Of all the things that went through my head prior to coming to Morocco, I can say with confidence that I never thought to myself “man, I can’t wait to be illiterate!” But… here I am, in a foreign country 3500 miles from home, and totally unable to read a solid 90% of written Arabic I come across. As an English speaker, I enjoy the benefits of knowing some vocabulary in French, but my situation for that language isn’t much better.

The strange truth is that not being able to read or write or speak the languages of Morocco has been simultaneously freeing and terrifying for me. From time to time, I worry about getting into situations where my level of Arabic simply won’t be enough to facilitate communication with Moroccans. For example, last week I was at the hanout buying spices to make dinner, and when the shop owner asked me what I wanted I realized I didn’t know the word for cayenne pepper. After trying to explain what I meant for a minute or two, I decided to just cut my losses and only buy cumin and paprika. It was discouraging to get tripped up on something so small, but it really reminded me of how little Arabic I know and how difficult things can be as a result.

Even more frustrating is when I’m talking to someone and they can understand my (basic) Darija, but I can’t understand what the other person is saying. It feels like we’re so close to good communication, but at the same time so far from actually making the connection.

But at the same time I think that not relying on being able to read, in particular, makes Morocco more beautiful. It’s easy to get caught up in signs or posters as you walk down the street, but if you can’t read them, it allows you to appreciate your surroundings as a whole instead of focusing on one thing in particular. As a beginning Arabic speaker in Morocco I feel more free from the constant commercialization we experience everywhere we go in the US, essentially because I just don’t understand the advertisements. Inwi’s texting me trying to get me to buy something? Guess what, I just plain don’t understand what you want! What I’m getting at is that in our society in the US, we place a lot of emphasis on reading things, while ignoring our other senses. I consider myself lucky that while I’m here I’m forced to rely on more than just reading, since it opens the door to experiencing the country in other ways.

Likewise, I’ve experienced a similar phenomenon during live interaction with Moroccans. Being unable to fully express your thoughts in words or to interpret those of others means you’re forced to take note of other signals from them: expressions, gestures, body language. I know I’ve become at least a little bit more attentive to these smaller forms of communication in the absence of the verbal form. It makes me wonder how much information I’ve failed to notice from these more subtle clues during my interactions with friends, family, and other Americans.

I’ve really struggled with the fact that speaking with someone doesn’t just come naturally yet in Arabic. I’m at the point of conscious ineptitude, which is a fancy way to say that I’m bad at Arabic and I know it. At home in the US, I can speak to my friends and family and nearly everyone I meet on the street with no problems, because English is at this point so ingrained in my brain that I almost don’t have to even think about it. On the other hand, speaking Arabic here is so much more exhausting than speaking English at home, because in addition to managing a conversation as usual I have to exert some real energy just to make the words come out. But I know that it’ll be worth it. I recall being in a similar situation when learning Spanish – it’s really easy to fall into the trap of translating phrase by phrase in your head, which slowed me down so much. I won’t pretend to be fluent in Spanish, but I’ve learned to stop trying to translate it to English but instead get in the mindset to think in Spanish. I’m really hoping that my time in Morocco will do the same for me with Darija.

I can’t talk about my difficulties with speaking and reading the language here in Morocco without saying that I have noticed that Moroccans truly appreciate it when you attempt to speak Darija or Fusha, even when you can only say a few words. I always feel at ease when my “salam” or “shukran” elicit a polite response from the Moroccans I see each day, and an actual sentence usually draws out a full smile from them. In the United States, I don’t think we get excited like that for people speaking English, and now that I’m the one who’s learning the local language I feel a little bad for not being as positive with English learners as Moroccans are with me. I don’t think I quite appreciated it as much previously, because it’s difficult to understand exactly how it feels when you haven’t experienced it yourself. That’s certainly something I’ll take home with me, and try to spread to my friends and family – as long as I can put it into (English) words.

Amir and I have made an inside joke out of imitating the tram announcer saying “ITTIJAH: MADINAT AL-3IRFAN”, but I want to point out that “ittijah” is a word that I learned by living in Rabat instead of in class or through the internet. And our little joke has contributed a lot to me remembering what it means. In some sense, I’m a blank slate during my time here, and I’ll have to learn Darija by experiencing it and by using it in my life here. It’s difficult to ride the tram without knowing what “ittijah” and “al-mahata al-qaadima” mean, so I learned them. That’s pretty amazing, you know, how easily we can learn things when we need to know them.

Besides, there’s so much to experience in Morocco that you don’t need words for. There’s history here that you can almost feel in the air, and Moroccan friendliness and hospitality transcends the language barrier. In the future I’ll strive to extend that same goodwill to those visiting the US for the first time, since I’ll have been in their place.