This feat is not for the faint of heart. After weeks of
submitting paperwork to the Turkish embassy, I was finally set to receive my
student visa for my fall as an exchange student in Istanbul. When it came time
to pay, they could not take my dirhams because they told me it was policy to
only take USD.
I zigzagged
from bank to bank to bank. I probably visited at least nine banks in the
vicinity of the embassy, only to get rejected each time. I was reaching
despair. I heard different reasons each time of why they could not give me
dollars for dirhams; it turns out that there is a shortage of USD in Moroccan
banks, and even if there were dollars available, a residence card or Moroccan passport
is required. I also learned that foreigners without a residence card must go to
the airport if they wish to exchange their dirhams for foreign currency through
the bank.
At last I made it back to the main street where I had
originally been advised to try my luck. At the final bank I visited, I was
chased for nearly a block by a bystander, who had overheard incorrectly and
wanted to sell me his Moroccan Dirhams. I was out of options and running out of
time, for the embassy was on Ramadan hours, and I was nearing desperation, so I
asked my program coordinator at the Moroccan Center for Arabic Studies if he could be of help and exchange the dirhams
for me. He kindly did so, but the only American currency that the exchange
office had at their disposal was a $100 bill. That was the most beautiful $100 bill I’d laid eyes on in a
while. I walked out of there breathing sighs of relief and trekked back to the
embassy. I gave them my prized $100 bill and they told me I was in luck,
because someone had just paid them the $60 visa fee minutes before, so they were
able to give me change. They stamped my visa and I heard the sweetest words
“you can enter Turkey. Goodbye”. I left the embassy victorious after a four
hour traipse around Rabat, for a stamping that took ten minutes.
This is precisely why I think that everybody should allow
themselves the privilege of spending some time abroad. Being in a country where
you do not speak the language renders you to be in an extremely vulnerable and
helpless position. It puts you at the mercy of the patience and graciousness of
others, and reminds you of how insignificant you really are. Throwing a fit
will do you no good. Neither will asking to speak to the manager, because you
are in his country and you do not speak his language. It’s a beautiful moment
when the realization comes that you are nothing extraordinary, only a speck on
this spinning rock in this boundless universe.
When you are
treated well, you are reminded of the good in the world. When you are treated
like an average Joe, you are forced to sit back and take a reality check. During
my time in Morocco, I have realized that as an American I live in a bubble of
convenience where most things are catered to me, and I have been guilty of the
mindset is “my time is more valuable than yours”. Today, I have been humbled.
More than temporarily sweaty hands and a reminder of
patience, Morocco has given me a lesson in humility. And for this, I am
thankful.
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