WE'RE OFF TO SEE THE...NO, NOT WIZARD...THE KING!
Here is the street lined with people
Here is the street lined with peopleawaiting the king's arrival. There were several little "bands" of men who play drums and sort of sing-chant. White jellabas are primarily worn by men for special occasions such as this, and sometimes women wear them (white ones) to weddings. And here is my fine photo of the King, sitting up front next to the driver... perhaps.
Here's my story: Wanting to look my best for royalty, I took my counterpart up on her offer to hammam at her place last evening (there is no public hammam in Touama, and I don’t have a hot water heater).We went to the rear of her house and after scrubbing up for about 30 minutes she took after my back and now I am sure I do not have a mole or any other surface blemish remaining. This morning I actually dug out a dress, put on jewelry, kind of styled my hair, applied mascara. Result? Many comments of “zwin bzzef” and the hand flicking motion from the girls and women at the neddy. That was nice! They seldom see me after any of my normal attempt at American beauty.
I asked several of the women who we were going to be seeing on our journey, and there appeared to be a bit of uncertainty. We just learned about the trip to Tahenoute, the provincial capital, late last Friday afternoon. The advisory was to meet at the neddy at 7:30 and depart at 8:00 Monday morning. For some reason (ask me not!) I actually left my house at 7:30 for the five-minute walk to the neddy, where I saw the trainer leaving to go to the dar taliba (high school kid’s boarding house) next door. She told me that the front of the neddy was full of men; she was getting away from there. In the course of thirty minutes, several other girls and women showed up; my counterpart arrived about 8:30. She being, of course, the one who told me to be there at 7:30. Taxis and transits are filling the large parking lot. Rajls everywhere! We all stayed inside the neddy, I guess so no men could see us. Finally, shortly after 9:00 the 20 females get into taxis, and all the men (probably over 200) start filling the other vehicles, and the caravan is underway about 9:30. I’m told we don’t have to pay for the taxis. My guess is that the national government gives the province transport costs, which in turn filters it down to the villages like Touama so all people can see the king and/or so the king will have sizable crowds when he passes through.
Upon arrival about 10:30, we hear (please, it can’t be true!) that the king’s arrival time is to be 2:00. We wend our way down to the main street which is barricaded off, in order to get a good viewing spot. After standing around for about an hour, it becomes necessary to “use the facilities” but the problem is, there are none. So two of the young women in our group take me by the hand and off we go to the olive grove, where we (out of the corner of our eyes) observe numerous men hither and yon relieving themselves. We continue on up the path to where there are houses, and knock on a door and ask to use their toilet. They are more than happy to accommodate but a bit offended when we don’t stay for tea. Likely should have, but I was feeling a bit nervous as I left my bag containing money, camera, carte de sijour with another woman and wanted my hands back on it.
I think I was the only non-Moroccan there among thousands, and I certainly was keenly aware of that fact. Usually don’t get much notice but all these men had to do for hours was to people watch and I got my share.
Someone in our little group brings out a large bag of bread, eggs, and fruit so we make our way under a tree (yes, one of the nearby olive trees) and have a little picnic. Finally it is 1:30 and there is excitement in the air! People start getting serious about getting a place by the barricade in order to see the king. I am there, too, with camera in hand. Out of thousands of people, I appear to be the only one taking photos. Here he comes!! Snap, snap.
It’s over! Who saw him? No one in our ensemble was sure if they did or not. Seeing the king was a bit like going through Touama. One blink and you miss it. But I waved my free paper flag, and likely was the only one there quietly declaring in English, “Long live the King!”
Here's my story: Wanting to look my best for royalty, I took my counterpart up on her offer to hammam at her place last evening (there is no public hammam in Touama, and I don’t have a hot water heater).We went to the rear of her house and after scrubbing up for about 30 minutes she took after my back and now I am sure I do not have a mole or any other surface blemish remaining. This morning I actually dug out a dress, put on jewelry, kind of styled my hair, applied mascara. Result? Many comments of “zwin bzzef” and the hand flicking motion from the girls and women at the neddy. That was nice! They seldom see me after any of my normal attempt at American beauty.
I asked several of the women who we were going to be seeing on our journey, and there appeared to be a bit of uncertainty. We just learned about the trip to Tahenoute, the provincial capital, late last Friday afternoon. The advisory was to meet at the neddy at 7:30 and depart at 8:00 Monday morning. For some reason (ask me not!) I actually left my house at 7:30 for the five-minute walk to the neddy, where I saw the trainer leaving to go to the dar taliba (high school kid’s boarding house) next door. She told me that the front of the neddy was full of men; she was getting away from there. In the course of thirty minutes, several other girls and women showed up; my counterpart arrived about 8:30. She being, of course, the one who told me to be there at 7:30. Taxis and transits are filling the large parking lot. Rajls everywhere! We all stayed inside the neddy, I guess so no men could see us. Finally, shortly after 9:00 the 20 females get into taxis, and all the men (probably over 200) start filling the other vehicles, and the caravan is underway about 9:30. I’m told we don’t have to pay for the taxis. My guess is that the national government gives the province transport costs, which in turn filters it down to the villages like Touama so all people can see the king and/or so the king will have sizable crowds when he passes through.
Upon arrival about 10:30, we hear (please, it can’t be true!) that the king’s arrival time is to be 2:00. We wend our way down to the main street which is barricaded off, in order to get a good viewing spot. After standing around for about an hour, it becomes necessary to “use the facilities” but the problem is, there are none. So two of the young women in our group take me by the hand and off we go to the olive grove, where we (out of the corner of our eyes) observe numerous men hither and yon relieving themselves. We continue on up the path to where there are houses, and knock on a door and ask to use their toilet. They are more than happy to accommodate but a bit offended when we don’t stay for tea. Likely should have, but I was feeling a bit nervous as I left my bag containing money, camera, carte de sijour with another woman and wanted my hands back on it.
I think I was the only non-Moroccan there among thousands, and I certainly was keenly aware of that fact. Usually don’t get much notice but all these men had to do for hours was to people watch and I got my share.
Someone in our little group brings out a large bag of bread, eggs, and fruit so we make our way under a tree (yes, one of the nearby olive trees) and have a little picnic. Finally it is 1:30 and there is excitement in the air! People start getting serious about getting a place by the barricade in order to see the king. I am there, too, with camera in hand. Out of thousands of people, I appear to be the only one taking photos. Here he comes!! Snap, snap.
It’s over! Who saw him? No one in our ensemble was sure if they did or not. Seeing the king was a bit like going through Touama. One blink and you miss it. But I waved my free paper flag, and likely was the only one there quietly declaring in English, “Long live the King!”
posted by Connie Genger | 2:09 PM
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