The most famous wedding tradition in Morocco takes place in the village of Imilchil
All the young people who live in the High Atlas mountains come to participate in the "Moussem", a kind of tribal marriage Festival where the brides choose their grooms
What is the Legend of Imilchil Brides' Festival?
Her name was "Tislet", his was "Isli". Their families were enemy Berber tribes from the Atlas Mountains of Morocco. Although they were lovers, in true Shakespearean tradition, their irate parents refused to allow them to marry. Their hearts were broken. To live apart was impossible. They sadly exchanged vows, then drowned themselves in two nearby lakes which now bear their names. Destiny wills that even in death, they are unable to unite. The imposing mountain seated between the two bodies of water acts as a guardian even as their spirits reach out for one another.
This act of desperation so devastated the hostile clans of the Berber "Ait Haddidou" that parents of this tribe thenceforth granted their children the right to choose their own marriage partners.
This is the story around the annual Berber Brides' Festival of Imilchil, held high in the lake plateau of the Middle Atlas mountains of Morocco. Each year in September after the harvest, from every corner of the Ait Haddidou domain, come young men and women in search of a mate.
The moussem, or festival, occurs near Imilchil, at the site of the burial place of Sidi Mohamed El Maghani, the patron saint of the Ait Haddidou. Legend has it that the marriages which were blessed by this holy man were happy and long-lasting thus the reason for the arduous trek to this isolated area.
At one time, this was an exclusive "family affair", with members of some fifty tribes from the region converging on the otherwise barren plateau for a Berber version of the family reunion and wedding celebration combined.
Now, those outsiders hardy enough to make the grueling trip are also welcome to participate in the festivities, the affair has become an international attraction for tourists from all over the world. So bring that brother or sister you just can’t marry off and see what they might find. I think it sounds better than speed dating!
DON’T SWEEP THE RUGS! It is not a sentence I have yet been able to make clear in Darjia to my housekeeper. Sweep the runs? Why would you sweep the rugs? You shake the rugs. Shake, outside. I shall try again on Thursday, perhaps a demonstration.
For a fun brain game go to http://wordimperfect.blogspot.com/
I’m it again! Tagged by i Beatrice: here we go,
1. I love dark chocolate
2. I like spiders and ants because I admire their persistence and industrious natures.
3. My greatest life's happiness is my daughter
4. Inside my head I am still thirty-years-old. I don’t think I will correct the error as it works for me.
5. I don’t cook.
6. I love to walk.
7. I do not do well in the heat.
8. I love to laugh. I think Eddie Izzard is brilliant.
9. I am a klutz. I am always running into walls and bumping my head and toes.
10. I very much enjoy Action blow ‘em up movies, plot is not required to have complexity, but the leading man is required to be pretty.
I have made a new and important addition to my conversational Darjia: Ha-r-r-r-ack means shit in Moroccan. As in, Harrrack she swept the rugs again!
The following is a conversation I had with Q. on the heels of something I had said that she found a bit shocking.
Q: “So when does that happen?”
Me: “What’s that?”
Q: “When you just get to say whatever you want. When you don’t care anymore what people think about what you say?”
Me: “Fifty. It is one of the brilliant things that happen when you turn fifty. For women, I am not so sure it happens for men.”
Showing posts with label rugs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rugs. Show all posts
Thursday, 24 May 2007
Monday, 14 May 2007
Blogs, cats, and rugs
I find it interesting that when I was in my twenties and thirties and was climbing mountains and jumping out of airplanes people said, “Are you nuts?” I have found this past decade the response to the very same activities is, “Well good for you!” Now what the dickens does that mean? Now that I have some age and experience on me it’s all right if I die in a meaningless pursuit of danger, or was I so much more loveable in my youth more people feared for my life? No that can’t be it. I am still really adorable.
I spent yesterday caring for Stinky as Q had gone to Fez for work, and to help Caroline prepare for exit to the U.S. I will miss Caroline and Neal, as they are truly adorable. Two very bright, involved, compassionate people who are just right for each other. I am sure Q and A (he he) will stay in touch as they got on well in that couples genre.
