Cabo Verde on my mind

"Cap Vert, really? Why don't you try Europe or Asian, they are more fun."

"Well, first of all, define FUN." 

I often got that reaction whenever I mention Cabo Verde as my first-time-abroad destination to my friends and family. And to be honest, I don't know why I choose it. It's just whenever I think about it, I get this intense energy and excitement. I had friends from over there (Miguel, Elsa and Juan) and probably they, unintended-ly, influenced my choice. 

Cabo Verde was on my bucket-list for three year in a row, and I failed to fulfill that because, well, I had other highly ranked priorities. But, 2018 is my year. And I DID IT.

First things first

Visa Requirement

Obviously I had to check whether I need a visa to enter into the Cabo Verdean territory.  As a holder of a Moroccan Passport, I will acquire a visa of 30 days upon my arrival to Praia International Airport, GREAT!

*It actually got complicated afterwards. I came across an article stating that travelers to Cabo Verde are no longer allowed into the direct flight Casablanca - Praia. Many were denied boarding due to the lack of Visa. Funny thing, not funny though, Cap vert is still claimed to be visa upon arrival for Moroccans, yet, the Moroccan authorities do not allow boarding without a visa. Another funny thing, there is no representation of that country in Morocco, no embassy, no consulate. Nada! 

Ps. I wrote that before I have actually traveled. And true, after seeing that article, I went looking for further information and I found one travel agency that can provide an authorization issued by the Cabo Verdean authority to allow access to their country. And guess what? I was still denied boarding because my passport didn't have any visa stamp by the Cabo Verdean authority, notwithstanding the authorization -_-. So I had to call the travel agency to fix it :D

Flight ticket search

My Cabo-Verdean friends who were studying in Morocco back then informed me that there are direct flights from Morocco (Casablanca) to Cap vert (Praia, Santiago), so I didn't bother about that issue much. However, I did make research just for information and also compare the prices, I found that there are other alternatives with other airway companies with one or more stops into Europe. A direct flight it is then. 

April coincides with my vacation and also, to my luck, the low season, which is perfect for me given my tight budget.

Flight tickets, booked!

Accommodation

I had to make a thorough research for a youth hostel and luckily I found one in Praia. However, in Maio, only hotels or apartments are available.

In Praia, I booked a bed in a shared room in a hostel in the suburbs. I haven't been asked to do any ads for this hostel, but Morabeza Kriol Hostel is the place to be for backpackers; in the center of Praia, with a bus station right in front of it. Dany, the owner, to my luck, spoke very good English and even French, and was a very good and keen host.

Cannot lie, there were issue with WIFI connection in there, but it made things even better. I mean it made us, all travelers, sit together, get to know each others and share stories from our travel experiences.

I tried Couchsurfing but the people who replied to my staying request declined hosting me as they were not around Praia at the time of my travel.

Budget

I have assigned a budget of about 700 Euros, flight ticket excluded for the 10 days. And returned with about 200Euros :D

The currency of Cabo Verde is Escudos (CVE), equivalent of approx. 111 Escudo = 1 Euro.

Language

I regret not having learned Portuguese before going there. I mean with luck you can find people speaking French or English but most of the time, Portuguese wins and Kriol (native language), of course. So, honestly, I have missed a lot of opportunities to interact with the locals.

لا قاع أحمر

credits: Internet

فرق كبير بين عاهرات جنيف وعاهرات مغربي العزيز

قيل، سجارات فاخرة، ونبيذ عتيق وأحذية بقاع أحمر

تركع لهن عروش على طولها تحت قدميها العارية خاوية

لا،

لا، تلك التي أعرفها أنا الآن هاوية،

لم تعد ترى ضوء بداية النفق

أما نهايته، فبعض أنقاض أمانٍ مبعثرة

صباحها عباءة سوداء ووشاح أسود على الرأس غطاء

هكذا عرفتها، واحدة من الباقيات الصالحات

سواد على سواد، وكأنها في حداد على الحياة وحتى الممات

كلمترات بعيدة عن مسقط رأسها،

أحذية عليها وحل

فناجين قهوة مَرار
صنة سجائر تفوح

خرجات صباح مبكر في برد طنجة القارس

عودة ثقيلة، خطوات ثقيلة، رأس مطأطأ

هكذا عرفتها، واحدة من الباقيات 

أيام ولت، خلتها هي التي عرفت
مسكينة بلا سند
وحيدة بلا ظل في هذه الحياة
حزينة على ماكان ولم يكن

وحتى ظننت أن المستذئبين خرافة

لكن، ليلة مقمرة أم لا كانت جد كافية

لتخرج المستذئبة من لباس الباقيات البشري

شعر بني على أكتافها ملتوٍ

وجه مرسوم عبث

حواجب موشومة

عينانين مكحولتان

شفاه ممتلئة تكاد حمرتها تنفجر لافا

ثديان شبه عارية، معروضة فوق الطلب
خصر ممتلئ ملتو حول نصف شبر ثوب
ساقان ممشوقان 
وحذاء كعب عال،
لا، لا قاع أحمر، لا
عطر فائح استغوى الجو حولنا، ولم ينل من رائحة السجائر الكريهة
ليس من عاداتي تثمين الأشياء أو استرخاصها 
لكن اصدار الأحكام المسبقة لاشعوريا انغرزت شوكته فية حتى النخاع
ماعساني سوى أن أرى الرخص مستذئب أمامي
نظرة شاملة على وقفتها كانت كافية
وكأنها في حداد على الحياة وحتى الممات
سواد على سواد
صباح مساء
حيث هي فعلا في حداد
على الحياة وحتى الممات 
إلى الغد، كان كل ما قالته

A Sola Backpacker - Part VII

Once in Taghazout, I tried to look for the hostel I booked a room at. I found the owner and he informed that my reservation was cancelled because I didn't answer his phone call, which I never received. When asked him to check the phone number he used, it was definitely mine but the last two pair of numbers were misplaced. My bad.

