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Stepping out of my comfort zone and trying new things was definitely my mantra for this day. I hadn't searched for any information online about hammams because I intentionally did not want someone else's perspective to color my experience or what I anticipated. Maybe I should have…lol
As Allie, Liz and I timidly held our towels around us, our assigned lady attempted to give us a "tour" as she lead us back to the first bathing area. Except that her speech was nearly inaudible because her back was to us and other muffled mumbles from ladies in differing states of undress covered what was left of any sound waves that could have reached our ears. She led us through 3 rooms, pointing occasionally and I was able to catch parts of words… "...individu"..."lave"..."...l'huile"... Each room we entered seemed many degrees hotter than the one before and by the time we reached the third one, I thought for sure we had reached one of the levels in Dante's inferno. My closet claustrophobe came out. I protested the heat and was mercifully led back into the prior room that was only 110 degrees…
At this point, the adventure truly began…no shyness allowed, no cover permitted. Water was run into a deep stone sink in front of the seat I had taken and then scooped out with a large ladle and poured over my body. Our "tour guide" washed my body with a small pliable piece of oiled soap and then passed me off to another woman in her swimsuit. The original guide told this new one that "elle n'a pas l'habitude" (She's not used to it…). My new guide, took my hand and pulled me out of the sauna like washroom and led me to the "individu" spot, a small, walled room with a marble slab table in the midst.
She pointed at the table, patted it and said "monte" (climb up), so I did. There was a moveable shower head at the end of the table that stayed on my feet for about 20 minutes because my "guide" had completely disappeared. Surprisingly, the table was very warm, so the only discomfort was the hardness of the stone. When she did return, she soaped me again, tapping me every once in a while to tell me to "tourne" (turn over) or "assis" (sit up). I was soaped, rinsed, covered with a clay masque and exfoliated in the most thorough of ways. Pretty sure I lost half a pound in exfoliated skin…
After all this, she rubbed an oil on my skin and left again…at this point I wasn't sure if I should stay or leave. I stayed because I worried I would slip and fall off the table because the oil made me feel something like a greased pig… Thankfully she returned sooner than the first absence and began a massage with argan oil. I've had massages before, but this one was...different…more abrupt maybe? After massaging each limb, she would make sure that all joints worked correctly and then "thump" on the heel, or the palm of my hand. As soon as she was finished, she said "assis" (sit up) at the same time she was spraying me down and I was trying to figure out how to avoid drowning in the hammam because her aim had no mercy for my attempts at getting a breath. Then…it was done…she gave me a small plastic bag where she had placed my glasses and a towel to cover up and dry off with and motioned for me to follow her. My hammam experience was completed.
Reflecting on my experience I realized this held mixed emotions for me. I had been looking for something to stretch me, to pull me out of my "normal", and I think this fit the picture for that. At the same time, not knowing what I could expect next or to be able to let my masseuse know that I felt uncomfortable was a place I'm not sure I wanted to be. I think I had hoped the "different" would somehow still be comfortable. But, that's not how it usually works.
My masseuse/guide and I made a connection somewhere in the middle of the experience. Being diabetic, I have a glucose sensor on my abdomen at all times. At some point, she asked me, "Qu'est-ce que c'est" (What is that). I told her that I was diabetic and it checked my sugar levels. She thought about this a moment (she also didn't speak French fluently) and responded, "moi aussi…je suis diabète" (Me too…I'm diabetic). We proceeded to have a short conversation about how her number (the average glucose in the blood for 3 months; most doctors aim for diabetics to be near 7) had been 13, but had become 10. I congratulated her and she responded "Incha'allah ça continue" (Here a mixture of darija and French - God willing it continues). Incha'allah…
Text & images by Bre Uzzell
It washed over me (no pun intended) that this is a beautiful sharing practice among women to care for another, even women you don't know! (Andrea Leslie)
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