Driver's Dream

Omar loved driving these roads and I loved riding with him driving these roads.

Kasbah

These Kasbahs are basically fortified cities with a very communal feel. Omar grew up in a similar one with 60 plus family members, eating in shifts based on age and sex. They seem to grow right out of the ground as they're constructed using the closest dirt.

Could You Slide Over a Bit, Please?

This is the taxi I ride to work every day...well, sort of. Seven people are packed into a five-person vehicle in 90 degree humid heat and for some reason, all of the handles to roll down the windows have been removed. Supposedly passengers can never decide on an ideal window situation, the drivers get annoyed with the bickering and so take matters into their own hands. I've ridden in a taxi nearly every day of the last 3 months and have only been in one that allowed me the liberty to roll down my window, probably because it was some dude posing as a taxi driver. The taxis have become my internal peace indicator because I've noticed that on good days I am not bothered at all by having enough sweat running down my back to run a saw mill, smelling morning breath and B.O. and listening to recitations of the Koran, but on bad days I picture our taxi doing this:

I Have A Liver and Hair and Elbows

Waking up on the beach is nice. It's even nicer when you have this to look forward to:

Patrice put on a KILLER concert. His way of doing reggae is fresh, spiritual and left me grateful for every part of my body. Gnaoua music was the focus of the festival in Essaouira. It's used as trance music. Give it a listen and you'll see why. The fusion stuff was rad. I definitely needed the wild hippie dancing to cure me of the fanny pack blues, not that fanny packs make me blue, but that when they are stolen while holding my phone and camera, I get kind of upset. At least I didn't get beaten with batons like Badr and Hisham or have my wallet stolen like David. (dudes pictured below) The bloody sticky fingered youth made a killing off of our group.



David and Youssef are really coming on to each other in this picture. We played some soccer on the beach, then danced it up like the wild Africans we are.

Grandpa, Tell Me 'Bout The Good Ol' Days

Grandpa Hess was born in 1918. As I was recounting the Moroccan farming techniques to my dad he was flabbergasted and commented, "That's how Grandpa would do it when he was a kid." That was, like, you know, a really long time ago. The wheat is harvested by hand with a sickle, strapped on the backs of donkeys and brought to the middle of town where it is thrashed. I'm shown here (white t-shirt) with some of my friends I made while having a cross-cultural farmer bonding experience. It felt good to let them know that America is not just a bunch of skyscrapers and office buildings, but that if I were home right now, my dad would probably be swindling me into helping him out with the harvesting duties. The difference is that I would be sitting in an air-conditioned tractor, listening to talk radio and probably enjoying a free game of golf the next day.

A Pic of Some Childrens

(l to r) Aisha, Sokaina and Fatima. Aisha is quite shy, but we've had some good times together. Sokaina is the student with whom I feel most connected. It's probably because she speaks a fair amount of French and is open-minded enough to question the status quo. This seems to be a rarity here. We have great discussions about a wide variety of topics. Fatima is excited to be learning English and decided one day to repeat her newly learned phrase over and over and over: "F@#$ Off!" For some reason I couldn't stop laughing at her. The positive reinforcement went a long way as she can now be heard uttering this phrase quite frequently. It's a good thing that swearing in a foreign language isn't really swearing, huh?

Party Like a Rock Star

The 40 dollar guitar I bought a month ago is probably now worth millions. It has been played by Steven Tyler, after all. He's the lead singer of Aerosmith...also the man with the biggest mouth and most feminine look on the planet, both of which are totally cool with me. So how in the world did he get his hands on my guitar? Well, it's a little different than you might expect.

My laid-back buddy, fellow American and volunteer, David and I were meeting some of his students at the school where he teaches. We were planning to go to the beach and what is a trip to the beach without some time spent chillin' on the guitar? Exactly. We arrived at the school, guitar in hand, only to find that there was a gigantic party happening. All 4 million students and staff (approximate number) were packed into the auditorium for a preliminary party before the party. The air had the typical mixed smell of body odor and perfume, common to any decent concert. All in attendance must have had some ungodly sugar fix before arriving, too. They were hyped.

The director spotted me with my guitar and asked if I would like to perform for everyone. David said I looked like I'd been punched in the face, but holding true to my 'Why Not?" philosophy of life, I obliged. When they asked what my name was I told them with a bit of choked back laughter, "Steven Tyler." My palms were sweaty by the time the MC got on the mike and excitedly blasted, "blah faljf blah ldioaul blah, Steven Tyler!!"

The audience loved me as evidenced by their mobbing me on my salmon-swimming-upstream-esque effort to exit. Needless to say, I now cannot walk anywhere in this area without being solicited for autographs and a chance to play my guitar. I've signed shirts, hands, pants, discarded candy wrappers, school notebooks, all while the kids scream my name wildly. I laugh to myself every time some random stranger on the street calls my name, which is a daily occurrence.

Music is a great equalizer when it comes to language barriers, too. I carry my guitar with me to most places because I've found that I meet infinitely more people that way. We swap songs and sometimes get back together to jam. It's definitely provided a lot of fun memories with strangers and we have a load of fun with it at work, too, doing spontaneous harmonica, guitar, drum and dance sessions. My chubby 5-yr. old host brother now holds hilarious nightly concerts as well. Maybe all these memories are where it's transformed itself into a million-dollar prize.