Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Teenagers

Most of my students are teenagers; they are 15, 16, 17 years old. Many times I give them an assignment to write about their families. And when I read their writings I am struck by the difference between American teens and Moroccan teens. Moroccan teens extol the virtues of their family. They write about how much they love their family and describe how beautiful their mothers are and how handsome their fathers. They love spending time with their family and enjoy their vacations together. In America, the teens I know can’t wait to get away from their elders. But family life here is central to existence and meals are eaten together, free time is spent visiting one another (for everyone has a big supply of aunts, uncles and cousins) and many even have grandparents over 100 years old. Why, I met one old man who claimed to be 116 years old. He asked if he could meet my sister.

Of course there are plenty of teens in the new town who have embraced the styles of Western culture. At night, the school is swarming with teens. There are literally hundreds of them. Many arrive early to visit or flirt with one another. The more daring  play snooker in one of the nearby cafes where it is not unusual to see young women arrive in their galabahs and headscarves and then later watch them emerge from the café restroom in black leather knee-high boots, low cut sweaters and studded mini skirts. Stiletto heels are all the rage in this crowd. And some boys have their hair gelled into a shiny, spiky, gravity-defying arrangement which won’t move a centimeter -- even when riding their brightly colored scooters. The girls seem to like to streak their hair in contrasting colors and the luckier ones have their hair straightened into a flat, asymmetrical style. Of course there is a mad scramble for these relatively racy gals to revert back to their modest attire after the bell announces the end of class. Parents are waiting outside in their cars to transport their precious cargo home before they can be exposed to bad influences.

A few weeks ago I saw one student roaming around the café an hour before class. I was in the café correcting papers from my morning class and preparing my lesson for the afternoon. This student came to my afternoon class without one page of homework completed. When I called him on it, he shucked and jived and failed to give me an explanation for his blank workbook pages. After the break, he arrived in class reeking of hashish. Yes, the students smoke, even drink wine and generally misbehave as teenagers all over the world are prone to do. But I didn’t expect this during the middle of a class. However, these students are more privileged then most and are often given more money to spend in a day than some families spend in a week on food. So, it’s no small wonder that they get into mischief.

But by and large, I find my teenaged students miraculously innocent and well-behaved. The jokes I crack in class in Morocco would be met with derision in California. But here, the students giggle in delight at the most innocent ploys. For example, sometimes a student gives me an answer that includes a compliment to me. I pretend to add a nice notation about that student on their chart, just for saying something nice about me. Inevitably, the students laugh and laugh at this. I have another student who always wants to use the restroom at the same time every class. After the 4th or 5th time this happened (I was slow to catch on) I asked him to tell me the name of the girl he was meeting in the hallway. The entire class joined in on teasing this student and now that the jig is up, he good naturedly takes a ribbing every time the appointed hour for his rendezvous arrives. A rendezvous that he now does not keep.

On Sundays I privately tutor a young girl who is not allowed to leave her house alone. Her father is a wood worker and he has promised to exchange his craft for the lessons I give her. She speaks very little English and I am teaching the absolute basics to her. It’s challenging for me as my Arabic is more basic than her English. But we get by with pantomimes and pictures. At the end of yesterday’s lesson, she simply and earnestly said to me, “I like you.” It was so sweet and gratifying. Her mother arrived several times to proffer coffee with milk and sweets. Her younger sisters peeked in the salon from time-to-time and giggled at my attempts to speak Arabic as well as the sound of their older sister speaking English. And my young student sat very close to me during the entire lesson, leaning her body into mine as she laboriously practiced writing her letters.

I thank God for my interactions with these teenagers. They are always a bright ray of sunshine in my life and they never fail to transport me into a glimpse of their varied worlds.

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