A Day Among Berbers (1950s)

[Music] this is the berber country white clouds in a clear sky the horizon is a mighty mountain a salt merchant brings in the last contingent of his Caravan and suddenly as the valley opens up before us looms are strange massive structures this is in lieu market village and little city farm and fortress all in one here is where our salt merchant is going down over these rocky slippery atlas mountain pads fit only for the shore foot of the donkey or the mountaineer down rugged slopes bulging with graves the eyes of the dead are upon the living [Music] the suburbs of endless the first houses a color of earth built a pressed clay on frames of rough lawns block shaped houses that sell them a window and above the endless flight of the storks [Music] today is market day already the marketplace teams with unusual activity for the town of n Lewis sleeps six days and awakens only on the seventh but on this seventh day the entire Mountain four is fourth its population and this square is for a day converted into a vast shock money market convention hall and even a news center [Music] [Applause] [Music] inside the city gates amid the shrill calls of the vendors and the playtest chat of the blind the traveler may view a whole gallery of types from the berber mountains the spice merchants and all of his powders the date questioned from the palm groves of the south [Music] the salt merchant who brings his salt blocks from minus 500 miles away the Shepherd from the plateau the buyer from the plain and the eternal wrangling over the price [Music] [Music] the grain merchant in his cloud of golden dust and on his terrace above the din the town crier announcing land sales weddings pasture agreements and prevailing market prices [Music] these women sell poultry these sell raw wool [Music] and a gala crowd Mills about motley picturesque noisy many have come 20 to 30 miles in their colorful wool events knitted leggins multicolored sandals to trade inquire gossip to laugh about everything and nothing [Music] and so it goes all morning long but it grows late the market slowly empties trading time is over the Sun soars overhead and the shrinking shadows at the caravanserai were our roof the pack and saddle animals tell us it is now High Noon [Music] mmm you for two or three hours everything stops save the muffled breathing of a sleeping towel and the winter Sun there's downward this is the time for strolls and visits passing before this motionless beggar a gesture for alms are pleasing to Allah a glimpse of the grocers where's he rules over an area ten feet square [Music] and now the main square forever swarming with children [Music] the purchase at the cobblers of apparel square-toed berber slippers perhaps a pause in this Moorish cafe for a fragrant smoke over the proverbial glass of mint tea a glance towards the Khasra bearers coming from the Baker's shop [Music] and the tortuous streets that go up and down and tiny miniature squares porticos leading to quiet looks streets narrow alleys alleys like near paths all this unit of blinding light and stark shadow and bold hard lines the bold hard lines of the Atlas country the penetrating aroma of cedar from the forests floats over the town and blends with the sharp smell of burnt corn from the blacksmith's forge [Music] or this is the hour when local industry hums the jeweler in his little corner works on his filigrees and the gunsmith in his dark den repairs all kinds of improbable old shootin art and behind all this quiet activity silent rhythmic gestures glimpsed in a hundred tiny layers and in the background the murmur of the water that flows from the mountains and around which woman's steep grass women cut branches [Music] others sipped grain [Music] still others dream on their doorsteps but when the traveler passes all doors close [Music] here women spinning wool the winter Sun is mild the village lives on as it has for a thousand years facing this immense landscape as the storks circle in an empty sky hidden wife lurks behind these earthen walls in the shadow of the mighty Moroccan Mountains unknown elements in a human story as old as the hills yet which remains a secret behind the guarded doors of these women carding wool or within the heart of this Washington [Music] [Applause] [Music] and evening will descend upon the rippling waters upon the hum of household chores and handicraft upon these poplars whose bare boughs shine yet in the winter Sun Moroccan evening with its dreams its weariness its frenzy its songs and dances to the town moves in lieu this place serves us casino theatre and nightclub the men sip mint tea watched the dancing girls and listen to a sing-song chant in their mysterious tongue like all the songs of the whole wide world these songs tell of a heart that listens of a shadow that passes [Music] [Music] and still they dance between slippers on sugarloaf the same dance as they danced two thousand years ago the dancing sculpted on the earrings of ancient Greece [Music] [Music] [Music] Vegh ants he dreamed before horizons too vast for him the step quickens the song becomes insistent night creeps nigh with muffled step and above the storks circled spill [Music]