On a Bike and a Prayer
day 9. back streets and berbers
Our forced day of rest did me good and I pottered around fixing the bike, reading, eating, taking tablets and photographing the villagers. In the late afternoon I talked to Mathieu. He had spent a total of two years in Imilchil in the last three - photographing Berber tribes people in the High Atlas. His current assignment had lasted three months - taking pictures for a French book on the people and landscapes of the region. He had some portrait pictures in his bag that he was trying to return to the subjects. I asked the reaction of the people when he gave them a portrait. `Most are pleased' he replied, `But many are disappointed they are black and white, and some want more than just a head and shoulders picture - full body'.
Throughout his time here, the authorities had made his life difficult - trying to set him up or put him in prison - maintaining that he was a spy for France, or Amnesty International. He was leaving tomorrow for Rabat to complain about his maltreatment to higher authorities.
In the afternoon we handed over our baggage to Said. I
peddled aimlessly around the muddy streets of Imilchil scattering giggling girls
from their games. As the rain splattered in the dust I returned to the hotel
to watch the storm blackened sky sweep across the panorama, chased by a Martian
glow of the setting sun.
In the dusk, I went off for a stroll. Hassan, the guide who'd prayed for me to get well, joined me at a distance to act as a guard. Near the market square I found a man who'd lectured at SOAS in London, between 1974-1984. He asked me how the city was now, and we swapped comments on Tottenham Court Road. The very edge of town seemed to be populated by women and young girls. Hassan suggested I marry all the single ones!
As I walked away, all the young girls lined up near a wall and clapped, as they swayed their hips and sang `Donnez-moi un dirham.... donnez moi un dirham'. They came scuttling after me, sucking other bystanders into the throng, until I was surrounded like a Queen Bee. One little girl, her arms open wide begged me to take her with me. I scooped her up and carried her through the crowds back into town. She clung like a tiny pipestrel bat and I wished I could take her further. Taking a last look at her soft brown eyes I put her down in a doorway and turned my back on the children of Imilchil as the rain fell once again on the mud brick streets.
listen to audio diary