The school itself had dirt floors (no smart boards here) and simple desks and chairs. We stacked desks and placed rugs on the floor so that the students (ranging in age from 4-7) could work with us and the instruments. Mary played her first Berber version of “Old McDonald” as well as a fun and lively version of La Cucaracha (strange that the ubiquitous cockroach name does not exist in the Berber language). Our lively hosts Hakim and Joy joined in the fun! Hakim translated for the children and all had a terrific time making music and dancing together! After our school session we dined with the Village Chief’s son (also a good friend to Hakim- who is well connected Moroccan style). Of course we dined upon- you guessed it TAGINE!
Up early, we drove through the Atlas mountains along the ancient caravan routes. We watched and photographed the scenery as it changed from a lush green to a much more desert appearance, dotted with low shrub brush and huge rocks. We visited a fascinating Berber (Moroccan tribe) town that was built on the ancient remains of a Kasbah, a community style hostile where traveling caravans of traders would stop for food and sustenance along their trade routes in the desert. Our guide, and by now very good friend, Hakim, had gathered instruments from a local music shop so that we could work with the school children in the village. As you can see from these pictures, the town was built in and among the ruins of the old Kasbah, it reminded us the Native American Pueblo dwellings. The villagers continued to design and build their homes according to the same their ancient traditions, using a mixture of sand, hay, clay and rocks. There have been heavy rains here lately that have washed out the roads in many places, so Hakim had to drive through the open desert to find a new route to the village.
We have heard from many of you that you cannot comment on our blog! We think we have fixed this, so please try again if you are inclined to do so, we would love to hear from you!
The story of the Moroccan Tagine must be told. On our flight from London to Marrakech, we sat next to a kind and animated Moroccan man returning from Ireland. He was so excited to be coming home and wanted to share with us the many Moroccan traditions that he loved. He told us repeatedly “do not miss the Tagine, you must ask for the Tagine, do not leave Morocco without trying the Tagine”. So we dutifully wrote the name in our notebook and practiced saying it so that we could ask for it by name when we had the chance. When we were greeted by our hosts and relayed this story, they mysteriously chuckled, as we soon discovered that it was impossible to miss the Tagine, as it appeared at every single meal! This culture is dedicated to it’s tagine, cooked in a clay pot with a cone headed lid, the ingredients can include any number of vegetables (including carrots, squash, zuchinni, onions, ect) and usually a meat (chicken, beef or fish) and at times dried fruit (dates, figs, and raisins) and occasionally some sort of bean. Tagine was always different and always a surprise for us! Here are a few pictures of the many Tagines that we ate while in Morocco, as it was a running joke between us and our hosts every time a new one turned up!
In the wee hours of the morning (around 4am) we awoke to the crackly amplified sound of “call to prayer” from the local mosques. Later that morning around 8am, we were treated to a traditional Moroccan breakfast of Zohira’s wonderful bread and jam and of course, Moroccan tea. We then headed up into the mountains for quite an amazing hike. We hiked in the High Atlas mountains to a peak near Toubkal, which happens to be 4160 meters high! Hakim led us through Berber villages with active crops and gardens, flowing waters, flowering trees and up windy stone paths to our destination at the very top of the mountain peak. We ate lunch in the Imlil village (fresh bread, salad and tagine, of course) and lingered over many cups of Moroccan tea. (Moroccans sip tea slowly, and we are trying to assimilate into Moroccan culture by extending our tea sipping each time we participate in this custom). In the evening we returned to Marrakech to experience yet another fascinating Moroccan tradition, the hammam (or traditional Moroccan group baths). It is typical for a Moroccan to go to visit the hammam one to two times a week in their various communities for their personal cleansing needs. Armed with buckets, special black soap, towels, gritty hand mitts, and floor mats, we entered the hammam, only to discover that this particular hammam was more spa like than most and we found that some of these items were provided. The environment is moist, warm and strangely private as most bathers went about their business without much interaction. In the central room there was a fountain in which women were seated on stone stools with a basin of flowing water in front of them. We joined in silently pouring buckets of warm water over our heads. Strangely, this reminded us of being in the bathtub as children with someone pouring buckets of water over our heads. We returned, squeaky clean for our 10 pm evening meal (Moroccans eat quite late and we found ourselves sleepily nibbling upon our second tagine of the day.)
We did attempt to make contact with 5W in Morocco (only 2 members), but without success.In the past year, we have both been studying a form of movement called Nia (check out their website, it is an amazing body of movement work: www.nianow.com)also becoming certified to instruct.As we were researching contacts and information for this journey, we found a teacher in Morocco named Joy, hoping to take classes.To our surprise, Joy is from America (Boulder, in fact!) and has been living in Morocco for the last year after falling in love with her Moroccan guide, Hakim.Hakim happens to be a guide for many groups traveling through Morocco, and we were lucky enough to benefit from his vast cultural experience and knowledge.We had been in touch with this couple (soon to be married) via e-mail and skype for weeks before our trip, and boldly asked for “the true Moroccan experience”.
Our adventure began at the home of Hakim’s grandmother, Zohira, who happens to live smack dab in the middle of medina (downtown old city) of Marrakech.Zohira lives in a traditional riad (style of home with a small courtyard in the center of the dwelling).All activities done in the home including cooking, cleaning, entertaining, sleeping and socializing happen in the open courtyard area under a canopy with carpets and rugs below.Three house hens roam the courtyard pecking, clucking and making friends with visitors…which are many!In Moroccan culture, it is custom to welcome an endless variety of family, friends and travelers such as us.Hakim’s grandmother, who speaks both French and Arabic, but no English warmly greeted us.She represents an interesting perspective as she once worked for Club Med in the seventies (the first Moroccan Club Med).She now plays host to visitors and has returned to school through a Moroccan program that supports literacy for adults who have never attended formal school.We think Zohira is a vibrant and spunky 72 year old. 72 year-old, however Moroccans of that generation tracked time differently according to annual events or happening.It is joked that she was born “in the year of the rice” or was it “the year of the pestilence).The amenities which seemed awkward to us at first, later proved to be both effective and efficient.The squat toilet takes some flexibility, leg strength, precision and humor.In the end we think it is efficient, simple plumbing with great use of a limited resource, water.The physical advantages include maintaining balance, tone and flexibility.The squat position also encourages natural, easy elimination.No newspapers or magazines needed in these latrines!When finished, a flush is as simple as a bucket of water.
Outside the tranquil peace of Zohira’s home lives the charged frenzy of the medina, alive with vendors of all sorts.Our senses were wildly stimulated by brilliant colors, exotic scents and a hyper cacophony of voices, traffic and music.To find our direction within this city (as it was obvious that our usual crumb trail would fail), we cleverly photographed each turn according to visual (and uniquely strange) landmarks.These landmarks included the local lemon stand man, the plastic sack wrapped through the hanging rafters, the mosque, the gas pump on wheels (unfortunately this disappears at night), and the local plumber’s advertisement displayed on a folk sculpture of pipes in the city square.We did make it to the roof of a café to watch our first Marrakech sunset, sipping tea and enjoying conversation with our new friends.
