Trafford Publishing: Berbers and the High Atlas

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Berbers and the High Atlas

by Deryck Hockley

151 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0878; ISBN 1-55395-164-6; US$17.50, C$19.58, EUR14.00, £10.00

Backpacking with Berbers in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and becoming familiar with their culture.

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about the book about the author sample excerpts catalogue info

About the Book

A personal account of backpacking with the Berbers in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and becoming familiar with their culture.

About the Author

Deryck Hockley was born in Victoria B.C.Canada in 1947, and has travelled and resided throughout much of the world. He is a poet, husband, father and mountaineer. Besides world literature and world religions, his interests lie in ethnology, history and the natural philosophies. Mr.Hockley has lived in Whitehorse Yukon since 1975.

Sample Excerpts

Perhaps because over the years I had become somewhat sceptical of the superiority of modern western idealism, especially of that which is defined by the flag ship of neo conservatism, Corporate Capitalism, I admire the tenacity of the Berbers who have managed to retain an individuality and distinct culture despite the inundation of Islam and Arabic culture in general that exists in concert with the predominance of the West as well. I can have a time of it just trying to lose all track of time for a month, while for ages these people have attended to their own rhythm of time while not missing a beat with the world around them. In fact time and its companion, history, is seen differently by these people, and indeed by easterners as a whole whose interpretations of world history and the resultant divisions therein harbour a slightly different concept than those in the West. This facet of the East, incidently, is explored at length by the eminent Islamic historian Bernard Lewis of Princeton University in his recent book What Went Wrong. My feeling and observation is that despite the advantages of the West, the Berbers are more secure in themselves than Canadians are and they do not suffer from any identity set backs. I suspect that ancient cultures that have remained more or less intact have much less difficulty manoeuvering through the mine field of modern history and the subsequent re-grouping of people than the newly thrown together, amalgamated, and assortment of cultures do, though these too I'm sure have their advantages. But this is not to say that the Berbers are backward, quite the contrary. I could access my Whitehorse bank account, for what its worth, from any bank machine in Marrakesh, and as I relaxed at a sidewalk cafe would often hear a concert of ring tones from the patron's pocket cells phones, or portables as they call them here. What the pastoral Berbers should fear is that their society will fall to the mundane ordinance of law and protocol administered by agencies of the governing factor like the west who do not stray far from their self edifying agendas and their related principles of extenuation. But as my Dad always said, it was the mores and convictions that were the main stay of a culture and the stability within, and that Canadians didn't appreciate how fragile stability, peace, and social harmony really was. And I also believe that my father understood me much more than I understand my own children and that disturbs me. Growing up I felt an allegiance to traditional values that my family freely demonstrated and perhaps I'm disturbed because I seldom see them displayed in society any more and I feel that I haven't carried the torch and successfully imparted these values to my children even though I believed I tried hard to do so. It would appear too that many of the sources of the problems are external and beyond my ability to influence. In many ways these and other conundrums that seem to have befallen me, indeed has befallen many of us who share a similar time and place, were perhaps one of the real reasons why I had bothered to renew a thirty year old hankering and found myself here at this particular moment watching the night sky. Others might call it middle age male menopause. My wife had an even less flattering name for it.
I remembered that I had asked Ali a couple of days before if Omar would be diligent in sending my carpet to Canada. I'm not convinced that it was a moment of insecurity, perhaps I was looking for something solid on which to stand my ground no matter what side of the fence it was on, after all I was alone in a completely foreign land, and although I had reason to believe that these smooth talking masters at merchandising were impeccable when it came to business, I was on guard and wanted them to know as much. "Yas D'ark,' Ali answered. 'Don't worry,' he said. What, me worry about a thousand dollar carpet? I don't think so, I thought. I had bigger things to worry about. I didn't have time for little worries like that; maybe after a time when I had settled in more and found that my adventure and the endeavours that I hoped to achieve here were progressing smoothly and on schedule, maybe then I could find time to worry about trivialities like that.
