Fes: Home of Jaouad and the Medina

I did not want to leave the desert, but all good things...you know the rest. So we got back in what Mama B described as our motorized camels and reunited with the bus. I have never been less excited to get on a bus before...but I did and though I'm not the type to get motion sick, the ride to Fes sent my stomach to a not so happy place. It took forever for us to get there. And when we did we were instructed to have dinner at the hotel then get back on the bus to see the city by night. I couldn't do it. Neither could my roomate. Instead we repacked for the millionth time, took long hot showers and watched B movies on TV. We would have one more day and night in Morocco before being on our way...so it seemed like a waste, but after such a gruelling pace, we both needed the rest.

The next morning I was still feeling ill, but I dragged myself out of bed anyway, determined to see the Medina. Fes is sometimes called the second Jerusalem because it has more mosques / religious buildings per capita than almost any other place in the world. Several people woke up and early and went with Hamid to watch the sunrise over the city, but I just didn't have it in me. I'm still in awe of our guides who have done ever thing we've done only with no food or water and even less sleep because they wake up before sunrise to eat before Ramadan begins anew.

Our first stop was to a place where tiles and pottery were made. There we met artisans, and saw the process from melting bricks into clay, to shaping objects on a wheel then sticking them in a kiln that burns so hot that even once you remove the pottery and set it aside for a day, it's still warm. Apparently olive pits are the secret to achieving such a hot fire. Then we watched the artist paint various designs, many of which have been passed on from generation to generation through whole lineages. The pottery was gorgeous. There were plate and cups and tiled fountains and tables that they were happy to ship for us, but I didn't buy a thing. After a while I just went to sit back on the dreaded bus because I still felt blah.

Once that portion of shopping was complete we made our way to the Medina which is a maze of narrow alleyways that weave their way into the center of the city. I've never seen anything quite like it. It quickly became clear to me why Jauoad and Hamid were so insistent upon us all staying together. After two turns I felt lost. Jaouad by comparison was very at home, smiling and waving to friends he passed, gesturing to places he spent his youth.

"This is the school where I first started studying the Koran at age 6," he said pointing up at this building with a bridge that cut over the alley way. We made our way single file though the narrow walk ways passing little shops with clothing, jewelry, spices, nut candies, fruit...anything and everything. But we didn't have time to shop at the moment. This really annoyed some people in the group, (Hamid renamed the theme of our trip Eat, Pray, Shop) but we all managed to stay together.

The Medina is one of the only places where there are no motorized vehicles allowed. I was curious as to how Mama B was going to manage. She walks with a cane and not only were we moving really fast, but the Medina isn't flat. There are steps and hills and twists and turns...of course our guides had already figured out a solution: they put her on a mule. Mama B is about the same age as my Grandma and I'm having a hard time picturing her on a mule roaming the streets of Fes, but she was committed. So we went through together, Mama B leading the way, stopping first at a place that used to be a mosque / university. There we marveled at the beautiful traditional architecture (the doorways and ceilings all over the country are especially gorgeous with the carved geometric designs each bearing the mark of the people or families of the area. Dr. Lissa led us in a prayer around the fountain.

From there we visited the rug store and had some lovely mint tea while a fleet of high pressure sales people sold some of the members of our group some very gorgeous (expensive) hand made rugs. This particular store is a coop of women weavers, though the sales people seemed to be all men. They laid out rug after rug explaining the differences in the weaves and the designs. Some were modern, some were traditional. Some took up to a month to make. They came in every color. Some were woven with symblos that came from Berber tattoos. I didn't buy a think, but I certainly enjoyed watching other people shop. Kathy got a gorgeous floor rug. It's safron with a design that looks like bowls and bowls of spices in every color lined up against one another.

Then it was time for lunch. Our guides took us to a lovely spot with an indoor courtyard where I had the best lentils I've had in my life...coupled with an ecclectic salad and some chicken with onions and rice...delicious. I could eat my way through Morocco with a smile. As I was finishing, Jaouad hand signaled to me that if I wanted to go to the Hammam he would take me. My friend DD had told me I couldn't leave Morocco without visiting a Hammam...a public bath...and being scrubbed with a kis (which is a loofa mit). So Kathy and I snuck away from the group. Jaouad led us down the alley to a small doorway where a very large light skinned woman with broken teeth greeted us in arabic. Jaouad negotiated the price and the length of time and left us to figure out the rest with a promise to return for us in an hour.

