Magical Essaouira

Mystical and magical Essaouira, history breathes hauntingly through the streets of this town. Dark, small alleys and the many arches whisper tales of times long gone by and it only needs a little imagination to visualise the caravan trade from sub-Saharan Africa that once arrived in this eighteenth century port.

Essaouira has inherited a wonderful blend of cultural influences from the diverse ethnical groups that have inhabited the town. The Arabs, Berbers, Jews, Africans and Europeans have all contributed to the rich heritage of old traditions and the artistic spirit of this town.

Essaouira is one of the most photogenic towns of Morocco, colourful, dramatic, enchanting and always ready for the perfect pose! 

A Tale Of Henna

Once upon a time there was an enchanted kingdom. A kingdom where even the poorest woman occasionally becomes a beautiful princes. All she needs is the green powder of the grinded henna leafs and the patience to sit very still for a while!

The henna ritual is traditionally practised during special occasions one of them being a wedding ceremony. The hands and feet of a Berber bride are painted the night before her wedding ceremony with patterns that symbolise baraka, fertility and prosperity.

In Dar Zohra we sometimes have a henna party to wave our female guests goodbye with a temporary souvenir. On their skin they carry back home the Berber symbols for protection and good fortune.

Henna ritual the night before the wedding ceremony.

Floral henna pattern.

Berber henna patterns.

A Princess Bride in Fes

Amidst a crowd appeared the beautiful bride. Her face glowing from the candle lights around the pool in the courtyard of the splendid Riad Alkantara in the heart of the old medina in Fes. Honouring both tradition and fashion she was dressed in a breathtaking, black and white coloured caftan and when she called out my name to greet me, it took me at least fifteen seconds to make the journey back to reality from the hypnotic state of admiration I was in. Beside me I heard a discreet ‘wow, she is a princess!’ and from that moment on Zohra’s main objective that evening was to be at least within sight of the beautiful bride.


Traditionally the hands and feet of a Moroccan bride are decorated with henna before the wedding ceremony. On this evening, under the high and beautifully decorated ceilings of the riad, the princess bride sat on an antique velvet couch while her hands were painted with fine elegant patterns.


The next evening was the night of de wedding celebration and the married couple arrived each in a silver sedan chair carried by four men. Family and friends accompanied the couple along the red runner carpet to the ballroom where the couple was carried around and around for everyone to admire while woman yelled the high pitched wedding ‘youyouyouwi’s’ behind their hands. Once the couples feet were back on the ground they were seated on a sparkling silver throne. The band played on, the drums beating faster and faster while people moved their hips rhythmically and clapped their hands to an exuberant climax.


Traditionally the bride changes her gown several times during this celebration and each time her new creation is shown while she is carried around the ballroom in a golden sedan chair. Each new outfit seemed more magnificent than the previous. Between all the dazzling decorations, delicious courses, rhythmic music and sensual dancing the couple celebrated their wedding in a true 1001 night fairy tale setting.

To Give or Not to Give

Charity degrades those who receive it and hardens those who dispense it.(George Sand, 1842)


The begging industry here in Morocco has been giving me much food for thought lately. Not only the subject of begging itself but very much my own response to it. To be honest I don’t have an outspoken opinion on the matter. Depending on the circumstances I tumble from left to right emotionally without a steady point of view to determine my response. Though in Morocco beggars are very much part of the street scene through out the country, I still experience enormous discomfort whenever I am confronted with people asking me for charity and the question whether I am helping or contributing to the problem (is it a problem?) is nearly always a dilemma whenever I’m deciding to donate or not.

Perhaps the problem is not the begging itself, what could be wrong with someone asking for a financial handout? Is it my own embarrassment for the loss of dignity of the beggar, or the visible confrontation with people still lacking basic benefits due to societies failure to provide and to end the suffering of poverty? When is begging legitimate and how can we judge the necessity of it? When is someone really struggling to survive without other alternatives and when is it a choice for an ‘easy’ or more profitable income?

How can an individual contribute to fulfilling a beggars basic needs without diminishing the person’s self-esteem or what is left of it? In fact when I give it is encouraged by pity, even gratitude for being so much luckier in this world. Donating therefore becomes an act of expressing the inequality between the beggar and myself.

