Thoughts on Morocco

Thoughts on Morocco

Casablanca, Marrakesh and the Sahara

July 2008

I booked an 8-day trip to Morocco where I planned to travel completely by myself with no set schedule.  I was 53 and I wanted to see if I still have enough nerve to travel on my own, completely unrestricted.  When I arrived in Casablanca, I left the airport and was immediately surrounded by taxi drivers.

“Where do you want to go?” one taxi driver asked me.

“I don’t know yet. What do you suggest?” I replied.

He showed me a binder of hotel options. I picked one and he took me there and waited until I had a room.  That’s pretty much how I spent the next week: flying on the seat of my pants.

Things that I remember about this trip:

• ·      The old Plaza; the Old City
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• ·      outdoor night restaurants that popped up and broke down in a matter of minutes
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• ·      delicious teas: cinnamon, jasmine, mint, orange
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• ·      the hot, hot sun burning my face
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• ·      smelly camels, drooling long strings of saliva
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• ·      herbal pharmacies
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• ·      Henna artists wanting to paint my arms, legs and face
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• ·      Street musicians playing traditional instruments
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• ·      Long stretches of roads leading to the desert
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• ·      Starry nights in the desert
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• ·      Colorful hand-woven rugs and pillows

• ·      Spices in all colors and fragrances
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• ·      Couscous offered at every restaurant
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• ·      The smell of grilled meats, fish and vegetables waffling through the air.
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• ·      snake charmers, kissing snakes and encouraging me to do the same.  I declined each and every offer.
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• ·      water boys selling sips of water for just a few pennies.  They carried this water in pouches made of animal stomachs.
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• ·      scooters zigzagging through the crowds of people, just barely running over us
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• ·      lots and lots and lots of people
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• ·      street noise all hours of the day and the night
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• ·      mint tea served in a small glass
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• ·      sheep heads soaked in warm gravy
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• ·      intricate alleyways that seemed never to end.  I was lost a lot.
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• ·      lots of merchants selling lots of wares: slippers, tea pots, beads, scarves, spices, teas, leather goods, pillows, rugs, jewelry
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• ·      not much beer to speak of and it was too light for my taste
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• ·      the sounds of the mosque, calling people to prayer
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• ·      families sitting together, in the Plaza, until late at night
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• ·      lots of men named Mohamed

Fisherman's Boat- Haiti

Fisherman's Boat

Jamel, Haiti
Summer 2013

When Haiti suffered an earthquake in 2010, money and aid poured in from the USA.  So many people were homeless so we imported thousands and thousands of tents so that the Haitians had a place to live.  Many of the people lived in these tents for two or three years.  When I went over in the summer of 2013, I saw people who still lived int eh tents.  But I also saw signs of the tents being recycled in many ways.  Artists had cut their tents up and used the canvas for painting.  Others used the tent panels as fencing, to keep neighbors out.  Many of the fishermen used the tents as sails for their boats.

Street Merchants

Street Merchants

Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania

February 2016

I’ve travels so much and I’ve purchased so much stuff in my lifetime that shopping no longer interests me.  I don’t want any more stuff but I do like to wander the markets just to talk to the merchants. I like to hear their stories. I find women merchants to be less aggressive than their male counterparts. I will find that the men sometimes resort to a little bit of dominance just to win a customer’s purchase.

A group of male merchants are sitting under a tree, taking a rest from their boring day.  There are no customers so they sit under the tree to talk. I walk over and try to engage them in conversation.  We greet each other with hellos and welcomes and blessings to your health and to your family.  One man steps forward and begins to talk to me.

“You like Obama? I like Bush.  When Bush is president we have war and war is good for me. Maybe not for you but when we have war, more people run away but not me. I stay behind and take all their things. I make money. I like Daddy Bush and Baby Bush and maybe we will get another Bush next.  That will be good for me. I hope so”, he tells me with a broad smile that is so charming, its hard to get annoyed with him.

I tell him that Jeff Bush just dropped out of the race. He seems sad to hear the news. He wants to know if someone else who likes war will run and be elected in the United States.

“Not like Obama who does not like to fight. I want war president. It is good for me.”

I tell him there are plenty of other Republican candidates who could step in and start a war.  The other six men, sitting with us, are fans of Obama and laugh out loud with delight as I pretended vomit at the mention of another Bush as president.

