I Sleep In A Tent On The Ground. That simple Arabic sentence pretty much sums up our living arrangement here in Morocco and, should I actually pronounce all the words properly, will get a chuckle out of just about anyone. We've had five nights here so far and three of them were spent in a tent. Each night we have the same worries: food, water, security. Security is highly subjective, different for every person, in every place you go.
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| Safe drinking water from the communal tap |
Our first night; we went for stealth, 'cacher dans le bois' (hiding in the woods). The second night; we ran into trouble. We were following a narrow road through the mountains, steep slopes on one side, and a river on the other. The sun was setting and there was nowhere to go. We could see there were some flat spots near the river, though access was hard and we'd be totally visible from the road. We don't expect anyone to try to rob us in the night, but it's unnerving to have your tent lit up every two minutes. It's always more relaxing when you know you won't be seen by many. As it grew dark, we began seriously poking around the bushes by the river, checking the gate at an abandoned, locked, compound, all the while being watched by a silhouette 50 meters above the road near some sort of factory. With nowhere else to go, we headed his way, pushing our bikes up the steep access road. At the top of the hill, a man around our age was already waiting for us. He smiled, said something in Arabic, saw our confusion, tried Spanish, saw a glimmer of understanding, tried French, and saw the comprehension light up our eyes. 'Vous voulez quelque chose?' (do you want something?). We sure did, we needed a place to sleep. Kareem (as we later found out) seemed to know all along just what we were looking for, a place for, in his words, our 'pueblo'. So using his basic mix of French and Spanish, he managed to convey to us that he knew just the spot. He led us down to the river, showed us an easy access we'd missed and pointed to his eyes and then up to the hill he'd been watching us from. He would watch over us through the night and make sure we are safe. 'ahhhh oui....' ummmmm....yeeeah. Ok. With no better options available, we put our faith in Kareem. He headed back up to his post, a chair on the hillside about a 100 meters away while the passing cars lit the surroundings between him and us. We made dinner and attempted to get comfortable with our situation, a feat made far more easy after Kareem came down to visit us. He began by moving our tent to a spot more 'cacher', then sat with us for a chat. He's the night watchman for a mineral water company (L'eau Mineral de Chefchaouen). He and two others sit up all night to watch the grounds for 300 Dirhams a week each, about 35 Canadian dollars. With this he's raising two kids with his wife in a small house 3km away. He sat up with us for nearly 4 hours, teaching us Arabic while we helped his French and we laughed as we all did charades to help understand each other. He even left at one point, climbing the big hill to the factory, to fetch us a glass of deliciously minty Moroccan tea. We slept soundly that night, knowing there were three pairs of eyes ensuring we'd be safe.
Our third night camping in Morocco was similar. This time we were on the prairie, no hiding spots to be found and exhausted from pedaling 83km that day. We began considering our three options; getting a hotel, tenting in plain sight or finding someone to help us out. The next town was 15kms away, at the top of a huge hill and there's no guarantee there'll even be a hotel there. Being in plain sight on the plains wasn't very appealing which left us at, finding someone to help. So we started to look around, and on a feeling, we start pedaling towards a small group of houses, huddled under the only trees to be seen. I suppose there was something behind our 'feeling'. There's something about a well kept property. When someone takes the time to plant trees and flowers you automatically feel more comfortable because you know that this person cares about more than just themselves (and has the means to do so). We nervously cycled down the dirty farm road towards the cluster of houses. We rolled up to a small property, and cautiously looked in the gate. A man gave a surprised look, and walked towards us 'vous voulez quelque chose?'. I replied with studdery nervous French that we really needed a safe place to sleep in our tent, anywhere would do, for just one night. Without hesitation he told us we can put it anywhere we want and not to be afraid here, it's as safe as can be, anywhere. His name is Hakkim, and the evening followed again with delicious tea, some noodles and great conversation from food to politics. Hakkim had been to Europe, he went to South East Asia and he'd been all over West Africa including eight years spent in the Ivory Coast. He filled our heads with advice and told us many things such as that the best educated Africans are in Senegal and, of all places, Sudan. Again, we slept very soundly that night.
We've only been here for six days, but Morocco has already made us family. Travelling by bike, everyone can say hello, and ask us how we are...and everyone does 'Bonjour, ca va?'. We move quick enough to out run the kids who want pens 'Donné moi stylo!' (the state does supply pens to students, so if they go to school they have a pen, if they don't go to school they have no use for one and yes, school is available to everyone), yet slow enough to allow us to interact with everyone. We'll be here for at least another month, with many more nights where we'll find ourselves at the mercy of Moroccan hospitality.
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| Buying olives in Meknes |
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