Losing my Language (and Mansplaining) in Morocco
Let’s begin with some definitions:
language
1. the principal method of human communication, consisting of words used in a structured and conventional way and conveyed by speech, writing, or gesture. (provided by Oxford Languages via Google)
mansplaining
1. the explanation of something by a man, typically to a woman, in a manner regarded as condescending or patronizing. (provided by Oxford Languages via Google)
Verbal communication has always been one of my strong points. Or has it? I’m beginning to wonder now after four years in Morocco where my native tongue, English, is reserved pretty much for conversations with Aziz, my husband, and a few English speaking friends. The rest of the time I am listening and occasionally contributing to conversations in darija, Moroccan Arabic, and French, neither of which I’m proficient.
My fluency in English has taken a gradual blow. Sometimes I can’t string a sentence together properly. I pause, I speak even slower than I normally do which is something I find very annoying about myself. So what has happened? When you speak your mother tongue less and less you begin to loose vocabulary, fluidity, proficiency. You get out of practice with the wonderful back and forth and nuance that happens in a normal conversation.
To be clear, it is my obligation to learn darija, which is happening slowly, inshallah (if Allah wills it). Furthermore, I’m now living in a country where it is on me to understand the laws, the mores, customs, and culture. And there is no one more willing and excited to do this than me! No one forced me to come here, in fact it was a decision Aziz and I made on our honeymoon in 2018 when we spent two nights in the beautiful coastal city of Essaouira.
(Photos from our honeymoon, Essaouira, 2018)
Upon our arrival, we rang up an estate agent just ‘to look’. First stop, we were shown a broken-down house in the countryside with a half-acre of property. I instantly fell blindly in love and by the next day it was ours. This purchase was a slightly rash move and Aziz stood by warily observing my euphoria, but standing by and supporting me nonetheless.
(First visits to our new home, Essaouira)
At the time we were happily living in London and had not discussed why or when or for what reason we would move to Essaouira. But move we did and along with that purchased a large stock of vintage furnishings from a local seller, as you do, and set up Mid Century Maroc, an online ‘souk’ full of mid-century furnishings found in Morocco.
So how did I lose my language? And what does mansplaining have to do with it?
I arrived to Essaouira ahead of Aziz to start photographing and cataloging our stock in preparation for our launch. I was having the time of my life, all seemed to be going fantastic until it wasn’t. Overnight, I found myself hurled into a mind-numbing INTERPOL-worthy corruption case that lasted nine long months. We didn’t see it coming but now understand that most people, poor, rich, Moroccan, non-Moroccan, experience bone crushing corruption here at least once in their lives. So for us it was just a matter of time. It’s during these nine months that I had a crash course in mansplaining and my English took a deep dive.
Every normal thing I had been doing came to a halt. Our life took a dramatic turn whereby every ounce of energy was dedicated to our new mushkil (‘problem’, in darija). We fretted, we planned, we organized, all with the goal of getting ourselves out alive.
During this time, there were countless meetings with a host of different people whose purpose was to ‘help’ us. For the first months Aziz was wrapping up his work in London so I went it alone. I met with lawyers, fixers, government officials high and low, truck drivers, friends of the truck drivers, merchants, the list was endless. These meetings were typically arranged in haste, of emergency nature, and took place at any variety of coffee shops mostly frequented by men. Oh, and did I mention, of the countless meetings I attended, I was the only woman? Ever.
Most meetings were organized by a good friend who was introducing us to yet another potential ally who knew somebody who knew somebody who had a solution. I ran to each meeting full of hope, thinking this one may be ‘it’, and as long as the solution fell within the law, I was desperate for one.
A typical meeting went like this:
I would arrive on time sweating (menopause) to said coffee shop which was a miracle due to countless wardrobe malfunctions: shirt too see through, pants to tight, look to western, don’t look western enough, too casual, too dressy, hair not cooperating, etc.
