Chigaga

I returned home to the dune of Abdulah one night to find him out on the rug in the moonlight with a couple of prostitutes and his cousin. I joined the group as we ate nuts awkwardly until the date moonshine apeared. It was nice to finally see men and woman interacting for a change. As the night went on they all slowly got more and more drunk as we waited 4 hours for the Tarjine to cook. Abdulah became fairly sick from the alcahole and was not up for any hanky panky, though it was nice to see him nurtured with his head on the lap of the older woman. Jamel disapeared with one for a while. It now came clear to me why Abdulah had asked me to clean out the other room. He came back saying that he was not interested in the woman, had done nothing with her and she was free for me if I liked. Aside from my conservative stance on prostitution she was old enough to be my mother and seemed infintile in mentality. I said thank you she looks like a good woman but I am not interested either. I tried some friendly conversation with her, however I had allready used one of my 3 arabic questions for small talk by asking her name. The remaining 2, "How old are you" and "what is your job" seemed a little inapropriate considering her proffession. 

I awoke one morning to finally after 5 days waiting, see a group of old french men signing up for one of Abdullas excursions. I was able to go with them by "cut cut" 4x4 to the giant 300m dunes of Chigaga. After 2 hours bouncing around in the back, hitting my head on the ceiling with each bump, we reached the dunes and climbed to the top. I sat with one of the old men looking out as he pointed out all of the womanly bossums and belly buttons in the curves of the sand hills. In the evening I was able to return again to a dune camp with 2 younger english men who had come for 1 brief night of Hasheesh and rum atop of a moonlit Dune which is exactly what they did before retiring to the camel fur tent and heading back to civilization the next morning.

Today I met Abdulahs mother for friday cuscus, then took a village wander. I was invited over to a small group of girls and sat down for a chat unsure weather I was commiting a social crime. 30 min later the group had swelled to a large female crowed around me, I had 2 rings on my finger, one bracelet and 3 telephone numbers. The men here like their woman fat. Aparently this is because they create a bigger shaddow for the taking shelter from the hot sun. Their were a few nice looking thin ones in the crowed but conversation was difficult with the language barrier. I had better head back to Abdulah now and distract him from the moonshine bottle.

The end of the line, Sun, Sand and Date Moonshine

My ride to Mhamed was in a large slow truck with two men who downed 3 beers in space of one hour while driving and gayly threw handfulls of rubbish out the window into the magnificent rocky desert landscape. They were stopped by the police at one stage and I sat on the roadside for 30 min unsure wheather my drivers were off to jail. They let us go and I made it to Zagora where a desert guide quickly snatched me up and threw me with my monstrouse pack onto his moped. I held on tight as we zoomed through water flooded backstreets from a nights heavy rain. I eventually escaped his tour guide office at a brisk pace and hitched with a 21 year old construction worker to his home in Tigounite where I met all of his 7 brothers and many village friends who were suprisingly interlectual and studdied english in Casablanca. I played them all my guitar then spent the night in his concrete shell, windowless house between two floor rugs. In the morning I caught a tractor to the final village at the end of the road and the frounteir of the desert 40km from the Algerian border.I met Abdulahwahed, a slothenly topless man living behind his resteraunt of date palm poles and mud on a small sand dune just out of town. He said I could stay with him in his large house and help to build a new mud brick extension to his resteraunt, though I dont know why as I now see that it only seems to see one wayward tourist every 3 days and is hardley struggeling to accomodate them. We shook on the deal and I told him that I would see him tomorrow after a night and day of much needed solitude in the desert. It seems imposible to be alone as the locals are so hospitable. I trecked a few hours with my compas through the vast date palm forest and out into the sand dunes where I pitched my tent in peace. After a day contemplating in the shade of a palm and eating many wild dates, I followed yesterdays footplints back to Abdulahs little sand dune and told him I was ready for work. "Today" he said, "you make your room", I have big house just for you". I followed him 200m to the ruins of a large old mud brick hotel complex. Many of the walls had follen in and mud bricks lay strewn about. We walked through a sandy wasteland courtyard to a wall of doors. We push open each door and I peer inside to a room which resembles and old sty full of rubbish, a queen sized matress and the floor10cm thick with sand. Loose wired hung down from the log and bamboo ceiling and one tiney window of blue and yellow glass sent a sickly sepia streem of light across the wall enforcing the ambiance of dormant infection which he was clearly striving for. I set to work imediatly by removong all of the rubbish and furniture, then with the aid of halfe a rusty shuvel, the contents of the Shara which had found their way in. Benieth the sand I uncovered a collection on old rugs. I took them into the blazing sun and began a frenzy of beating until the dust fell away to reveal bright colours of red, yellow and green. 3 hours later my room looked beautifull with a semi clean bed, a sofa, table and exsquizite rug lined floor. The evening was spent on Abdulahs floor eating turkey tarjine, watching football an a small TV screen and him smoking hasheesh. The next day my job was to collect all of the wayward bricks from the crumbling hotel and put the, in piles so a truck could take them to his sand hill. He is a tranqueil man who does not seem to want much, but is content with his rug floor, TV, the odd tourist, a steady supply if hasheesh, the ocasional prostitute and his home drew of fermented date moonshine. These men seem content at the fact that their impoverished livlihood requires the, to do pretty much nothing, yet perhaps a hint of depression can sometimes be glimpsed through the shroud of hasheesh smoke. We spent the next night up late talking while I helped finish the last few drops of the days distiled date ethanol. He says he drinks because it changes his mind and is the only thing he has the power to change. I told him that their were other ways to change his mind such as reading books or talking to new people. He seemed rreceptive to the Idea. The next day I cleaned out another old hotel room, perhaps for a friend to stay, then played my travel guitar while him and his friends wailed away passionately in their aribic scales. He gave me 20Dh and sent me off into the village for cigarets and internet where I write to you now. He is happy for me to stay forever it seems and does not expect much work, though I like to stay motovated and only return periodically to dabble in the lethargy of  his sedated sand dune. And thats seDATED of the fermented kinf of course.

