The last few days have been phenomenal. Crossing the mountains has been entering a whole different world that is both familiar and totally foreign. The people on the street are a mix, some with that light skinned Arab look and others with the brown skin of the people of the Sahara and Sub-Saharan areas of Africa. I would have never guessed I look Moroccan, but I do...that is when I don't speak. We left Ouarzazate for another long bus ride towards Erfoud stopping in Toudhra.
Here things became unreal. I saw my first real Oasis. Now I understand why the word literally means mini-Eden. After miles of mountains and dry red sand with only Goat trees and scrub brush suddenly we whipped around a bend and there was this lush green area filled with date palms and houses. It looked painted on, like some Hollywood backdrop. We stopped for a moment to take pictures, but pictures don't quite capture the miracle of it.
From there we traveled on into the Toudhra gorges which are like mini-grand canyons, so beautiful, down into the narrowest point in the valley where we stopped and had lunch at the Hotel Yasmina. Just outside the Yasmina was a shallow stream that seemed to be the happening spot on a hot day. There were people gathered from all over to swim or to nap on the rocks or on carpets they had brought. Though all of the adults seemed to be observing Ramadan, there were snacks set out for children. As I don't particularly appreciate people taking my picture if I don't know them, I chose not to take pictures of people I don't know, so if you've noticed all my pictures are of group members or friends. But there was quite a crowd. After lunch we cooled our feet in the water. I bought a red camel bone necklace from a man who called me Fatimah. I finally looked it up...it means Daughter of the Prophet.
Then we got back on the dreaded bus and drove and drove until we came to this hotel out in the middle of nowhere. Then the real fun began. There were five Land Rovers waiting for us. We grabbed our backpacks (left the rest of the luggage behind) and drove out into the desert. And when I say we drove out into the desert I mean we drove for a while on a road and then the road ended and we literally went off-roading over dirt and hills, bumping all the way until we reached this outpost miles from anywhere where there was a restaurant, a bathroom, a whole bunch of camels and an enclave of carpeted tents. Other than that there were just dunes and dunes of soft reddish brown sand stretched out towards the horizon.
First we dropped our stuff off at the tents which were arranged around an open air courtyard covered in colorful woven rugs laid end to end. Our little tent hotel rooms (they even had numbers posted on the outside) came complete with small pallats with blankets and sheets. Most of us just dragged them into the center of the courtyard and slept under the stars. Across from the rooms was an enclave with tables where we had dinner, but first we went to go meet the camels. For those of you who have never been on a camel, you should know two things: camels are hella tall and riding a camel is nothing like riding a horse.
Camels are cantankerous, noisy, expressive animals with long eye lashes and big bulgy human looking eyes. They remind me of a less friendly version of a llama and they come in a variety of different colors. I saw white camels and black camels and tan camels and kind of gray looking camels and they all looked very annoyed, like we were interrupting something very important by asking them to take us on a ride. Kathy and I were first in line to get on. (Barbara and Joel cracked another joke about me being on the Amazing Race) The camels had been saddled and were sitting on the ground with their legs curled under them for easy mounting, so I didn't really realize how tall my camel was until I was on it and Mohamed (our guide) told it to stand up. Then it started walking slowly in a very nonrhythmic way that made me feel seasick. I tried to focus on the beauty. The dunes are gorgeous, softly curved hills of sand...and quiet. When you live in a city you get used to everyday sounds...traffic, street lights, all of that, but in the desert there was nothing, but actual silence. Even the camel's footfalls didn't seem to really make much noise.
We walked until we couldn't see the tents anymore and then it was just sand and sky and sun. Then for no apparent reason, my camel let out a god awful groan and refused to go any further. Mohamed didn't seem too disturbed. He just yelled something in Arabic to which the camel groaned again and walked about 3 more steps before rolling his big eyes as if to say "this is the place". Then Mohamed gave the command for him to sit and I (gratefully) dismounted. Mohamed rolled out a rug big enough for 3 and told us we could sit down and take off our shoes, which we did. Then we walked a bit through the sand which felt soft and warm before returning to the rug where Mohamed gave us the hard sell on a desert souvenir. Then we got back on the camels and rode back to the tents where a huge meal with many course awaited us. But first Rev Michael summoned us for a prayer circle where we gave thanks for the blessings of the day then spoke our prayers for Penda on her 55th birthday (she looks like she's maybe at the beginning of her 40s) and Joel and Barbara on their 40th wedding anniversary.
