Singing with the Jolly Market Vendors
Trip Start May 01, 2001
44Trip End Jun 30, 2001
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: 16 hours* 3.3 kms
Today is an odd day. As I lost a bunch of pictures, I'm going to have to go back to several towns to retake my video clips. I try to reason with myself that those towns are preserved in my heart and I don’t need photos or video clips… but I decide to stick to the rules and go back and make sure I have a photo and video clip of each town
I grab a tagine in Rommani, call up my old pal Yassine. We take a couple of photos and clips and..
But it would be such a shame to not discover any place new on this fine day--and there is a town south of here... If I'm lucky, I could go down there and then catch another grand taxi to Oued Zem--and on to Casablanca... It's a gamble--transportation is really unpredictable in these parts.
Sure enough, there is a grand taxi heading to Ezzhiliga... after a bit of a wait, we're off... winding up and down steep hills and across rolling valleys... until it really starts to feel like the middle of nowhere.
Market day is winding down in Ezzhiliga when we get there--so I quickly climb up a nearby hill to soak in the view. Not much substance to the town... just an odd feeling that even though we're relatively close to the Casablanca Megapolis, people seem so cut off from the world here...
After wandering a bit, head back to the main road hoping for some sort of transport. I see the last of the market vendors cramming into a very rickety looking van--they offer me a ride to Oued Zem, so I squeeze in
Generally, these aren't the type of folks I converse with much. They tend to be reserved, a bit humorless, and too weary after hours and hours of unrewarding toil to socialize with a foreigner. At least, that's how I normally perceive them. But these guys are different. One of them says he actually finished high school and studied English back in the seventies--and is determined to practice with me. There are the typical discussions on religion, etc... Then they ask me to pull out my guitar... and suddenly these rugged, rural Moroccan men became more jolly than a crowd of Irishmen at a pub on Friday night--even an old fellow who looked about eighty joins in...
I'll never forget my ride with the Jolly Ezzhiliga Market Vendors....