In this installment on our journey to better know our stewards, our rag-tag team of alchemists venture across the ocean to Morocco to celebrate with song and dance and food with friends from a different culture. There’s sharing and learning, a bit of adventure, and above all, the glint in the eyes of regular folk doing what they love.

As told by David Gordon, Co-Founder & CEO of evanhealy

The place Mohammed (above) is co-owner and manager of the land near Sidi Ifni in Morocco that farms our prickly pear. His extended family owns and operates the women-run Sahara Cactus Co-operative that processes our prickly pear.

We have a soft landing in Marrakesh at Maison Dar Saada, an old-world riad with a geometric interior featuring an azure pool framed by off-white pillows for lounging. Guest rooms are set a mere twelve feet back with ten-foot-high arched double doors welcoming tired bodies. A talisman-like rope hangs from each door bidding our journey well. Straw shades relax on curving floor-length black wooden lamps. Black and white- and sand-colored tiles in formation decorate the floor. Sand-colored stone for the floors, walls, and ceilings of the bathroom. (On our return journey we stop over in Amsterdam where we wander into a spa’s version of this sandstone world. Dinners of tagine and breakfasts of a multiplicity of breads are served on the third-floor roof rocked by breezes rustling the bamboo walls and coverings. Simple tables, benches with pillows, straight-back chairs. Conversation, laughter, expectation, and uncertainty. There’s not much time to worry though, for tomorrow morning we’re on the road at ten. Destination Agadir where we will meet with colleagues of many years.

A late afternoon lunch where waiters Hassan and Aziza offer friendship and wisdom. At this establishment tips can’t be written onto a credit card receipt for that will go to the owner. Rather tips must be cash if intended for the staff. Upon hearing that we are engaged in the trade of argan, Hassan proffers that argan is good for bad cholesterol. Early evening beach walk is a bit too evocative of our Carlsbad home, where ocean funk settles creating a heavy chill. Apparently, that does not dampen the mood of our crew who celebrate with a little after-dinner dancing.

Rashid, our driver, has received directions to Simo’s farm. Simo is Mohamed El Karz – the Moroccan-born German-based environmental engineer, who in the early two thousands began an adventure to share the argan tradition of his homeland with the world. The farm is a new addition since we last visited seven years ago. This trip, in part, is to reinvigorate our relationship with our argan network. Central to this relationship is Simo as well as Stefan. Stefan Hauke is a USA-based entrepreneur with German roots, importing argan through his twenty-year connection with Simo. Stefan’s company is World Artisan Guild.

Mid-morning arrival at the farm is celebrated by the customary breakfast of breads upon breads upon yet more breads – leavened and flat. Taste amplified by dipping breads in roasted argan, honey, orange blossom, and almond paste. And always served with Moroccan mint tea with its characteristic long, high pour. The bright joy of Simo’s face. The warmth of Stefan’s smile. We gather at a table out of doors. A six-foot Moroccan wall frames the few acres of this emerging eco-wellness center. Here, we tour the processing facility for argan. Beautifully engineered by Simo. As we spend more time together bits of Simo’s history emerge. In a moment where Simo is taking care of behind-the-scenes hosting, Stefan mentions that during the devastating earthquake of 2023 in Morocco’s High Atlas Mountains several thousand were killed and more injured. Simo immediately sent twenty-five shipping-sized containers to the area to shelter some of those affected retrofitted with sleeping accommodation, kitchenettes, showers, and even school facilities for the children. Today we see a few of these very containers, now at the farm, decorated as they were then with rugs providing comfort for those in difficult times. Tomorrow we will visit the Al Amal Co-operative and reconnect with the women who harvest and crack the nuts of the argan tree.

Members of our team celebrating the planting of one of forty eight thousand argan trees with our friends from Argand’Or and World Artisan Guild in Lagroune, Morocco in September 2024.

