My Marrakesh

Marrakech: and reaching for grace under pressure

When it all goes wrong......When no landscaper can be found...When the counter tops arrive stained....When the olive grove's pump is broken.......When the tile man steals money.......When the doors are put in askew.....When the pool is empty and the credit card full.....

that's when the blogging girl tries to keep some perspective....

when she tells herself that there is magic everywhere....

if she just takes the time to see it....

when she reminds herself that the important things have nothing to do with cement, and bricks, and deadlines....

but are clad in pink and wear high heels....

and just as bad luck blows in with the wind......so too, will it be swept away......

if she is just patient....

A tale of sadness at the American School of Marrakech

Teachers.....one of our most valuable commodities.  And wonderful teachers ......oh my, those are treasures, indeed.  Yes, every once in a while parents are fortunate enough to come across a teacher who not only instills in their child the great desire to learn, but also fills their days with magic.  This year, the blogging girl's little daughter, Skylar, had been lucky enough to have one of those, a certain Ms. Clare Ducker at the American School of Marrakech.

Now Ms. Clare was not made like ordinary teachers.....oh no.  She had something extra special about her.  The kind of specialness where every child in her classroom shrieked with pleasure when she walked through the door.  The kind of specialness where the very most fun exercises had children clamoring for more spelling, more reading and more math (imagine that!).  The kind of specialness where only the most fanciful  art projects would do (and were recounted in breathless detail at home) . 

Parents somehow felt that Ms. Clare not only wanted the children in her class to excel, but that she cared deeply for them -- each and every one.  And in return, the children could do nothing.... but love her back.

Sadly, so sadly, Ms. Clare Ducker's contract at the American School of Marrakech -- at the very last minute -- was not renewed.  Parents wrung their hands and worried.  Surely, surely, there was some mistake! A typo....or a computer glitch......or a wrong folder in a wrong file.... But their letters to the school went unanswered.  (It seems that good manners are in very short supply these days.)  When little Skylar heard that her darling Ms. Clare might not be returning to the school next year, she put her head down in her arms and wept.  Nothing -- not even a chocolate cupcake and a new kitten -- made her feel the slightest bit better.

And so it is.... a sad and puzzling tale written from an olive grove in Marrakech in the middle of the night.  Let us hope that happier tales are to come.... 

(And as for you, dear  Ms. Clare, should you happen to stumble upon this blog, please know that you may be gone from the school but you will not be forgotten.....Oh no, never forgotten...)

Peacock Pavilions: and the flowerless quest for a landscaper

You had heard about her landscaping woes already but unfortunately the botanical hand wringing continued unabated.  Imagine Peacock Pavilions nestled in among olive trees and scorched earth.  Oh dear.  The blogging girl had to, had to, find a landscaper.  It was urgent.  She placed all her bets on the annual garden show, Jardin d'Art, taking place in Marrakech.

When attending the show, six-year old Skylar suggested that they dress up as flowers in order to attract landscapers.

When the flower get ups didn't work, she tried drawing attention to herself by wearing a fantastical garden hat and murmuring the names of plants under her breath while milling through the crowd.....  But everyone just ignored her.

The blogging girl then tried questioning a particularly attractive plant (surely, surely, she would know a landscaper) .... but the plant just flung a long flowered tress over her shoulder and answered melodramatically:  a garden without a landscaper is like the night sky without the moon.... 

She then tried starting up conversations with complete strangers (who might just be landscapers) in the garden show's charming cafes.... but people just thought she was odd and moved away.

She even asked the fellow behind the beautiful tiled counter if he wouldn't happen to be training as a landscaper, would he? (Kind of like Hollywood where all the waiters are really actors).....  He replied no, but said he was an expert chicken sandwich maker in case she needed one of those.

All seemed lost.  So the blogging girl went home and wept into her lone cactus (who put up with this sort of appalling watery behavior on a regular basis).

