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Category Archives: Morocco

The broken palm tree and a hug

05 Sunday Mar 2017

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

acceptance, accomplishment, children, Dar Basyma, hammam, houligans, hug, islam, life, love, mosque, neighborhood, palm, teamwork, travel

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Graffiti in my neighborhood.

 

One time at my guesthouse in Marrakech, there were some kids outside misbehaving. Concerned they’d do some harm to each other or to others, I opened the door and reprimanded them in English, a language they don’t speak, but with a tone they recognized and understood. They stopped in their tracks and stared, probably horrified by my demeanor. All, except one little boy who boldly, from around the corner, swore at me. “Hey,” I shouted. And he swore at me again. I couldn’t see him but I knew who he was: the boy who lived next door with his grandparents because his parents had virtually abandoned him, for whatever reason. I let it slide. What could I really do about it?

Next story:

There once was an opening to a building (no door) at the end of my little street. When I, or my guests, walked out the door of Dar Basyma, they were met with this ugly site. Worried that it would start to become a problem area for kids, vagabonds, or whomever, we complained, or I should say, my business partner Mokhtar, complained on my behalf, to the mayor of our neighborhood. Mokhtar explained my concerns time and time again. “The owner of that building needs to put a door on it,” I kept complaining. “It’s not safe for any of us.” After 9 months of complaining, I received a text from Mokhtar one afternoon. It was a beautiful photo of red metal doors typical to Morocco. “These are your doors,” the text read! After enough complaining, the mayor got the owners to put doors on the opening! A sense of acceptance into the neighborhood and a feeling of accomplishment!

Next story:

One night the entire Dar Basyma team was huddled around the computer looking at security footage. Wondering what they were looking for, I joined them. “Someone broke our palm tree out front,” Abd Rahim said. “We pinpointed that it happened between 3 and 4 this morning.”

So we went through the security files second-by-second until we saw the culprit and the act itself! Who was it? The little boy who swore at me when I yelled at the kids on the street in the first story. “Why does he hate us,” I asked aloud. We were all livid and pacing inside the house. What to do, what to do. “I want to go yell at him,” Mokhtar, said. “Do it!” I replied, “and I’ll go, too.”

Blood pressure bursting through our veins, out the door all of us went: Ghizlane, the housekeeper, Abd Rahim, the house man, Mokhtar, and me. Around the corner at the barber shop was the kid scrunched in a ball on the floor amongst 4 or 5 adult men. Mokhtar was already yelling at him, I joined in. The apparent grandfather was there (he was the one who wouldn’t make eye contact with me) watching while we both yelled. Finally, realizing we were making no impact whatsoever (and were only stirring ourselves up more!), we turned to leave. It was then that I noticed a small burning hash cigarette between the fingers of the little boy. This little 10-12 year old boy was smoking hash.

Returning to the house, I slumped down on the sofa and declared that this boy has bigger problems than we do with our broken palm tree. And it hit my like a hammer over my head that this boy needs more than us yelling at him. Out loud I said, “This boy needs a hug, that’s what he needs.” It was then that Mokhtar slumped down on the chair and admitted I was right and said, “Now I have to go talk to him again and tell him I’m sorry.” We kind of laughed, but we knew it was true. After looking at this situation differently, we had a change of heart – – like within 1 minute, we took on an entirely different attitude!

What harm can one little boy do? He can continue to break our palms outside, we’ll replace them. He can spray paint our wall (he hasn’t, but he or anyone could), we’ll repaint. There’s virtually no harm he can do to us, so who cares except that we show love to him!?

Abd Rahim and Mokhtar were out the door and around the corner before I even realized. I waited until Ghizlane motioned for me to come. She and I made it to the end of the little street and were met by the boy and two men. “I’m sorry, Madame,” the boy said, looking me in the eye and extending a hand to me. “I’m sorry, Madame,” he said over and over.

I took his hand and instinctively dropped down and engulfed him in my arms, holding him with both hands. I felt him relax and smelled his hash-breath on my face as I held him. I told him quietly, in English (that he doesn’t understand), that no matter what he’s going through, no matter what he’s done, that we will be there for him and we will care for him and love him however we can. I don’t even know what all else I said to him, I just know I spoke from the heart and felt love overflowing. (And the thing is, none of them understood what I was saying as no one in that little group speaks English!) I finally let go, stood up, straightened myself out, shook his hand, and turned to leave, all while the two men stood, mouths open, staring. Not knowing what I said, but sensing kindness, they just repeated “Thank you, Madame,” over and over. Arms around each other, Ghizlane and I walked back to Dar Basyma and collapsed onto the sofa. Wow. What just happened. With my audio Arabic app on my phone, I explained to Ghizlane what I had said, the best I could.

