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A Voyage through the South of Morocco

Magical Morocco

Annette
2005-08-29 23:05:06

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Sometimes, the audience laughs, other times, they look incredulous, and once in a while, as if they mocked him. Yet, they listen with great patience, fully absorbed in the tale spun by this man practicing an ancient profession.

The scribes are my particular favorite, though I catch myself wishing for a little desk and chair for them to comfortably work on, rather than the mat they sit on for hours on end. The tools of their trade are an old-fashioned pen and an inkwell, along with simple paper. They sit in the shade of an umbrella and wait for customers. I approached one gentleman scribe, who looked jolly and had happily settled his large frame on a straw mat on the ground. He had taken off his yellow babouche (slippers) and was deep in a friendly conversation with an elderly man sitting on a stool next to him. When asked whether I might take his picture, he smiled at me out of a very shrewd and twinkling set of eyes. "I am a Marabou", he told me, "and that costs extra". The humor in his voice made me laugh, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes kept me in grave doubt about the veracity of his statement. But holy men (Marabouts) come in many guises, and who was I to keep this humorous marabou-scribe from practicing sainthood? He deserved his ten Dirham for the two pictures I took. In my mind, I wished him a hundred or more free-spending spectators. May his blessings stay with me.

After dark, the Jemma fills with a large crowd. The cooks are busy at their stalls, preparing delicious food for people who gather on benches and eat under the glaring light of lamps. On two sides of the square are several dozen booths offering nuts and dried fruit, as well as freshly squeezed orange juice. Let me recommend orange juice booth number 54 - his is simply the best! Go there and tell him you 've read it on the Internet. He won't remember the stranger who appreciated his o.j and his courteous service; but that's fine, tell him anyway. - If the crowds get too oppressive, you can go to the Cafe Argana's terrace and overlook the entire square while having coffee and ice-cream. Snacks are good enough in this overpriced yet perfectly situated location - but don't eat dinner there. The food is as bland and tasteless as can be, especially for a country where every carefully prepared dish is a feast for palate and eyes.

There is so much to Morocco that volume after volume could be filled. To me, as to the other travelers who experience the charm and the special energy of the country, it is a constant source of delight. There are many places throughout the world where the sun shines, palm trees weave in a sea breeze and history is ever-present. But Morocco is one of the truly special places where an elderly lady makes sure I get on the right bus, a taxi driver deposits me at the cheapest shop in the souk to buy a few yards of string and tells me to be very careful out there; where a local fellow traveler argues over fifty cents on my behalf, where kindnesses big and small are shown me on a daily basis, and where friends invite me into their lives, share their food and their thoughts, and let their daughter's song and their wife's warmth make me feel part of the family.

Photos & Text by Annette Solyst

copyright Annette Solyst