Recently, my parents came to visit me here in Morocco. This story would be best if you had met my parents. Just imagine your typical set of parents. Sweet, good natured and proud of their Peace Corps daughter. They still fight in the car over the directions, occasionally order the same meal despite a huge menu, and my dad tells well, dad jokes. My mom just rolls her eyes and I laugh.
I tried best to prepare them for all that could be expected: indigestion, conservative garb, alarm clock style calls to prayer, traffic, and vendor harassment. They are fairly well traveled having vacationed in Peru, Costa Rica, and Germany, among others. This was still a first for them, coming to Africa. I tried my best to plan a smooth trip. I knew that they would be bothered that they would not be able understand any of the languages here (gold star America!).
I tried my best, starting early, to teach them some basic Tashelheit. Words and greetings that they would hear repeatedly like “Salaam walakum, labas, thenna,” and “nchallah,” among a few others. They accents reminded me of mine in the beginning. They did pretty well remembering and tried out the greetings every morning during breakfast.
When we visited my boyfriend’s family, their first real “home stay” in Morocco, my parents were desperate for additional vocabulary. “How do I say, ‘Good Morning!’ or ‘Delicious!’?” They asked. So, easily after that, during any meal, my parents would praise my boyfriend’s mom, telling her that the food was “IHla bzzf!” (very good,) or “Yetfut!” (delicious.)
We had a great time in Morocco. I couldn’t have asked for better weather, suitable hotels, or just for things to work out as nicely as they did. Randomly, I believe the recent change in seasons might have out my boyfriend and I on a bit of a sneezing frenzy. It seemed that every morning one of us was reaching for some Tempo. On our way from Errachidia to Azrou, Omar, my boyfriend, had a sneezing fit and tried to stifle the last one, creating a bit of a nose fart. I started to make fun of him. My dad, charming in on the fun, tried to bless him. Insteading of saying, “RHumkullah!” as we had just learned the day before, he got confused and said, “Yetfut!”
“Dad, that means delicious,” I said, my lips breaking into the biggest preemptive outburst of laughter. “Oh my god!” and we all died laughing in the car. My mom, driving, tears streaming down her face because she was laughing so hard. We imagined scenarios where my dad would respond to a random sneeze in a cafe or on the street, “Yetfut!”
The man has the best intentions and tried really hard to remember phrases. I think maybe his German “Gezundheit” might have somehow messed him up. Oh well. Next time that guy in the taxi sneezes all over the seat in front of you, bless him with a “Yetfut!” and offer a tissue.
I love language. High five.
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