Musings of a traveller who is as pragmatic as she is offbeat, and who entertains random thoughts and trivialities that tickle her fancy. Also contains occasional outbursts from the avid bargain hunter who loves giving things a good toss for kicks.
Census says that Moroccans are generally in the lower band of mid-income. In the villages, the people really don’t have much and are happy to have food, water, shelter and an occasional chocolate bar. Children don’t necessarily go to school and roam the streets peddling wares. In the cities, people are like most we know – exposed to the current trends and fads, MacDs and Starbucks are found, supermarkets that have everything. But they are a wee bit away from the latest; the iPhone 15 is known but not easily available there, the international brands I see frequently there are LC Waikiki, Yves Rocher, Body Shop, Carrefour. There should be others that I missed out on but the pegging of spending power of the large majority is clear.
When I spoke to the Moroccans I met along the way, I get a sense of wabi-sabi – finding beauty in things not whole nor meeting what is considered the standard in modern society.
Granted that I get this mostly from the regular folks in the tourism business to merchants to farmers in the villages, but it is a large enough sample size to broadly say that they have enough to live where they are contentedly.
Simple observations give anecdotal evidence of their wellbeing and some understanding of the census data. Whether or not they are living in silos so they don’t know better or chose to honor their heritage and lifestyle is completely up to them. They are for certain good people living an honest life, and whatever life throws at them, they are hardy enough to get through with smiles on their faces.
Nestled between the Atlas and the Rif mountains is an old imperial city for which time hardly moved. The past segues into the present and people seem content to continue with the lifestyle they had centuries ago, preserving culture and tradition of at least 400 years old.
Famed tannery of Fes; sprig of mint helps with the odour of pigeon poop (black) tubs
Buildings that withstood the ravages of time lay in a labyrinthine maze of 9000 alleyways and 350 neighbourhoods with 400 deadends. Along the main streets of Talaa Sghira and Kbira are shops peddling everything from Copperware to leather to Gelibas to dromedary heads. Donkeys carrying goods sometimes ply the main streets gently braying at their handlers, and affectionate cats roam around seeking strokes and nuzzles. Touts are a regular feature in the streets but are generally harmless when no interest is shown.
It is intimidating at first to wander through the streets because it is really easy to get lost and become a hapless tourist at the mercy of touts who will try to become your guide. Especially when the shops disappear and you accidentally turn into a dark and narrow alleyway leading into a neighbourhood that looks dilapidated – exposed beams, walls half gone, exactly like those you see in war-torn districts on tv. Until you hear children singing and you realise that there’s a kindergarten nearby. People live here and they are happy to embrace the old ways of life. If given the chance to leave, I’m not sure they will.
Narrow lane of one person in width leading into a kindergarten
In the 21st century, there are those who choose to live in the magic of the 15th. Boys, at the tender age of 8, learn the trade of their families from their fathers, grandfathers and become skilled artisans. Girls in the past helped around the house but in modern times, also go to school. One young man we met learned languages from his sisters at night after work.
Water is drawn from a common fountain in the neighbourhood, and a cup is always left there in case someone wants a drink. COVID-19 measures immediately pop into mind but as far as the people here are concerned, it is clearly over and shoved into the furthest recesses of their minds. Communal eating is common like how some Asian cultures are but here, it’s done without sharing spoons. Nonetheless, the piping hot tangines and pastillas are too good to care.
The camaraderie and love, deep pride of their heritage, happy-go-lucky nature of the people balanced with a keen sense of business and c’est la vie strike me as a good combination to have to do well in the old city of Fes. Plus, they have to walk and climb everywhere they go so health-wise, they’re doing great too. When you have family and love, you have everything.
The old city takes a bit of getting used to but once settled in, all it offers captivate.
The clothes need to be hung. And yet, I am sitting in front of my screen typing about the thoughts running around my head the past few days. They were driving up negative feelings and behavior, and were fueled by little actions of ‘care and concern’.
See, there I go again.
I wonder why that is.
Why do I feel like I am being tracked while on a holiday away from them when all the questions really were asked out of concern? But did they really have to start a conversation about what I was doing on the holiday when all I really wanted was to get away? Why do I feel like a string is being tied around my neck?
I want to be objective but it’s hard. It feels like I am handling a hungry, caterwauling cat.
Don’t live vicariously through me unless I offer.
Don’t ask me where I am unless I am late to meet you.
Don’t cling, it makes my heart heavy.
Don’t rely on me to lift you out of loneliness, it deepens my anxiety.
Don’t whine, act helpless or play victim. It pushes me away.
Don’t get upset because I want space. And don’t get angry when the space I need is different from your interpretation of what you think I should get.
Why do we need an escape to have these? I’ve been wondering for awhile and have always heard answers that are predictable.
Life gets tiring when people want things from you all the time. Whether it’s pieces of work you’re paid or not paid to do, familial obligations that demand a routine difficult to get away from or living up to incredible expectations from people around you. That’s the surface of the issue, and what is predictable.
Underneath that veneer is a psychological war.
Putting yourself at a distance away from these is sometimes impossible. You get criticized for being lazy, uncaring, aloof, arrogant and cold. When you try to do otherwise, the demand rises and new ones appear. It’s never enough. Never is. They want, want, want. Competition, guilt-tripping, shaming are tactics used. They call it persuasion but you know it to be carefully-disguised coercion.
You run away. That’s the escape. Not so much from the physical, mental load but emotional, psychological burden.
There’s something about wide, open spaces that heal. Beaches, mountains and plains – wherever it’s easiest for you to get to, go.
Life is full of ups and downs, twists and turns, joys and sorrows, and sometimes it feels like the storm will never end. But be rest assured, it will.
You can’t pray the storm away, one way or another, they will come. But they shouldn’t make you bitter, you are to come out of it better.
The storm may be raging, and the winds may be howling, but you can still dance in the rain. You can still find joy in the midst of chaos. You can still smile, even when everything seems to be falling apart. You can choose to be a beacon of light in the darkness.
With every storm you weather, you grow stronger, and with every challenge that you face, you learn to endure.
So dance in the rain, stay positive even in the midst of pain, because in the end, the storm will pass.
Regardless of what comes your way, take heart, and hold on tight, never let it ruin your day. For when the sky is clear, you’ll always find your way.
Remember, it’s never the storm that defines you, but what you do while in it.
No Mad Sojourn 