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Photo of the King
Essaouira, Morocco
February, 2004
The most important event that happens to city in Morocco is the visit of the King. You know he is coming weeks in advance because of all of the activity in the town. They repaint all the curbs, cleanup all the abandoned lots, paint the public buildings and plant new flowers in the parks. They put up hundreds of giant Moroccan flags in the city squares and every house and business cleans everything up and flies the flag out front. Totally decked out.
No one ever knows the exact date he is coming. Sometimes he says he is coming, and then cancels just before the expected date. Maybe they just say he is coming to make all of the public improvements. No one is quite sure.
I was really happy the King was going to visit. I had seen the King before in Dakhla, but that day I forgot my camera, a mistake I still regret. This time I would get a photo of the King. I've taken photos of lots of fantastic things, but never a King.
On this occasion the King, Mohammed VI, was coming to cut the ribbon for a development project in a town just south of here called Diabet. Diabet is famous for a hippie commune that was there in the late 60's. Jimi Hendrix visited the commune the year before he died so he has become quite the legend in these parts. The population of Diabet is probably around 200. The sleepy little town is now to be sight of 7 new luxury hotels and a golf course.
The first part of the big King Arrival is waiting. At first he was to arrive in early February, but when I asked around the locals said the King was in Dubai and was definitely not coming. They then took all the flags down because the next week was the Fete du Mutton, and he would be with his family in Rabat. So then it was this week, he really was going to come! All the flags went back up. I was sure of the actual day he was going to arrive because my Mason, Mohammad, who is currently working on the apartment where I live, asked for the day off. He had been working for 14 days straight, Saturdays and Sundays included, so I knew this was serious.
The morning of the planned visit I grabbed my bike and headed towards the main street that runs along the beach. The Medina was completely empty and all of the shops were closed. When I got to the entrance to the port there were 20 National Police standing around and the street was closed. The sidewalk was open so I went up and started to head down towards the beach. The sidewalk all along was packed with King well wishers, thousands of people pushed up against the metal barriers that line the street. They all had flags and pictures of the King. Now the big question was, at what time would the King arrive?
I arrived at the parade line around 11:00AM. I didn't feel like standing and waiting so I walked and rode down to the end of the beach where they were having a little Fantasia exposition. This is where Tribes of Berbers from the area mountains ride their horses down to town decked out in their best clothes, Turbans, Gold Sashes, Ivory Handled Daggers, Etc. They line up on the beach by the edge of the ocean and then charge towards the road. Just before they get to the people, they pull up their reigns and fire blanks from their rifles above the heads of the crowd.
This was cool, but I wanted to get a my photo. It was now 12:30, where was the King? I noticed there was a lot going on up the road in Diabet, so I decided to ride up there to see if the King was signing the new hotel proclamation. It was only a 15 minute ride so I figured that if he wasn't there, I could quickly be back in Essaouira.
When I got to Diabet, The King hadn't arrived but the festivities were in full swing. There was a large group of ladies doing the traditional Moroccan tongue yodel. They were accompanied by two drummers, a fiddle and a flute. All the town was dancing around the band. There was a metal fence that blocked the road. It was the barrier between the town folk and the many, many important officials. As I was taking photos, and plain clothes cop came over and said that photos were "Interdit." It was no big deal because they were so busy running around they couldn't keep track of me. I just had to be a little more sly.
Everyone was going crazy, but where was the King? After about 20 minutes the band started to tire out. They took a break and everything went into a lull. I considered going back to Essaouira, but this was a much more lively scene. Lots of big Tents filled with dignitaries, hundreds of police of all shapes and colors, the entire Essaouiran fishing fleet just off the coast, and of course, all the wild Berber ladies and their fantastic tongue chants.
