We're Famous!

I have no idea how this has slipped past my attention for almost 2 months, but apparently my quaint little city of Ben Guerir is famous because of the nearby air force base which was also used as an alternative site for US space shuttle landings--supporting 83 shuttle missions. Cool!

Check it out:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ben_Guerir

This also reminds me of a little known fact I discovered while teaching a lesson on Morocco's independence day. In comparing the day with America's independence day, it was brought to my attention that the first country to EVER officially recognize the United States as an independent nation after the declaration of independence was, in fact, Morocco. And they haven't forgotten that fact around here.

So here's kudos to Morocco on it's independence day for helping us out with ours!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Hey Everyone, Happy 2008 and best wishes for an awesome New Year from the Ben Guerir youth crew in Morocco!

Dr. Dre visits the classroom

12-30-2007

Nothing brightens my day like when a student shows up to my youth center and doesn’t understand a word of English, can’t even ask me my name, but then pulls out a guitar and plays me a smashing rendition of “Hotel California” pronounced in perfect English. Pop music is the best educational tool I’ve found so far, because people love American music and are often overjoyed (though sometimes shocked) to find out what the heck the songs they’ve been singing in the shower actually mean.

So needless to say, my favorite quote of the entire Moroccan experience so far is, “Chris, explain to me the lyrics of Dr. Dre and what is it meaning ‘Crib of gangsta rap?’”

This particular student came up to me after class and pulled out an online printout of the entire “2001” album and asked me to help him understand the colloquialisms. What proceeded was a hilariously entertaining educational session involving an awkward white boy from South Dakota, delicately trying to explain the poetic subtleties of Compton’s notorious Grand Daddy of Rap, including craftily edited explanations (“It means, ‘These immoral women are only after the money of a streetwise African American man.’”), and who is and is not allowed to use the N-word (“But Chris, I live in Morocco. I am African, so I get to say it, yes?” “Umm…I don’t think so.”). And then came an even more awkward conversation involving “So if a person says in his song that has killed many men, I think he is lying, because he then would be in prison, yes?” followed by me trying to explain tough-guy image and survival in the “hood.” Let me repeat—ME trying to explain tough-guy image and survival in the “HOOD.”

They say that when you travel, you often become a representative of things for which you never considered yourself a representative. Before it was American foreign policy, and I thought THAT was tough. But now that I—Chris Bacon—am the baddest motha’ on the block and the be-all and end-all source of knowledge on “the crib of gangsta rap,” I see the truth of that statement more than ever.

Cultural ambassador oh yes I am!

Linguistic Hipness

12-28-2007

One of the most unique things here, at least having come from a fairly mono-linguistic part of America, is the daily hodgepodge of languages I find here. It’s a totally new concept to me that people who speak different languages don’t just ignore each other. Rather, everyone usually knows at least enough of each others’ languages to go about their business and communicate general ideas (which I’ve found, from experience, takes surprisingly little vocabulary, evidenced by the way I’ve somehow managed to survive here). It’s like everyone here keeps a handful of greetings, numbers, and “who, what, where, when” phrases of each language in their back pocket to pull out whenever they’re needed.

First off, a little Morocco-lingo info that I’ll try to make short and un-boring:

I came here with the idea that Moroccans speak Arabic—yes and no. Moroccans speak a DIALECT of Arabic called Darija (which literally means “dialect”), which uses the same alphabet as Arabic, and most of the same sounds, but a good amount of the vocab and grammer are quite different from “Standard Arabic.” Pretty much all of the Arabic speaking countries have dialects that diverge more and more the farther you get from Saudi Arabia, and we’re pretty far out here. I’d compare it to the difference between English and Latin. Plus, Darija soaks up words from the French and the indigenous Berber dialects as desired. Moroccans do study Standard Arabic in school because they need it to read newspapers, for religious reasons, and to watch Egyptian films. Plus, all written documents are in Standard Arabic because Darija is technically not a “written language” which has quite possibly been the most confusing thing in my life for the past four months.

Which brings me to more confusing things—the other few languages floating around Morocco. French is the second language of the country and most people speak quite a bit since it’s required in school, official documents, and in yelling pick up lines at foreign women. Also, outside of big cities, people still use the indigenous Berber dialects, which are quite unrelated to Arabic, and of which there are at least three or four distinct dialects. The Berber language is all over the place and people often, even if they also speak Darija, take great pride in their native language. For example, when an American volunteer enters your town and impresses you with the fact that he can speak a little Arabic, it’s immediately required that you ask him if he speaks your Berber dialect too, and if he does not, you are obliged not to let him leave until you teach him at least four words, even if he tells you his brain is about to burst from trying to learn ONE language, which you think is funny so you up it to five words.

So what you end up getting are kids whose moms yell at them (in Berber) because their (French) teacher says they’ve been talking in class (in Darija) and passing notes (written in Standard Arabic), but they can’t hear mom yell cus they’re busy listening to loud heavy metal (in English).

What blows my mind here is that a language is not just a way to communicate the words themselves. Rather, the language you use also expresses different things about your background, your level of education/sophistication, and what sort of idea you want to get across. Here, it’s like a language is a fashion statement. If you’re feeling trendy and hip, you use English. If you want to come off pious, or keen on Math and Science, you use Standard Arabic. If you want to come of as posh (and slightly snoody), you break out the French. And if you really want to get a good deal in the market, you whip out some Berber phrases. It’s odd to see a language as such an expression here. I mean, I suppose language is ALWAYS about expressing oneself, but I’d never realized that the language itself can convey just as much meaning as the words being said.

And oh are there words to be said! Not only does one have to write down at least four versions of the vocabulary word one is learning (“Oh, that bird? Well, it’s called X in Darija, though the real name in Standard Arabic is Y, but everybody just calls it the French word—Z. Oh, and do you want to know the PLURAL of that?”), but one also has to have the ability to switch back and forth at a moments notice to banter, take the dominant role in conversation, or crack a joke. It’s like playing a game of tennis where you have to switch rackets after every volley.

My favorite part about the whole business though, is the times you realize you’ve used five different languages in a five second conversation.

A: Hello Chris, how are you?
[Hello Chris, how are you? (ENGLISH)]

B: Salaam Karim, labas?
[Hi Karim, what’s up? (DARIJA)]

A: Ca va bien?
[Things are good? (FRENCH)]

B: Humdo’illah. kulchi bekheer?
[Thanks be to God. (STANDARD ARABIC), Everything’s good? (Back to DARIJA)]

A: Yeah!
[Affirmative! (This one kind of crosses linguistic boundaries…)]

B: Tinintsy Ween!
[Good night! (BERBER)]

Another racket-swapping linguistic tennis match in the bag (or "sac" or "paeta" or whatever other words exist for it around here these days)!