Perspectives: Picture This

Photographs provide a unique opportunity to connect with people.  Even in a culture so vastly different from our own, we find that pictures, particularly of individuals, are an unusually helpful way to become an acceptable outsider.  Appearance, place of origin, and language will prevent us from ever becoming insiders, but we prefer not to remain unacceptable.  Three incidents over the past few days illustrate my thesis.

David Henry took a lot of photographs when he and Donna visited Morocco with us in March, 2004.  The esteem he enjoys among the people he met here is incredibly high.  Part of the respect he gained can be attributed to the fact that he sent copies of the photographs he made to the families we visited.  Like us, they enjoy seeing pictures of their children and family members; the fact that someone made the effort to package and mail them was particularly appreciated. 

David gave me copies of a number of pictures that he could not share with the subjects by mail because he had no name or address.  He asked me to try to deliver some of them if possible.  We stayed in the Bou Regreg Hotel in Rabat, the same one we used last year.  Just across the side street from the hotel, an orange juice vendor and a cigarette salesman set up shop.  The orange juice guy has about three bushels of oranges, a press for squeezing out the juice, and a few glasses shared among his customers.  Though the orange juice here is some of the best in the world, I generally shy away from purchasing any from the street vendors.  The cigarette salesmen have four or five packages of cigarettes of various brands, and sell them individually, a single cigarette usually fetching a price of one dirham, about 12 cents currently.  Marlboros are by far the most popular.

Both "businessmen" were still at their stations this year, so I carried the photos to them David had made last year.  They were delighted when I showed them the pictures.  Every time I pass them now they give me a big greeting and a big smile; I'm a little closer to being acceptable to them.

Yesterday we took the train to Casablanca so that Jamey would have an easier time making his departing flight.  Regrettably, when we checked out of the Bou Regreg, I made one of those stereotypical, professorial errors.  As the train sped toward Casablanca about 20 miles out of Rabat, Denise asked me if I had remembered to get our passports from the hotel clerk.  We had left them at the desk so they could help us by filling out the registration forms.  My self-esteem took a significant hit as I had to confess to committing this serious memory lapse.

Denise volunteered to get off the train at the next stop, Mohammedia, return to Rabat and retrieve the passports, then catch up with us at the hotel in Casablanca.  Jamey wanted to take a tour of the Hassan II Mosque and we needed to be there by 2:00 p.m.

Denise obtained our passports, then hopped back on the next train to Casablanca, a sixty minute trip if one goes directly.  She arrived at the train station, secured a taxi, and directed him to the Ibis Hotel.  He strongly suggested that she allow him to take her to a different hotel, assuring her that it to be both better and cheaper than the one we selected.  She explained that her husband and son were already checked in at the Ibis and she needed to go there.  The mention of a son precipitated inquiries about other children, so Denise completed the family description.  At that point, the taxi driver took out his camera cellphone, and scrolled through several pictures stored in its memory, to show Denise digital pictures of his wife and children.  Again, images had been used as a catalyst for commuication.

After Jamey left this morning, Denise and I came back to Rabat where we shall remain until Sunday evening.  Today is our anniversary and as I mentioned earlier, we have a favorite restaurant located here.  Denise had her camera out to take some pictures today as we walked uptown for lunch.  Three Moroccan ladies passsed by about the time Denise took a picture of a street scene.  One lady said, "take my picture" and backed up a few feet for a pose.  Denise took the picture and began to talk to her, finding out her name is Najma.  A second woman moved closer and suggested a picture of the two of them.  The third companion, farther away, had to be cajoled but assented to a picture of all three of them.  Denise told them she would call it "the women of Rabat."  Since the camera is digital, Denise showed them how the picture would appear when printed.  They laughed and seemed quite pleased with the results.

I doubt that Denise will ever see these women again.  But, as they started to leave, Najma leaned over and kissed Denise on both cheeks.  That's a real indication of a certain level of acceptability.


Fred

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