Inside up a few steps and to the left was a small room with some wooden benches and hooks to hang clothes on. The building itself looked like it was centuries old. The ceilings were high like a cathedral, and light came in from small windows from above. Of course my French is limited to ordering fish or chicken and my Arabic is even worse so I had no way of really asking questions, but somehow through a lot of gestures Kathy and I figured out that we were supposed to strip down to our panties. So we did and so (to my surprise) did the large lady. We followed her into the next room which was remniscent of a Japanese onsen (bath) except there was only one small pool and no one was in it. Instead there were two Asian women laying on the floor with a Moroccan woman pouring water on them and scrubbing them. In my head I had envisioned something simmilar to Olympus Spa...the one in Tacoma not in Lynnwood. While the Lynnwood version is all swanky and high end the Tacoma one is more no frills, however even in Tacoma they have massage tables. Still, when in Morocco...

So I asked to used the restroom which was little more than a squat toilet behind a wooden gate in the corner. There I met many large cockroaches which definitely gave me a sense of exactly how old the Medina and the building really were...old, old. I tried not to think about it, but it did kind of gross me out. Meanwhile Kathy was in bliss. When I came back she was seated on the floor grinning away. The Fat lady (I feel weird about calling her that, but I never could figure out her name) motioned for me to sit, so I sat and then she dumped a bucket of water on me and handed me a sticky handful of amber colored soap and motioned for me to soap up...which I did. Kathy followed suit. Then the lady grabbed my arm and started to scrub me. I don't think anyone has bathed me (other than me) since I was little kid, so it was a little awkward at first, especially since she was mostly naked too, but it did feel good to get some of the desert off me. The lady scrubbed and scrubbed me, panting the whole time and talking to me in incomprehensible streams of Arabic. After a while she gave up the chatter, but she continued to pant as if she were running a marathon. Afterwards she dumped more water on me, some hot some cold. She had this whole system of various buckets. The same process was repeated for Kathy. While I waited I sat crosslegged beneath a skylight and breathed in the steamy heat of the room. At one point I breathed out a long OM, just to hear it echo off the walls. The lady though this was very funny and laughed for a long time.

Then she motioned for Kathy to lay down and proceeded to give her a full on massage. I kind of thought the scrub was the main event, but I was wrong. After Kathy thoroughly, and very vocally, enjoyed her massage I layed down (directly on the tile) and got one too. And then it was time for more soaping and scrubbing and having buckets of water dumped on me. Though it was strange, it was really cool to be in a place where so many women over the years must have come to refresh. And it was effective. After drying off on a robe (neither of us had towels) we got dressed and Jaouad's friend Halid came to pick us up and take us to rejoin to group. I did feel refreshed. In fact I felt better than I had since that terrible bus ride.

We rejoined the group at the tannery. Everyone was cranky and annoyed. There was a very strong smell, so people were holding verbena to their face and begging to leave. I had no intention of buying any leather goods. My mission was to get some earrings for my friends and maybe a lightweight tunic, but instead I spotted a gorgeous turquois bag...I knew I was a goner then. My own personal salesman was a young Moroccan man name Mauhsin. He was a cheeky, shameless flirt, who tried to overcharge me, but did eventually come down to a reasonable price.

"I like you," he told me.
"You like people who spend money," I told him.
"Let's go upstairs, there's some clothes I want to show you."
"Alright but I'm not buying another thing. I'm a teacher and we don't make much money."
"I really do like you, and you've got money, I can tell," he grinned.

I followed him past the walls filled with gorgeous handmade leather purses in every color from saffron to fuscia to lavender, up a narrow staircase to a whole other room filled with leather coats and dresses all of which said "I'm very expensive...buy me, buy me."

"You should try something on. Trying is free," Mauhsin encouraged me. So I did, thinking I don't have any money so I can't possibly spend any money. I tried on a short red leather coat which was gorgeous and then a long black leather coat. As I was sliding this on, Kathy came up the stairs and caught her breath...and exclaimed "Oh yes. That is so you."

Mauhsin was all over it.

"This doesn't even fit me right," I told him. It was a little tight in the bust to which he replied.

