A life-changing trip to Morocco
DU student reflects on her values after staying in a hammam
By Morgan Atwood for the Mirror
With just a month left in Spain, I am starting to feel the weight of real life settling back on my shoulders. In the last three months, my excursions have changed what I truly value in this life.
Traveling across the world by myself has given me many opportunities to think about my life, how I live each day, and how blessed I am.
Over spring break, I traveled across the Strait of Gibraltar to Morocco. After touring the winding markets of Fez, complete with dead camel heads and splatters of animal blood, we traveled deep into the heart of Morocco.
After hours on the bus, sand storms and over an hour of bouncing around in an old jeep 4-by-4, I arrived at the hammams, close to the Algerian-Moroccan border.
Although I enjoy camping and “roughing it” on occasion, I was not expecting quite so rustic accommodations. But “When in Morocco!”
Words cannot describe how beautiful the Sahara desert is at dusk and dawn, but the images that circulate my mind over and over are the faces of the local desert people who took care of my group during our stay.
There were a dozen men that cooked all our meals and provided hours of entertainment, ranging from jokes attempted in English to a full musical performance complete with African drums and dancing children.
The wives and sisters were in charge of drawing henna tattoos and taking care of the young ones.
At one point, a young baby was handed off from one American to another. To my delight, a one-year-old boy was handed off to me as well. All day long, the Moroccan women took full advantage of the free babysitters.
While this young baby was lucky to have so much attention, some of the other kids had unwanted attention from the dozens of flies surrounding thehammam.
While under the giant dining tent, I could not take my eyes off this precious young boy who appeared to be around three years old.
As he was trying to join in the dancing, dozens of flies would not let him be. There were flies buzzing all around. They were attempting to land on the corners of his eyes, and he would half-heartedly swat them away.
It took all of my strength not to jump out of my seat and scoop up that little Moroccan boy. The parents seemed unfazed, and I realized I should not make a fuss. From that moment on, I wanted to help, but I was powerless.
Experiencing a small taste of the third-world hit me harder than any Thanksgiving Day ever could.
For as long as I can remember, I have been blessed with everything I have ever needed and much more. My time dancing and playing drums with the children filled me with so much joy.
There are times when I wish the materialistic objects in my life would disappear. It is much easier to be happy with life’s simple joys.
All too often we think that a new iPod, Coach purse or laptop will make us happier. I can say with certainty, it will not. My accessories can never bring me the same joy as I found holding that beautiful Moroccan child.
Momentarily living side-by-side with the locals in the Sahara made me sad for several reasons. I first felt bad because these children knew nothing of my so-called “real world.” A world where all their primary needs could be met with the swipe of a debit card.
As I continued to ponder this injustice, I began to rethink who should be pitied. I have everything I could ever ask for and still, true joy is hard to find.
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