By Helen Visarraga
On the eve of my last month in Oregon before I move into my next phase of my journey to New Mexico in November, I have reflected on my adventures and friendship with Jan and Sonja. I could write volumes about work, growth, personal, political, social, fun, and future aspirations. But this little account taken from a few notes in my journal written in November 2017, is simply meant to honor the experience, the friendship and the joy of three friends sharing love, adventure, and companionship in a third world country. We all took away our own memories of the experience. This is simply my viewpoint knowing that Jan and Sonja will obviously have their unique memories; that is the true love of diversity. ENJOY!
Jan, Sonja and I didn’t do too much knocking on doors; but Sonja was an awesome guide, Jan took many pictures, and my mind’s eye held on to an assortment of images. From that perspective we were all walking through our own doors of experience, understanding, and relating to a new environment. I am recollecting the experience two years later based on a few journal entries so I apologize if the clarity is obscured by the challenge of accurately recollecting yesterday’s imagery.
In the year 2017, I was graced a visit to Marrakech with two of my dear friends, Jan and Sonja. The three of us basked (well I didn’t necessarily bask) in a unique and amazing cultural adventure. My memory holds a wide array of images that I keep in a separate container in my bank of loving experiences with dear friends. Jan has a passion for photographing doors; all kinds of doors. She has many other passions but I will focus on this particular one. I recall many of the doors Jan photographed as we explored the market place and surrounding side alleys littered with every kind of imaginable goods for sale in the midst of a sensory blend of colors, smells, and sounds that still linger in the eye of my imagination.
This sequence of experiences drawn from my own mind’s eye may or may not make sense as I try to capture those unique moments when my sensory body was not trying to shut down from being overwhelmed☺. I love and honor Jan’s ability to capture the essence of life in its truest simplicity; such as doors of every shape, color, and form, much like our human diversity. Jan saw the doors, the unique perspective from her visual acuity and her gentle heart. I envisioned what was beyond the doors based on my social consciousness; or at best what could or might have been behind them metaphorically. I viewed each of the experiences described in my journal as an entry to another door of understanding.
“Doors opening and doors closing” is a metaphor for moving in and out of life’s experiences. We are always in the midst of that adventure.
Photographs by Jan Calvin during a three day visit to Marrakech in November 2017, and my own account of the experiences as I recall them, provides a little taste of Marrakech that can be savored as a moment to remember a special time that three friends had in a country that seemed alien, but ever so familiar at the same time.
Beyond the doors of Marrakech all life breathes and exists in tandem within the collective nature of each soul’s unique experience.
Some doors simply stood still; not opening or closing like the same eerie, woeful sound of the call to prayer each morning before daybreak. The “adhan or call to prayer summoned the new day, perhaps to simply give thanks for or to honor a deity that presides over their lives. In the Fes medina where there's always a mosque around the corner, the adhan is unavoidable. Why should it be? Beliefs govern the journey of each soul, each society, and each country along the way.
I remember listening to the early morning cadence of repetitious mantras echoing through the open window of my hotel room. It reminded me of the prayers of my early childhood that I heard uttered from the combined voices of my father’s spiritual brotherhood, the Southwest Penitentes. During holy week (prior to Easter), the brotherhood was true to their sacred oath to intentionally leave any and all outside influences regarding family, responsibilities, and work. During that week they honored the story and beliefs behind the crucifixion of Jesus. On Easter Sunday they ascended the mountain behind my childhood home, flagellating themselves with leather whips until they reached the white cross at the top where they knelt on the ground and cried out in atonement for their sins and the sins of humanity. That must have been a tall order. It’s interesting to me today how those two images blended in my mind in witnessing how two very distinct cultures pay homage to some unknown entity that gives hope and order to life’s disparity.
At least a thousand vendors assemble in various locations. Most of the time right next to each other making it difficult to know where one vending space ends and the other begins. Although it was easier to discern when the wares were unique in appearance such as a vendor selling sandals, jalabas, blouses, shirts, and trinkets of various colors and sizes; or the vendor selling herbs, spices, dried legumes and other edibles like caramel-coated peanuts that were in a huge bin alongside other bins piled high with a variety of grains, beans, havas, and dried aromatic herbs that added to the sensory experiences that we navigated each day.
There are men, women, and children who do not have homes or doors to move through each day. Yet, they seem to embrace the movement of their day to day experience simply surviving; whether their role in this lifetime is to be a beggar, thief, vendor, or a handicapped person. Or maybe a snake charmer or someone who carries a monkey around the square to entice tourist attention and earn a few meager rewards from unselfish and concerned tourists.
They are indulged and sometimes suffocated by a mixture of aromas dancing together and sometimes separately being emitted from chicken, snails, sheep, and goat heads; all prepared with traditional spices and oils. Sometimes appetizing and other times leaving one to hurriedly move along to the next smell only to encounter the stench of toxic gas fumes from the motor scooters that weaved in and out through the crowded streets. Everybody shared the same sensory environment thoroughfare in the marketplace; no matter the time of day.
New fabric smells of thousands of the same kind of slippers, traditional clothing and even Nike and Adidas garb to appeal to the thousands of people that walked out of their doors that same morning with one goal in mind; to get the best deal. Bartering was the goal of the day. What can I get for what I am willing to pay? Or better yet, how do know I am not getting ripped off?
