How Small Moroccan Phrases are Changing Me

My favorite two phrases in Morocco are “inshallah” (God-willing/hopefully/we’ll see) and “chwiya b chwiya” (little by little/slowly), for two different reasons.

“Inshallah” is comedic as hell because Morocco is not exactly known for its planning and punctuality. I tried to make plans with my friends twice, and both times, they bailed. I don’t take it personally because I know that that’s just the culture, but it has taken some adjusting to.

Also, even not in terms of planning events/rendezvous etc., nothing that happens here has been planned or accounted for, although that could just be my life. For instance, I have a pretty bad cold and was planning on sleeping very well tonight, but of course there is a CRAZY LOUD Moroccan wedding (they are noisy, joyous, all-night events) happening on the neighboring building’s roof. I could be mad that I probably won’t sleep too well, or mad that I wasn’t invited (even though I definitely do not know the happy couple), but instead I’m enjoying the traditional Moroccan jams through my window and writing this blog post.

In the last 5 weeks, the punctual, perfectionist in me has started to adapt. I think it’s for the better. Maybe I will stop being uptight in Morocco. Maybe studying abroad will ~change me.~ (Actually, I know for a fact that I will be saying “hamdullah” every time I sneeze, and “bismillah” before I eat, when I get home, even though that’s months from now.)

Anyways, my second favorite phrase is “chwiya b chwiya” because I’ve come to accept that Arabic is the most difficult language I could have possibly endeavored to learn. I stopped worrying that I’ll seem dumb if I express my difficulties grasping the language, and have instead allowed myself to acknowledge its challenges and pat myself on the back for knowing what little I do. I am studying hard and speak consistently in Darija with my new host family, and I 100% eavesdrop on others’ tram conversations. I’m doing my best, and “chwiya b chwiya,” I’m getting there.

When I first started Darija boot camp, my teacher kept saying “chwiya b chwiya” because it took me so long to even ask a vendor for a half kilo of grapes, but today I walked into a pharmacy, described my cold symptoms, and chose meds entirely in Darija. For some, that’s not a big accomplishment after 5 weeks, but I am very proud of myself.

And sometimes, I’m the only person that’s proud of me, and that’s okay! For instance, for some reason, many of us Americans have been compared to each other, publicly, and it has 100% been my least favorite part of my entire time in Morocco. Forget catcalling, forget food poisoning, forget all of that junk, because the WORST moments are when I’m told, to my face, that my Darija is not as good as [insert name of another American in my cohort], when I’m trying just as hard, as is everybody else who is compared to this person.

It is so frustrating because none of us are outwardly competitive with each other. We are all internally competitive, sure, because nobody wants to get left behind, not knowing much Darija, but to be told time and time again that one of us is better than the others is just harmful. I don’t understand why everybody likes to rank us.

However, this whole situation has been a time of personal growth for me. I come from one of the most competitive high schools in the country and have been shamed by my peers for not enrolling at an Ivy (Georgetown = Clown College, I guess??). I’m used to not being the best because half the students in every class were prodigies at something, but I was always so hard on myself.

However, here, I don’t have my Dad’s advice or my pig’s wet nose to make everything better. Thus, I’ve started to pat myself on the back and say, “last week, you didn’t know half of that sentence. Today, you do. Chwiya b chwiya. Chwiya b chwiya.”

Now I pay attention to the little compliments and hold on to that positivity. For instance, my new host mom, after hearing me say a few things on my first day in her home, said that my Arabic is “mzyen” (good!), and she was surprised that I’ve only been here 5 weeks. She didn’t have to say that, and she doesn’t know that I’m insecure about my Darija, so her words meant a lot. She was genuine and I am GRATEFUL. Chwiya b chwiya, I learned some Arabic, spoke it to my host mother, and was understood. Major accomplishment in the life of me!

So there you have it. “Chwiya b chwiya” and “inshallah”: the two phrases that have altered my thinking. I am a new woman. A happier one. Ana frhana.