Then we had dinner. There was barley soup, fresh dates with lemon, assorted olives, bread, chicken kebabs, saffron rice studded with green peas, and lamb couscous and veggies followed by fruit, Moroccan mint tea and lemon cookies. Yum. We were stuffed.
Just as our servers were bringing out the fruit, the Sufi mystics arrived in the form of some beautiful dark skinned gentleman all dressed in white from their turbans to their pointy shoes. Hamid introduced them as the Gnaoua (both their musical group and their people). Apparently the Gnaoua have been hanging out in the desert for centuries and the music they sing has been passed down from generation to generation...love songs to God, healing songs designed to open every chakra. The Gnaoua had a seat on the rugs and arranged themselves in a line. There was a drummer with the Moroccan version of a jun jun, a barrel drum with skin on both ends, played with a stick. Then there were several men who had large metal castanets. And the guy in the middle played a cross between a guitar and a mandolin...something clearly homemade with a twangy sound. Hamid encouraged us to ground ourselves in it, to breath deeply and do whatever the music moved us to do. He explained that through dancing or singing or even simply swaying we could receive a healing. As the music began, I felt my third eye open right up. It was hypnotic and repetitive, entrancing, and beautiful. I didn't want it to end. I closed my eyes and danced and danced. Some of the Gnaoua got up and danced too. Their dance was subtle, remniscent of the Native American dances I've seen that are kind of like choreographed walking, though then they did a little jumping all while playing the castanets and singing.
Hamid says some of the songs they were singing came from as far back in time as the 14th century...preserved by families of griots. When the musicians took a short break, Rickie started to sing and we all joined in. We sang a few songs for them, then they sang for us. Turns out they each speak several languages so we were able to talk to them. They also have 2 cds out.
It's such a blending of lifetimes, century old music made by people who literally live out in the desert, mixed with modern technology. They had only brought 2 copies with them, so at one point a few people left and when they returned they sold a lot of music and autographed every copy...it's the only thing I didn't barter or try to bargain for.
I must confess, despite the obvious reservations any feminist would have, I find myself once again really taken by the beauty of Islam. There is something so sacred about being in Morocco during Ramadan on a trip led by guides who fast and pray not only during the five mandated times a day, but also with us and for us as a part of our group. Hamid and Jaouad especially have been amazing ambassadors of Islam, explaining in detail why they fast and what it means to be sufi, a part of the most radical branch of Islam, solely concerned with finding and walking the path to God. Whenever Hamid talks about Islam, I am reminded of Bishop Shelby Spong who once described his role in the Episcopal Church as being the catalyst for shifting. He never wanted to be the center, he was happy to always be on the furthest boundaries ever expanding the concepts of what it means to be Christian. There in the desert with the Gnaoua as my guide I felt myself really internalize the truth of one deity...call it God, Allah, El Huc, Yahweh, Jehovah, Universe, Spirit, Creator, call it what you will, go to it as you will, but there is only one source that runs through us all...I felt a greater understanding of unity than I have ever experienced in my life.
We danced until 3 am, then said goodbye to Rev Michael and Rickie who had to make the 8 hour drive back to Casablanca to fly back to LA for church at Agape on Choir Sunday. Then we pulled our pallets out into the rug courtyard and slept beneath the quiet of the desert stars...for an hour. Then it was up again to watch the sunrise over the dunes. With Hamid leading the way a handful of us hiked out a ways into the desert, then settled in for morning mediation. I let the stillness of pre-dawn wash over me. Somewhere very faintly we could hear roosters crowing and the call to prayer, but for the life of me, despite being able to see for miles in every direction, I couldn't see where it was coming from. Then it was just silent and beautiful except for the clicking of this guy's camera taking pictures and trying to video tape anything. I felt myself getting pissed. I wanted to take him aside and just tell him, you can video tape every second and it still won't matter. There are some things that don't translate. Just like I can write everything down and tell you as best I can how I felt or what I thought, but at the end of the day there are no words, no pictures, nothing that won't fade or break or betray the truth of the moment except God. As the Ghanaians would say gye nyame (everything in life is temporary, except God).
I was sorry to have to go, but for the first time in several days I actually felt awake and renewed despite the perpetual sleeplessness.
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