After another 20 minutes things really started to pick up. First, a parade of about 100 school children still dressed in there uniforms (white linen maid smocks), marched up to the barrier accompanied by about 10 national police. The police cleared everyone out of the way so the children would be in the front row to greet the King. Once the children were in place the crowd crushed their way back behind them. Then a big troop of special army guys that I will call the "King's Royal Guard," marched into the protected area in front of the tents. They were wearing bright red Arab army uniforms, bright red petite fez skull caps and held old looking wood rifles. Next up were 4 crazy guards that looked like they were right out of the Wizard of Oz. They wore strange looking green and yellow wrap around garments, yellow pointed Arabian shoes and enormous green turbans. They held large spears with triple forked blades on the end, a big one in the middle like a knife, and two smaller ones just below.
Then a car pulled up, two guys jumped out, went around the back to the trunk, opened it, and took out a big sack of flags and King pictures to give to the crowd. There was almost a riot. The car was close to me so I quickly ran over and snatched a both a poster and flag. Then the crush of Moroccans. The guy almost fell over backwards. The kids were snatching the items from the guys hands so fast that he was never able to actually give any away. He was yelling for everyone to back off. This was terrible behavior just before the King was to arrive so a couple big cops went over yelled at crowd and seized all the posters and flags. They then made everyone line up, civil like, and the Police then distributed the tributes.
So everyone now had something to wave and we were ready. The band picked up its tempo and started to wail. Another 20 minutes went by.
The last part of any big King Arrival is waiting. Where was the King? Everyone was antsy, then, all the sudden, two army helicopters buzzed the crowd. Everyone cheered. After the helicopters circled the area, the motorcade arrived. The king was in an old Mercedes Limo surrounded by motorcycle cops wearing skin tight Grey leather jumpsuits. The limo stopped in front of the tent being guarded by the Wizard of Oz Sentries.
I got my camera out and turned it on. The Chauffeur opened his door, the King got out, the crowd went wild, right then a security guy was eyeing me. It didn't matter, in the blink of an eye the King went directly into the tent without acknowledging any of the hundreds of people who were there to greet him.
How rude I thought. We had been waiting around for hours, cheering, chanting, waving our flags, getting trampled, and when he arrives, Poof, right into the tent. And he didn't stay out long enough so I could take a photo. The nerve! The Moroccans didn't seem to mind at all. They were in full rage. The band was going crazy, really fast and hard drums with a wailing trumpet and all the ladies tongue screaming. They were going to be sure the King hears them.
He was in the tent for about 20 minutes. I was getting tired of standing around but I really wanted to get my picture. I knew eventually he had to come out and salute the crowd if even only for a minute. I squeezed my way into a spot up on a small dirt bank where I had a full view of the expected King trajectory, and was also out of range for the camera police. The Moroccans didn't mind me invading their spot and a couple of little kids moved out of the way so I could have a space.
My digital was on and I was ready. Another 20 minutes. I turned my digital off. Some people got discouraged and got down from the bank, but I held my ground. I had waited long enough, but I wasn't going to give up now, he had to come out eventually...
Then, a couple Royal Guardsmen walked to the front of the tent. Plainclothes with walkie-talkie's were running madly in every direction. The trumpet sounded! I turned back on my camera, and, yes, the King has left the tent! Since the timing of photos with my digital is impossible, I just shot as many pictures in his general direction as I could. He moved quickly and was soon out range, photo total, 2.
Wow, that was exciting! Or was it? This was the second time I had seen Mohammed VI, the first time being in Dakhla a couple years ago. Both times I saw him a total of 5 seconds. It was definitely an fun day filled with revelries, but after all that waiting, and it being my second time, I don't know. The helicopters, now that was cool.
When I was at home that evening, I looked through all the photos I had took during the day. I finally got to the couple I took of the King. I was pretty far away but wait, Zoom, there he is! I did it, I got a photo of the King! Brown suit and side burns! Unfortunately, his waving arm covered his face and the second photo was really bad, only showing the back of his head. Oh well, it was a fantastic day and, hey, there's always next year!
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