Bonjour!

I could have already written this blog entry on any of numerous days in the past year and a half, since in it I'm going to describe something which happens very often here. Typically here in Morocco, when Moroccans see a foreigner, they assume that the non-Moroccan either is French and/or knows French. Countless times I have been greeted in French by both Moroccan adults and children. Kids tend to address non-Moroccans in French slightly more than adults do so. I can't tell you how many times youngsters have exclaimed, "Bonjour!" to me. Even though I'm disappointed when youths greet me in French, still it makes sense why they do so, partly because they learn French in school.

For those of you who are more familiar with the process when I was applying to the Peace Corps, you might be puzzled. You might be wondering, after I spent so much time studying French during the year I was applying to the Peace Corps, why it irks me when I'm addressed in French.

It bothers me because often when Moroccans address foreigners in French, they assume that the non-Moroccans don't know Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, or one of the Berber languages of Morocco. Moroccans often assume that foreigners don't know Arabic or Berber because they're likely to be tourists. Morocco in general gets a lot of tourists. The town in which I live gets a lot of tourists. Wherever I am in Morocco, people often think I'm a tourist.

After having put in effort to learn Darija, it's frustrating when people assume I'm a tourist and don't know Darija. However, I realize that it's a reasonable assumption which Moroccans make. It's just that after a while, I grow weary of people figuring that I'm here on vacation, and then treating me that way. I just want to function regularly in my everyday life, and have people's behavior acknowledge that.

In processing these thoughts, it has occurred to me that in the US, we have so many people who have immigrated from so many different countries to the US during their lifetimes. We're used to people moving to the US. In tracing their ancestry, the vast majority of US citizens find that fairly recently, their ancestors migrated to the US.

While some foreigners live here in Morocco, there seem to not be that many. And while many people in the US have never been abroad, many US citizens have been abroad. The ones who have been abroad are thus likely to be able to empathize with people who are living in a land which is foreign to them. However, the vast majority of Moroccans have never been, and never will be, abroad. While I remind myself of this fact from time to time, I have to continue to do so. After all, how can I really expect them to understand, when they haven't lived abroad?

Empowering Women and Girls

Earlier this week at the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco, I was teaching three teenage Moroccan girls English. They had asked me to teach them about reported speech, which is also called "indirect speech." So I was putting sentences onto the dry erase board like "He said, 'I cooked the couscous.'" Then I was explaining to them that using indirect speech, one would write the same message as "He said that he had cooked the couscous." Later I was giving them sentences like the first one and asking them to rewrite them using indirect speech. Then we reviewed their answers and compared their answers with how the sentence was supposed to look using indirect speech.

Later during the same English class, they asked me to review the passive voice with them. So I was writing sentences in the active voice on the board, and having the girls switch the sentences into the passive voice, so they could practice putting sentences into the passive voice.

I often try to use English lessons as opportunities to plant and/or water seeds in the minds of Moroccan youths. So at one point, I wrote a sentence on the board mentioning Fatima Mernissi, who is a Moroccan feminist, and who thus writes about how we need to empower women. She's probably the most prominent feminist in Morocco; indeed, some consider her the most prominent feminist in the Arab world. I had already seen a picture of Ms. Mernissi in an English textbook used here in Morocco, so I figured that they probably already knew about her. So I wanted to help encourage any interest they might have already had in her. So I wrote, "She read the book by Fatima Mernissi." After a little while, they correctly answered that in the passive voice, the sentence should read "The book by Fatima Mernissi was read by her." After our small class had ended, I thought that because I had written that sentence on the board, which they copied into their notebooks, and which they'll likely re-read, perhaps it will reinforce the idea of reading one of her books, and consequently perhaps one of them would end up reading one of Ms. Mernissi's books.

After we had reviewed what that sentence should look like in the passive voice, one of the girls noted, "But she is not here!" I capitalized on her comment as an opportunity to again water that seed, that idea of reading the work of a major Moroccan feminist. However, this time, I made the suggestion more directly, replying, "Ah, but you can still read one of her books!"

