Success in Santa Fe

The project we have been working on for the last ten months is finished. The Santa Fe International Folkart Market is over and Fatima and Hind have returned home.


All the industrious carpet weaving, forms sending, picture taking, budgeting, fundraising, document gathering, marketing, label sewing, packing, shipping, and planning were worth it as
Adwal had a successful market experience.

They sold nearly everything they took either at the Market or later as they toured California, attended the Convergence Conference of the Handweavers’ Guild of America, spoke to the Textile Museum Associates, and attended several house parties in their honor.

Exhausted but elated, they returned to Morocco with new business, weaving, and natural dyeing skills which will be shared with the other Adwal members. The contacts they made, along with their western market experience and newly acquired skills will hopefully lead to future sales. Adwal has entered the international marketplace!

Since I did not accompany them to Santa Fe, all the photos shown here were taken by Lynn Dines, RPCV, who generously offered her time and expertise to attend the Market with Fatima and Hind and host them on the California leg of their US journey.

For everyone who assisted them in this endeavor, Fatima and Hind would like to say:

“We want to thank all people that make our trip easy and and help us to have the opportunity to have this very good experience in USA thank you so much and god bless your hearts .thank you. “

4th of July Berber Wedding

What do you do on the 4th of July in Morocco where there are no barbequed ribs, or beer, or fireworks? You go to a Berber wedding. This wedding was different from others we have attended and observed on neighboring rooftops. It was a traditional Berber wedding starting with the bride’s henna party and continuing the next day and throughout the night until early morning. We weren’t sure who was getting married, except that it was a relative of the couscous co-op women who are nearly all related. Part of what made it fun was that we knew so many people there. The henna party is usually for women and girls with the men hanging around outside and drinking tea.

The bride was dressed in a beautiful gauzy green dress with masses of gold trim, but the other guests were dressed in their day pajamas with many wearing aprons as they were cooking for about a hundred people at the same time. A lunch was served the next day and for this occasion, the bride wore a traditional wedding handira which is a sort of two-sided carpet with large sequins that ties around the shoulders. It must have been incredibly hot but the bride gamely danced away.

The evening celebration was held outside. The night was cool and quite enjoyable. The women were now dressed in their sparkling, lacy, shiny wedding finery. One of the women took me into a bedroom and dressed me up in a tkshita, a wedding caftan with a wide belt. Throughout the second day and night there was much ululating, chanting, singing and dancing the hadous in which everyone joins hands with crossed arms and moves in a circle to the beat of the drum. Fortunately this was a dancing style I could manage.

The singing was a musical style known as ahwash, in which two large choruses engage in call-and-response vocals, accompanied by hand drums. At times it was just the women calling back and forth, at times just the men, and at times everyone. It had a very tribal sound.

The bride didn’t make her evening appearance until after midnight. This time she was dressed in a white sparkly wedding dress. One thing I didn’t understand was about the groom. He wasn’t there. Apparently he would come the day after and take the bride back to his home in Taza. I have no idea how they make it official without the groom.

We didn’t make it to the 4:30 am end but stayed long enough to eat twice—chicken tagine, goat tagine, and sweet couscous—hand rolled of course by the couscous ladies.

So we spent the most American of holidays at the most Moroccan of celebrations.

Typical Summer Morning at the Co-op

This morning at Cooperative Adwal, I sat with the women on a large red and white shaggy wool carpet placed near the door to catch any little breeze. I helped thread muzuns (large sequins) on short lengths of string to be incorporated into a carpet just started on the loom. The work was tedious yet peaceful. We listened to Moroccan music on Z's mobile phone and the shouts of boys playing soccer in the street. The basha's driver came by and greeted everyone, then roared off on his little motorbike. A herd of goats ambled by the doorway. These are things I will miss.

Summertime, and the Living's Not Easy

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.

