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It was when I awoke to a young boy yelling that I realized
I had fallen asleep. I couldn’t understand what he was
saying being that his native tongue was Arabic, but his gestures
were quite clear. My phone and watch that I had foolishly
left in the open were gone and he was trying to tell me what
happened. Swiftly we searched this beach, the port city of
Tangier, and found no trace of the perpetrator. Following
his lead, not knowing where he was taking me, we dashed around
winding roads and steep stairways, ending at the police station.
Filing a report meant nothing to me, so the policeman was
kind enough to hail us a taxi. With two passengers already
inside, the policeman explained our circumstance and there
was no problem in giving us a free ride.
Everyone in our taxi was disgusted by my situation and hoped
that I wouldn’t think less of the Moroccan people. They
insisted that we head back to the beach in search of my perpetrator.
My mind was moving in slow motion watching the little boy
and the two passengers getting out of the taxi. I was ordered
to stay in the taxi as they were determined to find the culprit.
Before long, no one was found and I was dropped off at my
hotel. I thanked them for their effort and they assured me
that better days were to come.
The first of my worries was that the thief would run up a
phone bill. There wasn’t a phone at my hotel which led
me to the hotel next door, the Ibn Batouta. They welcomed
me with open arms and before I knew it I was explaining my
story to them. They were tuned in like a soap opera and had
no problem leading me to their phone. When I called my phone
company, ironically enough, I found I had racked up an 800
dollar bill before it was stolen suprisingly.
The whole fiasco had led me to befriending Moroccans and the
relief that I wouldn’t have accumulated a bigger phone
bill. Mohamed, one of Ibn Batoutas’ staff was my age
and shared my love of the beach. Since it was so close, he
drove us there day after day. Morocco has three coasts: the
Atlantic, the Strait of Gibralter/Port of Tangier, and the
Mediterranean Sea. I was lucky enough to bask in all of them.
It was August, a very popular month for weddings. Mohamed’s
sister, a French teacher, was getting married, and family
from all over the world traveled here, to Danger, to
see it. Day in and day out like a local I ran errands with
Mohamed helping him prepare for the wedding and even took
some trips with him and his family outside the city. The biggest
surprise came when I met his sister; she said she would be
honored if I could attend the wedding and gave me an official
invitation written in Arabic in gold ink. Before I knew it
I was graciously involved in a two day celebration of tradition
and love.
The first night is what Americans would call the bachelorette
party. Only women could attend and the policy is strict because
it is an opportunity for the women to let loose and dance
the night away with a live female band. Morocco doesn’t
have as strict of a dress code as other Arabic countries because
they were colonized by France, yet the rules of women having
to act properly still apply.
The second night was the bachelor party where some women could
attend and the groom is initiated into his husbandhood. Incense
were lit and a five man band played the night away. In the
wee hours of the morning we gathered with the groom and the
band, weaving through the casbah streets, waking all the people
in our path. It was the announcement of marriage echoing through
the streets. The bride patiently waited at her father’s
house for her groom to arrive.
The crack of dawn creeped into the city. Just when I thought
the fun was over, all of us jumped into a caravan of cars
and took a ride around the city, honking horns and hanging
out windows, celebrating the beginning of a new life. A day
later I was on a ferry to Spain with two Americans I had met
at my hotel, the Ibn Batouta. Before I knew it I was on my
way to the next unexpected destination....
View Lisa's blog: asil03nj.blogspot.com.
This story is one of many that molded Lisa's six month trip
around the globe.
Text © Lisa Stubenrauch, 2006 |
Travel writers: Morocco - to be continued By
Lisa Stubenrauch