I also try to use English lessons to point out what must seem like unexpected, inexplicable, anomalous inconsistencies in spelling and pronunciation in English. Thus I explained that both the past tense and the present tense of the verb "read" are both spelled the same way, even though they don't sound the same way. I added that in the present tense, the vowels in this word collectively have a long "e" sound, but not in the past tense, when it sounds like the color "red." After illustrating these inconsistencies, I decided to employ some humor to try to ease any mental anguish that they may have been feeling over trying to get these spellings and pronunciations straight. After acknowledging that they must think that these inconsistencies seem crazy, I remarked, "The people who started spelling "read" in the past tense and "read" in the present tense the same way should have been sent to Berrechid!" Berrechid is a city here in Morocco where there's a psychiatric institution. The name of the city is often used synonymously as an insinuation that someone is mentally ill: that is to say, if you say that someone should go to Berrechid, you're suggesting that that person is insane. So, in declaring that certain people--who started pronouncing both the past and present tenses of the verb "read" the same way--should have gone to Berrechid, I was saying that those people must have been insane. Since Moroccans almost always are amused when someone else is called insane, the girls did indeed laugh at my comment.

Jocularity aside, I also capitalized on the opportunity to encourage these girls in their studies, given that a couple of them appeared to be wearing wedding rings, and thus apparently were married. Given that many rural Moroccan girls are expected to stay at home and raise a family once they get married, even if they get married while they are young, I felt it was important to reinforce their studiousness in light of their seemingly being married. Therefore, regarding how they're continuing their studies while evidently being married, I said to them, "Tbark Allah Elikum," which you say to people who have done something which you feel merits approval or support.

One of the girls clarified that she's engaged to be married. The other admitted that she's not actually married. Then she asked me if I'm married. It occurred to me that perhaps she asked me because she likes me. I've been out of college for more than a few years. Considering the question of marrying a Moroccan more generally, I wouldn't want to become romantically involved with nearly all Moroccan females because I'd never convert to Islam. Added to that reason of never being able to become a Muslim, amongst the many reasons why I wouldn't want to become romantically involved with Moroccan females, I thus include not wanting to get involved with girls who necessarily are a lot younger than me.

However, you should know that not only do Moroccan men marry much younger females, it's also socially acceptable for them to do so here in Morocco. Why? The historical figure most revered in Morocco did so. The founder of Islam married a female who was significantly younger than him. He also claimed to have revelations authorizing him to marry multiple wives; after claiming to have had those revelations, he indeed married multiple females. Consequently, one of his wives accused him of having self-serving revelations. He also said that it's best not to marry more than one wife if you can't give adequate attention to all of them. Ultimately his other wives wound up ceding their time with him to his youngest wife, the one who was significantly younger than him, because she was perceived to be his favorite wife. Anyway, I could go on, but if you want to know where Moroccan men get a role model for marrying females much younger than them, know that many of them get such encouragement and reinforcement from the founder of Islam.

Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due

Yesterday I went to the store of a man here in town where I frequently buy food. When he saw me, he got up, asking me if I wanted to buy food. I told him that I didn't come there to buy food.

Instead I went to his shop to thank him for his son's good behavior in the English classes I teach at the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco. While teaching at the dar chebab, so often--indeed, far more often than not--I'm faced with a classroom of mostly unruly children. Thus, I especially appreciate when students behave well rather than encourage classroom misbehavior. Not only are they making my job easier, but also, and far more importantly, they're helping to foster a productive learning environment, by not distracting others through disruptive behavior.

I said to him, "Sir, thank you. In the classroom, your son is serious. He is quiet. When he has something to say, he raises his hand. He respects other people."

I believe that it was out of modesty that the shopkeeper denied that his son behaves particularly well. He claimed that at home, his son doesn't act the way I had described. However, I find it hard to believe that someone's behavior would be so different at home than at school.

Instead, I think it not only far more likely that his son is generally respectful and well-behaved, but also that he behaves so well because his father, this shopkeeper, has been raising him well. And that's why I went to his shop, to thank him, to let him know that I have noticed his son's outstanding behavior and that I appreciate it.

Shame On You

Here in Morocco, when someone does something which breaks a social norm, others might exclaim, "Hshuma!" When they do so, they're telling the person in Darija, that is, in Moroccan Arabic, "Shame on you!" The person who is chiding the other person might also pull down one of his or her eyelids with his or her index finger, which also is intended to convey the idea of "hshuma."

However, the concept of "hshuma" does not derive its force and effect on the behavior of others due to guilt on the part of the person who has been criticized. Rather, the accusation of "hshuma" focuses on the person in a way which makes the person publicly uncomfortable, in effect, shamed in front of others. Consequently, it often becomes important in Morocco to save face.