The new potential ally wouldn’t be there
I would wait and order a fresh OJ
Potential ally would arrive unsmiling
Friend and ally would speak in darija for 30-40 minutes whilst simultaneously watching the ever present big screened TV
Cigarettes were smoked
Coffee was consumed
I would listen and try to understand, soundless, unmoving
Our friend would translate a very shortened version of what the potential ally proposed
Sometimes the potential ally would turn to me and offer his support along the lines of, ‘Don’t worry Madame, we are going to take care of this problem’
Then I would cry
Tissues would appear
More cigarettes
Everyone would feel badly
I would go to the bathroom
Rarely did I speak and rarely, except for the police depositions, did anyone ask my opinion. Now, I could have inserted myself vigorously to be sure. But looking back, I was so new to Morocco and barely understood how anything worked. I was truly at the mercy of some goodwill and the so-called judicial system. If you’ve ever moved to a new country, you know. You’re literally lost even though you wouldn’t admit it at the time. Everything takes 50 times longer to find and figure out. Where to go for the best fish, the best veggies, the best doctor, where to buy a hammer for God’s sake! It’s hit or miss for months until you get it right, if ever.
Mansplaining took place in these countless meetings as well as more informal settings with men that I found myself around 24/7. Various mansplaining topics of expertise in Morocco include (non-scientific): religion, cooking, morality, values, general health, e-commerce, SEO optimization, women’s rights, rearing of children, the USA, home decorating, diet, home remedies, people (in general), Moroccans (in detail).
I’m not picking on Morocco. The thing is mansplaining is a global phenomenon, rife in both the private and public spheres. I even know some female mansplainers. In fact, I am declaring that a ‘thing’ right here, right now.
Specific reasons for Moroccan mansplaining (non-scientific):
I just need to hear myself talk
I am so interesting
I was not heard as a child
She must feel lost so far from home, therefor; she needs me to explain to her how she is feeling!
She digs listening to me!
She’s learning from me!
I’m helping her!
It wasn’t until month eight and two corrupt attorneys later when Aziz found a fantastic English speaking Moroccan attorney that I felt heard and began to speak. With his non-corruptible guidance, our mushkil (‘problem’, in darija) got ‘solved’ in the form of a settlement which translates to; justice was not served (hell no!) but we were now able to carry on with our life.
It would take me a while to recover and start talking again, but I did. I made a conscious effort to dial girlfriends and have fulsome discussions on WhatsApp. And I’m now more prepared for mansplainers and have come up with a few rebuttals that even if I cannot say it yet in darija or French, is motivation enough for me to learn. In the meantime, I’ll jump at the chance to practice on all English speaking mansplainers.
Rebuttal Example 1:
‘Thank you for the 20th tip on driving in Morocco. Yes, I know, I’m rather familiar with driving. In fact, 2 years before you were even born I had already driven a manual alone across America three times. Oh and I almost forgot, I had a car in New York City for ten years and drove in every Borough (save Staten Island) like the suburban Detroit girl I am! Maybe someday I can tell you about it!’
OR
Rebuttal Example 2:
‘Oh wow, you have such an amazing opinion about the United States and so many amazing tips to share! Tell me, when did you last visit?’ Answer: Never
OR
Rebuttal Example 3:
‘Hmmmm, yes I hear you that you have a strong opinion about abortion and feel a deep need to explain what’s happening in the USA to me. I do too! I would love to share my thoughts, feelings and experiences. When are you free?!’
To be fair though I am the perfect host for mansplaining: I’m female, apparently appear naïve and possibly younger than I am, I’m a foreigner, depending on the week sometimes I’m blond, and it seems that I am doing almost everything wrong since arriving to Morocco.
We have a home, a business, a life in Morocco. I even have a residency card. But in the end I am a guest here and it’s on me to learn the language and stick up for myself and communicate my thoughts and feelings. In those nine months I lost time, money and my voice. I listened to and observed countless men who were in some way shape or form taking part in a very ugly time in our life. I believe that for some of them, their intentions were extremely good and if I didn’t mention, I had some of the hardiest laughs and fun during this time thanks to some truly incredible Moroccan men whom we met along the way.
Always with a loss there’s a gain. At least that’s how it’s worked for me so far. What have I gained? A deeper understanding of the mind-bending horror everyday citizens go through in Morocco when faced with corruption on any level; a readiness to reply to mansplaining with my rebuttal scheme, and; a commitment to get my darija game on, inshallah.
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Welcome to the Mid Century Maroc family.
Aziz & Brooke