When I was confirmed for a post in Morocco over two years ago, I thought, "Great, I'd finally get to put my three years of high school French into practice." After all, Morocco, according to my old French language textbooks, is one of those countries on the world map that is completely shaded in showing the extent of the French language around the world.
When I applied to the Peace Corps, I did state a preference for North or West Africa. I was looking forward to enhancing my limited French-speaking skills, which at that time consisted of speaking Spanish while contorting my mouth to an "eu" sound and adding a nasal tone to every word. I got by when I vacationed in France so I hoped that I would have the same luck in Morocco.
Soon after accepting my post, I got a chance to speak to the Desk Officer for the Mediterranean region about some of the tasks outlined in my NGO Development Volunteer position. She told me that my French would come in handy, but that I would be learning darija. I thought, "What! I never heard of darija?" But wait, I read that Morocco is a francophone as well as an Arabic-speaking country, right? I asked the desk officer if I should start studying a little Modern Standard Arabic (Fusha) and I was told that it could help, but that I still wouldn't be speaking Fusha with the locals--what a bummer and I had just purchased a Learn Arabic in Three Months book from Berlitz.
Then, she said something even more surprising. She said that if I work with women weavers in the Atlas Mountains that I may be learning a Berber dialect that is only spoken in a particular region. But how could this be? My French textbook has all of Morocco completely covered, not with a whole bunch of blotches here and there. A French teacher at my old high school confirmed that during a month-long excursion in Morocco that she had no problems getting around using her French. She reassured me that I would indeed use my French. I didn't know who to believe. Surely, the Peace Corps officer must be right. How could I not believe my old French teacher? Did the textbook publishers get it all wrong?
I decided to do a little research of my own. I learned that the lingua franca is darija (Moroccan Arabic) for most of Morocco, but that French is still the predominant language of business and of higher education, Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) is the language of government, Classical Arabic is the language of religious practice, and that there are large pockets in the Atlas and Rif Mountains and in much of the south where different Berber dialects like Tamazight, Tarifit, and Tachelheit take precedence over darija.
Shortly after confirming my post, Peace Corps sent all the future Morocco volunteers a brief 20-page survival booklet of Moroccan Arabic words accompanied with audio, which gave me my first taste of darija. I compared it to the Modern Standard Arabic that I had already learned in three months (not really, but I did go through a few lessons), and noticed that they sounded like they were related, but still considerably different.
Usually, in these moments of utter confusion, I try to find some sort of reference point in my brief past that I can draw parallels to. I scoured my brain for something similar, but there were very few links. Growing up in Venezuela, I was taught Spanish (Castellano to be exact) in school and we spoke Spanish at home. Every region of the country pronounced things a bit differently, had words that were only in use in that area, or had a different cadence to their speech, but for the most part, we understood one another almost completely wherever you went. There is street slang that I have to learn every time I visit, but even its use is infrequent and sometimes looked down upon as lewd or uneducated.
Like Venezuela, here in the U.S. English is pronounced slightly differently in the north than in the south, there are words that are more or less in use in certain areas, and there are definitely various cadences. The U.S. has some small pockets where various groups of European, Asian, or African descent heavily influence the main language, but their dialect or use of their language of origin remains fixed to that location or region. Those small language enclaves I had visited in the U.S. and Venezuela were the only thing I could roughly match to the Atlas and Rif Mountains' enclaves that continue to speak their language despite repeated incursions from various empires, dynasties, or colonial powers.
My Moroccan tutor was surprised to learn that I found it odd that there would be a language that is widely spoken, but not written and that there would be different languages in use for business, religious teachings, and for official government communication. He knew that the U.S. did not have a similar system in place, but he thought Venezuela or other Latin American countries would.
Our mutual astonishment is grounded in our upbringings. I grew up in two cultures where there was one predominant language for all. He grew up in an environment where he learned to speak darija from his parents and everyone around him, was taught to read and understand Classical Arabic from his religious studies in school and at the mosque, started to write MSA also from primary school on, began learning French as a second language at school as well, grew up hearing both French and MSA in Moroccan television broadcasts, and upon graduating from high school switched over to the French-based university curriculum. He also grew up watching television broadcasts from other Arabic-speaking countries that had, like Morocco, a spoken, but unwritten dialect. He knew that Venezuela was colonized by the Spanish; so like Morocco the colonial tongue would have a big influence on the country. However, he thought that perhaps some of the indigenous languages had survived and had created something similar to their darija.
