Ait Zat and the High Atlas!

This morning, we woke up to birds chirping in the riad at the Les Borjs de la Kasbah. We started our day with a buffet style breakfast of croissants, moroccan crepes (Msemmen) heated to order, and fruit, before loading into Jeeps to head up into the mountains. We arrived to a warm welcome from the Berber village we were visiting. The guides told us before we left that this was a more “conservative” community, so we wore our scarves. Slipping in the vibrant red mud, we made our way up to the home of one of the village elders for traditional welcoming tea and Msemmen.

We then divided ourselves into smaller groups – painting, laying tile, weaving baskets and rugs, and baking bread for our lunch. We started with bread baking with the village women. Although we didn’t share a common language, we shared many laughs over our struggle to perform what for them are simple daily tasks. The women – three of whose names were Fatima – showed Marianne and Thompson how to knead the bread, coat it in flour, and shape it into loaves through hand motions, spirited exclamations, and expressions of encouragement. Originally, we thought they were carrying them away because they were too misshapen to use, but we later discovered that they were just putting them aside to rise.

Our group then moved on to weaving at the loom, where the village women were making rugs out of their sheeps’ wool. Watching the women tie the wool to the loom effortlessly with nimble fingers, it appeared easy. But when they invited us to sit down to try it ourselves, we fumbled with the small strings. How could tying yarn around a thread be so difficult?

We briefly visited the groups painting and laying tile in the new community mosque bathroom. We watched our fellow classmates, decked out in goggles and masks, as the paint splattered down on their rain jackets.

Finally, we climbed up to a hut on top of a hill where the last group was weaving baskets out of dwarf palms that are usually brought to the market to sell. After learning the braiding design, we sat down to weave our own with the artisans. The braiding was intricate, and the complex patterns were hard to get the hang of. We constantly had to undo our work; the men would laugh goodnaturedly and try to fix our missteps. Several students worked for almost an hour and wove only a foot or so of palm. The time consuming work of weaving the basket and sewing the handles – also from the dwarf palms – creates a product that shockingly sells for only 15 dirhams, equivalent to $1.50.

Before lunch, we returned to the communal kitchen to finish off our bread. A crowd had gathered, and as we learned each others names, they began to give us Berber names (we were Aboush and Acoush). In turn, they wanted “American” names. We called one boy Jack, and he proceeded to introduce himself as Jack for the rest of the day. The women fed the hearth fire with sage, which filled the room with warmth. They invited Marianne to the fire, where the bread was cooking in a skillet. At first, we were confused as to what they wanted her to do, but after pulling up her sleeves, we realized they wanted her to flip the bread with her bare hands! As the fire leapt around edges of the skillet, she chuckled nervously and the villagers broke into laughter. Eventually, Cheyn and Thompson flipped the bread, and we headed back to the elder’s home for a lunch of tajine, bread, and fruit.

When we finished, we met a group of young school children in the courtyard. We couldn’t communicate using words, so we grabbed watercolor pencils, brushes, and paper, and drew pictures with them. Some of the older men and boys brought out instruments and played music. The older school girls grabbed our hands, pulling us up to dance. The rain began to pour, and it was time to move to our final stop before leaving.

Taking shelter from the rain, we crowded into their one room schoolhouse. Here, students learn the Quran every day except their market day, Thursday, and day of prayer, Friday. They showed us the wooden boards they use to write, using burned wool mixed with water for ink and hand-carved sticks for writing utensils.

It was time to say goodbye, so they helped us back down through the slippery mud to the Jeeps. We parted with kisses on the cheeks from the women and handshakes from the men.

We returned to the riad chilled to the bone. Bob and Mme. Poland told us that if we wanted, we could go up to the Hammam (a steam room). In the humid, marble room we splashed each other with buckets of hot and cold water and returned to our rooms warm and clean. We finished off the night with a pleasant three-course dinner in the hotel.

Chat du jour:

While cooking the bread, we found this cat hiding under a grill.

-Marianne & Cheyn