Nevertheless, I don't hear Moroccans saying "hshuma" that often. There does exist the social etiquette here that, if one feels that one should reprimand someone else, one does so in private, rather than in public. One is expected publicly to compliment and thank one's friends here. There's also the tendency here in Morocco that out in public one does not get involved in the affairs of others. I've seen kids fighting while adults are nearby watching. When I've gone to break up fights between kids, only then do other adults sometimes come to the children, at that point to assist in breaking up the fight. Thus perhaps one can trace how one doesn't hear "hshuma" uttered that much to these non-interventionist cultural norms, of not getting involved in others' business.

At any rate, I was heartened recently when I was heading off toward the palmerie, or massive grove of palm trees, which stretches into, through, and out of my town, for one of the walks I so enjoy there. On my way to the palmerie, a very young Moroccan boy, perhaps two years old, threw a rock at me. A woman behind him, perhaps his mother, declared, "Hshuma!" Especially considering how I often see Moroccan children throwing rocks at each other, I was grateful that this woman, particularly if she was the young boy's mother, was chastising him for his hostile behavior. Hopefully by correcting him while he is still so young, she will help him to treat others better in the future as he grows older and becomes more able to appreciate the moral character of his own actions.

A Sure Remedy For The Blues

At various moments in my life, I've found that when I'm feeling down in some way, whether it's discouraged, sad, or some other emotion that's bringing me down, I take a turn for the better emotionally if I choose to help someone else. It makes sense for multiple reasons, and from various perspectives.

In psychological research, it has been found that if you choose to distract yourself, rather than ruminate on your problems, you'll feel better. It's also been shown in such research that if you choose to engage in a more active task, rather than a task where you're more passive, or stationary, you're also likely to feel better.

But I'd add that you feel better because you're choosing to do something, rather than simply letting something be done to you. You're making an affirmative, assertive, proactive choice to take control of your own situation, rather than let it control you.

Not only are we affected by whether or not we choose to do something, we're also affected by what in particular we choose to do. If we choose to do something helpful and selfless, that makes us feel differently than if we react vindictively or selfishly.

We feel differently when we make such divergent choices because we're also affected by the effect we have on others. Often we have the blessing of getting to see how others react to us, which then helps guide our actions in the future. If we hurt someone in front of us, we're likely to see their pain, which is likely to make us regret what we did. We empathize with others. When our friends are happy, we celebrate with them.

When we help others, often the people we've helped thank us. Then we know we've contributed to others having a better day. We know that the other person has appreciated what we've done for them, and that reinforcement also guides our actions in the future.

And after we've helped someone, we have the benefit of thinking about how we've chosen to spend our time. When you reflect on something that you've done which is both productive and beneficial, that is, something that not only accomplishes something, but also supports and nurtures someone else, you feel better about how you've spent your time.

So my recent experience here in town makes plenty of sense. Recently on one night when I was in the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center") where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco, my mood was in the tank. It was looking as if, due to other work, that I wasn't going to get to travel to help some people who needed my help. I was despairing over this obstacle when a student asked me to help him in reviewing an English lesson which was especially challenging for him. It wasn't long after I'd started helping him that my mood started improving, and significantly, at that. And it makes so much sense. Rather than ruminating over how I thought I wasn't going to get to help certain people, I set about to start helping someone who I could help, someone who was right in front of me.

And that reminds me of other wise words of guidance I often try to follow: focus on what you do have. Do what you can do. Help the person who is right in front of you.

International Women's Day

Yesterday was International Women's Day. Accordingly, I started a discussion at the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV here in Morocco. A couple dozen students, about a quarter of them girls, and the rest boys, were present.

I explained that in many different countries, people celebrate International Women's Day because they think that it's important to know about and talk about the needs women have and the challenges that they face around the world. Then I noted that sometimes people face challenges because their needs are not being met.

I asked the students what all people need. We came up with a partial list which included air, water, food, education, employment, medicine, health care, housing, community, family and opportunities to grow.

I asked them to name a challenge which women in particular seem to face, perhaps here in the town where we live, throughout Morocco, or elsewhere in the world. One of them said, "Some women are not working." I agreed, and wrote it in a couple of different phrasings on the board, to help make sure that they understood its meaning. I wrote "Some women are unemployed" and "They don't have jobs."

I then asked the students why some women are not employed. One student responded that some women did not get a lot of education, so I wrote that on the board too.

Next I asked the students why some women have not received much education. They began to supply reasons, which I wrote on the board, and I added ones on the board that they didn't mention. We soon had a list which stated, "They could not pay," "In some places, there are not a lot of schools," "Some people don't understand that education is important," "Some girls stopped going to school because they were working," "Some girls stopped going to school because they got married," and "Some girls stopped going to school because they had children."

