The title of this blog is “Humbled.”

Peace Corps over the years has, of course, changed considerably in terms of the places we're sent and the level of comfort we enjoy while "in-country."  At swearing in, I had a chance to speak with two RPCV's who were Volunteers in 1961.  You can imagine the extent to which they were forced to "make do" 50 years ago, with no electricity, running water, cell phones, Internet, etc.

It’s so easy to forget how easy we/I have it, and how quick we/I am to complain about the little things.  This town is f***ing awesome and the people are an inspiration!  I'm realizing that more and more each day, but yesterday humbled me, that's all I can say.

Tariq, as I've mentioned, is the most awesome friend/host brother a person could hope for, and I count him as one of my closest friends after knowing him less than two weeks.  His brother, Aniss, is also awesome, but I only see him on weekends because he works in Marrakech.

Anyway,  Tariq informed me early on that he was engaged and is getting married at the end of June.  We even went to the Suk (the weekly farmers' market) and bought an engagement and wedding ring for his soon-to-be bride.  But it still seemed weird to me because I hadn't met her and he didn't seem to talk to her at all on the phone, and so I asked him where she lived.  He just made hand gestures of going up and down hills and didn't say anything.

So on Friday, he mentioned that I was going to meet his fiancée on Sunday, and so don't make any plans for the day.  Well, yesterday approached and the whole family turned out in Jalabas and/or dress shirts.  ...and because they don't own a vehicle, Tariq told me they rented a car to take all of us to his fiancée’s locale.  And sure enough, a 25 year old Dodge van showed up, the family rolled up an oriental rug from the house, laid it out in the back of the van, grabbed some pillows and threw them in the back of the van, and 12 people piled in, complete with food bizef (lots) to take along. 

Tariq and I received the privilege of sitting up front with the driver, and off we went.  I thought there was only one road out of town, going north (ultimately, to Casa Blanca) or south to 'Kech.  ...but low and behold, we started heading cross country on a small paved road. 

We could hear the family singing and clapping in the back of the van as we dodged potholes and waited for shepards to clear the sheep from our path.   We soon turned off the paved road and continued on a dirt road, which turned into a two-track after about 10 kilometers.  Now we’re bouncing along at about 5 miles an hour, seemingly cutting a path through the desert.  There is neither house nor human (nor even a tree) on this path.  It is hot, desolate, and, barren, and I wonder of our chances of survival if this van decides to quit.

Finally we come upon a tiny village of perhaps two-dozen small buildings, with a water tower and small mosque.  I thought to myself what an amazing place for Tariq’s fiancée to live, in such a tiny, out-of-the-way little… village, I guess, although there is no store or restaurant or… anything.  There was electricity however, as was readily apparent from the satellite dishes on the tops of the few buildings.

To my surprise, we actually drove through this little village and continued on our journey.  I could see several miles ahead, and there was absolutely nothing except more desert.  We continued on for another half-hour, traveling at maybe 10 miles an hour over rock, dust, and cracked earth.  We crested a small hill, and I looked out on what looked like a tiny set of buildings built out of rocks, perhaps two miles ahead.

As we neared, I realized that the structures were indeed once homes made out of rock, but were now largely dilapidated, with most of the structures having fallen (but undoubtedly beautiful at one time).  However, this time we didn’t continue our journey, but pulled off next to a walled structure that was still intact.  Adjacent to the wall was another structure made out of some sort of adobe and hay combination.

Out piled Tariq’s family and out of the adobe structure came a group of women dressed in colorful tribal costume, singing/chanting with several beating small drums.  Greetings were exchanged and “our” women joined in on the singing.  Then a few men sauntered out and greeted us, and the party was on!  This was Tariq’s formal betrothal party involving his family, his fiancée’s family, and me!

We walked through the adobe structure, which had no door, a dirt floor, and the smell of a barn, but as we walked through, it opened into a little courtyard with perhaps four tiny, low-roofed buildings around the perimeter.  This was the home of Tariq’s fiancée’s family and something beyond anything I might have imagined. 

Inside this dusty courtyard was a small (but actually beautifully constructed) room laid out with beautiful rugs and pillows, but no furniture.  Here all the men gathered (perhaps 15 in all), sitting on the carpet and leaning against the pillows.  The walls were probably 18” thick, to keep the heat at bay, but it was pretty stifling in there.  The women went into another room, but “tradition” dictated that the men couldn’t go in there.  The other room I didn’t see, but looking in, it was also a low-roofed, dirt floor room, most likely a kitchen, and a small bathroom where you lean a piece of wood against the opening to obtain some privacy.  Finally, on the far side of the courtyard was a gate, and inside were dozens of goats and sheep, a few chickens and a donkey.