Later that night, we heard a commotion in the neighborhood. We heard rumblings of a neighborhood meeting amongst the families on the street, but we at Dar Basyma were not invited. From our security cameras, we could see people, including the boy, walking in front of the house.

The next day was my last day in Marrakech. Walking through the neighborhood, the shop men were more talkative than usual, with one coming out into the street and shaking my hand, all the while with his hand over his heart, he repeated, “Hamdoullah, hamdoullah.” Thanks be to Allah, Thanks be to Allah. “Hamdoullah, hamdoullah,” I repeated and smiled, also with my hand over my heart. Wow, he’s friendly today, I thought, but it is a beautiful day!

After returning home to the states, Mokhtar filled me in on the rest of the story.

The night of the “incident”, the neighbors did indeed get together, all of the families met with the boy. Turns out the boy said that he had never been hugged before. No one had ever hugged him. And the families said that if he can do harm to our property and we still show him kindness and love, that they can do the same. They told him they would help him as they could and that the neighborhood will work together to take care of him. The men in the neighborhood on my last day were offering their thanks to me for the incident the night before!

The next day, I’m told, the boy went to hammam, a public bath, where the workers there gave him new clothes so that he would feel clean enough to go to mosque* and he went to mosque for the first time either ever, or in a long time.

He went to mosque! Because of a broken palm tree and a hug.

 

 

*In Islam, the way I understand it, it is important to be clean before presenting yourself to Allah. Before each time of prayer (5 times each day), there is a certain protocol for bathing. There are sinks in the middle of every restaurant and public place, fountains in every neighborhood, so people can cleanse themselves appropriately before eating or prayer.

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The little old man of Bab Doukkala

05 Sunday Mar 2017

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

bab doukkala, Dar Basyma, guesthouse, marrakech, Morocco, riad

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Bab Doukkala is my neighborhood in Marrakech, Morocco. It’s where my guesthouse / riad, Dar Basyma, is located. A gritty place with few to no tourists, it’s an authentic neighborhood with authentic people living authentic lives. Natural. Unassuming. Vibrant.

Soon after opening Dar Basyma, we met a gentle man we called L’Abadee, which means ‘old man’ in one of the African languages, or at least that’s what we surmised. Nonetheless, this man was dubbed that by us, even though he was probably only in his 50’s or 60’s. He owned a cardboard-lined, wire cart which he used to haul things for hire. Taking an immediate liking to him, he became our “luggage man,” toting luggage for the guests at Dar Basyma, which he did happily and with a toothless smile!

Over the next year and a half, we became as close as we could, considering we don’t speak the same language. He was the first person who greeted me when I arrived to the neighborhood and the last to bid me farewell. I looked forward to seeing him. When he was sick, I took him to the pharmacy and bought whatever medication I thought would help him, with the help of a diagnosis by the pharmacist. The team at the house did what we could for him, offering a little extra cash for the work he did for us, just to help him. He was kind and sweet and we all wanted to do whatever we could for him.

One day my business partner, Mokhtar, announced that L’Abadee had died. He died. I couldn’t grasp it. I knew he had been sick the last time I saw him, but I never suspected the sickness would kill him. When? I asked. No one knew, Mokhtar said. But apparently it was true since no one had seen him for at least 4 months. I was due to visit within days and I couldn’t imagine the neighborhood – – or even my visits to Morocco – – without him. The news was devastating.

On a quiet evening in autumn, soon after I arrived in Marrakech, the doorbell rang. we glanced at the computer image of the security camera aimed at the front door. No one was there; just the palms on either side of the front door. Then Mokhtar announced, “It’s L’Abadee!” I leapt up and flung open the door, helping the frail old man inside. He was alive! I couldn’t believe it. Instinctively I hugged him and felt his bones poking at me through his thin clothing. He must’ve weighed only 30 kg (65-70 pounds)! But he was alive. We couldn’t believe it.

While Mokhtar and L’Abadee spoke, I could see inside his gandora, (traditional dress for a man in Morocco), and saw tubing and a bag. Putting 2+2 together, between this and his very yellow skin, I determined he had liver cancer. Mokhtar confirmed it. We both hunched that he had probably just left the hospital as he had little strength and was out of breath from the walk to the house.

