Let the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten.
-Iron & Wine
Fish! Fish! Vegetables, fruit, right here! Chickens! It’s just past sunrise and the markets in the alleys of the medina are bustling with vendors and shoppers alike. All of the products are fresh off the farm or sea. I can hardly hear myself think over all of the commotion. My eyes are dizzy from searching for a place to set their focus. I feel the crunch of dirt, trash, and animal feces beneath my feet. My nose is working overtime filing through all the scents filling the air of the marketplace. I try to hold on to the remaining flavor of my gum, but the taste of chalky air vies for a place on my taste buds over the potent smell of dead fish. My travels in Spain have merely been training for the battle my senses face today…
My adventures have taken me to a new continent and new culture.
Morocco boasts of nearly 35 million people in a land slightly larger than the state of California. Ninety-nine percent of the country is Muslim. Here, religion is more than just a bumper sticker on your car. Religion is culture. Religion is a way of life. Everything goes back to it.
Before I get too carried away, let me start at the beginning of my journey to Morocco.
Amanda and I raced to catch our bus on Friday as packing took longer than expected, but we did finally hop on our bus to join our friends on a adventure to a whole new world…After a bus ride we hopped on a ferry that took us across the strait of Gibraltar. ¡Qué bonito! The sea was beautiful and we, of course, got the best seats we could find aside from the VIP club. After the one hour ferry ride, I placed my feet on African soil. However, this was not yet Morocco. Spain has some territory, Ceuta, on the tip of Africa, just north of Morocco. After a very brief bus ride, we arrived at the Moroccan border. I thought I was on the set of a movie. While getting our passports stamped and bags searched, a man in a white coat entered on the bus. He pointed a little black gadget at each of our foreheads where a red laser dot would appear. After reviewing the information on his gadget he would move on to the next passenger. We were having our temperature taken before crossing the border. You can never be too careful when it comes to Gripe A (Swine Flu). While waiting to have my temp taken I stared out the window. Long lines of cars and people. High fences. Men in uniforms that looked as if they belonged to the 1970s. Guns, big guns- and I don’t mean muscles. To my right I see a man who has fashioned some kind of pulley system with which he is raising up a large cardboard box over the towering fence. To my left are men dressed in dark clothing leaning against white vans with blacked-out windows. There’s a mattress. There’s a washing machine. There’s 18lbs. of garbage. Lots of loitering. We finally pass inspection with border patrol and are allowed to proceed to a whole new world of camels, desert, and magic carpets!
Ok, maybe I’ve seen Disney’s Aladdin one too many times. Actually, Morocco is a mountainous country full of luscious green pastures and grazing livestock. It is beautiful. During our trip we visited several cities, rode camels, ate true Moroccan cuisine (I drool just thinking of that couscous), sipped on tea- the best tea I’ve ever had might I add- stared in awe at the meeting of the seas (Atlantic and Mediterranean) in Tanger, witnessed an African sunrise over the mountains, and experienced culture. Being the fair-skinned blond that I am, I might have stuck out a little bit. In fact, I stuck out for the sheer fact that I’m female. Most women do not go out in public unless they are grocery shopping or at the mosque. The décor is like a fiesta for your eyes: bold and popping colors, hundreds of shapes and designs. Five times a day we heard the call to prayer. Young kids shouted profanities at us as it was the only English they knew. Women washed their clothes in the river. Vendors followed us through the streets trying to convince us of the best sales. Tips are expected for any and every little thing, but bargaining is welcome. Streets are narrow. Cats are everywhere. Uniformed men with machine guns are not out of the ordinary.
It is incredible to see a place of such contrasts. In the same country you have some of the world’s richest and most successful businessman walking the streets where women, children, and disabled beg. There is religion. There is deception. A beautiful country searching for something that they cannot grasp. Being in Morocco reminded me that you don’t have to be staring blankly at a map to be lost. These people believe they have all they answers, but they lack the true knowledge of a savior who loves them and requires nothing of them, but simply accepting His gift of life eternal…There is hope for them, the Lord has not forgotten.
I do not have enough space in this blog to truly enlighten you about my time in Morocco, the sights, smells, sounds, tastes, and feelings. But one of the greatest things that came from my trip was the journey of the 6th sense. No, I didn’t see any dead people, but I did let my imagination run wild. I imagined what it was like to live as a Muslim woman in a male-dominated culture. I put myself in the shoes of the first pioneers of North Africa. I was at one moment a street vendor and the next a fire dancer. In the journey of my mind I flew on magic carpets and lived in a hut in the mountains with my goats. I was a businessman. I was a gypsy. I let my mind take me where my five senses could not go…the greatest journey sparked by a unique culture.
Shokran, Morocco, Shokran.
**Shokran means “thank you” in Arabic
