Photo taken by Solaine Carter / Reporting Morocco
As I explored Oudayas, my eyes kept leading me back to this little turquoise door. I wonder if are the hands of the children who live in this house?
Taken on March 8th.
Photo by Solaine Carter/ Reporting Morocco
During a weekend getaway to Fés, I visited Al-Attarine Madrasa, located in the heart of the Médina. The bright pops of color and intricate calligraphy were mesmerizing. My friends and I attempted to read the script but decided we were better suited to view the magical architecture! Taken on February 29th.
The village of Sbaa Rouadi, outside of Fes, Morocco, is one of tradition and beauty. Photographer Emma Hohenstein shadowed the Issa family for a week. Nejwa Issa, third child of Hakeema and Mohammed Issa, is exactly what one would expect from a nine-year-old: boisterous, rowdy, and care-free. However, she deals with the challenges of societal and familial expectations of a young woman, on a daily basis. This series seeks to display both her enthusiasm and freedom, as well as the impending challenges of being a woman in Sbaa Rouadi and Morocco.
BY: ELISE CAMPBELL
BIRTA, MOROCCO – Karim Zahrawi, 30, dug through a layer of dark, moist soil that gave in to the rounded edge of his shovel. When he reached a layer of golden brown shale, he grabbed his pickaxe to penetrate the new layer. As his soil-caked hands gripped the handle of the axe, salty beads of sweat from his sun-browned temples fell onto the nape of his navy blue cotton T-shirt. His worn leather shoes gathered new layers of dust as he inched his way deeper into the earth.
BY: ELISE CAMPBELL
BIRTA, MOROCCO – Dunia Chamoun sat in the warmth of the sun that cast a hazy glow through the dirty window. Her notebooks, worn by her fingers tracing the corners and words, sat on her lap. Since she dropped out of school seven years ago, at age 11, she’s spent the majority of her days inside the family’s small, clay-walled house.
After Chamoun’s father passed away, her older brothers decided to keep her at home in order to preserve her body, her beauty, and ultimately her reputation as a “good girl.” Despite her domestic isolation, she finds ways to express herself through writing.
By Rachel Woolf
A pair of wrinkled hands snapped open lima beans. One empty pod quickly joined a small mountain of peels, tossed next to a bright purple bag of lima beans.
Khayra Lafkire, rested her hands on top of the small white fur carpet before playfully hitting her great grandson, Mouad Lazar, with a pod.
Lafkire was sitting cross-legged in the center of a colorful chaos. Dim light spilt into the room from the kitchen, painting the orange and purple rugs with a yellow tint. As Lafkire continued her work, Mouad ran in circles, his feet slapping the rugs with each step.
By Hannah Rehak
Photographs by Will Matsuda
RABAT, Morocco – Magazines spill out onto a busy street and blue painted shutters stretch open, exposing Aziz Muhammed sitting on a dusty pillow. As always, he is reading, eyes focused on an orange-bound book, spectacles resting on his prominent nose. Though tucked away behind the work of hundreds of authors, Muhammed is known throughout the medina, the oldest part of Rabat, for his unique aesthetic. He is a 66-year-old bouquiniste, a proud bookseller, in a country with an adult literacy rate of approximately 67 percent.
By Lauren Kopchik
Photographs by Rachel Woolf
RABAT, Morocco — On a lazy Sunday afternoon, El-Ayadi El-Griny sits in a dimly lit garage watching the people of Rabat stroll along Lalou Avenue. They walk past hole-in-the-wall shops like his that surround the old medina marketplace, with its narrow streets and close-knit neighborhoods, without casting a second glance.
El-Griny, 39, makes a comfortable seat using plastic bags filled with the only product he sells: wool. It surrounds him, with overstuffed bags filling the corners of his shop and excess white and blue fabric spilling onto the floor.
By Rachel Woolf
RABAT, Morocco – A line of cow legs hangs on hooks above a counter containing a bleeding brain and an assortment of meat. Behind the counter, Abdlmola Rochdi wipes his forehead with his sleeve before slicing into a raw lamb’s leg late one evening in January. Abdlmola is the co-owner of a butcher shop along Rue Mohammed the 5th in the ancient medina of Rabat, the capital.
Two brothers own this butcher shop: Abdlmola, the elder brother, and Noureedine Rochdi, the younger brother. Each day, the brothers work for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon.
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