Tomorrow it will be four weeks since we stepped onto that EasyJet flight at Gatwick and headed to Gibraltar, the truck and the start of our journey. Four weeks and four thousand kilometres behind us. We drive through the endless desert of the Western Sahara, hour after hour of stark stunning desert, the sky so blue it makes you check that you have indeed taken off your polarised glasses, the horizon so far that it bleeds into the sky and you are not sure where the earth stops and the sky starts, the only sound the wind in the tarpaulin of the truck, everyone sitting gazing ou mesmerised, lost in their own thoughts. Time to look back on where have come from, as we continue on our journey across the bulge of Africa.
Mixed feelings. Conflicting emotions. Call it what you may, but you cannot be untouched by some of the ambiguity in this land of contrasts, Morocco.
When I arrived here, I already knew I was going to love it. – have only visited a few places in Morocco and only stayed in one place, Fes, for any length of time, but my sentiments were clear: I love the country with all its diverse beauty, I love the seemingly unchanged medieval character of the medina, the artisans working at their crafts that have been passed down through centuries, the coppersmith banging away at his copper vessel, the weaver creating beauty with silks and cottons and glorious colours at his ancient loom, the knife sharpener turning his flintstone wheel so fast, the tailor keeping track of the twelve threads feeding in from the bicycle-chain-contraption in order to embroider the intricate work on the seams of the djelleba, the men toiling in the vats of the tanneries, their legs stained bright in red or purple or green or blue or yellow or whatever is the colour of the day. I love the sound of the muezzin calling everyone to prayer five times a day, the way people, wherever they are – in the street, in the desert, on the edge of the beach – where they are surfing or playing football or enjoying a day out with friends, or out in the fields where they are herding the goats or picking argan fruit, take off their shoes, turn to the East and kneel down to pray. I love the hammam (as you may have noticed!). I love the way the different ethnic groups are so proud of their individual cultures, traditions, music, language, customs, food, - how they each keep their own heritage alive – be it Berber, Touareg, Arabic ***** and yet, are Moroccans nbdcal to their king first and foremost. I love their warmth, their hospitality, their eagerness to share, their keenness for you to enjoy their country. And juxtaposed to all that, I love how this country is so advanced technologically with its street lighting that is powered by solar panels on each lamppost, its excellent roads, water resevoirs, internet access, mobile access, and more.
When I arrived, I knew already why I love this country and what I love about it and I was prepared to simply have all that reinforced by my spending more time here and discovering so much more. And it was reinforced. It was as I expected it to be. I still love the place with a passion.
But, sadly, this time round, I did not come as a guest of locals and did not see Morocco through the eyes of people who would go to any length to ensure that you only see the best of their country. This time I also found another side of the country that I probably realised existed before but never wanted to admit that it was there. Seeing the country through the eyes of a guest and seeing the country through the eyes of a tourist – in other words as someone who comes to see, experience, take a few pictures,, learn a few things, buy a few souvenirs of a wonderful time – that is a completely different kettle of fish. No doubt this other side was there all along and I just chose not to notice it or I was screened from it by my hosts, or, and this is probably what I have to admit, I was just too naive to come to grips with the harsher realities of life. I did not see what I did not want to see. I have to put it down to naivete – how else did I not notice the creepy, hand wringing greed of the souk vendors, the glint in their eye when the foreigners step into their beautiful rug emporium and are stunned by the colours and textures and vibrancy of their Berber and Touareg, Hambel and Handira and Kilim rugs? When did I stop smiling indulgently when they gave me the history of the ancient carpet and wonder at the magic of the weave and dyes and start getting impatient with the lies and deceit and felt the urge to say to them I saw these same carpets being washed and dried and weathered and 'antiquified' in the hot sun against the sand dune not 100 kilometres from here.
Where were these men before who insist on showing you the way through the medina when all you want to do is wander on your own and marvel at the wonders of the souk, discovering for yourself the little gems, the unique little treasures it has to offer; When did I stop smiling and thanking them for their hospitality and generous offer of time and realise that all they want from you is their business – why was I surprised then every time I finally got through to them that I really did not want to go down that particular alley or into that particular shop, that they turned like a viper and started calling me names for using their guiding services and refusing to pay for it? How was I different every other time when I came to Morocco and walked through the medina alone that I never had these ceaseless offers of sex? Was my red hair off putting? Do they think a white haired woman is on the prowl for men? As I said before – where there is a supply – and a supply in such abundance, there has to be a demand – but was I really that naive that I did not realise there was such a demand out there in the world of foreign white women visiting African countries?
Whatever the situation or whoever you have to be to experience a foreign country, there is always an ugly side just as there is an ugly side to man – that is the nature of life. This time I saw the less-than-idyllic, less-than-beautiful side to this wonderful country. – but you know what? It still is everything I love and a country where I will always come back to.
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