Between Sand & Water
The tiny town of Tagounite lies at the Northern fringes of Sahara desert, just kilometers away from the Morocco-Algeria border. For most non-residents, Tagounite is a drive through town. Most head to M’Hamid, the final town on the highway, in 4x4 cars to tour sand dunes and check out an “authentic nomadic lifestyle”. That is, until they return to the hotel a few days later. But for those residents who do live in this town, life is very different. The desert environment, lack of water, and heat all dictate life in an immeasurable degree.
Part 1 - Desert
The town struggles severely with producing their own food. Lack of water, repeated drought, and the lowering of water tables mean a majority of food, both meat and vegetables, must be imported from Agadir and Marrakech. All of this, and much more, is sold during the large souk on Thursdays in a huge outdoor complex towards the center of town. The market operates from approximately 6 A.M to 4 P.M Moroccan time.
Ali Amdiaz of Zagora sells a plethora of vegetables and fruits in the Thursday souk. He owns a large truck and brings produce from Agadir to sell in Tagounite and M’Hamid. He’s one of the largest vendors at the market. In an interview with another vendor, I learned that the vendors travel in both directions, in and out of the desert, selling food. Tagounite locals will take whatever sellable food they have to markets up north and sell there. Before their return journey, they’ll purchase produce unattainable in the desert and resell back home. This two way trip makes all it economically beneficial to the vendors.
The meat district of Tagounite presents severed goat heads on cardboard out front, and their skinned bodies on meat hooks behind. This meat is imported from other cities like Al-Jadida and Marrakech. The three butchers all belong to the same family, two of them brothers. I wonder how the market competition effects that dynamic.
A bit alien looking among the single story square houses, the towns water supply comes from deep underground through the two government built towers. The iconic structures are taller than almost any other building around. Their slender, circular shape contrasts all of Tagounite’s other architecture. The towers can be seen from miles away, a reminder that there can, in fact, be life in the desert.
We visited the souk our second day in Tagounite, learning about how food and goods get to the town. We were then able to explore other facets of daily life in Tagounite, and how the desert continued to effect the populations life. We would soon learn how desertification, lack of water, and continued drought impacts migration and economics of the region.
One day, a second or third cousin of our host Hassan told us we could be helping pick dates at his land outside of town. On our drive out, we passed dozens of abandoned and crumbling earth buildings. Mohammed, the owner of the palm date farm, filled us in. He said he was born out here, but within the past thirty or forty years the drought had gotten worse and the water table so low only machines could dig deep enough to reach it. A far off dream for the people of these peripheral towns. He told us that people had almost entirely left the villages, either moving into Tagounite, or leaving the desert all together. On our drive out, he pointed to a house that his family had lived in for five generations. Five hundred years. The roof was caved in and there were no residents. An empty house sits in the background of the town that only has two families left. In times previous, it had upwards of fifty. Mohammeds Toyota Hilux sits in the foreground. He relies on Sahara tours as his primary source of income. As the water dried up, so did the ability to live on these lands. Without water, they couldn’t produce food for themselves or their animals. It wasn’t coming back, so many made the decision to leave.
All the land Mohammed “owned” was family land. Not much official paperwork, but it was still his. Much of it was dead land. Not even the palm dates survived, which use nearly no water. He didn’t seem to have much hope that the land would fair better in the future. We finally made it to a field where some palm trees had hung out, and our hosts climbed the sharp trunks to pull the dates to the ground.
It was our job to pick the dates off the branches and ground, and load them into baskets to be taken back to town. Their families, usually the women, would separate them into three categories: Edible, edible for livestock, and useless.
Mohammed (left), and Hassan (our younger host) helped us out and chatted while we all scoured the cracked dirt for dates. Since they didn’t get much water, most of these dates were dry and crusty. They said the quality wasn’t good enough to sell either in town or export, so these ones would be eaten within their own families.
In the scarcity of water in the desert, there can be some light in the form of government assistance. But this is exactly where it gets complicated. You must prove land ownership to get government assistance. But in a place where land simply gets handed down over the generations acquiring three or four pieces of formal documents that don’t exist is impossible. In the field next to Mohammeds, they had government water. Their green, lush crops amid the crawling plastic water lines mocked the dead earth next to it. Adjacent to their plot, Mohammeds land was completely dead. It was devoid of any plant life, and hadn’t seen water for months. Cracked and open to the hot desert sun. Even with government funding, the harshness of the desert makes its inhabitants know who’s boss.