Was a huge pyramid of pomegranates, dates, lemons, oranges, and limes all neatly stacked. It made me nervous to select one for fear of dismantling the whole pyramid. The dark skinned man with the big white toothed smile shouting out the price for whatever I picked up. I hurriedly chose a pomegranate and not sure if I paid too much because bartering just wasn’t my scene. On the other hand, Jan and Sonja were experts and when I needed them to barter for something other than a pomegranate, they were right on.
We took a carriage ride and ended up at the Association of Women. Now that was a very pleasant sensory experience. We were introduced to essential oils, creams, eucalyptus crystals, and the popular sweet scented Moroccan oil. The young woman was skilled at making customers feel comfortable. She offered us mint tea and also treated our skin with samples of her various lotions and creams. It was nice to speak Spanish as it was one of the many languages spoken by many vendors and other travelers we encountered.
Led us to an adventure that was both interesting and anxiety provoking. As we moved along the vending sites one day, we ran into a young man who spoke very good English. He told us there was a place where a leather auction was being held and we could get amazing deals on leather goods. Offering to lead us to the place, we began to follow him. After walking for some distance, he called another man who was to take us the rest of the way to the “good leather deal” destination. We walked, and walked, and walked some more. All the time wondering where in the hell we were going. He kept saying, “almost there, almost there”. I remember walking by one area where there were dead and decaying animal parts that made my stomach quiver with nausea. It was all I could do to keep from puking right there on the street. Finally Sonja said she was not going any further. We eventually found a cab and made it back to the hotel. No leather goods, but a great heist 😊
Was a brown-skinned aged woman, wrinkled and dressed in black. She sat on the street, not far from the cigarette vendor, begging with a small child in her arms. I wondered if it was her grandchild or if it was just another hungry child that belonged to somebody else. Her eyes were filled with longing and kindness. She reminded me of Mother Theresa. I saw her a few times and each time I was drawn to look into her eyes and offer her a gift of kindness along with some of those coins that we used for bartering. She could not barter, only beg. I wondered about her life, her story and what she could have shared. I wondered about the baby girl and what kind of future she would have.
I held a disturbing image in my memory for some time. Amidst the heavily trafficked main street, a man was begging with his young daughter. The daughter walked in front of him. She was young probably pre-adolescent. She wore a white tee shirt that exposed her belly where she had a bag hooked with medical tubing that hung on the side of her body half filled with urine. The man kept nudging her along as he made his way begging through the crowds. Many people stood on both sides of the street and watched; some with curiosity, some with pity, and some with disgust. I watched with a sense of forced detachment at the sight of human suffering and poverty.
I see the blind aging brown-skinned man with white hair dressed in black walking each night chanting the same words…..begging and receiving whatever landed on his outstretched palm. I don’t know what he was saying, but it was a chant. Maybe it was the beggar’s chant with a rhythmic intonation that touched my heart and soul. It was as if though he could see something greater like simply accepting his lot in life. There was no sense of disparity or poverty, only a rich echoing of the mantra he repeated over and over again. I thought about the simplicity of his own awareness, just being present in that moment trusting that what he received from others would sustain him for another day or another moment.
Is the image of an evening dinner with my dear friends at a restaurant with a magical view of the mosque in the darkness of night. We dined on the local cuisine which consisted of different ways to present chicken, fish, lamb, goat, vegetables, spices and other ingredients in a way that invited our appetites to indulge in an amazing sensory experience. The wine was great and truly appreciated as most places did not serve alcohol. We however were able to seek out the one restaurant that did; with a little help from a young man that was promoting the place. We had so much fun connecting, sharing our present experience together, and I also had the privilege of trying to imitate the snake-charmer. So in addition to the photographs of the doors, I know Jan captured this moment for posterity.
Was a little place in the market square where we enjoyed the taste and pleasure of Chicken Sharma in a wrap and/or kind of taco-like appearance. Oh! That was really tasty. We ate there more than once or twice because it had become tastefully familiar. Jan was with us on one of those occasions. With her bright wit for conversation, she engaged a vendor that approached us with art forms made of carved wood. I don’t recall, but I am pretty sure that Jan purchased one of the pieces.
Were the images in my mind’s eye of the cactus forest that Jan and I visited on one of our carriage rides. I loved having time alone with Jan and time alone with Sonja plus all the special experiences we had together. That day at the cactus forest stands out in my mind on so many levels; the first one is that I know Tequila comes from the cactus plants (one of my favorite drinks…cactus juice 😊). The amazing variety of cactus species was so profound. The sturdiness and expansive reproductive possibilities of all different types of cactus plant/trees were simply amazing. It brought back so many memories of my childhood with my older brother, Frank, who died three years ago. I was six and he was nine when we roamed those desert mountain hills. We used to spend hours and days playing amidst the sagebrush, pinion pines and cactus plants with all kinds of colored blooms that shrouded the playground of my childhood. When I walked through the cactus forest with Jan, I imagined this forest on the hillside behind my home in Vadito, the community to where I am now blessed to be returning.
Love always, Helen