Life in translation

Sixteen hours of Darija down.

(1)

Where's the bus?

Fayn ilkar?

(2)

This is my brother. His name is Andy.

Hada khayi. Ismu Andy.

(3)

Figs

Karmuz

(4)

See you next week.

Nshufak l usbuwå limaji.

(5)

Maria's baby is really cute.

Beybi d Maria drif bzef.

(6)

I need more vocabulary.

Khasni l kelimat ktar.

(7)

We're going to go south, because there are a lot of flowers there.

Ghadi nimshiyu n l janub, Hit kayn bzef d zuhur tima.

(8)

I'll stay here for 10 months in total. For me, that's a long time in one place.

Ghadi nbqa hinaya åashara shuhur f l majmuwå. Lili, hada waqt tawil f waHid l makan.

(9)

I want to swim, but the pool here is closed.

Bghit nåum, walakin bisin hinaya mishdud.

(10)

I want to continue and learn different dialects in different Arab countries. In Canada, maybe I can help new immigrants who speak Arabic. That's the idea.

Bghit nkimil wa ntålam darijat mukhtalifa f l buldan l årabia. F Kanada, yimkin nqdar nsåid muhajirin jdadin li kaytklmu l årabia. Hadi hia l fikra.

(11)

Melodee is doing a Ph.D here, about illiterate women in government.

Melodee katåmal doktora hinaya åla lmara lumia f l Hukuma.

(12)

This is why I like Turkish: I only learned the things I needed...to live, to shop, to talk to people.

Hakda ålesh katåjbni turkia: tålimt ghir l hajat li kanHataj... besh nåysh, nshri, nhdar må nes.

(13)

I'm tired.

Ana åyana.

(14)

I feel bad, because I lived in Saudi Arabia for years and didn't learn more than 10 words of Arabic. I know, it's a real shame. But everyone worked for the same company, and the language of the company was English. 

KanHis qabih, Hit åisht f såudia khilel sanawat wa ma tålmt shi ktar min åashara d l kelimat d l årabia. Kanårif, liasaf shadid. Walakin kulhum khudmu f nefs sharika, wa lugha d sharija kanat l injilizia.

(15)

I go to Turkey every summer.

Kanimshi n turkia kul sayf.

(16)

I feel frustrated, because I'm learning Darija, but I'm not speaking a lot. I feel like if I stop, just for a few days, I'll forget everything.

KanHis bshwiya d inziåj, Hit kantålam darija, walakin ma kanhdar shi bzef. KanHis faHal ida waqaft shwia d l ayam, ghadi ninsa kulshi.

How to be unimpressed in Darija

Ana åyana.

I'm tired.

Ma bghit shi nahdar.

I don't want to talk.

Safi, mshi.

Go away.

Khalini biwahdi.

Leave me alone.

W qaf.

Stop.

Baraka ma tahdar måya.

Stop talking to me.

Ma kayhimni shi.

I'm not interested.

Ma shi shughli.

I don't care.

a whole new world

The plan was to take a break from Fus-ha, or Standard Arabic, to learn just enough Darija, or Moroccan dialect, to handle travel logistics and shopping. But now, only five hours into this new language--and indeed it is a new language--I feel I am in a whole new world. The characters are the same, but now I know what they are saying, and they understand me, too.

At the hamam: bzef de ness lyoma! (a lot of people today!)

Buying clothes: wash kayn ktar sagheer min hada? (is there one smaller than this?)

Buying coffee: smehli, khamsa mia gram, la khamseen (sorry, 500 grams, not 50)

Passing a friend in the street: aandi dars deba--nashoufak min baad (I have class now--see you later)

With Fatima, my wonderful teacher: kayajibni bzef naqra adarija, ktar min alfus-ha. naqdar nahdar ma ness. kul yowm, kanataalam shi haja jadida. (I like studying Darija a lot, more than Fus-ha. I can talk to people. every day, I learn something new.)

It's like I'm Jasmine and she's Aladdin, showing me the world beyond the balcony.

Top 10 in Tetouan

shukran (thank you)

bsaha (to your health)

bslama (bye)

hatha bishahal? (how much is this?)

salamaleikum / wa-aleikumasalam (peace be upon you / right back at ya)

wakha (ok)

safi (that's all)

atey (tea)

qahwa bilhelib (café au lait)

labes? bighair? alhamdulilah (how are you? good? praise be to God)

These are probably the 10 most useful phrases for me living in Tetouan.

What about you in your city?

Buenos dias, Bonjour, Sabah al-khir

Northern Morocco is a riot of language.

People assume I am Spanish, so if they can, they ask me lo que quiero. The fruit-seller at the souk: Manzanas diez dirhams, la granada tres dirhams. The waitors: Un sanduche de queso y un batido mixto, si? Agua con gas o sin gas?

This was a pleasant surprise, because it means I can navigate the city without feeling completely lost. Not everyone speaks Spanish, though. It seems to be limited to tourism-related folks, which makes sense, since they serve the Spaniards who come across the water on holiday.

When people shake their heads at Spanish, they usually offer French. The woman charging my phone card: Combien est-ce que vous voulez? The landlord’s wife: Si vous voudrez quelque chose… French is taught in school, so only the uneducated don’t speak it.

Of course, with each other, Moroccans usually speak Darija (unless they are Berber, but let’s hold off on that). They might greet each other with Ca va? but Lebes? is more common. They can switch between Darija and French in the same sentence, and I understand there are a lot of loanwards in Darija itself.

Conclusions:

I need to learn French (again)

And Spanish (more)

And if I want to be like the cool kids:

Arabic (Darija)

And if I want to read and write:

Arabic (Standard)

Darija

I lived in Saudi Arabia for most of my life without learning more than twenty words of Arabic, such was the insulation effect of the expat community. I was excited to redeem myself by learning the language during my time in Morocco, until I did some research.

Darija is the dialect of Arabic spoken across the countries of Northern Africa. Certainly it shares some grammar and vocabulary with Standard Arabic, but it is distinct. It is not just British English compared to American English. Each country has a variation of Darija, which leads us to Moroccan Arabic. Says Wikipedia:

"Moroccan Arabic has a distinct pronunciation and is nearly unintelligible to other Arabic speakers."

Fantastic. I will learn this Arabic dialect, known as Darija, and be more or less unintelligible across the Middle East. But everything for a reason, my mother says. Chin up, I began from square one with my Casablanca host, Nourredine, who taught me the following expressions. 

lebes? (how's it going?)

lebes (it's going well)

kider(a)? (how are you?)

mezyan (good)

ana canadia (I'm Canadian)

ana usteda (I'm a teacher)

deba (now)

Thanks, Nourredine.