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Tagaguist
| Article
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14877 |
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Section : |
CULTURE
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| Issue
Date : |
10 / 1988 |
2,682 Words |
| Author
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Stephen Parkhurst
Stephen Parkhurst is a free-lance author based in Seattle. |
As the early morning sun pours into the Agoundis River valley deep in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco, the valley explodes with life. Brilliant turquoise birds dive toward the valley floor in pursuit of tiny insects, the sunlight shining on their gemlike wings. A cool, brisk breeze ripples the lush wheat fields, still the emerald green of early spring. Hidden among the valley's almond and olive trees, women lift their voices together in a melody that echoes off the valley walls, as the wind carries it to the barren peaks high above. The tiny Berber village of Tagaguist already bustles with activity, as young girls fill their jugs from a pool of spring water and a shepherd herds a small flock of sheep through the village, en route to higher pastures.
Located near Mount Toubkal, the highest peak in northern Africa, this village lives much like it has for countless centuries, only narrowly touched by the modernization of the cities below. Roughly forty stone-and-mud homes camouflage themselves among the north wall of the valley, providing shelter for the nearly two hundred residents, over half of whom are children. Lush terraces of wheat splash color and life onto the otherwise rocky and barren landscape. Yet amid all this exotic beauty, the mountain way of life can be harsh and lonely.
I had come to this village as a student. Four months of language and cross-cultural study in Morocco had given me a thin but adequate knowledge of the Moroccan culture and customs as they pertained to life in the city, as well as a basic speaking ability in the Moroccan Arabic dialect called Derija. But the Berber tribes of the Atlas and Rif mountains maintain unique cultures separate from their Arab and urban countrymen; most still speak Berber languages that are of an entirely different language family from Arabic. Only one man in the village of Tagaguist spoke any Arabic, and he was my host during my monthlong stay. Communicating only in broken Arabic while struggling to learn Tashelheit, their Berber language, proved a difficulty and deeply frustrating task. The villagers would get excited when I could correctly pronounce a greeting or express gratitude, and became ecstatic when I could identify a goat or mule in Tashelheit.
Adjusting to the new culture had its own stresses. When adapting to Moroccan city culture, I could talk with several American friends who were going through the same struggles. But in Tagaguist, for he first time since my arrival in the country, I was alone, with the nearest sympathetic friend more than sixtyfive miles away. All this and other factors proved to me how frustrating and lonely
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