Termaguist
Update: For all of those who actually check this site (thank you, JSL!), I have figured out my problem of using Arabic in Photoshop or Fireworks: just use the character map! You can check out the logo I designed here to see what I was ranting and raving about…
Back in Morocco, last week I had the great opportunity to visit my host dad’s village. Last Saturday he mentioned that he was going to Termaguist and asked if I wanted to come along. Of course I said yes because I had yet to be in a village-village in this part of the country.
Termaguist is about 12 kms east of Guelmim and has about 30 families. It’s a very small oasis village with towering date palms and unicolor mud houses, whose ceilings practically match the height of the palms to manage the sweltering heat in the torrid sun. The village just received electricity and running water a few years ago. After I took a small tour of the village, I went to where my host dad, Hassan, had congregated with the other Termaguisties.
I did not realize until I was already seated in the courtyard that I was in a mosque! At first I felt very uncomfortable because I had always been told that as a non-Muslim, I was not allowed to enter the mosque. Questioning Hassan later, I found out that me being in the courtyard was no problem at all, just as long as I didn’t enter the prayer room, which I didn’t.
So this day was a special day. Once a year, in August, all of the Termaguisties return to their village from their homes in Morocco and abroad. Of course there’s food…the women cook tajines and couscous for the men gathered at the mosque. (Thinking about it now, it was odd that the entire day I saw only one woman the entire day; she was tying up her donkey.) They fellowshiped jovially and ate, became reacquainted with childhood friends that hadn’t been seen in, maybe, decades. The fqih (or imam, the Muslim pastor/priest/rabbi/etc.) spoke for a few minutes after everyone had finished eating. Those who left the village long ago departed once again, seemingly as quickly as they arrived.
I feel very honored to have been invited to this event. I was the spectacle, of course, when I first arrived. The more curious men engaged me in conversation in French (because I’m French, did you know that?–a topic I hope to cover in due course), but were relieved when they finally accepted the fact that I spoke Arabic with a splash of Tashelheet, the language they speak among themselves. We discussed, as always, the food, my purpose here, my impressions of Morocco and Bush.
The village inspired me. I hope to soon begin planning a women’s peanut butter cooperative in the village of Termaguist.
Since then, I’ve been working on my artisan survey research project and trying to convince the members of the silver association that they should be the ones making the framed-jewelry art, and not me…a struggle of almost epic proportions.
Tomorrow I’m going to the ocean! It’s a holiday, I think the King’s birthday, so I will be riding the waves of Sidi Ifni.
Enjoy your weekend!
Joshua