Stinky, hereafter to be known as M.C. Solaar (MC for Moroccan cat, and Solar after the French rapper), had a great day. After a shaky start and two visits to the vet, hand feeding, bottles, and antibiotics – he was running, playing, jumping, eating, and hitting the litter box every time (huzzah) with formed stool (as opposed to his former state of diarrhea, hence his nickname). Q’s intensive care of him has paid off in spades. As Q said, "It is hard to get more resilient than African feral cat stock."
The afternoon found me in Blog World. I found some excellent advice on http://theurbanmuse.blogspot.com/ on how to network in cyber world. I am hoping that my blog will work as a website to showcase my writing. I am fairly certain I shan’t meet a literary agent on the streets of Morocco, so I have to look in cyber world – easier on the feet as well.
Continuing with my premises that if you want adventure go out the front door.. I went to the Medina to get some cookies for Q who is feeling a bit tired from the back and forth trips of late, and to the apothecary to lay in some preemptive drugs for the next migraine. I stopped by Hussein’s DVD stand and found “King Kong”. I was continuing to browse when a lovely young woman came up to me and ask, “Do you speak English?” Thinking to myself that with her beautiful face and sun kissed complexion encased in a white hijab she was unlikely to be a Brit in search of a loo, but then again you can’t judge by appearances.
“Yes, what can I do to help you?”
She was joined by a young man who said, “We would like to ask you questions for a study we are doing. If you don’t mind?”
‘Well, how long would that take,” I asked not wanting to find myself spending the afternoon in a café’ (which can happen easily) because I have work to do.
“Only two minutes,” he said.
Are those two ‘Moroccan’ minutes I am thinking?
“Certainly then.” I turned to pay the ridiculously low price for my DVD. When I turned back it was to see the young woman pointing a CAMERA at me. I don’t even like still photographs, to be caught on film – voluntarily – for those who know me is extraordinary, but I had already said yes. I look on movie cameras, just as I would a pissed off cobra.
Maryam and Driss are graduate students making a documentary film about the interactions of culture worldwide and how that is impacting life on both sides of the line. “How did you see Morocco after 9/11?”
“Exactly the same of course. Morocco had nothing to do with that incident,” I said.
“Do you think Moroccan women are oppressed?”
After a chuckle I said, "The Moroccan women I have met are very much in charge of their lives. Do there need to be legal changes made? Is there legal oppression? Certainly there is and just as they had to change in Europe and America changes need to be made here. Fatima Zora and Maryam, our friends in Fez, are two young women who have started their own business. I also realize this is a different culture, and what seems as important as breathing to me may not be of the same signifigance to a Moroccan woman. I have read of many organizations of women, for women, to improve the laws.
“We noticed you are wearing the djellaba. Can you tell us why?”
“Having spent part of my youth in India, and points north, I like to be sensitive to the culture of others, and I like to show my respect for that culture. In addition I find the djellaba a beautiful garment and suited to the weather, just as the salwar kameez is suited to India. Both garments work with the weather. I don't wear the djellaba in Marrakesh however.”
Inquiring looks
"Because I noticed it was not well received. I think it is because there are so very many tourists in Marrakesh that it is seen more as a costume than a measure of respect so I wear my western clothes there."
The two very handsome and engaging youngsters took my card, as they want to read my blog to see what I have to say about living in Morocco. Yes, I will go anywhere to recruit new readers!
There is no lapse of time between complaining of something broken, or something needed and the solution from our landlord Abdul. The sink upstairs was leaking last night, bada boom he is here with the repairman not thirty minutes after we call, and in addition fixes the stuck lock on my bedroom door and the loose piece of cedar framing. As we are watching the plumber he ask me if I would like him to give the interior of the place a coat of paint next we are out of town for a day? What do you say to that? Oh my giddy aunt.
When Q returned from her trip to Fez she was shocked to find that not only had everyone (the orange juice man, the hanut man, the sandwich shop men, the ladies next door) noticed that she was gone, but she was now required to give testimony to her adventures.
