Smooth Living: The Most Important Days of My Life
In which I become a father to my favorite human being on Planet Earth
Being Fruitful and Multiplying
My work in Istanbul involved creating promotional materials for a tourism company, overseeing the creation of a new multi-hotel booking engine, and assisting in organizing the day-to-day operations of a company that worked with tours and hotels. I was given specific tasks needed to be completed by the end of three months for a set amount of money. I like to work that way.
I took a quick trip to see Tender Heart in Morocco. I gave her money so she could find a house, furnish it, and create the nest she wanted for when our baby arrived while I worked. Other than that, I worked sixteen hour days so I could complete my work early and head back to Morocco to be with my pregnant wife. She was happy to be with her parents, but we needed to have our own place. It had been four months since we’d been fired and evicted by the school in Turkey.
She found a house in April, paid a month’s rent, and furnished it, but didn’t move in. I finished my contracted work in six weeks by taking no time off and working long days, seven days a week. It wasn’t the most enjoyable time I’ve ever had in Istanbul, but I wasn’t there to have fun. I hoped maybe after the baby was born and we figured out how to be parents, we might come back and live in Turkey.
By mid-May, I was back in Morocco with enough money to see us through while I figured out how to support a family. There was no job waiting for me in Morocco, but I had some ideas. We moved into the apartment. It was about a half-mile from her parents and we set about doing the domestic tasks that need to be done when you move into a new house, are expecting a baby, and trying to create a business. I’m not sure how this would have been if we were living in a country where having a baby costs thousands of dollars, rent is thousands of dollars, and food is thousands of dollars. In Morocco, three of those situations combined cost us thousands of dollars - which is a much better deal.
Our daughter, was born in mid-2011 - the first day of Ramadan that year. My wife, as a new mother who was nursing, was exempt from the fast but the rest of us began the process of no food or water during the daylight hours of the hottest month of one of the hottest years in recent memory. Our daughter was lovely from the start and while initially we had a scare with some mild hip-dysplasea, she was otherwise a happy, healthy baby. The Moroccan government refused to let us name her what we wanted to since that was the name of a church, but they allowed something close which is one of the acceptable names of the Moroccan government.
I like to say she was made in Turkey by a Moroccan-American partnership. In fact, she is an African-Arab-American with European and North American roots who was made in Asia. She is a child of the world.
The fast was difficult and during the course of it, I realized my beliefs didn’t require me to do this. I continued out of courtesy to my wife, but let her know it was the last time I took part in the enforced Ramadan fast of Morocco. I saw far too much hypocrisy attached to the practice for me to do it again. Fasting can be beneficial, but not when it is forced on a population by the state or cultural conventions. I started it and finished it. My fasting is my own business from now on.
In September, I was invited to go sailing in Greece with a friend who had bought a yacht. My wife was happy to see me disappear for a while as she was tired of having a grumpy grumbling guy around who complained about the way situations work (or don’t work) in Morocco. With Ramadan over, I was more bearable, but I needed to go renew my visa anyway since the Moroccan government had refused to renew my carte de sejour (resident permit) because I had neither a job nor a Moroccan bank account. That was fine with me as staying in Morocco for longer than three months at a time makes me crazy anyway.
In September I was off for a few weeks of sailing. The sailing was calm and relaxing. I spent the next few weeks getting the paperwork filled out for our daughter’s Consular Birth Abroad. I managed to get her a US Passport and US citizenship which felt like a huge success. By the end of September, she was officially an American. The process for my wife, however, was growing more difficult. When I went to file the consular spousal visa, I was told as of August 1, there were no more consular visa filings in Morocco. I would have to go through the much longer process of mailing paperwork to the US.
I found a special on flights to Paris and booked a flight for our little family so we could spend Thanksgiving in Paris. I hoped it was possible my mom, brother or sister might be able to make it to Paris to finally meet my wife and daughter. As it turned out, my wife wasn’t able to make it because even with six weeks, we hadn’t allowed enough time to get a visa for a Moroccan to visit France. We had booked our trip in advance to make the process easier but to no avail. We visited the French consulate in Fez, wrote letters, made calls, sent email, faxed - but none of it worked. The man at the bulletproof glass window told us we needed to sign up for an appointment online but they were booked through the end of the year.
Invoking the visa renewal trip yet again, I set off to Paris by myself since I had already paid for everything to make the visa process easier. Our daughter didn’t need a visa, but there was no way I could take her and leave Tender Heart in Morocco. I didn’t bother to tell my family in the USA since the point was to give them a chance to meet my family who wasn’t coming with me.
Even though I was sad my wife and daughter weren’t coming along, I was thankful to be heading out of Morocco. I hoped to find some Americans and a Thanksgiving meal through Couchsurfing. Hope springs eternal.