Back in Tagounite the farms fare a little better. The towns well and a slightly higher water table means they can grow crops like carrots, radish, garlic onions, okra, lava beans, and fsa (greens for livestock). Most of the food was consumed by its farmers, and in the rare case of extra produce, they sold it at the Thursday souk. At our hosts family’s farm, dead palm cuttings are burned as to get carbon into the ground on a plot marked for carrots.
Certain plots of our host’s family farm looked better than others. These greens were in season, and Karim’s extended family all helped out. For me, it felt good to see fresh green crops in these parts.
In a town where not much happens, I was relieved to see people playing. It was certainly an informal game, but they seemed like they were having a good time. The golden dust bowl of a field reminded everyone of the desert in all directions. Even in times of play, the desert makes its presence known. Nature can’t and won’t hide from its inhabitants in Tagounite. I felt that in my week there. They’ve felt it their whole lives.
A sandstorm settles in over town around sunset. The golden rays are muted entirely by wind blown sand of the Sahara. Nonetheless, locals carry on with their business. Main street runs perpendicular to the camera, and can be seen just past the turquoise truck. You can see the storms roll in from miles and miles away. The storm head rolls in, but instead of humidity the air becomes coarse with particulates. Coughing more frequent. Dust and sand in every crevice and corner of life.
The natural environment was a constant in my time in Tagounite. Anything left out was immediately covered by dust and sand. Even with zippers closed, it invaded my bags nonetheless. Whether it be sun, sand, or heat, I was always aware of the desert. The locals underlying anxiety about water made me acutely aware of those issues as well. These photographs aim to shed some understanding on how food and water play into this tiny desert town. The aura and impact of the natural desert environment are constant in all images and ideas portrayed.
Part II - Ocean
I spent a week and a half in Tamraught and Taghazout, talking and hanging out with the surf tourists from all over the world. I wanted to see how people interacted with nature in a place where the environment is desired. People come here just to get in the water. Exploring the culture of surf tourism was also of interest. Taghazout is in many ways the opposite of Tagounite. People travel for the nature. They come for the wave and sun. Comparing the two places, and their relationship to nature, reveals the differences in the relationships for foreigns and locals alike.
Before all the tourism, small-scale fishing was the way of life. Three man fishing boats head out as the sun rises. Wouldn’t want to get lost in the ocean at night. Outboard engines are stored in a warehouse, which are then loaded by the same haul tractor that drags them into the surf. Timing the waves, they jet out into the morning light. Three or four hours later, they come back with seafood to sell at their local market, and to the restaurants in town.
Local fishermen hang out before first light arrives. One of them beckoned me over to take a portrait. I think he was the most into it, the other guys seemed preoccupied with something else. They told me how squid was one of their best catches. They sold it at the fish market right on the water. They also told me about the declining catches and partially attributed it to large scale commercial fishing boats out of Agadir. With their huge nets, sonar, and other technology, they had the upper hand on the old school fishing boats of Taghazout. I also learned of the change in employment. Many fisherman are moving to tourism for new work as it makes better money and has new opportunities. Seeing the massive developments around Tamraught and Taghazout certainly implied the need for more locals to staff the resort complexes.
Sea fog lies heavy over the town of Tamraught, just south of Taghazout. Tamraught and Aourir collectively make up “Banana Village”, a larger township that’s main production is banana. A bit of different economics compared to the towns north of it, its beginning to feel the effects of tourism. Hostels and western restaurants have begun to pop up around town However, huge resort developments along the waterfront between Tamraught and Taghazout are changing the structure and economics of the area. Unfinished grey concrete and dozens of cranes stand as a reminder of the change that lie ahead.
Constructed on the hill above town, the two year old Taghazout skatepark brings together a plethora of different people. Surfers taking a break, foreign skaters, local youth, and Moroccan skaters from other cities. Many, including myself, were simply there to watch the action. With the international tourism that comes through Taghazout, so does the international money. First started as a locally built ramp or two, frequent foreign visitors reached out to their networks to make the place better. The current skatepark was constructed with funds from multiple international skate foundations those aim it is to build skateparks across the world in areas that can’t do it themselves. One of the best skaters on this day was a French man named Leo. The locals said he was a crucial part in making it all happen. Kids loved him enough for me to believe that. The place was the spot for cultural exchange. Anyone from anywhere can come into the free space, show off, and be inspired. The kids would frequently ask to ride the foreigners skateboards around. A number would do so without shoes.
