My idea of Morocco was limited. The little I knew of the Country was derived from Television. I have always thought of it as a Country whose citizens see themselves essentially as Arabs and Africans by accident of geography. Understandably, the choice of Marrakech as a holiday destination was more of Let’s See How It Goes than anything else. Little did I know that Marrakech is mostly a hospitable place to be with a unique blend of Arab and African cultures, a fact that would soon fascinate me.
As our plane gracefully descended Marrakech Airport and taxied to its parking spot, the view of the city from the windows transported me back to the world I imagined as a young student of Cyprian Ekwensi’s Passport of Mallam Ilia. A short walk on the Tar mark led us to the entrance of the arrival hall. The number of passengers overwhelmed the lift, so we opted for the staircase. Inside, the police officers at the Passport control booths, with their distinctive General Eyadema caps, an appearance that was out of fashion to me, seemed unperturbed by the bustling crowd of passengers in multiple queues.
At the ample airport parking space outside, Rida, our driver, ushered us into his van. A mix-up, where our tourist agent displayed their name on their placard instead of ours, meant an extra delay after the police stamped us in. Rida pulled his vehicle into the flow of commuters departing the Airport, and I was instantly blown away. Beautifully manicured trees lined both sides of the road. A fascinating postcard view of the Atlas Mountains, capped in white, spread out before us from a distance. Rida said the white topping on the mountain was snow. The usual bustling and hassling, the hallmark of most African cities, were noticeably non-existent. Marrakech was a sight with unexpected calm and serene beauty, leaving us pleasantly surprised and at peace.
Rida proved to be more than a driver. He became a tour guide, a fountain of knowledge, teaching us more in a single trip to our hotel than we learnt in a week’s stay. He said there are more mopeds than cars in the beautiful garden city of Marrakech. Spoken in this gateway to Spain and the rest of Europe are French, Arab, and, to an extent, English. The buildings are red, the same colour as the rest of Atlas Mountain. None of the buildings is to be higher than the Koutoubia Mosque, so they are four storeys. This regulation makes the city peculiar. The city of Marrakech is thousands of years old and consists of inner (older) and outer (newer) parts separated by a wall. It is only one of the few cities that produce Argan oil, which is famous for skincare. Rida showed us the wall, the sights of the famous Mosque and the Souk market. He informed us that while the surrounding buildings were affected by the recent earthquake that struck the city a few years back, the Mosque was left unscathed. I expected him to give this feat some religious connotations, but he attributed it instead to the special stones used in constructing the Architectural masterpiece centuries ago.
One hour later, Rida dropped us off at our hotel, which, unsurprisingly, was also four storeys and red. He informed us that the ride from the Airport to our hotel would usually take twenty minutes, but he had taken it upon himself to show my wife and me around town, making us feel well-informed and guided.
We spent the next few days shopping at the Souk Market for traditional Jellabiya and perfume. The market was vibrant and had a variety of products, from colourful textiles and intricate handicrafts to cosmetics. The locals were friendly and eager to sell their wares and share their culture with us.
Then, we embarked on a thrilling adventure in the Sahara Desert: a camel and Quad Bike ride through the desert’s dusty and undulating terrain. A traditional Moroccan tea break, supper, and Gnawa dancing late into the cold Saharan night climaxed our trip.