The room I booked was already taken, so he suggested that he himself would look for suitable accommodation for me. Eventually, he hooked me up with his cousin who owns a house and rent separate rooms. I got a room in the second floor with shared kitchen, bathroom and living room. It was clean and in rather secure place, so I took it. Upon my arrival to the said house, I found to foreigners about to check in.

Besides the owners of the house, I was the only Moroccan amongst two Irish and a group of 3 Spanish surfers. My room was next to the Irish guys. The Irish guys and I arrived at the same time to the house, so when the tenant was showing me my room, his brother was showing the Irish guys theirs and asking for their passports to complete the formalities.

The Spanish group were settled in the roof floor, been there for almost a week, I heard. All I heard from them were the "hola" and the sound of their struggle to bring up or down their paddle and surfing boards. They were beyond sun-bathed and often stoned.

The Irish guys, on the other hand, we became friends. One in his late fifties and the other in his late thirties. I learnt that the two of them knew each other on their flight to Morocco only and they have traveled together in improv. They visited Fez and Chafchaouen and they intended to go south. When I say friends, I meant friends who didn't worry about or bother memorizing the names of each other because it was fine. 

A Sola Backpacker - Part VI

What stroked me the most is that most of the people I encountered were very friendly. You smile and they immediately smile back, that if they don't actually smile first. As far as I go, the urban features are getting simpler, or rather more 'primitive', if I may say. Less fancy houses, less fancy cafés, less schools, less entertainment areas, less health services, less "civilization". The more I walked, the more I felt content and at peace. The bigger that satisfaction, the bigger grew my excitement and drive and the more I felt hungry :D. 

I stopped by a restaurant. Ordered the easiest meal on the menu, I was starving. Meanwhile I started chitchating with one of the waiters. "First of all, he said, you are eventually in Tamraght." Then, he pointed out that there are not many hotels around and that the owner of the restaurant might arrange a room for me, given he own a small hostel. My guts said no. I told him that I wanted to book a room in a hostel but it was busy. He said that it should, given that it was surfing season and all hotels, hostels and apartments tend to be fully booked. 


A guy undoubtedly was ear dropping , as once the waiter left, he started a conversation with me regarding a place to rent. I let him make his offer: a bed in his little cottage down the beach, cheap, clean and safe; conveniences: no electricity, no private bathroom, no neighbors. No. So I looked for accommodation in Taghazout and luckily I found one. 

I enjoyed that little break and decided to keep going to reach Taghazout.

It was a bit difficult to carry on in the same pace as my stomach was full, so I took it slow. Along the way, there were lot of construction projects, so I passed by trucks, workers, and dust. One security guard advised me that if I want to reach Taghazout, there is a quick shortcut after about 10 min walk to my right, it'd take me down the beach. I asked him about the other main road, he said that it gets up to the mountain, circling the buildings at the bottom of the hill. 

As tired As I were, I opted for the shortcut, bearing in mind that there are touristic residents ashore and that it would be secure for me to walk along the beach even if it were deserted. To my surprise it was not. As I discovered later on, the said beach is only a 5 min walk from Taghazout.

I reached Taghazout around 5 PM. -ish. It was busy, lot of vans and caravans parked along the way; coffee shops oozing with tourists, lot of surfing boards and wet-suits.....

A Part-time Prostitute V

One evening I heard footsteps on the corridor, heels to be exact from two different pair and female voices. Well, my room was next the main door, so yeah I heard basically everything. Anyways, it was bit unusual given that only two people live in that flat, me and her. My parents don't have time to visit and her family never visited her, so I got curious.

The very next morning, I went to buy some supplies and the shopkeeper briefed me, of course. 

" - I heard that your flatmate has visitors?

- Really? I don't know.

- Yes, I saw them yesterday around 8, all high-heeled and with huge suitcases.

- Aha.

- I can't hide it but they look suspicious.

- Aha. Are you done?

- Yes, I mean it is not my business, but you see we live in this conservative neighborhood with families and stuff. It is just.., those girls are suspicious."

I bit my tongue to stop me from asking him about the girls he keeps bringing to his apartment every night. Because guess what, he lives in the apartment upstairs. I bit my tongue to stop myself from busting him. Because guess what, I saw him tiptoeing up the stairs one night. Whatever!

I had quite a busy week. I didn't get the chance to meet with the visitors nor chitchat with my flatmate. By Saturday, she came knocking on my door around 9 in the evening, and inviting me to her room to introduce me to her friends. I wanted to refuse but well, I went. 

Two girls, one my age and another younger, smoking like chimney. Fake nails, hair-extension, lowest V-necks ever and jeans about to bust open. The girl my age was white, with vision glasses, black hair and cute smile. The other one, dark-skinned with a hoarse voice, long black and light-brown hair, tie and dye style, rather pretty and appeared to be rude. We greeted each other and conversation flowed. The dark skinned happened to be my flatmate's bartender friend's daughter  and the other girl is her friend; both are living in Turkey and coming to Morocco for vacation; both working in bars as waitresses. That explains a lot. They summoned me to inform me that one of the most famous nightclubs in Tangier sent them an offer and they needed company: one free liquor bottle of their choice for a bunch of 5 girls. Three of them, me and some other girl we should find/invite asap. 

