Night of Power

Yesterday, the day we arrived in Morocco, was the 27th day of Ramadan – AKA the Night of Power.  When we were leaving the airport, Ben mentioned stopping to see his dad, who died of a stroke in 2003.  I don’t remember visiting the cemetery immediately upon arrival any of the other times we have come to Morocco, so I wasn’t sure what was up but I was in a separate car so off we went.  I loved Ben’s father (and mother), so of course I was fine with going for a visit, whatever that entailed.

When we got to Mohammedia I noticed a large gathering of people and a lot of stalls selling things.  I asked Mustafa (my brother-in-law) whether it was a souk (market) and he said it was.  We pulled over and I thought maybe we needed to buy something – I spend a lot of time in Morocco wondering what is going on and what is being said, so this was nothing new.  Most of the time I enjoy the adventure.

Ben came to the car and told me it was time to go see his father – the “souk” was at the cemetery.  I have since learned that on the 27th day of Ramadan people go to the cemetery to visit their loved ones – kind of like Day of the Dead in Mexico.  They clean the graves, pray, and spend a few minutes remembering their family members. 

I wish I could have taken some photos (partly because one of Ben’s sisters was carrying a giant green umbrella from an umbrella table), but it seemed disrespectful.  Plus I already stuck out like a sore thumb in my 2-day-old t-shirt and capris, without whipping out a camera.  There were hundreds (thousands?) of people in and around the cemetery.  Inside, there were families visiting graves, boys who would collect a few dirhams to clean the grave or paint it, and a man who would recite the Koran (also for a few dirhams).  At the entrance there were people asking for money or food.

Outside there were boys selling bottles of orange flower water to sprinkle on the graves, and sprigs of some green plant that I can’t figure out the English word for, which can be planted on the graves.  In the area surrounding the cemetery there were TONS of stalls selling everything from fruit to kitchen supplies to underwear.  It struck me as being a carnival atmosphere, and I heard Ben’s sister say “moussem” which is like the Moroccan version of a carnival.  There were no rides or games so maybe it was more like an exuberant flea market.

This is one of my favorite things about Morocco – the unexpected surprises you encounter at every turn.

Here is a different cemetery on a different day…imagine this with people everywhere, a giant green umbrella, and one stinky American looking confused.