Jumping off the ferry in Tangier didn’t strike the same chord in me as walking the tarmac in Kilimanjaro, but I already knew I’d be able to paint some special moments from our trip-to-be into a mosaic worth sharing. Experience, I’m learning, is my greatest tool for writing, and a keen ear its most important companion. Two weeks spent meditating on this short trip has spurred more questions than answers, though.
Where is North Africa?
The relative absence of North Africa in my African Studies degree leaves something to be desired. This stems from a historic debate over what it means to be African – a question of language, religion, cultural values, and skin colour (Sudan gained its name from the Arabic expression bilād al-sūdān, “land of the blacks”) – despite geography. I’d also be remiss not to mention how modern African countries and continental borders were created by oppressive colonial regimes that ignored cultural boundaries, muddying identity politics even more.
To be fair though, Algeria and Egypt (two out of seven North African countries) were mentioned this year in my art and philosophy courses respectively. The former spotlighted Algeria as the hub of post-independence rights movements in the 1960s through film, and the latter framed Egypt as the site of inception for African, and possibly global, philosophical thought.
Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, Sudan, and the presently controversial Western Sahara, are all virtually omitted from our curriculum. Western Sahara in particular, is known as a contested appendage of the Kingdom of Morocco to its patriots. The region was annexed by its northern neighbour from Spanish protectorate rule in 1975 sparking war with the Polisario Front, the opposition. Morocco now controls 80 percent of the territory, asserting claims over rich phosphate deposits and fisheries.
Cornered might be putting it lightly. Morocco’s southern adversary is supported by and headquartered in the westernmost province of Algeria, Tindouf. This and other historical differences led Morocco and Algeria to cut diplomatic ties in August of 2021. Polisario also received support from Spain in March when its leader, Brahim Ghali, received medical attention for COVID-19 there. Rabat responded in May by allowing 10,000 migrants into Ceuta, a small Spanish territory on Morocco's northern tip. Flanked from all sides, its prospects of neighbourly peace are waning.
La Belle Hospitalité Marocain
Despite its external tension, Morocco remains a desirable tourist destination. The buzz of Al-Hoceima’s mediterranean beaches or the enthralling shades of Chefchaouen’s blue ville invite people from all over the world. The romantic in me passively sought it for years, probably since Penny Lane decided to live there, Tiny Dancer humming in my ears, the prospect of honing French wet on my lips. It only took a friend living in Spain, Melika, another visiting from Canada, Oren, and me living in Britain for us to pull the trigger.
Four days exploring its northern coast, and four inland north of the Atlas mountains felt like enough at the time, but I’m already plotting my return. It felt like coming home. Not the assured comfort of home cooked meals with your parents or seeing old friends. Rather, the certain yet exciting challenge of cultural illumination, the same sentiment I embraced when living in Tanzania and Ghana. Navigating the bustle of Tangier, negotiating taxi prices in Berkane, or dodging ill-intentioned guides in Fez left me in a perpetual state of anxiety and thrill.
Unlike recent trips, not a single drop of alcohol was consumed by any of us in Morocco. At 99 percent Muslim, the closest we came to a beer bottle in the country were green and brown glass shards on the side of the road passing through Al-Hoceima’s National Park. For Northern Moroccans, vice can however be found readily in the form of hashish, a resin derived from cannabis, usually combined with a cigarette. My recent research into ‘kush’, a synthetic cousin of hashish, came to mind.
Dulling our senses was not (entirely) in the itinerary. We knew in the moment the trip was unconventional and chaotic. But at the same time, it was smoother than traversing the rural parts of Tanzania’s Manyara region. Moroccan infrastructure, less a public transit system, rivals that of Spain (from my short experience there prior crossing into Tangier). We struck a comfortable balance of spontaneity and level-headedness. Between Melika and Oren’s proficiency in Spanish and mine in French, we were able to get by with lodging, restaurants and directions.