His questions made me even more curious about how the two cultures I grew up in had somehow established a single, dominant language. I thought of Venezuela's past and how it came to be colonized. Fray Bartolomé de las Casas recounts in his Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies details how vibrant indigenous population were overrun by zealous Spanish explorers in search of treasure and Christians who sometimes offered salvation of the soul at the edge of a sword. Those who didn't run deep into the bush became wards who were then put to work in the plantations or in search of the mythical Sierra Dorada. Some members of the priesthood were more amicable than others and taught the indigenous population Spanish and other sciences, but for the most part the Crown's interest was not in educating the populace, but to extract the country's riches to fund its ongoing wars.
In addition to guns, swords, and other supplies, the Spaniards brought over a number of diseases that the indigenous population had little immunity to; as such, the indigenous community began to die off in the thousands. The colonial powers were focused on gold, but later realized that most of the land could yield large sums of money if properly cultivated. To replace the indigenous folks, they began importing people from Sub-Saharan Africa.
The Spanish colonizers mingled with native and black women who were regarded as property and concubines, and soon a large population of different shades of brown began to emerge. Black male slaves also took native women as wives. In many parts of Latin America, there were five prevalent categories of people that emerged:
peninsulares (from the Spanish peninsula)
, criollo (per Oxford Dictionary, a person from Spanish South or Central America, especially one of pure Spanish descent)
, mestizos (per Oxford again, a man of mixed race, especially one having Spanish and indigenous descent)
, indios (indigenous)
, and negros (black). Where one fell in this spectrum entitled one to certain rights and privileges such as: access to land, credit, education, inheritance, or even one's outright freedom. There were clear advantages to bearing children with certain groups of people.
With such pressures to assimilate, the languages and spiritual practices of indigenous and African groups were regarded as inferior or uncivilized. The only way to climb the social ladder was to refine one's
castellano (Castilian) and to marry up to a whiter shade or as close as possible to a direct descendant of
Spain or of another European country. To some extent, this manner of thinking still lingers in the minds of many Venezuelans and other Latin Americans, and it's sometime reflected in entertainment media and in language. The colonial legacy that brought with it great technological advancements also brought disease, a social stratification system, and a religion that combined had the effect of nearly exterminating indigenous and African languages and culture in many Spanish colonies.
(To get more background on the similarities and differences between the Spanish and English approach to colonization, I recommend Juan Gonzalez's
Harvest of Empire: A History of Latinos in America.)
The U.S. had a somewhat similar start. The Europeans that settled in also brought a host of diseases that wiped out large segments of the indigenous population, large waves of migrations from Europe forced indigenous people further inland, and later wars and forced removal decimated their numbers even further. Then, upon being cornered into various territories, the U.S. government put in place a forced assimilation policy.
The Africans that arrived in the slave trade to replace the indentured servants or the Native Americans that fled the encroaching colonists slowly began to forget their languages and spiritual practices as generations passed. Some plantation owners of European descent also forced themselves onto native and African women or were concubines thereby creating different shades of brown folk; however, unlike Latin American social stratification systems based on ancestry and colorism, the U.S. in the late 19th century and through Jim Crow made law a "
one-drop rule" that essentially said that if one of your ancestors is black or you have a single drop of black blood, then you were black.
Sometimes I wonder if this is the reason why there's perhaps a bit more solidarity among the African American community as compared to the Caribbeans and Latin Americans of mixed descent and perhaps why remnants of their influence on the English language, diet, and the manner by which they practice various forms of organized religion still persist today and are more pronounced than in former Spanish--the subject of a future research paper:-).
When I briefly summarized over several hundred years of history to explain how the Spanish colonists had established the colonial language as the lingua franca in Venezuela and how in the US the concept of Manifest Destiny believed by many forced Native Americans and their languages into smaller confines, my tutor shared a bit of Moroccan history. He said that the Berbers or Amazigh people had been in what is now considered
Morocco and much of north and western Africa (
Maghreb) for centuries. The Phoenicians established ports and the Romans came and went, but the Berbers remained.
Then came the expansion of the Islamic Empire around the 7th century, which brought Arab culture and Islam to the Amazigh. The empire established itself as the authority in many urban centers, but left the mountain folk pretty much on their own. Arabic being the language of the Koran (i.e. considered to be the language of God) became the language of the intellectual centers of the
Maghreb (Name for the region encompassing what is now known as Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Mauritania). Mosques and Koranic schools were built across the country, but from what I've read or what I've been told thus far there was no concerted forced assimilation policy to eradicate
Tamazight, Tarifit, or
Tachelhyt or Shilha.