I just phased out from the conversation, making a mental list of the reasons I won't join them. 

1. I have mid-terms to study for and two presentations to prepare;

2. I don't drink/smoke;

3. I am broke;

4. I have nothing to wear (that's gonna be a lame reason, bearing in mind the amount of clothes scattered over that room, on the sofas, on top of the suitcases, on the floor...

5. My hair is a mess;

6. I don't have any other female friend into clubbing.

So I opted for excuse 1 and 6. They hated me for that but well. 

I stayed for a cup of tea and it was really interesting. The way they interacted with each other was strange to me. They acted like sisters and enemies. My first impression was proved. The girl with the glasses, with her naive features and petite physique, is the actual brains. The rude-appearing one was actually sweet but her appearance would made it hard to appreciate her for herself. They started talking about guys, cheating, sugar daddies and a lot of concepts I never heard of until then. And of course, they made fun of my non-drinking non-smoking character.

Morocco, Moroccans and Sub-Saharan Illegal Immigrants

Once again, the issue of the Sub-Saharan immigrants resurfaces. Moroccan society is truly and literally divided over this issue, especially after a clash between Moroccans and illegal immigrants in Casablanca a couple of days ago. Tangier, Rabat, Casablanca, Safi, Essaouira and other Moroccan cities have known a significant flux of illegal immigrants from countries down South, along with Syrians refugees. Those aim at crossing the borders to Ceuta or Melilla or reaching the greener side, Europe. Some are still waiting for the so-longed for opportunity to cross or reach; some have reached the greener side, got caught and were repatriated while others, unfortunately, died trying.

 

©Mathiew Willcocks, World Press Photo

A significant number of Moroccans think that the government and the authorities should repatriate any individual from African Countries, as they are not welcome into Morocco due to their behaviors, difference or simply race that tarnish the image of Morocco worldwide. Their argument is that many of those illegal immigrants stuck in Morocco are working as drugs dealers, beggars, pickpockets or running prostitution networks. "We don't want those “Aawaza” (blacks) in our country", one old woman said in taxi conversation, "I fear that there will come a day when they would colonize us and claim our lands as theirs. What would happen then to us and to our children". "Look around us, 'Africans' are everywhere", added the taxi driver, "they don't do us any good, and after the King's order to regulate their situation and to issue residence permits to them, they will be empowered more than they already are".

Such un-educated opinions are a combo of racial, religion and other differences mainly. "They don't respect us, neither respect our religion, culture and traditions", said one Facebook comment, "you know why that incident happened (in reference to the clash between Moroccans and illegal immigrants), it happened because one or many of them harassed one Moroccan girl in the street and two Moroccans interfered to help her; the harassers got backup and the girl called backup, her family and neighbors, and things got out of hands urging police intervention". "The government is to blame. When they saw Euros, they agreed to take those immigrants blindly without considering the aftermaths. We don’t know who they are, they might be rapists, criminals, or killers escaping justice." One comment in a Moroccan online newspaper stated. Some go as far as refusing to rent houses to 'Africans', simply because they are 'Africans or because they are 'loud', 'dirty' and tend to overcrowd the houses.

 

Credits: le360.ma

On the other hand, aside from any racial or biased prejudices, many citizens think that Morocco has its hands full with the current interior conditions. “As much as we want to welcome our brothers and sisters into our country, as much as we fear that with the increase of unemployment and illiteracy, difficulties facing the educational system, stumbling heath institutions, and the like, the country would fail both of us ”, stated a comment on Facebook.” As a matter of fact, Morocco is bound by many partnership and cooperation agreements with European countries, mainly Portugal, Spain, France and Italy regarding illegal immigrants coming from Morocco and other African countries. In fact, most of these agreements appoint Morocco as a border "guard" to stop the flow of illegal immigrants into Europe and to abort any attempts to reach the other bank by fighting against illegal immigration mafias.

 

©Sergi Camara - The Guardian

Such mission forces Morocco, its government authorities and security services to deplore plenty of its resources to ensure the "guarding" mission. In addition, depending on each agreement, Morocco is not only expected to guard the borders but also to receive and welcome the repatriated immigrants into its territory, not only Moroccans, but also immigrants from other African countries and ensure their rights and reintegration. That alone will take all Morocco's focus, concentration and resources, as NGO's, Human Rights organizations, and binding treaties and agreements are regularly supervising and monitoring the situation.

European aids and funds to carry such "guarding" mission only are not sufficient. Such issue needs strategies and methods that Morocco is not capable of making. Take Germany and other European "developed" countries for example, they have had their hands full when managing the flux of refugees; Then what would Morocco, a country under development, do? As a result of the lack of such strategic and well-built approaches ensuring a suitable life for those immigrants, many citizens strongly recommend that Morocco itself should repatriate the immigrants to their home countries for public benefit.

[ 

Credits: Fondation Orient - Occident[

It is not like there are not any illegal Moroccan immigrants in Europe or elsewhere - or at least Moroccans who used to be illegal immigrants before the regulation of their situations. In this regard, I share with many the belief that society, associations and individuals should take part in the reintegration of those illegal immigrants, through organizing events to introduce the Moroccan culture, traditions and lifestyle, to establish mutual understanding of each other’s differences and to help improve the lives of those immigrants, interacting with them without prejudices and treating them right, after all, notwithstanding color, language, faith or status, they are human beings.

Foundation Occident Orient is a great illustration of such reintegration. It provides assistance and help to immigrants and refugees. It provides a platform for those immigrants to reintegrate society and to meet with, discover and exchange with Moroccans. Another example of this integration is the African Cultural Center in Rabat that promotes African culture in Morocco and the exchange between Moroccans, Sub-Saharan immigrants and non-Moroccans residents through organizing cultural days, souks (markets), art exhibitions and so forth.