Desperate to tell him what he meant to me – – and thankful for this second chance! – – I spoke fast English to him even knowing that he didn’t understand. I needed to express my feelings for him. Luckily Mokhtar jumped in and translated as L’Abadee listened, with a slight smile, as we (they) spoke. We hugged, gave him the equivalent of 20USD and he was on his way. As quickly as he had arrived. In and out. Leaving behind a whirlwind of emotion.

After closing the door we went to the computer image of the security camera and watched as he leaned against the wall to adjust his tubing, his gandora, himself. And then he was gone. I knew that would be the last time I saw him.

In stunned silence we sat there. What had just happened!? After 4 months, this man came to see  us! Unbelievable.

We had to go to the parking lot so we could share with the workers there our excitement that our friend was still alive. Zachariah, my favorite attendant, greeted us. We excitedly told our news about L’Abadee. His face fell and he stepped backwards and told us to stop! Stop talking about this, it can’t be true! He treated us like we were liars and refused to believe us. So we left. It was clear that L’Abadee had only visited us.

A few weeks later we got news from the parking attendants that L’Abadee had officially died. A man in the neighborhood, who remains anonymous, paid for his hospital stay and a group of the parking attendants collected enough money to pay for a proper burial.

L’Abadee left this earth knowing he was loved. ❤

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The kindness of a stranger

05 Sunday Mar 2017

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

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Tags

addicted, arabic, happy, homeless, kindness, kindness of strangers, life, man, marrakech, Morocco, stranger, thanks, travel, vagabond

In Marrakech, Morocco, I walked to the car wearing a back pack and realized I needed to pay the parking attendant, so unzipped the pack to remove the wallet. Unzipping the wallet, I grabbed some change, handed it to my business partner so he could pay the attendant, and tossed the wallet back into the backpack. As I continued walking to the car, a man stopped me. He is a man I have seen many times; a vagabond, a man addicted to drugs, someone I considered unseemly, dirty, even shifty and untrustworthy.

I backed away, giving the signal that I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say. Stop. No. Not interested. He pointed at me and made a zipping motion over and over. Thinking he wanted money from my zippered wallet, I shook my head vigorously back and forth. He persisted. I became more emphatic and said, ‘La!’, the Arabic word for no. This went on for a bit as I made my way toward the car.

My business partner, Mokhtar, arrived, talked with the man for a few moments, and said to me, “Your back back is unzipped.” My back pack is unzipped? Oh! My back pack is unzipped!

This man was simply telling me with his zipping motion that my back pack was unzipped. I was stunned. Embarrassed. Ashamed. I had thought the worst.

With body language and broken Arabic I did my best to thank him. “Shukran besef! Shukran besef!” I repeated. Thank you, very much. Thank you, very much. He responded with a huge smile and a hand over his heart, a common sign in Morocco to symbolize thanks and appreciation. He walked me to the car, opened the door while I got in, then gently closed it behind me, waving and smiling as we drove away, hand over his heart.

Stunned, Mokhtar and I stared at each other, shocked at what had just happened. Shocked. And also thankful for the kindness of a stranger, someone from whom we least expected it.

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Walk gently on this earth

05 Sunday Mar 2017

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Dar Basyma, equality, humility, joyful, kindness, lessons learned, life, love, marrakech, Morocco, reverence, thankful, thanks, travel, walk gently

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Traveling has changed me. Traveling to Morocco has especially changed me. I am gentler and kinder, humble and thankful.

Gentler and kinder in that I see all humans as equals, none of us being better than the next. Each of us moments from either the greatest success or from the deepest despair. Humble and thankful because I’ve been accepted into a Marrakech neighborhood fairly easily over the two years I’ve owned a guesthouse, Dar Basyma. I see the same people every morning and night, and walk easily and naturally among them.

It’s probably not because of Morocco per se, rather it’s by placing myself outside of a comfort zone that has helped me see life and humanity differently; helped me see myself differently.

As a kid I imagined other countries in black and white, not in color (usually war-torn ones I saw on television where life looked awful). I thought their lives must be filled with despair and deep sadness. It must have been awful during certain times for the ones I saw, but their lives must have also been filled with love of family and friends, joy, and laughter. They must have lived in color, like I did. ‘We’re probably all the same,’ I remember thinking. And now I know we are all the same. Traveling has taught me that. People have taught me that.

“Through life, I want to walk gently. I want to treat all of life – the earth and its people – with reverence… As much as possible, I want to walk in peace. I want to walk lightly, even joyfully, through whatever days I am given. I want to laugh easily. I want to step carefully in and out of people’s lives and relationships. I don’t want to tread any heavier than necessary.

