Arabic, French, English…I slide between languages shopping at the local market. If only I could help doing it mid-sentence. At the butcher I ask in French about a particular cut, then ask the price and declare how much I want in Darija. I do the entirety of my veggie shopping in Darija: tomatoes, onions, carrots, cucumbers, garlic, lettuce and flufla, which is Moroccan for pepper and one of my favorite words ever, in any language. I even inquire if the peas pods are sweet to which the vendor smiles and nods.

I wander the stalls, looking at paintings, buying some natural curry powder and convincing the poultry butcher to carve up a chicken because I only want the breasts. This exchange is in French again, but then we converse in Darija about the fact that I live here and if I like the meat he’d be happy to see me return. At one point I ask, “Bishhal le viande?” which translates as “How much (Arabic) the meat (French).

Arabic is hard. I study to acquire it. I stumble on pronunciation. I mix up words. French, however, somehow seeped in. When I least expected it I found that I could no longer really say “Je ne parle pas français.” If needed I could get through the basics and, with some tiny bit of concentration, I started to realize how many cognates there are, from both English and Spanish.

So I have set myself a task of further study. The plan is to study French at home and with Moroccan friends at my language exchange group, while taking Darija lessons with an Arabic teacher at school. Who says I can’t learn two new languages at a time?!?

Additionally, I am now able to get my hands on crosswords from an English international paper that makes the rounds at school a few times a week. My head has become a constant jumble of wordplay.

If I admit how much I’m enjoying it, would you call me a dork?