It was a warm October day when we told our ESL students in Fort Worth, a collection of refugees from around the world, that we would be leaving the following January to serve as Peace Corps volunteers in Morocco. "We'll be learning Arabic and then teaching English," we explained with excitement. Our Iraqi students chucked in amusement. "Morocco?! You won't be learning Arabic. Not any sort of Arabic anyone else can understand, anyway."
When we arrived, we jumped into learning Moroccan Arabic, sometimes called Darija (which just sort of means colloquial Arabic), different from the Arabic you might hear in Egypt or read in a newspaper. In fact, all those forms of Arabic are different. Newspapers and official documents are written in Modern Standard Arabic, though that language isn't really spoken in daily life. Moroccan Arabic, on the other hand, is pretty much completely oral. It is not written nor is it formally taught in schools. Moroccans we know frequently watch TV in Egyptian Arabic, a dialect they understand but may not be able to speak fluently. It's a jumble of worlds and letters and sounds, and I'm still trying to understand this big, complicated world.
Moroccans we know may watch TV in Egyptian Arabic, speak Moroccan Arabic, and write in Modern Standard Arabic, but that's not where their language skills stop. Students diligently study French in school. When we are out in public, most people assume we are French tourists and pepper us with "Bonjour"s" and "Ca va?"s. I didn't mind it at first --- it's sort of fun to have people think you are European!--- but it's started to get old. In addition, a lot of young adults are learning English by watching TV.
My friends, if only the language story stopped here. You could imagine Pete and I madly studying Arabic script, engaging in simple conversations with friends that become more complicated as our language skills improve, and charming people with our language blunders. See the video below and watch for yourself as my friend tries to teach me how to pronounce the Moroccan Arabic words for "roof," "rain," and "dance."
Instead, we arrived in our town and slowly realized that people seemed to be speaking something different than what we had been studying. As it turns out, our community is a Amazigh community (also known as Berber), and the people here speak Tashelhit, not Moroccan Arabic. While a majority of people also speak Darija, elders in the community frequently only speak Tashelhit. Tashelhit is the preferred language in people's homes, so when we visit a family for lunch we usually don't have a clue what they are talking about. If you want to hear a few words in Tashelhit, take a look at this helpful site.
Peace Corps has been as helpful as possible. In August, we travelled down to Ouarzazate along with about 50 other volunteers for a 10-day intensive language training in Amazigh languages. We've picked up enough Tashelhit to understand when we hear people say things like, "How are you?" or "What are you doing?" I can also charm people by saying "arrgazinu," which means "my husband," and pointing to Pete. Or "ymik," which means, "a little," when people ask if we speak Tashehit. One of my favorites to throw out is, "ur sng walu." That means, "I don't know anything," and it usually makes people laugh and then leave me alone.
Not too long ago, Morocco declared the Amazigh language one of the official languages of Morocco. Because the language has such distinct dialects by region (the Tashelhit spoken in our town is different from the Riff spoken in the north and the Tamazigh spoken in the east, but they are all part of the same language family), folks have been working on creating one standardized language. From how I understand it, this official language is sort of like Modern Standard Arabic: something to be used for writing and for formal purposes, but a language that differs from how people actually speak. Language in Morocco is a diverse, complicated story, and our experiences are just a sliver of all that is out there.
At this point, I don't expect to be fluent in either Moroccan Arabic or Tashelhit by the time we are finished here. But I do feel that our efforts are appreciated, and I'm grateful for that. Our friends are patient and generous with us, and we try to be the same with ourselves.
When we arrived, we jumped into learning Moroccan Arabic, sometimes called Darija (which just sort of means colloquial Arabic), different from the Arabic you might hear in Egypt or read in a newspaper. In fact, all those forms of Arabic are different. Newspapers and official documents are written in Modern Standard Arabic, though that language isn't really spoken in daily life. Moroccan Arabic, on the other hand, is pretty much completely oral. It is not written nor is it formally taught in schools. Moroccans we know frequently watch TV in Egyptian Arabic, a dialect they understand but may not be able to speak fluently. It's a jumble of worlds and letters and sounds, and I'm still trying to understand this big, complicated world.
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| A complicated world, but also a lovely one. Our town, looking fine. |
Moroccans we know may watch TV in Egyptian Arabic, speak Moroccan Arabic, and write in Modern Standard Arabic, but that's not where their language skills stop. Students diligently study French in school. When we are out in public, most people assume we are French tourists and pepper us with "Bonjour"s" and "Ca va?"s. I didn't mind it at first --- it's sort of fun to have people think you are European!--- but it's started to get old. In addition, a lot of young adults are learning English by watching TV.
My friends, if only the language story stopped here. You could imagine Pete and I madly studying Arabic script, engaging in simple conversations with friends that become more complicated as our language skills improve, and charming people with our language blunders. See the video below and watch for yourself as my friend tries to teach me how to pronounce the Moroccan Arabic words for "roof," "rain," and "dance."
Instead, we arrived in our town and slowly realized that people seemed to be speaking something different than what we had been studying. As it turns out, our community is a Amazigh community (also known as Berber), and the people here speak Tashelhit, not Moroccan Arabic. While a majority of people also speak Darija, elders in the community frequently only speak Tashelhit. Tashelhit is the preferred language in people's homes, so when we visit a family for lunch we usually don't have a clue what they are talking about. If you want to hear a few words in Tashelhit, take a look at this helpful site.
Peace Corps has been as helpful as possible. In August, we travelled down to Ouarzazate along with about 50 other volunteers for a 10-day intensive language training in Amazigh languages. We've picked up enough Tashelhit to understand when we hear people say things like, "How are you?" or "What are you doing?" I can also charm people by saying "arrgazinu," which means "my husband," and pointing to Pete. Or "ymik," which means, "a little," when people ask if we speak Tashehit. One of my favorites to throw out is, "ur sng walu." That means, "I don't know anything," and it usually makes people laugh and then leave me alone.
.JPG) |
| The Amazigh Alphabet |
Not too long ago, Morocco declared the Amazigh language one of the official languages of Morocco. Because the language has such distinct dialects by region (the Tashelhit spoken in our town is different from the Riff spoken in the north and the Tamazigh spoken in the east, but they are all part of the same language family), folks have been working on creating one standardized language. From how I understand it, this official language is sort of like Modern Standard Arabic: something to be used for writing and for formal purposes, but a language that differs from how people actually speak. Language in Morocco is a diverse, complicated story, and our experiences are just a sliver of all that is out there.
At this point, I don't expect to be fluent in either Moroccan Arabic or Tashelhit by the time we are finished here. But I do feel that our efforts are appreciated, and I'm grateful for that. Our friends are patient and generous with us, and we try to be the same with ourselves.
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