On Wednesday I am in bed at 3 am, after trying unsuccessfully to cut down my power point slides for the evening. I will present on my work with at-risk adolescents in NYC. But I am up again at 7:30. Can't seem to sleep.
This morning the tour is of the Oudaia or old kasbah section where the Oued River meets the Atlantic ocean.
We take a cab over and Helene shows Hilda and me around. We start at the Bab al Oued or great entry port to this area. The city of Rabat takes its name from this section for the city where the Zenata Berbers built a fortress-monastery or ribat on the site of the present kasbah, which is the Oudaia quarter. In the 12th century the ribat was rebuilt as a kasbah by the Almohads who used it as a place to launch their campaigns to bring Andalusia in Spain back under Muslim rule. In the 17th century, Muslim refugees from Europe flooded back to this area, including moorish pirates or corsairs who continued to raid ships well into the 19th century lending the Oudaia a colorful history to match the color and beauty of its sites. (Lonely Planet)
We enter in and the walls are painted white with a deep cerulean blue at the base like pictures I have seen of Greece. But our guide Mehdi:
- unofficial I should say, because Helene did try to chase him away - tells us that it is actually a very different blue and is supposed to be disagreeable to mosquitoes. Wives tale or truth?
There seems to be a quality of superstition married with spiritualism in this quarter made up of narrow winding alleys - all beautiful - all lined with the blue and with ornate doors many with symbols of hands or eyes or bees representing protection from evil.
There are many people living here, but it is narrow and twisty and very mysterious.
Hilda and I both brush the walls by accident and take home a souvenir of blue paint.
We stop to photograph a musician who wears a hat from which he spins a tassel above his head.
Eventually we reach the verandah overlooking the sea and Sale across the Oued River where many fishing boats can be seen on the beach.
Mehdi announces that our tour is now over and I try to give him 30 dh from the three of us, but he shakes his hand and says, "No no this is 170 dh for a tour." Okay so we didn't pay that much, but he did tell us a lot about the history. We step into the Maure Teahouse overlooking the water.
In the medina, Helene took us to her favorite weaver on the Rue des Consuls the street where the consulates used to be located. He has his factory right there and his family has been weaving for over 100 years. Beautiful colors, a mix of cotton, wool and sabra, which is a cactus silk made from agave. He will weave scarves, bedspreads, anything to order, but shopping has to wait. We have kids to work with.
We arrive at the Fondation this time to find there are some 24 kids waiting to work with us. They are between the ages of 5 and 9, boys and girls and they speak French and a few only Moroccan Arabic. The kids are divided into two groups. I stay inside with one group and the kids are asked to make a door by folding their paper in half and then they are asked to draw what is inside their door. The kids seem almost afraid to touch the colored pencils and pastels.
Helene says it is unusual for the kids to have access to art supplies here and their schooling is actually quite strict. It was my instinct that plain pencils would work best and soon they were all asking for them. "Maitress, maitress - Teacher, teacher" Having just been to the Oudaia, I understand the importance doors have in the Moroccan culture and the children make them with such elaborate detail and care.
For some they choose silver and gold paint. Inside their doors they create something, many animals, trees and rainbows - references to nature. Such innocence and very related to the themes of Berber culture as we learn when shopping for rugs and having them described to us. One boy even created a tapis or rug inside his door.
There was only one boy who created a TV but the painting on the wall received equal treatment.
Another girl who seemed older than the others or bigger and spoke no French seemed ashamed of her drawings, crumpled them and then pulled out coloring pages of Snow White trying to show them to us. Perhaps understanding that we are American. Several kids are only Arabic speakers but the French speaking kids seem very willing to translate for the. These children are amazingly well behaved, but the two groups and especially ours gets a little wild. Some kids try to leave when they see we are not clapping at the show and tell section after each one speaks like they are doing in the outdoor group. But we catch on and the experience appears to have been a positive if chaotic one.
Richard makes fast friends with Walid calling him Will. He seems able to transcend all language barriers.
Dr. Mernini, a Moroccan psychiatrist and psychoanalyst, gives a wonderful talk about the meaning of Berber rug designs for the young women who weave them. A true Moroccan art form. He explores the meaning of the 1000 and 1 Arabian Nights and Sheherazade as a feminist heroine who transformed the mad king's rage and aggression through intelligence and creativity.
My presentation on foster care is next and goes a bit too long, but opens up the door for a Moroccan art therapist to invite me to lunch the following day and thus achieves what Helene and Ikuko and we all intended for the conference: to begin a dialogue.
We have dinner at "the garden" our favorite nearby outdoor restaurent with fountains, plants and a movie theatre all behind the government square. Then finally bed...
This morning the tour is of the Oudaia or old kasbah section where the Oued River meets the Atlantic ocean.
