Little Lost American

I like to talk....and talk, and talk and talk. Anyone who knows me can attest to this, and I like to think I'm so interesting that I keep people's rapt attention rather than making them wish for earplugs or a quick yet subtle escape.

I could be wrong.

Anyway, here in Marrakesh, in the land of people daring to speak a language I (barely) know, I have learned about silence. And you know what? It's not golden.

I yearn to talk, to gossip, to whisper, to chat and to wile away the hours with these Moroccan ladies who love to laugh and talk until all hours of the night. My mother-in-law is just full of fun and always attracts a house full of family because we're all drawn to her. I want so badly to have a real conversation. I can tell she does too. We're working on it.

I will say, however, that it is surprising how much you can communicate with a few mutually understood words, some key gestures and a knowing smile or a wink, for which my mother-in-law is famous. She always has a conspiratorial little wink for me. She's so cute!

Sometimes during my prior visits I've taken to slipping out after mealtimes to read a book or to chat with Ali. But now that I've been here so long and on my own I feel I've really become part of the family and feel more comfortable with my silent spells, which are becoming more brief as the language starts to seep into my brain.

I will address what I believe is a real problem with American schooling and that is the fact that we aren't exposed to other languages at a young age. If it were not for the decent-to-good language skills that some of the family over here have I would be completely lost. I mean, after all, the guy I buy my fruit from has no teeth but by God he can speak English with me! Another time a guy stopped me on the street to comment on my great English skills. When I told him I was American and that of course I speak English we had a good laugh because at first glance he thought I was Moroccan. Mind you this was a French-speaking African who came to Morocco because he could speak Arabic and he was conversing with me in English no problemo!Come on Americans get with it!

But I am learning. I am determined to make myself less lost here, and I am convinced that total immersion in a culture is the best way to achieve that, at least in terms of mastering the language. I am learning almost with no effort at all which is fabulous because I surely did not come here to put forth much effort into anything other than having a great time. Mission accomplished by the way! Living in a new land is surely worth any discomfort I may have to deal with or silence I may have to endure! Being a little lost never hurt anybody.

Culture Clashes

So you've all read my blogs about all the weird and strange things Moroccans do, surely things that would at least qualify them for residency on another planet right? I mean, how many shirts can one person wear in 90-degree heat and a blazing sun? Three apparantly.

But I digress. I thought it would be interesting for you guys to hear what they think is weird about me, and yes they've told me. For one they can't believe I don't speak French. In Morocco the second language is French so that naturally draws many French-speaking people here on vaca which leads them to assume that all white folks speak the language. Not this white girl! When I inform them of my unfortunate unilingual language skills (that would mean virtually zero) they take a second look as if they've never seen such a thing before. A white girl in Morocco who doesn't speak French?! Doesn't her tongue work? They don't know what to make of it.

I've also been told my parenting skills differ from theirs. A week ago we spent a great several days with relatives in Rabat. I was treated to fab cooking, great pastries and breads and housekeeping services! However, one evening over coffee while I was admiring how my kids had taken to a pretend game where they imagined themselves as cartoon characters and were playing quietly but creatively all over the house, bothering noone I assure you, one of the younger English-speaking girls (of course she speaks a third language, she's Moroccan!) told me that I allow my children lots of "freedom" to play in the house and it's not something Moroccan mothers would tolerate. I quickly asked her to explain what she meant-after they all assured me my the kids were not being bad or troublesome-and said that in Morocco mothers want their children to sit when indoors. I can't imagine how this would be accomplished, especially when you've got an active boy like Eli. She said it's just the culture. She said children should play outside and sit inside. Well, show me some playgrounds and I'll be happy to have my kids run themselves silly outdoors but, as I've mentioned before, those are in short supply. So after they assured my once again that my kids were fine and I made some crack about how we Americans love our "freedom" we all laughed and went back to our regular coffee conversation, i.e. not talking about me and my non-indoor-sitting children. But they might have been thinking about it.

I've also been told I don't worry enough about my kids. Like I don't have a freak out if Eli lets go of my hand for one second to run into a hanoot (tiny store) selling suckers. I mean come on, where do you think he's going? He's running in the opposite direction of traffic and heading straight for the sweets. I got this. My mother-in-law is notorious for this. She wants me to have Eli and Drea in vice grips as I drag them along the street all the while yelling "Anduk shanty!" which means "Watch out, the street!"

So there are a few things in a nutshell. I'm sure there are more that maybe they haven't decided to mention to me. But, all in all they respect my wishes and my ways and I do the same for them. After all, you never know what you can learn from other people, even if they are from a different planet.

Come Take a Ride...On My Emotional Roller Coaster

I'm happy, life is fab.
Look at me wrong and you'll regret it.

I'm full, the food here is delicious and satisfying.
If I don't get a pizza, cheeseburger and a slice of chocolate cake pronto there's going to be trouble.

I love Marrakesh, it's so exotic and unique.
Just give me Houston and Wal-Mart any day over endless trips to the store to get food.

I'm doing OK without my husband, but I'll be excited when I finally see him again.
I'm going to strangle the man on site for leaving me along this long.

I enjoy flexing my Arabic-language muscles.
I just want to have a conversation in English, for pete's sake. Oh you didn't understand me? Nothing I can do about that buddy. Sucks for us.

These are just some of the many conflicting emotions I've been having over the past week. I don't know if it's a sign that I'm totally ready to come home or what, but whatever it is I don't like it.

For so long I've been fine here, and in all fairness I still am, but I'm noticing little things are starting to get on my nerves. Food is a big thing. Everyone knows I've been losing weight here and loving it. Part of that is the food is so controlled here in terms of when you eat, there's not too much of it and it's super healthy. That said sometimes I just want a cheeseburger at 7 p.m (way too early for dinner time over here by the way) and a chocolate cake or any baked good for that matter. Is that too much to ask? Apparantly it is.

OK so I'm exagerating, but only a little. There's is a hamburger and pizza joint just a few steps from my door and two large, beautiful and very tempting cake stores no more than a five-minute walk away. For several months now I've relied on eating what my family is providing but in past days I've just wanted comfort food I guess. This first happened when Ali booked his ticket to come back here which for some reason put me in a downward emotional tailspin. I cured that with four slices of cheese pizza, a donut and a late-night snack session complete with Pringles and a chocolate bar and "Dexter." My scale and I weren't friends the next day.

But after that I was back on the horse and feeling fine and me and the scale made up. But the other day, and much too quickly after my previous low, I'm feeling a little shaky again. I was grumbling about dinner not being served until 9:30 (but come on who can blame me, I'm starving here!) and then of course they served red meat again. They have this thing about serving only meat at parties (and little else believe me) and serving meat to guests. I get that this is how you do things and it's meant to be respectful and welcoming but I'm really not a big meat eater and especially not red meat. Just give me veggies and the occasional sweet treat and I'm fine.

So now the kids are finished with week one of their two-week vacation from school (and who dreamed up this crap anyway???) and I'm trying to come up with ways to fill the days instead of watching my kids mindlessly zone out in front of cartoons, although that does come in handy when I need to exercise. So it looks like it's going to be trips to the mall with the pay-out-your-butt for a time-limited excursion in an indoor playground, or trek to the local gas station/restaurant/free playground with an order of the cheapest thing on the menu (cause that's the way I roll) or maybe I'll make another trip to Jemaa al Fna to soak up the local culture/craziness.

Or maybe I'll just dye my hair and load up on Snicker bars in case of emotional emergencies.