In the discussions that take place over the next two days we hear more of the scarcity of argan due to a seven-year drought. Are we living biblical times? When the trees are stressed, they don’t fruit. As we tour the land, we learn how dramatically the scarcity of supply has affected the group’s business. Simo has chosen to direct his limited supply to the US through World Artisan and in doing so has stopped supplying a major European retailer. It’s not often that the small prevails over the large. Another meal – this one a mid-afternoon lunch – is followed by a tour of the facility’s hammam. Our exhaustion counsels us to forgo the spa in favor of heading to our riad in Tiznit. Along the way one of our tires blow. Rashid fixes it while a few of us stand vigil. There is no AAA here. As Rashid joins us at meals and shares a room with one of us, we learn bits of his story. He works as a driver while studying tourism in Marrakesh. He is from a village many hours inland, known for its rose harvest. It turns out that this is the same place that our colleagues who we’ll meet in a few days’ time source their rose hydrosol from.

Tire replaced; Rashid navigates the remainder of our trip to our Tiznit riad. On the way I get messages from the riad asking after our arrival. We are late. Rashid finds his way through streets and what looks like back alleys to our riad. Arrival. It’s dark, another back alley. Carved door. A knock. The door opens. A smiling face welcomes us to yet another modest sanctuary. There in the open air we settle into tables on stone patios that will function as our breakfast area the next two days. Our rooms are off this open-air gathering place. At some point we rally with a swoosh to our rooms. Dinner beckons. The manager at the riad directs us on a ten-minute walk through alleys which opens to a main thoroughfare, where we find our dinner place – a Shell gas station. Somewhat surprising to all, this is clearly a gathering spot for the community. Dinner is a simple affair. For some reason ours alone is served on Shell-emblazoned paper table coverings.

The next morning we travel inland for an hour or so to the lands of the Al Amal in Ighrem, Tiznit Province. We are welcomed by Fatima, the president of the coop, and a half dozen women – all are singing, dancing, and joyous. I recognize Fatima from our visit seven years ago. The weather is perfect: sunny and warm but not too hot. On this trip we also meet Fatima’s husband, Mohamed. Both have important roles in the argan trade. When we were last here with World Artisan, we sponsored the planting of four hundred argan saplings. We are told that our little project has inspired a much larger project. In fact Simo has worked with the government, who in turn have funded the planting of forty-eight thousand trees in the last few years. Specifically forty-eight hundred hectares have been planted with one hundred trees per hectare. Mohamed explains that individuals own tracts of land, sometimes a few acres, sometimes more. The government plants the trees. The individuals, who own the land and often members of the coop, have the rights to harvest. Reforestation increases soil fertility. The tree’s deep roots help to stabilize the soil and prevent wind erosion. Carbon sequestration improves the air. Dignity of income has grown so that the women of the cooperative are now purchasing property. The argan forest is a UNESCO protected biosphere meaning that the trees can’t be cut without permission. All of this restores sovereignty of their ancestral heritage.

We drive from one farm to another. We do this several times. Each drive is a few miles. At one stop we see where a well has been constructed. Each time we stop we survey the land. I cannot tell the difference from one plot to another or the difference in the view. All gentle rising mountains on the horizon of a soft clay-colored landscape spotted with green clumps of argan trees. The community is woven together as landowners. Is the anchor land? Is it neighbor? Family? Community? All of it.

We’re told that, though drought remains a concern, with a little luck things will turn around. I ask if the soil is healthy. The answer is no. Yet it’s perfect for argan trees. While it is not conventionally rich soil, the roots of the argan tree tunnel far below the surface – some estimates put that at one hundred feet – reaching the water source deep within. So in its own odd way this land perfectly fits the argan tree. Mohamed talks about carbon sequestration and selling carbon credits. I can’t say that any of us truly follow. Other than a general awareness of the use of carbon credits in various financial circles.  He shares detail in our WhatsApp channel in Arabic. It’s sweet to see Simo and Stefan with Fatima and Mohammed evocative of a long friendship going back close to twenty years. I’m surprised to realize that ours already goes back fifteen years. It turns out that we were one of the first in the US to work with them. And since that time other early purchasers have moved on driven by better prices elsewhere. We have stayed the course.

