Space Is At A Premium

I've mentioned previously how Moroccan taxi drivers jam passengers into their taxis. Two in the front passenger seat. Four in the backseat, which would seat three in the US. During my travels in taxis in the past week, I've once again experienced such cramped traveling spaces. However, last week I think I might have been more impressed during my trip back into Marrakech from my friend and fellow PCV's town. On the return trip back into the city, I caught a ride in a transit van (which the locals shorten to "transit," and which they pronounce with a French accent, as "transeet." The other transit passengers and I weren't partly sitting on top of each other like we would have been doing had we been riding in a grand taxi. I was just impressed by how they fit so many of us into the van. Although the van was so crowded that it was difficult for me to get a clear view so that I could accurately count how many people were in the van, I was pretty sure that there were at least 20 adults, including the driver and me, and 3 kids younger than 10 years old in the van.

After I'd arrived in Marrakech and gotten out of the van, I thought about how jam-packed grand taxis and transit vans are here. I compared transportation phenomena here with those in the US. It made me consider that while people in the US might consider a certain vehicle as being full, others elsewhere in the world might not view it the same way. It depends on your perspective.

Someone I'm Going To Aspire To Emulate

Yesterday I took a Marrakech city bus on my way from the center of Marrakech to the town where my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Jack lives. The city buses are much cheaper than taxis. I paid 6 dirhams for the 45-minute bus ride. If I'd taken a taxi, probably I would've paid at least 25 dirhams. The bus fare is set, whereas a taxi driver could end up trying to charge you a lot and you might either try haggling with him, or pay more than you think you should pay, even though you'd be frustrated.

I'm reminded of what a more experienced PCV told me during my first couple of months in Morocco. He noted how a lot of PCVs don't like Marrakech. Some PCVs get turned off by Marrakech and frustrated by it since they wind up spending a lot of money in the city, including while getting overcharged for taxi rides. This particular more experienced PCV advised to learn and use the city bus system. Having taken his tip, the same as the directions given to me by my friend who I'm visiting here near Marrakech, I'm reminded that we should get help and guidance from one another. To do so, it can be easier if one shares how one is feeling. If you're frustrated about a situation, or otherwise feeling challenged by it, tell someone else how you feel about it. Not only will you tend to feel better simply because you've verbalized your feelings, and shared them with someone who can empathize with you, but once the other person knows that you've been struggling with it, he or she can share helpful ideas that he or she may have. Conversely, if you don't share how you feel, you're making it harder for the other person to help you.

Let the other person help you. And in the process, see what you learn about giving and receiving. Last night, I was happy to arrive at my friend's apartment. He welcomed me to his home as he always does when I come to visit. As the evening progressed, he showed me much hospitality. Before I'd sat down, he offered me some of the potato chips he was eating. A little while later, we had breakfast for dinner when he made us some delicious French toast. He gave me half of the orange he was having. He offered me some fancy chocolate. When he went to get a yogurt for himself, he checked to see if I wanted one. He's an unusually magnanimous and gracious host: he's someone I'm going to aspire to emulate.

A Refreshing Display Of Courtesy

Recently I was walking down the sidewalk in the town in which I live here in the Sahara. I'm grateful when I'm in a spot where there is a sidewalk on which I can walk. In many locations in Morocco, there isn't one. Many Moroccans tend to walk in the street, even where there is a sidewalk.

Anyway, as I was walking down the sidewalk, a man exited a store and our paths crossed. We both stopped, which was an uncommon sight. Typically two people in that scenario in Morocco would immediately get around each other and quickly continue on their ways. But he and I each were waiting for the other person to go first. After we each had finally continued walking our separate ways, I thought how unusual that encounter was. Very often here in Morocco, people just go where they're going, without yielding to others. It may seem like a simple thing, but I greatly appreciated his refreshing, considerate display of courtesy.

If You Care, You're Going To Do Something About It

On my walk back to my apartment from the center of town yesterday, I saw a boy throw a rock at another boy. He was picking up another rock when I said to him in Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, "Don't do that: you could hurt someone."

I've been trying to devote more time and energy to working on my own behavior, and to helping others improve their behavior. We do others no favors when we see others doing things which are unacceptable yet fail to call them out on their misbehavior. If I'm doing something wrong, I want someone to tell me. In telling me, someone is going to help me improve. I have a spiritual brother who regularly rebukes me and other Christians. I am extremely thankful for his attention, care, frankness, and confidence in chastising me and others. He pays attention to what people are doing. He also cares enough to bring our misdeeds to our attention. If you care, you're not only going to be paying attention; you're also going to do something about a problem. He's honest and forthright enough to tell us the truth about ourselves. And he believes strongly enough in the importance of addressing our behavior to be bold enough to speak with us about it.

