Between Mountain and Sea

When my job began in Taghazout, I was living in a holiday environment. It really was a European bubble. However, over the course of four months we have now moved away from the tourist life and integrated more into the circles of other nomadic workers and surf house staffers. In time, we have settled into our own rhythm. Now that my contract has ended, we are solving Sienna’s education issue through tutoring with someone from the next village. It’s three times a week, with less cost and less travel. It leaves me the space and finances to enroll her in sports activities, like skateboarding. Ive also been able to buy her a new bike ~ now we have the activity of cycling along the beach together in the mornings.

We are not overwhelmed by village life at all anymore. I integrate and find my own way of being a part of this quirky place. I learned how to buy spices and produce from the noisy and overcrowded souk. Sienna and I together discovered the delights of seasonal fruits that taste so different from what we knew from the large European grocery stores; African grown pomegranates, Moroccan oranges, the sweet and short little bananas grown from the local banana plantations.

We cook meals in a little clay tagine, traditional style, seasoned with fresh cumin and coriander and parsley. Sienna always complains the cumin is too spicy and often demands pasta. But sometimes, she’ll say “mmm mom, this is really good!”, so I guess I am slowly getting better at cooking.

We settle with ease next to our fellow taxi passengers, mostly male, young or old, with dark, weathered skin, most often smelling of sweat, perhaps going to or from their labor. Sometimes an entire family with children spills over every lap, including ours. The children often stare at Sienna in quiet fascination, her being so different and exotic to themselves. The mothers or grandmothers always look at Sienna, then at me, and give me a nod and smile. Often if we jump in last, we sit in the back, crammed in and amongst shopping bags. Then we watch the road curve away behind us as we traverse the orange mountain and watch the sea come into sight as we near our village. We’ve watched many sunsets from the back of a Berber taxi and even this has its own unique, live-in-the-moment charm.

We openly smile at the women we pass on the street in the evenings, head to toe in colorful scarves (as is the Muslim tradition.) We greet them in their local Berber greetings, often exchanging a fleeting second connection which says; I am a mother, you are a mother, we are different but both mothers.

They all know Sienna Rose from watching her play on the streets with the animals, or tagging behind me as I ran around with my camera bag and laptop. This is something totally against their culture as dogs are seen as dirty. Their own children are told “hands off! “ and to run from any of the animals, or throw rocks at them. They probably see us as a bit strange, but then I feel they respect us in some way for choosing to be here.

There are so many small pieces of the day that are so unique to being here. The village is constantly swimming with new interesting arrivals, surfers, artists, travelers, nomadic workers. 

The place is colourful and the entertainment ranges from watching surfers on a big swell from Anchor Point, local music at the cafes 2 times a week, surf movie night outside our local on Wednesdays, visits to Souks (the outdoor markets), new art pieces being painted on walls, skateboard lessons at the skate park, group surfs, yoga, sunsets, sunrises, all the phases of the moon to be admired above the stretch of sea.

It’s really such an amazing life here. Bustling, vibrant, interesting, arty, salty, colorful, earthy and moving. My treasures are dried flowers, twisted and sun bleached argan tree branches, sea shells, wave-polished rocks and photos I take of the land, the sea, of people. I am more present and connected by the elements and the ebb of tides. The sound of waves is ever present in my apartment and at night, I can tell when a swell comes in. There is revelry and resonance.

I see old faces, wrinkled brown, with kind eyes. I see and feel textures, listen to the chanting from the mosque, in a language foreign to me. I smell fresh baked bread on the ocean breeze and when I allow myself to sit and observe, I feel I have finally returned to myself after all the year’s of living in the city. It is a borrowed space and place in time, and I wish it could just stay as it is, neither perfect, sustainable, longterm, knowable ~ just what it is right now.