Surfing is fundamental to the tourism and economy of Taghazout in particular. Seen here is Hash Point, one of the more popular spots in town for beginner and intermediate surfers. In the distance, Anchor Point, one of the most iconic spots in Morocco. Non-surfers and locals watch the action form the end of the seafront boardwalk. The whole town revolves around surfing. The alleyways around the waterfront are narrowed by surf rentals sitting outside. Surf repair shops, tourist restaurants, and the likes are all around town. Half naked tourists, barefoot with surfboard in hand, walk to and from the beach. This time of year its mostly foreign tourists. In the summer, Moroccans looking for heat and waves flock to these parts. I’m sure it’s a completely different vibe.
For non-surfers, Taghazout is usually a one or two day stop. A meal at a veggie cafe, some pictures down at the beach. Pictures of rustic fishing boats and a horse ride on the beach tempt tourists with another “authentic Moroccan experience”. So many snapshots. iPhone photoshoots by the water. Of course it’s beautiful, but all the tourist poses still look goofy to me.
Within the surf tourists there’s two loose camps. The hostel goers, and the van dwellers. The dirt lot above famed Anchor Point is home to many of the van people. Those in the vans seemed a bit better in the water, going out to the bigger spots on hard top, fiber glass boards. The soft board beginners stayed to calmer waters by Tamraught. For those who have the means to do so, living out of their vans, surfing, and traveling is an excellent way to explore Europe and North Africa. Most had started a few months ago in Europe. Moving down the French, Spanish, Portuguese surf sports and all the way down to Morocco. Surfing and new adventure were the only certainties along the way.
I found the characters of the vans fascinating. People dumped time and money into their vehicles to be able to surf for months on end. I wanted to photograph people in front of their vans to get an idea of what this type of life looked like.
Melina and Ulysses of France sit in the open door of their Sprinter. Clothes, plastic bottles, and everything in between lay around their van. It was a genuine living space and they didn’t feel ashamed at the mess. Their favorite part of the van was a pair of binoculars that sat in a red felt case behind the passenger seat. They said it was their most used item in the vehicle.
Angel and Eliza of Spain sit in the back of their red Ford van. As I walked up Angel was putting on his wetsuit for a sunset surf, and Eliza was doing yoga beside the van to calm guitar music. And yes, I am starstruck by them too.
Photographed a parking lot over from the rest, Dutch couple Ilana and Coen sat drinking and reading. They’d been on the road for a few months and were taking a moment to enjoy the sunset. They said their favorite part of the van is that it truly felt like home.
While Taghazout is all about surfing, I didn’t feel the need to take action shots of it. The culture and infrastructure on land informs us better than a single, perfect action image could. Plus, there were more beginners than shredders. In a break from the sets, a group of surfers watch the final distorted rays of light slip below the Atlantic Ocean. A few more sets of waves may come in, but with darkness approaching, many trek back to their boutique surf hostel or camper van to wait for another day of rays and waves.
Officially, Arabic, Tamazight, and English are posted. But as a testament to the graffiti and stickers, Taghazout is a melting pot for language, cultures, and people. Surf tourism, people looking for nice warm weather, and the local population all come together on the tiny strip of white buildings creeping up the hill. The colors eventually fade away to black. BananaVillage can be seen illuminated down the coast. Specks of light on tiny fishing boats mimic the stars above. Town sleeps, as salty wetsuits hang to dry waiting for the early morning swells of tomorrow.
Taghazout is a dream world. Surf, eat, surf, sleep, repeat. Truly a life to live. The warm air, relaxed atmosphere, and chill vibe of the place is intoxicating. It’s exactly the place I would go for the nature. To get in the water, to feel the warm sun. And it was worlds away from Tagounite. Both had little going on, but the latent feeling was different. In Taghazout, it was kick your feet up and lets chill. In the desert, there was tension. The stillness wasn’t always calm. Through comparing these two places visually and culturally, I aim to have given an observational exploration of their differences. A nature that is to be basked in, and a nature that’s to be fought against. But this opposition is created by my own narrative. By my own experience. I’m sure in both places locals feel absolutely different than I did about nature. That’s why I embrace my own subjectivity and perspective in this project. Nature has always been important to me, and that’s exactly why I chose it to be the focus. I am grateful for all of those people who helped me along the way. Translating, showing me local spots, and giving me the time of day to complete this work. I am also thankful for you, for coming along on this ride through the sands of the Sahara and to the waves of Taghazout. This project has opened my eyes as to how I engage with the natural world around me, and how differently it can be in a tourist/ non-tourist location. I hope to have communicated my enjoyment and curiosity of the natural world I was able to experience through these photos. I now encourage you to reapproach the natural world around you, at home or abroad, with a newfound curiosity of the wonders it surely contains.
Thank you.
- ljc