The last couple of weeks have moved fast. Before coming to Morocco, people warned me about the summer heat—and they weren’t kidding. We’re getting daytime highs of 45°C (110°F). There’s no AC at the house, so sleeping through it has been its own daily adventure.

Finding Routine

Settling into one place has brought a shift as I’ve traded some novelty for routine. It honestly feels a bit like my life back in Canada. I start with morning workouts, bike into the office, and spend evenings with friends or lost in projects.

I’ve been volunteering with the High Atlas Foundation (HAF), mostly working from their office. The funny part is that I’ve found myself using the same data tools and software I used as an engineer. But now instead of tracking millions of dollars in refining towers, I’m helping monitor the planting of millions of trees across Morocco.

The backdrop has also changed. No more coveralls or industrial site. Now, I’m visiting literal fields of trees tucked into valleys, shaded by the mountain peaks. My commute passed old red buildings weaving between motorbikes and horse-drawn carts. Some days I take the long way, winding through the medina’s narrow alleys just to soak in the noise, color, and bustle of it all.

Visiting the High Atlas Mountains

One of the perks of volunteering is the access to projects in remote communities. Last week, a group of us travelled to Aghbar—a cluster of villages high in the Atlas—to celebrate the completion of a water and irrigation project. It was 150 kilometers away, but the narrow roads on hairpin mountain turns stretched it into a four-hour drive.

In 2023, this community was near the epicentre of an earthquake. Homes, roads, and other critical infrastructure were destroyed. it was devastating, but it also brought resources to overdue needs. The rebuilding efforts are addressing not just the damage, but are also improving essential systems

When we arrived, it felt like the whole village had shown up to greet us. There were drums, dancing, and trays of food. It was overwhelming at first, but it didn’t feel performative. It was genuine and a deep expression of gratitude for what the project meant to them.

After the earthquake, many of the water systems these communities depend on for farming were gone. Concrete canals that once fed entire orchards were wiped away. Most families here depend on almond, walnut, and olive trees for income, and without extra water, those trees wouldn’t make it.

HAF’s work here focused on building new water reservoirs, setting up solar-powered pumps, and involving the local community in each step. With these built, the community now has a reliable source of water for their crops. Thanks to generous donors, they raised the $50,000 needed to make it happen. Out here, that money stretches far.

One of the elder community members told us how they had wanted a project like this for many decades, but it always felt out of reach. Government help never arrived, and rain was never enough for what they needed. In his whole life, he remembers just one year where there was enough rain water to go around.

Hearing changed my perspective on what I was looking at. What first appeared as a set of solar panels and tanks became something far bigger. To them, this wasn’t just infrastructure. It was their livelihood and hope for a better future. It reminded me how little it can take to change the lives of so many.

I know it sounds cliché—talking about volunteering and “making a difference”. It is I suppose, but it also reflects the truth of how good it can feel to give back and be connected to something bigger than oneself. 

After the speeches and project walkthroughs, we feasted and celebrated. there was an endless supply of tagine (a popular Moroccan dish) paired with locally grown almonds and walnuts. Men dressed in their traditional clothing while playing music, singing, and dancing. The women refrained from dancing, but chimed in with their voices.

At one point, I was pulled into the circle to dance. It wasn’t graceful, but I felt myself come to life as I moved to the beat. I was reminded that this is how we’re meant to celebrate.

As we drove home, I kept thinking that this is what community can look like. Life here is hard in ways I’ll never fully understand, but there’s a richness that I don’t often see in concrete jungles and busy schedules. I wonder where along the way we forgot how to come together like this.

Gnawa in Essaouira

Last weekend, I went to a Gnawa music festival in Essaouira, a coastal town a few hours away. Gnawa is a deep, trance-like music rooted in Berber and West African traditions. The usually peaceful city came alive. Locals and tourists spilling into courtyards and beaches, dancing under the stars. It was a great way to escape the heat.

Peaks and Valleys

And, in the spirit of staying honest, I hit a low point too.

I got a bit sick and spent a few days drained of energy. That spiralled into frustration, restlessness, and too many hours deep diving into global politics. It’s weird seeing the life I dreamed of outside and not feeling connected to it.

The heat didn’t help. Some nights it woke me up every couple of hours. I’d lie there wondering why I’m even traveling. I saw my thoughts darken and noticed that when I listened to them, the spiral intensified.

But, when I pulled myself back to my meditation cushion, I could see my thoughts objectively and knew they would pass as they have before. I was reminded that life is an oscillating journey and the skill is knowing how to navigate.

In travel and life, my aim isn’t to steer away from the difficulties, but to approach them with presence as they come. Not to welcome them, but not to push them away either. Not every moment is joyful, but it all belongs.

Closing

After these weeks in Morocco, it’s now starting to feel familiar. I’m still a traveller passing through, but having time for deeper cultural immersion continues to give me depth to my experience that I haven’t felt elsewhere.

Through shared meals, streets revisited, and time to slow down, I’m beginning to feel something I hadn’t in other places—a glimpse into how life truly is here. Not as a tourist, but as an observer trying to listen more than speak.

If you like these stories and would like to lend your support, you can become a monthly contributor on my Buy Me a Coffee page. Every bit helps.

🙏 Gratitude – deep thanks to my current supporters:

• John Lyne

• Tiana Tymko

• Steve Cox

With Love, 

-Adam