Conscious of the colonial languages we employed, I was fascinated by Arabic because of its crossover with Kiswahili and its place as the language of Islam. Though, I learned quickly the East African language’s existence was mostly unheard of despite it being spoken by 100 million people across the continent, and it borrowing more than 40 percent of its vocabulary from Morocco and North Africa’s majority language (comparatively, Arabic is spoken by nearly 300 million people worldwide). I enjoyed spotting the similarities. ‘Shukran’ is the common word for thanks in Arabic, while ‘shukrani’ is a lesser equivalent in Kiswahili. The latter tends to add ‘i’ or ‘a’ at the end of the former’s vocabulary.
It was a voyage of constant learning and cultural appreciation. Chefchaouen (sometimes just ‘Chef’ or ‘Chaouen’) introduced us to Moroccan hospitality. Saada, a host at Aline Hostel, chatted to us over a breakfast of tea, eggs, bread and olives she prepared, about her sister who is a chef from Chef. Tongue-in-cheek, we all chuckled. Later at Les Cascades d'Akchour we met Ismael, a freshly graduated mechanic working at the last restaurant on the hiking path to make some extra money. As the final visitors of the day, he invited us to share a Tajine with him he had already prepared free of charge. Through broken English, French, and Spanish we laughed over our cultural differences, united by a hearty meal.
Tafoughalt was the wonderfully unplanned stop we hoped to stumble on. Arriving at 10:30pm with no place to stay, we were greeted with generosity in Samir, the local pharmacist. He helped us connect with Yassine, a young lad, who then introduced us to Amrani, our would-be gracious host and Moroccan babu. Chatting with him about his country over Moroccan Whiskey (sweet mint tea) the next day was an unexpected highlight. The town’s claim to fame, he explained, is the ‘The Man from Tafoughalt’, some of the oldest DNA remains to be found in the region, dating back 11,000 years. He's also the first known homo sapient to have undergone trepanation i.e. drilling a hole in the cranium to release blood pressure.
Before leaving, we set out to thank Samir for saving us the night before. Rocking up, we caught him speaking to his Chinese colleague in Russian. They studied in Moscow together. I told him of my dissertation research, the use of Kiswahili and French in Lubumbashi, the second largest city in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, curious about his code-switching tendencies between Russian, French, and Arabic. He was puzzled yet interested when I told him I was doing an MA in African Studies. I’m always fascinated to know what Africans make of such a degree. Humanities studies have historically been ‘deprioritized' by many of the continent’s policy-makers.
We waved down the coach bus to Teza the next morning on route to Tazekka National Park. Between swimming in its Lake-Louise-esque body of water, and hiking through a field of natural mint, we caught our breath before the deep plunge into Fez. We knew it would be a slight shock coming from the small towns, but I was quickly disillusioned by its confusing Medina and constant haggling. Our stay at the Medina Social Club was the silver lining. Ibrahim, a waiter at its rooftop restaurant, recounted some of the country’s history to us, and Hamza, a co-partner, helped with travel arrangements out of the city.
Being Human
From our eight Tajines, to meat-skewer sandwiches, to not enough coconut pastries, the five cities and one town we visited never left us hungry. Our dozens of conversations and encounters, though, filled me more than any dish ever could. Prioritising people over attractions in Morocco was much more satisfying than touring any European city, though you can usually juggle both. Consider taking a cultural tour rather than going on safari, a homestay rather than glamping. They all tend to be cheaper, too!
As a friend of mine told me once, we have a short time on this planet, so it only makes sense to try and leave it in a slightly better place than when we arrived. Building human connection across cultures is a pretty cool way to do this.
I'm reminded, writing this paragraph on a last minute train-trip to Edinburgh, that I still take traveling for granted sometimes. The magical combination of means, passport privilege, time, and freedom tend to intersect less for people in several African countries and other historically oppressed regions than it does for its European and North American counterparts. Moroccans can visit fewer than 30 countries without a visa, while Brits enjoy visa-free access to nearly 140. If you've made it this far, you may have reflected on this as I have, and if not, it's a relatively easy way to assess where your place is in this world and how to practice empathy abroad.
