The Smell of Mint Tea, the Memories of Shared Meals and Laughter
Growing up in the Netherlands and being half Dutch, half Moroccan, summertime meant it was time to visit our relatives in Morocco. We used to stay for up to six weeks at a time, spending our days with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. My grandmother and aunts would prepare all kinds of traditional Moroccan meals and desserts, especially for us. It was a way for them to show their love and to welcome us back.
Living in the Netherlands and not being able to speak Darija has at times made me feel a bit disconnected from my Moroccan roots, especially because of the language barrier between my Moroccan family and me. But one thing that has always crossed this barrier is food. Drinking mint tea together in the living room, chatting about life through a mix of languages and gestures, and sharing meals around the table with shared dishes, as is Moroccan custom. The togetherness of it all is unlike anything else and is what I have come to associate with Morocco.
My grandmother has never been to school and can only speak Darija, unlike other family members who speak French and a bit of English. Yet, she has always been the one who conveys her love for us in the clearest and most caring ways without needing words. I remember her spending hours in the kitchen every day, preparing all sorts of dishes for us, excited to give us a taste of home. Some of my fondest memories in Morocco are of standing next to her in the kitchen early in the morning, kneading dough to make fresh bread while the smell of Moroccan mint tea fills the air. My grandmother and I muddling through conversation with hand gestures and fond smiles as she shows me how to prepare the bread.
At the end of summer, when it was time to return to the Netherlands, and the whole family was standing outside to wave us off, it was always my grandmother who said goodbye with tears in her eyes, while simultaneously trying to stuff our suitcases with as much food as possible, as if she could somehow send a piece of Morocco back with us. And perhaps she did. Because back in the Netherlands, I can still find traces of those summers in small moments: the smell of mint tea, the memories of shared meals and laughter, and the knowledge that love does not always need words to be understood.
