Moroccan women shared a few of their secrets today.
Lamia, the oldest daughter of our host family, guided three of us girls around the corner from our host home to a rusted blue door that opened to a tile hallway. It was tucked in a small court of doors and had no special markings, yet inside was a cultural treasure.
We were anxious as we stepped into the Hamam.
The Hamam is a women’s bath house which has three rooms of tile and two sets of pipes lined along the walls, one is hot and the other is cold water.
To preserve the mystery, I will not post the entire experience, however it was one that was not only rejuvenating (what hour long bathing process isn’t) but also humbling. All generations of women of various ethnicity were bare of any judgments and only expressed the beauty of the collective female bond, one that is molded in understanding and openness.
After the group collected at a town café (in Azrou), we packed into the bus and climbed into the mountains toward a village to volunteer at a women’s co-op.
The local women of this out skirted community forage for the medicinal plants in the area then clean, transform into oils and mixed packets, then package for both regional and international marketing. They use the profits to benefit their community with focus on family needs.
Their building also acts as a kind of community center protected by rows of herbs and a dirt soccer field outside.
They prepared four mountainous piles of couscous, vegetables, and entire chickens for lunch. Even with about 20 people feasting on the platters, no dents seemed to be made due to the serving sizes of Moroccan hospitality.
We helped bottle their herb-extracted oils and label them. We also sifted and sorted baskets full of dried yellow flowers for stems or extraneous pieces that shouldn’t be in the final package. These special flowers could be added to tea to help calm one from stress or soothe the digestive system much like chamomile.
They made this tea for one of our group members who was sick and needed rest. They set up a bed for her in one of the rooms, and before she fell asleep, one of the Azrou women laid a prayer rug beside her and began her practice.
As we said goodbye and thank you in Arabic before leaving, we were told that the woman was praying for our friend’s health as well as all of ours. It was this kind of subtle expression that may seem routine to them but was such an insight for us to their selflessness and strength of faith.
Before getting on the bus, our friend said that she was already feeling much better.
Lamia, the oldest daughter of our host family, guided three of us girls around the corner from our host home to a rusted blue door that opened to a tile hallway. It was tucked in a small court of doors and had no special markings, yet inside was a cultural treasure.
We were anxious as we stepped into the Hamam.
The Hamam is a women’s bath house which has three rooms of tile and two sets of pipes lined along the walls, one is hot and the other is cold water.
To preserve the mystery, I will not post the entire experience, however it was one that was not only rejuvenating (what hour long bathing process isn’t) but also humbling. All generations of women of various ethnicity were bare of any judgments and only expressed the beauty of the collective female bond, one that is molded in understanding and openness.
After the group collected at a town café (in Azrou), we packed into the bus and climbed into the mountains toward a village to volunteer at a women’s co-op.
The local women of this out skirted community forage for the medicinal plants in the area then clean, transform into oils and mixed packets, then package for both regional and international marketing. They use the profits to benefit their community with focus on family needs.
Their building also acts as a kind of community center protected by rows of herbs and a dirt soccer field outside.
They prepared four mountainous piles of couscous, vegetables, and entire chickens for lunch. Even with about 20 people feasting on the platters, no dents seemed to be made due to the serving sizes of Moroccan hospitality.
We helped bottle their herb-extracted oils and label them. We also sifted and sorted baskets full of dried yellow flowers for stems or extraneous pieces that shouldn’t be in the final package. These special flowers could be added to tea to help calm one from stress or soothe the digestive system much like chamomile.
They made this tea for one of our group members who was sick and needed rest. They set up a bed for her in one of the rooms, and before she fell asleep, one of the Azrou women laid a prayer rug beside her and began her practice.
As we said goodbye and thank you in Arabic before leaving, we were told that the woman was praying for our friend’s health as well as all of ours. It was this kind of subtle expression that may seem routine to them but was such an insight for us to their selflessness and strength of faith.
Before getting on the bus, our friend said that she was already feeling much better.
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