These smiling people waved me into their garden as I was trying to make some anonymous photos from a distance. As they were laughing, smiling and ready for any possible position I could imagine, it was only the lack of singing that kept it away from appearing as a happy musical.
After leaving the olive fetchers, and passing the village of Ifrane, I came to the local olive press. A donkey was the engine, and three men had their full job in this little factory producing olive oil for both local use and sale outside Ifrane d'Anti-Atlas.