A cool fresh breeze swept over our morning – a welcomed relief from the hot humid days we had just been through – Africa, an unknown to me - I’ve never been on your soil before – stories of extreme poverty - unemployment 48% - inadequate hospitals and relentless beggars some without legs – what would the day bring? We didn’t walk to the city market, instead we ventured only to local vendors on the pier because I was not feeling very well – aggressive businessmen who needed to sell their wares desperately would not take no for an answer easily. I loved everything they had for sale – colorful batik block prints hung dancing in the breeze. I wanted them – the price was high and the man would not lower the cost. I saw a black suitcases lined with red velvet, inside were bracelets and trinkets made of ivory – how wrong, how cruel and how illegal. We purchased some carved wooden sculptures. I met a man playing a stringed instrument, I asked his name and the name of the instrument – I should have written both down because my memory fails me now. We shared a chair and he gave me a lesson – then I purchased a mini replica and we posed for a photo, he told me “you love me, so I love you”. The block prints were still calling my name and I didn’t want to leave without buying a few of these gorgeous colorful textiles - after much negation I now own three. And just in case you’re wondering how the wine from Brazil was – it sucked.
Catch you in Morocco
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