The grande finale of the camp was quite a spectacle, so it’s understandable why it’s called the “spectac”. Everyone gathered into the auditorium room of the dar chebab, where all the chairs had been arranged into a seating area for the audience. We were told to sit, so we did, and then we waited. One of the other PCTs and I entertained the kids that gathered around us with our still-struggling Darija skills. For some reason these kids were firmly told to go back to their seats on the other side of the auditorium, but they returned soon after.
We frequently gather a curious crowd of kids at the dar chebab. One of my favorite ways to pass time with such kids in a language I don’t speak well is to misname as many things as I can think of. I call my chair a tomato (matisha), the kid next to me becomes butter (zbda), and I like to top it off by saying, “kanakul darija” (I eat Darija). This always leaves the kids thinking that I really have no clue what I’m saying, but some biting and chewing gestures usually clears it up. This leaves the kids laughing and pondering my sanity.
After waiting for somewhere between 30 minutes and an hour, it was time to begin. I’m not sure exactly what the hold up was, but it’s often how things work in Morocco. Time has a different value, and we adopt it, adapt to it, or lose patience with it. I’m aiming for the former. There was a short speech by the M.C. (one of the teenage girls), another by the mudir (the director of the dar chebab), and yet another by the representative from the ministry of youth and sport (the government ministry that supports the dar chebabs across the country) before each group of kids took turns presenting what they had practiced. All of the kids worked quite hard and even the smallest efforts were impressive.
The dance class showed off the Macarena.
The theater class became trees, died, came back to life, then sang.
Break dancing happened.
Then there was this finale from the choreography class, including kids made-up in white face.