Arabic in Morocco, Qalam wa Lawh, and the Fits and Starts of Learning Arabic

Note: I’m writing these entries in a word document and the format does not always transfer as easily as I prefer. I opted to stay around the apartment this weekend to study in advance of an exam and a ten minute presentation next week. I want to say a special thanks to John Willis (who may not read this due to the fact that he’s in India currently) for all of his consult and advice through the years. He was an indispensable part of my graduate education, along with a few select other members of the CU faculty, and CU is fortunate to have him as a faculty member. His capacious intellect, wit, and commitment to improving the graduate experience deserves praise that he might not normally receive through standard channels.

I completed my first week of Arabic at Qalam wa Lawh (QL) in Rabat. In the months leading up to my departure, I reviewed my book and grammatical structures and prepared as best as I could at home. Fifteen months, however, is a long time to not use Arabic and I was rusty. Once I hit the ground I’ve found my planning useless. The classes are structured entirely different from those I thrived in at Chicago or those I observed at CU. Instead of a heavy focus on translation, reading aloud, and grammar—all taught in English—QL privileges oratory/spoken with very little to no attention to translation or reading aloud. For instance, we spend two hours every morning speaking, then move on to grammar after a tea break.

My speaking is moving forward, even if through fits and starts. I’m pleased that I’m able to strengthen my poor ability to engage with people on the most minor questions, and I grasp why they emphasize spoken as part of the immersion experience. Part of me, however, wants to build on my translation and grammar skills. That side stems from the nagging historians’ training that I cannot seem to shed. Nevertheless, I’m taking it all in stride and working diligently at home. Thirteen days of class remain thanks to Eid al Adha. When I return home I will write a lengthy appraisal of the state of my Arabic as well as the school at large, but here’s a sketch.

QL is situated in the Souissi neighborhood. When I walk to school every morning I pass numerous embassies and I often see plenty of non-Moroccans. The school building is fantastic, and, thus far, the instructors and staff proved remarkably kind and patient. My hopes for the school were low, and with expectations of that little weight it’s easy to impress. However, even if I entered with moderate expectations I would express the same opinion. As I’ve mentioned in status updates and in e-mails, the students formed cliques and some have no interest in anything more than a fleeting hello. I was annoyed at first but I’ve come to terms with it and understand that some of this is the product of design and part of it’s natural. I will add photos later of the pretty school garden and impressive building with a kitchen, dining area, patio, computer lab, and comfortable classrooms. In general I’m quite impressed.

Moroccan Arabic, darija, sounds like a collage of syllables entering a blender running coolly on high. Due to France’s colonial presence in Morocco, my pearly white skin, and my longer hair, people speak with me in French. I don’t know a lick of French. If I reply in broken and hapless Arabic, I receive quizzical glances with an occasional look of slight understanding. Often, Moroccans who know fusha, Modern Standard Arabic (MSA), correct my mistakes or offer a suggestion. They approach this pleasantly and I would describe these interactions as funny and filled with smiles. No one glares at me for botching word order or butchering their language. I found that if someone can decipher what I am trying to say, they want to help and patiently explain their suggestion.

Some of you will question why I am bothering to share this recounting of my struggles with Arabic on a street level. I have not felt any animosity as an American or a Westerner, and generally I would depict interactions as welcoming. Due to negative stereotypes, I feel that it’s my responsibility to communicate the story of my first couple of weeks in Morocco. And it’s one that I can describe as comfortable and smooth.