Your Darija teacher writes back in your language.

I teach the Darija you hear in the street, not the one in textbooks. We start speaking in the first ten minutes and build from there — your mistakes are the lesson plan.

Fès, and I love the old city as a classroom. Half my lessons end up being about a street name.

Agadir, Amazigh household, and a teaching diploma that taught me to plan. My lessons have a shape, and you always leave with something written down.

Fès. I teach the Darija of the old city and the one people actually text each other — they are not the same, and you will want both.

Fès. I have been teaching longer than some of my students have been alive, and I have never met one who could not learn.

Essaouira. I teach with music — Gnawa first, then whatever you like. It fixes rhythm and pronunciation faster than drills.

I teach the Darija of the kitchen, the phone call and the neighbour — the language that fills an ordinary day in Salé.

From Tiznit, so Tamazight and Darija have both been mine since childhood. I can show you where the two touch — it explains a lot.

Nador, so Spanish and Tamazight are part of my everyday. I use both to build bridges into Darija.

Taroudant. Tamazight at home, Darija in the street, and I can show you how they fit together.

Safi. Unhurried, thorough, and a firm believer in writing things down. My students keep their notebooks for years.