Benevolent Selfishness works, the following is a post from: http://diglossie.controlccontrolv.com/index.html
“convergences
09 May, 2007
I believe in the world
Jonny Z died, and Jonny Z was good. Just: good; rare; valuable. I am baffled & far away; I want to do good deeds & dedicate them to him, I want Marrakech to be a different place than it was last week.
Today in the grand taxi, I paid for everyone's ride -- 24dh, a tiny present to the world, from Jonny Z via me. It took some explaining. Everyone was generally bemused, and then they started talking about me, in front of me. (this happens all the time.) "She works in this women's association," a guy in a leather jacket explained to the women in the front seat. (no clue who this guy is. o morocco.) Everyone started chattering about the association, or women's associations in general; I tried to pay attention, and then my head started to hurt so I looked out the window.
When we got to Sidi Youssef, one of the front seat women tugged on my sleeve -- she said she was interested in the association's activities, she wanted to come with me to check it out. She asked Halima polite, general questions, but Halima can always tell: she brought a glass of water, and closed the door.
I sat in the room while they talked for an hour. She started calm, until she rolled up her sleeve and showed us her bruises. She took off her hijab and sobbed into it, covering her mouth. I understand 2% of what she says, but I can tell she's tough. I have a little kid's faith in Halima: she will fix this, she has powers. They stood in the doorway, saying goodbye for a long time, holding hands. Halima came back inside, tight-mouthed, and made some calls.
There was probably no better place in the world for this woman to come today.
I feel better “
This is from a friend of Q, a fellow Fulbright Scholar who is in Marrakech at present. Isn’t that brilliant?!
Q brought our new rugs from Fez! They are gorgeous and the fit is perfect. I took some photographs and I will post them tonight.
A cool and continuous strong breeze has made its way through all of Rabat today sweeping out the heat and humidity of yesterday. Delicious.
I spent yesterday caring for Stinky as Q had gone to Fez for work, and to help Caroline prepare for exit to the U.S. I will miss Caroline and Neal, as they are truly adorable. Two very bright, involved, compassionate people who are just right for each other. I am sure Q and A (he he) will stay in touch as they got on well in that couples genre.
Stinky, hereafter to be known as M.C. Solaar (MC for Moroccan cat, and Solar after the French rapper), had a great day. After a shaky start and two visits to the vet, hand feeding, bottles, and antibiotics – he was running, playing, jumping, eating, and hitting the litter box every time (huzzah) with formed stool (as opposed to his former state of diarrhea, hence his nickname). Q’s intensive care of him has paid off in spades. As Q said, "It is hard to get more resilient than African feral cat stock."
The afternoon found me in Blog World. I found some excellent advice on http://theurbanmuse.blogspot.com/ on how to network in cyber world. I am hoping that my blog will work as a website to showcase my writing. I am fairly certain I shan’t meet a literary agent on the streets of Morocco, so I have to look in cyber world – easier on the feet as well.
Continuing with my premises that if you want adventure go out the front door.. I went to the Medina to get some cookies for Q who is feeling a bit tired from the back and forth trips of late, and to the apothecary to lay in some preemptive drugs for the next migraine. I stopped by Hussein’s DVD stand and found “King Kong”. I was continuing to browse when a lovely young woman came up to me and ask, “Do you speak English?” Thinking to myself that with her beautiful face and sun kissed complexion encased in a white hijab she was unlikely to be a Brit in search of a loo, but then again you can’t judge by appearances.
“Yes, what can I do to help you?”
She was joined by a young man who said, “We would like to ask you questions for a study we are doing. If you don’t mind?”
‘Well, how long would that take,” I asked not wanting to find myself spending the afternoon in a café’ (which can happen easily) because I have work to do.
“Only two minutes,” he said.
Are those two ‘Moroccan’ minutes I am thinking?
“Certainly then.” I turned to pay the ridiculously low price for my DVD. When I turned back it was to see the young woman pointing a CAMERA at me. I don’t even like still photographs, to be caught on film – voluntarily – for those who know me is extraordinary, but I had already said yes. I look on movie cameras, just as I would a pissed off cobra.
