Waiting For Culture Shock

I’ve been warned long before I ever stepped foot in Rabat. It was presumed in all of my conversations about departure and service. I was told to expect it by former volunteers and all people who have just heard of Peace Corps. No, it is not malnutrition, malaria, HIV, or diarrhea. I am talking about culture shock. I even read a book prior to my departure entitled “Culture Shock: Morocco”. After all this forewarning, you cannot blame me for have anticipated this feeling in every minute I spent in Morocco. The degree of “shock” I planned to experience was also relentlessly high. I cannot describe to you my exact vision of what culture shock was to be, but my perception involved some frantic calls home on my part and a debilitating and overwhelming feeling.

After six months I have yet to feel shocked. The absence of culture shock is now what is making me feel uneasy. I mean, what is wrong with me that I am unable to experience this important hardship of my Peace Corps service? Perhaps by sneaking around and expecting this feeling to emerge at every minute I somehow have managed to scare the shock away. Perhaps it wanted to drop by unexpected and I have failed to give it this opportunity. Don’t get me wrong, I am not without heavy impressions. I am absolutely, overwhelmingly brimming with emotion. However none of it is quite similar to what I would describe as shock.

Sure, this country is very different then what I am used to. Even more so then what I realized when I first arrived. “You just take away the jellabas, dub English and give everybody a fork and it’s America!” was my initial opinion. Now I see that this is anything but. True, in bigger cities it does look like parts of Philadelphia, London and Paris. And with due time these world cultures will probably globalize to form one massive and monotonous civilization. But today, I’m living in a world quite different from the one I came from. Besides the jellabas and forks there goes an entire religion and way of life that I myself am entirely unfamiliar with. I don’t think I will ever entirely learn the etiquette here and will always worry that yet again, I have said something inappropriate either due to my lack of cultural knowledge or my mispronunciation. I will probably always feel foreign here. There will be many instances like today, when the internet service guys knocked on my door, but waited 5 feet away, in caution and later tiptoed in as if my floors were covered in broken glass. But as these are the things that I expected when arriving here, I do not feel shocked. My expectations were met and I feel reassured. I am not crazy! Hooray!

I guess the most significant part of culture shock by definition is its withdrawal aspect. When simple, habitual things you’ve grown to rely on disappear, you become uncomfortable, anxious and confused and therefor "culture shocked". By rule, you never quite realize what of your daily life is truly habitual and what is circumstantial, until you are forced to part with it. Therefore, I expected to learn a whole new way to deal with life, especially considering the fact that I am a creature of habit. However, from what I can tell, most of my “habits” are well supported here, or at least within minor modifications. I have access to running water, electricity, showers, internet and a plethora of nutritious fruits, grains, meats and vegetables. I do miss some things, such as museums, nightlife, soymilk, mangoes, dirty martinis, and most of all my friends and family, but I feel, as all of these are just not that far out of reach. The internet and the ubiquitous phone coverage have made it easy to keep up contact and friendships across seas. And if I really do want to access the Western style of living I could go to one of the major cities in Morocco, all of which are excessively accommodating to tourists and their lifestyles. Albeit without these few things I take comfort in their proximity and spare myself the withdrawal.

Perhaps the one feeling that does overwhelm me from time to time is nostalgia. But I myself choose to dwell in it. I like it, it’s soft and warm, like a midnight swim in a southern ocean. It envelops me and I sink in without resistance. Far from shock, this feeling brings me comfort and rest. I think sometimes, I myself am responsible for bringing it about and it was perhaps, one of my subconscious reasons to come here in the first place.

I’m fully aware that I have yet to reach a quarter of my service, and I do think, that it is entirely too early for me to tell you that “culture shock” is not something associated with my service abroad. Just because I have not encountered it thus far, does not mean that it is not awaiting me around the bend, or is not hiding in my pocket inconspicuously, while I delusionaly think it is not there. Whatever the case, and whether it will eventually affect me or not, I will remain vigilantly awaiting its arrival, hoping to dodge it at every prayer call and invitation to couscous.