That night she dreamt that she was peering through an intricate garden gate behind which grew potted rows of night jasmine, and acres of lemon and fig trees.  She rattled the gate  but it was locked.  She then tried calling out, Helloooooooo......Is there anyone home...? But all she heard was the sound of her own voice echoing faintly over the vast terrain.

Marrakech: and starry, starry night

Somewhere deep in her slumber, she heard him. As if from far, far away, she heard his steps thudding against the tile floor. She heard the opening and closing of drawers , and then the opening and closing of doors. This went on for hours, or perhaps minutes, or was it only seconds. Then she felt his hand on her shoulder. It’s time, he said, his breath on her ear.

Her senses dulled, she sat up and slipped her legs over the side of the bed to the floor. She stood up and followed him. In his arms, he carried a sleeping child, a small blond head in the crook of his neck. In silence, they walked outside. It was dark that night in Marrakech. And it was cold, the kind of cold that one finds at night in the desert. The chilled air began to penetrate her lethargy. Her eyes only faintly making out her surroundings, she climbed the stairs to the roof terrace.

He had everything prepared. Thick mats had been laid out and on them sleeping bags. From their warm cocoons, they looked up. At first there was nothing. And then they saw a white streak, a bright trail. And then another and another. They watched in quiet reverence as the stars dropped one by one from the Marrakech night sky. Hours passed, or perhaps it was minutes, or maybe just seconds. The sky grew blacker and emptier. And then…… there were no more.

Image by Elifkarakoc

P.S. If anyone is coming to Marrakech from the US  in the next couple of months and would be willing to bring something for me, please contact me at maryam at mtds dot com.  I would be most grateful.

Marrakech: and the elusive Feather Hunters

The Feather Hunters ~a stealthy breed of tiny Peacock Pavilion pacifists ~ leave no tracks.    Birds are not harmed in their pursuit.  But make no mistake...the Feather Hunters are a highly skilled sub-species, their senses fine tuned to perfection.  Known to be volatile when hungry or tired, it’s best to give into demands if accidentally confronted with one.   Some say they even have night vision. (I am unable to confirm or deny these reports.)

My wits about me, I captured a few precious photos of an alleged leader of the Feather Hunters.  With a sly look in her eye, she showed me her bounty.  But then quick as a flash………she was gone………

 

Marrakech: and a Thanksgiving tale of clementines

It's Thanksgiving in the US today, and this year I am giving thanks not just for the big things, but for the little ones, too.  For the banana pancakes, the impromptu magic shows, the phone calls from best friends, the perfect lipstick, the crayoned drawings, the olive oil soap, the finely woven sheets, the bedtime stories......

And the freshly picked clementines.  Because so much of what makes life special lies in the details.  And with that, let me share a freshly squeezed tale .

************************************

 

They took a walk in their garden.  They held hands because it made them feel happy. 

Their cat, Blinky, came too.

It was sunny in Marrakech.  The bougainvillea matched a certain little girl's skirt.

They picked clementines from their own trees.

And they stored them in their specially designed clementine-catching hat.

   

They tasted delicious.

They sat on the grass.  The little girl's skirt bloomed around her.  Her mother thought she was quite possibly the prettiest flower in the garden.

The dog, Rocky, agreed with the mother's thinking.  He was quite possibly the cleverest dog in the garden.....

******************

Happy Thanksgiving from me to you.  May your days be filled with freshly picked clementines, just poured hot coffee and brand new magazines....      

Marrakech forecast: mostly sunny

Your messages and emails poured in.  So much kindness, so much support from near and from far.  I actually wept over the abundance of it all and the way that the universe had gathered around me and lifted me up, when I needed it most.  Thank you.  I feel so much better now.  So much braver, so much stronger. 

So the dream carries on.  The checks are written and cashed.  The negotiations are broached and agreed to.  The workers paint, plant and plaster.  Peacock Pavilions is there before me, at the edge of my fingertips.  Not a figment of my imagination but proof that dreams are worthy and can come true.....if you believe in them enough.