I don't know if that boy with whom I spoke yesterday is going to stop throwing rocks because of what I said to him. I can't control him or make his choices for him. But I can, and do, make my own choices. And I choose to address such behavior.

After I told him not to throw rocks, he appeared to be considering what I had said to him. Perhaps, if nothing else, at least I got him to consider some potential consequences of his actions.

The Best Way To Deal With Misbehavior In The Classroom Is Through The Heart

Often when I'm teaching English at the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center") here in town, kids are unruly. Usually they divert other students' attention by talking to them in class. However, sometimes they engage in other, more disruptive classroom misbehavior.

I've gone so far as to kick talkative or otherwise distracting kids out of the classroom. While I prefer not to resort to such extreme measures, after expelling multiple misbehaving students out of the classroom, I have found that the remaining students, who are more serious about learning, are more able to focus on the lesson. Consequently, we have more efficient and productive lessons.

However, at times I've also called upon the moudir (Darija for "director") of the dar chebab to help me with especially disruptive kids. For example, on one recent night, I was teaching an English class. Given that it has started getting warmer, the moudir had left the windows of this particular classroom open before I started teaching this class. Thus, the students in the classroom and I quite clearly heard the ear-piercing whistle which a child made right outside the window. I purposely kept teaching for a few more moments to avoid acknowledging, and thus to avoid drawing attention to, his misbehavior, which, I suspected, was exactly what he wanted. However, after a few moments, I left the classroom and spoke with the moudir about the loud whistle. He went outside the dar chebab and took the boys outside the window by surprise. Later that night he told me that he had decided that they would be banned from the dar chebab.

He's also mentioned to me the idea of bringing rebellious kids to the gendarmes, who are the law enforcement officers here in town. Generally, although I imagine that doing so would tend to be highly effective in reining in kids' unruly behavior, it seems to me that doing so might be an extreme measure. However, at least some of the time, I would definitely encourage such a course of action. With the very loud, screeching whistle, one is starting to consider noise complaints, which, at least in the US, law enforcement officers handle. However, I also recognize that Moroccans might call upon law enforcement here in Morocco for additional and different reasons other than those which lead people to utilize law enforcement agencies in the US. Furthermore, I completely respect the moudir's authority and his decisions to ban certain youths from the dar chebab and/or to bring them to the gendarmerie.

In managing misbehavior while I'm teaching and/or tutoring kids in English, I've also been reminded of certain cultural phenomena here in Morocco. Youths, as well as adults, sometimes expect me to become violent when I attempt to deal with disruptive kids. In addressing classroom misbehavior, I also try to get kids to respect each other.

A specific example comes to mind. Last week, I was tutoring a student in English. He told me that he was going to give a presentation in school about how youths drop out of school. He's one of the most devoted students who comes to the dar chebab for help in learning English. He often asks me questions about English. He's also relatively quiet, gentle, modest and soft-spoken. As I was helping him with words and phrases in English related to his presentation topic, he was making a good number of mistakes, sometimes by misspelling words, and sometimes by using the wrong verb tense. Other kids were in the room, and a couple of them were watching and listening as I was tutoring this student. One of the ones who was watching was laughing as my tutee was incorrectly composing sentences. I became angry and told him and another youth who also was distracting us to leave the room. I was especially incensed in this case because not only were they making it more difficult for my tutee to concentrate, and thus to learn, but the one kid was implicitly mocking his attempts to learn. I was especially agitated because potentially, given his seemingly sensitive nature, my tutee seems particularly susceptible to the destructive effects which such mockery can have on one's psyche.

I thus followed the two youths out of the dar chebab, in an attempt to explain to them why they must not laugh at students who are trying to learn. However, when they saw me coming, they ran away. I believe that they assumed that I would hurt them, or at least grab them, if I got close enough to them to do so. I returned to the classroom and finished tutoring my student. The two students who had sped away had returned and were lingering just outside the front doors of the dar chebab. I again tried to speak with the disrespectful students, and again they fled; this pattern recurred a few times. Each time I looked outside to see if they were still there so I could talk with them, they became scarce.

