Liz and Jim Patton

What’s a Berber?

I had expected a trip to Africa, but instead I could be in the Middle East somewhere.. It’s mild and damp, there are olive trees everywhere, and meals are couscous, lamb and fish. The people are light skinned. It’s not Israel – almost all of the women are in hijabs with long robes or pants, but it could be Syria or Lebanon. Not an ankle to be seen anywhere. And the people speak French, which is a plus, since I have some hope of conversing with them, my Arabic being non-existent. So Morocco, a strip that hugs the northwest coast of Africa, strikes me as more Mediterranean than African.

They call themselves Berbers. The origin of these peoples is Eurasian, a mix of the forebears of the ancient Egyptians, fishermen from the Mediterranean, horsebreeders from the Sahara, and the Phoenicians. And even though the Arabs came through in the 8^th century to convert everyone to Islam, they didn’t stay around long enough to become part of the gene pool.

We started off in Casablanca and spent the first day on our own in search of a sim-card. Apparently Rick and Ilsa didn’t use cell phones, because there wasn’t one in the city that would fit Jim’s iphone. The young man who attached himself to us at the restaurant we found for lunch said he would find one, but first – it was our lucky day, he’d take us to a unique exhibit at a local museum – rugs made by old women from the Atlas mountains who spent the entire year tying and dying for this one-day event. And, sophisticated as we think we are, we’re taken in: led to a rug merchant’s, then mint tea foisted into our hands and rugs unfurled one after the other in front of us. No old ladies in sight, maybe they had just hopped some camels and left.

We ended the day, phone still unfunctional and embarrassed by our gullibility, going to Rick’s Café for a drink. Yes – Rick’s – begun ten years ago by an enterprising American, it looks just like the one in the movies and there’s a guy who plays the piano. Guess what the most requested song is?

Meet me at the Casbah

The group gets together the next day.  Some old friends from earlier trips, and some new, including a trio of Venezuelans – two women and one granddaughter, outspoken about their politics and fascinating to talk with. And we’re off to Rabat.

Today Rabat is pretty pedestrian, even though it’s the capital. But its history is wild. Originally settled by the Romans, it was built by the Berbers into a “ribat,” a fortress-monastery, who added a “kasbah,” a launching point for Moorish forays into Spain in the 12^th century. When the Spanish expelled the Moors and most Jews from Spain in the 15^th century, some came here and settled in around the kasbah. The area still survives as the old town, or medina. The streets that were Jewish were painted in blue and white to distinguish them. For a time, the exiled Moors and Jews lived well in the same area, but that eventually fell apart.

As the refugees poured in, the city became open and ungoverned – a site for Corsairs – Christian and Moorish pirates who raided European ships.

Camelburgers

Getting meals is part of the adventure when you’re travelling. In Meknes, an old city on the way to Fez, we visited the souk, market. You can get any part of any meat you want (as long as it’s not pork,) in any form you want. The shops that sell camel are identifiable by the hooves that lay on the counters. So, you select your favorite cut of camel, they grind it, with the spices you want (it was not immediately clear to me what goes with camel, but they seemed to know,) then walk it to a different stall where it is cooked for you and put into a “bun” (actually, really good bread.)

It was perfect with mint tea!