I personally have come across many immigrants who integrated the Moroccan society. Some have earned their residence permits, found jobs, married Moroccans or brought their wives from home, even learnt Darija (Moroccan Arabic) and started a living in Morocco either by working as musicians, dance teachers, sellers, journeymen, beauticians, laborers and sadly beggars; some are still waiting for the regulation of their status while others, unfortunately, are still pursuing the dream to reach the other side.

 

©Walid Bendra, Instagram

If you visit the Twin Center, you will find beauty shops owned by non-Moroccan Africans. If you go to Bab Chellah in Rabat, or Rue Rabat in Safi, you will witness with your own eyes the interactions between Moroccans and non-Moroccans. My Shea butter supplier is a Senegalese. My sister's hairdresser is Congolese. And I even learnt the "tchiiip" from an Ivorian beautician.

In sum, I agree with the worries of Moroccans regarding public safety. I believe that Morocco and other African countries should bind their efforts to manage this issue, especially now that Morocco reclaimed its seat back in the African Union. And If Europe appointed Morocco to do the dirty work in exchange of funds and aids, other African countries need to lend a helping hand to find solution, be it the governments or NGOs. Immigrants, legal or illegal, repatriated or stuck in Morocco are human beings who left their home countries escaping wars and hardships looking forward to better life conditions. They need assistance and help. They need to enjoy their rights as human beings as well as assume duties. They not only need to obtain legal status but also need to have access to social security, to education, and to health care. Morocco, unfortunately, cannot achieve such accomplishments alone.

A Part-time Prostitute IV

"I think I am in love!", she said one evening. Dreamy shining eyes, silly smile on her lips and a cigarette between her chubby fingers. "I think am in love, girl. No, I am in love".

Oh no! 

"But wait, lemme open the window, I don't want my hair to stink."

"Do you remember the guy I told you about once. The high school teacher that I met in the bar where my friend works back in Meknes? The guy I ignored most of that evening? I remember telling you about him.

It turned out that he really liked me that evening and later on, he requested my phone number from my friend and started calling me. I didn't think about him seriously, neither liked him back then; He is not my type and younger than me."

"Then what changed?"

"I don't know, it just happened. When you were away for the holidays, I got really lonely. We talked a lot, day and night, and he grew on me. We have lot in common. We, both, are away from our family. We, both, bore responsibility at early age. We both are single obviously. So yeah! 

"So he is living in Meknes?

"No, his family is in Meknes but his work is located in Taounate, so he only visits his family during holidays or given weekends. So we hit it off. Talking over the phone and texting. Here, let me show you his picture.

Me: "humm he doesn't look his age!"

"No. So when you were away for the holiday. We decided to meet in Meknes. So it happened. We met at the same bar, drunk together and chitchatted and agreed to meet again. When he knew that I love red wine, he ordered a whole bottle. He invited me to visit him in place and I agreed."

Me: "So you are going all the way to visit him?"

"Yes, it's an opportunity to meet him outside, you know, to get to know him better."

"Your work?"

"I'll take Friday and Saturday morning"

"Ok then, be save"

What to tell her? The woman already made up her mind, her bag was already packed.

-----------------------------

Knocking on my door, still carrying her bag, just got back from her trip. 

"Giiiiirl, come, come I got plenty to tell you! And I brought nougat! I know it's your weakness.

This weekend. It was the best of my life. It was just peeeeeeeeerfect!

So, when I arrived to Taounate, I found him waiting for me at the taxi station and everything. We headed home. It was dark. Nobody saw us, I think. Anyways, when we got in, the lights were on. And guess what? He prepared dinner and bought wine. RED WINE, my fav. Can you believe it?, he remembered. 

"يا باخلا بالوصل"

"يا من هواه أعزه وأذلني

 كيف السبيل إلى وصالك دلني

 وتركتني حيران صباً هائماً

 أرعى النجوم وأنت في نوم هني

 عاهدتني أنْ لا تميل عن الهوى

 وحلفت لي يا غصن أن لا تنثني

 هبّ النسيم ومال غصنُ مثله

 أين الزمان وأين ما عاهدتني

 جاد الزمان وأنت ما واصلتني

 يا باخلاً بالوصل أنت قتلتني

واصلتني حتى ملكت حشاشتي

 ورجعتَ من بعد الوصال هجرتني

 الهجر من بعد الوصال قطيعة

 يا ليت من قبل الوصال تركتني

 أنت الذي حلفتني وحلفت لي

 وحلفت أنك لا تخون فخنتني

 لما ملكت قياد سرى بالهوى

 وعلمت أني عاشق لك خنتني

ولأقعدن على الطريق فاشتكى

في زي مظلوم وأنت ظلمتني

 ولأشكينك عند سلطان الهوى

 ليعذبنك مثل ما عذبتني

 ولأدعين عليك في جنح الدجى

 فعساك تبلى مثل ما أبليتني"

............................ سعيد بن أحمد بن سعيد

I مرفئ آخر

وها قد رست سفني في مرفئ آخر. وهذه المرة، ليست بهدف الدراسة ولكن من أجل "طرف" خبز. حي جديد، بيت جديد، سرير جديد، كل شئ جديد إلا أنا، البالية. لا الطريق كانت سهلة ولا الرياح صبا.