And throughout life, I think I would like to walk with more humility and less anger, more love and less fear. I want to walk confidently, but without arrogance. I want to walk in deep appreciation. I want to be genuinely thankful for life’s extravagant, yet simple, gifts – a star-splattered night sky or a hot drink on an ice-cold day.

If life is a journey, then how I make that journey is important. How I walk through life.”
― Steve Goodier

 

 

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A word on literacy

26 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

arabic, cooking classes, cyrano de bergerac, Dar Basyma, Education, French, google translate, illiterate, learning languages, literacy, marrakech, Morocco, reading, recipes, riad, roxanne, stever martin, texting, texts, translator, writing

I take for granted that people know how to read and write. But in Morocco that’s not always the case.

One day I was home alone with our housekeeper / cook at Dar Basyma. I was without the aid of my constant interpreter / business partner and was excited about this chance to get to know her better. I pulled up the Google Translate iPhone app, typed my message and showed it to her in French. She shook her head no. Misunderstanding, I typed it in Arabic instead. Again, she shook her head. The look on her face jarred me to the realization that she cannot read. Not at all. Eventually I spoke into the app and it voice-translated, but not in Darija (Moroccan Arabic) so it was cumbersome and hard to understand. So we sat awkwardly in silence and smiled until Mokhtar came back and was able to help us “chat.”

Since then I’ve learned that guests have left her notes that she cannot read. And we’ve had some mishaps with household cleaning products being used for the wrong things, lotions put in the conditioner containers (because they’re both white), and using the wrong settings on the washing machine. And she has no ability to read texts or to proofread her own spoken texts to others.

I know this is more frustrating for her than it is for the rest of us. Our house man works well with her. They’re close friends and spend much of their time laughing and huddling together over their phones as he has become a sort of Cyrano de Bergerac, penning her texts to family members, suitors, and friends; like Steve Martin in ‘Roxanne.’ It’s sweet and it’s funny, but the bottom line is that it’s mostly sad that she can’t do this work herself.

As she tells it she was a girl who liked only to have fun (I believe it, as she’s always laughing and joking). She consistently ran away from school and finally just quit. School isn’t required and for sure not required for girls so there was no motivation for her to stay at the time. Now she regrets it. And as she’s in her mid- to late-30’s, so feels it’s too late for her now.

Since she teaches the cooking classes at Dar Basyma, I’m working to put together her recipes since she obviously has nothing written down! She’s an excellent cook and she communicates well without speaking fluent English or writing, but we have no record yet of any of her myriad dishes she prepares at Dar Basyma. It’s a big job that I will pursue on my next visit.

Her solution for our inability to speak to one another is for me to learn Arabic. As though that’s an easy (or quick) task! Since she speaks French and Arabic, to her that seems an easy solution. I’m trying…

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I say Morocco, You say Monaco

20 Sunday Mar 2016

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

africa, marrakech, Moroccan map, Morocco, North Africa, sahara desert, straits of gibralter, travel

So many people don’t really know where Morocco even is. And many confuse it with Monaco. But there was a time I didn’t know where it is either so I am patient explaining it. When I say it’s in North Africa, roughly 8 miles south of Spain, most people are shocked since Morocco conjures up images of remoteness and roughness and it just seems farther away than Spain!

Here are a couple of maps to help you gain perspective if you fall into the category of people who don’t really know where Morocco is!

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2002-map
MapSpainPortugal

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“There are Americans in the bar!”

12 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco

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Tags

Americans, communicating in morocco, communication, Goodyear, les kasbah des sables, marrakech, restaurant, translation, translator

When in Morocco, I’m not sure how many minutes – – or hours in a day go by when I don’t speak, except to say ‘bonjour’ or ‘Salaam’ to someone, usually a man. Since women are usually working at the office or at home, I generally come in contact with only men. Knowing enough English to ask if I am fine or how my family is doing, that’s the extent of their direct conversations with me. And my virtual lack of French and Arabic limit me to even less to initiate with them. I rely on interpretation. Which is draining on the interpreter.

And anyone who knows me, language is my thing. Ok, talking is my thing! I’m real good at it.

During business dealings, of which I’ve had many lately since I am in the middle of buying a riad/home in Marrakech, paragraphs or pages are spoken without my interjection. I stare out the window practically ignoring what’s happening around me, until my interpreter tells me what’s discussed.

On my last visit I went to a restaurant with friends (who speak French predominately), the proprietor was able to eek out a phrase in English (he too, is French): ‘There are Americans in the bar. Like home.’ What? There are Americans in the bar!? I NEVER see Americans in Morocco.