"This is nothing. I'll fix it for you. I'll take your measurements. Moroccan men love women like you," he said eyeing my boobs.

"Go eat," I told him. "You're breaking Ramadan." (Hamid says another part of Ramadan is fasting from sex and sexual thoughts so if you're fantasizing about a woman you might as well eat).

Mauhsin just laughed. "I'm only breaking a little. I am a man after all. You need this coat. Do you want it in red."

And then he worked on me for the next hour trying to get me to pay $600...I payed $200 (though he told me to tell everyone else I paid $300)...they take visa. And true to his word the coat fits me like a glove...a very soft Moroccan red leather glove. He dropped it off around 10:00pm ish at my hotel at which point Tiffany decided she wanted to buy some leather bags, so back to the Medina we went where she bought 4 gorgeous bags and set up a contact for her newest business, a Moroccan leather import store...coming soon to NYC.

Oasis, the River, the Desert Complete with Camels

A Night in the Desert

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.

Marrakech, The Kasbah, The Road to Ouarzazate

Leaving Ghana was hard on multiple levels. I said goodbye to Benjamin (again...always saying goodbye) and then I hopped on the bus to have a late dinner with Tetteh and the Ethereans before heading to the airport for our 3am flight. Well apparently the traffic in Accra was going to make us late for dinner so suddenly a motorcade appeared complete with motorcycle cops with flashing lights. We made it across town in less than a half an hour because everyone on the roads just pulled off to the side. I had it in my head that we would be dining at the church, but as it turned out there was some wealthy Etherean who donated the use of their luxurious mansion, so had a nice outdoor dinner with lots of sweet wine, dance music, and touchy feeling church goers trying to hug and welcome me. Why do people always want to hug me when I'm cranky? Tetteh is especially guilty of this. He made sure to touch me every time he saw me. Maybe he was trying to heal me. I don't know, but I didn't like it and I didn't ask for it, so as the evening progressed every time I saw him coming my way I changed course.

By around midnight the days of minimal sleep were really catching up to me. I had to dance just to keep myself awake and after that stopped working, I found a corner where I could write and scribbled some of the most incomprehensible junk in my notebook. Finally we were loaded back onto the bus to go to the airport, which was one line after another...security, customs, check in, more security, duty free, more security and eventually I got on one of the most uncomfortable planes in existence where I was alternately squished by the seat in front of me and unable to lean back because the man behind me was over 6 feet tall. The German girls sitting next to me took turns waking me up so that they could use the bathroom. By the time we arrived in Casablanca, I wanted to die or kill someone or both. The airplane breakfast was disgusting...completely inedible and I'm not that picky.

So we got off the plane in Casablanca, got our luggage and then discovered that one of our group mates was being detained. She has a passport from Belize which means she needed to have purchased an entry visa to Morocco...which she had, but unfortunately the person who entered it only gave her a one way visa, so she was going to be unable to enter the country. This meant that we all spent several hours longer than anticipated at the airport before she was finally free to go and even then they didn't return her passport, so our guide, Hamid, stayed an additional few hours while we bought some croissants and got on the bus to go to Marrakech.

While this was probably one of the worst introductions to a city I can think of given our state of mental and physical exhaustion, I have to say that this country is truly magnificently beautiful and intriguing. We traded in the Ghana gold and lush green rain forests and balmy days at the beach for the "ovenly" arid heat of a country steeped in silver and silk. The iron rich earth here is red too, but dry. We're in the desert now. I tried to stay awake to watching the scenery, but I fell asleep and when I awoke there were these stark rocky mountains littered with goats and ruins or half constructed buildings. Hamid says there are 3 colors central to Morocco, red, green, and blue. Red for the buildings, green for the courtyard, the date palms, the olive trees, and blue for the vast open sky. And he is right, as we got closer to the city all the buildings coming into view were a rich salmon color with a deep maroon trim and sometimes green roofs and window trims. Some houses literally looked like they had been built into the sides of mountains with deliberate camouflage.

