COLUMN: I"m back

I’m back. After almost a year of living in Morocco I’ve returned to the US. Everyone’s first question to me is without exception “Is it weird to be back?” It’s actually rather amusing what stuff I find weird upon returning. The first most striking thing is the incredible realization that I understand absolutely everything that is going on around me. I can eavesdrop with success; I understand the subtleties of communication, the innuendos, the nuances, the connotations. Throw a gesture at me- I know exactly what you mean! This amazing characteristic of my life here put into perspective the fact that I had been operating on about 70% understanding in everything I did for the last year. I’m up to 100 now! (or at least the high 90’s) and that makes everyday life so much easier.

It’s funny what stuff about being back is difficult. What struck me first was EVERYTHING IS SO BIG! Cars are huge, my refrigerator is huge, soda comes in 2 and 3 liter bottles. Everything about my life in the US is much bigger than I remembered. It’s the opposite feeling I got when I returned to Lynnwood Elementary School for the first time in years and realized that everything was a lot smaller than I remembered.

I suffer some short term memory loss about how things work here. My first day at home I went to heat up some leftovers and had no idea how long it took to heat things up in the microwave. I totally blanked, 5 second, 5 minutes… no idea. Quiz me on the precise cooking time of anything in a pressure cooker over a camping stove powered by a propane tank and I know the answer instantly, but how long to heat up my mac and cheese escaped me.

Similarly, the part of my brain that is normally responsible for recalling the customs for tipping was apparently overtaken by some obscure Morocco fact like which side of the street is better to walk on at what time of night. I know 1 dirham is standard in Morocco but at the hair dresser it was clear that the equivalent 10 cents was not going to be sufficient. But I couldn’t for the life of me remember if there was some percentage I was supposed to follow or a standard fee for effort?

Communication is also a place where my adjustment wasn’t instant. For certain concepts the words just come out first in French or Arabic. I find myself saying ‘pardon’ instead of ‘excuse me’ and ‘safi’ instead of ‘that’s enough’. Also ‘eh’ to me still means is not an indifferent exhalation but rather it means ‘yes’. Thankfully at least my family understands me.
Lastly, at what point during my absence did the US become obsessed with foaming soap and Project Runway?

Good old ‘reverse culture shock’. This is my second go at this aptly named phenomenon and I’m finding it quite a different experience this time around. My first time returning to the US after spending considerable time in a developing country was really hard for me. I was bothered by so many wasteful aspects of our society after living with those who have nothing. So much packaging! Why do we use so much toilet paper, so many paper towels? Does anyone really need 30 pairs of shoes? But this time it’s different. Instead of being frustrated with America I can see the quirks, the idiosyncrasies, the specificities and find their charm. I see how so many small things add together to make this place unique.

And now I know of at least two ways that things are done, and I am in a place where I can choose which way work best for me. I can take what I liked about living in Morocco and incorporate it into how I live in America without being bitter or hostile toward the aspects of each society that I don’t appreciate. That’s one positive thing about being home, something I missed while I was away- the freedom to live as I wish.

COLUMN: Kids in Any Language

Children in any language

Here in Morocco, my imperfect French and my cave-man Arabic sometimes lead to miscommunication. It can be frustrating when the mispronunciation of an ‘H’ sound stands between me and buying milk. It can be embarrassing when I accidentally don’t germinate an ‘L’ and curse someone instead of thanking them. It can be humiliating when I mispronounce the name of the country and say ‘garbage’ instead. However, there is one audience with whom I have no difficulty communicating: kids.

Not only do most children speak entirely in the present tense and have a vocabulary equivalent to mine which greatly facilitates my aural comprehension, they are also still in the process of learning their own cultures norms and politesse and therefore are quick to excuse my faux-pas if they recognize them at all. But most of all the beauty of communicating with kids is that you don’t need words at all.

When I’m in a particularly awkward situation (generally when I don’t understand anything going on around me) I seek out the children. There is always one hiding just outside the salon where I’m being received for tea, a few seats over on public transportation, or just in front of me in line. My bag of tricks for wordless communication includes a piece of gum, working knowledge of ‘peek-a-boo’, a coin, and no sense of propriety when it comes to energetic bursts of movement.

It amazes me that no matter where I go in the world, people play some version of rock paper scissors. I dueled a four year old in Japan with the same fervor as my five year olds at Camp Nassau (though the words were different). Morocco is no exception, “zim bom bah” can pass hours of time here.

Counting can also be very useful. Teaching children how to count to three in different languages, followed by a jump, swing, or tickle can be an amazing way to make friends. One-Two-Three, throw them in the air. Wahed-Zhoozh-Teleta, tickle them in the stomach. Un-Deux-Trois jump to try to touch the clothes line. Ichi-Ni-San slap their hands before they can pull away. Eins-Szwei-Dri race around the yard.

Public transportation is one arena where I am always interacting with children. A gracious mother recently thanked me in rapid fire Arabic (about a quarter of which I understood) for having provided her children with the two tools he needed to stop fidgeting and crying on the train, pen and paper. All it took on my part was a universally understood ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ in reaction to his pictures and the child was quiet and happy for the rest of the three hour ride.

I recently had a terrible day when I decided to take a bus instead of my normal taxi home. I asked for direction and managed to board a bus and then sat patiently for over an hour. Suddenly there was no one on the bus but me and we were no where near my neighborhood. A confusing exchange with the driver revealed that I had been riding in the wrong direction and arrived at the end of the line. After charging me a second fare to return I was in a dejected mood. As more passengers boarded the bus I found myself sitting behind a crying infant propped over his mother’s shoulder. I ventured that there might be a universal dislike for sun in one’s eyes so with one hand as a sun shield, and the other offered to give him something to squeeze, I rode the bus for one more hour as my steam dissipated and his tears dried. While the driver was cursing me for my mistake at least the rest of the bus was praising me for calming the screaming child.

Which hand is the (insert local currency) in? How high can you jump? I declare a thumb war. The possibilities for non-verbal games are endless. No matter what language a child speaks, entertainment is appreciated with or without perfect aural comprehension. So while I have yet to understand the news programs in their entirety and my trips to the grocer still involve a lot of frantic pointing, there are at least moments in my day when a kid and I just ‘get’ each other.

photos

okay team- pretty clear by now that I don't have the patience to upload photos on these wussy internet cafe computers of death... so for all your photo viewing needs I refer you to noahyv.com because he's better at taking pictures than me anyway...