Familiarly Foreign

The other day, I walked into a cafe that is on the same street where I live but which I visit but rarely. I asked for a couple of my favorite pastries and waited to be served. Instead I received a loud (and yet still friendly) outburst about how well I spoke Arabic.

Leaving aside for a moment the fact that it you don't need to know very much Arabic to order pastries, such compliments get a little old after a while. If I'm going to have a conversation, I'd prefer for it to be about something other than the fact that I'm a conversation in Arabic.

Like most conversations of this type, it followed a predictable path:

"You speak Arabic so well."

"Thank you. God's blessings upon you."

"Are you Muslim? Do you pray?"

"No, I'm not Muslim, but I do pray."

"Well, you are a Muslim then."

"No, I don't pray as the Muslims pray."

For many Moroccans the only reason why you would ever bother to learn Arabic is because you are a Muslim. And it's true there are many converts to Islam who come to Morocco to improve their Arabic and deepen their knowledge of Islam, but I am here for other reasons.

Eventually the man got me my pastries (or rather he had another woman do it).

I always handle this sort of questioning in a friendly manner, but after a while it gets a bit old. After frequenting the same places for the past few months, I get lulled into thinking that I actually fit in. And the truth is that I don't really.

I suppose that's why I go to the same places here in Meknes: familiarity.