Another type of begging which is increasingly popular amongst small children in the rural areas of Morocco and very much encouraged by tourists, is asking for small handouts. One can easily measure the frequency of tourist visits to a certain area by observing the behaviour of the local children. Where ever tourists have repeatedly handed out pens, balloons, candies or small coins children have become insistent beggars, anxious to receive their treats. They have been educated into vigorous beggars, often causing a great deal of annoyance with tourists who do not share the desire to hand out small gifts. I really reject this kind of charity if it can be called so. It is not only depriving of self esteem but in my opinion arrogant to presume that Moroccan children are in need of charity. I understand the pleasure of giving but this self contentment might not be a positive contribution to the developing attitude of young children. Hospitality or friendly greetings become worthless for both parties when it is expected to be compensated by charity.

The Walnut Tree and the Tnach Lchahd (twelve witnesses)

In our garden stands an old walnut tree. The trunk of the tree is crooked and bents over severely as if the many years of life have begun to weigh heavily upon the tree. The walnut tree is another presence we take for granted. It stands in the middle of the garden and offers a cool shade on a sweltering summer day. Imagine our surprise when we recently discovered that we were not the legal owners of the walnut tree on our property! A local Berber family has claimed ownership of the walnut tree in our garden and wishes to practice their right to collect the walnuts annually.

The title-deed of our property describes in detail all there is to know (or all one thinks there is to know) about the land and property. However there is no mention of ownership regarding the walnut tree but after some research it became clear to us that we were not confronted with an unusual situation. In the rural areas it is apparently not uncommon that fruit carrying trees are owned by a different person than the land owner. Not only does the legal owner of the tree have the right to gather the fruit from the tree he also has the right to sell the tree or claim a minimum of ten years loss of income from the fruit harvest in case the tree is chopped without his permission. These ownerships are not described in deeds or contracts but are subject to the ancient oral law called the tnach lchahd (twelve witnesses).

In the old days marriages and other agreements were orally settled with the presence of twelve male witnesses. Also disputes were settled with the testimony of twelve witnesses. Today the tnach lchahd isn’t practiced anymore but there are still legal cases with issues based on the old oral law and the authorities are still updating town indexes in the rural areas regarding marriages, birth’s etc.

In our case the only problem with the ownership of the walnut tree was the surprise. We have been able to settle this issue in harmony with the owners and we’ve learned something about tnach lchahd. However, I can imagine that such an issue can create enormous problems for the unaware foreign property buyer. So just a little word of advice, make absolutely sure that all the fruit carrying trees on the property really belong to the property you are buying!

All comments are welcome but if anyone reading this has more relevant information regarding tnach lchahd please leave me a comment.

Desperate measures

Marrakech is developing at high speed. Not only is the city expanding with numerous development projects outside its city borders but it is also modernising rapidly. The city has many faces; extravagance and religious conservatism seem to go hand in hand. Traditions are remarkably well preserved and apparently remain undisturbed by the latest fashion trends. It breaths tolerance and invites innovation.

Throughout the city billboards advertise a new development project of luxury homes a little beyond Marrakech along route d’Ourika. A huge photo of Eva Longoria with her written recommendation across the advertisement blends in well in the bustling city but the billboards along route d’Ourika seem a little out of place in the conservative countryside. The vaguely visible cleavage of the Desperate Housewives star obviously stirred up controversy and sufficient measures have been taken. The cause of annoyance has been well disguised with black paint on every single billboard along the way!

Laundry heaven

We have recently bought a LG Fully Automatic Washing Machine and it’s a beauty! I am totally in love with it! Doing laundry has become a great joy in my life, gathering, sorting and loading the clothing, choosing a washing program and then a gentle, almost caressing push on that wonderful, precious start button! It scrubs, rinses and perfumes our laundry with the greatest ease and I cannot remember being so utterly and profoundly grateful each time I empty the drum to hang out the tumbled dried laundry.

Maybe you’re thinking I’ve gone a little bonkers by now but after endless hand washes at which I am absolutely useless, irremovable dirt marks and waiting days on end for it all to dry I have died and gone to laundry heaven!

Here in the Valley of Ourika a washing machine is for many locals an unimaginable luxury. Most houses in the douars don’t have running water and the villagers often depend on communal water taps or well’s. In general the laundry is done in the river but during the rains in the winter the water runs too fiercely.

In spring and summer small groups of women and children often spend their mornings scrubbing the laundry in the river below our house. Even though I realise that it is hard work, the Berber woman make it seem like a cheerful and social event. Sometimes their singing and conversations faintly reaches my ears and when they spread their laundry out to dry on the large rocks at the river-bed it is a colourful contrast to the green colours of the valley.

Below a borrowed image of women doing laundry.