Maryam and Driss are graduate students making a documentary film about the interactions of culture worldwide and how that is impacting life on both sides of the line. “How did you see Morocco after 9/11?”
“Exactly the same of course. Morocco had nothing to do with that incident,” I said.
“Do you think Moroccan women are oppressed?”
After a chuckle I said, "The Moroccan women I have met are very much in charge of their lives. Do there need to be legal changes made? Is there legal oppression? Certainly there is and just as they had to change in Europe and America changes need to be made here. Fatima Zora and Maryam, our friends in Fez, are two young women who have started their own business. I also realize this is a different culture, and what seems as important as breathing to me may not be of the same signifigance to a Moroccan woman. I have read of many organizations of women, for women, to improve the laws.
“We noticed you are wearing the djellaba. Can you tell us why?”
“Having spent part of my youth in India, and points north, I like to be sensitive to the culture of others, and I like to show my respect for that culture. In addition I find the djellaba a beautiful garment and suited to the weather, just as the salwar kameez is suited to India. Both garments work with the weather. I don't wear the djellaba in Marrakesh however.”
Inquiring looks
"Because I noticed it was not well received. I think it is because there are so very many tourists in Marrakesh that it is seen more as a costume than a measure of respect so I wear my western clothes there."
The two very handsome and engaging youngsters took my card, as they want to read my blog to see what I have to say about living in Morocco. Yes, I will go anywhere to recruit new readers!
There is no lapse of time between complaining of something broken, or something needed and the solution from our landlord Abdul. The sink upstairs was leaking last night, bada boom he is here with the repairman not thirty minutes after we call, and in addition fixes the stuck lock on my bedroom door and the loose piece of cedar framing. As we are watching the plumber he ask me if I would like him to give the interior of the place a coat of paint next we are out of town for a day? What do you say to that? Oh my giddy aunt.
When Q returned from her trip to Fez she was shocked to find that not only had everyone (the orange juice man, the hanut man, the sandwich shop men, the ladies next door) noticed that she was gone, but she was now required to give testimony to her adventures.
Benevolent Selfishness works, the following is a post from: http://diglossie.controlccontrolv.com/index.html
“convergences
09 May, 2007
I believe in the world
Jonny Z died, and Jonny Z was good. Just: good; rare; valuable. I am baffled & far away; I want to do good deeds & dedicate them to him, I want Marrakech to be a different place than it was last week.
Today in the grand taxi, I paid for everyone's ride -- 24dh, a tiny present to the world, from Jonny Z via me. It took some explaining. Everyone was generally bemused, and then they started talking about me, in front of me. (this happens all the time.) "She works in this women's association," a guy in a leather jacket explained to the women in the front seat. (no clue who this guy is. o morocco.) Everyone started chattering about the association, or women's associations in general; I tried to pay attention, and then my head started to hurt so I looked out the window.
When we got to Sidi Youssef, one of the front seat women tugged on my sleeve -- she said she was interested in the association's activities, she wanted to come with me to check it out. She asked Halima polite, general questions, but Halima can always tell: she brought a glass of water, and closed the door.
I sat in the room while they talked for an hour. She started calm, until she rolled up her sleeve and showed us her bruises. She took off her hijab and sobbed into it, covering her mouth. I understand 2% of what she says, but I can tell she's tough. I have a little kid's faith in Halima: she will fix this, she has powers. They stood in the doorway, saying goodbye for a long time, holding hands. Halima came back inside, tight-mouthed, and made some calls.
There was probably no better place in the world for this woman to come today.
I feel better “
This is from a friend of Q, a fellow Fulbright Scholar who is in Marrakech at present. Isn’t that brilliant?!
Q brought our new rugs from Fez! They are gorgeous and the fit is perfect. I took some photographs and I will post them tonight.
A cool and continuous strong breeze has made its way through all of Rabat today sweeping out the heat and humidity of yesterday. Delicious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)