Aaaaaaaaaaaallah u-akbar. Aaaaaaaaaaaallah u-akbar.

The call to prayer echoed across the city streets. Sunlight began to creep in through the open window; a necessity given the lack of air conditioning in the house.

Laaaaaa allah ila aaaaallah.

My eyes shot open, taking in the dimly lit room. The sudden consciousness quickly filled with dread as a singular thought entered my mind: I have to go to class. Never before in my some 13 years of schooling had I so dearly not wanted to go to class. This was Monday, week two.

I started studying Arabic in fall 2014 of my freshmen year. It was a utilitarian decision, as I harbor hopes of finding work in the government someday. I always knew study abroad lay in my future; where exactly, I did not know until last summer. The Arab World reaches from Oman to Morocco, so quite a few options were available. I decided to go with Morocco out of some particular advantages my program at OU offered. My program was 10 weeks of intensive study of Arabic—four hours of class each day and four hours of homework. Easy. Piece of cake. Culture shock? No sweat. I had been abroad to Europe before. How bad could this be?

It was in those 10 weeks that I learned the true meaning of perseverance.