بعد طنجة، رجعت إلى الديار، إلي حضن أمي الدافئ وإلي درع أبي الواقي وإلي تصابي أختي المتصابي وإلى حجرتي الفتون وبيدي ورقة، دبلوم لم يختزل من عامي المعانات والحراك والبؤس والفرح والجروح التي مافتئت تندمل إلا نجاح. لما لم يذكروا الليالي البيضاء؟ لما لم يذكروها؟ لما لم يذكروا العاهرة ليلا والعفيفة نهارا؟ لما لم يذكروا الدموع والركوع؟ لما لم يذكروا الليالي الحمراء والخمر والميسر ودم العذراء؟ لما لم يذكروا الكتائب العسكرية والطاكتيك وحراك البؤساء؟ لما لم يذكروا اللقاءات والعناقات والآمال المعلقات؟ لما لم يذكروا الصداقات والصفقات والوعود الخذل؟ لما لم يذكروا الأمواج واعوجاجها تحت أعيننا الدامعة؟  لما لم يذكروا الحب وهل تعرف ما معنى الحب وموت الحمار؟ ورقة وحفلة وصياح بأسماء وتصفيق وضحك ذقون.

رجعت إلى الديار وعرضت علي وظيفة وسميت الله وقبلتها. وظيفة لطالما مدحوها لي ومزاياها وما سأتعلم منها. وبالفعل كان ذلك. تعلمت الكثير وربما فاتني أكثر. وضعت كلما تعلمته تحت الاختبار ولم يخب فيﱠ الظن. وأصبحت جيبا وقت الضرب على الأجيب ولجامي بين يدي أول الشهر وتعاستي بعد كل يوم ثاني كل شهر. أوراق أوراق أوراق. أصبحت خبيرة في شؤون الزواج ومساطر الطلاق. -- أنصح كل مقبلة على الزواج، لا تفرحي بالزغاريد والحناء وتشبتي بمؤخر الصداق والنفقة والمتعة واجعلي مالك ملكك باسمك قبل الكتاب ووياك ثم وياك أن تثقي بابن حواء، ففي فقلبه أربع حفرات والشرع أعطاه أربع طلقات فإعطه العصمة وتصبحين واحدة من زوجات 'متولي' الأخريات.—وتعلمت كيف تبتى ملفات الزيجات المختلطة والخطوات والأسئلة المطروحة خلال لقاءات الحصول على التأشيرات واطلعت عن قرب على وثائق من العم سام والعديد من البلدان الأخرى وعلى شهادات الوفاة والازدياد والتجنيس والعزوبة والبطالة والرصائد البنكية والميزات المدرسية والمواريث والملكيات و و و وأصبحت أخشى الوصوصة.

ومضت الأيام متشابهة لدرجة أن البقال المجاورللعمل يُحضر لي طلبي حالما أقبل عليه، لدرجة أن زميلي في العمل يسألي كل صباح كيف لم أمل من فطور خبز الزرع والجبن والعسل وعصير الموز بالفواكه الجافة دون سكر وغذاء المقرونية واللحم المفروم والجين ووجبة خفيفة الفول السوداني وقطع الشكولاطة السوداء، كل يوم لمدة سنة ونصف أو أكثر. أغير بعضا إلا الفطور، لا أدري لما لم أمل من ذلك الفطور. ربما كنت أحاول التعود: أكل، شرب، نوم، عمل، أكل، شرب، نوم، عمل، أكل، شرب، نوم، عمل، أكل، شرب، نوم، عمل........ حتى نصحني أحدهم بالرياضة، لا لأنني أعاني من السمنة أو الكسل، بل لكسر الروتين ليصبح أكل، شرب، نوم، عمل، رياضة، أكل، شرب، نوم، عمل، رياضة، أكل، شرب، نوم، عمل، رياضة،......  حتى قررت ذات آخر أسبوع أن أسافر إلا طنجة أزور بعض الأصدقاء. لم أنم ليلتها فرحا، كأنني سأسافر للأول مرة، كأني سأطير لأول مرة، وكل المرات الأولى. عند الوصول، فضلت المشئ، فالتاكسي سيطير بي إلا الوجهة وأنا أود الاحتساء جرعة جرعة. أحسست عندها بالحرية والفرحة والحياة والنوستالجيا،.....بعد أشهر من الرقود والضمور وأكل، وشرب، ونوم، وعمل، ورياضة.

........................................................................................................................يتبع

  

A Sola Backpacker - Part V

My first step on the national road, l found a little seahorse, totally preserved and dried up by the sun. I examined it, it still has those little rough edges. I wondered how it arrived there as the port is quite far away. A seahorse,  I was thrilled. That was my omen: That my trip is going to be dream-like. A seahorse!

Anyways, the road was fine, full of cars, trucks, motorbikes, not a single walker. Deep down I was expecting the worse to happen. A girl by herself on a road. But this didn't discourage me. After all, I knew it is going to be so. The only issue is that I was afraid to take my phone out of my pack and check the map to verify if I am still on track as I passed by many roads, to do the counts to know how much more road ahead. The only helpful thing is the marking of the remaining distance to Essaouira. That helped do the counts. To arrive to Tamraght, my first stop,  I had 16Km. Following my pace, I did 2Km per 30min. After a while I passed by Inza, without stopping. I continued to Aourir. 

