So Simple

Today was thought provoking. Somehow I ended up at the ends of the earth North Africa. The highest village, the last houses in the last valley before the highest peak. The random kid I met the fist day I was here is a Berber, his family happens to own that last peice of land in that highest village. The last bit of “civilization” before the earth becomes raw and wild again. By cilvilazation I mean farmers. One cow, small herd of goats, cherry and walnut trees, chickens. Aunts and uncles, grandpas, kids, all still there living side by side. 

And this kid I met in the Old part of Marrakech came down into the City to study English. He says he just wants to study and go to America. His ensligh isn’t great, but I can tell from the way he carries himself he is a dreamer. I know the feeling. BUT as I stood on the rooftop of his childhood home at the ends of the earth I couldn’t help but wonder why it is the human condition that we always dream of what we don’t have. He has one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen in my life, one of the most pure lives. Something I sacrafice for in the US. But then I remeber the painful long rocky hike, crossing slippery rocks in overflowing river beds, just to get to his home. The fact that simple, really isn’t so simple in thier lives.

He asked me to take his photo a few times today, I don’t think he has any of himself in these places where he is from. How strange is that? I can’t even fathom….His mother was gracious. She didn’t speak a word of english, but again smiles are universal. His little neices and nephews sat and ate with us. The little girls amused with me, my blonde hair, and sunglasses. His mom gifted me a necklace, which I felt so poorly taking from these people that have so much less than me. The gesture was one that I won’t forget. I think they won’t forget me either. My friend says I am welcome anytime, I can bring my whole family. 

As we went to depart these old women hugged me like I’d known them forever. I have an ability to walk into a womans kitchen and realte to them on a very real level. The kind of women who are authentic, who cook real food, who care deeply about the people that they are cooking for, they understand this. It’s something I don’t think I can explain in words. It’s lost to most women in my generation. I’m thankful I spent a great deal of time around my old german grandmother. The relief I felt in meeting these souls that still exist in the world, that recognize mine, regardless of language or culture or skintone, this feeling transcends words. They are rare in our world of TV and internet.


SV

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