Wall of the Kasbah
Port to the Andalusian Gardens
Rabat in the distance
Sale across the Oued River from Rabat
We take a cab over and Helene shows Hilda and me around. We start at the Bab al Oued or great entry port to this area. The city of Rabat takes its name from this section for the city where the Zenata Berbers built a fortress-monastery or ribat on the site of the present kasbah, which is the Oudaia quarter. In the 12th century the ribat was rebuilt as a kasbah by the Almohads who used it as a place to launch their campaigns to bring Andalusia in Spain back under Muslim rule. In the 17th century, Muslim refugees from Europe flooded back to this area, including moorish pirates or corsairs who continued to raid ships well into the 19th century lending the Oudaia a colorful history to match the color and beauty of its sites. (Lonely Planet)
Bab al Oued
- unofficial I should say, because Helene did try to chase him away - tells us that it is actually a very different blue and is supposed to be disagreeable to mosquitoes. Wives tale or truth?
There seems to be a quality of superstition married with spiritualism in this quarter made up of narrow winding alleys - all beautiful - all lined with the blue and with ornate doors many with symbols of hands or eyes or bees representing protection from evil.
1337 AD - year the house was built
Hands
Scallop shell -symbol of spiritual pilgrims
Bee
Protection from the evil eye
There are many people living here, but it is narrow and twisty and very mysterious.
Hilda and I both brush the walls by accident and take home a souvenir of blue paint.
We stop to photograph a musician who wears a hat from which he spins a tassel above his head.
Hilda is not as good at spinning.
Eventually we reach the verandah overlooking the sea and Sale across the Oued River where many fishing boats can be seen on the beach.
We had our tea and almond cookies and then we strolled in the Andalusian Gardens and headed home through the medina.
Stone patterns in the pavement
Agave
In the medina, Helene took us to her favorite weaver on the Rue des Consuls the street where the consulates used to be located. He has his factory right there and his family has been weaving for over 100 years. Beautiful colors, a mix of cotton, wool and sabra, which is a cactus silk made from agave. He will weave scarves, bedspreads, anything to order, but shopping has to wait. We have kids to work with.
Rue des Consuls
The alley of Said Jazouli, the weaver's shop.
A typical bab or doorway in the medina
We arrive at the Fondation this time to find there are some 24 kids waiting to work with us. They are between the ages of 5 and 9, boys and girls and they speak French and a few only Moroccan Arabic. The kids are divided into two groups. I stay inside with one group and the kids are asked to make a door by folding their paper in half and then they are asked to draw what is inside their door. The kids seem almost afraid to touch the colored pencils and pastels.
Helene giving instructions in French
Helene says it is unusual for the kids to have access to art supplies here and their schooling is actually quite strict. It was my instinct that plain pencils would work best and soon they were all asking for them. "Maitress, maitress - Teacher, teacher" Having just been to the Oudaia, I understand the importance doors have in the Moroccan culture and the children make them with such elaborate detail and care.
For some they choose silver and gold paint. Inside their doors they create something, many animals, trees and rainbows - references to nature. Such innocence and very related to the themes of Berber culture as we learn when shopping for rugs and having them described to us. One boy even created a tapis or rug inside his door.
There was only one boy who created a TV but the painting on the wall received equal treatment.
Interior with TV and rugs
Another girl who seemed older than the others or bigger and spoke no French seemed ashamed of her drawings, crumpled them and then pulled out coloring pages of Snow White trying to show them to us. Perhaps understanding that we are American. Several kids are only Arabic speakers but the French speaking kids seem very willing to translate for the. These children are amazingly well behaved, but the two groups and especially ours gets a little wild. Some kids try to leave when they see we are not clapping at the show and tell section after each one speaks like they are doing in the outdoor group. But we catch on and the experience appears to have been a positive if chaotic one.
Richard makes fast friends with Walid calling him Will. He seems able to transcend all language barriers.
The children wave good-bye to us and the Fondation staff serve us tea, which is a nice treat and a much needed respite.
Jennifer, Ikuko and Raquel
On the return Raquel, Hilda and I share a cab and get dropped off outside the medina, not a far walk from the Splendid. As we walk a crowd begins to rush past us and we freeze and stand against a piller on the end of a sidewalk. Riot police appear and rush after the crowd and we remain frozen. What was that? We had seen a demonstration in the government square the day before on our way to the Villa des Artes. The riot police seem to surround one individual but then a woman screams at them from across the street, heckling in Arabic. Student protesters. They are unhappy about the unemployment like everywhere else in the world. The scuffle ends as quickly as it starts and we head to the hotel. I have 30 minutes to freshen up and get to the Villa for my presentation at 6:30.
Dr. Mernini, a Moroccan psychiatrist and psychoanalyst, gives a wonderful talk about the meaning of Berber rug designs for the young women who weave them. A true Moroccan art form. He explores the meaning of the 1000 and 1 Arabian Nights and Sheherazade as a feminist heroine who transformed the mad king's rage and aggression through intelligence and creativity.
My presentation on foster care is next and goes a bit too long, but opens up the door for a Moroccan art therapist to invite me to lunch the following day and thus achieves what Helene and Ikuko and we all intended for the conference: to begin a dialogue.
Dr. Mernini listens while I present on work at The Children's Village.
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