More beautiful words n’er were spoken!

The group walked by our table, happily chattering away in Midwestern- and Eastern-accents and I was thrilled! “I’m from the US,” I blurted out. “Ooooh, we are tooooo!” they screeched! And then began our conversation in fast-English! Washington State, Wisconsin, New Jersey…they were from all over. Eventually all 16 of the tour group was gathered at my table telling me about their experiences in Morocco. It was so fun and energizing. But alas, they were gone and I was left to daydream while the others at my table chatted on.

Below is my friend Raschida. She works at the Goodyear tire store in Guillez, Marrakech, Morocco.

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My house in Marrakech

12 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco

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Tags

bab doukkala, call to prayer, dar, derb, djemaa el fna, house, markets, marrakech, medina, mosque, old medina, riad, terrace

I bought a riad/house in Marrakech; in the old medina of Bab Doukkala! I’ll be listing it for rent, so stay tuned! Also, see my new neighborhood. I live on a dead-end ‘derb’ or street and it’s in a great area. Markets just around the corner, very few tourists, and friendly people! The Bab Doukkala Mosque is nearby so I’ll be well able to hear the call to prayer. It’s a 15-minute walk to djemaa el fna, the popular square in Marrakech.

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My neighborhood
My neighborhood
Walking from the parking
Walking from the parking
The main drag
The main drag
At the corner of my street
At the corner of my street
My street
My street
My street
My street
Neighborhood
Neighborhood
The meat market around the corner
The meat market around the corner
Around the corner
Around the corner
Market!
Market!
Market
Market
Market
Market
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My olive and olive oil purveyor
My olive and olive oil purveyor
My convenience store
My convenience store
Restaurant nearby
Restaurant nearby
Purveyor of grains and legumes
Purveyor of grains and legumes
View of my neighborhood through the terrace fencing
View of my neighborhood through the terrace fencing
Another view
Another view
The neighborhood fountain. "Turn at the fountain for parking."
The neighborhood fountain. “Turn at the fountain for parking.”
Driving down the street around the corner
Driving down the street around the corner
My street
My street
My door before painting
My door before painting
This is the view the Prince of Luxembourg sees when walking from his riad: my terrace!
This is the view the Prince of Luxembourg sees when walking from his riad: my terrace!
Walking to my street
Walking to my street
Walking to the main drag
Walking to the main drag
The shop around the corner
The shop around the corner
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She’s a real hot one, I tell ya

28 Thursday Aug 2014

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco

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Tags

august, hear, hot, Morocco, sahara desert, weather

It’s hot. Not just hot, but HOT. Not the kind of hot about which you casually complain, but the kind where you moan out loud. It’s the kind of hot that makes a face drip sweat. At least mine. Sauna-hot. Carry-a-towel-with-you-everywhere hot. The kind of hot that makes you wonder what on earth you were thinking when you decided to visit Morocco in August?! Hot like when you turn on your car and it blasts piping hot air from the an A/C not yet
ready to act like an A/C. Seriously and ridiculously hot, dry, heat.

So we get up early and do what needs doing and we take a rest midday until it becomes more manageable. We are grateful for sweat because it cools us in the rare breeze. And we sit in an Internet cafe drinking cold water and juice whilst misters spray us, the whole time listening to French music. We are tranquil, happy, and mildly less hot here. Today, at least. Tomorrow we go to Sahara Desert where the temperatures are at least 20 degrees hotter.

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Say YES

24 Sunday Aug 2014

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

best friend, bff, documentary film, emmy award, film, filmmaker, filmmaking, inn, Kickstarter, Laurel Lindahl, marrakech, Mokhtar, Moroccans, Morocco, riad, sahara desert, say yes, tourism, travel, US Embassy, video, visa

I’ve said it before on this blog, but I’ll say it again: if you keep saying yes in life, it’s hard telling what will happen or where you’ll end up. Take for example these recent doings. Since I love Morocco and have an interest in pretty much everything surrounding travel, new cultures/people, and real estate, I decided to pursue my plan to buy a riad, or guesthouse, in Marrakech. A real big deal, but only one part of this story.