Finally at one point, I was standing outside of the dar chebab when I saw the youth who had been laughing at my tutee. From afar, I strongly stated to him in Darija that he must not laugh at another student who is trying to learn. In English, he said, "I am sorry." I responded in Darija that he had to say that to the student at whom he had been laughing.

Having addressed his disrespectful behavior, I re-entered the dar chebab, where the moudir, as well as the moudir of another dar chebab in a nearby village were conversing. I began speaking with them about this situation which had just occurred while I had been tutoring. I explained to them that the reason I had been so irritated was because if a kid laughs at another kid when he's trying to learn, that youth who's trying to learn might later have psychological problems. The moudir of the dar chebab here in town indicated that he understood.

A short time later, he told me that the moudir of the dar chebab from the nearby town would walk with me to my apartment. I headed out from the dar chebab with him. After walking with him for about a minute, I began to wonder why he was walking me home. It occurred to me that perhaps it was because I had berated the one youth in public. Moroccans tend to observe the rule of praising others in public, and reprimanding them in private. However, I'd kept trying to take the two disruptive youths aside to privately counsel them, but hadn't been able to do so. Given the potentially damaging effects of his mockery, I felt it might have been urgent immediately to address his misbehavior. Further, during some periods, I have not seen this particular youth, the one who had been laughing at my tutee, for months on end. Still further, I'd seen the moudir of the dar chebab here in town chide students while others were watching and/or within earshot. Nevertheless, as I was walking home with the moudir of the dar chebab of the nearby town, I asked him if I should not have chastised the student in public, and if I should have waited until I was able to privately speak with him. He responded that there hadn't been a problem with how I had handled the situation.

As we continued walking, once we were much closer to my apartment, it occurred to me that maybe he wanted to come into my apartment, perhaps to counsel me in private about this situation. Accordingly, when we reached the front door of the apartment building in which I live, I asked him if he wanted to come inside. He declined, which not only seemed to be a genuine reply given the look on his face and his general demeanor, but also seemed to make sense since he hasn't been feeling that well.

Once I had gotten inside my apartment, I finally realized why he had walked me home. He had done so because Moroccan men and boys often make sure that other men or boys in a physical altercation actually part ways, and often accompany them on their way to make sure that they're not going to go back to find the other--or each other--to restart the dispute or fight. However, I'd had no intention of harming, grabbing or even touching either of these youths. During physical confrontations, Moroccan men and boys exchange harsh words and threats, shove each other, and, at times, put their hands to the throat of the other male, as if they are about to strangle him. They rarely use weapons while fighting, and nearly no private Moroccan citizens own guns. Given how Moroccan men and boys sometimes interact with each other, certainly I understand why Moroccans tend to expect me to become violent with youths who are disruptive while I'm trying to teach and/or tutor.

However, I don't become violent. I have hoped that the next day I communicated that I follow this behavioral aspiration. I was at the dar chebab when both of the youths who I had ejected from the classroom the previous day walked right up to me. I calmly said to them in Darija, "Look: you have to respect other kids. It's very important to respect them when they're trying to learn. That's all." I was glad to see that they seemed to be serious and attentive to the message I was trying to communicate to them. It occurred to me that they might have become so meek because they were concerned that the moudir was going to ban them from the dar chebab, and/or take other punitive measures against them. I figured that I was probably correct in my suspicion when the student who had laughed at my tutee seemed concerned a little while later as he asked the moudir whether he could attend Spring Camp. However, I hope that these two students are not just changing their behavior out of self-interest. I hope and pray that they truly are repentant, and that they have reached such a psychological and spiritual place out of compassion for their fellow student. I know that if they feel and believe so, they will have benefited infinitely more than from having gained any knowledge of, or skill in, English.

Encouraging Girls To Be Ambitious and Bold

In my volunteering 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, I try to use English lessons as vehicles for empowering Moroccan girls. I attempt to do so partially by trying to provide the girls with ideas of role models and by encouraging them to speak out.

I had yet again another opportunity to do so last week, when I was teaching some girls, at their request, about the present continuous verb tense. As some examples of that verb tense, I wrote on the board the sentences "She is working as a doctor in a hospital" and "She is getting her Master's degree." Although initially I provided them with these sentences intending to hopefully foster seeds of ambition in them, I also found that they found the second sentence educational in a purely informational sense. They asked me what a Master's degree is. Now, I'm not sure if they just didn't know the words in English for Master's degree, or if they didn't know that there is such a thing as a Master's degree. In any event, I answered their question, explaining that first one has to go to high school if one is then going to go to a university, which, in turn, is a prerequisite for obtaining a Master's degree.

