Had Dra, Sunday morning, province of Essaouira, heading inland. The moment you enter the market, time changes, it is a physical sensation, immediate. Something in the relationship between man and animal here still exists in its most visceral, direct, ancient form. The sun is still low, silhouettes of men and animals moving through the dusty air. The animals often have their legs tied, someone checks a cow’s teeth by putting their hand inside its mouth. Further on, the slaughterhouse. A lake of blood walked through with complete naturalness, pieces of meat on wooden counters, severed heads everywhere. Voices, shouts, strong smells, smoke, it feels like a circle of Dante’s Inferno, but it does not frighten. It fascinates. Had Dra, is a place where necessary things happen.
