Sometimes you just have to go with it...

The Importance of Talking to Strangers

I'm on a very good schedule where I wake up at about 8am every morning. These past three days have been warm so I've tried to get outside. This morning I decided to hike up Trek Oujda (Road towards Oujda) which is seriously uphill and a bit rocky and mountainous. On the way I zoomed past a mother and her little girl. After reaching a certain point I decided it was time to turn around and head back down so I could get home and make lunch. Well, when I was going back down I passed this same woman and her daughter again, and this time they stopped me and INSISTED I come to their house.

So I followed her as she took a path off Trek Oujda toward the abandoned magnesium mine. The French found magnesium in the area in the 1940s, and mined it for about 10 years before Morocco starting insisting on independence (won in 1956). While the French were in the area they built large homes for the French men who oversaw the mining. Now in these homes are Moroccan families who are generally squatters. Don't take this to mean that these are temporary, shabby homes. These families have lived in these houses for a couple of generations now and take care of them. I think the government just turns a blind eye to it.

This woman who took me home, her husband, and her four daughters (between 3 and 13 years old) all live in one of these houses. When we got to the outside, I couldn't believe what I was looking at. It was a large white house whose front door was reached by a colonial, round, front porch, with sets of stairs on both sides. Large windows with shutters were all around. When we stepped inside, I thought I was stepping into some kind of time warp- if you can imagine a French, kitschy home, untouched since the 1940s in terms of construction. It was one story but had very high ceilings, very beautifully detailed tile floors but NOT typical Moroccan tiles, which run up the wall. The bathroom had a BATH TUB of blue porcelain, with matching toilet and bidet. The bedrooms were large with small fire places (never seen fire places in Morocco- most have indoor coal-burning ovens, if anything) set with white bricks and a mantle. The kitchen had white tile counter tops and the lights had old stainless steel fixtures. (It's rare to see light fixtures at all) Besides cracks in the walls, the house looked like it had been maintained and had a very "lived in" feel.

As I arrived, the daughters were so excited to see a visitor and they followed me around and introduced themselves nervously. As customary, a pot of tea was put on for me, although really it was close to lunchtime. I told her I already had a lunch appointment but the truth was I didn't really want to eat their food because it looked like they didn't have much to spare. While the tea was heating up, they gave me a tour of their backyard. The fact that they even have a backyard is interesting. In Morocco, most houses are more like ground level apartment complexes, with neighbors on all sides, sharing your walls. But not in "Petit France d l'Mine Manganese"! Their backyard has areas enclosed by chickenwire that have chickens, rabbits, pigeons, turkeys, a dog, and ducks. The section for the ducks even has a little concrete, built-in pool where they can swim. They also are growing cabbage, potatoes, and pommegranates. They have three home-made bee hives (although they bought the bees).


After tea, I left along with two of her daughters who were on their way to the elementary school that is closest to them. (25 minute walk or so.) As we were walking, other children were walking towards the road from out in the desert so I asked the older daughter (11) if those were children who live in tents. (meaning nomads, but I can never remember the word for nomad.) And she said that they were. Then we passed a government building. I asked what they do there and she said that it's a place for the nomads to come and hang out laundry, receive some public assistance like money and food. It's also a health clinic and just general nomadic support. I didn't know such a place existed. She called it the Khiriya.

I got their phone numbers and so I may go visit them again. Walking up to the old mine is a bit of a trek but it'd be nice to walk up and be able to have tea somewhere. I love the Moroccan culture of just GRABBING a clear foreigner and "welcoming" her by bringing her into your home and giving her tea and offering her everything you have- mi casa es tu casa is an understatement in Morocco as to the level of hospitality and generosity here.

This is a satellite photo where my site is at bottom center, and the mine is directly north of it, center, its latitude being even with the word "Photo" on the right and the "+" on the left.

This is the mine up close. The quadrant of houses at the bottom of the photo is what I refer to in this blog. That big "road" running through the mine is a train track that used to take the magnesium up north toward Oujda. They say it doesn't work any more but this family I was with told me there are still people working in it.

And in case you were wondering what surrounds my site....

There is a size scale in the corner left of each of these photos.