The city itself is beautiful: a perfect blend of modern and traditional. There are horse drawn carriages to take you around the square, and camels seated on street corners with traffic whizzing by. We stopped by our hotel to drop off our bags before immediately going back out for a short orientation tour and visit to the main Square. Even the hotel is elegant from the beautiful geometric tiled floors to the intricate moldings on the ceiling of the restaurant. We rode past high-end retail stores and mom and pops shops. At the Square there were actually real live snake charmers with real live snakes like something out of Aladdin and monkeys...neither of which I was particularly excited to see, but there were also gorgeous silk scarves and silver jewelry. I'm still trying to figure out the Dirham (that's the currency here...8.5 Dirham to 1 USD)

After a perfect night of sleep, I awoke this time to really dig into the city. We went to the Mille to the Jewish Quarter where we walked through the market and saw the spices stacked in huge cones, then to the House of Sahid, which is a museum, to see the leather work and learn more about Moroccan Culture. There were pictures and jewelry, gorgeous artifacts from all over. And in the center of the building their was a courtyard with a gazebo, a fountain, and some bitter orange trees with fruit that looked like limes. The whole thing gave me dejavou. Having lived in Spain, I feel like coming to Morocco is seeing the other half of a puzzle. I understand now where the tiles and the architecture come from. Especially when we saw the tower. It's called Koutoubia Minaret. I saw it's identical twin 10 years ago in Sevilla. There they call it La Giralda.

While I was marinating on this familiarity, Rev Michael summoned me over. He said that Ricki had found me on the walls. I didn't know what he meant, but I followed anyway. Turns out, there was a picture in one of the exhibits with a lady who had my face. She was hooded and adorned with some serious metal and beaded bling and with her eyes down cast...we could have been the same person. Who knows maybe I was her in a previous lifetime. I tried to find out her name, but the caption only said woman of the Sahara. She was a nomad too. I'll post the pic when I can, but my camera died so I had to rely on others. It was very creepy and very cool.

Today when we were at the Kasbah, the vendors were calling me Fatimah and it gave me pause. Since the start of this trip I've been called many names. American Sister, Jamaica, Rasta, Madame, but Fatimah is the first one that really sounded like me. I have taken to greeting everyone in Arabic as I pass...mostly because I think it's beautiful to greet someone with peace, but then they look at me curiously and ask if I'm Moroccan. Sometimes they ask before I say anything. Most of the people in Marrakech are very light skinned and Arab looking, but as we crossed the mountains towards Ouarzazate the people began to shift. They are darker here, maybe not quite my shade, but there is something familiar about them to me as well. On the bus trip Hamid made a comment about the word nomad...he broke it down to its syllables no mad...and joked that nomads aren't crazy (they're not mad). They moved around because it was the smart thing to do. Now that I am on this trip, I am feeling less crazy, like this leap of faith was really just like answering a call to prayer, and act of sanity, a chance to expand.

I digress, I was still in Marrakech visiting the Menara, a reflecting pool surrounded by gardens, rows of olive trees, and old men selling woven hats and light weight tunics in every color imaginable. Then we went to a pharmacy where we learned more about the different spices and different herbal remedies. There is tea to lower your blood pressure, oil to remove eczema, scented oils that act as aphrodisiacs and whole ginseng, or as Mohamed called it "Moroccan Viagra". I spent entirely too much money on creams and oils and various teas (no ginseng)and then I even got my hands decorated with henna tattoos. I spent the rest of my time in Marrakech wandering around and meditating. Even in the city, there is a stillness that centers me. And of course five times a day, I reminded to pray when the call to pray sings out to wherever we are. Although it is inconvenient that this is Ramadan in terms of finding food during the day, I'm glad we're here now during this holy time.

This morning we left Marrakesh. I could have stayed another week. We drove over the mountains. I have recently had several dreams about flying and I think they must have been trying to prepare for the winding roads of the Atlas mountains. We climbed higher and higher on these one lane roads, the bus switch backing across the mountainous desert. With the city behind us, there were few dwellings, small groves of poplar trees silver leaves glinting in the wind and prickly pear cacti waving from the roadside. It looks actually like how I envision Afghanistan, beautiful, barren and red mostly, with some golden rock facades reflecting deposits of copper and other different minerals, and patches of green, the occasional oasis of a well plotted farm surrounded by dwellings built into the rock. I kept wondering who are these people and how did they come to live here?

