It has become a sort of tradition to spend my birthday in a new country. 25 was in East Africa– Tanzania, and 26 was in West Africa, Senegal— and for 27, the choice was North Africa, Morocco. A Kingdom peculiar to the North African heritage– Morocco is diverse, yet intensely conservative with their practice of Islam. While Morocco travel is highly sought after in Africa, for good reason– there are very few dark skinned Africans within this population.
I spent hours researching everything what could possibly go wrong for a Black female traveler in the country, and printed over 30 pages of documents which included bank statements from the day my mama popped me out, and what my neighbor liked to eat for dinner. I actually had to write a letter introducing who i was, where i worked and reasons why I won’t abscond should Morocco permit my travel.
Tourist guides all around Scarlett Johansson’s internet warn visitors, especially black women to avoid walking the medinas (markets) of Marrakech alone and cover up every skin pore. Armed with that information, I curated a new wardrobe stacking long dresses alongside skirts and scarves. After an agonizing 3-week wait, our passports were finally released with a one month visa stamp. This trip was one of many firsts, a stamped visa application, my first time in North Africa and my first time in an Arab country.
We flew from Kenya aboard Egypt airways, it was a 13-hour flight with an 8-hour day layover in Egypt so we planned to explore Cairo during the time. I dressed the part in a pair of loose brown linen pants, and a loose silk shirt. When we landed in Cairo by noon, I was not prepared for the heat that hit. We spent 30 minutes scurrying from one counter to another trying to find out what the process of getting out of the airport was. It didn’t help that it is a french speaking country, and we spoke no french. Eventually when we got to the right counter, our passports were seized and we were told to go wait with a group of people that looked like they had been sleeping in the lobby for a week.
I had anticipated some hiccups with Egypt – everybody I know that has been on Egypt air swears to never do it again so indeed it had begun. After about an hour of visiting the counter at least 10 times and raising my voice twice, we finally got our passports back. We were grouped with the only other two travelers heading the same way, an elderly man and a middle aged lady, both Moroccans. Surprisingly, we were also given a hotel voucher which we weren’t expecting, seeing as it was a day trip. We later found out it was because the they were both first class passengers and it was easier to group us.
After three hours of unsuccessfully trying to check in, we abandoned that plan and decided to grab a quick lunch instead before heading into the city. The food was surprisingly good; I almost forgot about the heat. By this time, my shirt was off.
The lady could speak some English, and that eased our stress very much. From there on, she coordinated our tour for the day to the pyramids of Giza and river Nile. She also prevented us from getting scammed by everyone we tried to buy souvenirs from. She called me Laila – an Arabic name given to pass me off as a North African and avoid paying tourist charges. By the time we boarded the final leg to Casablanca, she had invited us to spend the night in her home. You know what they say, never reject the kindness of a fellow traveler.
On arrival, the immigration queue was pretty long but it moved fast and by the time it finally reached my turn, I’d managed to work up an anxious sweat even though the temperature was under 20 degrees. “Welcome to Morocco,” the officer smiled as he leafed through my passport looking through my collection of stamps. I was granted entry, (surprisingly easily. everything i’d read prepared me for snide comments and racist misogynistic questions) grabbed our luggage and quickly caught up with our new travel friend & host for the night. It was 12:30am in Casablanca and it was chilly outside. Her driver pulls up in a sedan, and we all pile in, ready to begin a 2-hour-drive to Rabat where she lives. Rabat was not included in our itinerary initially, but the beauty about travel is embracing the unknown and so we canceled our reservation in Casablanca that night.
As we made our way home, I noticed how truly it did feel like a scene from Aladdin. Palm trees and ornate lamps lined the entire stretch of the drive interjected by little gardens of colorful flowers and benches.
“Are we around the government house? “ I asked “It feels presidential around here”
“Actually, this is how this area of Rabat looks. Everything is beautiful and these lamps are very normal around Morocco “
For a Nigerian like myself, Morocco is an anomaly of what a nation should look like. They have a certain mindfulness in their culture and approach to life, or the arts. It was also at this moment that I realized one of the key lessons I would learn from this trip: thankfulness. I am finally in Morocco, and the country is delivering on its promises through the beauty of the environment, and kindness of its people. I couldn’t have been happier.
