We are on our way to visit Khadayja Belhuss, a Berber woman in the Anti-Atlas. Our guide has not considered the height of our Atego, and eventually the truck can go no farther beneath the argan trees. We continue on foot and reach a farmstead built from traditional mud bricks. “Welcome” is written on the wall in one of the many Berber dialects. We assume it applies to us, even though the inscription turns out to be left over from a recent wedding.
We are working for the German Water Foundation. Khadayja is one of the many Berber women in Morocco who fetch water from a draw well every day for the whole family and all their animals. We want to accompany and film her. First, however, we greet the men of the family: two of her sons, her husband, and her father-in-law, who is over ninety. The welcome is warm. Khadayja appears from behind the house with two donkeys, and we walk to the well with her and her sons. The elder son, wearing a fake Giorgio Armani jacket, has joined only because of us and will not lift a finger to help his mother. The hierarchy must be observed, and fetching water is women’s work. Only the youngest son helps load the donkeys when no second woman is available.
After a twenty-minute walk we reach the well. Khadayja draws water and begins filling the containers she has brought. It is difficult to explain that we need time to set up the camera and must consider the sun, shadows, sound, and much more. At first everyone laughs. After we make her draw so much water that she has to pour the first containers back into the well, her patience and amusement run out. We settle for filming the donkeys being loaded and the ride home.
A chicken tagine has been prepared for what they apparently regard as an important visit, no doubt by Khadayja as well. By now it is four in the afternoon, much too late for lunch, especially as we have ordered dinner in Sidi Ifni for seven. Hospitality makes it impossible to refuse. We eat with her husband, father-in-law, and our guide. Only afterwards does the guide tell us that these are open-minded men and that Khadayja would have eaten with us if we, as guests, had insisted. Local customs can be difficult to navigate. The good woman has had a great deal of extra work because of us, and all we can do as we leave is wave at length. We feel so sorry that the next day, when we meet her husband at the market, we give him two melhafs for Khadayja – the colourful lengths of cloth worn by women in the Sahara.
© b. g.
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