Another meal of tender chicken followed by a heaping platter of melt-in-your-mouth couscous layered with vegetables. As before we eat without utensils. Delicately pulling a piece of chicken with your right hand from the bird. A spoon is available to serve the couscous. The meal and its manner of eating fosters an intimacy that follows us everywhere. Here we eat in one room. In the next room a half dozen women crack nuts. Weathered hands and faces calmly cradling stones that smash the nut held firm in place by a hand on a larger rock. Again I wonder, biblical times?

Later a few young girls appear – perhaps five, seven and nine. Big glowing eyes. We bring out gifts of colored pencils, coloring books, soccer balls, stickers. We start to distribute. More girls appear. Our team engages with them. Singing and clapping together. Different cultures and ages are quickly bridged. Sometime later, on the way out, we encounter fourteen-year-old boys hanging outside. Now that’s a world that might not be so easily navigated regardless of culture.

Late morning Wednesday Sami and Badre appear standing in the lane outside the Tiznit riad. The same beaming faces from our many zoom confabs. Sami and Badre Aznag are brothers who operate Azay, the family company that supplies our prickly pear oil. The gang piles into our passenger van. Two of us join Sami and Badre in their compact sedan. We’re off to meet Mrs. Keltouma (screenshot Chris video from lunch). On the way Badre stops and asks direction from those working construction. Sami comments with a smile, Moroccan GPS. Then explains that construction of roads and communities are happening so fast that GPS can’t keep up. We navigate to a restaurant in a hotel of Keltouma’s best friend of many years. This woman, the restauranteur, has taken over a hotel built by her father in 1954. I digest this, that’s the year I was born. The hotel is soft greens and blues on white with the Atlantic Ocean within a few steps.

We take our seats at a table for twelve. Questions asked and answered by Mrs. Keltouma with the help of Sami and Badre. How did she start? Why a cooperative? She explains that women were doing this work in their own home and the men were selling it for cigarette money. Being one of the youngest in her family, she sat with her father a woodworker and carpenter. Running here and there, getting whatever he asked, she was inspired to manager her own enterprise. Being able to bring women together in a common endeavor was a natural evolution of skills absorbed from her father. Matched by the need of many to have an enterprise to meet the emerging demand for prickly pear and argan.

After lunch we visit the nearby Sahara Cooperative, home to the community of women that Mrs. Keltouma has fashioned for processing prickly pear and other plants. Washed yellow walls, soft green graphics, and imperfect walls and doors. All home to an endeavor that places people at the center. Stainless steel mixers, roasters, grinders. Twenty to fifty gallon drums. Large enough to create efficiency and consistency, small enough to be managed and guided by hand.

Next stop, prickly pear farm. Our guide is Mbark, husband of Mrs. Keltouma. Throughout our time he appears and disappears and reappears in his half-ton pick-up. At the farm we witness the detrimental impact that a local insect disease has had on last year’s harvest. Those plants have been burned so that the disease does not spread. Still many hectares of land remain as far as the eye can see with prickly pear plants dotting the horizon. A weathered face wrapped in cloth hovers nearby. He looks a desert wanderer from another time. He turns out to be Mbark’s cousin who co-owns and manages the farm. After scanning the farmland we retreat to the family home a few hundred yards away with its traditional open courtyards leading to numerous gathering rooms and what seems like a dozen bedrooms. We land in a carpeted sitting room where two to three foot long pillows line the outer perimeter. Our sitting arrangement turns out to be surprisingly comfortable. We sit quietly. Our host peels the skin from the prickly pear fruit. We all participate in its consumption.

The Sahara Cooperative in Sidi Ifni Southern Morocco: The evanhealy team to the left. To the right Mrs. Keltouma, owner of the Cooperative, a local women’s enterprise that processes our prickly pear. Not shown here is Mbark whose family owns the nearby prickly pear farm and husband of Mrs. Keltouma. David Gordon, evanhealy co-founder/ceo; Sami and Badre Aznag, owners of Azay the company that supplies prickly pear; and our driver Rashid, a tourism student.

