Humble Hopes in Agadir

AGADIR, MOROCCO -- April 1-3, 2006
(collection of impressions)

...Moisture hanging heavily in the cool, damp, evening air as I get off the bus in Adagir, one of Morocco's key players in Atlantic port cities producing fish for export. The first time my skin has felt anything besides the harsh dryness of Marrakech's air.

...Meeting Aunt Aisha, sixty-something chain-smoker hiding innocently under her jellabah and head scarves. Loves playing Sega Dreamcast and watching kung fu movies dubbed into Arabic. Has a hearty laugh and crinkly eyes. Makes the most delicious traditional Moroccan bread, by hand, as most every woman does.

...Fish heads lying on the kitchen floor in a shallow pool of blood, cat scavenging for remaining bits of a decent meal. Women in the adjoining room prepare the evening meal -- baked fish, a plate of olives, bread.

...Wandering among the meager homes that line the walkways of this small village. Women gathering at the fountain to fill all shapes and colors of containers with water.Standing on the edge of the town, overlooking the ocean. Goats tramping over the boulders near the shore, searching for something to eat -- a fish tossed up on the shore, or some rubbage dumped here by the village people.

...Eating harire (traditional Moroccan soup made of vegetables and chickpeas) at the soup shop in the market prepared by Aisha's husband. Four bowls of soup, two rounds of bread, a bowl of dates, and mint tea came to a whopping total of 16dH, less than US$2. This is where the locals eat. Puts things in context, doesn't it?

...Riding a moped along the coastline, stopping to wander the Europeanized boardwalk and enjoy people-watching among the crowds also out to enjoy the afternoon sun. Basking in the warm Moroccan sunshine from my sunbed at a seaside cafe.

...Stepping carefully into the waves, until I am up to my armpits in the cool, salty ocean water. Suddenly a wave crashes behind me and I am pulled under with its kinetic energy.

...Spending an enjoyable hour playing tag with the frothy waves, jumping into their bellies, and plunging underneath to feel them rushing over our backs.

...Shopping with Bahia, Aisha's daughter, for henna supplies -- dye, a vial for applying the paste, fresh herbs and lemon. Watching her mix the paste and filter it through a scarf before scraping it into the vial. Sitting patiently as she decorates my hands and feet with flowers, symbols, and swirling designs. I ask her to inscribe something in Arabic on my leg, and she does -- the word for hope.

I hope there is happiness for the people in this small village on the upper slopes of this big port city. Their lives are so simple. I wonder what they would think of me if they knew where I came from, what kind of house I called my home, if they saw the bed I slept in, the food I threw away after eating to my heart's content. If they cannot have luxuries, then at least, I hope, they have happiness.

~Melanie