The most challenging part of being in Morocco has been not being able to communicate almost ever. I don't speak French (except for numbers to 20, Monday and Saturday and a few random pleasantries). I don't speak Dirishna (sp--Morocco's form of Arabic). And I certainly don't speak Berber. However, I had thought that would be beneficial while walking though the Jemaa El Fna, the major square in the Medina of Marrakech. After dinner and a belly dancing show at Jad Mahal, Maren and I decided that we would walk through the Medina to see the street theater. We were prepared for the snake charmers, cross dressing belly dancers, baboon owners and teeth pullers, but I did not expect what we met in the food stalls. Pablo Aguilera and Joe Dunn had once given me great advice to speak Spanish while in the souks in North Africa. I had already prepped Maren to go with it if I started speaking Spanish and we had already agreed that we were from Buenos Aires (small hint of nostalgia, tear). So immediately we were whisked away by some of Marrakech's best chefs. As we walked through a path of grills and picnic tables, chefs grabbed at our arms trying to persuade us to eat their food. Most we were able to brush off, but one was super persistent. When he wouldn't let go of my arm (Mom, not in a threatening or scary way), I said, "No hablo ingles." He immediately started speaking fluent Spanish. Crap. Thanks PB&J. So in Spanish, I said, laughing, Russia? Holandia? Maren Getz was no help, her and the chef trying to pull her in were laughing hysterically, but she was behind me the whole way. Never did I think I needed a plan C, but next time I will start speaking Acholi. I even taught Maren to say Apwoyo ba anytime I say anything in Acholi. A simple safi (stop, enough in Arabic worked).
It's really all down hill from here, culturally and linguistically speaking anyway. I cannot wait to speak Spanish, but my Acholi is ready!
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