We stopped several times along the way meeting vendor and camels and stray cats. I had a lovely omelet and some vegetables cooked with cumin for lunch before Marissa lead us in a short tai-chi sesson on the back terrace overlooking the gorges. Then we made it to the Kasbah, which is the word for Fortress. There are several Kasbahs around Morocco, but Hamid wanted us to see this one because it is one of the few where you can go inside and look down on it from above. The Kasbahs look like life size sand castles made of red mud. We hike down a rocky valley, across a stream, and then up these crumbling steps to see a sweeping view of the valley. Along the way there were vendors selling everything and anything, necklaces, purses, magnets, belts, scarves, and beautiful paintings very different from the art we saw in Ghana. This was desert art with camels and sunsets and silhouettes. Though none of us were dressed for the hike, it felt good to walk and even to be in the heat. It felt good to move. So now I am in Ouarzazate (pronounced Orz a zat) about to have dinner and explore the public bath. Tomorrow we are riding camels into the desert and possibly meeting some sufi mystics. Can't wait.

Dark and Lovely

Sitting on the bus with my Agape sisters, one of the first conversations we fell into was all about hair. On this trip, no two people have the same hair style, there are sister locks, dreadlocks, close cropped shaves, afros, braids, weaves, and pressed hair...and everyone is rockin it their own way. One lady has a salon in LA solely dedicated to doing natural hair. So of course everyone has been fascinated by the hair and clothing in Ghana.

One night I turned on the TV and caught the tail end of a show about the Miss Ghana Pageant. In true pageant form there were contestants from every region in Ghana, beautiful women of all colors, but surprisingly also of all shapes. There were slender ladies of course, but also thick beauties and the one who won was actually very shapely. I don't know why I'm surprised. Everywhere I've been in Ghana there have been beautiful black women doing their thing. When I went to have my outfit tailor made, the tailor handed me sheets printed on magazine paper filled with models wearing different styles and even the models came in what Americans would consider plus size. It's an unexpected relieve to be in a place where size isn't a detractor from beauty, where hair is wildly creative and expressive, just as clothing is gorgeous and colorful.

And when I went to get my hair braided at Marge's Hair and Beauty Clinic, I had to smile. Despite the different languages and cultures, the shop was almost identical to what you might find in the states from the smell of sweet champoos and that bitter scent of hair relaxer to the sinks and dryers lined against the walls. There was the gossip and the drama, all the beauty school girls in their blue tops with white logos and their black slacks. They took me inside and showed me more pages upon pages of hairstyles. I chose what I wanted. Benji negotiated the price, and then the sat me in a chair and combed through my hair which was still damp from being washed. Then they pulled out a plastic chair and walked me to a little outside patio where two other women were getting their hair done. One woman had her hair braided around her head in circles like concentric crowns, then the wove in tracks with tiny tiny braids, so that the final result was kind of like a bob. The other lady had orangish red hair and was getting it braided with extensions in a matching color.

Seven ladies surrounded me. And the braiding began from all angles. It took about four hours to complete, and cost 29 Ghana Cedis...the equivalent of about $22 USD. And worth every penny. To see it, scroll down to Accra pics.

The Longest Church Service Ever

Though I missed the Derber and our big welcome ceremony at the Etherean Mission, I did make it to church on Sunday. I dressed in my new Ghanaian dress. It's off white with golden embroidery, long and flowy (a little big...but I can get that tailored) and perfect for church. We were told that the service would begin at 7am with meditation, but that as a group we would catch a bus around 9am and arrive at 10am. The night before Benjamin and his cousin Nicolas and friend Edmond had taken a group of us out for drinks at some local spot. So in turn we invited them to come to church with us the next day. They met us at the hotel and drove separately. We arrived to a pretty standard looking church. There were hard wooden pews, a choir section and a balcony. Up front behind Brother Tetteh was a large movie screen that projected song lyrics and when not being used pictures of Michael Beckwith and Brother Tetteh smiling and shaking hands. The Etherean mission has it's own fabric. It's blue with yellow and white designs featuring Brother Tetteh's smiling face.