One of the students noted, "But here (in this town), there are girls who are married and they are still going to school." Rather than feeling stymied because he had just provided evidence to undermine one of the reasons we had found why some girls don't get a lot of education, instead I immediately realized that it could serve as a convenient segue to the next, critical part of the discussion.

Excited, I asked, "And how do they do that? What happens that makes it easier for them to do that?" When they didn't offer any explanations, I made my question more specific. I asked, "What can their husbands do to help them go to school?" One boy replied that they can drive them to school.

I asked what else people could do to ensure that married girls keep going to school. Another boy suggested, "The state can encourage married girls to stay in school."

I liked how they were coming up with solutions at different levels of society. However, I wanted to focus on personal responsibility, to steer them towards keeping themselves accountable for how they themselves deal with these challenges. I asked, "And what about her husband?" One of them replied that her husband can encourage her, so I wrote on the board, "Her husband can encourage her to continue going to school."

It may not seem all that significant to many people in the USA whether one encourages girls to go to school. After all, so many girls go to school in the USA, that perhaps to many people there doesn't seem to be a need to encourage girls to go to school. However, here in many parts of Morocco, not only do fewer girls complete as much schooling as boys, but additionally, they feel pressure to get married and start having families of their own, rather than focus on becoming more educated while they are young. Accordingly, I asked, "Who else can encourage her?"

A student replied, "Other family members." Again, wanting to keep them thinking in specific, personal terms, I asked them which family members. They started rattling off many family members, including father, sister, grandfather, brother, mother, uncle and aunt, all of which I wrote on the board next to "husband."

I wanted to make sure that I adequately emphasized the role which anyone can play in empowering girls, and thus women. Consequently, I aimed to develop further the theme of taking personal responsibility. I said, "Any of these people, her father, her sister, her brother, her uncle could think, 'I'm not deciding whether she goes to school.' But they do have to decide what they're going to say to her. And just like her family members have to take responsibility for what they say to her, we also have the responsibility for what we say to girls who are in this situation. So you see that International Women's Day is about raising our consciousness about the needs and challenges which women and girls face."

The students asked me what it means to raise your consciousness. I explained that once you've raised your consciousness about certain problems, such as the challenges which women face, then you know more about these problems, and thus you can speak more intelligently about them. Also, now that you see why it's important to be educated about these problems, you're also going to do something to help. Now that your consciousness has been raised about these problems, it has become important to you to do something to help.

At least that's my wish. I hope that yesterday I planted and watered some seeds of concern and care about the plight of women and girls in the international community, so that these students, in their daily lives, may bear some beneficial fruits in their efforts to improve the lives of women and girls around the world.

He Doesn't Know Me Very Well

Earlier this week, I went to the gendarmerie, or the headquarters of the gendarmes, where I live down here in the Sahara in Morocco. Since I live in a town, we don't have any police here in town like there are in Moroccan cities. Instead we only have gendarmes in this town.

Anyway, I went to the gendarmes to check on the status of my application to renew my carte de sejour (French, literally for "the card of one's stay"). Once a foreigner is in Morocco for more than three months, he or she is illegally staying in Morocco. To stay longer than that, one has to get a carte de sejour. After my first few months in Morocco, I obtained a carte de sejour. However, the carte de sejour is only valid for one year. Thus, at the beginning of this year, I applied to renew my carte de sejour. I gave the gendarmes passport-sized photos of myself, copies of the identification page of my passport, copies of my authorization to work here through the Peace Corps, and copies of my rental agreement for the apartment in which I live here in town. After I gave these photos and all of this documentation to them, they gave me a receipt indicating that I had applied to renew my carte de sejour. However, I figured that it wouldn't hurt to go back and check with them to make sure that they had everything they needed to process my application. It turned out that they indeed had everything that they needed, so I left the gendarmerie happy upon confirming that my application was indeed complete.

Later in the day, I headed over to the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer). Usually when I arrive at the dar chebab, I visit with the moudir (director) in his office for a little while, to catch up on recent events which have occurred at the dar chebab, as well as to discuss upcoming activities there. When I arrived at the dar chebab on this particular day, the moudir was speaking with a computer science teacher in the office. A little while later, a boy, perhaps ten years old, came into the office.

