October 14th, 2018, nearly midnight.

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Here I sit on the rooftop, finally having a moment of solitude. These moments are scarce when we visit Morocco. Families are always together. Always. They eat, nap, drink tea, watch TV, and socialize all day in the living room. Long, rectangular living rooms with benches running continuously along the walls, and tables in the centre where meals are eaten communally from tagines with bare hands. Always the right hand and no finger licking until you are finished. These benches are adorned with abundant decorative pillows to be used for ones lounging pleasure. Sit, kneel or lay down for a nap if you please. The choice is yours when it comes to how you’d like to pass your time in the living room: take part in the conversation, stare at the TV, stare into space, read a book, or knit a sweater. As long as Moroccans are together, they are happy.

After hanging my wet laundry on the line, which is flapping on either side of me at the moment, I grabbed a chair from inside. The chair feels a bit rickety, but hey, the air is so fresh and the stars so bright, I’ll risk the possibility of it collapsing in on itself beneath me.

It hadn’t rained in ages before we came here, and you’re welcome Benslimane, today it rained all day. To repeat the ol’ cliche, I think we brought it with us from Vancouver. Oh well, rain is healthy for the parched earth and the rain has since moved on. It is now a very clear evening. Apparently Benslimane has the cleanest air in all of Morocco. Even the king comes here because, as he claims, it is good for one’s health. Hassan’s hometown boasts forests, fresh air and clean water that can actually be drank from the tap without fear of ingesting dysentery-inducing protozoans. All of the food we eat here comes from the countryside surrounding this safe, small town, and is what us “progressive”, western nations call “organic”. Fresh, unpasteurized butter; vegetables that grow all year round; orange blossom honey that has the slight aftertaste and mildly spicy prickle of pepper - spoonfuls of which are used medicinally to cure a sore throat; delicious olive oil that I want to drink directly from the bottle; and French baguettes from the market or whole grain bread, made at home by women who dry and handpick through every grain of wheat themselves, tossing the defective bits to the side before taking it to the miller to have it ground into flour. Stews of different types, eaten with bread instead of utensils, and preceded by salad, are what a person eats here almost every day. Nutritious and hardy fare that really sticks to your gut.

At the moment, the sounds echoing around the neighbourhood are the typical ones, one would expect to hear at nighttime: barking dogs; cat fights (like southern Spain cats are EVERYWHERE and rats are few); crickets; the odd two-stroke engined scooter; and once in a while, rhythmic, North African music pumping from the stereos of young mens’ passing cars. Only one noise is a bit out of place: the cocka-doodle-doo of a rooster who is clearly confused about the time. Poor little guy. Good effort though.

Time for bed. On our way to the desert tomorrow.

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Comments

[linsoele]

Morocco sounds amazing
Enjoyed reading about Benslimane! Sounds lovely and the food sounds to die for! Enjoy the trip!