Fortunately, I have never been a worrier. For the best part of twenty years I had been employed as a steam engineer, sometimes called a stationary engineer, or a marine engineer if your plant isn't stationary but is floating around. But the job isn't what it used to be in the place where I now find myself and like all things technology has brought change. But I have always considered change to be my friend. I have a family, a huge beautifully located home, yet another day is often another dollar in debt, and despite the fact that I'm fifty three years old I'm basically penniless and debt ridden. Oh yes, perhaps I have some of those other qualities that people like to admire; I carved out my own destiny to a large degree, I have decades of adventure and not altogether conforming life experiences under my belt with its acute learning curve whose proficiency badge can never be misrepresented by some unbefitting and undeserving prospect or proffered by any sleazy institution attempting to substitute their corny curriculum for the real thing. But I'm not sure if I will have a job when I get home and my eldest boy despite my constant attendance and concern for his well being is under going acute behavioural problems that has been severely destructive to our home and family life. This has caused my wife and I much unhappiness, along with the fact that the main stream school system abandoned my son and despite my pleas they confounded my attempts to mediate and refused to work with me in order to address the problems. Furthermore, I'm aware that the disruption in my home is having an effect on the well being of my wife, and despite almost fifteen years of estrangement and over four thousand kilometres distance as the crow flies, the boy's mother, my former spouse, is still bent on hurling hurtful and unproductive abuse at me, and in the absence of relevance denigrates people I love and impinges on my overall peace of mind which if anything has only negatively affected my attempts to provide corrective guidance to my children. In addition, the tax man has focussed undeservingly upon me and remained intently employed in maliciously aggravating and confounding my attempts towards any resolution in my favour for over three unrelenting years that has only provided me with further stress.
So here I am feeling just great in an odd sort of way while soul searching and thinking about whether or not I've gone about handling the recent situations that have cropped up in my life to the best of my ability given my tendency to shirk from such nasty realities. At a young age, and without ever having opened it, I must have lost the handbook on life that was given out at birth. But although chapter and verse of its contents have often been quoted to me by innumerable sources who claim to be gifted or well read, fortunately I've ignored them and practically always gone it alone. Of course, I'm aware that when I have formed some kind of a plan it will be my wife that will make it work. Am I worried about a carpet? Give your head a shake, Ali. I'm worried about getting it right and about my children's future, and in not missing any opportunities that could be of utmost importance to those I love as well as continuing a life that is meaningful to me.
It dawned on me now that I was suffering from a condition of being overwhelmed by events and situations that were often beyond my control or my ability to be able to influence them. One of the most devastating circumstances in which one can find one's self and one which has the most dangerous and debilitating results, is being subjected to a condition that is being orchestrated somehow beyond one's reach. This is different than creating the circumstance then refusing to lie in the bed you've made for yourself, a common situation among those who do not have control of themselves. But when the strings attached to your emotions are been pulled from beyond, or even if the source is subject to influence, often we have only scant facilities at hand that are never sufficient to what is needed in order to repel or extract ourselves from the situation. The world renowned Swiss psychoanalyst Dr. C.G. Jung had a lot to say about such conditions, and the result that it has on those involved. Frequently of late, I have noticed that I have been harkening back to the happy and tranquil days of my youth, remembering thoughts, emotions, and even sounds and smells, and now I had gone so far as to realize a thirty year old dream in an attempt to get some control back into my life. I felt I had seized the day, taken the tide at flood, and had breathed purpose into what had become an impeding routine:And consequently, perhaps, its continuation that manifested itself as this short treatise.
But in another sense it was more than that. This journey was my perpetual search for something akin to the Holy Gail, and continues to be a search which, for those who have the wis- dom to do so and the tenacity as life drags on to continue, we each conduct according to the parameters of our soul and by the depth of our perception of the real world around us. And although the searching always continues from any given moment into the future just as it has arisen from out of the past, the Grail is always capable of being seized momentarily and the goal able to be realized continuously throughout. In my present location and due to the aesthetic nature of the quest that I was currently on, contrary to what packaged amusement, fully organized, all frills holiday lovers think, such goals by comparison are easily obtainable here and in this condition which is the place of mysterious design.

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