Aourir, the city of bananas. I passed by shops full of banana from roof to bottom, drooling over them like a minion at banana sight. The monkey in me could not resist, so I stopped to have some of those small overly-sweet tasty bananas and of course pack some more for snacks. The seller was a heavily-wrinkled old man, wearing a faded brownish djellaba and a knitted hat. I salam'ed him and I asked him for the price of 1kg without really caring about his answer, yet it is the custom in here; asking before buying. He rose from his chair and started looking for his knife to cut me some from those tens of hanging banana branches. I watched his hands, dirty. not disgustingly dirty, but proudly dirty, wrinkled, sun-burnt in here and there with swollen fingers, because of the cold I guess. I told him that whomever passes by Aourir without stopping to taste Aourir's ripe bananas has eventually and unfortunately lost a lot; their life is senseless. His eye lit up and he granted me with a big smile from a nearly toothless mouth and said in Berber-accented Arabic "ayah" meaning yes. He then asked me if I spoke some Berber, I shyly said "Imik s'mik" meaning a little. Honestly, I only know a few.  

Upon resuming the walking, I asked some locals about how many hours/Km to arrive to Tamraght, one of them said that I have about 5Km to go. Off I went again.

A Sola backpacker - Part IV

Monday February 2nd, 2017, today, finally, I hit the road.

According to my trip plan, My departure is from Agadir. I decided to arrive to Agadir on Monday afternoon, spend the night in Agadir so I could rest from the 7-hours trip from Salé to Casablanca to Agadir and start the journey early in the morning.

Silly me, I thought that watching backpackers videos on YouTube will make me get my pack right but nooo. From the start, I didn't have the necessary clothes and equipment so I had to buy things. I stopped in Casablanca to get supplies. As I was in a hurry, I didn't arrange my clothes as I should have. I just stuffed them into my pack.

Once I arrived to my hotel room I decided to arrange my pack. I have noticed that I've packed things I might not use. Useless things mean extra weight, mean lower pace and fatigue given that I will be trekking all the way up to Taghazout, about 20km on foot. I had an extra pair of hiking shoes, pretty heavy and pretty worn out, 4 books and a notebook (kept the notebook and one books), cosmetic products (what was I thinking?) I had three options: throw these things, give them away or send them to my hometown. As they were pretty special to me, first thing in the morning, I sent them home. They weighted 2.5kg, imagine! 2.5kg off my back. That matter delayed me about 1:30 from the time I have set. Lesson learnt.

Anyways, at 11:30am, I was on the national road. Though Google maps pointed out the way, I had to ask around, policemen mostly, to get it right. And off I went.

Ps. I am still growing my backpack

A Sola Backpacker - Part III

Many female travelers (to be) have addressed me with these questions: How did you manage? How did you convince your parents about traveling (alone or with others)? I guess I got lucky.

My father has a very different up-bringing method, unlike other family members. During my teens, I had total freedom or rather freedom-like freedom; i.e. I was given the illusion that I had the reins of my life between my hands. I was free to go out and do activities as long as my parents are informed of such. I grew up responsible for my behaviors, my surroundings, and my choices. I feared that if ever screw things up, I’d lose that freedom (-like). I had to behave. I did screw up a couple of times, surely, but my parents’ trust in me never faded; I never had to restore it.

As I said, I got lucky. In order to pursue my studies, I had to relocate in a 250km far away from hometown city. My parents encouraged me to go, and so I acquire full powers over my freedom. However before the relocation, I used to go on summer camps as an instructor; that too helped me and shaped who I am now.

What to do with your parents? All I can say is: make your parents trust you; trust is gained, not given; show them you are a responsible grown-up and that you can take care of yourself;

Doesn’t work? Try to volunteer to carry some domestic tasks to show you can handle responsibility, like paying the bills, requesting official documents, doing grocery shopping;

Doesn’t work? Try to hang out with a grown-up relative in whom your parents trust, that person will back you up in case you need some back-up to go on a trip;

Doesn’t work? Visit relatives in other cities on your own;

Doesn’t work? Participate in activities that would open up your fam mind, such as voluntary work, school/university extra activities,.. (two birds, one stone ;));

Doesn’t work? Take part-time jobs and pay for organized trips or weekend trips to nearby places like Ifrane, Chaouen..etc;

Doesn’t work? Nag until they beg to be your trip partner, make one of your siblings go with or understand that you need travelling because it makes you happy and more optimistic;

Doesn’t work? Wait till you grow a bit older, enough to handle your life, then travel as much as you can :D

A Sola Backpacker - Part II

*To go back to the “my own” thing;

Many advised me to look for a female trip partner I can get along with and can travel with. I have indeed tried to look for one but after weighing the pros and cos, it came to me that I am quite not sure if I truly wanted a trip partner. Well, why? simply because we, the "softest", "sensitive","to-be-treated-with-delicacy" fragile creatures of Mother Earth, though all are from Venus, are not quite on the same wavelength.

Hypothetically, I said hypothetically, I got lucky and  found a partner, as strong-headed, crazy, weirdo and "lovely" as myself, with or without prior experience in the field, met, spoke, agreed and set up things right; and she claims she is up to the trekking circuit and up to the challenge. We got going, packs on backs, foot on the road, off to a good start; the weather is fine; the walk is fine; the world is fine again. What if she tells me mid-way, after 2 days or so on the road, that she can no longer take it: cannot find her tiara, forgot her under-eye concealer in our starting point, fed up with sleeping in a bag (under a tent), her phone broke, her backpack is heavy, her feet hurt, her nails look disgusting and broken, her body stinks, a blister is killing her feet, yearning for a hot bubble bath and for whatever reason (any or all of the above) firmly decided to return home; I. what shall I do? Cry? Give up the trekking I had been preparing and dying for for so long and get back home or, go on leaving her nagging-ass behind. Uh, thanks, but no.