Also during that lesson, I started implementing the practice, about which I had recently read, of having students come to the board to write. I'd read that in having girls get up and write on the board, one can help build their self-confidence. Hence I was keen to, and thus was sure to, call on girls who were raising their hands during that class. I was writing sentences in the present continuous verb tense, leaving the conjugation of the verb "to be" and the formation of the gerund up to the student who was writing on the board. So I wrote text like "She (work) at the office" and had the student replace "work" with "is working" on the board.

I'm imagining and hoping that girls gain self-confidence by walking up to the board and writing on it, and for various reasons, I'm suspecting that they actually will gain such self-assurance by doing so. They are taking a risk by stepping out of their comfort zone. They're taking bold steps to stand up in front of their peers. They're taking on a position of prominence in the classroom. They're publicly displaying their knowledge before their classmates. They are, in effect, teaching their fellow pupils. Consequently, they're taking a step toward assuming a position of authority. And I envision that girls are being empowered by all of these likely benefits, which it seems that they likely derive by choosing to take a leap.

Using Humor As A Means Of Helping Kids Focus

Earlier this week I was teaching English 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. The small English class consisted mostly of girls, who had asked me to review dialogue which frequently is said when one goes shopping.

I gradually went through a brief conversation with them on the dry erase board between a shopkeeper and a customer, very similar to the one which one of the girls had showed me in her notebook. At one point in the exchange, I wrote that the shopper was indicating that she wanted some chicken. I had the storeowner reply by asking her how many chickens she wanted. At this point, the girls seemed to be visibly tired, bored or losing their motivation or focus. So the next sentence I wrote on the board was the customer saying, "I want eighty chickens." When the girls read this sentence, they smiled a little. Then I asked them if they knew why I had written that the shopper wanted eighty chickens. I explained to them that I had written that to make sure that they had been paying attention. Still, the girls seemed to be lagging a bit, so I next wrote on the board the shopkeeper responding to his patron, "You're crazy." Moroccans usually are amused when someone is accused of being loony, so it was another effective way of rousing them a bit, in an effort to help them to focus on the lesson.

Helping Mom In The Kitchen

Yesterday I was volunteering 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. For most of my volunteering there, I teach and tutor students in English.

Yesterday when some students arrived at the dar chebab, one of them asked me to help him with a paragraph he wanted to write in English. He said that he wanted to write about what he had done this past weekend. Usually I have students write what they want to write, and then I correct it. However, yesterday I got the different idea of having the student dictate the letter to me. I corrected his speech as I transcribed it onto the board, so he was only seeing the correct version, and not also what he had said, which at times did not employ proper grammar. In retrospect, I think that I prefer my usual approach. That way, after the student has written his or her work, and then after I correct it, the student can see both his or her mistakes, as well as how the text should correctly read.

Anyway, we came up with a paragraph which read something like this: "Last weekend I went to my village. I spent time with my family. I helped my father work. I saw my friends." A little later, the student said that, instead of having the sentence "I helped my father work," he wanted to include the sentence "I helped my mother in the kitchen." Then he asked me, "That is a good thing to do, yes?" Certainly wanting to encourage sons to support and help their mothers, rather than simply to rely on them and expect them to cook and clean and wash for them, I immediately affirmed that it was indeed excellent to help one's mother in the kitchen.

After we had finished working on the paragraph which he had wanted to write, he and another student asked me to review the passive voice with them. I wrote various sentences on the board in the active voice, which I had the students transform into the passive voice. In doing so, at a couple of points, I consciously capitalized on some opportunities to reinforce the approach of helping one's female family members with household tasks--and even going further than that, and instead actually doing the tasks for them. Thus, I wrote on the board the sentence "He is cooking couscous in the kitchen for his mother," which the students correctly reworded into the passive voice as "Couscous is being cooked by him in the kitchen for his mother."

While I often try to plant such seeds of support of women, in this instance I especially enjoyed providing them this sentence, since I felt that rather than planting a seed, I felt that I was watering a seed which had already taken root. He had shown, of his own volition, that he wants to support and help his mother. That's the best case scenario, when a student already shows the behavior, skill or attitude you hope that he or she develops. It was his idea to help his mother, which demonstrates that he's thinking in the mode of supporting women, and, more specifically, his mother. Hopefully he's already in this mindset by second nature. If not, it looks like he's on his way, since such thoughts of supporting women occur to him on his own.

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?