Culture Shock, or Coming Back Home

It has been more than a week since I came back home, and adjusting for the nasty bought of the flu that put me out of service for a few days, it has been an oddly…slow readjustment to normal life. It’s not anything physiological, like jet-lag (that faded quite quickly). Rather, I feel as if I am experiencing (ironically) a bit of culture shock. After having spent the last month or so, surrounded by Darija (the majority of which I don’t understand), actually understanding the majority of the conversations around me is startling. At the moment, the multitude of English parlaying voices all sound very loud and as if they are being projected from 1960’s sitcom reruns. Every like and OMG! makes me flinch a little. When I am talking, occasionally the Darija or french word will bubble up without me noticing (although, I am considering keeping the word safi. There is something very satisfying about that word. Safi?). Every time I turn a street corner, I am expecting a scarf covered head, but instead am met with teased up hair, exposed elbows, knees, and spaghetti tops. Just the demographic makeup seems odd to my eyes, having not really seen this many Indians in one area in a while. The streets around my suburban house seem to quiet compared to Agdal. Too clean, to structured, too ordered, too not covered with cat hair, etc…. Every difference is starker, sharper, more defined and unignorable. As I poke around my old haunts, I am given a pause and I think, Was it really only a month ago?.

Or maybe I’m just missing Morocco.

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