Deconstruction

I am someone who likes things neat and orderly. Living in Morocco has been a great exercise in letting go of my strong need to put things away and keep my world tidy. Well, I can’t honestly say I’ve let go of my desire for this but I don’t rant and rave as much as I once did when my world gets torn asunder. If I didn’t ease up on this urge, I would always been upset.

This constant tearing apart seems to be a way of life here. Every time I go to my husband’s family house, there is endless movement of furniture and belongings. Beds are disassembled and rearranged in another part of the house. There are two kitchens and it’s anybody’s guess which one will be operational on any given visit. People think nothing of picking up a roomful of furniture and taking it up on the terrace to enjoy the sun. The small gas canister used for heating water and cooking goes from room to room, depending on where everyone wants to have tea or cook a tajine.

Now the year before I moved to Morocco, I, too, was constantly moving my belongings. Floods and flood warnings were the primary reason but in one year I moved everything (including the contents of my shop) so many times I swore to myself I would only purchase furniture I could pick up myself from that point on. Little did I know this nomadic existence would become my lifestyle.

I was of the mind that because of the nomadic history here, it was in everyone’s blood to pick things up and move. Much of the furniture is designed to do just that. Tables to eat on are trays set on folding metal or wood. Beds are mattresses situated atop low wooden slats. Cooking is on small gas canisters. And extra seating or bedding is arranged with cushions and blankets piled on the floor. But then one Moroccan woman I know suggested that moving things and rearranging a household are things that keep a woman busy in the house – and keep her inside where it is still desirable (by the men) for her to remain most of the day. It’s probably a combination of these things but whatever the reason, it’s easier to go with the flow than to ask for things to be different.

So I sit here writing in what used to be my well-arranged, neat ground floor living space. But today, all the furniture has been piled into corners and the dust is once again filtering over all my belongings. That’s because the walls in the two salons have peeled off their paint from the cold and damp over that past year. And we are trying to make this place into a guest house and no one believed the flaking, peeling plaster was a special and traditional wall treatment. So in the end (Inshallah, tomorrow), the result will be good and more guests will come to help pay for the materials and the work.

But for now, I’m getting more practice letting go. For in the end, that’s what we all have to do with everything, isn’t it? Let it all go.