 “I can’t believe you like Bush. The rest of the world hates Bush”, I tell him.

“You like Obama. I like Bush. OK, we are different” he says confidently.  The crowd boos him and he laughs uproariously. I pretend to vomit again.

“Okay madam, I joke with you. I love Obama. He is Kenyan and I am Kenyan.  We are brothers. He is my brother. I do not like Bush. He is no good for us. I am with Obama, just like you”. He offers me a high-five and walks away so pleased with himself for getting me so rattled.

The Music Shop- Morocco

The Music Store

Marrakesh, Morocco

July 2008

The alleyways of the old Plaza are just miles and miles of mazes that seem to have no exit. So my afternoon was spent looking in shops but keeping my eye out for any clues as to how I might get back to the center of the Plaza.

I wandered in to a small musical instrument store. Most of the instruments were native to this area.  The small hand drums caught my eye. The merchant invited me in to his little kiosk.  It was so small, there was barely room for the two of us. But he insisted I come in and sit on his rickety stool. He then leaned against a shelf by the entrance.

Tea was made and that was a long process. He had to run out and get some fuel to heat the water.  After a few minutes, he came back with fuel.  Then he had to get his stove out. That was hidden behind me and under some of the drums. We both had to work together to retrieve the stove. The stove was old and rusted.  I thought it might tip over and cause a fire. Since I was sitting behind it, I had visions of the whole store going up in flames with me, tripping over instruments, trying to get the hell out of there.

I tried to negotiate a deal on two drums so I could get out of this fire trap sooner than later.  But my merchant friend was having none of that.

“Slow, slow, slow.” He told me emphatically.  He gestured with his hands for me to sat seated.

His English was limited. We both tried using our limited French skills but that was a wasted effort. The tea was delicious.  He filled my cup.  I had to wait for it to cool down. When I finished, he filled my cup again. We drank mostly in silence. He finally let me talk about what I wanted to buy.  I left with two drums and two hand cymbals.  But right before I left, he asked me, “You have a gift for me?  I give you tea”.

That was awkward. I didn’t have anything to give him.

“Excuse me, what kind of gift” I asked uneasily.

“A Chicklet or something for me”’ he responded in his meek, little voice.

I searched through my pockets and found a mint, still in its wrapper.

“How about this?”  I offer it to him and he takes it.  He pops it in his mouth and nods with approval.  Good, now we are even.

The Shaman

The Shaman

Panama
December 2004

He is rugged and knowledgable and a healer.  He is the shaman for his villager.  He shows me a plant that will help my arthritis.  He can make up a concoction of tree bark and plants and maybe bugs that are grinned together and used to treat diarrhea. One plant soothes itchy skin.  Another plant eleviates heart burn.

He has a huge scar across his belly. I point to it.

"Do you treat yourself" I ask.

"No", he tells me and looks at  his scar.  "Cancer, I go to hospital."

June Memories

June Memories

• 2013- a trip to Northern Europe- Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Latvia, Russia, Germany and England

• High School Gradation Ceremonies filled with students on the verge of a whole new life.
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• Both of my grandparents were born in June so we always had celebration for them.

• The end of another school year.
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• June 5, 1900- My grandfather's birthday.  He was not Catholic and the nuns always told us that non-Catholics would never go to heaven.  So we made him spiritual bouquets for birthday gifts  and prayed that he would convert to Catholicism and join us in heaven.
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• 1973- I did it.  Much to many peoples' surprise, I graduated from high school. I hated just about every minute of high school, but I dragged my ass across that finish line.
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• The annual quiet after the storm: the day after school lets out and everyone has gone home.  I have the school building all to myself. As a high school principal, this is a lovely moment.
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• “O”: Cirque de Soleil, Las Vegas- 2015.  What a show!!!!!
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• summer school, dreadful summer school during my middle school years

• 2007- The Artic Circle- Alaska
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• Summer break and long days outside.
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• 1963- New York World’s Fair
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• my garden is in full bloom.
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• 2005- a trip to Viet Nam and Cambodia

• 2017- I moved to my new apartment in West Chester, PA.

• 2000- Ireland; a trip with 15 family members
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• 2018- a road trip with Clay.  We went to the Grand Canyon, the Colorado River, Horseshoe Bend, the Petrified Forest, Montezuma Cathedral, Sedona, Antelope Canyon