The men sat around, smoked (in this tiny, unventilated room), chatted, and sweated (well actually, I was the only one sweating because Moroccans don’t sweat, because they don’t drink water).  You could hear the women in the next room singing and banging on the drums.  I still hadn’t met Tariq’s wife-to-be because tradition again dictated that she be kept segregated from him (and the rest of us).

I asked for water and enjoyed a cool drink of wonderfully tasting water.  I saw a light bulb on the ceiling and was shocked that there could be electricity here, but later realized they actually had a little solar panel on the roof, which powered the light. They had no other electricity.  We had tea, chatted some more, then ate perhaps the best meal I’ve had since moving here, of chicken and homemade bread (those chickens were running around the pen earlier in the day, I have a feeling).

Then it got so hot that we retired to the “adobe-and-hay” room I had first seen.  Even though it had only a dirt floor, they rolled out another oriental rug, grabbed some pillows, and continued to sit around, chat, smoke, and drink tea.  It was cooler in that room for sure, with a wonderful breeze blowing through.

Eventually, we all got up and went into the “women’s” room which was stifling and a little ripe, what with all the women chanting/singing and beating the drums for the last four hours.  I saw the bride-to-be for the first time (totally cute, all decked out in traditional garb), sitting on a pillow at one end of the room.  Tariq sat on a pillow next to her, and the betrothal ritual began in earnest, with pictures taken individually and in groups of every combination of family member possible.  Of course, I was brought up to be included in the very first pictures, and had to forcefully bow out to avoid being in most of the other ones.

There were other rituals including serving each other tea out of tiny cups, the exchanging of rings (that Tariq bought at the Suk), some exchanges of words (no idea), etc.  This would have been considered an enormously long wedding in the States, but was only an engagement party!  I have heard that the wedding is an all day affair (maybe even more than one) with multiple changes of wardrobe, etc.  Finally, the ceremony wound down, and the women continued their chanting/singing/drum beating (actually, they never stopped during the ceremony, for that matter), and the men went back to sitting around.

After about 8 hours of sitting and participating in the above-described ritual, I had had enough, and tried to escape to get some air outside the courtyard, and enjoy the breeze I had felt earlier.  Of course, Tariq felt obligated to be my host, so he went with me and I got a chance to look around at the area outside the tiny family compound.  We walked up a little hill and I could see that there were actually other people living in this tiny hamlet.  Tariq said that there might be 8 or 10 families living there, tending crops or livestock, but that many years ago, it was a thriving little village.

As mentioned, most of the rock structures had fallen, but there were a few outer walls still intact, and families had used those as a starting point to build modest little structures that they called home.  As I was looking, out came a couple of the girls, carrying empty jugs and leading the donkey.  The donkey had two large leather flagons (if that is the right word) strapped to its sides and we followed the group down a path and around the crumbling rock wall. 

A few hundred yards away was the water source for the “duwar” (Tariq told me that tiny little hamlets like this are called “duwar”), a hole in the ground about 100 feet deep, where the people go to get their water.  It was actually a beautifully crafted "bir" (well), with a steel pulley above and surrounded by a nicely constructed cement foundation (with steel “cellar-type” doors that close the well). 

There was no pump or crank, however.  Just two leather urns tied to two hundred feet of rope, looped around the pulley.  You drop one bucket in and pull it up, and the other bucket descends into the well, and you do it all over again.  Maybe they hold a couple of gallons, so to fill the jugs and the flagons on the donkey, it was about 50 dips into the well.  And if we “boys” didn’t happen to be there to help, it would have been one heck of a lot of work for the girls.

Finally, the van appeared in sight and we said our good-byes.  I mentioned that I would LOVE to bring my family out to see this place, and Tariq’s fiancée’s family gushed with their desire that I do so.  I was so wonderfully treated by both families.  It was just an amazing experience!

…and I’m so not doing the story justice.  For example, I just recalled that while we were in the “adobe and hay” structure, the sheep and goats start being herded through on their way to grazing, passing within a few feet of us.  Also, that barren desert was actually able to support (sort of, anyway) hay as a crop, and they both harvest it and have the animals graze on it (there being no grass or anything else edible in that area).

It is truly a “see-to-be-believed” situation of surviving and thriving in a situation that none of us can even imagine.  I thought my town was small, but the few people in this duwar (and I assume the duwar we passed through with the water tower and mosque) travel over an hour to my town to get whatever they need.  To them, my town is the big city.  …and I only saw a motorized bicycle for transportation (other than the donkey).

So it’s all in the perception.  I guess I could be spending my two years at that duwar instead of Sidi Boutman.  …and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad…