Staged Realities and Symbolic Infrastructures: A Visual Reflection on Development and Representation in Southern Morocco
Published 08/19/2025 in Scholar Travel Stipend
Written
by Ayan Rahman |
08/19/2025
Towards the end of May, I traveled to Marrakech, and, from there, to the edge of the Zagora Desert on a guided tour offered to tourists from all over the world as a cultural experience -- a curated crossing through kasbahs, ancient caravan routes, and the diverse terrains of southern Morocco. I took my camera with me, but not with the intention of documenting for the sake of documentation. I was more driven by my curiosities about what would emerge visually on this well traveled corridor. What types of spaces would be framed? What experiences would be emphasized as distinctly Moroccan? And, importantly, how would I, as a participant in this tour, be positioned within it all? These were questions I wanted to explore through this one of a kind experience.
What I witnessed, and shortly after reflected on in viewing the photos I took, was not really a black and white difference between “authentic” and “constructed” culture, but something that was a lot more subtle and complex. There were layers of storytelling at work at every stop, whether at the scenic mountain viewpoints or UNESCO-designated villages. At opportune moments, vendors would appear dressed in traditional garments; signs at several locations had various languages including English, French, and Spanish; postcards featuring movies shot on site such as Gladiator or The Mummy as well were sold at shops, with opportunities to pose with camels or don desert scarves also provided. I really thought about the built environment (as I’ve been trained to along the years) while on this endeavor, and it was stunning. There were red clay buildings carved into the mountain and hillsides, winding alleyways and passages through ancient market towns, and satellite dishes perched at the top of crumbling towers. Just as, if not more, striking was how much of these sceneries were organized and meticulously constructed along an established route that funneled a very specific imagery of Moroccan identity to an ever rotating cast of outsiders.
Perhaps the most emblematic stop on the trip was Ait Ben-Haddou. This was a village rich in history and recognized as a World Heritage Site. Visually breathtaking at that. Yet the main focus of our tour was more so on the cinematic legacy of this site. Within the confines of the village’s shops, vendors showcased laminated posters from films and many of the behind-the-scenes photos of productions that were shot there. Our tour guide even name dropped some of which he was an extra in. Many also sold scarves for the camel ride later in the tour. These weren’t just souvenirs but rather our uniforms for the next phase of our tourist experience. I got myself a nice white one to stay cooler under the strength of the Moroccan sun. My documentation at this stop in the tour depicts what I’d say is a place suspended between historical significance and performance. You can see this in the mudbrick walls adjacent to film stills, Berber craftwork juxtaposed with Hollywood memorabilia.
Another interaction that was interesting to me was during a brief breakfast stop at a roadside cafe. I paid in Moroccan dirhams, but I actually received one euro back as my change. This was roughly ⅕ of what I was owed. I didn’t mind the error, but I was a bit shocked that euros were in circulation at all. Despite Morocco being outside of the Eurozone, euros were in fact readily accepted and utilized at basically every stop of the tour. I didn’t see this as just an economic convenience, I saw it as a subtle signal about exactly who this route we were following was designed to serve. The main European currency bore weight, and in a very literal way, so too did European expectations. As simple as that moment was, it made me think about how monetary systems, much like visual narratives, shape space in ways that you may not notice right at first glance.
I don’t believe this dynamic solely existed in the realm of commerce. I felt it echoed in language too. At Ait Ben-Haddou, our guide delivered the tour in French, Spanish, Italian, and English, flawlessly. I felt my mind traveling at several miles a second as he rapidly switched between the languages I knew, the ones that I could make out, and the ones I could only connect the dots for. This same thing happened at a textile cooperative we visited and again at the desert camp we stayed at overnight. More than impressive, I felt it was generous. Which to me is more grand; it was a skillset that was built for global hospitality. It also raised questions for me about labor, performance, and adaptation. I’d say these multilingual performances weren’t inherently about simple translations, but more so acts of cultural and emotional fluency, distinctly catering to an international gaze.
The desert camp itself was also a great lesson in contrasts. Although we were sleeping in tents, I felt the accommodations were more luxurious than even some of the dorms I stayed at Brown: private bathrooms, running water, a fire circle for dance and music, and communal space for meals. This desert camp boasted generators, soft mattresses, showers, you name it. There existed a clear infrastructure that honestly made the “rugged” nature of the experience feel anything but. Simultaneously, earlier in the day, we had learned from the tour guide that Ait Ben-Haddou actually had one water source, fed by a stream from the mountains. This was yet another juxtaposition that stuck with me: tourists who come visit the desert for a few nights are offered full comfort and a curated, entertaining experience, while the communities nearby navigate far more limited realities as they relate to infrastructure.
None of this is to say that the people that work in the tourism industry are complicit in a kind of deception. Actually, and needless to say, the individuals I met along this route were incredibly kind, resourceful and culturally knowledgeable. And frankly, as a member of the brown-skinned world, I was made to feel more at home here than anywhere I’ve been in this year-long European experience. That’s just me being honest. The guides who spoke four languages, the merchants and artisans who explained symbolisms in rug patterns and dyes, the cooks and musicians at the camp… these were people navigating what I’d say is a global economic system, specifically in leaning into the skills they possess that make their labor legible and valued. But there is something specific that I found myself thinking about, and what I continue to reflect on through my documentations – how culture transforms into a form of currency under tourism. I find myself with questions about what it means when a nation’s visual identity is not just preserved but selectively narrated and magnified. Furthermore, what does it mean when it is consumed and digested in such highly specific ways? What results from select traditions being spotlighted while others are left, perhaps, muted, all in the name of delivering an experience?
This was very visible back in Marrakech too, in the central square of Jemaa el-Fnaa. I was honestly reminded of Times Square, not just in the sensory overload but also in its layered audience. This included locals, of course, but also a large chunk of outsiders too. Henna artists, snake charmers, and fruit vendors operated in this space that was both vibrant as much as it was self-aware. Just like Times Square, it performed itself to itself. However, unlike Times Square, this was a square still expected to represent the entire country to visitors. It wasn't just a plaza… it was a stage.
I’m not really coming away with firm conclusions from this experience. I don’t really know what the “correct” balance is between preservation, performance, and tourism. But I do believe that we as travelers and researchers have incumbent responsibilities to examine things critically, to probe about what infrastructures are invisible, what kinds of labors are being performed, and what exactly our presences call forth from the places we visit. My photos from this tour are not meant to expose or criticize, but rather to reflect. These were documentations of the in between moments, be it the silences between tour guide translations, the empty chairs in roadside cafes, or the textiles spread out just before a consumer goes in to buy.
This project, which I’ve framed as a photo-essay/personal reflection, will serve as a sort of mediation on symbolic infrastructures that mold how culture, development, and global presence are recounted in Morocco’s rural parts. I really do hope to continue exploring the ethical dimensions and roles of the traveler-researcher, especially as such relates to questions of visibility and representation. This work builds on my past projects I’ve been privileged to work on in Madrid, Dhaka, Jakarta, and Rhode Island, where I’ve dove into how marginalized communities navigate planning, claims to space, and systemic constraints. However, here in Morocco, I’ve turned that lens more inwards and pushed for a more introspective project. This was directed towards myself, and towards the systems that necessarily framed what I was invited to see and experience.
In doing so, I align with the Milken Family Foundation’s commitment to education, cultural understanding, and the pursuit of social equity. This project affirms the idea that development is not just about infrastructure—it’s about how people and places are imagined, how stories are told, and who has the power to tell them. Through critical reflection, visual storytelling, and a grounded awareness of global context, I hope this work contributes to a deeper public understanding of what it means to move through the world thoughtfully, ethically, and with a sense of responsibility to the people who make each journey possible.
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