The drive to Toubkal in the high Atlas Mountains took us through Berber villages. It was market day in Asni- each village designates one day of the week as market day and everyone brings their produce, butchered animals, grains, and just about everything else you can imagine to sell —clothes, small furniture items—piled in heaps on tables or spread on blankets. It is mobbed. This is the day to buy provisions for the week. What if you forget something? “Then your wife will yell at you,” says Ibrahim.  The chickens are alive, clucking in a corner. Buyers select the one they want and it is slaughtered on the spot. It was difficult to get photos because, for Moroccans, having your photo taken brings shame; although I did get permission to snap some shots of the goods, the vendors did not want to appear in them.  But the barber had no shame. He was more than happy to seat Ira in the barber chair, shooing off the tall lanky fellow who was in the middle of his shave and take a straight razor to Ira’s beard. He then announced he was also the village dentist.  Apparently, there is a universal remedy for all dental issues and it involves a pliers.  “First, the an—ees-thet- ic”, he explained, which consisted of tying the patient’s hands. Then he waved his pliers around to show what would happen next.