On the other hand, what if I found a male partner, with that complex attitude and thinking of most (I said MOST) of my fellow-citizens. As often mentioned in travelers forums, a male partner, perv’ as anyone but not everyone, who does not differentiate between sleeping in the same tent (given that I still haven’t got one yet) and “sleeping together”; A male partner who only sees a female body rather than a human being. I wonder, is it the case when guys travel together, does one see the other a body to fulfill some kinky desires? 

Either ways, I do not intend to delve into this matter. I set up my mind. I. Am. going. sola.

A Sola Backpacker - Part I

I miss summer. This year, heavyhearted-ly and feeling homesick, I contended myself with "safe trips" and "enjoy you sum-break" wishes to my traveling fam' and friends. Due/thanks to my new job, I had no right to take a summer break. Oh well! To my luck, I’ll be entitled to a one-week vacation by February. February? Definitely not a good timing for a break, true, yet I’ll make it unforgettable, as much as I can.

The idea of a trekking in some remotely secluded place in my beloved Morocco has lingered in my mind for so long. In many travelers/trippers Fb pages/websites, the idea of trekking, the risks, the dangers and the great moments have been discussed over and over, along with women travelers’ constant complaints about their deprivation from such privilege and the showing off of the male dominance of such. 

In my country, a girl is not that free. She cannot/mightn’t travel in peace, on her own. Actually, she can but will be put under a lot of pressures. Kinda depressing, isn't it? Fed up as I was, I've decided that this year (God willing) I will indulge in a  trekking journey on my own*. After major research**, I have found an interesting trekking circuit, in a dry region (given that I cannot tolerate cold weather, and that my trek is going to place in mi-February, I don’t wanna end up soaked).

So, I’ll be sharing how and why I made up my mind upon such and my travel preparation: trekking circuit, gear…etc and afterwards, my trip review.

#RIP dear uncle

I can't cry someone I haven't grown up or grew older around. I can't cry someone I share lil memos with. I can't cry someone with whom've never been in sorrow, in happiness, someone with whom've fought, laughed and cried. I can't cry someone I only see in occasions for a thinly tiny period of time. I can't feel the loss of that someone's death. I can't feel the emptiness that someone's death left in my heart. All I can is sympathize with whoever lived, laughed, fought, grew old, cried and shared moments with that someone. I can feel their loss because I had once lost a beloved. I can cry their loss and make it my.

A Part-Time Prostitute III

As a food addict, I grew addicted to her tajines. A voice ringing in head, superstitiously, saying: “your mom warned you hundred, thousands of times not to accept food from strangers”. Oh well, here I am all-bread-slice-between-fingers-dipped-down-some-yummy-sauce, a Meknessi tajine to be credible. Mom, we only live once. 

Our meetings continued and I grew found of her.

She is not as shallow as I suspected she’d be. She is just a woman who's beeing exploring her desires, and enjoying red wine, cigarettes and men. I mean, after all that’s what most men do, right? Sleep with whoever they want, drink as much as they want, wear whatever they want and go wherever they want. The only difference is that women are labeled and classified in accordance with their runabouts, with what they do with their own bodies, what they wear and where they go to. A man exploring his desires and whoring around is seen as a stud and symbol of manhood; slight is the chance he’d be called about it, even in his mother's eyes, he'd be "just a man doing what men do". A woman exploring her desires and whoring around is seen a whore and symbol of rottenness, looseness, unchastity,.... The chance she’d be called about it….. in her mother's eye......

No, am not a feminist. No, I don't call for societal gender equality. I'd rather enjoy gentlemen-ness, definitely. But, I believe in gender equality before Allah. Most of the time, women are classified in accordance with religious standards. Women must cover themselves because religion says so, women should be chaste till marriage because religion says so. Women should not explore their sexual desires because religion says so…… Well, have we forgotten something? Yes, men! Men too should comply with these directives. Men too have private parts to cover. Men too should be chaste till marriage. Men too should not explore their carnal desires because guess what, religion says that too. Will women be the only ones subjected to Allah's punishments? 

In my society, you often hear a man, who screwed every moving thing around him, talking about his future wife, her chastity, innocence, non-experience, about how he should be the first to conquer her, and why a candy exposed to the public is not a whifey matter. Oh yeah, I remember an analogy I heard not long ago depicting a woman’s flower as a ‘lock’, and that if this ‘lock’ can be opened by any key, then this ‘lock’ is useless. But, WHAT ABOUT THE KEY THAT OPENS EVERY LOCK?

……………….To be continued

A part-time prostitute II

Though living under the same roof, I and her only meet in the evenings given my timetable and her working hours. I honestly didn't have the intention to socialize, neither with her nor with our other flatmates, but well. She often knocked on my door inviting me to share a meal - she is a very good tajine cook - or a glass of tea. Sometimes I refused, sometimes I accepted. She wondered, on my first visit to her room, whether I minded her smoking. I said I didn't as long as we kept the door and window open, I hate it when my hair stinks.

Our talks varied from gossips, to weather forecast, food, shopping, her job, my school. Yes I was curious to know her story but I didn't fish for it, simply because I, I actually don't know. Eventually,  one evening, she deliberately spoke about her origins, her childhood, her friends, about everything. She is from the region of Meknes, orphan and has two brothers, both married, one living in the same city and the other living in another. “I used to live with one of my brother, his wife and their little kid. Things started to go south, I no longer could see eye to eye with his wife. We fought more often. My brother stayed neutral. Fed up as I was, I rented a room of my own. I started working in a shoe factory. The salary is low but I am just fine.” 

