Saturday, September 05, 2009

Morocco, Expatriates and Otherness.



The View from Fez is in debt to Jillian York for pointing us in the direction of a post by Charlotte, an anthropologist, who was raised in the Netherlands, but has spent nine years in the United States. Her post, the commentary by Jillian and readers' comments, raised issues that every expat struggles with, at least in the first couple of years in Morocco. We would be interested in other people's responses. Here is an excerpt of Charlotte's thought provoking article.

The thing is, that if you’ve grown up ethnically white in an American or Dutch middle class neighborhood, Otherness is probably not a feeling you are accustomed to. I’m not talking about that sense of ‘being different’ that we all experience from time to time, or that feeling of just not being able to ‘connect’ to any other individual in our environment. What I am referring to is not an internal feeling, but rather an externally imposed sense of difference. A perception of Otherness in the eyes of our social environment that is based on unchangeable (and often inborn) aspects of our appearance, and that we ourselves are unable to control or change. That sense of Otherness that anyone who has grown up as part of an ethnic minority will be overly familiar with.

Being seen as Other is an almost paradoxical form of being labeled on the basis of your appearance; it means that you are being categorized as falling-outside-of-all-culturally-established-categories. And as happens with any application of a stereotype, being ‘otherized’ forces you to confront difficult questions about who you are. About how you relate to the label you have been given, how your self-perception matches the way you are perceived by others – and about how you as a designated ‘outsider’ relate to the categories that are part of the socio-cultural establishment.

I have been an immigrant for much of my life, but until I came to Morocco, I never
looked (or sounded) different from the majority in my environment. It wasn’t unless I myself chose to verbalize my non-American cultural background, that those around me would ever see or treat me as ‘different’. In Rabat on the other hand, it is not I, but rather my environment that chooses to underscore my difference. My status as an outsider is continuously and inescapably made explicit, regardless (it seems) of what I do or say. This Otherness is new to me, and I must admit that it is one of the aspects of expat life in Morocco that I have found most difficult to grow accustomed to. It makes me feel a little powerless, and I miss the anonymity of blending in with my environment.


Expatriates - the "other"

Jillian York comments

I haven’t yet lived in a foreign country other than Morocco, but having discussed the experience of living abroad with numerous friends who’ve done the same, I’ve come to the conclusion that, while everyone has difficulty assimilating to a new culture, Morocco (not unlike say, Japan) is a particularly difficult country to fit into. It’s not specifically Islam, of which most of its residents are practitioners, nor is it skin color; There’s something about the social intricacies of Morocco, as well as the insular history of the country, that often excludes foreigners (as well as foreign-born Moroccans) from it.

Take this into account: Although Morocco is a long-traversed land, passed over by Phoenicians and Romans, Jews, Carthaginians, Vandals, and Byzantines, then the Arabs, and finally the Spanish, Portuguese and French, it has also managed to remain an insular one. Marvine Howe, in Morocco: The Islamist Awakening and Other Challenges, refers to Morocco as “proud and unruly” and in terms of resistance, it was. Despite centuries of colonization, there is still a strong Amazigh identity. Despite attempts to crush it during periods of pan-Arabism, it remains, as does a uniquely “Moroccan” sense of identity, despite how different the coast is from the interior, the Atlas from the Med.

But I digress…Part of the frustration of living in Morocco as a foreigner is the sense that, no matter what you do, you’re lumped in with all of the white people who came before you (much like being a Muslim in America, eh?). Charlotte says:

I know that I do not look like a tourist. Most likely we are all sensitive to the little markers that tell you where a person is from, and what he or she is doing in their current location. You can tell by the way they walk, and the way they look around at their surroundings. It’s their dress, their choice of bag, and the style of nonverbal communication. All of these things can clue you in about a person’s nationality, or the length of their stay here in Morocco. But as much as it seems clear to people on the street that I am not a holiday traveler, I will nevertheless always be instantly recognized as an outsider, a visitor. Again, it’s in little things that this perception hides.
Jillian continues....

Morocco has many wealthy, mostly European expatriates, many of whom don’t make much of an effort to learn Arabic, understand Islam, or otherwise assimilate. The rest of the foreigners* fit relatively neatly into a few other categories, none of which are all that wealthy. Many of them live on Moroccan salaries, albeit upper-middle-class ones, but most are not homeowners. Most make some attempt to speak darija. Most of their friendships are with Moroccans, even if they’re limited to upper-middle-class English-speaking Moroccans. In other words, for all intents and purposes, they are in a position to assimilate.

