In the dry folds of the High Atlas mountains, approaching the Sahara, there’s an unexpected place called the Vallée des Roses where, in spring, the entire area is awash with pink Persian roses. In the small town of El-Kelaâ M’Gouna, roses nestle among hedgerows so that they’re not immediately visible, but they are the town’s lifeblood, from their cultivation through to the production of rosewater. The flowers are harvested in mid-May, an event celebrated in the colourful and sweet-smelling Rose Festival, which draws around 20,000 people to the small town. The three-day festival is a time of song and dance, feasting, souk-like markets and a chariot procession through a shower of rose petals. There’s also a beauty pageant of sorts, with a Miss Rose crowned each year.
I’m brown (mixed Amazigh / mestiza), a genderweird girl (afab), gay, able-bodied, mentally ill (bipolar, psychotic, literally every cluster B personality disorder, victim of psychiatric abuse, blah blah blah), upper middle class, culturally Muslim (although not really personally? idk), dual citizen of the U.S. and Morocco. my personal blog is amazighprincex