Absentmindedly, she continued:“I work from early morning to 4 P.m. At the time I was living with my brother, instead of going home, I used to go to a café, to eat and smoke in peace. I just wanted peace. I didn’t eat with them, I only went there to sleep at night. Yet, I more than helped financially. His wife is ungracious. My brother was aware of what was happening but he kept his mouth shut. That’s all I can say.”

I could tell she is far off to the time when her parents were alive, when she lived under their wings, protected, unharmed, worried about doing the dishes or playing with her friends only. I could tell. Her eyes looked sad and tearful. Her face aged ten years. A puff from a cigarette placed between manicured and polished nails brought her back to the now; Then she would look at my untouched, now-cold tea glass and my half-bitten Moroccan pastry, and make a joke about how I am dishonoring my Sahraoui roots by not drinking the tea.

........................To be continued 

Girls' Union

One week or more, you cannot figure it out, nevermind a calendar
"Better late than never" doesn't apply to this
It's physical, it's emotional, it's psychological, it's every-ical
You hungry, yearning for food with no appetite
Mouth watering over silly things you don't normally enjoy
Eying food like a deprived child in front a candy shop
Foodgasms till you pupils delite, till your eyes shed tears
Mentally disturbed, you emotions overflow and overlap, undecided -ly
You wanna laugh, you wanna cry
You wanna live, you wanna die
You wanna workout, you wanna lay down
Mind, please make up your mind
Showing maniac behaviors, skeptical about your looks
Friends replace mirrors with mirrors ain't around
Friends not minding to be a butt reflection willingly and still
You keep checking and rechecking
You make them check and check
You keep checking, you know damn well it is going to happen
You keep counting, you know damn well it might as it may not happen
Symptoms worsening, near the due day
Waking up, dead tired as if a secret fight club and you don't know it
Waking up, wild awake, wild aroused, wild weird
It is happening, hoping the worst happened while unconscious, sparing you the trouble,
But no, no! whom are you kidding?
It is a bitch and gonna act and be so about it
Making you want what you don't want
Feel what you don't want to feel
Wear what you don't want to wear
Do what you rather don't
Oh well, goose bumps all day long, in hysterical state
Shivers running up and down your corpse, making every single hair stand in ovation for the "bitch"
Head spinning, face shallowing, breath ragging, posture curving, stomach upsetting
Washing sensations of hotness, of coldness, of sickness, of happiness, of weirdness
In you head, a picture of knife stabbing into your walls keeps playing
That's your interpretation of the pain down south
Wondering sometimes if your surroundings would sense the homicide scene down south
Faux-sensation of leaking, melting, flooding, or isn't?
Checking, double-checking, mirror-friends playing
Day 1, day 2,... the worse had happened
Day 3, day 4, die-bitch, till our next meeting

هلوسات منتصف الليل

فبلادي،
الهدف الأسمى هو المظهر، والمظهر والله تعالى يشوف من حال هاذ المنظر. كنشوف المشاريع الكبرى لكيتم تشيدها فمدينتي ولكن متنفرحش ليها. علاش، بكل بساطة حيث كلها عبارة عن مظاهر عملاقة، مثلا ناخذو مشروع أكبر مسرح فالقارة الافريقية على حنا عندنا شي انتاج المسرحي؟  ياك هو منعدم وحتى ايلا كان متنعطيوهش الدعم لا المالي ولا حتى المعنوي اللازم ولا حتى الأهمية لي يستاحقها، أصلا الانتاج الفني عامة ذو بنية راشية، لا ساس لا راس الا ما رحم ربك.
المهيم، كنبيو القناطر، صلة الوصل بين الضفتين، مني كتشوف مخطط المشروع، فيه غير الزواق، وضواو، وشوية دالزفت، لكن واش غادي يحل الأزمة ديال السير والاكتضاض لي كيعانيو منها سكان العدوتين طلبة وموظفين؟ الله وعلم، واش عندو أفق ولا بحالو بحال القنطرة لي الطومبيلات حتى هوما تعلمو يديرو مثنى مثنى ولا يدوزو شي عويمات ديال الباكور وتنتاهي مدة الصلاحية ديالو؟
وتجزئات وشقق فارهة على ضفاف الرقراق لي تستهدف بطبيعة الحال الطبقة الفوق بورجوازية بصحتهوم، والله يزيد من حسادنا.
الغريب فالأمر هو أن حدا هاد المشارييييع، ناس عايشين فالقوارب وسط الما، وناس ناعسين فالزنقة وناس مازال فدور الصفيح نقصاهوم أقل أقل أقل الأشياء باش يعيشو بكرامة فبلادهم.
الحاجة لي كنحيي دوك الناس عليها هي العلو ديال البنايات، حيث والحمد لله ماشي بحال البيضاء، معندناش ناطحات السحاب ويلا كنتي فشي جهة عالية تقدر تشوف حسان ولا شالة من الجهة الاخرى.
اه، والمنتزه ديال ناس ديال Skate Board، فكرة جميلة جدا، لكن واش انفتحوه فوجه الشعب ولا تبزي الفلوس عاد تدخل من حال بعض الملاعب الرياضية لي تم تشيدها مؤخرا، الله عالم.
من هنا لحين يتححقوا هاد المشاريييخ، خاصك 2 ساعات باش تشد نوبا ديال المركوب باش تمشي للرباط فالصباح، خصوصا يومي الاثنين والخميس، ونفس الشيء فالعشية من الرباط للدارك، هادشي ايلا كني من صحاب الطواكس، اما الخطافة تيخطفوك لدارك خفا زربا، وخصوصا ايلا كان الواشمة قريبة، كيوليو عندهوم الجناوح....
ومن هنا لتما ربي تما
#هلوسات_منتصف_الليل