Tonight we stay in Sidi Ifni. The road takes a steep turn downwards to the ocean. One vehicle goes ahead and reports that this is it. The hotel sits on what appears to be four or five levels built into the cliff that falls to the ocean. The beach reminds me of Crystal Cove, an hour north of San Diego. There along the California coast exists an old-fashioned diner, a hamburger stand, a one-room building that serves as a historic landmark and a couple dozen homes built as a seaside community between 1920 and 1940. Homes and hotels are carved into the cliffs. Surfboards and suits hanging to dry. How do I tell the difference in location? Not by latitude for Sidi Ifni is 29.4 degrees N. while Crystal Cove is 33.6 degrees N. What helps differentiate the two? Sidi Ifni has a donkey on the cliff above and features five twenty foot yurts. However, it’s as if time forgot both places. Yes, I will welcome the comforts of home. But we all love the simplicity. Two choices for dinner: fish and fish. Fresh out of the ocean. Room rates are less than $30 per night. Dinner for nine about $70.

Back to Agadir for a night and on to Marrakesh where we get reacquainted with Maison Dar Saada. While I promise the team a day off to scour the souks for gifts, I mention that it would be lovely if they could provide some lifestyle photography taking advantage of the exotic setting of the riad. After a day of shopping and touring, the team gathers in the open courtyard. Fortuitously each room comes with a couple of white bathrobes. Perfect for lounging poolside. The results: under the watchful eye of our video/photographer our team mists and mixes our foundational oils and waters – serums and hydrosols.

Do our hearts open when we meet for the first or second time? Are we less apt to judge? Does a change of environment facilitate the appreciation of life? When cultures come together is it easier to see our common humanity? Whatever the reason our pleasure in being together dominates all exchanges. However numerous the questions of process, of mechanics, of medicinal benefits, the simple joy of doing something together that we all believe in is consistently there. Nicknames are shared. Pet peeves revealed. Romantic interests discussed. When will you return? When will you visit California? Visas are required for Moroccans to travel. We take for granted our mobility and our freedoms. 

One day on our trip with our hosts I find myself describing at length the process of how we work. That we accept that there are forces that are bigger than us. That we look for and act upon opportunities that come our way never knowing where they will take us or whether they will work out. Some ideas and some efforts flourish, while others do not. Oh someone offers, Inshallah!

Ideas pour forth. Where do we get our Rassoul clay from? Would we hold bulk prickly pear in California? International buyers are more comfortable having orders shipped from within the US. We share our idea for an infusion consisting of prickly pear, the opuntia flower maceration, saffron infused argan. Many possibilities. A few years ago struggling with clean color cosmetics we came across aker fassi. Why did we stop pursuing it? Was it too difficult to secure? Here we see aker fassi everywhere available in handheld clay bowls. Sami will have Mrs. Keltouma look into it. We wonder if couldn’t make available some of Simo’s cosmetics on our website. Mohamed, husband of Fatima, is sending information about carbon credits. Stefan beams that there are many ideas. A swirl of energy. Life-force at work. Where will it lead? How will it develop? Inshallah.

On the flight home I watch the documentary, ‘Learning to Live Together: The Return of Mad Dogs & Englishmen’. It’s about the reunion of Joe Cocker’s Mad Dogs & Englishman tour that took place in 1970 that shaped the album of the same name. Leon Russell, Rita Coolidge, and the Tedeschi Trucks Band tell the story of the reunion. It features the song, Learning to Live Together, which captures the beauty of the human and musical experience of the tour. Those are the magic moments when it all comes together. No one doing it for a paycheck. Just the music, the work. “Once I was traveling across the sky, this lovely planet caught my eye, and being curious I flew close by … we forgot we could fly. Someday we will all return to peaceful men.” Another celebrated Joe Cocker song, With a little help from my friends, a tune written by Lennon and McCartney kind of says it all, “Do you believe in love at first sight? Yes, I believe that it happens all the time.”

Years ago, on another flight home, this one returning from Austin Texas, where a few of us were meeting with Whole Foods Market, I met what could only be described as a leprechaun with smiling blue eyes and a mischievous smile. Every now and again I seem to meet a version of that leprechaun sometimes in the guise of a Moroccan entrepreneur, sometimes as a simple harvester, sometimes a child. You can usually recognize the glint in their eyes. Those are the people I want to do business with, those are the ones I want to know, those are the ones I want to support.