traveling shoes

I'm back in the Souss again after another journey to the north - during which, I'm sad to report, I somehow lost my scorpion-smashing Havaianas flip flops. It was a sad day...there is no joy in Mudville (the reference is actually appropriate right now - Morocco has been hit with tons of rain, which makes everything green and beautiful, but also makes for a lot of extra mud and, unfortunately, a number of deaths due to flooding and roof collapses).

I did, however, pick up some new books, including Skeletons on the Zahara by Dean King. It's the tale of a group of Connecticut merchants who are shipwrecked off the coast of the Sahara and captured by nomads. What follows is a tortuous journey north through the desert, the Anti Atlas, the Souss, and Essaouira, where they were finally ransomed. While I was reading it I was heading south towards the same landmarks (under considerably more comfortable conditions...). What was most fascinating was reading about the culture of desert Arabs and Berbers, and seeing how the harshness of the desert environment shaped many of the customs common to modern Moroccans. Hospitality, a point of pride and a sign of generosity here, was a matter of absolute necessity in the desert, where shared resources were necessary to everyone's survival.

The trip was the usual whirlwind that ensues whenever I leave the quiet pace of village life, and included a superbowl party at the Marine House in Rabat, a quirky Portuguese film about Christopher Columbus that left me more puzzled than anything else (film festivals are fun and all but really? A strange silent young woman dressed in 16th century Iberian garb and stiletto heeled boots carrying a large sword in the background of every other scene? I just don't get it), more than my share of five dirham medina sandwiches (they're sooooo good), at least three shwarma wraps (I lost count) and a lot of amazing lemon and ginger juices at Top Batido, my favorite Rabat eaterie.

Coming up: a regional SIDA (AIDS) awareness training, a women's empowerment conference, and a crazy transition period as the weavers I'm working with adjust to working on their own, without an instructor, for the first time. I have just over nine months left in Morocco, and I've never felt so busy. One of my stagemates had everyone write a response to the prompt "Before I leave..." My response:

Before I leave
I have to figure out exactly where the hell Azilal is
I have to read this stack of books
And learn how to write
About these wild and gorgeous mountains.