Month: October 2024

I’ve heard a lot of people call the first week or so of studying abroad “the honeymoon phase.” But of course, that doesn’t apply to me. I’m the exception, and this country is, too. I’ve never been happier, and I could never want to leave.

At least that’s what I thought before I began to feel more like a student and less like a tourist. As a tourist, you wander around a new country like you’d wander around a zoo, peering into the inner workings of something foreign and exciting. You move from exhibit to exhibit from behind a metal railing or a glass wall. You’re so close, but you can’t reach inside. As a tourist, there’s a similar division between you and the local society. You create memories that you’ll treasure forever, then return home where the food is familiar, and the language is your own. In my last post, I reminisced about everything I’d seen and done during my own “honeymoon phase.” I traveled to Casablanca, Marrakech, Ouzud Waterfull, Beni Melal, and finally, my home city of Meknes. Between mosques, bus rides, pools, markets, palaces, new food, breath-taking views, hotels, medinas, and tours– there wasn’t a second to spare for homesickness. I fell in love Morocco quickly, but now, in the monotony of routine, I do have a second to spare. Hours, even, as it turns out. I’m not a tourist anymore. I fell into the exhibit, and I’m having trouble adapting to the ecosystem.

The biggest issue I’m having right now is the language barrier. There are four main languages commonly spoken in Morocco: Darija (Moroccan Arabic), French, Spanish, and Berber. Note that English is not on that list. Also note that I don’t speak any other languages (except Italian, but I’d argue that that’s even less helpful). I’ve successfully used my high school French once, and that moment was magical:

I put three Red Bulls in front of the cashier, and he said, “Soixante.”

Making sure I heard him correctly, I asked, “Soixante?”

 “Oui. Soixante.”

I put 60 Moroccan Dirhams on the counter, said “Merci,” then walked out the door. It was kind of awesome.

In all seriousness, I regret not learning more French or Arabic over this past summer. I had enough free time, but I underestimated the languages’ importance. I operated under the logic that, if I was studying both Modern Standard Arabic and Darija while abroad, I didn’t need to while at home. Now, here I am, vocally stumbling around markets, with only the ability to give blank stares and write the Arabic Alphabet. Even in my Darija class, which is solely conversation-based, I haven’t been able to say much beyond phrases like “hello,” “my name is,” “I’m from,” etc. I feel disappointed in myself, because I chose Morocco due to its stark contrast from home. I was motivated by cultural immersion, but how am I supposed to immerse if I can’t even communicate? I’m doing my best to learn, but I’d be much more successful with a head-start. Languages are difficult, and I wish I hadn’t assumed that I could just “pick it up” upon arrival.

I do, however, get comfort from the abundance of coffee here. To give you a brief idea: picture one of those newer soda machines where you push a button on a screen, rather than pressing your cup to the back of the dispenser. Now replace the soda with options like lattes, cappuccinos, espresso shots, and different brews of coffee. Well, I’ve seen quite a few of these in nicer Moroccan gyms, hotels, and similar facilities. I’ve only used one once, but it was unexpectedly incredible. Currently trying to figure out how to fit one in my suitcase. And my budget. On top of that, every other building here seems to be a café. I haven’t had a single cup of bad, or even mediocre, coffee since leaving the United States.

If you consider my RedBull anecdote from earlier, you might ask why I’m buying energy drinks whilst raving about the coffee. It’s because of one major drawback. Cafés are THE social scene in Morocco, similar to American bars. Pretty much anything associated with bars in the U.S. can be applied to Moroccan coffee shops. A space for people to gather and watch sports? Café. A hip lounge with neon lights and bustling night scene? Café. A dimly lit billiards club? It has a full espresso bar. Now, I want you to imagine someone in the U.S. walking into a bar, purchasing a drink, then immediately walking out (ignore legality for the sake of my analogy). Weird, right? The point is that coffee here is a social experience, making to-go coffee pretty much non-existent. Hence my stash of Red Bulls for 8am classes. I find it funny that I enjoy coffee in Morocco so much more, but consume way less, just because of the way I’ve been conditioned to drink it.

Morocco isn’t a country with very many unspoken social rules, which is something that I’ve both observed for myself and been told by locals. Customs around eating, however, are a big exception. Firstly, dinner is not the “big meal” here like it is in America. The time when everyone gathers to eat a large multi-course meal is lunch. It still feels odd when my roommates and I come home to a massive feast during out mid-day break, then, at night, we heat up our small, simple dinners in the microwave oven. It seems wrong, but I’m starting to enjoy it. Additionally, I’ve been called out by multiple people for both standing while eating, and not eating all of my food in one sitting. My classmates and I have started many long rants from professors by doing both. Shortly put, my American routine of walking to class with breakfast in one hand and coffee in the other, just won’t work here.

Another American norm that wouldn’t work in Morocco is driving. There are no straightforward/commonly agreed-upon traffic rules like there are in the United States. From my understanding, people just drive where they need to go and try not to hit anyone. What would get an American immediately honked at, pulled over, and ticketed, is just the average Moroccan drive to work. Motorcycles also operate this way. In the U.S., we joke and ridicule that motorcycles like to switch between being cars and being pedestrians. After living here, I will no longer be making that joke. One minute, a motorcycle will be speeding down the highway, and the next it’ll be on the sidewalk slowly cruising alongside pedestrians. When I first got here, the sidewalk motorcycles terrified me because of their proximity. But it’s so common that I’ve already gotten used to them. Pedestrians, too, follow this pattern. I’m convinced that crosswalks here are purely for decoration. If you need to cross the street, you just cross the street. If oncoming traffic is far enough away that they can stop before hitting you, then you go. If you wait for someone to let you through, or wait at a crosswalk, you’re going to be waiting a very long time. The only way to get anywhere is by jumping right into traffic. Safely.

In all, as it turns out, I’m not the exception to culture-shock after all. That honeymoon phase has faded, and now I’m face-to-face with the reality of immersion– if I can even call it that. It’s not easy, and it’s not comfortable, but I have to remind myself that that’s exactly what I signed up for. Language barriers and traffic customs aren’t just quirky anecdotes anymore: they’re part of the life I’m living. I wanted to experience life beyond that glass wall of tourism, and now that I have, I’m coming to understand that immersion isn’t just noticing differences but living them. To do that, I need to start making conscious changes. I have to speak with locals; I have to make time in the morning for breakfast and coffee; I have to adjust my typical eating habits; I have to walk into oncoming traffic. Each day, I’m learning to navigate this new ecosystem, slowly but surely noticing its patterns. I’m still absolutely in love with Morocco, even though it’s now scarier and more real. I’ve found myself in an awkward position where I’m not a tourist, but I’m not fully immersed, either. But I guess that’s just studying abroad.