Morocco Oct - Nov 2010
The world is changing. This is not a discourse on how the technology revolution has taken over most of the planet, but maybe it is. What I mean with "go before it's too late" is the end of an era and the disappearance of the generations that have lived through the big changes. I am sure it is.
These first nights walking around near the Djemaa el-Fna square in central Marrakech, which has entertained travelers and the locals for a thousand years. As D and I enjoyed the cooler night air we watched three generations of a family of women walk by arm in arm. Grandmother wrapped in her djellaba which covered her to her ankles, her head and neck covered in a khimar and her nose and mouth was barely visible behind the modest veil. She was talking quietly to her daughter who is dressed in nice slacks, a plain blouse and a light jacket. She has as well her head covered but has no veil and on the end of the mother is the daughter. Perhaps 14 years old with tight jeans and a tee shirt that is short enough to almost see skin on her midriff and looking away with those ubiquitous signs of teenage aloofness...earphones. Sure she did not have the latest I-whatever it is, but it's just a matter of time.
The end is near. The end of the patient artist that would sit and embroider the beautiful pillow cases we bought which have to be called vintage because no one is doing them like that anymore and they are all old. With the advent of technology time starts to accelerate and as it does there is no time for simple things. Watches show that it is later than you think.
Where will the grizzled old men with their turbans and knives tucked in their belts come from ? Their sons now load camels into trucks to take to shows. Who is leading a caravan when you can ship in tons with a Kamaz truck and just fill it with diesel. It has no personality. It does not turn its head when you say its name.
My friends, go now !
See the old world because in 20 or so years it will be gone. I am sure Ayoud's father that we shared mint tea with won't be there for many more years. The coarse tobacco that he smoked for decades even though cooled in the scented water of the hookah decided to stay. His lungs and he are paying the price. The time will come soon when we really have only Nat Geo books laid out for visitors to stare at unbelievingly. Like re-enactments of the battle of Gettysburg, the players will look at their watches and see that it is time to change into traditional clothing and perform for the tourists.
I sat on a short milking stool in the Djemaa the other day and under the partial shade of a well used umbrella I succumbed to the guile and call from a street artist wile I had a Berber design painted on my foot to surprise B. The lady who painted the henna in flowers and swirls had been doing this since 1971. We talked about the hippies back in the early seventies and how change had come to her world. Got married. Had a couple of kids. Took the ferry from Tangier to Spain and lived a back and forth live for eight years till the foothills of the Atlas called her home. As she dipped her stylus in the brownish ink and expressed her imagination, she contently called to the foreign women of all ages as they passed, knowing by their dress and their walk whether to call out "meine liebe Frau" or "hola, que tal ?"..."henna painting, bom precio". Most walked by but she made a good living according to her and was happy to be in her town. "I will die in the square" she said, "and be happy to do it".
Yes, brothers and sisters, the times they are a-changing .
Stay tuned for more from Morocco.
The world is changing. This is not a discourse on how the technology revolution has taken over most of the planet, but maybe it is. What I mean with "go before it's too late" is the end of an era and the disappearance of the generations that have lived through the big changes. I am sure it is.
These first nights walking around near the Djemaa el-Fna square in central Marrakech, which has entertained travelers and the locals for a thousand years. As D and I enjoyed the cooler night air we watched three generations of a family of women walk by arm in arm. Grandmother wrapped in her djellaba which covered her to her ankles, her head and neck covered in a khimar and her nose and mouth was barely visible behind the modest veil. She was talking quietly to her daughter who is dressed in nice slacks, a plain blouse and a light jacket. She has as well her head covered but has no veil and on the end of the mother is the daughter. Perhaps 14 years old with tight jeans and a tee shirt that is short enough to almost see skin on her midriff and looking away with those ubiquitous signs of teenage aloofness...earphones. Sure she did not have the latest I-whatever it is, but it's just a matter of time.
The end is near. The end of the patient artist that would sit and embroider the beautiful pillow cases we bought which have to be called vintage because no one is doing them like that anymore and they are all old. With the advent of technology time starts to accelerate and as it does there is no time for simple things. Watches show that it is later than you think.
Where will the grizzled old men with their turbans and knives tucked in their belts come from ? Their sons now load camels into trucks to take to shows. Who is leading a caravan when you can ship in tons with a Kamaz truck and just fill it with diesel. It has no personality. It does not turn its head when you say its name.
My friends, go now !
See the old world because in 20 or so years it will be gone. I am sure Ayoud's father that we shared mint tea with won't be there for many more years. The coarse tobacco that he smoked for decades even though cooled in the scented water of the hookah decided to stay. His lungs and he are paying the price. The time will come soon when we really have only Nat Geo books laid out for visitors to stare at unbelievingly. Like re-enactments of the battle of Gettysburg, the players will look at their watches and see that it is time to change into traditional clothing and perform for the tourists.
I sat on a short milking stool in the Djemaa the other day and under the partial shade of a well used umbrella I succumbed to the guile and call from a street artist wile I had a Berber design painted on my foot to surprise B. The lady who painted the henna in flowers and swirls had been doing this since 1971. We talked about the hippies back in the early seventies and how change had come to her world. Got married. Had a couple of kids. Took the ferry from Tangier to Spain and lived a back and forth live for eight years till the foothills of the Atlas called her home. As she dipped her stylus in the brownish ink and expressed her imagination, she contently called to the foreign women of all ages as they passed, knowing by their dress and their walk whether to call out "meine liebe Frau" or "hola, que tal ?"..."henna painting, bom precio". Most walked by but she made a good living according to her and was happy to be in her town. "I will die in the square" she said, "and be happy to do it".
Yes, brothers and sisters, the times they are a-changing .
Stay tuned for more from Morocco.