During the usual banter of conversation, if a Moroccan thinks you're a little crazy, he or she is likely to say so. It's not only a common assertion, but also a relatively sure way of making Moroccans laugh, whether you call someone else crazy, or whether you claim to be crazy yourself. At one point, I told the computer science teacher that I'm crazy. He turned and asked the boy if he thought that I was crazy. The boy, certainly appearing to be a bit meek, said that he didn't think I was crazy. The computer science teacher turned back to me and said, "You see? He doesn't think you're crazy." I rejoindered in Darija, "Ah, but he doesn't know me," insinuating that if the boy did know me, he wouldn't say that, thus implying that I'm crazy. Unsurprisingly, the computer science teacher and the director laughed at my comment. It's a well-worn, but nevertheless reliable, source of laughter here in Morocco.

Ask Her

Last night I was in the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic) where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco. At the dar chebab, I do most of my volunteering as teaching and tutoring Moroccan students in English.

Yesterday in the dar chebab, a student opened his notebook and asked me to explain certain words which were in his notes which he had taken down during his English class. He especially wanted me to explain the word "ambition" to him, which I did. I also explained other related vocabulary to him, such as the verbs "to hope" and "to aspire." Later he clarified that he had been assigned to write an e-mail to a friend explaining what his own ambitions are.

Before I realized that the teacher had assigned him to write about his own aspirations, I thought he was asking me for a topic about which he could write. Students often ask me for subjects about which they can write in English; then they write something so they can practice their English, and then I correct what they have written. Thinking that he had requested a topic about which he could write, I asked him if he had a sister. He replied that he has a sister. I suggested to him that he write an e-mail to his friend explaining what his sister's ambitions are.

The student replied that he didn't know what his sister's ambitions are. Unfortunately I can't say that I was surprised. At least here in southern Morocco, which is such a relatively conservative region of the country, girls and women are widely expected not only to get married, but to work in the home and raise their children. I wouldn't find it surprising if girls' and women's husbands, brothers and other male relatives simply don't ask them what they would most like to be. I suggested to the student that he ask his sister what her ambitions are.

Where Have You Been?

Yesterday I went to the home of a family I often visit here in the town in which I live in the Sahara in Morocco. When I run into them on the street, they invite me over to their home for meals. If I haven't gone over to their home for a meal in a while, usually they'll ask me why I haven't come to their home.

Before I went over to their home, I thought I might be able to get some shopping done before most everyone in town disappeared to have lunch. Between about 1 p.m. and about 4 p.m., most hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for the rough equivalent of corner stores in the USA) are closed while their proprietors are having lunch (and perhaps napping after lunch).

I headed out from my apartment a little before 1 p.m. and was glad to find the hanoot where I mostly frequently shop for groceries open. I stocked up on food, then returned home to drop it off.

Then I continued on to the family's home. When I arrived, I took off my shoes and joined the father on a mat, on top of which was a table with a teapot and glasses. Moroccans love to drink tea, and they always offer some to their guests.

As the father and I sat enjoying the fine weather, bounded by the beautiful blue sky and puffy cumulus clouds, he inquired about my family in the USA, as Moroccans typically do. He also asked me if I had been traveling. I mentioned that on some recent weekends, I'd been to the city which is about an hour north of this town where we live.

All of their kids were traveling, so I only ate with the father. In some conservative Moroccan homes, the women and girls eat separately from the men and boys. In their home, at times we've all eaten together, so I don't know why the mom didn't eat with us yesterday.

The mom brought out lunch, which included some fried fish, accompanied by some hot sauce in which to dip the fish. I enjoyed all of the food, but I enjoyed the hot sauce in a way I didn't enjoy the other food. I don't get to eat much spicy food here in Morocco, so I enjoyed the hot sauce as something which I don't eat too often here. We also ate a vegetarian tajine, or stew, which included potatoes and carrots, grabbing our morsels out of the communal plate with pieces of bread we broke off from the typically round, flat Moroccan loaves of bread.

After lunch, the mom brought us some small oranges for dessert. When we had finished eating the oranges, she came over to the mat and sat with us. She too asked me if I had been traveling. I finally realized that they had been asking me if I had been traveling because I was at their home for a meal for the first time in a month. They felt that it had been too long. They figured that since I hadn't come over for a meal, that I must have been traveling.

I must admit that I had been wary about overindulging in their hospitality. I had been concerned about going to their home too often. Now I know that they expect me to come over more than once a month. It strikes me as a bit notable that even after being here in Morocco for nearly a year and a half, that I am still learning the parameters of the customs and cultural norms here.