I take a deep breath, and then another and another.  Then I watch my dancing girl sideways.  I remind myself that if on this journey, I get dizzy and fall, I have only to pick myself up, dust myself off and twirl again....

Marrakech: the presence of clouds and ____ springs eternal

Dear friends,

I am living with anxiety now.  It's taking its toll.  Sleep comes uneasily, concentration is difficult, tasks go undone.  We learned today that although our bank loan (our third) has been approved, it seems that somehow (How?  How?) the money will not be in our hands until mid-January.  Mid-January!  But……..but……orders have been put in for windows and doors…….for insulation and bathroom tiles.  If we do not pay…we will forfeit our deposits.  My parents have suggested that we temporarily close down our project -- our Peacock Pavilions job site.  (We are eternally grateful to my parents, the most generous of all people – the funds and good will that have sprung willingly from their checkbooks and hearts have kept us afloat for some time now.)  But closing down our construction site is simply not possible.  We would have to fire all our workers, who would then get new jobs, and where would we be?

* 

The fact is…….that we can’t stop.

*

So at 6am this morning, we held an emergency meeting – Chris and I.  We looked at each other, and then, in worried whispers, we came to a decision; we are cashing in retirement funds. And we must pay the fines that this entails. I do know that this is a drastic thing to do (hand wringing, hand wringing) but desperate times call for desperate measures.

* 

We must not falter.  So I beg you to send no messages with alternative plans or ideas.  I am so fragile right now, and time is against us, you see.  What I need most is your kind support, your encouragement, your shoulder to lean on.  If I could ask you please, please to take a moment to close your eyes and send out into the universe a small and resolute message of strength …winding its way from your home or office across the ocean…..to our little olive grove here in Marrakech.  You will know it's our place by the flowers spilling over the gate, by the peacock feathers strewn on the path, by the children’s shoes by the front door ….

*

This time will pass and be over.  There’s no time to look back.

With love,

Maryam in Marrakesh

Top image ninazdesign, bottom image afihara

Marrakech: and the happy loser....?

Sigh, I lost the 2007 Annual Weblog Awards.  So am I sad?  Depressed?  Hair a tangled mess, wallowing in chocolate............?  Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.......

Aw, c'mon.  Being a bridesmaid is super fun.  Besides, I came in second place. ...Yay!  I was in 9th place and wound up in second.  Yippee! 

I was also excited to be rubbing shoulders with the big boys (here and here) at the top of the Best Middle East or Africa Blog category.  War correspondents. (Did you know, dear friends, that I have been to Iraq twice since the war for my work ?  Another story, another time....)

I want to thank so many of you that took the time to vote for this blog.  And the blog love I received from my fellow bloggers was just *incredible*.  So I want to send out a very heartfelt thank you, in particular, to Ambular, Apartment Therapy/San Francisco, Belle Vivir, Black Dog Knits, Charming Quark, Cote de Texas, Crust Station, Decor8, Design DNA, Design & Inredningbloggen, Designers Block, Diary of a Heretic, Esprit de l'Escalier, Evenstar Art, A Fanciful Twist, Figs Olives Wine, Indigo Blue, In My Neighbourhood, Katiedid, Kristin Robinson, Liberty Post, Mint Tinted Vanilla, Nomadic Creations, An Ordinary Life, Paris Parfait, Patricia Gray, Persisting Stars, Rodrigvitz Style, The Sandman Chronicles, Servant of Chaos, Stiletto Heights, Style Court, The a la menthe, and Thru my lens lightly.

You all made me feel like the popular girl in highschool :-) I so appreciate your support. 

 

Image by LOvejoydyver

Morocco: and a birthday wish

I am feeling blue.
I am going grey.

Candles crowded on the cake today.
A dark and slithering snake makes way.

Growing dim, my own bright lights?
I vow to wear striped tights....

For a meal fit for a birthday or any day, take a peek at the Perfect Pantry blog for a recipe for Moroccan lemon chicken with olives.  Yum.