The Power of a Smile

By far one of the most important lessons I've learned here is to take pleasure in the little things. In Moroccan culture, the small interactions that compose your day are the heart and soul of social life. Happiness comes from a burst of laughter over a pot of tea, or seeing someone else's excitement when they greet you, and it's truly amazing how much a single interaction can change a day here.

After teaching my English class tonight, I went to the medina with my friends John and Seth. We met up with some of Seth's neighbors, and I headed home before it got too late. After I separated from the boys, I wandered through the gathering crowds in the darkness. In Djemma al Fna, it is almost a transcendent escape to walk alone through the rolling crowds, passing through the pools of lights and rising clouds of steam and the frenetic street music. I let the strange mix of languages flood my ears, blending into an unintelligible noise that nonetheless filled the night air. I've found that the inability to understand the majority of conversations around me is both a blessing and a curse. The drawbacks are obvious, but I sometimes enjoy the white noise. When I'm unable to comprehend, it is far easier to lose myself in the sounds and sights of a place while still feeling that peculiar sense of mutual loneliness and community that a crowd brings.

Eventually, I walked out of the square towards the mosque that stretches high over the city skyline, illuminated against the stars. I hailed down a taxi to take me home and proceeded to have one of the best interactions I've had yet in Marrakech. Usually, taking taxis from Djemma al Fna is a fairly arduous process. Most taxi drivers who wait around the exit try to cheat tourists, and it's usually pretty hard, as a blonde white girl carrying a backpack, to convince them that I do want a ride to the suburbs and that I will not pay 20 euros instead of 20 dirhams. However, today I opened the door to the first taxi I found and greeted the driver with a cheerful "Salaam alaykoum!".  The driver, an old man with a messy gray beard, a grandfatherly twinkle in his eyes behind his glasses, and a well-worn jelaba, turned on his meter without me asking and we began to talk in Arabic. I told him about my Arabic studies as we drove through the crowded streets, and he told me about his children and his grandchildren. By the time we picked up two new passengers halfway towards my house, the driver was calling me "oukhtee" (my sister). However, the drive improved even more. One of the girls in the backseat turned out to be good friends with both my Arabic teacher and my older host sister, and she joined into our conversation. Thankfully, both she and the cab driver were kind and spoke slowly -- I was able to hold my own in the conversation, which made me really happy. By the time she got out of the car, we had exchanged contact information, and I hope to meet up with her in the days to come. During the 10-minute commute to my house, I continued to talk with the elderly cab driver, who introduced himself as Hussein. He decided to rename me Zineb, and in a fashion typical of many people told me I should really consider converting to Islam. (A side note: When I first got here, I was very unnerved when people told me I should become a Muslim. Since I didn't grow up religious, moving to a community where religion is woven into basically every aspect of life has been a huge shift that, at times, is shocking. However, I have come to realize that people telling me I should convert is almost a sign that they've enjoyed their interaction with me and want me to have a fulfilling life. While religion will probably never be an important part of my life, I've learned an incredible amount while I've been here and this suggestion no longer phases me). The most amazing part of the interaction was that he would not accept my money. He told me that he was happy to see someone putting so much work into learning Arabic, but more importantly that I have a generous smile. He wouldn't take money for the fare, and told me to call him if I ever need a taxi. This interaction demonstrates so well the power of a smile.

I've written before about the importance of interpersonal interactions here in Morocco, and I still do believe that every negative stereotype between Moroccans and Americans can be forgotten one friendly "salaam alaykoum" at a time. Some people in my class were talking about how in certain situations they don't like to say they are American here because they're afraid of a negative response. While I understand where they are coming from to some degree, I think one of the reasons why we are here is to proudly be American and change that response. There are many reasons for some Moroccans to have anti-American sentiments. However, wouldn't it be better if the first picture in their head wasn't news headlines, but rather a polite American student attempting to learn their language and get to know them? Those little interactions are, after all, the basis of civilian diplomacy. I know its effective because the first thing I will now think of when someone says "Arab countries" is not ISIS and violence, but my wonderful host sisters.

I'm sorry (especially to Grandad) for not writing for so long and I hope to catch you up on my doings throughout the past month tomorrow. It's been an incredibly busy and exciting month, and I can't wait to share it with you all. A preview of the post to come: running 26.2 miles through the palm trees in Morocco, skiing in the Atlas mountains, a trip to the magical city of Fes and a 4th century Roman city, the beginning of my teaching career, and much more!