The Fishing Village

I imagine fishing villages the world over are pretty much the same: Small forgotten corners of the world where people only come to get fresh fish and the inhabitants have their own little community culture built around hard work, hard living, and a love of the sea.

I went to visit the fishing village of  Sidi Boufdail near Mirleft this afternoon. It reminded me of every fishing village I have ever seen from the Gulf to the Adriatic to the Mediterranean to Cape Cod. Weather-worn, smelling of sea air, fish, and sea-soaked ropes drying in the sun --- the entire fishing village was busy yet there was a sleepiness about it. Young boys were detangling nets, older boys were scrubbing boats. The men were at the fish auction and the women were now where to be seen. Some children were swimming in a small inlet. A group of old men were sitting on the water's edge sipping coffee.

Here are some pictures of the fishing village, which is essentially built into the side of a rocky cliff:

One man was praying. Since there is no mosque in this tiny village, they have laid out an area reserved for prayers. No one walks within the stones unless it is to pray. Here is the picture I took from a respectable distance:

I especially loved the boats. Their names were very creative. I found their cleanliness and organization despite the evident poverty and difficult circumstances of the fishermen quite inspiring --- perhaps a reflection of their pride in their work and the value they place on their boats. Here are some pictures of the boats, so you can see what I mean:

"Oum Saad" means "Saad's Mom"

These boats are named for Berber places.

This boat has a Berber girl's name.

I like to collect images of doors and doors in Morocco never fail to be interesting in some way. In this village, I found several doors that just called out to be photographed. Here they are, like visual poetry:

The fishing port itself is a section of coastline that is very rocky --- not desirable for a beach or any other public purpose. The section where the boats come ashore is clear, but it is only about as wide as the width of three boats. It lies between the rocks in the foreground and the rocks in the background of this first picture:

Since fish leftovers are plentiful, the cats were happier than any others I've seen in Morocco:

When we visited the village, the fish auction was in full swing. No pictures were allowed but I did get a picture of this sign in both Arabic and French inside the auction hall. It reads: No smoking, spitting, eating or drinking. (Need to hang a sign like this in my classroom!)

I have never been to a fish auction, but it was fun to watch the price haggling in Moroccan Arabic peppered with a bit of Berber.