Here’s another part. My best friend, Laurel Lindahl, is a producer/director and writer, among other things (like jokester, comedian, brownie-batter-eater, etc…). She recently won her second Emmy Award for a documentary film, linked below.

http://vimeopro.com/ebenandelle/the-ketchikan-story-project

So she knows what she’s doing. And she’s good at it. That got the two of us talking. Since I’m interested in buying a riad and she has experience with documentary filmmaking, why not film the whole riad-buying experience? Why not make it into a marketable piece of film for some such use down the road? We got excited about this so loosely laid out a plan where we would travel to Morocco in November 2014 and bring a filmmaker with us to capture some footage.

And then things progressed even more. Mokhtar, my friend in Morocco, wants to visit the USA so last week went to the US Embassy to interview for a visa. They kept his passport, which is a real good sign that they’re going to allow him to visit. At least that’s what we’re thinking. So that’s another part of the story.

But there’s more. Since I’m going to Morocco over Labor Day weekend (next week!) to check out riads, why not bring a filmmaker along for a few days to film the experience? And why not ask the one filmmaker whom you have heard so much about and with whom you really want to work? And besides, he lives in Amsterdam, which makes the flight so much more manageable. So we quickly devised a plan and emailed him asking if he was available. He is. We asked him if he wanted to work with us and if he would provide costs involved. He does, and he did. And now I’ve booked his flight and we’re making plans for an entirely different trip than I originally planned!

And also, on this end in the States, we’re going to meet with another filmmaker and storyteller who will create a video for a Kickstarter campaign so we can get the film funded. And since Mokhtar will presumably be visiting in the next month or so, we will be able to work with him during his visit for the Kickstarter video and for a film we will do about his life as well as the lives of other Moroccans.

We came up with this idea a few months ago, but all details have transpired in less than 24 hours. The project has already evolved into more than we thought and we will keep moving forward with our ideas as long as things are falling into place. We will keep saying YES and see where we end up. More here as it happens!

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Gallery

Moroccan multiples

01 Monday Jul 2013

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

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Tags

baskets, bright colors, fabric, glassware, groups, lighting, medina, photography, shopping, souk, souq, stuff, tassels, things

This gallery contains 36 photos.

Musings of a wanderer

26 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

be open, demoted, say yes, staycation, travel, vacation time, world travel, you'll never be the same

I’ve been traveling to where other people consider ‘strange places’ for years; since 1992. And after all these years the reaction from others is still the same: Why are you going there? Or, You’re traveling again? Or, Don’t you ever work? Better (or worse) yet, they say, “I wish I could travel.”

I can’t figure it out. I get mixed messages from those who ask these questions as if they’re angry I’m leaving again or they’re jealous that it’s not them. “What are you running from?” they ask me knowingly, like they’re certain they’ve caught me and there must be some big sadness or woe I seek to escape. “I’m running toward, not from,” I say when given the chance. To which I receive a blank stare.

‘But there’s so much to see in the United States! Why would you need to travel anywhere else?’ ‘Aren’t you scared traveling alone?’ ‘I can’t travel because my husband/wife/partner doesn’t like to travel.’ ‘I’d travel but I don’t have the money.’ ‘I would never go there!’ ‘Don’t you just want to stay at home?’ And on and on…

And by the way, people who tell me they wish they could travel: you can travel! If it’s a priority for you, you can do it. And also, people who ask me if I ever work or if I’m still on vacation: I get multiple weeks each year from my employer to use as I see fit. I’m not going to forfeit those days.

I don’t care what other people think of me and my travels. I really don’t. But getting bogged down with these kinds of conversations has made me clam-up and not discuss travel plans or travel in general with people; especially at work. Why would I want to invite such comments from people?

I’m long over thinking that I can change other people’s attitudes with one single comment. So I blog. I write my experiences down and post them, assuming that the people who read them will already be somewhat interested in the topic to be reading about travel in the first place. And those who don’t understand either will come to accept it about me, or not. It won’t matter to me because it won’t change what I do. And it won’t change what I love.

I get the most defensive when people assume my travel interferes with my work as a sales rep. I cover three large states in the US and am on the road a lot just for work. I work many hours a day (and night!) because my work is always with me no matter where I am. I’m reachable by phone(s), text(s), email(s) and am talking all day long in dental offices. I’m constantly on. And the fact that I’m unmarried and have no children means I have that much more time to devote to work. And it means that I’m the only one who can get my stuff done for myself between business trips: laundry, mail/bills, errands in general, food shopping, maintenance, etc. So life can be crazy. I don’t only want to travel, I need to do it. And I’m tired of taking flack for it.

