nsimmin?). And tea. Always tea. Let’s just say I ate a disgusting amount.

The rest of the morning passed nicely. I got my first manicure since Lindsey’s wedding. Bubblegum pink nail polish applied by my 16-year-old host cousin. I was also able to remind all the women that tomorrow morning we are exercising. I don’t think the older women will end up going this first time, but my two host cousins are excited about it and I’m totally cool with improving women’s health and self-esteem two girls at a time.

I think the rest of the day I’m just going to lie around in a mild food coma. No big deal.