I arrived in Tagounite two days ago, after an almost 20-hour bus ride from Fes, through Marrakesh, across the Atlas Mountains, and through the barren valleys reminding me of the desert’s vicinity. I was welcomed by Hamza, a young Berber, owner of the house where I’ll be volunteering for about 2 and a half weeks
Yesterday was the first day of work, and it consisted of adding additional layers of mud onto the garden wall – a task we almost managed to finish in less than 2 hours until we ran out of the necessary mixture of sand and water. Having a pile of sand just in front of the house, we still had to wait a day to finish the job, as the sand had to be mixed with water and left for a day to produce the required mixture. Hence, our responsibilities were done for the day, after starting the work at noon and finishing just before 2pm. I figured the work wouldn’t be exhausting, but I did not expect so much free time. When in Morocco, one must get used to the slow tempo, and a lot of breaks between work. This came as a challenge for those of us used to strict schedules, and days structured in separate periods for work, leisure time, and rest. Here, the separation between work and leisure time is blurry – you spend the whole day going around trying to get stuff done, but along the way, you stop to eat, talk, buy things you didn’t know you needed, and do random side quests that come up. That is the way life revolves around here, and in my opinion, that is one of the primary reasons why people here, regardless of poverty, do not have a notion of depression or anxiety. Socializing is not a a way to feel better, it is a fundamental part of survival around here. People depend on each other, and everybody either knows how to get things done or knows somebody else who can do it.
The first night I came, we were missing bread for our dinner. Hamza called his neighbor, and we had bread in two minutes. Witnessing such interactions which are completely normal for their culture, I realized that my relationship with neighbors never was anything more than saying hi, and having an occasional conversation. I believe it to be due to cultural and generational circumstances. Having everything available, and an option too, for example, to order food, really makes a relationship with a neighbor unnecessary – it is easier to google than ask for help, and asking for help has a shameful character it seems. One might think that ringing neighbors just out of need is even worse, but those basic needs are a potential social glue and a motivation to act humanly.
Later in the afternoon, we walked around the village to find some firewood. Just a few minutes from the house, we passed an abandoned kasbah, a fortification built out of mud. The rays of sunset lit up the flat deserted valley around it. The day was peaceful – children played around concrete blocks laid on the rocks, women in pairs covered in hijab took a late afternoon to chat, and a young couple in love rode a motorbike into the sunset. The couple didn’t notice us, shy children smiled and waved, and women greeted and chuckled…How could I explain to everybody who said to take care of myself that I have never felt safer anywhere in the world?
There was not much firewood to be found around the village. If there ever were a tree that would burn for more than 5 seconds, it was cut down long ago. Most of the plant life consisted of date palms, while the rest were leafless, sharp bushes, and their thorns made it known they were not for taking.
After picking up a few branches of some poor, long-ago dried tree and loading them onto a bike, we went to the town to buy water. Walking casually with a machete, an axe, and a bike packed with dry branches, we were a real spectacle for the locals.
It was a very interesting feeling to be an obvious stranger in such a rural and culturally different part of the world. We did get weird looks here and there, but in general, people were incredibly welcoming and ready to help. For those two and a half weeks, Tagounite was our home.
