My Mother(is in)Morocco

Morocco was technically my finish line but it felt like I had landed on another planet. I could still see Spain from where I was standing, but the moment i crossed the border everything was different. The streets were made of dust, the buildings cement, and there were vendors selling SIM cards, mint tea, and breads I had never seen with men lined up in djellaba’s carrying plastic bags full of fruit and veggies. One huge street of people moving in every direction at 7 am…I was STOKED! 

Until I couldn’t get any money out. A very long story short and three weeks of trying to figure it out… Tangerine doesn’t work in a Morocco. I always travel with multiple bank cards for this reason and it came in handy once again. I have made and re-made every mistake in the travellers 101 of what not to do, and next time I cross a border, I’ll take money out before crossing. But Morrocan helpfulness & kindness was instantly felt. Many different people tried to help me, walking along the street beside me, helping me translate what the problem was to others, snapping selfies of us. At one point I was standing at an ATM with three people asking me how many Dirhams I want to take out and how much money i had. I kept hesitantly laughing, “not much!” (for one moment I was worried about getting robbed but they genuinely just wanted to help). I find in Morocco they don’t say no first to any idea- they try to make it work, gather everyone they can in their community to do so, try everything they can, and are really bummed as they shake their head no in the end. I had kept the 50 euro note Cindy and Yvonne had gifted me in Spain in a special bag in my tool sack, and it was the only bill I had, i exchanged it and hoped it was enough to cover the bus or train I still needed to find to take to Chefchoun where I would meet my mom who had come to make sure I was still alive. 

I took a cheap 12 hour bus ride from Nador to chefchouan. The bus driver loaded my bike under the bus, beside everyone’s suitcases, with my bags still on Trigger, as he told me about his four wives. At 3 in the morning, he sailed down frozen mountain passes covered in snow. I was terrified watching the bus weave the hairpin bends with the woman beside me sleeping on my shoulder. I thought about how much safer i feel on my bike than putting my life in the hands of this wifed up man in the middle of the night. He was a sweetie pie though and he was supposed to drop me off on the side of the road (public buses in Morocco are like this- making the ride long. All night pulling over for people who wait in total darkness in the middle of nowhere along the highway.) He stopped the bus at around 5 am the next day and said “it’s cold and dark- I’m taking you to Tetouan where you will bus transfer.” He was looking out for me! And thank goodness because I was officially having bike problems and when I finally made it, my chain kept slipping off and I couldn’t make it up the steep hills of Chef. My mother sent a taxi to help me. It was really nice pulling over and seeing a familiar face jump out after months of unknowns. 

*Some kids I spent the day with in Nador while I awaited the bus*

I loved the blue city of Chef but neither of us were prepared for how cold it was going to be. Snowy, rainy, and stormy. It hadn’t rained like this is Morocco in 15 years we were told again and again. My mom showed her love in very practical ways and we slept in really nice Riads, ate olives and Msemen, the famed amlou (argan oil grinder together with almond and honey) and spiced butter for breakfast. We went from Chef, to the insane Medinas full of Souks in Fes and Meknas and then down to Marrakesh. Loading my bike onto private buses (they just go from point A-B) and ridiculously on top, inside, and squished into taxis. I was getting marriage proposals and a lot of attention, at first inflating my ego like balloon, but quickly I had to check if myself… was my self esteem really this low? We stayed in all kinds of Riads and met all of kinds of people who kept using the same joke “You’re not sisters?!” Our entire time travelling around I kept gulping at the steep landscapes we were passing with the idea of soon riding them. 

*our bestie Muhammed who still daily whats ap me messages like this daily: Hello Hana, I hope you're okay, everything is fine. How are you doing? How is your mother? I hope she's well. I wish you a good trip, success, safety, and happiness, and that you spend your trip in peace, God willing. Everything is fine.*

Travelling with somebody is challenging and my mom and I are still getting to know each other in my adulthood. At times it was stressful and uncomfortable and I often took the lead navigating and translating, which are new skills for me.I was impressed with how much mom was down for the adventure, climbing a huge mountain outside of Chefchouan to the bridge of the God’s, and joining along as I strapped my bike to the roof of a taxi in the flooding rains, headed to the Mechanic across town in Fes (who I still text everyday and has helped me with other bike probs). My mom came and brought me to the sunshine, finally! I am grateful for that (thankyou mom) and for the time we spent together in Africa, with our history and our relationship, it’s quite a miracoulous thing and I felt I got to know my mom and hear stories of her own travels across Europe. It was really nice having her help ease into this new planet, and having somebody to laugh at the ridiculousness that often ensued us. On our last day together I took a shower with the door open and from behind the curtain got to tell somebody all my fears of cycling alone in Morocco, and have somebody tell me “it’s going to be okay.” My mother got in a van and headed for her own solo adventure in London. I went back to the Riad to meditate for 30 minutes, opening my eyes and feeling the same way i did the day I left for my journey in Rome. I opened my eyes and there sat my bike, familiar, reassuring, and ready to go. It’s a funny thing about this cycling voyage, I feel this way again and again and again, closing my eyes, opening them, scared but finding the courage to begin again. ​