I also have not read about any epidemic or forced migration that wiped out large segments of the indigenous populations. Ali, my tutor, told me that white, black, or brown, are all considered equal in the eyes of
Allah (God). Regarding Arab administrative control, the history and culture pages in my Rough Guide to Morocco stated that some of the Berber tribes put up a resistance to fend off Arab control, but then years later Berber kingdoms and dynasties were the ones who were claiming to be following the straight path, established control in the
Maghreb and as far as
Al-Andaluz (Southern Iberian Peninsula), and built prominent centers of learning to promote Islam.
Sometimes I wonder if the geography of the region with its mountainous terrain had something to do with the preservation of Amazigh languages and traditions. That's possible--in
Venezuela, the few places where indigenous languages are heard are in its dense forest regions or other rough terrains that the colonizers did not dare go into or left alone out of laziness. Did the religious scriptures have an effect on how those spreading the faith treated its new converts? Maybe. The expansion of the Islamic Empire seemed different than the colonial expansions into the
Americas.
Some comparisons can be made between the colonial expansions of
France and
Spain into Maghreb territory and that of the
Americas, but it seems as if their incursion was not as ruthless. My
Rough Guide to Morocco said that the French and the Spaniards came to put in place their administrative structure on the people of the
Maghreb. The French did institute a policy to proselytize the Berbers in the hopes of gaining converts and therefore allies, but from what I've read thus far it did not do it at the edge of a sword and the project failed miserably.
Abdelkader Ezzaki from the Faculté des Sciences de l'Education of Université Mohammed V presenting a speech at the World Congress on Reading in 1988 said that the French exerted influence on the educational system (not that there was a huge infrastructure to speak of) making French the primary language and downgrading Arabic to a second language. Similarly, the French did try to control the mountainous region, but they were rebuffed by coalitions of Amazigh tribes who fought to remain independent and uphold their language and traditions. The Rough Guide continues by saying that the French argued that their expedition to the
Maghreb was a
mission civilisatrice or civilizing mission, which sounds quite noble from a Western point of view, but it was more a rationale to promote the Westernization of the people. However, years later a unified nationalist movement soon replaced their brief ruling stint.
Upon gaining their independence from France and Spain, the nationalist movement in Morocco reformed the educational institutions, but its efforts could only go so far. Asserting that the newly formed Kingdom of Morocco was an Arab state, it began a process of arabization that changed government communication from a mix of French and Arabic to MSA and restored the status of Arabic in the school system as the primary language. Business with France continued with little disruption. However, without much of an educational infrastructure before or even after the protectorate period, many Moroccans aspired and still do for the opportunity to study abroad in France or in Europe.
There is still a lot of debate among Moroccans about the arabization process. One of our language and culture facilitators (LCF) told me that the government's implementation of the reform was poorly executed and has left students unprepared for university studies that are mostly conducted in French. Another LCF pointed to the lack of printed or even electronic texts of the latest scientific research in Arabic. In most cases, most of the new scientific research is produced in English for which a French copy can be found in most cases, but an Arabic copy is usually unavailable. Furthermore, because France is still Morocco's number one trading partner, having poor French-speaking skills can severely limit one's employment chances.
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| Amazigh Flag |
To add even more complexity to the language conundrum, a rise in Amazigh pride has gained prominence in the political front. These groups have called for reforms in the educational systems. With the support of the government, they created a
Tamazight language curriculum, and they have pushed for more acceptance of the language in various media outlets. I remember one time sitting next to my ten-year old host brother who was doing some homework at the time. I asked him if I could peruse through his school books, and he nodded with a smile. He had a mathematics workbook in Modern Standard Arabic, a language workbook with passages of the Koran in Classical Arabic that he was required to trace and recite, a French language book that was all in French even the instructions, explanations, and definitions, and lastly a
Tamazight language book also entirely in
Tamazight.
As far as media outlets go, the
Institute Royale de la Culture Amazighe inaugurated a new Amazigh language television broadcast not too long ago. One time while chilling at a cafe in Immouzzer Kandar, a stronghold of
Imazighen pride, I got the chance to speak with a journalist who stated that he was in favor of Amazigh activists who were proposing having the constitution and other official government
communiqués translated into
Tamazight. Ordinary citizens and organized groups are continuing to push for more recognition of the various Amazigh languages and with more awareness about their efforts, I can only see their movement expanding.
