Mohammed of the Mountains, Dades Valley, Morocco
We met Mohammed of the Mountains in Dades Gorge. We were picnicking, having just driven to the beautifully rugged and very cold top of the gorge, and was tending his agricultural plots in one of the many little valleys along the Dades River. He took us on a guided tour of the valley, telling us about the irrigation system and how it worked, what crops were planted when, and which indigenous plants were good for teas and medicines. And sharing with us the traditional beliefs, customs and lifestyles of the once highly nomadic Berber people.
We entered through a simple, unadorned wooden door. Interestingly, the first room Mohammed showed us was on the left, and down just a short passageway beyond the entrance. He said it was ‘his mother’s bedroom.’ It was a small room and very austere, with a high ceiling and walls painted yellow. There was no furniture in the room: no tables or chairs, no bookshelves (or books), and nothing on the walls: no pictures, no mirrors. There were a few hooks on one wall where a couple of robes were hanging, but there was no cupboard or closet for storing clothes. The only things in the room, right on the floor, were two mattresses. One mattress was perhaps 6” thick, and the other somewhat thinner, both narrow, about the size of a twin bed, but shorter, and both covered with colourful quilts. There were no pillows. Mohammed explained that the thick mattress was his mother’s, and the thinner one, right beside it, was for his two sisters. The mattresses took up almost all of the floor space.
Proceeding down the hallway we passed through another doorway and into a large courtyard area. It was two stories high, but not open to the air. There was a balcony along two of the walls, with doors to rooms we couldn’t see. When we asked, Mohammed said these were bedrooms where the family slept in the summer. I saw no stairway, and as Mohammed didn’t offer, I didn’t ask to see the rooms, which I imagine were just as plain and spartan as Mohammed’s mother’s and sisters’ bedroom.
Like the bedroom, the courtyard was also empty, with no furniture and no décor on the walls, which here were white. There was however a well, almost in the middle of the room, and a tiny brazier with a few glowing coals in it. The most surprising thing was a hot water heater mounted on one wall, and very high, farily close to the ceiling. We could see a kitchen of sorts off the courtyard, and I noted an appliance that might have been a stove-top oven, or a microwave sitting on top of a waist-high ledge made of clay and straw. I saw no sink, fridge or stove, and no pots, pans or utensils. But all of these things may have been there, just out of sight. Again, I didn’t ask to be shown.
Mohammed lowered a bucket into the well, which he said was 40’ deep, and drew up some water, which he poured into a tin bowl. We washed our hands, and his mother filled a kettle (not electric) to make tea. She took the kettle, and the piece of dried bush that Mohammed had picked when we were on our walk, and went into the kitchen.
From the courtyard we went through to another, slightly smaller room – perhaps 15 by 25’ – which was clearly the ‘living room,’ as well as the dining room. There was no furniture – no table or chairs. No books. No flowers. No things that we think of that make a home a home. But the floor was completely covered in beautiful woven carpets, mostly red and black, that provided colour and warmth to the room. The carpets were likely made, over the years, by Mohammed’s mother and sisters. There were 7 or 8 goatskins scattered at intervals around the room. Mohammed’s sisters, aunt and cousin were seated on the skins, bundled in their jackets, evidently visiting together. I noticed a tv, dvd player and stereo system sitting on the floor at one end of the room. There was no music playing, the tv was not on, and there was no food or drinks in the room. Evidently they were awaiting our arrival. (It’s likely he had called them to let them know we were coming.) They did not stand, but smiled and nodded their heads in acknowledgement, and invited us, by gesture, to sit down.
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| One of three rugs we bought during trips to Morocco |
Mohammed’s mother, who looked to be about my age, but could have been much younger, brought a small wooden table into the room, on which she placed tea, a plate of peanuts and some cookies that Mohammed the girls had made. Mohammed did most of the talking, though his mother, smiling broadly and speaking in Arabic, was clearly interested in who we were and what we were doing. Mohammed’s sisters did not speak, but his cousin, a young woman of maybe 18 or 19, spoke to us in French. She was very animated, and clearly very intelligent, with lots of questions for us about where we came from and where we were going, how we liked Morocco, and what she was doing in school. Her mother also seemed quite interested in the conversation, but spoke no French, so our communication with her, as with the others, was limited to smiles and gestures. It always amazes me how much can be communicated that way.
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| Mohammed and his mother, in their home |
We offered to take some pictures of the family. Mohammed’s sisters would not pose, but his cousin agreed as long, she made clear to us, as we did not put her picture on the internet. I seldom take photos of the people we meet on our travels, and generally not without their consent. I also did not ask to take and did take photos of the inside of their home, which I respected as their private sanctuary. When we got back to Canada I sent them the photos I had taken, as well as several pairs of warm socks which, when we asked if there was anything we could give them, they said would be most welcome.
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| Young child we met in Dades Gorge |
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