It’s amazing how much
living and experiencing can be packed into just a week. As I let my mind
wander back to the past week, I remember the cracked and dry ground in the
mountains, the tagine (meat and
vegetables cooked in a clay pot with a pointy lid) eaten with bread (i.e. no
cutlery), the sugary hot tea, bantering at the market, fresh pomegranate juice,
and of course, the incredible beauty of the people. A week of living in
Morocco.
As I stepped off the
airport and felt the warm evening air hit my face, I felt such joy. Walking
towards the airport terminal I was struck by the beauty of the sandy coloured
lattice which adorned the outside of the building. Passing through all the
customary steps to enter a country, I was impressed by the friendliness of the
people, and as I was hugged meeting my friends picking me up, I knew this was
going to be a good week.
Marrakech.
It was fascinating
seeing small carts overflowing with pomegranates on every corner, and as I took
a closer look, they were little sales stalls selling fresh-pressed pomegranate
juice. Determined to experience all I could of the local flavours and tastes, I
bought a cup and it was delicious. Sweet and tangy and refreshing. I hurried to
catch up with the group I was with, yet not without trying to take in all the impressions
which are constant and many in a new city with a culture unknown. I’d see women
with their headscarves and men talking on street corners. The city was a mix of new
and modern with old and worn. And yet, it had that familiar feel of big city.
We ate lunch with our
hands; lemon chicken tagine with
bread which was delicious, and then went to Starbucks
for coffee. Sitting there chatting we also got to see a glimpse of another side
of the city seeing some girls sitting at another table ready to work.
In the evening we took
a taxi to Jemaa el-Fnaa, the huge
city market in the medina quarter
which is the old city. Driving along the busy roads at night, and coming up to
the huge beautifully lit mosque outside the market was impressive. Stepping out
into a multitude of people made me pay extra close attention to where my
friends were, as it would be so easy to get lost among the many others there
for the evening. It was so huge. On the large open space were stalls with fresh
juice, food, nuts and fruits, and I caught a glimpse of snake charmers, people
dancing traditional dances, women with their faces covered, and others sitting around
for the evening. All you could imagine and more in a place where locals and tourists
congregate.
As we headed across
the square towards the market stalls (in small rooms in the old city area) my
heart was so moved as I walked past young mums from Syria with their babies
begging. It was such a contrast to the joy of the other people on the square
there for community and enjoyment. I wondered what their lives were like, and
how they saw their lives having survived fleeing war, yet finding themselves at
the mercy of peoples’ giving to survive. I don’t know what the situation is for
these women, but it made me yet again reflect on how incredibly fortunate and
blessed I am. I gave one of the mums some money. Not because I think it will
make a huge difference in the long term, and not even because I wanted to feel
good about myself, but because I couldn’t not do something. And it reminded me
that even a little can make some difference, and it challenged me to be even
more attentive to the needs around me that I can do something about (and not
just financial or material needs).
Entering the market
area was chaotic. If you looked even slightly towards an item in a stall, the
sellers were very quick to offer to show you the item and others which
resembled (or didn’t resemble at all) what had caught your eye. And the
bargaining... so not my personality at all! It felt so rude to categorically
disagree with every price quoted, and yet I realised it’s part of the way it’s
done, and so with some help from my friend who is a bit more local then me, I
managed to buy some small things at a reasonable price. So many beautiful
things to buy. It was amazing to see such creativity displayed through the
items for sale; scarves, clothes, jewellery, woodwork, metal work, ceramics,
argan oil, leather items... the list is endless, and as I was back a few more
times, I wished I’d had more space in my suitcase (or a larger suitcase), as
there were so many beautiful things I would have loved to buy as gifts.
The city days went by
quickly, and it was also such a privilege to get a glimpse of every-day-life as
I went with my friends to do errands. It’s a very relational culture and so
doing errands always involves relating to people (as well as navigating crazy
traffic). Then it was time to get ready for the next leg of the journey and I
found myself packing (or squeezing my newly acquired purchases into my
suitcase) for the journey to the mountains.
The mountains-
Tidili.
Loading up the
numerous suitcases we, and the team we were with, had with us into the van, we
were ready to head to the mountains. We drove for 3 hours upwards along windy
mountain roads, being stunned by the beauty of these rusty red and grey
coloured mountains surrounding us. Many photos were taken as we passed by one
stunning view after the other. After surviving the drive we arrived at the
small town of Tidili. Our purpose to serve the community there. We were
accommodated in the town’s guest house which resembled a castle on the top of
the hill. It was special to be on the height overlooking the town with villages
scattered around.
