Marche Maroc; Marrakech

 Jamma El-Fna famous square at night

Marrakech Mosques

Prep meeting for vendors

Walking to the Fair

Setting up

Jewelry vendors

Vendors from Taouma

Argan Oil

Argan Oil

Beautiful rugs

All hand crafted

Off the square outside medina

Pastry cart

Tajine and bread plates

Daggers

Sweet little guy for sale

How I look traveling

Afriqia Hotel

Traditional cup of mint tea on the square

Spending time with friends

Jilaba Iron Press

Someones sewing machine being repaired

Fresh coconut, yum...

Horse and carriage on square

Medina is always packed

Love these candle tins

Welcome booth

Love the matching jilabas

Booth Tents

Posing with a few vendors and volunteers

Reminds me of a post card

My room at Hotel Afriqia

In Gueliz outside square

Tea pots everywhere

Recycled rubber items made from tires   

It all started when I caught a taxi to Kech to join up with volunteers to work the Marche Moroc on Jamaa El-Fna Friday-Monday. I sat next to a guy that had just escaped from 'Bouya Omar', a mental institution 4 kilometers from my house. He was telling the others in the taxi his story and he didn't know I spoke or could understand Arabic. He said he had "no money and just came from Prague" to see his family in Rabat where he was trying to go to explain his story to them as his father put him in this institution as he had a prior drug problem. As he spoke very good English with a heavy British accent, somehow I believed him. He said he would "explain everything on the way to Kech" which was about an hour ride. Eagar with anticipation and awareness, holding my bag close, I listened in detail and asked lots of questions. How did you escape I asked? He said he "used big rocks to cut the chains loose that attached his feet to the wall" and proceeded to show me the blood burned area around his feet, then he and his friend jumped a stone wall and caught a taxi to where I was. How did you get money to get a taxi fair to Marrakech I asked? He said he told his story and everyone he told helped him with a few dirhams here and there. One aspect of Muslim culture I love. Will the police look for you? "Yes", he proclaimed "but the system is corrupt and no-one will know where I am, they don't care" he says, "it's all about money and the government knows about Bouya Omar but they don't care" he says. "They don't feed the mental patients but a handful of rice and a small square of bread only one or two times a day. I couldn't stay there" he said, "I don't like it one bit, it's not right to treat people like animals, or that way." He said it was great I was learning Arabic and the Moroccan culture, I told him I am a volunteer with Peace Corps and I want to help out. He knew about Peace Corps and said this experience would change my life forever and it's honorable work. We chatted until we reached the taxi drop off. He never asked me for money or my number, unusual for a Moroccan man. He gave me his contact info for his family in Rabat and said if I ever needed anything or a place to stay I am most welcome, then he wished me luck just like that. He said he just wanted to straighten out this mishap with his family and live a simple life but that it is hard in Morocco to get ahead even when you are educated and need a job as there is a lack of work. The taxi driver and other passengers gave him money before we got out. I reached into my sack and gave him a few oranges and yogurt which he declined. I finally made it after the city bus arrived to the festival then to the hotel to check in. The weekend was eventful and fun to be with other volunteers and women vendors from many associations making hand made items. But most of all, I reflected on the beginning of this journey as a reminder of the interesting people I continue to meet in Morocco and the struggles they face.