My Valentine's Day

A new group of American exchange students has arrived in Meknes.

Despite some hesitant opposition at the thought of associating with a gaggle of naive Americans, we decided to invite them over for a little Valentine's Day soirée last night.

Before the party I had to teach, though, as I do every Sunday afternoon.

The class seemed rather empty when the first bell rang, so I waited for five to ten minutes. Even then, there were only 11 out of 18 students. I was pretty sure that the Moroccan semester break had ended. And I couldn't think of any other reason for the mass absenteeism, so I asked those present, "Why are there so many people missing? Is today a Moroccan holiday I have never heard of?"

They answered in concert, "Valentine's Day, teacher!!"

I smirked and nodded my head slowly. Then I tried to give them some background on the holiday they are so eager to assimilate. I explained how Valentine's Day has mutated from a regular saint's day on the Catholic calendar to a day to commemorate love to the current celebration of love through commercialism.

Something tells me that my students didn't catch the irony in my tone.


Back home, the party started strangely. I had been expecting eight to ten people, so I was a bit surprised to see 15 Americans file in with my Moroccan friend. She was supposed to have told them to bring their own snacks and drinks, but I wasn't sure if the message had been conveyed: they only had three bottles of wine and no food.

It was very quiet at first, almost awkwardly so. I made some small talk and then headed into the kitchen to make some Moroccan tea to compensate for the lack of drinks.

Even more Americans came slightly later with food and more drinks. The conversation gradually divided and subdivided, raising in volume at every division. By the time some of our Moroccan friends showed up, it was a lively affair.

The group surprised me. A number had lived in other countries before, in China, in Germany, and in Nigeria. And yet despite their previous international experience, very few spoke any French or Arabic--in fact, many chose the University of Meknes because it has low standards regarding prior language experience.

It was also interesting to hear them talk about the same shocks and jolts we encountered when we first arrived: learning to discern Moroccans' intentions, the differing conception of personal space, the awkward pleasure of the hammam, the prostitution-driven bar culture, etc.

I usually dislike spending time with Americans abroad. I find our values and worldview differ too much. But a number of Americans I have met recently are exceptions to the rule. Perhaps this group will contain some more.