More marrakech

First of many photographs that don't really relate to the story. Tried my best to narrow them down.

Night time

Traveling to Morocco had been something I had wanted to do for as long as I've been traveling. But I hadn’t scratched the itch because of the time I threw rocks at the three Turkish men who, despite me being covered up, were harassing me at night in Istanbul. I was with a boyfriend and we were heading to dinner shortly after dusk. He asked me if I was crazy, pointing out that he probably couldn’t take all three of them on and we’d end up either dead, maimed or in a Turkish jail. It turned out they lost interest and wandered off, but the feeling of being disrespected and powerless and a female never left me, leaving me ambivalent about returning alone to predominantly Muslim country.

The riad where I stayed is in the southern part of the Medina, in a mostly residential area. To get anywhere, I walked down an alley, made a left into an open area where I could see quite a bit of earthquake damage, past a building being held up with wood planks and down another wider alley, then left through the local food market, where vendors put out a tarp or blanket and then dump out the usually one thing they sell. If it’s the beginning of the day, the fish might be sitting in a container and invariably there are many mangy cats hanging around, interestingly they don’t go after the fish. At the end of the day, it doesn’t smell great. It tends to be not only an area of commerce, but also where people gather, and in the case of the older men, spend the day sitting and watching.

Lots of business on the rooftops

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In my neighborhood, lots of this 

I passed this a few times a day and for some reason took a photograph every time

One of many

Local market before it got busy

Several vendors at local market

But what's in the bag?

Coffee spot in the center of the action near the market

Accidental photo after I pushed the wrong button on my phone, but I like it!

An alley in the hood

According to some, Ramadan is not a good time to come here as a visitor, and certainly, life is a little choppy in terms of when things are open. It’s plain to see what this altered eating and sleeping schedule does by observing the listless salesmen in the souks. The woman at my riad doesn’t eat until sunset, at which time she has a glass of milk and a few dates. Then in the middle of the night, at 2 or 3 am, there’s another call to prayer and the real meal. You can hear children playing, plates being scraped and what I imagine as day time conversations, motorcycles going, and then back to bed. I was told it takes a while to adjust to the different schedule, and then a week or so, after it's over. In my time there, I saw two collisions, one with a truck and a motor bike, the other with a car and a bicycle. In both cases, there was a tired toddler anger vibe, unlike the mostly calm and warm demeanors that mostly prevailed.

Apparently in the last week of Ramadan, all the women begin a solid beauty prep; hair color, cut and set, mani, pedi, hammam, new shoes and djellaba, makeup etc. My lady at the riad was very excited about her djellaba, light green with beautiful embroidery below the neck and on the sleeves. She has light coffee colored skin, big eyes and a bigger smile, it looked great on her. She also bought a new pair of babouche, deciding to go with a classic look like her grandmother's. She was definitely going to get them handmade, but dilly dallied about her djellaba color too long, so wasn't able to get them in a matching color, rather had to pick a pair of non-custom but still handmade black ones, which have a hammered in texture to them and are shiny.

Despite trying to avoid being out and about right before the call to prayer because it's not a mellow time, I somehow wasn't able to manage doing so. One evening, when I was walking home at 6pm through the throng at the local food market that is in the photographs, there was a group of about 30 men in a clump, with some really angry yelling. I couldn’t see much but did get a glimpse of two men right in each other’s faces. Not sure what to do, I figured I’d try and walk around them, keeping my head down. As I began to do that, there was a commotion, and then I saw off to the right, walking down an alley, two men holding a struggling body, horizontal, one near her head, the other near her feet. She let out an ungodly howl that reminded me of a pig squealing, there was such an animal desperation in that it still makes my stomach ache remembering it. I didn't stop to watch, but walked home slowly, noticing doors starting to open and women looking out, blank or frozen faces. It was haunting. 

I keep thinking about that woman. Was that her husband? Who would the other mane have been who was allowed to touch her? Or was it her father and brother? Is she OK? Did her children watch and how will they be affected in the short and long-term? Will one of those other women care for her? If it was her husband, will she have to have sex with her oppressor that very evening? The questions keep coming, days later.

But then I got to thinking about the importance of not generalizing, despite there being a large group of men who were witnesses or abettors. And after that, I thought of the horrible things that are happening in the US, and probably every country, every city, everywhere. Ugh. Still. 

On my last day, I got a coffee at a place close to where it happened. I gave the guy a 50 dirham bill for a 15 dirham coffee. He didn't have change, so went to a couple of vendors nearby but they didn't either. I knew I had no need for my leftover dirhams, but my reaction was to not want to give anything to a male in this neighborhood (yes, I was generalizing). But then I decided that the best thing to do would be to throw $3.50 worth of grace at the situation and told him to keep the change. He thanked me.  

I had more cash leftover and thought to give the money to a woman. At the airport, I saw a lady cleaning the floor and stopped to find my little zippered wallet, which is always a bit of a fuss to get money out of. When I finally did, I saw that she was standing there waiting for me. She accepted the money graciously, in a way that let me know this was not new, and I imagined all the women like me who in at least one tiny way wanted to make some kind of connection with a woman she couldn't share words with, and to provide a few extra dirhams that might be useful. Yes, maybe it was a little guilt money too. But it also made me happy to think that this woman, and hopefully the other women cleaners there, had somewhat standardized this way of getting money.  

My experience of Marrakech has been one of extremes. Five minutes after being overwhelmed with the smell of  rotting fish, there was pungent and intoxicating orange blossom. There's the  absolute chaos of the souk roads, and then one foot into the riad to a mesmerizing calm. And there is the warmth and kindness of men to each other (there just aren't that many woman out and about and if they are, they aren't socializing) and then the brutality I witnessed. No, it's not either or, black or white. I suppose it's humanity.