By Joyce Peirce
Rudy and I recently returned from some significant time in Morocco including a week in Essaouira (ess-uh-WEH-ruh), where we had the joy of sharing a gentle yoga retreat with a wonderful group of people. There’s something special that happens when people come together in a new place—slowing down, practicing, exploring, and simply being together in a different rhythm of life.
After the retreat, we spent a little time on our own in Rabat. One afternoon, walking outside the old Medina toward the tram to cross the river to visit the ancient village of Sale’, we found ourselves in the flow of everyday city life—people moving along in their workday, vendors, artisans, cars, motorcycles, the hum of it all.
Across the street, we noticed a man pulling a cart. Not an unusual sight there. I caught his eye, smiled, and made a playful gesture—lifting my arms as if to say, “Strong!”
He smiled back.
A few moments later, as we all reached the same corner, he did something completely unexpected: he placed his hands on the ground and lifted himself into a headstand right there on the street.
Just like that!
I barely had time to snap a photo before he came back down, but I also got one as he landed. I wish he had been facing the sun so you could see his delight more clearly. We all shared a laugh, exchanged waves, and continued on our separate ways.
It was such a brief interaction. And yet—it stayed with me.
There was something so joyful in it. Here was a person using his body in the course of real, everyday work—strong, capable (and he was not a young guy!)—and also open enough, playful enough, to meet a stranger in a moment of shared humanity.
No language needed.
Or sometimes it was just a simple word.
I snuck a few photos of children while in Morocco but, out of respect, I only post them somewhere if their faces are not recognizable. These two little guys were walking in front of us on the way to dinner our last night in Morocco. The younger one was having fun turning back to us every few moments and practicing saying “hello”. He seemed proud of himself to speak to us an English word. It was adorable.
They stopped at the store at the end of this street where we heard the little guy ask for “bonbons” (candy). After we passed them I said “bye bye” and they said it back to us, all smiles.
During our time in Morocco—both with our group and in these brief encounters—we experienced a similar kind of warmth again and again. Simply offering a “bonjour” or “Salam” as we passed someone on the street would sometimes be met with a heartfelt response:
“You are welcome in Morocco,” accompanied by a hand placed gently over the heart.
That gesture said so much.
It reminded me how much connection doesn’t have to be complicated. It doesn’t require perfect words, shared culture, or even much time. Just a willingness to see and be seen.
In the Gentle Yogis community, we often talk about meeting ourselves where we are—with kindness, curiosity, and maybe even a little lightness. This felt like an extension of that practice out in the world.
A smile.
A gesture.
A moment of presence.
Connection and even joy.
If something similar comes to your mind—a small, unexpected moment of connection in your own life—we’d love to hear about it. You’re always welcome to write to us. If you are a member of our Facebook group, you can share there or request to join.