You cannot imagine or begin to fathom a Souk without being through one. An ancient enormous living, growing, monstrous, machination of shops restaurants tradesmen vendors. So large and convoluted that people who work there wonder around lost. Taxis wait at every arched opening to usher business form the lost to transport them back to familiar surroundings. Shop after shop of colorful bottles boxes clothes the lanes underfoot covered in dried palm leaves the roofs above covered in fresh ones bringing scant shade in the 40 degree heat that makes your mind echo its own singular thoughts. The form of Islam practiced in the Kingdom dictates all people wear the same color ,all houses are the same color and anything that isnt drab mud brown sticks out in the minds eye. A bag of turmeric powder is almost assaulting to the eyes. Bicycles scooters small cars and horse carts plow through the throng of customers and tourists. A perfume store breaks the scent of 3000 years and the colorful bottles hurt my eyes until i focus and my mind remembers colors and smells and the heat dissipates a moment while I remember I am a human Just one of billions an insignificant speck in this breathing tabernacle of teeming life. At Ramadan it is forbidden to eat or drink during the daylight So by late afternoon the sun has milked every drop of energy ,leeched every once of humanity and I am nothing more than a wave of my own heat as i twist and shuffle in the fumes to a restaurant some 10 shops into the souk ...it has become our safety zone our oasis. I order a Casablanca beer and the owner says yes yes But in a few mins And points outside and says I can take your order but we cant serve until the sun goes down. Ramadan. Ramadan... in a few hours 750 000 devout Muslims will meet for prayers at the square between the mosque and the Souk. The Owner brings our lamb tagine the second the sun sets below the buildings. He places the clay pot on the table and uses his hand to waft the smell to my nostrils. The apricots raisins cinnamon bring my senses back to life. As i sip the local beer so cold the bottle is hard to hold form the great waterfall of sweat. 2 young girls enter the shop fanning their hijabs and speaking Arabic to one another in hurried tones. The elder asks with a London accent Is the food any good? We tell her its great we eat here every night. The owner comes out and they speak to him in French. Placing an order to take out so they can eat on the way to the Mosque. We make small talk in English and they speak momentarily in Arabic. Telling us they were originally from Nairobi but have lived in Italy and Germany before parents decided to stay in England. They speak to each other in English Im presuming as to not be rude to us. Then the oldest gets up and fans her hijab walking to the door As she opens it the riot of sound flies in,the mixture of rustle and bustle breaks the tranquility and quiet and she stands in her colorful burka arms wide spread across the doorway and says out loud I simple must step outside and soak in this madness. I knew at the time it was one of those moments in my life that would affect me deeply in its perfection and simplicity. Now when ever i travel I soak in the madness I suck up the ambiance I suckle the scent and sight of it all and feel the living breathing madness of life. And I hop by travelling by soaking the soul of any city I see That it preserves me, fills me shapes who I am to myself. So that I can look out and know This madness is within me now. This madness that is life on all levels.
