Marrakesh: and a tale where I need your help

Dear friends,

I wanted to let you in on a secret.  Years ago, when I started this blog, I was running a prisoner rights program.  As someone with a career in international humanitarian work, I felt strongly about what I was doing.  But the issues I worked on were often sad and heavy.  I needed some beauty of the everyday kind -- big and small -- to balance me.  And so it was that My Marrakesh was born.

I didn't know then how much this blog would come to mean to me.  That the small tales I recounted here would be my connection to a great big world filled with people who would take the time to come visit me.  I tried to be someone worth visiting.  To share something here on this blog that was original and true to myself, with words and images that were my own. I told you about large setbacks and small victories.  I shared personal things from my past.  The people I encountered who touched me. The journeys I took far afield, where I met individuals who were so very different and yet, in some ways, the same.  I talked about my experiences as a mother, daughter, and wife. My struggles to be a better person, and to not falter in the face of unkindness. I shared my adventures in design and my efforts to turn a strange city into a home. I tried to cheer you on, to encourage you, and to share my recipes for things that were meaningful.

I've tried not to waste your time when you came to visit me on this blog.  I've tried to be worthy. I hope - in some small measure - that I've succeeded and given you moments of pleasure, thoughtfulness or escape.  That I've prompted you to go on your own journeys or made you wish that you could jump on a plane.

If I have, I want to ask you a favor.  This blog is a finalist in the 2012 Weblog Awards in the category Best Blog in Africa.  Would you, could you, consider voting for My Marrakesh?  It would mean so much to me.  You need only vote once.  Each ballot must include votes for three different blogs in three different categories.  (There are so many excellent ones out there, including Young House Love {with a book soon out from Artisan Books}, Appartment Therapy, The Huffington Post, Smitten Kitchen, the Sartorialist, and so many others!)

If you have just a minute or two, I would be so thankful for your vote in the Africa category.  Any mentions on Facebook, Twitter or blogs would also be gratefully received.  Voting is right here.  Thank you so much:-)

Love,

Maryam in Marrakesh

 

Marrakesh: and a tale of my book, Marrakesh by Design

I didn't mean to fall in love.  No, I didn't mean to fall in love.  You see, prior to Morocco, there was Namibia.  A place where the sun was so strong that I had to squint to see the stretches of desert, colorless and stark.  The cities and towns were quiet and organized, neat and tidy.  Everything seemed to have its place.  Even the sand dunes were perfectly arranged.  

And then..... then came Morocco.  And with it, all of its gorgeous madness. All of its colors, all of its patterns, all of its textures. Its souks bursting to overflowing. Its houses opening to secret gardens and fountain filled courtyards.  Arches and tiles cascaded as far as the eye could see. Rooms were decorated with a kind of seductive loveliness that was as tantalizing to me as the endless cups of Moroccan mint tea    

And I wanted to share some of that with you, you see.  I wanted to give you some Marrakesh.  So you could put it in your pocket.  So you could take it home with you.  So you could add a little Marrakesh to your own living room or bedroom or kitchen.  If I couldn't lure you to Morocco then I wanted to lure Morocco to you.

So here it is.  Yes, here it is.  My book.  Marrakesh by Design, to be published by Artisan Books.  

Available now for pre-order.  At IndieBound.  Amazon.  At Barnes & Noble.  Please, oh please like it.  {I think you will.   I wrote it -- and photographed it -- with you in mind:-)} 

Marrakesh: and a tale of the Dyer's Souk

Ah, the Dyer's Souk in Marrakesh.  Or perhaps I should say...an installation of warm wool....

Spun gold skeins like cotton candy.

Draped on pink walls, in great wooly tufts.

Yes, the Dyer's Souk in the Marrakech medina.

Come and be pigmented.

The world: and a forlorn tale of celestial brownie points

I was thinking about some of life’s great mysteries. Like God.

I was wondering about people’s certainties. How they were so sure, so very sure that their God was right, but his God was wrong. Or how they knew, just knew, that he was going to heaven but she, yes she.... was going to hell. All because his religion said such and such, and her religion said so and so, and they weren’t the same. {And as for those poor souls that didn’t believe at all, well, we all know where they are going, now don’t we?}  

 I was thinking how very sad it was. How very pointless. Because, really, who could ever know? And in the meantime, there was this great dividing line that stood between us.  That -- despite all of our modernity, all of our education -- we were evolving in the wrong direction.  Like planets spinning into different solar systems, lost in our own twirling.  And that we would never be able to see all the stars in the universe at the same time.  And love them all.