Spring Getaway

Now and then I feel the introvert’s need to regain my feeling of anonymity in the world, and what better place than among the tourist hordes in Piazza San Marco in Venice? Venice reminds me of an aging movie star—still beautiful but faded with her best days clearly behind her. She badly needs a makeover, but it won’t disguise the fact that she’s slowly slipping away. That said, we had a wonderful time there strolling the back streets where there were no crowds at all, marveling at the beautiful architecture, seeing the sights, but mostly discovering great little places to eat and drink and while away a couple of hours in the beautiful spring weather. We did feel the first earthquake in northern Italy which shook us out of our sleep and rattled the closet doors in the room. I recognized it instantly as an earthquake and it was confirmed by the morning news. Fortunately there was no visible damage in Venice. When we‘d had our fill of crowds, we took the ferry to Rovinj in the Istrian peninsula of Croatia. I loved Croatia. It felt like my vision of Italy of old. The cobblestone streets were swept and washed every morning, the Adriatic Sea sparkled with clear, clean water, boats bobbed in the harbor, and the food was a delicious blend of Italian, Mediterranean, and Hungarian, with fresh seafood featured in nearly every dish. When we tired of fish, we could eat goulash or roast pork loin washed down with an Ozujsko, the local beer. The locals in that part of the country regularly speak Croatian, Italian, German, and English. We visited churches, a castle over a deep ravine that inspired Jules Verne, traveled through the beautiful green countryside, took a boat up a fiord and visited an island with Roman ruins where Tito had his summer home for 30 years. It was fascinating to see all the exotic animals still living there (gifts to Tito from heads of state) and his 1953 custom made Cadillac convertible in which he reportedly tried to seduce Gina Lollobrigida. Okay so this wasn’t a highbrow trip, but it was fun and relaxing. Best of all was just being by the sea, hanging out in a fishing village, and watching the sunset.

Marche Maroc Fes, 2012

Last week was the last public Marche Maroc. These craft fairs were started by the Small Business Development PCVs in Morocco and are ending now that our sector is being phased out to concentrate on youth development. There will be another craft fair in Rabat mid-May but it’s a private fair for the American community and Embassy staff.

The good news is that the artisans have formed an Association of Artisans with the idea of continuing the markets. Zahara Amchech of Cooperative Adwal was chosen as 1st vice President of the board of directors. Given her will and fiery spirit, I have reason to think they will make a good effort.

One of our favorite spots in the medina, Cafe Clock, generously offered us an unused room for a showroom with the idea of showcasing some of the products available at the market. Unfortunately, the room was accessed down a dodgy looking alley between two chicken butchers and wasn't much visited. If only tourists had discovered it, they could have had a hassle-free, fixed price, authentic artisan shopping experience.

On leaving Fes, we discovered the grand taxis were on strike. All this meant though was that we had to walk down the hill to the disgusting end of the taxi lot normally used as a latrine where the taxis were parked around the corner. From there they appeared to be doing business as usual. It was an exceptionally long wait though for the taxi to fill up.

A young vendor brought out a plastic chair for me to sit on and gave me a tiny stuffed bear from his cart. It’s moments like those which make the other not-so-nice times bearable. Back in REK it was still cold although the predictions for this week are in the 90’s. So it seems we will go from the freezer to the frying pan.

NOW winter is over (Maybe)

I have not been motivated to write anything for the last month. This has been a trying time for me both psychologically and physically, so I was following the adage “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Winter was NOT over as last I wrote. BUT, today was finally a beautiful glorious day. The sun shown, it was warm, the wind wasn’t blowing, and it didn’t rain. It was a perfect day for a walk on the well-worn path along the ridge which connects the main part of town to the original settlement.

The old part feels like a rural village with its mellow sound of animals rather than the usual cacophony of engines, saws, mills, and loud voices all talking at once. There is new snow on the mountains and wildflowers in the fields. Goats, sheep, and donkeys graze happily on the green grass. Apple and cherry trees are blooming.

We met two Berber women on the walk, one with the traditional tattooed face, in the old town. They consented to having their pictures taken, then invited us to their house for tea. This is customary of Moroccans—the most generous and welcoming people I have ever met.

We passed by a large group of boys who started in with the usual “bonjours”, but when I said we were Americans, one of the boys ran alongside me saying in English, “Hello, my name is Ali.” Our lovely walk ended at a café for coffees. There, I was excited to see two young girls sitting at an outside table with their fathers. Things are definitely looking up!

Happy Easter everyone. Enjoy your ham!