Class 55 Under the Peach Moroccan Moon October 28, 2026 By Class55 Share: On the land where the High Atlas Foundation grows its trees lie the tombs of prominent Jewish leaders, and the people who carefully tend them are Muslim. The Foundation leases the property for its nursery from the local Jewish community. When we learned this, it made some of us pause. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. Or more honestly, this is how we’ve been told it can’t work.As the sun rose over Marrakech the next morning and the hum of 250,000 scooters began to fill the city, that moment was still on our minds. We had been asking ourselves what it takes to begin to understand a new culture. Our time here is short, so we feel fortunate when we catch even a glimpse below the surface. And what we keep discovering is that the surface doesn’t always reflect what lies beneath.On the surface, we hear that the waters are dangerous, that these two faiths can never get along, and that government can’t be separated from religion. Yet King Mohammed VI, a Sunni Muslim, is quick to honor the cultural and economic contributions of Morocco’s Jewish people. The surface we see in the headlines is turbulent, but centuries of shared life in rural Morocco give us hope that what still lives below the surface in these small villages can one day be something we all see again.That morning we spent a few hours exploring the Medina, Marrakech’s walled old town, a maze of narrow alleys, crowded souks (markets), and centuries-old buildings. Even here, older stories hid just below the surface. We wandered past shops tucked into what were once camel stalls and stood at the site of a traditional leather auction that still happens every day. A few of us tested our bartering skills, with mixed results. The Road Through the High AtlasThe road from Marrakech to Ouarzazate tells a story in layers. On the city’s outskirts, modern villas line the streets. Then the villas thin out, giving way to empty neighborhoods where roads have already been carved into the landscape, waiting for the next wave of luxury homes. The farther we traveled, the more the land reclaimed itself. Valleys of ancient olive trees wound through the landscape like rivers of their own, tracing the paths where water flows when it comes. Red mud buildings rose from the earth, nearly camouflaged against the red soil, their colorful doors the only thing setting them apart from the hillsides. The colors and textures were captivating. But as our guide, Mr. Omar, described the places we were passing, it became clear that the view from the bus window was only the surface. The landscape painted a picture, but it couldn’t tell the story.These red mud homes, as beautiful and modest as they are, are also exceptionally fragile. In September 2023, a magnitude 6.8 earthquake struck the High Atlas southwest of Marrakech, killing nearly 3,000 people and reducing entire villages to rubble. Yet these homes are far more than the sum of their walls. They are where families gather around the tagine to share a meal. They may lack modern conveniences, but they are full of what matters.I sat with Mr. Omar’s words for the rest of the drive. What holds life together in these homes isn’t the part that shows up in photographs. It’s the people inside, gathered close, sharing conversation and telling stories. Many of the buildings we passed couldn’t withstand the earthquake, but what lives behind those walls has endured. As Mr. Omar put it, “It was enough.”That word stayed with me. Enough. It made me wonder what my own enough might be, and then, more uncomfortably, whether I’ve ever actually found it.I spend much of my working life behind walls of a different kind: the walls of an office, the edges of a computer screen. Project after project, deadline after deadline, there’s always something next. I rarely pause long enough to recognize that I may have already done enough. And without enough, there’s no room left for what mattered most in those red mud homes: connection. That’s the risk of never looking up from the work. If we never leave our offices, we can only imagine the places and people our decisions touch. We picture the new villas, or the postcard version of the red mud homes. Either way, we see only the surface, and it becomes far too easy to forget the people who live inside.Finding our enough isn’t about doing less for its own sake. It’s about making space to step out from behind our own walls, sit down at someone else’s table, and hear the story the picture can’t tell.Ait Ben HaddouAt the end of our long journey through the Tichka Pass, we reached the ancient village of Ait Ben Haddou, just outside Ouarzazate, the gateway to the Sahara Desert. Amazigh families have made their lives here for centuries. We climbed toward the remains of the old granary, where grain, almonds, and other valuables were once stored on high ground to protect them from raiding tribes and preserve the resources the whole community depended on.As we made our way through the narrow streets, local artisans displayed vibrant metal trinkets, traditional scarves, and other goods for sale. Blues, reds, and yellows lined the pathways, drawing tourists in search of the perfect sunset photo. Yet beneath the color and spectacle was a deeper story. These streets were shaped by generations of people who understood that survival depended on caring for one another.From the top of the granary, we gazed across the semiarid landscape as the sun set behind the red-orange sandstone. It would be easy to see Ait Ben Haddou as just a beautiful tourist destination, a picture-perfect place to photograph. But standing there and taking time to look more closely, we saw the lesson beneath the surface. Strong communities are built through shared responsibility, collective care, and a willingness to protect the future of others. The people who stood there generations before us knew no one could thrive alone. Their legacy challenged us to look beyond the image, recognize the purpose beneath it, and lead by bringing people together.Under the Peach MoonWe ended the evening with tea on the deck of an Amazigh home. Dressed in flowing indigo garments, our host poured foamy cups of tea as we sat in quiet contemplation and watched the full moon rise behind the rocky plateaus. We talked about its color, neither quite white nor quite red, but a soft peach that seemed to reflect the desert below. In that moment, we were reminded of the value of slowing down. Pausing let us notice the small details around us, sit where thousands had sat before, and feel the rhythms that shaped this community. Leadership requires the same kind of attention. Beneath every decision, challenge, and relationship lies a deeper story, and we can only understand it when we resist the urge to rush, listen carefully, and look beyond the surface.With the full moon hovering above us, we began our descent through the village. The streets that had been bustling, colorful, and loud on our way up were now quiet and still. Mothers sat with their children as the day wound down, and shopkeepers wrapped their goods and closed their shutters. “This place is so different at night!” one classmate exclaimed. On the way up, we had seen a village shaped around the tourist experience. Now, as the last group to leave, we witnessed something more intimate: the evening routines of family life, the care given to children, and the quiet exhale after a long day of work.This was the village below the surface, and it offered one final lesson in leadership. Meaningful connection begins when we pause, pay attention, and make space to see people as they truly are: not as part of an experience, but as individuals whose lives, responsibilities, and stories matter.Thank you for walking with us on our journey,Kelly, Ryan, Tommy + Class 55
Mia Mirassou October 29, 2026 at 8:25 am I was trying to think of a word that would encompass all of what I have read, felt, and learned through your blogs. Wisdom. Thank you Class 55, for sharing your experience. I am so excited for you all and look forward to hearing how this journey has changed and guided you to become even better leaders.