In a back alley of Essaouira where few tourists go, a mural poem displayed an uplifting message about women:
Les filles… sont comme la mer
Irrésistible, magique, libre
Essentiel de la vie
Sans elles, on n’est pas ici
Respecter la femme, est respecter toi-même
Girls are like the sea
Irresistible, magical and free
Essential to life
Without them, we don’t exist
To respect women, is to respect yourself.
The curlicue words were painted in a splash of blue, the color of this blustery fishing town on the coast of Morocco. The letters were faded, with a few words that looked like they had been whited out, or, more likely, crossed out in an act of vandalism. Yet the message has remained. The existence of the mural itself appeared to symbolize the resilience of women, despite whatever damage they may suffer.
In some ways, Essaouira is even more gorgeous than Marrakech. Like the Red City, many doorways of Essaouira are arched and elegantly adorned in tiles, but many others look worn, beaten down. And it is precisely this look of hewed unevenness that adds charm to the town.
Over by the fort at the harbor, there was the smelly but lively business of the fish market. Men sprinkled salt flakes onto freshly caught fish. Another man in a raincoat pulled all the skin off a fish like slipping a glove off of a hand. Puddles of dirty water, scales and blood pooled on the ground. In town, another market sold bags of dried mint leaves, bread and hanging carcasses of meat. I loved seeing people just going about their day among all the shades of blue.