It seems to be virtuous in the circles I’m in to forfeit vacation. To give the appearance that I couldn’t possibly take vacation because I’m too integral to the success here. Or to give the appearance that I’m such a hard worker and am so dedicated to this job. When really it might be that people just don’t know what they’d do with themselves for more than a few days off at a time! I’ve never been so relaxed as when I’m on vacation, away from home, for longer than one week. It’s remarkable how relieved and light one can feel after no thoughts of work or home.

Don’t get me wrong, there can be negatives for traveling and I’ve been penalized greatly for my travels. It still surprises me it happened. Once a co-worker stepped in while I was gone and worked her way in to a job I was interviewing for using my time away/vacation as a way to disparage me. Another time I was demoted after taking a three-week vacation (for which I was given approval) because I used poor judgment taking that much time off. (At the end of the year and when not even using all of the vacation time due me, by the way!) So there can be a price to pay. But it’s worth it to me. I am a changed person after every trip. I am fuller and happier and more settled. It’s what makes me who I am.

The point is, everyone can travel. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do. You can travel. You can travel in your own city! Pretend you’re a visitor and see the place you know and live with fresh eyes! Plan a trip in your own state and see something you’ve never thought to visit before. Go to a neighboring state for a weekend. Try new foods. Be open to new activities. All of that, to me, is considered traveling. Say yes to travel! Define it your own way – – and just do it! Be open to the things the world shows you and teaches you. You’ll never be the same.

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Ramadan in Morocco

25 Tuesday Jun 2013

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

break the fast, dates, Eid, harira, holidays, hunger and thirst, islam, koran, lunar months, Mohammad, prayer, qur'an, Ramadan, religion, self discipline

Ramadan is the most important holiday in Islam. It’s probably most like the Christian Lent, but the two don’t really compare. Ramadan symbolizes when the Qur’an was revealed to Mohammad. It occurs every year in the 9th month of the 12-month lunar calendar. Lunar months are shorter than Gregorian months by 12 days so Ramadan is earlier in each Gregorian year.

This year Ramadan is 9 July, 2013 – 8 August, 2013. But the bottom line is: Ramadan requires abstention from food, drink (even water!), sex, and smoking. During daylight hours. The point of it is to show devotion to Allah and to become a master of self-discipline.

Some people view it as recognizing the hunger and thirst that the poor feel every day of the year and to suffer it in silence and, hopefully, to become a kinder person for it. But from what I gather, it ends up being a contest with oneself or others of endurance! The weather is particularly hot during Ramadan and in 2012 it seemed to be nearly unbearable even in the beginning, only getting worse as the month wore on. Old people, children, pregnant women and others are exempt from this practice of abstention, but I notice from stories I’ve heard that even they press on out of devotion or whatever drives them…

The fast is broken when the sun officially sets and is broken usually with dates and milk. Or harira and dates. Harira is a soup made from tomatoes and lentils. It is served in Morocco year-round but is especially popular during Ramadan. A few more meals are eaten throughout the night so that everyone is nourished for the next morning when the whole thing starts all over again.

Everything moves at a different pace during Ramadan. And from what I’ve heard, people become edgy, groggy and increasingly irritated. All of this is followed by Eid Al Ftar, a festival to break the fast for the year. According to Wikipedia, here’s some more information I find interesting:

“Typically, Muslims wake up early in the morning—always before sunrise— offer Salatul Fajr (the pre-sunrise prayer), and in keeping with the traditions of the Prophet Muhammad clean their teeth with a toothbrush, take a shower before prayers, put on new clothes (or the best available), and apply perfume. It is forbidden to fast on the Day of Eid. It is customary to acknowledge this with a small sweet breakfast, preferably of the date fruit, before attending a special Eid prayer (known as salaat).

As an obligatory act of charity, money is paid to the poor and the needy (Arabic: Sadaqat-ul-fitr) before performing the ‘Eid prayer:
To show happiness
To give as much charity as is possible
To pray Fajr in the local Masjid
To go early for Eid salaat
To read the takbirat in an open field.
Go to the Eid prayer on foot
Do not speak one word other than words that remember Allah or anything Islamic terms before and after Eid Salaat. You can speak once you’ve left the Masjid, or Mosque or any other place you were praying
Say ‘Eid Mubarak’ to other Muslims
Muslims recite the following incantation in a low voice while going to the Eid prayer: Allāhu Akbar, Allāhu Akbar, Allāhu Akbar. Lā ilāha illà l-Lāh wal-Lāhu akbar, Allahu akbar walil-Lāhi l-ḥamd. Recitation ceases when they get to the place of Eid or once the Imam commences activities.
Muslims are recommended to use separate routes to and from the prayer grounds.
The Eid prayer is performed in congregation in open areas like fields, community centers, etc. or at mosques. No call to prayer is given for this Eid prayer, and it consists of only two units of prayer with an additional six incantations. The Eid prayer is followed by the sermon and then a supplication asking for God’s forgiveness, mercy, peace and blessings for all living beings across the world. The sermon also instructs Muslims as to the performance of rituals of Eid, such as the zakat. Listening to the sermon at Eid is a requirement i.e. while the sermon is being delivered; it is prohibited to talk, walk about or offer prayer. After the prayers, Muslims visit their relatives, friends and acquaintances or hold large communal celebrations in homes, community centers or rented halls. Eid gifts, known as Eidi, are frequently given at eid to children and immediate relatives.”