Shasa The White Berber

I hugged goodbye to all of my gardener men and my Moroccan wife Hanan the cook who questioned me "mariage" the night before then had a love heart tatooed on my arm. I was informed later that this was an official mariage symbol. I also shook hands goodbye to Cris and Miriam. It is amazing how though I had no english conversation with the gardeners, I had established a much more emotional conetction with them. Perhaps my words only impeede my relationships. We played a lot of shirades and had many jokes together. One boy while we were repairing a wall, disapeared for halfe and hour to return with an arm full of empty bottles saying wiskey and pointing at the house of missure Cris. Some folks are very religiouse and morolistic while others are happy to bend the rules and exersize self indulgence. Finally I hugged goodbye to Thomas my fellow Ben Stiller lookalike woofer friend who arrive halfe way through and hitched away from Peacock Pavilions/panik in Paradice. My destination Ait Benhadoo, an 11th centuary Kasbar village near Ourzorzate where many fims have been shot such as Gladiator and Lawrence of Arabia. The journey took me over the mountains of ston villages to the yellow semi diesert plains with indulatinbg hills and gorges. Ait Benhadoo is like a giand sand castle, or rather mud castle with decorative triangular reliefs. I explored the old town then headed over the hill into the desert where I found a secluded oasis to pitch my tent. As darkness approached I decided to take a walk into the village. I met a man outside his shop of old bereber jewlery, doors, rugs etc. He was dressed in his blue jalaba robe with a grat yellow turbin and spoke resonably good english. When I told him I had pitched my tent in the desert he offered me a spot on his shop floor for the night/ the month. We ventured back into the dark desert to pack up my tent then returned home where a collection of rugs was laid down for our beds. We spent the night listening to Berber Sahara CDs while he smoked a copiouse amount of hasheech until I told him that his eyes were as red as the rugs we lay on. He served us rice with sour milk which he downed literally in weed induced 10 second Swallow followed by another large bowel then fell dead asleep. The next day in exchange for his hospitality, I was to be his hustler to any english speaking tourists. It was very interesting to land on the other side of the salesman/tourist relationship and plunge from being the rude ignoring tourist with the blinkers up to the hounding pushy shop keeper. So I have now had my soal nibbled from both ends. I was not too pushy but simply told people that I was histeling them and would greatly appreciate it if they would follow me to my friend Ahameds shop so that I may forfull my end of the bargain. Imanaged to get a nice old english couple to buy a rug. Unexpectantly they then envited me to lunch and Ahamed gave a a 50Dh commission on my return. I tried to husttle a new Zealand couple from Nelson who happened to be related to my school friiend Laura Roberts. I wrote a letter to her for them to give her when they would meet her in 5 days time and put it in a little leather pouch I had made in Larache. Later that night I remembered that my friends name was actually Emma Roberts. I have no Idea who recieved my warm sentimental letter and handmade gift in 5 days time but I hope she enjoyed it. Ahamed was not huge on conversation but plodded through his daily rituals of laying out the carpets, making sugar tea, listening to music, talking to his passing village friends, husteling tourists and smoking hasheesh. His life seemed to consist of little more. He had no wife but often returned to see hid family in Mezouga. When I asked if he liked sport, his response was that he played smoking. I stayed a total of three night with Ahamen then hitched on towards the real desert near Mhamid.

Shasa The mountain Rug Hunter

I was taken into the Atlas Mountains for 2 days with Khalid the Guest House Driver/ admin man. Our goal was to hunt out antique carpet for cris to sell over the internet. We drove into secluded mud villgages where Khalid would speak to an old woman who would then disapear into her hut and return with an armfull of rugs to spread out onto the dusty earth. Some were colourfull with squares of bunched fabric, others with geometric patterns and some covered with jingly sequence. I think these are the wedding blankets and I supose are intended to make music on the wedding night. Khalid would insnspect them to determine if they were at lest 50 years old. He would then speak to the gathering crowed of local woman, often pointing at me which resulted in a great deal of laughter and me wondering whether I had just been sold to a mountain woman for an old rug. I guess I was not a worthy price as I was allowed to come back home to Marakech with him the next day.