On people getting into each other's business

Warning: the following blog post contains broad generalizations about large groups of people. If you find this offensive, might I suggest that when you read the word "Moroccans," you replace it with something like "a noticeable number of Moroccans with whom the author of this blog post has interacted."

When T and I went to Spain in January, it took us several days to warm up to the country and its people. In fact, it wasn't until our second to last night in Spain (our last night staying in Ronda) – when three gregarious and drunk locals bought us beer at a popular tapas bar – that we started thinking this was a country we might want to visit again.

It wasn't until we were back in Morocco two or three days later that I realized why we had found Spanish people to be so unfriendly. Unlike Moroccans, they left us alone.

You see, Moroccans are always getting into your business. While T and I were in Spain, particularly in Sevilla, we spent large chunks of time examining maps, trying to figure out where we were and how to get where we wanted to be. No one ever stopped to ask if we needed help. I took this as a sign of unfriendliness because I had gotten used to the Moroccan tendency to immediately offer help. Granted, sometimes (especially in tourist cities like Fez), this offer comes with an expectation of some financial reward. But after living in Morocco for many months, I have come to understand that this immediate "stepping in" to help is cultural and comes from a place of generosity.

The first few times that I went to the marché, I was confused by the help I was getting from people who didn't seem to be working at the marché stalls. random customers would try to guess what it was I was asking for. If they happened to speak English, they would ask me in English what I wanted and would translate to the vendor.

One sunny day when I was sitting outside the bakery drinking a coffee, a man asked me if I spoke French or Arabic. I said no and told him that I spoke English. After I told him my language of choice, he proceeded to advise me in broken English that I should get out of the sun because it is not good for one's health to sit in the sun too long. My fear that he might be trying to find out the best language with which to hit on me or sell me something was totally unfounded.

It was only a couple of weeks ago that T and I learned how to put more minutes on our cell phone because the other time that we tried to do it, a group of university students who were in the same superette quickly grabbed our phone from us and put the minutes on it for us.

In Meknes one day, when my friend JW accidentally ran his car into a curb, a nearby pedestrian immediately turned and started directing him so that he could get the car away from the curb. I can't prove that this would not happen in Spain or in the U.S., but I think one could certainly count on it happening in Morocco.

When I went with JW to the Maroc Telecom office to buy a USB modem, another customer who saw us looking at the options proceeded to advise me about what I should get. She went so far as to call a friend regarding a different company which she thought would be a better choice for me. While a few months ago this would have been a little confusing to me, this time I just smiled.

This is the Moroccan way. And I love it.

And now for something completely different

In what ways does the above picture illustrate the caption below it? Discuss.

(As far as I can tell, all communication disorders textbooks are required to contain at least two dozen photographs of clinicians sitting at tables with other people, usually children. All of the pictures are exactly the same, but they all have different captions beneath them, as if the existence of each individual photograph in the textbook somehow elucidates some specific concept covered in the text. And it is required that at least two different ethnic groups be represented in each photograph.)

(I'm in the home stretch with my coursework and will resume regular programming soon. I have many things I want to blog about, including the joys of living in a tourist town and the "nosiness" of Moroccans.* Stay tuned!)



*Don't get offended by this. I'll explain it in a future post.

Frustration mitigation

Since we moved into our downtown apartment, I have wasted hours of my time dealing with spotty Internet service. I recognize that I am in a third world country. I recognize that it's pretty cool that I have Internet at all. This does not change the fact that I need to use the Internet to do my coursework, and that I waste time dragging my school materials back and forth between here and campus on the days when our Internet unexpectedly goes out.

No more, I say! Today, I initiated my Frustration Mitigation Plan.

First, I anticipated communication problems, so I enlisted my friend JW (LW's tech savvy husband) to go with me to the Maroc Telecom office to buy a nifty USB modem. We only had to wait outside their office for about five minutes for them to open after lunch, so I was already feeling good about how things were going. We were the first people inside and didn't have to wait in line. JW, along with a random customer who spoke very good English,* discussed my options with me, and when I made a decision, he went with me to talk to the salesman.

JW started in Darija. The man answered him in English. (I called his wife later and said I was so glad that I made JW go with me to the office so he could translate what I needed into English. She pointed out that if I had not made him go with me, no one in the office would have spoken English because, you know, that's how things go.)

The process was so easy that I sent JW home and completed the transaction myself. And now I am writing this blog post (wasting more time dealing with Internet stuff) with my new, fast, reliable Internet service.

And I am also reflecting on the fact that expecting complications, which has always been a bit of a natural tendency for me, has become an ingrained habit living here. The nice thing about expecting the worst is that when things actually go smoothly, it makes me ridiculously happy.

*I'm going to write an entire blog post on this phenomenon just as soon as I have time.

On how I have changed

Lately, I have been thinking about whether it's even remotely possible (financially speaking) for me to visit the States for a couple of weeks this summer. And that has led me to reflect on a variety of things. What do I miss about the United States? What things will seem strange to me when I return there? Have I forgotten how things work there? (I have a friend who was here in Morocco for two years through Peace Corps, and she told me that, when she returned to the States, she discovered when she tried to put gas in her car that she'd forgotten how to do it.) Have I changed, and how much, and in what ways? And will people notice?

I'm very aware, sometimes achingly aware, of many of the things that I miss from back home – tofu, grilling outside, good beer, organic food, chiropractic care, alternative medicine options, content and well-fed domestic animals, the English language.

I've also been in Morocco long enough that I know some of the things that I will miss when I leave – the slower pace of life, mint tea, the ubiquity of cafés with good strong coffee, public transportation, hired help (who wouldn't miss that?).

The question of how I have changed is of most interest to me. I have spent large chunks of my life either wanting or trying to change myself, with little success. Perhaps we go through the most change when it is not our primary goal but a natural consequence of some other action that we take. How have I changed? Here in Morocco, mostly due to the language barrier, I have become more introverted (even though I didn't think that was possible). I think I will be more outgoing in the States. I think I will be thrilled that I can communicate with nearly every human being I see. I used to hate making almost any kind of phone call; I don't think that will be the case anymore. I think, at least for a while, I will be happy to be able to so easily talk to the person on the other end.

Another aspect of myself that has changed – and I'm really not sure how I feel about this – is the "working" self. Up until last May, I always worked (except for a couple of stressful periods of unemployment, during which I was still putting in 30 to 40 hours a week to try to find work). I have always thought that working a lot is something I should do and is something I need to do. I'm starting to understand that it is possible to have a balanced life, to work hard and work well, to contribute positively to the world, but without working all the time. This is not something I have yet achieved, and I'm not sure it's something I can achieve, but I have met people here who are doing it or trying to do it.

There are other ways in which I have changed that have not made me happy at all. Despite the facts that I don't own a car and I walk much more than I used to, I have still managed to gain weight here. In response to this, a couple of weeks ago, I renewed my commitment to increased exercise and strengthening my body through yoga, weightlifting, and more walking. This is just the most recent in a long string of mostly futile attempts to actively change myself, so we will see how it goes.

A few of my favorite things II

When I'm feeling down or homesick, it sometimes helps for me to reflect on things I like about Morocco:

-Coming home on Mondays and Thursdays (the days Hafida works) to a kitchen counter free of dirty dishes.

-Moroccans feeding the pigeons.

-Morning yoga with my friend LW.

-Cheap public transportation.

-Afternoon tea with meloui.

-The fact that the servers at the bakery (which is about a block from my apartment) know me and know my usual order of nuss nuss (literally "half half," half strong Moroccan coffee, half milk).

-Fresh, cheap produce.

-Reliable water, electricity, and Internet (fingers crossed!).