So this is Ramadan and the celebration of Eid afterward to break the fast. It is both eagerly anticipated and dreaded. While people are reverent, they also become impatient, irritated, edgy, and angry. It is, it seems to me, a month of extremes. Extreme heat. Hunger. Thirst. Exhaustion. A month of prayer. Gorging. And whatever else goes on when it’s not daylight.

I admire the dedication to this holiday. And I’d like to see just once if I could do it. But it seems impossible to not eat or drink water when temps can rise to 45 degrees! (over 100). I can’t even see me lasting two days, honestly. But someday I’d like to try.

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Couscous Friday

24 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

cooking together, couscous, couscousery, Friday, lamb, mail, moroccan cooking, Morocco, National Dish, semolina, sense of urgency, serving dish, tajine, tiny granules, tire store, vegetables

Friday in Morocco means one thing: couscous.

The national dish is made in households across Morocco every week and is greatly anticipated. Fridays are traditionally considered a holy day in Morocco and many businesses are closed for the day or afternoon – – or at the very least, a long, long break in the middle of the day for mosque (for the men). Life takes on a slower pace on Fridays. And at the same time there’s a sense of urgency about everything: “We better get to the bank before mosque. It’s Friday!” “We have to hurry to the tire store to get new tires this morning. It’s Friday!” “I couldn’t mail the package to you. It’s Friday.”

Couscous is the best part of Friday. It’s made in restaurants and at home and it seems everyone looks forward to it this week just as much as they did the last week. Moroccans seem to love their couscous even more than the ubiquitous tajine.

When eating couscous with my friend’s family last month, the family commented how long they’d had their couscous serving dish: 12 years. The 15-year old daughter commented that ‘it’s like my little sister!’

The process for couscous is not a small or quick task. Vegetables need to be cut and sliced to the correct sizes, meat (usually lamb) needs to cook until tender, and the couscous itself (semolina: tiny granules of durum wheat) requires a tender process of cooking and stirring – – almost kneading – – until it reaches its perfection. This requires pouring hot water over the grain and “stirring” it with your hands and then putting it back in the pot and repeating the process 15-20 minutes later, 5 or 6 times. It’s a hot, steamy business, this couscous-making.

Finally, the ingredients are all added together in specific order (meat in the middle of the dish itself, couscous all around, then vegetables added on top) and it’s brought to the table where everyone forms golf-ball sized clumps of the hot grain in the right hand and it’s popped into the mouth! Yum!

And the other thing about couscous: it uses a special pot called a ‘couscousery’ which I always say to the tune of “Chim Chiminey” from Mary Poppins. It makes me happy to say it. It’s a special pot system that resembles a steamer and a large pasta pot in my world. I’ve been taught to make this treat but it seems best when I make it in Morocco, with people filling the kitchen with noise and laughter; people I’m growing to love.

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Food, glorious Moroccan food!

15 Saturday Jun 2013

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

culture, fes, fruit, market, Morocco, souk, souq, tagine, tajine

Before
Before
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After
A decoration in an alleyway
A decoration in an alleyway
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Souk in Fes
Souk in Fes
Colorful munchies
Colorful munchies
Olives
Olives
Dried beef in fat! Mmm. My favorite on eggs
Dried beef in fat! Mmm. My favorite on eggs
Gooseberries in Fes
Gooseberries in Fes
Olives in Fes
Olives in Fes
Ice cream cones!
Ice cream cones!
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Market on side of road
Market on side of road
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Couscous Friday
Couscous Friday
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The recent past

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...dunkler Himmel über StykkishólmurPapučica / Slipper flower (Calceolaria herbeohybrida)Dreamlike PathASUNDERGambrelWinter over the Grand Union Canal …"The Unknown From The Seine"Free  Feature • Read the 'Behind the scene' storyMare d'inverno
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