A Rural View and the Return

Trip Start Feb 04, 2006

Trip End Jun 06, 2006

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Flag of Morocco Chefchaoen, Rif Mountains, Ceuta, Morocco
Saturday, May 6, 2006

The third day we were able to experience a part of Morocco that no tourist could. We drove into the Rif Mountains, met with a guy name Jaouad, and walked 40 minutes over the mountains to a village named Kaala. There we had lunch with Jaouad's sister Aziza, her husband Muhammad and his mother Fati. The moment Fati welcomed me to her home with a kiss, I was deeply moved by her presence. We watched Aziza bake bread in their outdoor stone oven while we talked about what their daily routine is like. Aziza is pregnant and due in June not long from now, but there she was, sitting in front of the door of the oven her and Fati constructed, heat pouring onto her. They both had such strength. Jaouad explained to us that Aziza was Muhammad's second wife. His first wife died in childbirth, since there was no road and getting help in time was impossible. Fati, uneducated and virgin to the city life, went to Rabat and demanded a road be built so that could get to their village for emergencies. Then Fati found Aziza and she was married to Muhammad and raises his other four children and soon their own as well

Arabic is so pretty

.
We started our picnic with sandwiches that we made for the family and us. Then it was time for them to bring out cous cous. Aziza crawled up from the blanket and headed to the kitchen. I asked Jaouad if I could help her. Then Fati got up to help her. It just didn't seem right that the pregnant lady and the older lady get up to bring out the cous cous, and Fati could see that in my eyes. She stopped, looked at me, and pointed saying something in Arabic that I took as "you come on in and help". I felt so honored to help this woman, chosen, not as a guest anymore, but included in their lives. We walked into the kitchen and Fati grabbed a pot of cous cous and some bowls. Some things transcend language, culture and religion. Immediately I grabbed a large spoon and helped her scoop out the cous cous into the other bowls. We smiled at each other realizing how our lives were so different in some ways and the same in others. We poured on the sauce and veggies then carried the bowls out to the picnic blanket. Fati showed me how to eat the cous cous with my hands and urged me to begin first.
During lunch we talked to the family about the differences between our lifestyles and theirs. Jaouad talked to us about his story too. He walked 6km to school and home from 10 years to get his education. Then he was one of the first guys from his village to go to university. He got his degree in English literature, and speaks wonderful English. Unfortunately, getting a good job in Morocco has more to do with whom you know than what you know. He wants to teach English, or really anything at this point, but he can't get a good job. The government won't pay him to teach at the small school near the village. He translates for groups like ours, but it has been hard to find any steady work. One person asked him if he regretted all his hard work getting his education since it has not benefited much

Beautiful streets

. He said he didn't regret getting his education, but it is hard to come back to his village since he has moved to the city. His education has separated him from his family and home, yet hasn't really given him entrance into the intellectual working world. Then he quoted Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken - " Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler...I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." I can't relate, but I can understand...and understanding gave me chills as he spoke.
After lunch we walked down the mountain and drove to Chefchaouen, a touristy area in the mountains. We ate dinner, talked, slept, and woke ready to go home...with new thoughts, images, and experiences to mule over for a good amount of time.
Personally, I'm still mulling.