mercredi 13 septembre 2017

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

  

vendredi 17 février 2017

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.


vendredi 10 février 2017

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

lundi 26 septembre 2016

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

mercredi 21 septembre 2016

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.