Fessi in the rain |
Morocco in Black & White
This first shot is from a rainy day in Fes, one of the oldest, functioning Medieval cities in the World. Fes' labyrinthine medina ("Old City") is a great place to get lost (and find yourself) for a few days. It was easy making friends in Fes, as it is in most of Morocco, which was fortunate as one is often totally dependent on the locals to find one's way out of the old medina. The stories about child guides pestering you and telling you all the wrong turns to take are all true but they are quite happy to lead you out for a quarter or so. And, I assure you, as the sun starts to set on this carnival of sights, smells, and sounds, this is money well spent.
UNESCO recently declared Fes a World Heritage Site and is working to preserve some of its ancient and wonderful architecture. Some highlights include the Karaoine Mosque, the leather tanning sook, the carpenter's sook, what some believe is the oldest continually operated University, the pottery sook, numerous carpet shops (you'll get a better deal at one of the co-ops), one of the King's more dazzling residences, etc, etc. Fes also has a long and distinguished musical history.
Paul Bowles |
While in Fes, I visited the hotel where Paul Bowles, pictured here, lived for some time while writing The Spider's House (1955), his account of life and politics in Morocco (specifically in Fes) during the 1950's. Bowles has written many fine books and collections of short stories about Morocco. You may have seen the movie, "The Sheltering Sky" based on Bowles' book by the same name.
Hadija's Grandparents |
I had a wonderfully bright, beautiful, and kind Arabic tutor during my time in Morocco. Her name is Hadija and we still exchange cards on the major holidays--Christmas and Aid al Fitr ("Feast of the Prophet"). Hadija's grandfather, pictured here with her grandmother from the other side of the family, was kind enough to have me out to his farm for a delicious, chicken couscous lunch one Sunday.
Friday is the Moslem holy day and one can hardly escape being invited to the neighbors for a luncheon feast each week. This hospitality is but one of the wonderful aspects of Moroccan (and Arab) culture.
Speaking of farmers, I was impressed with the sophistication of the farming methods in Morocco. Old ways (crop rotation, leaving fields fallow, growing legumes for nitrogen fixing) have not yet yielded to mass production and so the soil, sandy as it is, continues to produce relatively good crops year after year.
Killing the fatted ram |
I also spent a lot of time working in a school for the blind. Almost all blindness in Morocco, as in most developing countries, is the result of poor sanitation. At left is friend and student, Abd'rahim, with his family, from left: Mrs. Bouzaidi, myself, Mr. B., Abd'rahim, and his two younger sisters.
We are standing with their prized ram that, as part of the Aid al Fitr Holiday, the eldest in the household is honored to slaughter. We ate much of the meat over a period of several days and the rest was given to the many ill and indigent people that go from door to door throughout the year. Many families spend their entire annual savings on a ram, as Aid al Fitr is the grandest and most holy Moslem Holiday. The holy day is based on a story from the Koran that is basically the same as, or very similar to, the Christian story from the Bible about Isaac and Abraham. Abraham, or Ib'rahim for Moslems, is a prophet common to both religions.
Learning the lessons of life |
Dressed in her new holiday clothing, this girl watched the slaughter with great interest and nervousness. The only green found in the dry and dusty courtyard was the olive tree behind her.
Moroccans love olives and they grow many different varieties. A favorite lunch of mine was a loaf of bread, a piece of fruit, and a small bag of olives. During harvest time, I was able to witness the ancient practice of pressing the olives with a huge stone wheel. Graciously, I was given a small jug of freshly pressed oil, full of tiny bits of mashed olive. Few things taste better in the morning than a piece of freshly baked bread dipped in this oil and accompanied by a strong black coffee.
Giving to the needy |
This woman is one of the many people that came by Abd'rahim's house for some of the holiday spoils. Though Abd'rahim and his family knew her by name they didn't wish to bother or embarasembarrassth chit-chat. They simply gave her some food telling her, "May Allah (God) help and make it easy for you (Allaheeownik, Allahesahel)."
People are always asking me if living in Morocco was dangerous. My answer is always "not nearly as dangerous as living in America." Yes, Morocco is foreign and bizzare to most Westerners and that makes it feel dangerous. And, as in any place on earth, you may get ripped off if you're careless. But the defining difference for me was that there were no "random acts of violence." The only people with guns were military personnel and policemen, period. One never feels the sense of security and safety in America that one feels in a country with decent gun laws.