bathing

The low-lit, dark cellar was full of women of all shapes and siwes scrubbing, rinsing, lathering. Hammams here vary from basic and practical to pampering and luxurious. The one i chose was the former--mostly it was women who do not have baths in their homes and use the public bath on a regular basis. i've read that islam places a lot of importance on physical cleanliness, which is why hammams were commonly used. There are two communal sinks--hotand cold--from which you draw water using what appeared to be old plastic bleach containers with large holes cut out for easy pouring. i filled up the buckets i was given and took a squat on the cement floor. i didnt realize i was expected to bring my own soap, so I bought it from the matron, who gave me a gloopy glop of brownness wrapped in plastic. I squeezed it out little by little and rubbed it all over myself--judging from the smell, it must have been olive oil-based bu the language barrier prevented me from getting more details on exactly what it was i was covering myself with. i would probably do it all again, if only because it sure as hell beats the frigid showers at hotels ive been in so far--"douche chaud" my ass.

i met up with a friend--another traveler i met in south africa last July--and we left essaouira to endeavor on a trek in the atlas mountains. we spent 3 days trekking, staying in gites in the villages. Plain concrete rooms, a kitchen, a few blankets, very little light and no heat--neither ntural(fire) nor artificial. we employed the services of guide Hassan, mule Aserdoon, and mule's owner Abdullah. The villages we stayed in were literally built right into the rock of the mountain, maybe 100 families in a village. People seemed to work in one of 3 things: tourism, agriculture, or their own personal domestic work. As dusk neared, the villages we stayed in practiced Eid traditions involving what was called a "billymaun"(sp?)(bil-ee-mound without the d) On the first night, the billymaun was a village gathering, women on some rooftops and men on others while 5 men used the skinsand fur of the slaughtered shop to make costumes (including a 'mask' of the skin and of the head and mouthpiece of a thick twig) and ran around the town madly, using long plastic tubes as whips to chase people and whack them with. they also enjoyed throwing large sacks of limestone to complement the tube whipping. No, i am not exaggerating about any of this. to be completely honest, it was one of the most unusual things i've ever witnessed. on the second night in a second village, the billymauns didnt even bother with the sheepskin costumes--some had one piece of fur draped over them, while others simply wore a mask cut out of some plastic container. but i was entirely unprepared for what was to come next. David and i wandered off on our own and discovered yet another billymaun celebration, but this time, we really were baffled. we walked down an alley of a series of houses and found a clearing--we stood at the lower end of an incline and the whole village was gathered standing or sitting in irregular lines on the rock walls that sliced across the mountainside wigwag style. i went to one side while david sauntered off to the other, and both of us were stared down. a man with a neon blue curly wig and painted blackface pranced in the center with a speakerphone shouting, singing, and beckoned us. another boy with a rasta hat (with long fake black dreads hanging down)ran down in my direction, then went past to scale the wall behind me. the only evidence that this was also a billymaun thing was the same orange plastic tube whipping. otherwise, this was a whole new billymaun ballgame. several other characters with indescribable masks participated, but i really cant remember or explain in words what was happening. david had it worse, as we had bought some chocolate at the village shop that ws totally tasteless so he tried to hand it out to the children/ they flocked around him and when he ran out, we found each other and quickly returned to the familiarity of our cold concrete guesthouse. the next day was our last day of trekking and both of us were more than ready for some urban chaos. SO SURREAL. it felt like being in a Dali painting. i'm sure theres a totally logical explanation for all of it, but i was at a loss. i think even if i were able to verbally communicate i probably would not have understood entirely.