Kelaa to Marrakech to Ouarzazate to Agdz


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Africa » Morocco » Souss-Massa-Draâ » Agdz
April 2nd 2006
Published: April 28th 2006
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Tishka farmsTishka farmsTishka farms

The hills are barren, but just a little irrigation completely changes the land here.
Considering I haven’t yet been here a year and I spend the vast majority of my time working at my site, I have managed to travel quite a bit already. This trip up and over the Tishka Pass was just as beautiful as the first time and much more comfortable since I managed to keep the seat next to me empty the whole way. The snow has almost entirely melted off the mountains along the pass and only dirty patches cling to the bare peaks along the windy road. The trade off is an abundance of little waterfalls that drop over the rocky walls and crash through the boulders in the valleys below. Occasional small pockets of green signal cultivated miniature wheat fields and on the steep uphills when the bus slowed down enough for me to look closely at the dots of green I could usually spot the farmers’ square little home, camouflaged by the surrounding rocks and mud it was made of.

Over the Atlas and into Ouarzazate, I stopped long enough to have lunch with the volunteers who live there. Michael and Nada were in my training group in Sefrou, but this was the first time I
The PalmerieThe PalmerieThe Palmerie

At dusk the half moon shining over the palm reminded me how incredible it is that I get to live here.
had seen them since swearing in back in November. It was also the first time I saw their beautiful home decorated with a wall of family photos and a real Moroccan style living room with brocade couches lining the walls. I was treated to a huge meal of Moroccan-made Korean food, complete with kim chee. Nada and Michael were entertaining a member of their host family and a Korean volunteer who works in Oz and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Stuffed, content and happy to have seen my friends, I went back to the bus station for my third and last bus of the day. When I arrived in Agdz, home to two other volunteers, it wasn’t yet dark. Peace Corps volunteers aren’t allowed to travel at night, which complicates things in the winter and is yet another reason to count the additional minutes of lengthening days in the summer months. Waiting for Antoine to come fetch me from the town square/ bus stop I ignored the calls of the guys hanging out at the cafés and shops around the plaza. It wasn’t cruel harassment, but they were definitely curious. I ignored them mostly out of fatigue. After traveling all day I just didn’t have it in me to explain myself to strange men. They went through their usual array of languages, trying to pinpoint my origin, when one of them said “Vous êtes fachée avec les Berbers?” I unsuccessfully tried to stifle my laughter and they knew I understood. I responded in Arabic that I loved the Berbers, but that I was just tired and waiting for my friend to come show me how to get to his house.

Antione was going to show me around town a bit, but by the time we went back to this place and I dumped my stuff it was getting close to dusk. Hurrying to catch the sunset with his new camera, we set off to the palmerie and little reservoir at the edge of town. We met lots of people coming back from afternoon picnics along the shores and I got to meet several of his students and at least two members of his host family. We speculated as to what rumors would generate among the townsfolk about Antoine walking around with an American woman. I think unemployment breeds rumors faster than anything else.

Back at Antoine’s we watched Million Dollar Baby, which I had been wanting to see for months, since my Mom recommended it to me. I can see why she liked it so much. The irrigation ditch under Antoine’s windows was turned on that week, so I got to sleep listening to the sounds of water flowing by for the first time since I left Boise. I loved Agdz, which is a beautiful little oasis in the desert though it is dependent on Ouarzazate’s leftovers to flow down the valley. I am used to water rights being highly controversial in Idaho, but not as life-and-death as they are out here. The provincial capital of Ouarzazate has the power to close off the dams and keep all the water for themselves, depriving all those farther out into the Sahara. I don’t know much about how water rights work here: yet another topic to go on my long list of things to learn about Morocco.


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