Benjamin and I squeezed into a pew with a family of 5 with the cutest children, none of whom had any space boundaries and at various times laid their heads on my knees or climb on top of me to reach their mother. Nicolas and Edmond sat behind us. Though the service had already been underway for three hours (which should have been a clue to me for how long church would actually last) there hadn't been a sermon yet. But first we needed to sing, so we sang When the Saints Go Marching In (many many verses) then Tetteh gave a short sermon and an intro for Michael Beckwith who then gave a short talk about the unity among all religions and really being a participant, not an anticipant in your life. Then Tetteh started telling these stories about these people, but he kept switching pronouns "This sister came to us from blah blah blah and he has served the mission faithfully in the capacity of blah blah". It reminded me of the guess who game that I played with my students when we were studying adjectives. They had to write sentences to describe people and then the class took turns guessing. Well at the end of guess who some body was called to the center of the church and honored by becoming a Knight of the order of Lions. There were men and women knights and you got the sense that in addition to volunteering or serving the church in some way that there was also a financial component to becoming a knight.

This was a long process. Many people were called and there was a laying on of hands for each one. Finally near the end Michael Beckwith was called, but instead of just knighting him, he was actually made a king and wrapped in Kente and crowned. Around this time I glanced behind me and noticed Nicolas and Edmond had gone. They were gone for about 2 hours and best believe we were still there when they got back. During that time, in the grand tradition of black churches everywhere, there were no less than three collections taken. And then there was more singing and some terrible organ music and then Tetteh decided to recognize all the guest by parish. So Agape Members were asked to stand up and so were the people from the church in Oakland and another that I didn't recognize...and randomly (I say this because I am literally the only person from CSL on this trip) he called out Center for Spiritual Living Seattle. I leapt up and let out a Woohoo to represent myself properly.

Then Ricki was honored for being the amazing songstress that she is and we sang an impromptu rendition of I Release and I Let Go. Then both Ricki and Michael's mothers were asked to come down as well as his daughter. Actually I think I'm a little out of order in terms of the sequence of events, but as it just kept going and going it got a little confusing. There was more singing. A duwop group that reminded me a bit of the Ghanaian version of New Edition performed. They were actually really good. And there was more singing from the choir, some in Twi, some in English and a lot of Amens and Yes Lord, Allelujah. Then there was some prayers and after a while I tuned out for a bit to chat with Benji. We talked about his religious beliefs and spiritual practices. He was raised Presbyterian (hence the Christian name), but also with a mix of some spiritual traditions passed on through the Ga. He says his church never lasts much longer than 2 hours.

After yet another song, prayer and member recognition sequence, the doors were closed and we were invited to take some incense, make a wish for the health of the mission and toss it into the fire. As I walked up to the front to receive my incense I kept trying to think of what to wish for. While the service was certainly interesting, it was not at all what I thought it would be like. It didn't move me the way CSL does and if anything it felt much more evangelical than new thought. So I wished for clarity and the highest good for both myself and the mission. As I was walking back towards my seat Rev Michael motioned me over to where he and Ricki were seated. He looked so serious (so kingly in his robes and crown) that I thought surely he was about to bless me with some spiritual information, but instead he said "I love your hair. Did you get that done here? How much did it cost? How long did it take?" I had to laugh. Shortly after this I ran into Alice B making an escape. I followed her out and found the restrooms, then discovered that in a room across the way there were refreshments. Benji and I sat down in the obligatory plastic chairs that always seem to be everywhere, and the Ethereans served us the Ghanaian version of tuna empanadas and pear soda. He called him cousin (there were several people talking on the phone throughout the service) to let him know where we had gone, but when they tried to go into the room, they were denied access. As Ghanaians they were expected to stay in the sanctuary. This was not the first time I had witnessed the seperate standard of treatment reserved for foreigners, but I was a little surprised to have it happen at a place of worship. It was nearly 3pm by then and it looked like church wasn't ending anytime soon, so I caught a ride back to La Palm with Benji and we watched Manchester United VS Fulham on the big screen before heading off to dinner at Peter's.

It was a strange experience, definitely not the one I had prepared myself for. I had come to think of the Etherean Mission as kind of a sister church to Agape and after spending this time praying with the Agape folks, I feel very kindred and connected to their spiritual community, but I did not feel that way at all at the Mission. In fact the more I looked around the crowd at Brother Tetteh's face smiling back at me from all directions, the more it felt cheap and gimicky. It just goes to show, you can't just someone on assumptions you have to figure it out for yourself.

Accra Pics