For most foreigners, the language mix in Morocco seems indecipherable. Almost two years in and I still can't figure out what some people are saying to me. Because of my Arab look, I usually don't get the patiently pronounced darija that some of my fellow volunteers of European or Asian descent get; instead, I get confused looks, and an exasperated and impatient darija. Even after explaining that I am an American and that I'm learning Arabic, most of the locals still argue that I must be Moroccan, have Moroccan parents, or have Arab roots somewhere. They may be right. Who knows? My mestizo bloodline might have some.
Some people, upon noticing my dazed look, switch to MSA right away because naturally they think that as an Arab-looking person, I must be able to understand MSA or since I said that I was studying Arabic that I undoubtedly would be studying MSA. When I tell people that I'm not Moroccan or from another Arabic speaking country, they automatically switch to French because the official second language in the country is French and I must have received some French-language training in order to work in Morocco. When I tell them that I'm learning Moroccan Colloquial Arabic (darija), they in turn give me another confused look and ask why. When I explain that I am working with a community of artisans, they ponder the response, but are still confused as to why a university graduate would devote time and energy to a language that is not written, but just used on the street--what I just described above is what I usually encounter with every new person I meet and as you can imagine this getting-to-know-you process can get exhausting.
As soon as I hired my tutor early in service, I practiced this one phrase saying that one of my goals during my two years was to speak darija fluently, which goes something like "bghit ntkllm lugha l3rabia bttallaqa. It's an impressive feat for any volunteer that does and those that do, without a doubt, get royal treatment from Moroccans. As I progressed in service, I gained a decent competence of basic verbs and phrases of darija and got some Fusha words to impress my listeners from time to time; however, when I stopped studying on a regular basis for a variety of reasons, I began to rely more and more on my broken French. With newspaper and media outlets available in French language and easy to follow French language resources available on the net, I began to devote more time to refining my French. I even exchanged English lessons for French lessons on pronunciation. My counterpart noticed that I had reached a darija plateau and saw that I was devoting more time to French; so, she began making use of her French with me more so than before.
It felt good not to be stressing about not finding the darija or MSA word for what I already knew in French. We got work done. The delegate at the artisana appreciated my French-language reports. When I ran into strangers, instead of explaining the who, what, how, when, where, and why of my odd situation, I switched to French when I couldn't find the word and immediately people would switch to French thinking that I was another Moroccan émigré. I felt bad that my darija was slipping, but I felt I was moving forward faster on goal number one of Peace Corps: to provide technical expertise to our host country nationals. I did feel that by not telling my story to the everyday stranger in darija that I was perhaps faltering on goal number two: to help promote a better understanding of the American people on the part of the peoples served. However, I justified my new emphasis on French by thinking that it was welcomed more because I could do more.
I did not make a complete break from darija to French. I still used the darija I learned during the intensive language training and with my tutor, but I would rely more on French. Coming from a background where my mother emphasized maintaining the purity of the Spanish language rather than incorporating the spanglish of some of our more assimilated Latino friends, I felt that I was corrupting both French and darija. Even though darija is basically a mix of French, Tamazight, Spanish, and MSA, I still felt I should remain true to it and use the darija or MSA equivalent when at all possible.
Then, in September of last year exactly a year into service, I got to spend sometime in
Rabat and got a chance to talk it up with
Rabatis and
Cassawis at an event sponsored by
USAID called the
Forum de la Société Civile that exposed me to a different type of
darija. At first, when I heard various participants speak in the general forums, I was surprised that these educated individuals could not complete a full
darija or MSA phrase without injecting some French into it and vice versa. I thought surely the French language purity dogma had made it across the Mediterranean and into the predominantly francophone Moroccan university system, but there was no strict adherence. The entire forum carried on as such. On my downtime, I revisited the old cafes and boulevards that had once seemed so strange and intimidating and just listened to the hustle and bustle of the street that was now somewhat understandable. I realized how heavy in French the Rabati
darija was. Yet, it wasn't like they would stop to search for the appropriate French or
darija/Fusha word to complete a sentence. No, instead, the French and Fusha was intertwined into a
darija that was distinctly theirs. Some would even roll the "r"s in French words rather than pronounce them with the classical hard, raspy back of the throat sound. After that week in Rabat, I didn't feel as guilty anymore about corrupting either language, but then I began to think about the image that I was giving off by not making the effort to speak
darija or to insert the proper MSA word in absence of a
darija equivalent.
