L-hamdullah! The carpets have been shipped to Santa Fe for the July International Folk Art Market. But like most things, it did not go smoothly. It turns out that the special artisan price that we had originally been quoted by DHL was only available with the submission of a form that had to be filled out with a typewriter—not a pen, not online, only a typewriter. Now you would think that in a third world country, typewriters would be readily available, but not even Fatima knew where to find one, nor did DHL. (I later heard that the police station fills out their reports on a typewriter—should have guessed). The form also had to be signed and stamped by the Ministry of Commerce, so good luck getting that done in the two days we had before the shipping deadline.
So we gave up and paid a higher price. Then the next day we were notified that the shipment had been held up in Casablanca for “high value” requiring yet another piece of paper. Several phone calls and the intervention of Peace Corps finally got the shipment moving. Ten days later, our two-day delivery arrived at its destination. Close enough.
In late May, the green fields surrounding the town turned to amber with ripening grain rippling in the breeze. The walk to the souk through barley fields was a surreal experience as only people’s heads appeared above the shoulder-high stalks. But it’s harvest time now so that the beautiful grain fields will be turned into brown stubble until they are plowed under in the fall and the winter rains come again.
Harvesting on the family owned farms is done by hand the old-fashioned way. The grain is cut with a scythe, tied in bundles which are loaded on a donkey then transported to a stack where they await the mill. Most of the wheat in the surrounding fields will be milled and consumed locally. From field to loaf of bread is a visible process here.
L-hamdullah! The carpets have been shipped to Santa Fe for the July International Folk Art Market. But like most things, it did not go smoothly. It turns out that the special artisan price that we had originally been quoted by DHL was only available with the submission of a form that had to be filled out with a typewriter—not a pen, not online, only a typewriter. Now you would think that in a third world country, typewriters would be readily available, but not even Fatima knew where to find one, nor did DHL. (I later heard that the police station fills out their reports on a typewriter—should have guessed). The form also had to be signed and stamped by the Ministry of Commerce, so good luck getting that done in the two days we had before the shipping deadline. 
So we gave up and paid a higher price. Then the next day we were notified that the shipment had been held up in Casablanca for “high value” requiring yet another piece of paper. Several phone calls and the intervention of Peace Corps finally got the shipment moving. Ten days later, our two-day delivery arrived at its destination. Close enough.
In late May, the green fields surrounding the town turned to amber with ripening grain rippling in the breeze. The walk to the souk through barley fields was a surreal experience as only people’s heads appeared above the shoulder-high stalks. But it’s harvest time now so that the beautiful grain fields will be turned into brown stubble until they are plowed under in the fall and the winter rains come again. 
Harvesting on the family owned farms is done by hand the old-fashioned way. The grain is cut with a scythe, tied in bundles which are loaded on a donkey then transported to a stack where they await the mill. Most of the wheat in the surrounding fields will be milled and consumed locally. From field to loaf of bread is a visible process here. 
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