For the past three weeks, my husband and I experienced history, beauty, local cuisines, languages and the people who speak them. Our travels took us to ports up and down France, Spain, and Portugal - lovely vistas, discoveries, UNESCO sites aplenty. But one stop in particular holds a place in our minds as our most favorite.
Tangier.
Located in Morocco, at the very tip of the African continent, this is a place steeped in history, religion, conquest. Like many port cities, it has its legacy of trade importance, and also a very developed, affluent, waterfront area of shopping, hotels, etc. But the real Tangier, the Tangier we got to see up close is one of true everyday life - shopkeepers, mothers walking their little children to school, narrow and winding streets that hide treasures and people and for the non-local, a little unease. Entering the Medina - the area dating back to the 14th century - one could not be faulted for feeling immediately lost, definitely out of place.
But we were lucky.
We had booked a local cooking class that day, which included a wonderful gentleman who guided our small group through the dark, maze-like Kasbah area of the Medina, helping us discover how locals live, the markets where they sell their bread, spices, produce, textiles, and more. But this area is also one where it is evident the people live hand to mouth, where tenement type buildings rise five, six stories, making the narrow paths dark even in daylight.
During our time prior to the class, and more importantly a moment during, we met beautiful people, with ready smiles, stories to tell. We were granted the best gift possible - welcome and acceptance - and were introduced to what stuck in my and Rudy's hearts...
The community oven.
In our class, as we each cooked in couples - a Moroccan feast of prunes and meat (yes, it was fabulous) - we also made bread.
Once we had completed our separate loaves, the entire class walked through the old neighborhood with our tray of rounded dough balls. As we turned a corner, the call to prayer playing out over hidden speakers on the streets, Miriam (our lovely instructor that day) pointed out a huge pile of chopped wood - trees, along with door frames, old window frames, etc.)
We walked past it, down a dirt path that led to a dark shack.
As we stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the change in light, we could see more wood piled up, bread loaves waiting to be baked, and then the oven.
It took up most of the space. A huge metal oven. On the outside was a large metal hand crank that operated the circular tray within. As they used the crank, we could see chicken go past, then bread, etc.
Miriam explained that because the residents are not well off, many do not have ovens, so the community created this space, manned by these men, who receive the items residents come to cook, and who have laser memories of each item within so that they never char a chicken or burn a loaf of bread. These men keep track of what goes in when, what belongs to who. And most importantly, they keep the oven lit and burning.
Because it sustains the community. It helps, it provides what many do not have. Leaving our loaves in their care, we walked back to the Blue Door cooking school. As we did, Miriam explained the importance of the oven, the men who ask for nothing (they may receive a tip, or something they have cooked), and the spirit of the people who live there. They waste nothing. To throw away bread is rude. They share what they have with those who have not, never knowing when they may become the one in need. Walking along, she pointed out the remnants of bread in crevices, on windowsills. These remains are put out so that the homeless, the hungry, even the animals can always find something to eat.
True community. True thought for your neighbor, a stranger.
When Raza retrieved our baked bread and we sat down around our tagines filled with fragrant meat and onions and prunes, each loaf of bread had so much more significance to us all. It was no longer just the fun of having made it at the school. It was feeling connected to a culture of humanity that is lost to so many places around the world where the prevailing mindset is dog eat dog, everyone for themselves; where greed and avarice are somehow portrayed are virtue.
Since hugging the ladies goodbye, I have thought daily about the community oven. The people who benefit from it, survive even.
Each time it brings me to this community. We have our own form of "oven" this time each year. We keep the fires stoked so that those in need may come forward. We take their pain, their hunger, their fears, their sorrows, their despair, and we return to them the sustenance of caring, love, acknowledgement. We let them know they are not alone, that their children matter, that they matter.
I wish I could transport everyone to that alley, to that woodpile, to that warm shack in Tangier. Just for a moment, just to experience the profound impact community can have.
Our opportunities are here again. While I have been gone, emails have piled up asking for our help. I am now receiving some from those who know families who have survived the fires in California, but have lost literally everything.
Our community "oven" is open for business. Our community lovin' never fails to amaze me. Please donate if you can (the button is on the left of the page), ask for help if you need it, and let me know if you know of a family living in the shadows whose lives we could brighten this holiday season.
Like that oven in Tangier, the Yes, Virginia link is open and waiting for you to bask in the glow and feed your soul.
Linda
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