On our way home to Ifrane, we stopped a few times. First, we stopped in a quaint little Atlantic beach town called Assilah. For the first time in my life, I can say I went swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, although I don’t think I have any photos to prove it.
After that stop we had one more, unbeknownst to us, which was a celebration organized by our tour guide and his family in our honor. I wish I would have known because I wouldn’t have chosen to wear a tank top and yoga pants that day, which relegated me to having to wear a hot sweater wrap all day in the hot, hot sun. Regardless of how uncomfortably hot it was, we were welcomed warmly and treated so kindly by these people that I can’t complain about that.
Our tour guide’s entire extended family was present, including their children and many close friends. They welcomed us, gave us a brief history on their village, and taught us how to make that sweet Moroccan tea.
For anyone who is curious, it is regular green tea mixed with an obnoxious amount of sugar. Then, they jam sprigs of fresh mint in the pot and let it sit and seep for about 20 minutes. So yummy.
After the demonstration and the history of the village, they brought in a woman who was about my mother’s age who had been a political prisoner under the former king Hassan II. We forget what it must be like to live in a state that is governed by a monarchy. The US has been free of monarchical rule since 1776. In Morocco, the current ruling dynasty has been in power for over 400 years. It is the single oldest ruling dynasty in the world. Japan and Britain are equally well established, but they serve only symbolic roles. In Morocco, the king is the supreme law of the land. As such, speaking out against him is illegal and under the former king could land you beaten, tortured, or sitting in jail.
The woman we met was involved in demonstrations for democratization of the state. She was about 18 at the time. She was arrested and imprisoned for six months, awaiting approval from the king’s government officials as to whether or not she would be able to represent herself in a public trial and contest the charges. She was held as a political prisoner for six months after that. Finally, when Hassan II died and his son, Mohammed V took the throne, she was given retribution and has even been offered a government job. Such reforms and reversals of former policies are common under the current monarch, making him immensely popular. We have been told time and time again that the king is truly loved by all of the people of Morocco. Barrack Obama (who Moroccans are convinced is Muslim, and a Berber) is probably the second most loved person in Morocco. Hillary Clinton (also said to be of Moroccan ancestry here... don't ask) comes up in a close third.
After our meetings, we played boules (the French version of bocce ball) and received Henna on our hands and feet, which is common for women to take part in for weddings and other celebrations. The Henna artist was deaf, and very, very sweet. All of the women except me practically ran her over because they were so excited to receive their Henna. I remained indifferent and went off to play with the kids and watch the men play boules. I think she took my indifference as a challenge because once everyone had finished, she had someone bring me over, made me put my leg on her lap, and proceeded to complete the most beautiful design from my pinky toe all the way up my leg. Her little girl, Aida, sat on my lap the whole time and was so, so sweet.
I declined to have my hands done, a challenge that she dealt with later, after we had eaten so much food we though we would explode. Moroccans don’t take no for an answer when food is involved. You will eat and eat and eat until it is obvious that you are totally physically uncomfortable and can’t move anymore, at which point you are allowed to stop eating food and are expected to eat copious amounts of watermelon. At that point, you are expected to finish it off with more tea.
The people we met were so kind and so hospitable that it reminded me for the first time of when I was in Cambodia. I think that having the kids around really make a big difference for me and make me feel more at ease. In Cambodia, I would just sit with my girls, quietly taking in their young energy around me until something became important enough that you needed to share it with whoever was sitting next to you. By that time, they knew exactly what you meant, even if you couldn’t speak the same language as them. Perhaps it’s because they had been sitting with you for so long and taking in the same surroundings that they know what you are going to say before you even say it. It was the same way with the woman and her littler girl. The three of us sat there for hours, talking only when it was important, but establishing connections the entire time. It’s amazing what kind of intimacy can be cultivated when you are sitting in near silence.
Before they sent us on our way, they called for the local music group to come and play some traditional Moroccan music. We sat in a circle and enjoyed while the musicians played and some people danced. It was very interesting that they thanked us for coming, started up the music again, and sent us on our way. Apparently, it is Moroccan tradition that you have the music accompany your honored guests’ departure, which was a kind gesture. Before I got on the bus, I felt someone grab my hand and turned to see that it was the woman that I had spent most of my day with. She had tears in her eyes and grabbed me and kissed me four times. Then she put her hand on her heart and said to me, “Inshallah.”
Again, I knew exactly what she meant. I hope we will meet again, if God wills it.
I put my hand on my chest and said back to her, “Inshallah,” we both smiled and took leave of one another. We both knew that it would be the first and last time we saw each other.
After getting back on the bus I started thinking about the first day I was here. I wrote about how our luggage was lost and how frustrating it was to hear the word Inshallah thrown around in what I perceived to be a very dismissive manner. When I first arrived here, Inshallah meant that people refused to accept responsibility for things, especially lost luggage. Now, on the 29th day, it has taken on an entirely new meaning. Today it meant that there was something in this universe that is greater than any of us. No matter what we want to happen, there is a greater plan at work. Despite what we want in our hearts, everything is subject to those rules that govern the universe, those things that we will never fully understand. Inshallah, if God wills it. I finally understood and internalized what it meant. It made me think, that’s exactly why I’m here.
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