After I wrote this, I got a really thoughtful email from a Moroccan Twitter friend, who disagreed with my assertions. After thinking about it, I realized that I was looking at this from a totally American lens. When I referred to foreigners, I was really thinking of Americans - mostly my age, and mostly with an educational background in the region - who come to Morocco to be a part of Morocco. I know a lot of them. I have no real basis for speaking for other nationalities, though I do know a few people from Europe who fit this paradigm.


To read more of this discussion please visit Jillian C York and Charlotte's blog Bisahha

Jillian York is the author of the very popular book "Morocco - Culture Smart!
a quick guide to customs and etiquette
"



5 comments:

elimam said...

the "Otherness" feeling is natural, because at the end of the day, foreigners living in Morocco are the "others"! even if they try to "blend" with the locals, speak darija and even think like locals, they are still the "others".
throughout my experience as a foreigner, this topic is often raised within the expat community and similar situations are observed.
just to put my comments into context, I am Moroccan, I lived in London for 3years and I've been living in Japan for 9 years.
I came to realize, that instead of fighting the "otherness", I'd better enjoy the best of both worlds. as a foreigner I have the privilege of choosing when I can be a local & when I can be a foreigner and use the situation to my advantage. local people don't have that luxury and they surely envy me for that!

Anonymous said...

I don't fit the living in another country mould yet but I have of late spent a lot of time thinking about how it would be to live in another country for an extended period once I have the time to do so. I thought about it last year while in Fez, I always day dream about it in France and most recently it has exercised my thoughts in Ubud Bali. While in all of these places I have been on holiday which is vastly different from living in a place, my conclusion so far is that Bali might be the most rewarding place to take up residence. All the places i have mentioned and many more would be richly rewarding on many levels but I must say having travelled widely, Morocco wins the prize for the place I felt most Other. ( Pakistan too where I travelled for a month in the 1970's) Is it that some cultures while vastly different from ones own seem to have an affinity with ones own? I am sure it's true that some cultures have as part of their value set a desire to align themselves with other peoples however different. In countries that are very religious the degree to which one is welcomed into the place of worship is surely a factor. Here I sit with a Balinese prayer thread around my wrist which was carefully tied on by a priest at a sacred temple after I had bathed in holy water. A tourist scam you might say but it certainly didn't feel like that. It felt like being embraced with no questions asked. An unspoken message of acceptance. Many other aspects of ones interactions in Bali have the same feeling. In Morocco I only felt this in the Atlas mountains. Maybe rural verse urban is a big factor too. Maybe i should take a course in anthropology! Fascinating subject.

Annette said...

This is a fascinating topic and thank you for bringing it to attention.

Otherness is fine. It is what we are and as one of my closest Moroccan friends said when she read this post That is why we like you, because you are different. You enrich our lives and we enrich yours.

Moroccans are welcoming and generous, just like all people, when given the chance. I feel blessed to live among them and value their love and friendship.

Living in Morocco said...

I am a rare case in the otherness equation. I'm an American born from Lebanese heritage, so I have the same look as the Moroccans with dark hair and eyes and olive skin. I'm married to a Moroccan and we are currently living in Morocco. But I am also Muslim and often choose to wear a djellaba over my Western clothes. (It's more comfortable and more appropriate Islamically.) I never feel other because I blend in and when I meet other Moroccans, they always comment that they didn't believe I was American before meeting me...even when I stumble over the greetings in Darija! Even in the local hammam, the women there have started to regard me as they do any of the other women. Other than their helping me to learn a little more Darija, I don't get any special treatment or attention. I realize I am an "other" in situations involving the court and residency issues, or when I display my American passport. Yet, one time, a security guard at the Ministry of Justice didn't want to give it back to me because he thought I should be retrieving a carte nationale!

It is actually back in the States, where I am a citizen that I'm more often regarded as an "other" because I'm neither black nor white, Hispanic or Asian. I wear the hijab there so I am often the only one in any given place that stands out as having noticably different religious beliefs. I'm more likely to be stared at, especially if we are in an area where Muslims are not the "norm". To date, I consider myself lucky that I haven't suffered any injustice because of that, but it is something that is in my consciousness almost at all times, where in Morocco, I don't think about it at all.

Anonymous said...

I have felt ``otherness'' my whole life, probably because I have always moved around and never lived in the same place for more than a few years. Think most people would feel like they don't completely belong somewhere in this day and age, except for those who were born, lived and died in the same town.