First off, I will post pictures of Philadelphia, NYC, and the flights onto my Flickr soon. Second off, I am fine, I am in Morocco, the weather is beautiful, the flowers are in bloom, and there is a strange smell in the air - the air of complete freedom. I am a new person here. That being said...
This morning, on the bus ride from Casablanca to Marrakech, we decided to stop by a gas station to rest. We were all exhausted and had to use the restroom. These are our last chances to use the "Western style" toilets before the inevitable. At the gas station, there was a cafe. Being slightly competitive by nature, I decided that I wanted to be the first to actually get a dirham and order some food actually made in Morocco.
Let me go back for a moment. Remember, my dear followers, that I am about 6 hours ahead of you all. And I didn't get a lot of sleep on the plane rides, so my biological clock is a bit out of whack. surprise, surprise. I go up to the counter and notice that under pizzas, there is a type that says RIANE. My French is not very good, but I do know that "rian" is French for "nothing". I go up to the counter and ask the man if riane pizza is plain pizza, aka., cheese pizza. I wanted to try a Moroccan pizza with Moroccan cheeses.
The man looks up and says, "No."
I look back, "Okay, so what is it?"
The man repeats, "No."
I look around the cafe, surrounded by fellow volunteers. I point to the sign and begin the traditional American foreign speaking by saying the exact same thing, only louder.
"Pizza! I want pizza! Cheese pizza!"
The manager walks up to me and asks, "What is the problem?"
I explain that I just want cheese pizza, and he looks at me and says, "I'm sorry, the pizza isn't ready yet. It's 10:00AM."
So, my first thought is wow, my biological clock is so out of whack. "I'm sorry," I said, "I just flew in and didn't realize." But inside, I was thinking I WANT PIZZA! PIZZA IS A BREAKFAST FOOD. i HAD IT EVERY DAY IN AMERICA.
As we left the gas station, I began to feel guilty. I am here in a foreign land, trying to get a grasp of a culture about which I know nothing. And here I am, perpetuating the stereotype of the arrogant and aggressive American who acts like an ass.
So here is my first lesson; a lesson which can apply to everyone. Just because someone gives you an answer you do not like does not mean that they did not understand you. Communication, I now realize, requires a level of trust. This matters whether or not you speak the same language. You need to trust that the other person is speaking truthfully to you to know for certain that you are communicating properly to each other. If you cannot trust the person to whom you are speaking, then communication is impossible. I will make a vow to trust the answers that I am given, both here in Morocco, and when I get back to the states. In the meantime, I WANT PIZZA!