I asked some of my town friends and colleagues to give me some feedback on my darija. Some thought that I sounded much like the Moroccan émigré who perhaps grew up or has been living abroad for quite some time and has forgotten a great deal of his/her darija. Others said that they regretted that I was not working to improve my darija or expand on my MSA. A few friends said that they were disappointed that I had not learned Tamazight well.
After hearing their opinions, I asked them to explain their opinions. Some said that by not learning to speak darija well that I was missing out on getting to know the culture, the sayings, the jokes, and the Moroccan camaraderie. Knowing more MSA would let people know that I'm a scholar of the Arabic language and would raise even more eyebrows because most foreigners that come to work or travel through Morocco speak French. My Amazigh-pride friends told me that Tamazight in all its forms is the original language of the people of the Maghreb, not Arabic. They acknowledge that Arabic is the language of Allah, but they don't necessarily believe that they should shelve their language.
Some of the older generations who studied under the French protectorate system can speak French quite well, but as the colonial tongue, they somewhat resent its use. Young people I've spoken to at dar chababs, youth centers similar to Boys and Girls Clubs, who are influenced by Western mass media don't mind using French, and some are extremely eager to learn English to improve their employment opportunities. Their answers to my questions reflected the long history of conquest and reconquest by various empires, dynasties, and colonial powers. Their suggestions reflected their affiliation to their culture of origin. There was no general consensus just a lot of pros and cons from different people who share a nationality, but have different backgrounds and experiences.
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Here I am delivering a brief account of my work in Darija.
It felt like the longest 5-minutes of my life. |
As I near the end of service, I didn't reach my goal of speaking
darija bttallaqa (fluently), but I am not disappointed. Just like Morocco is a big mishmash of languages, I feel that my language competency reflects this mix. I can't complete long statements in French without inserting some
darija or some MSA words, and vice versa. Then again, there is no single
darija. Just like Venezuela and the U.S., each region has its cadence and places emphasis on certain sounds and syllables.
Darija is a living dialect. I'd say it is a language incorporating the words of the region's early inhabitants, those who have come and gone, and those of its neighbors. Interestingly, when I started allowing my French to mix with my
darija in seamless fashion, I began to be complemented on how well I could speak
darija.
The other day I couldn't help but smile when I heard my counterpart, who has been working with U.S. American volunteers for the last eight years, use English words in the middle of her
darija discourse to explain some of the concepts of
Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) to some of her coop members. French like Spanish is encountering a flood of English words. Last time I was in Rabat, I heard English words pronounced with a French accent to describe some business jargon. Could English be the next language to be added to the long list of languages that are part of the Moroccan language soup? Who knows?
For those volunteers or foreigners that are on their way here, I wish them luck in deciphering Morocco's language matrix. It's going to be difficult at first so don't beat yourself up. Moroccans themselves are trying to figure it out. Enjoy the linguistic journey. There will be ups and downs, valleys and plateaus, and contemplations about who you are and what your use of language portrays. At the end of the day, most Moroccans will admire and applaud your effort to join them on a journey that they know all too well. Pay close attention to their advice. You won't learn overnight. On a long journey like this one, you have to take it
swiya b swiya (little by little).
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I have a few links posted in my "French and Arabic Language Resources" side column that offer free
Fusha and
darija (Moroccan Colloquial Arabic) lessons. If you have a few dollars to spare, buy a copy of the Al-Kitaab series, which is by far the definitive guide for learning Modern Standard Arabic. You may not ever speak it in the street, but it will come in handy for reading and for attending official government meetings. Good luck!
When I first arrived in site all 'gun ho' about starting a new project and building community support for it, I spoke to a number of people and tried to persuade them to join me in addressing some of the expressed needs of the community, but towards the end of our meetings, a large number of people would simply finish off our conversations with an insh'allah. While it is true that we do not know what will happen tomorrow and we have little control over the future, being told that it was all up to God's will seemed a little fatalistic to me. Later on though, I learned that the use of insh'allah was not only a way to show respect to the all-knowing God, but it was also used to say 'no' without offending the other person or to express that something is unlikely to happen.