We bundled up as the
temperature had dropped from a hot Marrakech with 25-30 degrees Celcius to
probably around 10 degrees Celcius. After a delicious meal of lamb tangine with amazing bread and fresh
clementines, we went for a little tour of the town. It was like nothing I have
seen before. Being so high up and in a deserty climate everything was quite dry,
and the ground was cracked, dry, red soil. I was struck by how few people were
out and about, and as we walked along I felt excited by the privilege of
getting to know this community a little better over the next few days.
Our tour of the town ended
at the boarding school. Most of the villages have primary schools, but when the
children reach the age of 12 there are fewer options. The students who live far
away can live at the boarding school during the week and will then walk (or
take some form of transportation) home to their villages for the weekend. The
school was so lovely and we were received so well. We went into the dining room,
and it didn’t take very long before we were interacting with the girls.
Language was a challenge as I don’t speak Arabic or French or the local
language, and yet we were able to communicate on a very surface level using the
few English words some of the older girls knew. They were so beautiful and full
of life and personality. Over the next few days there were many opportunities
to hang out with them, and I found myself longing to be able to speak with them
at a deeper level. To hear their dreams and hopes for the future, to hear their
stories. But with words being scarce, smiles and hugs could at least
communicate a love and appreciation. And learning the names of some of them
helped me build a little relationship for the few days I was there. They made
their way into my heart, and my hope is that each one of them gets the
opportunity to be and do all they were created for.
Back down the
mountain.
With my suitcase tied
to the roof of the taxi with a piece of rope, I got into the front seat of the
beginning of an adventure. I was heading back to Marrakech in a shared taxi
with a local driver and local passengers; none of whom spoke English. I was
excited because the driver was a friend of our contact in the town, and yet a
little nervous as I realised that communication would be a challenge. As we started
driving I sat in silence, mostly because there was no way of having a
conversation, but also because the rest of the taxi was quiet, only interrupted
by the driver having loud conversations on his mobile phone. The radio played
local music interspersed by some radio programs in French. It was a fascinating
experience to be so reliant on strangers to bring me safely to my destination.
After a few stops to
pick up people the taxi was full and we drove for a while. Seeing the stunning
scenery again made me think about the beauty of creation, and my thoughts also
drifted back to the beautiful people I had just spent the past week with. My
heart was filled with thankfulness and peace.
Then we suddenly
stopped in a little town. The passengers and driver got out of the taxi and one
of the young men motioned that it was a food stop. I sat down at a table on the
small pavement cafe and the waiter asked if I wanted some tea. I slowly drank
my super sweet fresh mint tea, as I wondered how long we would stop for, and
hoping that no-one would offer me food. I wasn’t hungry and the lamb carcasses
hanging in front of me didn’t really help in creating an appetite. It was
interesting though, to observe the locals selecting what piece of the lamb
they wanted, and then bring it over to get it grilled. I guess “cooked to
order” was very literal there. After probably half an hour, a cup of tea and
pack of biscuits (which an old man very kindly helped me buy with his broken
English) later, we were ready to set off again on the silent journey.
I arrived safely at my
destination; the home of a kind lady who spoke English and who had offered to
show me around the city before I flew home. It was a lovely afternoon of
getting to know more of the history and culture of the city, and getting to
meet some of her friends in the market. One highlight was visiting a lady who
made beautiful jewellery and leather items, and seeing how a skilled young man
made honeyspoons by using his hands and toes on a special machine. So many
impressions again to fill my memory bank and heart.
Time went by far too
quickly, and suddenly it was time to get a taxi to the airport. As we started
driving, the taxi driver turned to me with a huge smile on his face, and handed
me a large pomegranate as he said “for you madam”. I accepted it thankfully and
it became my final packing challenge of the trip; transporting this large fruit
home in an already overfilled hand luggage (but I managed and enjoyed it’s
sweet tartness for dessert the next day).
Still “landing” and
processing...
Coming back I realise
that my Morocco week has done something with me. It’s opened my eyes to a
culture and people I knew little about. And when you open your heart to people,
they find a place there and you change. Change because what you carry in your
heart has changed or even increased, and that changes the filter through which life
is processed. I carry the beautiful teenage girls with me in heart and prayer,
wondering if I will meet them again sometime. And I carry my new friends and
their dreams and visions for the people of Morocco. I find my thoughts going
back to the uniqueness of the culture with a curiousness and desire to know it
deeper than just surface level. And I catch myself seeing my own life in a
slightly different light, filtering it through the added layers of loving a
people so different from my own.
Slowly adjusting back
to my “every-day”, my hope and prayer is that I would not let the experiences
of the past week fade into oblivion. I hope that my eyes would be more tuned
into the needs around me here, and that my heart’s capacity to respond would
keep increasing. And that having come to love those I met there, would give me
a greater ability to love those around me here better.